“But you didn’t know I’d come tonight,” he said.
She shook her head. “I decided that perhaps it would be best if I never came here again.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. Turning away from her, he looked out over the water. “We’re always thinking of what would be best,” he said quietly. “But what if we’re wrong? What if I’m not making the right choices? What if I’m seeing this through a lens that is giving me a warped perspective?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He dropped his hands to his sides and turned to her. “I brought you out here tonight to apologize.”
She stared at him, waiting.
“Last evening. You shouldn’t have seen that.”
She tore her gaze from him. “It is a sight I should force myself to become accustomed to.”
Even now, the memory of him calling Georgina Stanley beautiful, of their passionate kiss, threatened to tear her apart. She’d spent the day trying to scrub the sight from her memory. She’d failed, of course. Now, nausea swirled in her gut, and she stared straight ahead, trying to swallow the sensation down.
“I’m sorry, Sarah.”
She didn’t answer.
“I have to do this,” he said. “I must marry her.” But he sounded wretchedly unhappy about it.
“Why?” she whispered. “You never told me why.”
“I’m not sure you knowing will help things.”
“Maybe it would help me to understand. I think you owe me that much, at least.” She looked up at him, her eyes stinging. “You don’t love her, do you?”
Her heart throbbed, raw and painful in her chest as she awaited his answer.
“No.” The word was solid, a rock, something for her to grasp onto.
“Then why?”
“Come. Let’s sit down.”
They sat, side by side, as they had so many nights before this one.
And he told her about how Lord Stanley had come to him. About how the baron had claimed paternity of Luke. About how Theo and Mark were the sons of a London courtesan who’d been mistress to both the duke and Lord Stanley. About how Simon had sought out verification of these accusations, and it had all proven true. About Stanley’s theory that Esme, too, was illegitimate.
Every word Simon said was like a spoonful of her soul being dug from her, until he finished speaking and all that remained of her was an empty shell.
“If I do not marry Miss Stanley,” he told her finally, “my family will be ruined. My brothers’ and sister’s futures will be ripped away from them.”
He’d trusted her with this devastating information. That fact did not escape Sarah. The fact that the Stanleys were a devious, cruel, and manipulative lot didn’t escape her, either.
They sat in silence for seconds that formed into long minutes, the only sound the whisper of the nearby stream.
Finally, she looked up at him. “Can you be happy with Miss Stanley, Your Grace?”
“Not as happy as I am with you.” His answer was automatic. But then he seemed to shake himself. “Perhaps one day, I’ll learn to… love her.” He grimaced as he said “love,” as if the word tasted bitter to him.
“Learn to be happy with her?”
“Perhaps.” But he sounded doubtful. He heaved out a sigh. “She seems a decent enough young lady. I’ve no evidence that she knows anything of her father’s despicable plot.”
From what she knew of Miss Stanley, Sarah wasn’t so sure. But how could she tell Simon that? She had no proof. Indeed, she had nothing but petulance and peevishness.
She should tell Simon she hoped he’d find happiness and love with Miss Stanley. After all, his happiness was more important to her than anything else in the world. But she was selfish, too. She couldn’t bring herself to wish them happiness together. She just couldn’t.
“Do you understand now, Sarah?”
“I do.” She did understand. Simon was too good a man to allow his family to fall into ruin around him. She tried to smile up at him. “I’d invented a story or two as to why you’d chosen this path. I was wrong.” She shook her head. “The truth of it is more fantastical than my imaginings. Poor Lady Esme. Your poor brothers, Lord Luke most of all.”
He sighed deeply. “I still can hardly believe it. If I hadn’t seen the proof firsthand…” He gazed at her, some of the softness she’d seen in bed with him returning into his green eyes. “What had you guessed?”
“That perhaps you’d made a terrible investment and had suddenly found yourself insolvent and you faced ruin if you didn’t marry a lady with a sizeable dowry immediately.”
“Me? A terrible investment?”
“I was desperate for answers, as you can see very well.” A smile twitched at her lips. “I thought also that Lord Luke had perhaps debauched Miss Stanley, and her father caught them in flagrante delicto and was demanding his blood, but you offered your bachelorhood up as payment instead.”
“Well, that one is closer to the truth of it, at least,” Simon said.
“Still a rather great distance from it, though.”
They sat in quiet, companionable silence for another few moments before Simon said in a voice so quiet she could hardly hear him, “I want to make love to you again, Sarah.”
She stiffened. With great effort, she turned to him and looked him in the eye. “But you won’t.”
“I can’t.”
She knew he couldn’t. His loyalty was one of the reasons why she loved him. Why she’d always love him.
She rose from the bench. “Take me home, Your Grace.”
“Of course.”
