Rage mottled Mr. Baxter’s already florid cheeks. Hissing a violent oath, he stepped closer and raised his hand. Then he caught himself, and instead of striking her, he raked her figure from head to toe with an insulting glance. “’Tis a good thing you’re so ill-favored no other man would look at you. Else, with Nicky so bewitched by Mrs. Ingram, the ton might suspect you carry a bastard.”
After the wretched poverty she’d seen and the taunts about Chloe, that slur against her honor was too much. Lost in rage, Sarah slapped Baxter’s face.
Both of them stood shocked in the aftermath of the blow. Slowly Baxter raised a hand to his reddened cheek. “You’ll regret that,” he growled, and stalked from the room.
Chapter Fifteen
When Nicholas returned two hours later, Briggs delivered him a message to meet Sarah in the study without delay. Wondering what could have prompted such an unusual summons, Nicholas hastened to the room.
He entered to find Sarah pacing, looking pale but unhurt, and released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “What’s the matter, sweeting? From the note Briggs gave me, I feared you’d suffered some harm.”
Sarah faced him gravely. “I’m sorry to attack you thus before you’ve even had your tea, but something terrible has happened. Rather, has been happening, here at Stoneacres for the past seven years or more. Something that, I hope you’ll agree, Nicholas, must stop today.”
He took in her grim face and agitated manner. “Sit down, Sarah. Have some wine, and tell me what has distressed you.”
“Oh, Nicholas, I hardly know how to begin! I went driving this morning, and the conditions I found on every farm I saw were appalling! Cottages falling apart, men, women, children in rags, and all of them thin to emaciation. It seems Mr. Baxter has, over the past few years, trebled the tenants’ rents, leaving them in virtual penury.”
“That cannot be correct,” Nicholas objected. “I checked before we left London, and the income from Stoneacres has remained constant.”
“The increase wasn’t transferred to the Stanhope account. As I discovered when I checked them, the ledgers show all the additional sums entered under ‘Estate Improvements.’ Oh, ’twas cleverly done! Should you visit Stoneacres, you would see only the bathing facilities and the fashionable furnishings. The rest of the money—a considerable sum—was supposedly expended for repairs and consumables—seed, fodder and such. I imagine Mr. Baxter doubted you’d ever inspect the farms, and even should you do so, you couldn’t expect to find ‘consumables’ still about.”
While Sarah stopped to sip her wine, Nicholas struggled to assimilate the implications of his cousin’s bookkeeping.
“Aside from improvements at the manor, there have been no repairs at all that I can tell. Not even in Wellingford at its most destitute have I seen such squalor.” She leaned over to seize his hands. “Oh, Nicholas, people are starving, your people! Tenants who look to you for their livelihood and protection. Your own cousin has allowed them to be overworked, beaten—in your name! That he misused Stanhope funds is bad enough, but that I cannot forgive.”
Nicholas could only gape at her. The charges appeared incredible, yet Sarah was a sensible lady who knew much of farm management. If she said these things were true, she was undoubtedly correct.
“I must tell you what I’ve done,” she continued, jumping up and beginning to pace. “After inspecting several nearby farms, I had Briggs lock the estate office. Here is the key. Then I confronted your cousin, warning him you would shortly demand an accounting.”
She turned a pleading face to him. “Cousin or no, you must discharge him, Nicholas! The way he has treated these people is shameful! And when I think how he’s muddied your name with his callous deeds—oh, were I a man, I should run him through!”
Deeply troubled, Nicholas nevertheless had to smile at her fervor. He took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for you defending my honor, sweet champion.” His smile faded. “If what you describe is true, Hugh has disgraced me and betrayed my trust. I’d best see him at once.”
“Thank you for believing me, Nicholas.” Her fierceness fading, she looked drained and weary. “Before you go, there is something else I must disclose, for Mr. Baxter will seek to discredit me, and is bound to tell you.”
“Tell me what, sweeting?”
