“Did you know we all grew up with Miss Osborne?” Mark asked Georgina and her mother.
“Oh, yes. Esme told us,” Georgina said.
“Just another example of your mother’s eccentricity.” Lady Stanley laughed, a high-pitched noise that Simon had never noticed before but now grated on his nerves. “The gardener’s daughter raised and educated in the nursery of one of the greatest houses in England alongside the offspring of a duke. Imagine that!”
Mark shook his head. “Oh, but you are quite mistaken, my lady.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed, none of us ever went into the nursery. It’s a dark and dusty place. Our mother chose to keep us with her most of the time.”
“Really?”
“It is quite true,” Theo added. “Wherever the Duchess of Trent was on any given day, that was where we would be. And our mother despised the nursery.”
Mark grinned at Simon. “Remember the time we all popped out of her skirts, scaring Mr. Beardsley and his wife half to death?”
Standing at the corner of the room – Simon wondered if his brother ever sat down except when forced – Sam nodded. “I do. They’d come in here thinking they were calling on the duchess and that she was alone —”
“And then… pop, pop, pop, pop, pop! The five of us all jumped out of her skirts like jack-in-the-boxes,” Theo said.
Sam frowned at his youngest brother. “How can you remember that? You couldn’t have been more than three.”
Theo’s grin didn’t fade. “One tends to remember such moments in one’s life. We were all laughing so hard while Mr. and Mrs. Beardsley looked so aghast…”
“Mama laughed so hard tears ran down her face,” Mark said.
Simon glanced up to see Sam looking at him, a small smile curling his lips. As the two oldest siblings, they probably remembered that day the best, and the many other similar days they’d spent with their mother, flustering, surprising, or simply shocking others. But even though Sam’s memories shone in his face, Simon found it difficult to remain engaged in this conversation.
Sarah was a housemaid again. There would be no more fashionable silks and London ballrooms for her.
That discomfited him. No, it more than discomfited him. It infuriated him.
He was glad Mark had changed the direction of the conversation. If he hadn’t, Simon might’ve reinstated Sarah to her position at Esme’s side.
He should do that in any case, because it was deuced presumptuous for Lady Stanley to think she could control his household. And it was unacceptable for her to think she could control Sarah.
Lady Stanley was smiling and laughing with the brothers. “Oh, how I wish your dear mama were here now to laugh with all of us. That business of her disappearance, it’s a shame, I say. An utter shame.”
They all sobered at that. Eventually, Mark raised his glass. “That it is, my lady,” he said solemnly.
Everyone was silent for a long moment. Then, Georgina turned to Simon and said in a very bright tone, “Well, I loved my nursery. I shall endeavor to make the nursery at Ironwood Park a welcome place for my children. My happiest days as a little girl were spent in my nursery, and I believe that children are safest, happiest, and most at home in the one place they may call their own.”
Her words stabbed a reality that he’d been avoiding straight into his chest. She would be the mother of his children. Someday, his and Georgina Stanley’s children would be scampering around Ironwood Park.
Or perhaps they wouldn’t be scampering about. Perhaps they’d be imprisoned in that attic room that his mother had told him was a haunted, nasty place. Mother used to say that if they slept in the nursery they would hear the children who’d once died there crying for their mothers. It was why she’d allowed them to sleep in her room with her until they were all old enough to keep their own bedrooms.
It didn’t matter. Their mother had been eccentric, and she’d liked to tell them outlandish stories as they’d crowded around her at night. The nursery wasn’t haunted. It was a very suitable room, and if Georgina remodeled it, it would be a perfectly acceptable place to keep children. Their children.
He finished his port, managed to say something proper, and then allowed the conversation to flow around him, all the while feeling heavier and heavier, like he was swimming like mad to stay afloat but had giant boulders tied to his ankles.
He’d never shirked his responsibility before. He’d stay afloat, no matter the cost.
“I want to reinstate you to the position of Esme’s companion.”
Sarah stood in the door of her father’s cottage. She turned back to glance into the dusky interior. “I’ll be just a moment, Papa.”
Her father, who’d been eating his breakfast, gave a gruff, “all right, then,” and Sarah stepped out, closing the planked door behind her to stand on the small stoop.
Simon looked resplendent in his riding clothes, tall Wellingtons that had been polished to a high shine, buff breeches, and a dark wool coat that hugged his body, showing off his broad shoulders and trim waist. Behind him, the early morning sun sparkled on the water drops from last night’s showers, making the hedges and trees glimmer in various bright shades of green. She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. “Good morning, Your Grace. Welcome home.”
“You were not there to welcome me like you usually are.” There was a hint of accusation in his voice.
“I am sorry. I was engaged in a task for Lady Stanley.” The lady had decided the Stone Room was her favorite place at Ironwood Park. She had taken to spending an hour there every afternoon to bask in its cold grandeur. When sitting on one of the marble benches yesterday, she’d found some smudges on the statue of the Laocoön and had tasked Sarah with scrubbing it until the marble was a perfect uniform hue.
Marble was never perfect, nor was it uniform, but Sarah had done the best she could, cleaning the crevices of the carved bodies of Laocoön, his sons, and the serpent until every muscle in her body ached.
