by Jo Beverley
* * *
That night, Edward came to her.
It was only ten o'clock, and she hadn't heard him come into the house. With her courses upon her she hadn't expected him. She was already in bed, but reading as she tried to settle herself. Reading a book about Nova Scotia. She quickly put it aside, hoping he wouldn't be able to read the spine.
Edward was fully dressed, but that wasn't surprising when she had her courses. It was him being here that startled.
But then she knew.
Here it was.
He cleared his throat. "Sarah, my dear, I... er have something I wish to say."
He sounded anxious rather than angry, but she trembled.
"Yes, Edward?"
"I very much regret this, my dear, but I want a divorce."
She hadn't expected such a blunt approach and for a moment she was speechless. Then she said the only possible thing. "Why?" Her duplicitous side made her add, "I've done nothing wrong."
"No, no, I never supposed for a moment...! Oh, dear. May I sit?"
"Of course," she said, totally lost.
He didn't know?
He didn't suspect anything?
But then why?
He moved a chair closer to the bed and collapsed into it. "I feel wretched about this, Sarah, but a few days ago -- I don't know why then -- I saw the truth. You will never conceive a child. I have spoken to doctors and I know the flaw may lie in either of us, but no one seems to know any way to change matters. You are healthy, I am healthy, but there has never been any sign of a child."
"I can't deny it. There is no hope."
"If there was any sense in the world people would be able to gain a divorce for lack of children! After all, it is one of the prime purposes of marriage."
"I agree." Despite the oddness of this, and intertwining threads of hope and horror, she had to smile. It was so like Edward to approach such a matter with logic.
"As it stands," he said, "the only grounds for our divorce would be adultery. My adultery wouldn't count. Because men don't carry the children they are allowed to sow wild oats as they will."
She stared at him. "You want me to commit adultery?"
Instantly she realized how hollow that was, but he paled and said, "Good God, no!"
"Then what, Edward?"
He rubbed his hands nervously. "I was thinking of the Pagets and Wellesleys, my dear. Perhaps that's what started this. George Belmont mentioned the affair when we were at Maberley Hall, irritated that his wife had said she approved of it. Which does sound odd for that stiff-rumped woman. Do you think people there behaved oddly?"
Sarah was adrift in this conversation, but his sudden switch to the mundane was so typical that she smiled. "Amanda Stoneycroft served the ladies a very potent ratafia."
He snorted. "That might explain it. Stoneycroft lets the drink flow liberally after dinner as well. But it had me thinking about the Wellesley-Paget scandal."
"Wellesley got his divorce through Parliament because of his wife's adultery with Paget," she pointed out.
"Yes." He studied her. "You're not having a fit of the vapors over this."
"Should I?" Immediately she wondered if she should. If her reaction would give her away. But she was tired of pretending, and she knew their situation had to change.
"We were happy once, Edward, but our problem has corroded that. If we can escape with dignity, I won't put obstacles in the way."
"You are the best of women!" he declared, which must surely be unique for a couple discussing divorce. "The example I had in mind is not Wellesley's divorce, but that of Caroline Paget. In Scotland a wife can sue for divorce because of her husband's adultery."
Breathless, Sarah saw hope, but then she shook her head. "You haven't committed adultery, Edward. I'm sure of that."
He was pink at the thought. "Thank you, my dear. But I could. In the cause. Or pretend, at least. If you discovered me with another woman in my bed..."
"I'd be dreadfully embarrassed."
"As would I. But it might be worth it."
Sarah could taste hope, but all the same fear was sour in her throat. She'd be in the right, the deceived wife, but that didn't mean the world would smile on her. There would be a terrible scandal, and it would cling to her all her life. All the same, all the same, Caroline Paget, the innocent party, now Duchess of Argyll, was accepted everywhere.
Sarah wasn't a completely innocent party, but confessing that now would serve nothing.
"It could harm your position and prospects," she said.