Avoiding his gaze, she commenced pacing again. “I know ’twas wrong of me, and I regretted it in an instant, but he made some—rather distressing comments, and I…I lost my temper. I’m afraid I, ah, slapped his face.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She swallowed unhappily. “I slapped him.”
Nicholas blew out a gusty breath. “Are you telling me my dignified, gentle wife, whom I’ve never heard so much as raise her voice to a lazy housemaid, slapped my cousin?”
She nodded, shamefaced. “I’m sorry, Nicholas.”
He studied her. “Just what ‘distressing comments’ did Hugh make that caused you to so forget yourself?”
“Well—I told him I’d been through the books, and he realized at once what that meant. He tried to cozen me into thinking you wouldn’t care how Stoneacres was managed, as long as the money came in, and that you’d be irritated with me if I tried to interfere.” She gazed at her foot as she tapped it on the turkey carpet. “When I refused to be cowed, he became quite enraged. At the last, he made an—insulting remark, and I—slapped him.”
A growing outrage at his cousin’s perfidy put an edge to his voice. “What remark, Sarah? I’m sorry to be so persistent, but if my cousin insulted you, I insist on knowing what he said. ’Tis a matter of honor.”
“A matter of honor,” she repeated. “In truth, it was. Could we leave it at that?” She cast him a look of appeal.
She seemed so distressed, Nicholas nearly relented, but he felt strongly that his cousin could not be allowed to insult his wife with impunity. “No, Sarah. I’m sorry, but to deal with him properly, I must know.”
She inspected the toe of her half boot. When at last she spoke, her voice was so soft he could scarcely hear her. “He said that, as all the world knows how—occupied—you are with your mistress, if I weren’t so plain no other man would want me, the ton might believe I carry a bastard.” Hearing his explosive intake of breath, she finished gruffly, “As if I would serve you such a trick.”
White-hot anger burned all thought from his brain but the primitive desire to drag his cousin to the south lawn and demand immediate satisfaction.
After a moment, sanity returned. Much as the cur deserved so dire a reckoning, he wanted no public scandal. However, he vowed, his hands balling into fists, Hugh Baxter was about to suffer far more than a simple dismissal.
Nicholas gently raised her chin. “My dear, it grieves me exceedingly that a kinsman of mine could have so vilely insulted you. He will be dealt with.”
“Deal with him about Stoneacres. The other doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” He touched her forehead lightly with his lips and went out.
On leaden feet, Sarah entered the sitting room adjoining their chamber. She sank into an overstuffed chair, faintly disgusted at having to use the same objects Nicholas’s despicable cousin had touched.
She had done all she could. Though Nicholas might be more at home in a London drawing room than on a Hampshire farm, he was both intelligent and fair. The ledgers told the tale only too eloquently, and once he inspected them and the land, he would be as outraged as she.
Though she told herself they were uttered in pique, and came from Lord John, a most unreliable source, Baxter’s words still lashed her. So all the ton had tittered at Nicholas tucking his wife away to dally with his mistress? She staggered at the rage and anguish that image brought.
Dismiss it, she told herself sternly. What matter if the shallow sophisticates of the ton laugh?
But that wasn’t the real reason behind her pain, she forced herself to admit. ’Twas Chloe.
How complacent she’d become here in th
e country, secure in Nicholas’s constant escort, lulled by his assiduous attentions. How easy it had been to put the lady out of mind. Baxter’s ugly insult made her confront the fact that his woman—no, Nicholas’s mistress, was still a reality.
Honor your bargain, she urged herself. You told him he might go his own way. You told yourself it wouldn’t matter. Live up to your agreement.
But I don’t want to! her heart cried. ’Twas a bad bargain, made in ignorance. I don’t want to accept it now.
Nicholas seemed truly content here with her. Though her experience in such matters was admittedly limited, she knew beyond doubt he enjoyed her as a woman. If she could find the courage to ask, perhaps he might be willing to give up Chloe—even once they returned to London.
Her spirits leapt at the thought. And immediately plunged. Why should Nicholas give up Chloe just because he also enjoyed his wife? Unfathomable as it was to her, the men of her class seemed quite able to keep both wife and mistress. Why should she expect Nicholas to be different?
