The mattress shifted as Olivia sat beside her. “It is a lot for some people to accept. They only need a bit of time to realize—”
“I am different? That I am not like them?” Hurt and anger colored her words as fear clung to every syllable. The reality of her situation had crested and been tossed in her face.
She could never marry Jonathon. To do so would be his ruin. Along with the hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of women who stood to benefit from his social reform.
“Did Jonathon not say the ton fear what they do not know? It will take some time for their trust to be restored and your differences to be accepted.”
Grief seeped into every bone of Sarah’s saddened body. “I don’t believe they will ever come to fully trust me or put their faith in my character. My motives will always be questioned. My children denied privileges and accessibility granted to others equal in status.”
Olivia wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Time is a great healer, dearest. With a bit more—”
“They’ve had two years.” She shrugged off her friend’s embrace. “Two years to accept my differences. No matter how hard I attempt to assimilate, I will never be fully accepted in their fold. My mind does not think like theirs, and for that I am distrusted and abhorred. It is time I accept the inevitable.”
“And do what? Hide away like some sort of hermit or social recluse? And verify their convictions?”
“If doing so protects the reputations of those I love, then yes, I believe I shall. Their happiness outweighs mine, and I would not seek to hurt my sisters and their families any more than I have already.”
“And what of Jonathon?”
Her heart constricted as her breath caught at the sound of his name. “What of him?” she asked, in a carefully assured voice.
“He loves you.”
Sarah blinked as she faced her friend. Yes, he had spoken of love, but that had been in the heat of passion—she understood that. He had been gentle and kind, had protected her and championed her redemption. But a future for them was not meant to be.
She had to protect him—she tainted everything she touched and refused to be responsible for the downfall of his career. She would deny her attachment, even if the deception caused her blood to run cold.
“You do him a disservice if you do not acknowledge your feelings for him. I have borne witness to the way you two look at each other. He is a man besotted, and you, a woman in love. I could not have planned a better match. I’ve always wanted a sister, and I could not have asked for a better person to fill the role.”
“Even if such a person prevents you from obtaining a good match?” Sarah asked. Tears threatened to spill, but she would not appear affected in Olivia’s presence. She had a point to stress, and she would do so with her dignity intact.
“Your reputation would not affect mine.”
“No? Does not the Earl of Amhurst’s shadowy past darken my name? Does my sister’s betrothal to a former groom not stir doubt in the minds of others? You have to look only at dinner to see how people are perceived based on the actions of those closest to them. Lady Vincent immediately struck upon my sister’s choice of husband, and they will do the same to you should I marry your brother.”
“But my father is not like Lord Amhurst. His name is untouched by scandal. Should my father give up his notion of sending me to a convent, I assure you, I can hold my own against any speculation wrought from our connection.”
“You may, but Jonathon cannot afford to be questioned. Not with the future of his school uncertain.”
Possibly to dispute Sarah’s argument, Olivia opened her mouth, but then closed her lips together and with a solemn nod, resigned to the inevitability.
She could not marry the man she loved, for in doing so, she ruined his happiness and the lives of the less fortunate.
With a heaviness of heart, she blinked back her tears. She had to be strong. She had to distance herself from Jonathon and from the rest of Society to allow for the advancement of her nieces and nephews, her sisters, her dearest friend…and Jonathon. Her lover.
But no more.
A flood erupted from her eyes. She could not control the hot tears any more than she could the truth of her reality.
She had to leave before he attempted to assuage her. Or worse, relinquish his dream of social reform in order to be a gentleman and offer for her, because it was what was expected of him.
She would not trap him.
Sarah turned and strode toward the small desk by the window. Pulling open the center drawer, she rummaged for a bit of foolscap.
“What are you doing? You need to finish your ablutions and make your way downstairs.”
“I must first write a letter to my mother, informing her of my immediate return to Rosehearst.”
“W-w-what? You cannot leave. Especially not now, when you need to assure everyone of your innocence.”
Sarah jabbed a quill into a well of ink. “I could argue with them until I was blue in the face, and they would not believe my intentions to be pure of heart.”
“Certainly not if you run off. If you at least explain yourself, you will instill a bit of doubt in their minds. At this moment, some objection is better than none.”
“And how did that work for you?” Sarah asked as a splotch of ink dripped onto the foolscap.
“I am not the one they doubt,” Olivia said. “You are. And you alone must give your defense.”
Sarah stared at the scribbled words of her letter. Though the rest of the party would not accept her explanation, stating it would at least allow for a small comfort to her conscience. She could then argue she had done everything humanly possible to clear her name and not wonder over missed opportunities.
She fiddled with the quill, her ink-stained fingers twirling the narrow shaft of the writing instrument. Her departure was still necessary and would be expedited, but one more opportunity to see Jonathon before her self-imposed exile would be…welcome. It would also be entirely selfish and foolish. He would do everything to be the gentleman and compel her to accept his proposal, but perhaps upon seeing her unwelcome reception he, too, would accept the truth.
And come to the realization they could never marry.
With a sigh, she set down the quill. “Very well. I shall state my defense. But only with the condition I leave as soon as possible. I have imposed on your hospitality for too long.”