He shrugged. "I'll probably never become prime minister. I accept that. But I believe I will continue to prosper. After all, even Paget -- or Lord Uxbridge as he is now -- thrives, and he was an arrant sinner. I want a son, Sarah. A son to inherit my title and wealth. Without that it all seems like dust. My title will die with me and my wealth will go to Cousin Nathaniel or his sons. It eats at me! But are you sure? Though blameless, some of the taint will touch you."
She took his hand again. "I'm sure. The situation eats at me, too. It hurts to disappoint you. I assume you will provide generously for me."
"Of course, of course. The Church won't accept new marriages for either of us, but the law will. You will be able to marry again if you wish." He sighed. "My dear Sarah, I feel wretched to be asking this of you. You've done no wrong. You are without fault."
"Don't paint me a saint," she protested, tempted to tell him about Just in order to ease his conscience.
She managed to restrain the urge. It would relieve him, but she suspected he'd react with the affront and anger she'd expected all along. He might even decide to try to divorce her for it and keep his reputation spotless. That would keep his chances of become prime minister intact.
"I can see you're upset," he said, "despite your words."
She must remember that he knew her quite well.
"I am. I wish there was some other way. But there isn't, is there?"
"No. For some reason that came to me very clearly at Maberley Hall. I struggled with it. That's why I didn't come to you. It didn't seem right. I've debated with myself. I fear it's weak of me, but I need us to do this, Sarah. And I promise you there'll be as little discomfort for you as possible."
"Thank you. How do we set about this?"
She could see that he was still taken aback by her calm acceptance. She probably should have wept, but she was feeling freer by the moment and struggling not to grin and gibber like an idiot. Even if she could never have Just, she was being set free!
"I'm Scottish by birth, remember, and I gather that will ease the process."
"Even though you've not been there for decades?"
"It seems so. I was left that property, if you remember. Merely some cottages owned by my grandfather, but I can go to inspect them and linger for a few weeks. I will go alone on some pretext, but you will unexpectedly follow me."
"Because I can't bear to be apart for so long. If find you involved in a liaison and plead for divorce?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps you should try to win me back," she said. "Only for appearances."
"You seem to be enjoying this, Sarah!"
She couldn't pretend sober gloom. "It feels rather like a play, and it will help if we act convincingly. You are contrite. I am resolute, and our union is dissolved. You will repent your sins and slowly resume your life, whilst I...."
She'd almost said, will set out for Canada. For it was dawning on her that this might make heaven possible.
"What will you do?" he asked. "I worry about you."
Sarah realized then that she'd have to hide all trace of her connection to Just. For his sake and her own. She would go to Canada, but in time and as a traveler. Then, for the world's eye, they'd meet.
Then?
That was for the future.
"I'm not sure," she said, and it was honest to an extent. "Probably go to Bath for a while, to live quietly and recover from the shock."
He nodded. "If you wish to stay
on here for a while...."
In this house?
"No. I will need to start afresh. I might," she said, sowing the seed, "travel."
"Travel?" he echoed, as if she'd said she'd enter a nunnery. "Why?"
"I've never left England."
"There's a war going on."
A war that involved Canada. Was it even possible to sail to Canada? It must be. Just had done it.
"There have to be places that are safe," she said. "I think we've settled the essentials."
He rose, looking peevish. "I suppose so. Are you quite sure you're all right."
"To be honest, it's a relief, Edward. Our marriage has been strained for some time."
"Yes, yes it has. Good night, my dear."
He left and she shook her head at his illogicality. He should be grateful that she hadn't fallen into a fit, but it seemed he'd rather she had. He was put out that she wanted their marriage as little as he.
It didn't matter. She blew out her candle and snuggled down into the bed, the bed she would enjoy alone as long as she wished. The road would be difficult and could be long, but in due course she would sail to Nova Scotia and reach for happiness.
