by Alec, Joyce
He grasped her waist in the shadowy darkness and tugged her along to a door at the back of the ballroom.
“Lord Thorndyke,” she hissed, struggling to release herself. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to talk to you,” he said firmly. “I have to speak to you in private, Miss Weston. Do you not understand? I could not speak plainly when Mrs. Avis was with you.”
She snorted and pulled herself away from him. “Nonsense,” she exclaimed, as he caught her wrist. “Mrs. Avis is nothing more than my companion. I have spoken to her about why I have come to London, and she has not raised an eyebrow. She is vastly sensible, Lord Thorndyke, which is more than I can say for you.”
Growing more and more frustrated with the lady, James stopped dead, grasped Miss Weston’s other wrist, and looked into her face.
“Miss Weston,” he grated angrily. “Either you come with me, or I will hoist you over my shoulder and carry you wherever I please, do you understand me?”
He could tell from her expression that she realized he was serious about his intentions, and that she could not push him any further. The smile left her face; the sparkle in her eyes dimmed, and she seemed to shrink before his very eyes.
“Very good,” he murmured, her hand now quiet in his own. “Please, walk with me, Miss Weston. There is a room just beyond where we might talk.”
“I should have my companion,” she stated, her voice quiet now. “It is not proper.”
He shrugged. “We are betrothed, Miss Weston. I doubt anyone will care, should that news come out.” So saying, he opened the door, led her along a small corridor and into another, small room, which held some chairs and a small table. Miss Weston scurried to a chair, sitting down quickly, and as he locked the door behind them both, he saw her stare at him with wide eyes.
“I am not going to hurt you,” he promised in a gentler tone. “You need not worry that I will do so deliberately, but you cannot trust a single person, Miss Weston, not even Mrs. Avis.”
She lifted her chin in a show of strength, but still, he saw her fingers tremble just a little. “Does that mean I should not trust you?”
He sat down heavily, shaking his head. “No, you can trust me, Miss Weston. In truth, I did not ever think that we would have the opportunity to meet.”
“But we are betrothed.”
Nodding, James looked up to see the confusion in her eyes. “Indeed we are, but that is only in place until you wed.” Aware that this had only added to her puzzlement, James sat back in his chair and sighed. “I promised my father I would marry you and fulfill the betrothal contract should you seek me out. That was never supposed to happen, Miss Weston. You were meant to marry another of Mr. Stanton’s choosing, and only discover the truth about your fortune once you were wed.”
Her expression clouded, and to his surprise, James felt a jolt of sympathy run through him.
“So, I was to be controlled,” she said softly, her lips turning down. “And you were as much a part of it as any other.”
That caught his heart, his eyes dimming. “Yes, I suppose that is so. But as I have said so often, it was for your own good.”
One hand slammed down on the chair arm, astonishing him. “That is something I have heard so often,” Miss Weston exclaimed, her face now filled with anger. “But no one explains to me why this is. Mr. Stanton could not because he did not know, apparently, but you…” she continued, pointing one finger in his direction, “You know, but you will not say!”
For the first time, James realized just how upset Miss Weston was. Closing his eyes, he tried to put himself in her place for a moment, caught with just how frightening a place that must be. To not know who you truly were, nor where you had come from, must be a terrifying feeling.
“I am sorry,” he said slowly, opening his eyes and seeing her look back at him with an expression of fading anger. “I have never thought about how this must be for you. When I say that this is for your good, it is precisely that, nothing more. Mr. Stanton did not know all so that he could never say anything to you – or at least, that was what my father said.”
She nodded slowly, sitting back in her chair and taking in a deep breath. “So, who am I?”
He smiled at her and was caught by the small smile he received in return. For a second, his heart stopped beating, making him jump in surprise at such a reaction.
“Lord Thorndyke?” she asked, when he did not say anything. “Please, tell me who I am. I must know. All I know is I have a fortune and a dowry that I was never supposed to learn about, as well as a townhouse that I had to furnish myself. There are so many puzzling questions, and I cannot find any answers.”
His heart broke for her, seeing her vulnerable and frustrated all at once. “Before I tell you, might I ask how you discovered such a thing?”
Miss Weston let out a long breath and looked away. “You will not be pleased to hear me say this, but someone put a parcel under my pillow one evening.”
A flurry of fear climbed up his spine.
“No one unusual was seen, but it was there when I returned to my room after leaving dinner early,” she said quietly. “It contained a note and a locket.”
That caught his interest. “A locket?”
She nodded, looking up at him with a sudden hope. “Do you know who it belongs to? The note said I was to find the owner of the locket here in London and that everything would become clear.”
“I should like to look at it before I say anything,” James replied carefully. “Might I call tomorrow?”
A flash of disappointment crossed her face, but she nodded.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “There is a reason to my request that you remain away from society, Miss Weston, and it is because there may be someone who wishes to harm you.”
She did not look either surprised or afraid. “Why?” she asked, frowning slightly. “What have I done?”
His smile was immediate. “It is not what you have done, my dear Miss Weston. This has nothing to do with you, in fact, but yet you are caught up in it. Your name is not your true name nor your true title, but even with this, I fear that your features may become quite recognizable to those who wish to harm you.”