“Rubbish. You offend me by not telling me the truth.”
Sarah took Olivia’s hand and peered into her friend’s blue-green eyes. “I love you as I love my sisters. I mean no offense. I profess to not knowing my own heart, but I ask for your understanding. I must leave. It is for the best.”
“The best for you? Or the best for everyone else?”
“For the better good. Please, I beg of you. Let us part as friends and not with ill feelings. I shall invite you to Rosehearst first thing upon my return, but do not ask me to stay here. Amongst discord and condemnation.”
Olivia blinked back what suspiciously looked like a tear. “I think you are acting utterly absurd and downright foolish.”
“Perhaps I am,” she said with a small smile at her friend’s honesty. “But I am firm in my decision.”
“I will send for your maid and notify the others of your impending arrival.”
“Thank you.” She would depart as soon as she delivered her answers to the party’s immediate questions. Lord Vincent’s welfare would be left to his capable physician. And once Jonathon had furthered his political goals, he would find a worthy wife who would bolster his esteem and standing in Parliament. Everything was as it ought to be.
So why, then, did a heavy weight press on her shoulders and a sick feeling churn her gut?
…
With the utmost restraint, Jonathon withheld the acidic retort he wished to hurl in Lady Elizabeth’s general direction, and instead repeated the same information he had relayed only moments prior.
“Mr. Tinsda
le, the family physician, is tending to Lord Vincent this morning. Lady Sarah preceded him by assisting Lord Vincent in the early morning hours with her own tincture. The marquess’s health has improved as a result of her aid.”
The stuffy, overheated air of the eastern sitting room clung to his skin, heating him in a most uncomfortable fashion. Rivulets of sweat trickled from his hairline, dampening his cravat as the members of the Vincents’ party asked him question after unrelenting question.
What he wouldn’t give to have Sarah at his side. Her presence alone would lend consolation to their fears, their doubts, and their distrust, which was why he had sent Olivia to rouse her. His words could only offer so much comfort; he needed her here to give credibility and visual proof to his claims.
And provide a balm to his ache. He missed her. As a man missed his soon-to-be wife.
“Then why is the physician in attendance at all?” asked Lady Elizabeth, a busybody who refused to accept his answers as truth.
“Because Lady Sarah is not a physician. She offered only a temporary solution to the marquess’s condition.”
“Which is?” pressed the young gentlewoman.
“An early winter chill.” Mr. Tinsdale stood at the entrance of the room, his round form filling the doorframe.
Lady Elizabeth peered around Jonathon. “He was not poisoned?”
“No,” the physician said with a frown. “Did someone suggest as much?”
“There was speculation.” Lord Satterfield rose from his chair in the far corner of the room.
Mr. Tinsdale settled a hand on the navy brocade of his waistcoat. “A most troubling thought, my lord. Though I must say, were he the victim of some misdeed, the instigator did a good job of hiding their involvement. I found no evidence to support such a claim. In fact, I’d argue for the opposite. He received excellent care before my arrival. Whatever blend of wine and berries he consumed has certainly added to the improvement of his health.”
“Is that so?” asked the Marquess of Satterfield. His gaze slid to Jonathon.
“Of course it is,” Jonathon affirmed. “It is precisely what I have been saying all morning. Lady Sarah’s wine—”
“Lady Sarah’s wine?” Mr. Tinsdale guffawed. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Annesley. But I did say it was the blend of wine that contributed to his care and not the bedside mannerisms of a lady. I haven’t seen a tincture like it.”
“Because it was made by an excellent vintner, Mr. Tinsdale,” said Jonathon. “A lady, in fact. Lady Sarah Beauchamp.”
“The one suspected of putting him to bed in the first place,” Lady Elizabeth added.
Jonathon glared at the odious woman. “I believe Mr. Tinsdale has laid all suspicions over the cause of Lord Vincent’s affliction to rest, my lady. The wine was not responsible. And neither was Lady Sarah.”
Why did she seek to persist a falsehood? What advantage was there in publically shaming Sarah’s name? She should be heralded as a hero, an angel of mercy who assisted a sick and tired old man in his hour of need. But instead, she was on trial at a witch hunt, ostracized, and held at arm’s length.
His persuasive speeches and charm had always yielded concession. Why did they fail him now?
Lady Elizabeth scoffed. “Why is she not here to dispute the allegations made against her if she does not have something to hide?”
“Because I stand in her defense.” No one else appeared to share his position. Not even Mr. De la Pole, who sat with a solemn expression, staring out the window, despite Sarah’s proposed remedy for his languishing brother. He remained silent, as had Lord Satterfield, at least until most recently. And even then, the marquess was not forthcoming in his support. So much for his word.
“You and your sister are alone in your opinion,” Lady Elizabeth replied.
If he were not a gentleman, he would have strung her by her toes and asked why she held such a grudge against Sarah.
The woman was nothing special—a daughter of an earl, same as Sarah, but with no fortune, only an untainted and trusted name to earn her a husband. She was the very opposite of Sarah—uncouth, arrogant, and not near as fair in appearance as his future wife.