’Twas only one reason compelling enough to induce him to dismiss his longtime paramour: he would have to be in love with his wife. She would have to fill his life so completely that he found taking another woman unthinkable.
An ache of sadness and regret washed through Sarah. That circumstance was the most unlikely of all.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. No matter. She could stand whatever she must, including tolerating Mrs. Ingram. Why should she wish for the unreliable love of a gambler anyway?
Ignoring the raw spot that continued to bleed inside, Sarah rang for tea. Nicholas would probably report back to her after he’d talked with his cousin. She must regain her composure. If Mr. Baxter’s brutal lesson finally taught her the value of maintaining a greater distance from her far-too-attractive husband, perhaps ’twas worth the pain.
His temper as raw as his bruised fists, Nicholas stormed into the small salon. After downing the meal and a mug of foaming home brew Mrs. Briggs had waiting for him, he felt calm enough to ask after his wife. The mistress was reading in the study, the housekeeper informed him.
Sarah looked like a little girl, curled up on the sofa by the fire, he thought with a smile. His amusement faded when she glanced up and he saw the wariness in her eyes. Nor did she make room for him beside her. His ire at his cousin reviving, he took the wing chair opposite.
“Hugh will depart first thing in the morning. After I examined the ledgers, we agreed it would be to our mutual benefit were he to seek employment in some other region of England. In fact, I highly recommended emigration.”
He shook his head. “I can still hardly credit it. Hugh and I grew up together. Never would I have suspected he could have—Well, trusted cousin or no, I should have kept better watch. I intend to make amends to the tenants, insofar as I can. Will you ride with me?”
The grateful look she sent warmed him to his toes. “I should be honored.”
He crossed to her and lifted her fingers for a kiss.
She stiffened, and as soon as politely possible, pulled at her hand. He held on, wincing slightly, and she noticed for the first time his scraped, oozing knuckles. “Nicholas,” she said with a gasp. “You—”
Apparently surmising how he’d sustained the injury, she colored and looked away. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Shouldn’t have punished a man who so vilely insulted my wife? Were he not my cousin I might well have shot him!”
“’Twas only pique, and fear over his future.”
“Then I should have shot him for stupidity, to say such a thing to his employer’s wife.”
“I expect he realized that employment would shortly end. And I daresay he never imagined I would repeat it. Nor would I have, had you not forced me. I should like to forget it, and my own deplorable behavior, if you please.”
She gently pulled her hand from his and rose. “You’ll want some quiet after such a trying interview. Mrs. Briggs said you’d dined. I’ll leave you to your port.”
She was retreating again, just as she had after the squid incident. Well, he had no intention this time of letting her go. “Wait, Sarah.”
She halted, her back to him.
“Sarah, come here.”
She looked over at him, then at the door, every taut line of her body eloquent of a desire for flight. Her eyes implored release. Implacable, he held her gaze.
With slow, reluctant steps, she walked to him.
He took her limp hand and kissed it. “I only broke his nose, but I swear to you, Sarah, had I known his vicious comments would make you shy, I would have broken his neck.”
She mumbled and tried to wiggle her fingers loose.
“I’m sorry he upset you. Surely you didn’t heed his ridiculous words.” She said nothing, and suddenly he realized she had indeed taken them to heart.
He remembered how, before their marriage, she’d promised not to interfere in his life. Remembered Hal telling him Lord John had accosted her about Chloe at Lady Jersey’s ball—that she’d seen Chloe giving his arm an intimate squeeze.
Anger at his cousin warred with chagrin. “You did heed them, didn’t you?” he asked incredulously.
She shrugged and shook her head.
Despite his discomfort in addressing the issue, he must put this to rest for good and all. Taking her chin, he gently forced her to look up. “You should not heed them, do you understand, Sarah? That—other matter—is settled. You’re my wife, sweeting. No one can threaten your place.”
“I know, Nicholas,” she said softly.
But when he drew her into his arms, she remained wooden, neither inviting nor repulsing him.