She rose then and came over to him, desperation in her eyes, as she took the chair by his right hand. Clasping her hand over his, she looked up into his face. “Please, Lord Thorndyke,” she whispered, as though terrified and yet desperate for the answer. “Tell me who I am.”
Putting his other hand over hers, he nodded slowly, the words sticking in his throat. “My dear Miss Weston, whilst we will continue to refer to you as Miss Weston until circumstances change, you are, in fact, Lady Sarah Fairley, daughter to the Duke of Brighton.”
9
Sarah paced up and down the drawing room, the locket clutched in her hand. She had barely slept a wink last night, struggling to accept what Lord Thorndyke had told her.
She was not Miss Sarah Weston, daughter of a gentleman. She was, in fact, Sarah Fairley, daughter to a duke. The Duke of Brighton at that, although she had been saddened to learn that her father had passed away some years ago.
She had been so overcome with the news last evening that Lord Thorndyke had been forced to go in search of something for her to drink, returning with a glass of water, as well as two glasses of brandy. It was not something she was used to drinking, but she had accepted it regardless, feeling the warmth spreading life back into her limbs. Lord Thorndyke had more to tell her, of course, but he had chosen not to speak of it to her last evening, telling her that she had more than enough to consider before promising to come back to speak to her again this afternoon.
Sarah drew in a long breath, as she looked out of the window, her stomach churning wildly. She had never expected this; she had never believed that she would be so highly titled and of such consequence to society. There had been no explanation as to why she was in danger, as to why someone was still seeking to hurt her in some way, but Lord Thorndyke had promised to explain ev
erything.
She had left Almacks very soon after her conversation with Lord Thorndyke had ended, declaring herself weary with the crush of it all and complaining to Mrs. Avis of a headache on the way home. Lord Thorndyke had warned her not to speak of what she knew to anyone, including Mrs. Avis, which seemed somewhat ridiculous given how much she had already shared with her companion, but he had been insistent. Why she had agreed to do as he had asked, she was not quite sure, but there was something about him that almost insisted that she trust him.
“I do trust him,” she said aloud, a little bewildered to discover that this was how she felt about him. They had such a short acquaintance, and yet she knew that he was a gentleman of honor – although whether or not she would marry him was not yet something she was allowing herself to consider. Lord Thorndyke had insisted that there was a contract, which she had asked to see, but even if it was produced, Sarah was not certain she would agree. This was all so new, so overwhelming that she had very little idea of what to do next.
“Miss Weston?”
The door opened to reveal the butler, and Sarah, wasting no time, nodded to him to allow Lord Thorndyke in.
The dark-haired gentleman stepped inside at once, his once angry face now gentle with a soft smile, as he bent over her hand. His touch sent shivers up her spine, although whether it was from the awareness that he knew everything about her or from the brush of his fingers on her, Sarah could not say.
“Sit down, please,” she said hurriedly, as the maid brought the tea tray in, right on cue. “I am glad to see you, Lord Thorndyke.”
He smiled at her then, his brown eyes warm. “As am I, Miss Weston.” Looking about him, he raised his eyebrows as he looked back at her. “Mrs. Avis?”
“She will not be joining us, as you requested,” Sarah replied firmly. “She was not pleased, you understand, worrying about my reputation, but I reminded her that we are engaged, and as such, it is best that I get to know my future husband.”
The smile faded from his expression. Clearly, he was not as delighted at the prospect of matrimony as she had thought. “I see.”
“Did you bring the contract?”
Nodding, he pulled out a few folded papers from the breast pocket of his coat and handed them to her. “I have sent a copy to your solicitors also.”
Her stomach churning, Sarah unrolled the first and began to read, her heart slamming into her chest as she read through the details.
“This says I am to have control of my fortune regardless,” she breathed, suddenly completely astonished. “That is quite unheard of.”
A chuckle escaped Lord Thorndyke’s mouth. “Yes, I am well aware of that,” he said with a wry grin. “I think it was so that you could be assured this was not put in place for my benefit, but for your own.”
“That does settle my concerns somewhat,” Sarah admitted, looking up at him and finding a gentleness in his expression that she had not expected. “But you do not wish to marry me, I think.”
Lord Thorndyke shrugged, his mouth tipping into a small smile. “Every gentleman must marry, Miss Weston. This suits me well enough.”
It was not exactly what she had hoped for, although she had never given matrimony much thought. Perhaps, she realized, she had dreamed of marriage with affection between herself and her husband, or even a husband she had chosen herself. That was not the case with Lord Thorndyke.
“And why is this for my own safety?” she said, setting the papers down and pouring the tea instead. “You said you would explain everything to me, Lord Thorndyke. Please do so now.”
He did not answer her immediately but kept his gaze on her. “Do you have the locket?”
She paused, setting the teapot down before lifting it from the pocket of her gown. Their fingers brushed as she passed it to him, making his eyes jump to hers for a moment. Putting it down to nervousness, Sarah drew in a deep breath and watched him carefully as he studied it.
Much to her disappointment, he frowned.
“No, I do not recognize this piece,” he said slowly. “There is no inscription nor anything inside.”