Side by side, they walked back to her father’s cottage in silence.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah sat straight up in bed. She hadn’t had the time to speak with Mrs. Hope about Bordesley Green yesterday. But now, on some edge of her fractured sleep, a dormant part of her mind had awakened and remembered what Bordesley Green was.
Her blanket had dipped around her hips, and she was wearing her lightest nightgown, but the morning wasn’t cold. Vestiges of dawn seeped in through her curtains, bathing her room in a shadowy gray light. All was silent; even the birds had not yet begun their morning song.
Bordesley Green was a private asylum. James, the duchess’s manservant who’d disappeared when she had, had supported his mother who lived there.
Sarah had never spoken to him about it. She’d overheard him talking to Binnie one day, had heard only the fringes of their conversation. She’d gathered from the bits and pieces of information that he sent funds monthly to Bordesley Green for the care of his mother, who’d forgotten who she was… and who her son was. It had been his day off that day, and he was leaving to visit her.
“So that’s where you go every month,” Binnie had exclaimed, as if that solved some great mystery.
“Aye, it is. Even if she doesn’t remember me… she’s still blood,” he’d said gravely.
Sarah dressed herself hurriedly, ate a quick breakfast despite the rumbling in her belly, left a note for her father, and headed to the stables.
As she’d expected, Robert Johnston was already awake. She found him in a stall where he was saddling one of the mares for a morning ride.
“Robert?”
She’d startled him. His head jerked up to her, but then his lips spread into a grin, and the tension seeped out of his shoulders. “Sarah! Good morning. What are you doing up so early?”
She glanced around to make sure no one was listening – surely the stable boy wasn’t – he was humming as he shoveled muck out of a stall at the far end of the stables.
“I need to ask you a favor,” she told him, slipping into the stall. “A rather enormous favor, I’m afraid.”
“Anything for you,” Robert said, his voice warm.
“It’s Thursday. It’s my day off today. I believe it’s yours, too?”
“Aye, it is.”
“Did you have important plans for the day?”
“None but a bit of riding.” He gestured to the horse he’d been saddling.
“Would you mind…” She took a deep breath, then plowed on. “Would you mind taking me somewhere?”
“Be happy to.”
“It’s a place called Bordesley Green. I don’t know where it is, exactly – Mrs. Hope would probably know. But…” She gave him a cringing look. “… I have heard it’s about ten miles away.”
“Of course. I’ll ready the old duke’s phaeton.”
She released a relieved breath. He’d agreed readily, and with no questions asked. He turned back to the horse standing beside him to unsaddle it, and then he went to ready the phaeton while Sarah hurried to the house to ask the way to Bordesley Green. Though Mrs. Hope looked at her askance, she told Sarah where the asylum was located, and by the time Sarah had returned from the kitchen where she’d packed a luncheon they could eat, Robert was ready to go.
“Thank you,” she told him with feeling as soon as they were underway. “This was so important to me. I cannot thank you enough for taking your day off to help me.”
“It is my pleasure,” he told her.
The journey took two hours. During that time, she kept talking, as if engaging him in conversation about mundane things like the weather and the breeding of horses at Ironwood Park would prevent him from asking her too many questions.
When they finally arrived at the high gates that marked the entrance to Bordesley Green, the sun had peeked out from behind gray-toned clouds that had threatened rain all morning.
She’d given Robert a highly abridged explanation of why they were coming here, focusing on the fact that it might help in the investigation regarding the duchess, and now he gave her a sidelong glance. She said nothing, just watched the scene unfolding before them.
He stopped the phaeton outside the tall iron fence. While Sarah held the horses, Robert stepped out to inspect the closed gate, and he glanced back at her. “It’s not locked, but I imagine we are expected to leave the horses and phaeton here.”
“All right.”
He came back to take the reins from her, and he secured the horses while she descended from the phaeton to take a good look at Bordesley Green. The brick building stood about a quarter-mile from the gate, three stories rising in dark, gothic lines from the center of a vast green lawn. There was no one out and about on that lawn. The place just stood there, still and haunting and quiet under the looming clouds.
Determinedly, Sarah began to walk down the long, straight path that led to the front door. And then she saw that Robert had hurried to her side.
She slowed. “Robert, I’m sorry. Will you wait for me out here?”
He glanced at the quiet, imposing structure ahead of them and then back at her. “Sarah —”
“I’ll be all right. I just need to ask after the man I was telling you about. It’ll only be a few minutes.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. I’m remaining right here, though. And if you are gone longer than an hour, I’m coming after you.”
“Thank you.” On impulse, she squeezed his forearm in thanks.
The air was growing warm and thick around her, and she glanced up at the sky. It really was possible that it would rain. She hoped Robert didn’t get soaked waiting for her.
She reached the tall, heavy wooden front door. It loomed up dark and silent in the gloom, and with seemingly no other option, she knocked.
After a long moment, a swarthy woman dressed all in black with her hair pinned back severely at her nape opened the door. “How might I help thee?”