Alarm shocked through him. Never before had she failed to respond. She’d been bludgeoned with Chloe’s existence several times without offering a word of reproach. Had Baxter’s nasty, wounding words been the final straw?
Surely he could still reach her, too intent upon doing so to ask why immediate reconciliation was so important.
He massaged her shoulders, willing her to relax and open to him. She sighed, leaned ever so slightly into his ministering fingers. But when he pulled her closer for an embrace, she held back.
An urgent need seized him to make her yield, to reaffirm the bond between them. Hands gripping her shoulders, he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. “Love me, Sarah,” he breathed against her lips. “Love me.”
At last she softened, opening her mouth and molding her body to his. Relief swamped in a tide of panic-sharpened hunger, he swept her up and carried her to the couch.
Sarah sat down to breakfast in the dining salon in solitary splendor. Though Nicholas had been gone only a few hours, she missed him already.
After Hugh’s departure last week, he had asked her to start instructing him in estate management while they awaited a replacement. One day when the post brought him a parcel of papers from London, he teased her into the library and began explaining the complicated business of investing.
Much against her inclination, she was forced to admit that, risky as some ventures undoubtedly were, the business of choosing and balancing them fascinated. Their consultations, on both agriculture and finance, became a daily routine.
She sighed. Once again Nicholas was disarming her caution. But, she told herself hopefully, the longer he remained with her in the country, the better. She didn’t know much about such arrangements, but perhaps after a time Mrs. Ingram would grow weary of waiting, and look for a more attentive protector?
It was thus with the greatest reluctance she’d reminded Nicholas of Mrs. Waterman’s rout party. At this annual event, Hal’s mama paraded before him her preferred candidates from the current Season’s crop of marriageable misses for the position of daughter-in-law. Reminding Nicholas they had pledged Hal their support through this ordeal, Sarah convinced her husband to return alone while she stayed to tend Stoneacres.
He’d seemed genuinely reluctant to leave her, and agreed to go only after much persuasion.
She grinned at the memory of some of that persuasion. Would Nicholas linger in London? Her spirits sagged at that possibility. Firmly she put Chloe Ingram out of mind.
Then she felt it again—little fluttering pains, like tiny needles pricking her. Sarah grimaced and shifted her position on the chair. The odd, darting pains recurred as she ate, though, and a low ache started in her back. Perhaps, were she to lie down awhile, it would subside.
Reaching her chamber, she encountered Becky, but fobbed off the maid’s concern by claiming she needed a nap. To her surprise, Sarah did manage to sleep. She woke to a sharper pain in her belly and a heavier ache at her back. And when she used the necessary, she saw blood.
On legs gone suddenly shaky, Sarah stumbled to the bellpull and back to bed. As she waited for Becky, a stronger pain gripped her. She breathed hard, fighting it and trying to stem a concern that was rapidly approaching panic.
Becky came so promptly Sarah suspected she must have been loitering in the sitting room. “’Twas a good nap, mistress. Are you feeling better?”
Sarah made herself smile. “Somewhat. I’ve a curious ache at my back, though, and…and I’m bleeding a little. I’m sure ’tis nothing, but I’d like to bring Dr. MacPherson from Wellingford. Just a precaution.”
Becky strode to the bed and gripped Sarah’s hands. “Don’t fret yourself, Miss Sarah. You stay here with your feet up and we’ll fetch that doctor.” She paused. “I sent word to his lordship.”
“Oh, Becky, you didn’t!” Sarah protested. “’Tis but a trifle, and he particularly needs to be in London tonight!”
“That’s as may be, but if there’s even the smallest problem, the master would wish to be here, and well you know it. Anyway, ’tis done now.”
“I suppose it cannot be undone, but I’m displeased nonetheless,” Sarah grumbled. “If Lord Englemere speaks sharply to you, ’twill be only what you deserve.”
“Yes, my lady,” Becky replied, obviously discounting Sarah’s every word. “I’ll wrap you up and fetch some tea.”
The Wedding Gamble Page 21