Just Maberley might have changed his mind by then. She had to accept that possibility. Perhaps the power of Faery didn't reach that far and the magic had already faded. But she would go. She wouldn't be a coward about this. She'd sail for the new world and find him.
She had no doubt who was responsible for the opportunity.
"Thank you, Titania," she said softly. "I pray your magic stretches around the globe."
Chapter Eight
It was late September when the Trenton sailed into Halifax harbor. Sarah had been on deck for hours, enjoying the sunlit view of an approaching rocky shore, and then the passage into a broad inlet. She looked ahead, longing for a first glimpse of the town and now she had it. Wooden wharfs by the water and stone buildings rising up a hill behind.
She was rather fond of hills.
Sun sparkled on the water and small boats were crossing from the town on her left to the scattering of building on the forested right hand shore. Her eyes were fixed to the left, however. There could be no doubt that this was a military town in wartime. A massive fortification crowned the shill. She knew it was called the Citadel. Cannons pointed out to drive off the French if they tried to attack. The Trenton had sailed the Atlantic in a convoy of mostly naval vessels. By God's grace they'd not been troubled.
Between the warehouses and the Citadel ranks of houses climbed the hill. They were unusual to her eye, being painted varied colors, but she'd read up on the town and knew what to expect. Somewhere up there was the newly-named house Moss Bank, where her supposed friend Lizzie Thurgood lived.
Not long after Just had sailed, she'd sent a letter to him asking if the sundial had arrived safely. She'd thought it would be the last, for she hadn't wanted to risk the slightest suspicion that she had a lover. She'd received his reply six weeks later, when the scandal was breaking and she'd desperately needed it, but she'd broken the seal worried that he would write something indiscreet.
Of course not.
He'd thanked her for her kindness, saying that the sundial was currently standing behind Moss Bank waiting for him to find a home and garden suitable for it. He'd also mentioned the kindness of his friends Ethan and Lizzie Thurgood for allowing him to use their property in this way. And then that Lizzie missed news from England and would welcome letters.
Sarah been writing to Lizzie ever since, about the weather, fashions, and society gossip. She'd included news of her own gossip-worthy affairs, but in brief. Letters took a long time to cross the Atlantic, but she'd sent one every week, enjoying the thought of them arriving in a steady stream to Lizzie and then to Just.
The stream had flowed in the other direction with descriptions of Halifax and the town's own gossip along with mentions of Lizzie's family and friends, including Just. Sarah had known some of the words had been dictated by him, especially the sympathy with her embarrassing situation and the desire to be at her side to offer support.
The letters had helped her bear it all, and they'd also kept up her faith that he still loved and wanted her. Yet even so, as they drew ever closer to the wharf nerves trembled inside. What if it had only been evaporated? What if she simply found a handsome man, of no more importance than any other? What if she was a commonplace woman, and a scandal-hung one at that?
Oh, everyone agreed that she was the injured party, but even so she'd gained notoriety. When she'd entered the Pump Room in Bath people had looked at her in a certain way. When she'd been introduced to a stranger there'd been a reaction. She'd retreated from society, and it seemed that was the correct behavior, but again it was as if it was she who was shamed. She'd come to embrace it as a deserved penance. She had sinned. She'd broken her marriage vows. There would be no purpose in confessing it, but she deserved some pain for that.
Before leaving England she'd paid a visit to Maberley Hall. Sarah and Sir Jacob had welcomed her warmly and tactfully not referred to the divorce. She'd admired the smart new sundial, but smiled to think of the other one, and felt at peace. There had been only one shadow on her mind.
One night she'd slipped out of the house and walked up the hill in the dark. No lights had lit her way, so she hadn't gone far. No shining creatures had danced at the corners of her eyes, and she'd not sensed anything fae at all.
All the same, she'd made her simple petition. Aloud, she'd said, "You blessed my union, Titania, and have set me free. I thank you for all I now have. If I may request more, let Edward have his son, and bless me with a Maberley child."
There'd been no response, but she'd done her best.