Simon blew out a breath. Beside him, his horse tossed its head and whickered, and he pulled gently on the reins he gripped in his dark-gloved hand, bringing the animal to heel.
“Sarah…”
She looked down at herself, clasping her hands in front of her. She was wearing one of the old muslins she’d brought to London but had never worn there after the modiste had delivered her new dresses. Today would probably be another day of heavy cleaning, and even if it wasn’t, she wasn’t sure she could ever wear those London clothes again. Nor would she ever have reason to.
Simon removed his hat and brought it to his side. “I want you to be Esme’s companion.”
“Is that what Lady Esme wishes?” she asked quietly.
“I am sure it is.”
It was what Sarah wanted, too. But it was too late. She was no fool. Being Esme’s companion would put her in the constant company of Lady Stanley and Miss Stanley. Lady Stanley would hate that Sarah had returned to a station so clearly above her and resent Sarah for going above her to reclaim the position. And Sarah could hardly be in the same room with Miss Stanley without feeling nauseous.
Furthermore, as Esme’s companion she would be more frequently in the company of Simon. She wasn’t sure if she could bear being with Simon any more than absolutely necessary, but being with him and Miss Stanley, seeing them together —
Well, she had always prided herself on her personal strength and resilience. But perhaps she was not that strong, after all.
So she looked at Simon, remembering the look in his eyes when he’d gazed at her after they’d made love. Remembering his lips, so soft as they’d caressed her body. And she shook her head.
“No.” The word was soft but firm. Final.
He blinked at her, his long lashes fluttering in surprise. She was surprised, too. It was the first time she’d refused him anything.
She shook her head. “I cannot. It wouldn’t be proper.”
A muscle worked in his jaw, but he kept his voice
at a low pitch. “What isn’t proper,” he ground out, “is you standing here. Wearing those clothes. Behaving like a maid.”
“I am a maid. Your Grace.”
He looked away from her, down at his hand clutching the reins, his shoulders taut underneath the fine fabric of his coat.
She had no idea what he was thinking. She wished he’d tell her. Even before they’d come together, he’d always been easy in sharing his thoughts with her.
But she had no right to know his true thoughts. She never had, really. She’d always known that his friendship was a gift that could be snatched away from her someday. Men in his position weren’t meant to befriend women in hers.
He raised his head. “Perhaps,” he said in a near-whisper, his gaze meeting hers, “that is for the best.”
Oh, it was. That was certain. But she only gave a tiny nod in response.
“Sarah?” Her father was calling her from inside, and she glanced back.
“I must go, Your Grace.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll see you later.”
“Ah… yes.” Maybe. Hopefully not. Even now, it felt like blood was tumbling around in her body, a windswept sea in a violent storm, with no veins or heart to contain it.
“Good day, then, Sarah.”
She managed a curtsy. “Good day, Your Grace.”
And then she turned her back on him and went inside. But as she started another pot of tea for her father, she nudged the curtain aside and watched him turn down a winding path that led into the forest. Inside, she wept, her broken heart raw and pulsating, a reopened wound, but outside she pasted on a cheerful smile and chatted with her father about his proposal to plant a hedge of hawthorns near the stream.
Two days later, Simon asked Georgina to walk with him at dusk.
He’d seen Sarah a few times by then. Even though she’d refused his offer to reinstate her position as Esme’s companion, she’d been performing her duties with her trademark cheerfulness, clearly managing their separation far better than he was. Seeing her calmed him, though. Gave him the determination to proceed with his duty.
It was a fine twilight, with enough fluffy clouds for the sun to cast dramatic streaks of pink and purple across the sky as it descended for the night. He led Georgina toward the bank of the stream, pointing out features in the gardens and outside grounds that had been designed by the famous gardener Capability Brown in his grandfather’s day and improved upon by Mr. Osborne.
“Mr. Brown wished to eliminate the garden completely,” Simon told her as they walked along a row of buttercup yellow roses, “but my grandmother would have none of that. She loved her roses and spring blooms far too much. So they came to a compromise.”
“A very lovely compromise, indeed,” Georgina replied. He opened the garden gate for her, and they stepped out onto the path that led to the far reaches of Ironwood Park. This was where the land abandoned the geometric structure of his grandmother’s English garden and the landscape began to take on more of the sweeping grass-and-tree characteristics in the style of Capability Brown.
They walked down the curving path that led in the direction of the forest in the far distance. “Brown loved to use water, and in Ironwood Park, he had a natural source,” Simon said as the path turned at the bank of the stream and the blackberry hedge opened to allow them a good view. For a moment, they stood there, looking down into the clear water bubbling over smooth stones below.
“I imagine Mr. Brown found everything about Ironwood Park to be idyllic.”
He turned to her. “Do you find it idyllic here?” he asked her seriously. Ironwood Park, after all, was to be her home for the remainder of her days.
“I do. It is. It is a grand home befitting the Duke of Trent.”