And yet, no one sought to single her out, to comment on her empty pockets or the extra trim of her dress added to hide a gown two seasons out of fashion. She was bland, submissive, and mute. Except for now, when Jonathon needed her to keep her mouth shut and her opinions to herself.
Lord Satterfield made his way across the room, rubbing his knuckles along his jaw. “Mr. Annesley, might I have a word?” His words were low and quiet.
“My lord?”
He faced the window, his gaze on the empty trees and gray sky. “Might I offer you a bit of advice?”
Jonathon had no doubt the question was rhetorical, but he answered graciously. “Of course.”
“A man in your position would do well to heed caution when it comes to the defense of the disesteemed.”
“A man in my position?” asked Jonathon. He peered at the marquess out the side of his eye.
“Indeed. Last I heard, you were missing a few votes for your reformatory school.” Jonathon’s jaw clenched as the marquess continued. “Now is not the time for bold stances and heraldic chivalry, Mr. Annesley. Especially where it concerns an overly intelligent woman whom many believe is of questionable character. Your charm and title will only get you so far. It would be wise of you to separate your feelings from your interests, especially where it concerns popular opinion, should you wish to continue your campaign for the penitents.”
Jonathon gritted his teeth and focused on his breathing. It would not do to appear ruffled in front of a room full of watching eyes and listening ears.
With careful enunciation and great command of his voice, Jonathon spoke. “I have never lost a cause, my lord.” And he hadn’t. He had always garnered the votes and secured support for his platforms. This time would be no different. More persistence was required. Once he was married, and his focus returned to his cause, he would rally more supporters and make certain his campaign was met with approval. He was determined, dammit. He would not lose.
A heavy sigh from the marquess interrupted his thoughts. “You have never sought to build a reformatory school for the education and advancement of fallen women before now. You argue against yourself with your defense of Lady Sarah. If she is the example of your reform, then you advertise a woman with no regard for Society’s rules and a mind most men find unappealing, especially when attached to a mouth that speaks far too freely. In doing so, you seek your first loss, sir.”
“Is-is that a threat?” Jonathon asked, his voice tight.
“Not a threat, but a truth. Open your eyes, good man. Take a look around you.” Lord Satterfield tilted his head toward Lady Elizabeth, who sat watching their exchange. While attempting to give the pretense of normal conversation and routine exchange, she was anxious. She fidgeted in her chair. Her gaze darted from him, to the physician, to the door.
And she was not the only one with the unsettling behavior. The entire room sat in nervous apprehension…of a woman vintner?
The marquess continued. “No matter your opinions, Mr. Annesley, the majority rules. I believe Lady Sarah has bewitched you. But you must use your head, for a fool leads with his heart.”
“I am not a fool, my lord.”
“Then don’t act as one,” the marquess answered. “Think of your school, good man. And your reputation.”
“And what of Lady Sarah?” Jonathon asked. “What of her reputation?”
“Let her pursue her redemption without your connection. She taints your future, Mr. Annesley. Detach yourself from her plight.”
“And forsake a woman to whom I promised my aid?”
“You made a gentleman’s promise?” asked the marquess. A dark brow lifted.
Jonathon kept his head forward. “I did.”
“You did so blindly. A fool’s errand, indeed. Made by a man who sees with his heart and not his eyes. Were you to
use your head, you’d be as the rest of us and wondering how a woman came to possess the knowledge to not only make a wine, but also to make one that heals the precise illness afflicting Lord Vincent.”
A throbbing started at his temple. Was the man serious? “I daresay she learned the same way a man would if he sought to obtain the same end. Through reading, my lord. She read a book. And applied the acquired knowledge.”
“I suppose she read a book on anatomy as well. A subject unfit for a woman.”
“And yet she applies it better than most men. The physician himself said the tincture was unlike any he has previously seen.”
“Because she is outside of her element. She wishes to overstep boundaries and take on the role traditionally set aside for men. The Earl of Amhurst must take her in hand, or no man will seek hers. At least not those who wish to maintain their standing in Society.”
Jonathon took a deep breath as the words settled over him. As much as he wanted Lord Satterfield to be wrong, he could not refute reality. The evidence lay before him in the stoic faces, the suspicious glances, and the utter quiet of the men mulling about the room. Their mouths were closed.
And so were their minds.
The gravity of his realization caused his stomach to clench and his heart to despair. Less than twelve hours ago, he had given his heart to a woman who would never be fully understood by the people he needed most to understand.
His blood ran cold with the sick truth of his dilemma. He loved a woman who was feared.
And the majority ruled.
Dear God.
No. He had only to convince them otherwise. With time, they would see Sarah for the wonderfully beautiful and unique creature she was. He’d keep things quiet for a bit, take her to Covenan and allow minds to forget her past and her proclivities. Once the dust settled, he would reintroduce her as his wife, protected by both him and his name.
He’d find another way to secure the votes necessary for the school, the reform he’d lived and breathed for two long years. He was about to have his guilt lifted, to make his promise right with his mother, who even now was gazing down on him with condemnation. He’d have his father do the campaigning; he’d ask for private donations; he would do something to make up the difference. The school was second to Sarah, after all. She was the one he wanted. He would do anything for her…
The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst) Page 17