Edward had already married again, to a major's widow connected to Lord Liverpool's family, who already had a daughter. The rest was in the hands of fate or Faery.
She'd been glad when it finally seemed suitable to leave the country. Though she knew the story would already have reached the polite society of Halifax, and probably the common gossips as well, it had felt as if she left the worst tangles behind. She was still entitled to call herself Lady Jardine, but she'd gone aboard the Trenton as Mrs. Jardine and hoped soon to shed that name entirely.
People were streaming down to the shore and the wharfs to watch the ships come in. Would Just be among them? Lizzie was to meet the ship, for they meant to keep up the pretence that Sarah and Just were strangers, but might he be among the crowd? Clearly the arrival of a convoy was a significant event.
She couldn't distinguish faces yet. She hoped he wasn't there. She didn't think she could hide her reaction and she was still coward enough to want no to avoid all suspicion.
The naval ships sailed on into the Bedford Basin, where the navy had its anchorage, but the three merchant ships were being drawn in to the crowded wharfs.
And there he was.
So hard not to smile and wave, and probably no one was watching her reaction, but she made herself look elsewhere, taking in everything. His features were imprinted in her memory, however, vivid, handsome, and with such a look in his eyes.
Then she saw a woman hurrying onto the wharf in a bright pink outfit. Lizzie had written that she'd meet the ship dressed in pink. She was short and plump and her bonnet was huge, so she was unmistakable. Sarah waved with genuine pleasure and Lizzie waved back.
Soon Sarah could make her way down the gangplank to the boards -- where she staggered. A gentleman caught her arm. "Sea-legs, ma'am. You'll get your shore ones soon."
She thanked the gray-haired man, and walked carefully to Lizzie. "I feel drunk."
Lizzie's wide smile showed crooked front teeth. "Odd isn't it? I'm so pleased to meet you! Come, take my arm. I have the carriage nearby. My man will make sure your belongings follow."
Sarah was grateful to collapse onto the leather seat of the simple carriage. "I feel drunk and dizzy in so many ways."
"I'm sure you do, but I hope you'll feel restored by this evenin
g. We'll have a few people to dine with us. I'm sure you'll enjoy meeting them."
Her wink made Sarah blush. "You must think this odd."
"I think it's right. You and Just met and fell in love, but nothing would have come of it if your husband hadn't committed adultery. How grand that Scottish law allows a woman to seek divorce on those grounds. If that was true everywhere it would be interesting."
"It would be chaos," Sarah said with a laugh. "But it's no pleasant thing to go through, and if there are children it would be very difficult."
"Yes, in our world the father would probably get control over them even if he was in the wrong." The carriage suddenly lurched and creaked. "Oh, the state of our roads. I rarely bring the carriage down here, but I thought you'd need it. I fear you'll find Halifax primitive. I did when we came here ten years ago. And since then, so many soldiers and sailors have packed in, not to mention the captive crews of seized ships."
Sarah put her hand over Lizzie's. "I'm not dismayed. You've prepared me in your letters."
"That was Just's doing. He's worried about your reaction. That you'll hate the place."
"Impossible," Sarah said simply. "And I gather your home is in an orderly area."
"Yes, of course. And the business premises have moved recently. If only the war would end we could become a truly civilized city. There are handsome parts. We have some fine churches. Built of wood, of course, but elegant all the same. And Government House is of stone. There are assemblies and other events there."
Sarah let Lizzie's chatter flow as she watched the town go by. The streets were packed with people. She saw many uniforms, but many women as well, most of them not looking respectable. She'd learned from the letters that most scoundrel men were impressed into the navy, so there weren't so many male idlers, but female idlers plied the usual trade.
Moss Bank was a two-storey wooden building painted brown with cream trim, sat on a street of similar houses. There was no front garden, but she knew the sundial was behind. Inside the rooms were small, but cheerfully decorated. She was taken up narrow stairs to a simple bedroom, but after life on board ship it was luxury.