“Some find it… cold, at times.” His mother had incessantly complained of its sterile coldness, though she’d done her best to put her mark on it in the few places she felt she could. Many rooms she’d never touched, and Simon knew it was out of respect for what Ironwood Park was – a testament to the greatness and power of England and its aristocracy. The Stone Room, with its disconcerting statue of the Laocoön, was one example of a room she’d left alone.
“Oh, I do not find it cold at all,” Georgina reassured him. “Most of the spaces are so very elegant, and must remain so. A duke’s seat must clearly display his wealth and position. Some of the rooms need to be modernized and formalized, but there is plenty of time for that, and it is a task I shall happily take on, because I know how busy you are.”
Simon turned away from the stream to look back at the house looming on the low-sloping hill in the distance. It was lofty, even forbidding with its gothic cornices and domes. But he had been born here. It was his home, and it would be his family home for generations to come. If nothing else, those truths alone made him love Ironwood Park.
He turned back to his wife-to-be, and she gave him a demure smile. He held out his arm, and she slipped her little hand over his coat as they began to walk again, taking the path as it curved to follow the natural bank of the stream.
They walked for several minutes, until they’d gone downhill a ways. He steered well clear of the bench where he’d spent so many hours talking to Sarah. He had no desire to relive his memories of his conversations with Sarah with another woman on his arm. That would be unfair to them both.
Just past his and Sarah’s bench, the stream turned sharply, and the house was no longer visible behind them. There, he paused once again on the bank of the stream.
He turned to Georgina, and she tilted her face up to blink at him, her cornflower blue eyes innocent and lovely.
Slowly, he stroked his hands down the outsides of her arms and grasped her gloved hands in his own. “You are very beautiful, Georgina,” he said, knowing that his attention toward her had been scattered and even somewhat deceptive, and while he’d done his best not to be unkind, he feared she had sensed his ambivalence toward her.
“Thank you,” she breathed, a slight smile forming on her lips in response to the compliment.
And he bent down and kissed her.
His body tried to recoil, but he held himself stiff, focusing on the movements of his lips against hers.
She surprised him, though. He’d thought her an innocent in all ways. He’d expected her to freeze, like gentle young ladies were supposed to.
Instead, with a little gasp, she wrapped her arms around him, and within a fraction of a moment, her lips thawed, became pliant and warm and supple beneath his.
Oh, God.
He didn’t want this. Didn’t want her.
A violent tremor began somewhere deep inside him, a rebellious, sour thing that told him in no uncertain terms he was betraying everything he’d ever cared for.
But that was wrong. He wasn’t betraying anything; no, he was protecting what he cared for.
Except Sarah. He wasn’t protecting her. And he did care for her, damn it.
A twig cracked loudly behind Georgina, causing both of them to jump back. Simon’s stomach roiled, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Over her shoulder, he saw swift movement near the direction of his and Sarah’s bench.
She ran away, darting deeper into the forest. But not before he identified her. It was the color of her hair, shining like dark polished ebony in the twilight. It was her carriage, upright and nimble as she hurried over the obstacles in the path.
Sarah had just heard him tell Georgina she was beautiful. She’d just seen him kiss her. Everything in him cried out for him to go after her, to hold her in his arms and tell her everything he did and said to Georgina was false.
“What was that?” Georgina asked, breathless. He realized she still had her arms wrapped around him.
He looked down at her. She was flushed, her lips shining from his kiss, and he shrugged even as guilt and regret boiled in his gut.
“A deer. Must have been grazing nearby, then saw us and ran away. I don’t see it now.” He reached down, gently disengagin
g her hands from his sides, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come. Let’s return to the house.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah waited in Miss Stanley’s dressing room for the lady to appear. Evidently, Miss Stanley’s lady’s maid often suffered from headaches and had taken to her bed with a particularly violent one tonight, so Sarah had been ordered here to help her dress for dinner.
She wasn’t looking forward to the task. She’d done her best to keep her distance from the Stanleys since Lady Stanley had removed her from her position as Esme’s companion.
Last evening, she’d had some free time and had gone to her and Simon’s bench to think. She wished she hadn’t. The encounter between Simon and Miss Stanley had proved a few things to Sarah – the foremost of which was that watching Simon marry Georgina Stanley was going to be the most difficult thing she’d ever have to endure.
Minutes ticked by, and the lady didn’t arrive. So Sarah busied herself with tidying – straightening the various undergarments and accessories that had been strewn about the dressing room when she’d entered. It seemed Miss Stanley had had a difficult time determining exactly what to wear this morning. She’d torn the room apart in a stormlike fashion before deciding on the lovely green striped muslin Sarah had seen her wearing this afternoon as Robert Johnston had helped Miss Stanley, Lady Stanley, and Esme into the carriage, presumably for a visit to the village.
She was tucked behind the door to the clothes press smoothing out one of the lady’s dinner dresses when she heard the voices of the lady and her mother as they entered the adjacent bedchamber. The ladies were talking to each other in hushed, low tones, and Sarah paused, resting her hand on the yellow silk, her head tilted in curiosity. She’d never heard either of them speak in such serious voices.
As the door snicked shut and they stepped closer to the dressing room, Sarah began to be able to discern their words.
“Mama, it is far, far too dangerous.”
The Duchess Hunt Page 21