This was all some sort of hallucination—a nightmare. Only…she could smell peppermint. One wasn’t able to smell in their dreams, were they? Sarah bit her lip. Hard. Pain shot through her mouth and verified this was all very real, and Jonathon was asking her to help a man who believed her responsible for his illness.
She sat upright, allowing the blankets to pool at her waist. “I don’t understand.”
Jonathon and Olivia exchanged a glance. “The physician is still detained at a neighboring estate. Lady Mountford of Castlebrook, the estate that abuts Barrington to the west, is laboring with twins and she has insisted Mr. Tinsdale, the Vincent’s physician of choice, is to remain at her side until they are born.”
Sarah rubbed at her eyes. “The marquess outranks the countess.”
“But her husband, the earl, is abiding by his wife’s demand, and has refused Mr. Tinsdale’s departure,” Olivia whispered.
“As he should,” Jonathon said. “We have a perfectly suitable healer in attendance at Barrington.”
“We do?” She didn’t know of anyone who possessed such skills…unless…well, unless he meant her. Dear God. “Honestly, Jonathon. You can’t be serious. The man accused me of poisoning his wine.”
“Technically, Lady Vincent accused you, not the marquess.” He placed his hand over hers and settled it on the soft bed linens. His hand was warm. And large. And far more comforting than the blanket. Her heart stirred at his touch. “But I ask you to consider, for a moment, the opportunity this dilemma presents. Should you come through and assist the marquess in his time of need, you will be seen as a hero and all allegations against you will be dropped and forgotten come luncheon. This is your chance to polish off the tarnish.”
“No. That is too tidily done. What you have failed to mention is what happens if I should assist him and his conditions worsen. I’ll be worse off than I am now. Possibly banished for killing a peer. The marchioness already thinks me capable. It is not a far stretch for her to assume worse.”
Jonathon rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, the small motion sending currents of heat through her limb. “It was the marchioness who asked me to rouse you.”
“She did?” asked Olivia, her voice heavy with disbelief. “She knows you are here? Now?”
“She does. Upon my inquiry into the noises made, she asked if I might ask Sarah to see to the marquess.”
Sarah snorted. “Propriety has her sending an unmarried man into a woman’s bedchamber in the middle of the evening?”
“Desperation has her doing so. Well, that, and my sworn promise Olivia would serve as chaperon between us whilst I acquired your assistance.” He glanced at his hand on hers.
It was all too much. Lady Vincent had willingly asked for her aid? After all the horrible allegations she had brought against Sarah in front of everyone. No.
“Lady Vincent only asked for my help because she first believes me guilty of inflicting misery upon the marquess. She undoubtedly hopes I will hand over whatever antidote she believes is in my possession.”
“It is a possibility,” Jonathon said begrudgingly. “But, her husband is unwell. The physician is not able to come to his aid, and you profess knowledge in healing.”
“Only in so much as it is connected to wine. Specifically elderberry wine. I have only read a few books on anatomy and herbs.”
“By a few, you mean more than Jonathon or me, or even Henrietta,” Olivia said. “You know your herbs. Because you have vowed never to hurt another again, which means you studied and acquainted yourself on how to make certain such an error would not be repeated.”
Did they not understand? Should she do as requested, she only stepped into the character the ton had cast for her—the overly clever woman who used her knowledge for evil, because women were incapable of intelligence. It simply wasn’t done.
“Even if I were to consider assisting him, my passion for reading does not mean I will be able to help him. It is best if I do nothing at all and prove to everyone I am capable of being the lady they expect a person of my standing to be.”
Olivia frowned. “Should you decline and he worsens, or God forbid, passes away, you will be held accountable for not assisting him.”
“But what if I do not know how to help him?” asked Sarah.
“Lady Vincent will believe you did. You offered help to Mr. De la Pole when he did not ask of it, yet you refuse to help the marchioness when she has requested you specifically. Should you decline, you look the heel. I really am afraid you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
Well, botheration. Olivia spoke truth. “You do realize your language is foul, don’t you, Olivia?”
Jonathon chuckled. “She comes by it naturally. Five men in the house has afforded her a more colorful vocabulary than most ladies.” He grasped Sarah’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze, all merriment fading from his eyes. “I know you can help him, and this is your chance to prove it. To force them to see what you truly are capable of.”
Tiny prickles rose on her arm where his bare flesh met hers. “Will you stand in my defense if things do not go as intended?”
“Of course.”
“I mean it, Jonathon. If I meet with him and discern there is nothing that can be done for him, I truly mean my words. I may be clever, but I am also human. My resources are limited, as is my expertise. Your standing in Parliament…could be endangered by my inadequacy.”
His grip tightened as his piercing green eyes bore into hers. “I trust you. Implicitly. Whatever happens, I will stand by you.”
“As will I,” Olivia added. “You are not alone. You have the Annesleys behind you. Well…at least two of them. Though I’m fairly certain the rest of the family can be persuaded to…”
Sarah leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Jonathon. “I cannot tell you what your support means to me,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, where the scent of his soap stirred little flutters low in her stomach.
