The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Fowlkes, Frances

  A stirring amongst the crowd lent Jonathon to lift his head. Olivia entered into the room, her hands clasped together.

  And without Sarah at her side.

  His heart stopped. Had something happened to her in the time she had left his bed? Had she fallen victim to whatever illness claimed the marquess? She should never have left his room. God knows, he didn’t want to her leave. He wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and warm and his arms…but in doing so, he’d leave her in a far worse situation than she was in now.

  Sighing, he waited for Olivia to make her way toward him. With a curtsy, she acknowledged Lord Satterfield. “My lord.”

  “Miss Annesley,” said the marquess. “Please excuse me. I have some questions for Mr. Tinsdale.”

  He nodded and left them, allowing Jonathon to speak freely with his sister. Turning toward the window, he peered out at the serene autumn afternoon. “I assume you have word of Sarah’s state?” he asked.

  “I do. She should be joining us shortly.”

  “Is she well?”

  “As well as anyone confronted with the truth. She is convinced, despite her good deeds, the party is unforgiving in its opinion. She wishes to leave. Immediately.”

  Olivia’s words hung in the air as silence pervaded the room. All heads turned toward the entrance where Sarah stood, tall and proud. Her curls were pulled away from her face, tucked into a ribbon the same shade of muted gold as her gown, and she appeared for all the world as regal as any queen overlooking her subjects. His gaze was locked onto her, he couldn’t pull away if he tried, her beauty so arresting he was held captive in his admirations. What he wouldn’t give to draw her aside and make his intentions known to the room. But the conviction in her amber eyes gave him pause.

  “Lady Sarah,” Lady Elizabeth purred. “How kind of you to finally join us.”

  She nodded demurely in the woman’s direction.

  “Mr. Annesley has been your champion in your absence,” Lady Elizabeth continued. “Perhaps you can tell us in your own words what transpired in Lord Vincent’s room this evening past.”

  “I would not do the marquess the dishonor of breaching his privacy. Should he wish to divulge the details of his rehabilitation, he may do so, but it is not my story to tell.”

  “And the tincture? Did you create it as Mr. Annesley proposed?”

  “I did not create a tincture.”

  “As I suspected,” Lady Elizabeth said smugly.

  “I created a wine. Black elderberry wine, to be specific. I would bring you a sample, but Lord Vincent drank the last of it this morning.”

  Olivia cleared her throat, as Jonathon swallowed his laughter.

  Mr. De la Pole, Mr. Tinsdale, and the lot of gentlemen standing in the room did not look amused. In fact, the only one amused by Sarah’s strength was him.

  She straightened her shoulders. “I know full well, despite my accomplishment this morning, the majority of you will see it as a blunder, should you believe I made a wine at all. Which is why I no longer seek your acceptance or forgiveness.”

  He gaped as Olivia did the same. Lord Satterfield lifted his brows and nodded toward Jonathon. She was playing right into their hands. What the hell was she doing?

  “Is that because you’re guilty of your crimes?” asked Lady Elizabeth.

  “No. I simply no longer hold your opinion in regard.”

  A collective gasp rent the air. Olivia’s jaw unhinged further.

  “I have asked for a carriage to be drawn. I will be leaving shortly, knowing the marquess’s health is in good hands.” She acknowledged Mr. Tinsdale. And then she nodded toward Jonathon. With a curtsy, she dismissed herself and exited the room.

  Without a glance behind her.

  Like hell.

  He made his way through the speechless crowd, most bearing stunned expressions, others smug and vindicated. Olivia rushed toward him as he turned into the hall.

  “Stay out of this,” he said. He needed to speak with her alone. And ask her what the hell was going through her head. He stalked down the hall to Sarah, who stood in the foyer, a trunk already beside her, and grabbed her arm.

  “Would you mind telling me precisely what you thought to accomplish in there?” he asked, attempting to keep the anger out of his voice. She was making it exceptionally difficult for him. For them. How were they to recover from this? At present, they were a bloody peculiarity, a laughing stock of the ton.

  She sloughed off his hand. “I told the truth.”

  “You told a biased version of it. And made a mess of everything in the process.”

  “I made a mess of me, not you. You can still go freely throughout Society. You are unattached.”

  “Like hell,” he spat. “You belong to me. As my wife. Or have you forgotten our time together this morning?”

  Her gaze darted about the foyer. “No vows were exchanged,” she whispered.

  “They might as well have been. We had an understanding. An unspoken promise.”

  “That I do not expect you to uphold.”

  “Why on earth would you utter such a thing? You know very well my standing and my morals. I am a gentleman, God damn it. There are rules—”

  “That I don’t follow.” A curl fell loose over her ear as she shook her head. “Don’t you understand? I am the oddity. Not you. And I refuse to pull you down with me.”

  “I told you, we can overcome the differences—”

  “At what cost?” Sarah stared at him, her eyes glistening. “The loss of your school and the education of hundreds of penitents? And what of your children? Or the ruination of Olivia’s reputation? The diminishment of her future and inability to secure a husband because of her connection to an oddity? A freak?”