“No, there is not,” she said sadly. “I had wondered if it was my mother’s.”
Lord Thorndyke shrugged, handing it back to her. “It may be, but I cannot say for certain. I have a few people I could ask about it, should you be willing to allow me to do so.”
“Of course,” Sarah replied quickly. “I would very much like to know who the locket belongs to, although I will say I am surprised that you do not recognize it. I thought it would be easy to identify.”
Accepting a cup from her, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip, his dark eyes regarding her carefully as if assessing whether or not she was able to hear the truth. Sarah waited patiently, steadying her nerves as she looked back at him.
“Let me start at the beginning, Miss Weston. I will not hold anything back from you; I promise you that.”
Sarah drew in a deep breath, steadying herself as Lord Thorndyke began to speak.
“You are the daughter of the Duke of Brighton, who was an honorable man,” Lord Thorndyke began quietly. “He had a son first and then a daughter. However, his brother, Lord Andrew Fairley, was not a good man. In fact, he threw away his fortune into nothing more than gambling and…well, other rather unpleasant vices.”
Sarah saw Lord Thorndyke’s cheeks color, as he looked away, feeling her own stomach tighten with disgust.
“Lord Andrew continued to request funds from the duke and, initially, the duke was very kind to him. He was his brother after all, and I believe Lord Andrew made more than a few promises to turn his back on such vices and start again. Eventually, the duke learned that this was not the case and that the estate he had given his brother was about to be sold by Lord Andrew to regain some of the money he had lost.” Lord Thorndyke shook his head, his lips thinning. “The duke bought the estate back and turned his back on his brother entirely.”
Sarah did not know what to say, her hands beginning to tremble, as she placed her teacup down on the table. To hear of her father brought her such a deep emotion that she could barely speak; she was glad that he had been a man of honor and respect.
“Lord Andrew did not take this well,” Lord Thorndyke continued gently. “He swore to do all he could to get his revenge on your father, claiming he had been treated unfairly.”
“But it was all his own doing,” Sarah protested, her heart growing sick at the thought of Lord Andrew pursuing his own kind of cruel justice. “How could he hold my father responsible for that?”
Lord Thorndyke shook his head. “Because there is a darkness in him that cannot be explained. He…he killed your mother, Sarah.”
The world around her began to spin, and she was forced to clutch onto the arms of her chair, trying her best not to faint.
Lord Thorndyke was beside her in a moment, taking one of her hands in his and looking deeply into her eyes.
“I did not mean to shock you,” he said slowly, “but it is the truth. Your mother was out riding when he fired his shotgun near her. The horse rose up in fright, and your mother fell from the saddle. I do not know whether he ever meant her to lose her life, but regardless, he was responsible. Your mother was out riding with two stable hands behind her – one followed Lord Andrew whilst the other stayed with your mother. Lord Andrew was never caught, and when questioned, he denied all knowledge of the incident. There was nothing your father could do.”
Sarah could not speak, her throat aching with sheer pain over the loss of her mother, a mother she could not remember.
“Your father made arrangements for you and your brother,” Lord Thorndyke continued softly. “Your brother is the new Duke of Brighton and has taken his place and his title as he ought, but the danger has not yet passed. He lives on his country estate and does not often come to London.”
A shadowy figure crept into Sarah’s memory, the figure of a young boy laughing and teasing her in a garden somewhere.
“I have a b
rother,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks, as she stared, unseeingly, at Lord Thorndyke.
“You do,” he said, pressing her hand. “He believes Lord Andrew to still be a danger since he is still living, and being a decade younger than your father, he is in fairly good health.”
Sarah clutched at Lord Thorndyke’s hand, feeling him to be her solid anchor in the midst of a terrifying storm.
“He is often seen in society but has never once shown any kind of repentance over what happened. In fact, my father often talked with me about the kind of things he would say about his brother. In addition,” he said, slowing down his speech and frowning as if wondering whether or not to say something. “In addition…no, perhaps I had best wait—”
“Tell me,” she begged, one hand wrapping around his neck as she forced his eyes to meet hers. “Please, Lord Thorndyke, do not keep anything from me. I must know it all.”
He nodded slowly, a sad smile on his face. “In addition, Miss Weston, there were some near misses with your father. A few things that appeared to be accidents, but had they been only a few inches one way or the next could have easily taken your father’s life. My father was dear friends with yours, and so, over the years, they continued to keep watch on Lord Andrew. The man is determined to do all he can to ruin the duke’s family, even in death. My father swore to yours that he would help him keep his son and daughter safe, even if it meant that you would never know the truth about your parentage or your place in society.” He patted her hand, his expression softening. “Better to live a quiet life than to have one being chased by death,” he finished quietly. “I promised to protect you, should you ever return to London whilst your uncle still lived, and so I will, by marrying you at once.”
There was nothing for Sarah to say. Instead, tears poured into her eyes and fell onto her cheeks as she mourned for a father she would never know, a mother taken from her too soon. She felt no shame in letting her grief show, feeling Lord Thorndyke’s hands on hers as she wept. Gentle fingers brushed her tears away, before pressing a handkerchief into her hand.