He let out a chuckle as he lifted his arms to encircle her. “I think I may have an idea.”
“Well, I clearly had none,” said Olivia, surprise coloring her words. Sarah lifted her head to see her friend’s wide eyes peering back. “While I would love to be regaled with the details of this alarming revelation, I believe time is of the essence and our attention is needed elsewhere.”
Letting her arms drop, Sarah pulled out of Jonathon’s embrace. “I don’t suppose the marchioness will appreciate us arriving in our nightclothes.”
“I don’t suspect she will have an opinion at all,” he whispered, his gaze, warm and dark, still on hers. “She worries for her husband, and will do, say, and accept anything that yields his return to good health.”
“You can don this.” Olivia tossed her a muslin. “It will suffice.”
Jonathon stood, turning his back to allow for privacy. “I don’t suppose you brought anything along that might be of use to the marquess?”
Thrusting her arms into the sleeves, Sarah sighed. “I have a half-full bottle of elderberry wine, a bit of dried basil, some chamomile tea, and your prayers. Nothing more. I did not want to have suspicion cast upon me, so I didn’t bring anything that might incriminate me.”
“Quite right,” Jonathon replied.
She slipped the gown over her head and stood, shimmying the fabric down and over her waist. “Did Lady Vincent detail how the marquess suffers? Or what symptoms plague him?”
“She did. His headache has worsened, and he complains of a sore throat and aches in his limbs.”
Sarah snatched a blanket off her bed and nodded toward Olivia, who, with the candle, led the way to the service door so as to avoid being seen by the other guests. “Does he have a fever?”
“His skin runs warm, though it is the trembling of his body that has Lady Vincent most concerned,” said Jonathon.
“I need my elderberry wine for his treatment. Though”—she frowned—“he could be poisoned. Headaches are a symptom of such. Albina certain
ly had one when she over imbibed on my licorice tea. But why would anyone seek to harm the marquess? Everyone is here to hunt foxes or husbands, unless someone has gone out of their way to implicate me in a most nefarious way. But why would anyone go to such lengths?”
“I doubt anyone did,” Jonathon said. “Speculation is dangerous. And you have not yet seen the marquess. He could be indisposed from nothing more than a late autumn chill settling in an older man’s bones.”
Olivia lifted the latch at the door. “Do you think the wine will help him?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said with a shrug. “But his symptoms sound awfully similar to those Henrietta possessed last winter when she took ill.” She reached for the candle and turned, illuminating the small trunk alongside the wall. Lifting its lid, she scrounged about for the bottle she had tucked away in its depths.
Jonathon came alongside her, taking the light in his hand and freeing hers to dig about in the extra blankets folded into the chest. “Did the wine benefit Henrietta?”
“Yes. More so than her own blends of tea,” Sarah said with a smile. Clasping the glass of the bottle, she pulled it to her chest and shut the trunk with her foot. “I only hope it is as effective with the marquess.”
“As do I.” Lifting the flame, he led her to the opened service door. “I will lead you to the marquess’s rooms. Olivia will stay behind and await your return.”
“But I thought she would accompany us,” Sarah said. “Should you and I be discovered by another—”
“Then I shall tell them the truth. You are on your way to assist the marquess.”
“And the breach of propriety? If we are to be so brazen, why do we not walk out the front door and into the hall?”
“Because far more people are prone to open their main doors than they are their service ones. Most turn a deaf ear to the coming and goings of those beneath them.” Jonathon rubbed his hand along her shoulder. “I will not let anyone speak ill against you. Including the marchioness.”
With a look into his steadfast eyes, she believed him. Whatever happened, he would be there, helping her through the worst of it. His earnestness was sincere, and she loved him for it. For the way he championed her when others would condemn her.
“I eagerly await your return,” Olivia whispered. “And do not think of insisting I slumber. I will have questions on your return and will not close an eye until I have every last one of them answered.”
Sarah gave Olivia a hug and kissed her on her forehead. “Try not to snore too loudly and rouse the sleeping footman while I am gone. It would not do to have him open the door and find my bed empty.”
…
Jonathon was becoming quite well acquainted with the service passages at Barrington Park. Far more so than he ever anticipated he would.
His newly acquired knowledge had come with its share of benefits. Being alone with Sarah in a narrow hallway, in the dark, was one of them. Having Lady Vincent’s approval to do so was another. He really ought not to be happy when the circumstances that had allowed for such a boon were so dire, but he could not quell the tug of his facial muscles pulling at his lips any more than he could the rush of blood to his groin at having her hand in his as he led her down the corridors to Lord Vincent’s chamber.
Her small, delicate, almost elfin hand rested in his, and he was damn near giddy over the fact.
Once at their destination, he issued a quiet knock on the door. The marchioness opened the door and motioned them inside. She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You may dispense with the pleasantries. It is late and my husband is unwell.”
“I will do my best to see what can be done for him, but my resources and expertise are limited. I am not God, and I cannot promise anything I am able to do will aid him or prevent his condition from worsening.”
The marchioness gave a solemn nod. “I understand.”