  “Is that what you think you are? A freak?”

  “What I think is of little consequence in relation to your future. I will not take away your happiness by clouding your future with my past and present.”

  “Because this is all about you,” he said flatly. “And not what I want?”

  “You want reform.”

  “I want your happiness.” He ran a hand through his hair and began pacing the width of the foyer. “I want you. And I thought you wanted me in return.”

  “Not like this.” She hung her head, her shoulders falling forward. “Not when I stand to ruin everything.”

  Jesus. What was she saying? What was she doing? His Sarah? The one he’d held in his arms hours ago, whom he had pledged himself to, whom he would give up everything for? “You’re right, you know. You do stand to ruin it all. By being entirely selfish, hard-headed—”

  “Good-bye, Jonathon.”

  He closed his eyes, his gut wrenching in five different directions. This wasn’t possible. She was not going to leave him, not like this. “That’s it, then?” he asked. “A simple dismissal is all I warrant?”

  “You yourself said I should not marry. That my happiness would not be found with another.”

  “Were you not happy with me? Last night?”

  “Lust is a powerful emotion,” she said, her voice low.

  “So, too, is love.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Go.”

  Jonathon glared at her, disbelieving her sentiments. Their time together was more than simple lust, and he bloody well knew it. She was refusing him so that he might fulfill his promise to his mother, a promise she didn’t even know about.

  A gasp behind him had his head turning. Olivia stood, her eyes wide, staring at the pair of them.

  And in her stunned, innocent expression, he understood Sarah’s withdrawal from Society—and him. Her words, however much he wished not to hear them, held truth. He was his sister’s protector and, despite his persuasion and the power of forgiveness, the ton’s censure, should he marry Sarah, would fall on Olivia, too. He had responsibilities, a duty to his family to uphold.

  He returned his gaze to Sarah, her eyes glistening, her jaw taut, her lips in a firm line. She was beautiful in her selfles
sness, in understanding far better than he how many stood to lose—his sister, his children, women living on the street, maybe his reputation, too, as both Satterfield and Vincent had taken pains to emphasize—should he take her as his wife. Yes, he might find another path to personal fulfillment were his political aspirations to falter, but Sarah would forever blame herself for every slight those around her suffered.

  No matter how much he loved her, it might never be enough for her to overcome the guilt and shame that would haunt her for the remainder of her life. A very poor foundation on which to build a marriage. As much as he hated to acknowledge her assertions, Sarah was correct—they had no future together.

  With a shuddering breath and breaking heart, he nodded at her and did as she requested—for the last time.

  And left.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jonathon sat in a dark corner of his father’s study, doing his best to write another argument for the cause of his school, but staring instead at a blank sheet of paper. Running a hand through his hair, he tossed the ink-laden quill back into the well and leaned back in the leather chair.

  He had obligations, dammit. Ones Sarah had reminded him of a week prior, before she had quit Barrington, leaving Olivia and him to part amidst a swirl of controversy he had done his best to quell. If he was anything, he was stalwart and assured in his speech, his persuasive logic enough to calm tempers and ease minds as best as he was able, given the circumstances. They’d left amongst friends, but he was assured no invitations would be waiting for them upon their return to Covenan. Which was why he had not blinked at the lack of envelopes received this week, despite his sister’s inquiries and ever hopeful belief for the opposite.

  He pushed off the chair and peered out into the empty room, the light of the candle casting flickering shadows over the nearest row of books. Olivia was his father’s obligation at present, but she would be his at the assumption of the title—if she remained unattached. Her future, as well as his and that of his school, had him reaching for drink.

  Not needing the light to see his way, Jonathon strode toward his father’s store of brandy. He had this area of the room memorized, for he had not occupied any other room, save for his own, in the last seven days, his fervor to see the school realized lending him an energy that overran his desire for sleep.

  Oh, he’d caught bouts of sleep here and there, but he did not wish to give in to the dreams that appeared every time he shut his eyes—dreams filled with Sarah—a woman he could not have.

  “The brandy won’t help, you know.”

  He set down the glass, his sister’s voice near startling him half to death. “What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” he asked.

  “The same thing as you, I’d wager. Before the drink, of course. Thinking.”

  Clad in her night clothes, she leaned against a shelf of books, a candle in one hand.

  “Yes, well, you should be in bed.”

  “And you should be with Sarah.” She lifted a brow at his accusing stare. “You two belong together.”

  “I believe the majority of the ton disagrees with you.”

  “Ah, yes, and the opinions of others are more important than the truth of your heart.”

  “It does when I have your future to consider. And mine.”

  “Your future?” Olivia walked toward him and set her candle on the sideboard. “You will be a viscount.”

  “Who wishes to open a school for penitents. It was made clear to me I would not be able to do so if I did not distance myself from the Amhursts, in particular, Lady Sarah.”

  “And your school is worth more to you than your happiness?”

  “It is not a matter of happiness, but of selflessness. Sarah understood this. I will not deny Mother her promise.”

  Olivia set a hand over his. “Mother is dead, Jonathon.”

  Pulling his hand out from beneath her, he shot her a glare. “But her legacy is not. Hundreds of women stand to benefit from my reform. I was unable to help our cousin, Elizabeth, but I can help others.”

  “But Sarah—”

  “Sarah doesn’t wish to be a part of Society. You do. And so do any future children I may have. I cannot force her into Society, and I assuredly would not wish her to suffer any further indignities like those heaped on her during the Vincents’ party. Unlike her, however, I cannot withdraw from Society. I have duties to fulfill.”

  Olivia snorted. “This is why you sit in here miserable? Because of a promise you made to Mother?”

  “And Elizabeth’s memory.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  “And you’re out of your bed past decent hours.”

  “Do not attempt to cast any blame on me. You are the one who withholds your own happiness by placing your future in the hands of others. I am not worried about my future. If Father has his way, I will be sent to a convent to live with the sisters. I will be taken care of, my meals and soul looked after, and ensured. You have no right to make me feel responsible for your and Sarah’s misery.”

  “You don’t understand, nor would you be able to comprehend the responsibilities—”

  “I understand more than you think. And you are not the first person who believes they live in a world of black and white with no thought to the in-between shades of gray.”

  Jonathon touched a hand to his head—he’d drunk more than he thought. She wasn’t making any sense.

  “Elizabeth made her own decisions. You cannot be held accountable for them.”

  She knew of their cousin’s history?

  As if privy to his thoughts, she supplied, “Mother informed me of them. Or rather, I read the letter she left at her bedside accounting for Elizabeth’s woes. The hours at Mother’s side were long.”

  “You should not have read her private correspondence.”

  “And you should not have made a promise that could impede you from a lifetime of happiness.”

  “But you saw the ton’s treatment of Sarah. I cannot hope to sway their minds toward a future where I am involved with her, if they cannot accept her. And she would feel shame for every cut, every slight others suffer because of her. That is why she pushed me away.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t think you love her enough. If you tell her how you truly feel, that you care more for her than begging peers to support your reforms in Parliament, she will accept your suit. She will look at Henrietta and Albina and realize they and their families are managing well, despite the scandals that have rocked the daughters of Amhurst. Even her cousin, Daphne, has a happy life with the duke.”

  “But our father is a viscount, Olivia. Not a duke. I do not have the political influence or sway you believe me to have…” The words faded from his mouth as an idea took bloom.

  Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe he could exist in the in-between shades of gray.

  He strode back to his desk and picked up the quill.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What I should have done in the first place.” And he proceeded to write.

  …

  Sarah was of the firm opinion books made for better company than people.

  They neither harassed nor gossiped, insulted nor infringed upon her time, at least not without her permission. She alone controlled the hours spent between the leather bindings, learning, questioning, and enjoying the stories and information found upon the pages. When she read she was neither lonesome nor in want of conversation, for the intrigue and knowledge found amidst the narrative both entertained and comforted.

  Or, at least, that’s what she had told herself every day for the past two weeks since returning to her mother’s home at Rosehearst.

  Sarah gripped the edge of her winter shawl and pulled it tight around her shoulders. In a week’s time she would visit her twin sister and her new child, a boy, and once again be surrounded by happiness. Others’ happiness, but happiness just the same. Until then, she despaired. And wept. And wallowed in copious amounts of self-pity.

  She wanted thi
s. She had turned Jonathon away, but it didn’t hurt any less. For a brief moment, she had tasted happiness, had believed the world could be hers to share with the man she loved, but that moment was a lie. And she now read book after book in her mother’s library to console her broken soul and to remember that this library would one day be hers. And hers alone.

  Without anyone to share its stories or its knowledge.

  Sarah felt about the settee for her handkerchief. Tears needed to be swept away, and if her mother walked in on her blubbering one more time—she would never hear the end of it.

  Dabbing the soft linen to her eyes, she sank into the pillows of the settee and once again opened the pages of Romeo and Juliet. Her life was a tragedy, after all. It was only fitting she read about one, too.

  “My lady.”

  “Yes, Bates.” Sarah sat upright as Rosehearst’s butler entered the small library.

  “You have a visitor.”

  In the two weeks since she had left Barrington Park, no one had made any overtures to see her—as had been expected. An outcast was not called upon, even if her mother lived with her. It wasn’t done.

  “Please inform Mother. I’m certain she would like to meet our guest.”

  “He has specifically requested your audience. Alone.”

  “He?” Her heart jumped as hope swelled within her. Was it possible Jonathon had come? To see her?

  “Yes, the Duke of Waverly is a man, my lady.”

  “The Duke of Waverly,” Sarah repeated slowly.

  “He waits for you in the green sitting room.”

  Sarah sat upright, knocking the book to the floor. She stood and attempted to smooth her wrinkled skirts and untidy hair.

  “Am I—presentable, Bates?”

  “You are a daughter of Amhurst, my lady. You are always presentable.”

  Sarah gave a small smile and nodded, knowing the man was beyond loyal and would never offer anything less than a compliment, even if she did appear unsuitable to see her cousin’s husband.