Did she? Would she hold to her words if the worst came to pass? Jonathon eyed the woman. Dark half circles loomed beneath a pair of defeated eyes. Gone was the haughty disdain and prim countenance held only hours before. She appeared a woman fallen, exhausted beyond measure, and desperate for her husband’s relief.
As Sarah set about her task, touching a hand to the marquess’s forehead and asking after his health in soft, soothing whispers, he could only hope and pray for a beneficiary result and a sound resolution. The outcome was out of his hands, left to God and Sarah’s capable mind.
His gaze on her, he settled into a nearby chair. She worked quietly and quickly, uncorking her wine bottle and assisting the marquess in drinking its contents. Her actions were fluid and purposeful, born from a deep-seated confidence. If she doubted her treatment, she did not show it.
He could not have been more proud of her. She was brilliant in the face of uncertainty and doubt. She shone brighter than a star in her element. And for one possible moment, the marchioness may have shared the same opinion. She remained at Lord Vincent’s side, her gaze on her husband alone.
Hope blossomed in his chest. Lord Vincent had only to recover for Sarah’s future to be cleared and open to the possibility of a life spent at his side. Her intellect and quick thinking tonight could solidify his position in Parliament and silence those opposing women’s education. Her ingenuity would offer the proof required to secure Lord Vincent’s assurance and vote.
He leaned back in his chair, the minutes slipping into hours. It had to have been near three or four in the morning before Sarah relented her vigil and gave Lady Vincent one last instruction.
His muscles protesting from the long hours spent confined to a chair, Jonathon stood and stifled a groan.
“I shall return Lady Sarah to her chambers, my lady.” He gave the marchioness a bow, but she did not respond, her weary gaze still on her husband’s sleeping form.
“We should go,” Sarah said. “The hour is late and there is nothing more to be done.”
With a nod, he opened the servants’ door and peered into the hall. Finding it dark and void of occupants, he motioned for her to follow.
She took a candle from the bedside table and stepped into the passageway.
His mind was muddled from exhaustion. And when she placed her hand in his a quarter of their way to her room, he did not think about the future, but the present and her trembling, sobbing, and emotionally weary form pulled tight against him.
“I believe he will recover, but should he not—” She burrowed her face into his chest, her tears dampening his cotton shirt, and let out a sob.
Jonathon rubbed a comforting hand over her back. “You did everything you could. And I am so very proud of you.”
As her head lifted, her sobbing quieted. “Proud?”
He caught her face in his hand, his thumb sweeping away a tear. “My dear, sweet Sarah. How could I be anything but proud of your endeavors?”
“B-b-but I inhibit your political platform. I prevent you from gaining your required votes.”
“No. Small-minded people stand in the way of progress. You break down barriers and lead the way.”
“That is quite possibly the nicest thing I’ve ever heard. You are a special man, Jonathon. You’ve protected me, trusted me, and that goes beyond your duty or any promise you’ve made to me.”
She peered up at him through the dim light cast by the still burning flame and lifted her lips to his. She tasted of freshly shed tears. The slight hint of salt played over his mouth as her tentative kiss turned more urgent and demanding.
He deepened the intimacy fueling the fire of desire she lit with her touch.
Dear God, he wanted more. His blood warmed with longing as his breeches swelled with his engorgement. She was unrelenting in her pursuit and unyielding in her demands as her tongue clashed with his.
He was more than obliging to assist her in any and every way possible, but the passageway was open to servants and his candle still lit. Should any help come upon them, her hard-won redemption would be snatched away before it was fully enjoyed.
He was very close to his room and was more than open to the opportunities its close proximity afforded, despite the fact that in doing so, he would be no better than a blackguard preying on an emotionally compromised and very vulnerable woman. Whom he loved and respected far more than his thoughts suggested.
He had to stop before all reason fled and his body overruled his last vestiges of morality. He pulled away, breaking the kiss. She blinked, her eyes wide and bright in the darkness.
His breath shuddered, as though he had just surfaced from a long swim under water. “I would be no man of honor if I allowed myself to continue—”
“I want you to show me what I will miss as a woman married to a man who wants nothing more than my fortune.”
His heart clenched. “Sarah, the future—”
“Is murky and unclear, and I wish to seize the opportunities of the present. With you.” She replaced her finger with her lips, settling them on top of his.
He let out a low groan. How could he resist such a sweet temptation?
By being a bloody damn gentleman, that’s how. With a gentle push, he separated himself from her. “As much as I would like to continue our exchange, I fear I cannot with all good conscience lead you down a path you will later regret. I would not be a good friend if I did not advise you against this. You are tired, emotionally spent, and in need of rest.”
“I am also in need of physical comfort.” Her lips swollen from his kisses, she peered at him and dared him to contradict her.
Which he would, though in a very begrudging manner. “I do not doubt your requirements. But I fear the consequences of fulfilling them.”
“Your satisfaction?”
He let out a low, quiet rumble of laughter. “Quite. Though should I heed your wishes, there are more dire results than my certain gratification. You do not know what you ask.”
The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst) Page 15