“Good morning,” Sarah said with the brightest smile she could muster. “I am here to visit one of your residents.”
“Which patient wouldst thou like to see?” The woman’s manner of speaking and her sternness of dress marked her as a Quaker.
“Bertram Smith,” Sarah asked automatically. And then she did something rare for her – she outright lied. “He is my cousin.”
The woman raised her brows. “Friend Bertram doesn’t receive many visitors.”
Sarah nodded. “I haven’t seen him in years. I’ve come from London, you see, and I’ve never had the opportunity to travel to Worcester before now.” When the woman was silent, she added yet another lie. “We often played together when I was a child. It has been a very long time.”
She hoped the woman would not try to verify all this information with Bertram Smith. She’d no idea even if he was able to understand the concept of a cousin. Or if he’d ever played.
“Your name?”
“Sarah. Sarah Stanley.”
Recognition flared in the woman’s eyes. Interesting. So the lady did possess knowledge of the link between Bertram and the Stanleys.
“I am Hannah Mills, the matron here. It is a pleasure to meet thee. However, I am afraid today is not a visiting day. The second Friday of the month – tomorrow – is the day we accept visits from family members. On the day before such encounters, we provide a calm and serene atmosphere for the idiots so that they might be in a proper state of mind to see their loved ones.”
“But I am only passing through —”
The woman raised her hand, and with a small smile on her face, added, “However, since Friend Bertram sees visitors so infrequently, it’ll do him good to see someone from his childhood. I shall do my best. Please, follow me.”
Sarah trailed after the woman into a dim, quiet corridor and up a flight of stairs. They passed only one other person, a young woman dressed in the same crisp black that Mrs. Mills wore, carrying a tray of dirty dishes.
“Good day, Hannah,” she said to Mrs. Mills.
“Good day, Prudence,” Mrs. Mills responded, crisp and polite.
Prudence nodded at Sarah as they passed in the corridor. Mrs. Mills led her into a stark, white-painted reception room scattered with wooden chairs, a large brick fireplace on one wall and a row of tall gothic windows on the other. The woman stopped by the door and gestured inside. “Pray, be seated. I shall go inquire whether Friend Bertram is prepared for a visit with a family member this morning.”
“Thank you very much.”
As Mrs. Mills exited from the room, Sarah selected a chair with a good view of the doorway so she could see Mrs. Mills and Bertram when they returned.
If they returned. That was a big “if.”
But Sarah couldn’t know. She sat there, chewing her lip in nervousness. She didn’t have any experience with idiots, and she didn’t know what to expect. Her plan had ended at gaining entrance to Bordesley Green and convincing them to allow her to see Bertram. Since she still didn’t have anything but guesses about who he was or why Georgina Stanley wished for him to remain a secret, her plan had reached its limit.
The door opened, and Mrs. Mills entered, followed by a man-sized boy.
Sarah looked up at him, slowly rising from her seat, her heart pattering against her ribs. For the man-boy looked unnervingly similar to Georgina Stanley.
A flattened-out, plumper, doughy version of Georgina Stanley.
As soon as he saw her, he grinned. Two of his teeth were missing. “It’s my birthday! For me!” he announced with a lisp so marked, it sounded like he’d said, “Itsch my birfday.”
“Come inside, Friend Bertram,” Mrs. Mills said patiently, and he obediently strode into the room, looking around with interest, his cornflower blue eyes shining.
Although his white gown looked freshly starched and had probably been snow white this morning, there were dribbles of something – gravy, perhaps – spattered across its front.
He didn’t look quite right. It was like looking at a male version of Georgina through drunken eyes. His face was too round, his ears and teeth too small, his eyes too perfectly almond-shaped and too close together.
Mrs. Mills looked up at Sarah and shrugged. “Whenever something he considers to be a happy event occurs, he believes it’s his birthday. Of course, we do not celebrate such things as birthdays here, but that day must have been a speci
al one for him when he was a boy, and he hasn’t forgotten.”
Sarah nodded. She swallowed her fear. Surely if the man were dangerous, Mrs. Mills would have taken precautions. And in any case, fear wouldn’t help her in this situation.
She stepped forward. “Bertram,” she said, “it is so good to see you.”
He stopped and stood still, his gown fluttering over the floor, and looked at her with bright-eyed interest. His eyes were the exact same color as Miss Stanley’s but contained none of the malice Sarah had seen the last time she’d encountered the lady.
“You?”
“I’m Sarah,” she said quietly.
“I like cousins,” Bertram said. Mrs. Mills must have told him his cousin had come to visit. And then he released his words in a rattle so fast Sarah couldn’t keep up. Not only did he have a lisp, but he also slurred his words. He said something about papas with a scowl, and brothers and sisters. And people named Gertrude and Mary and William, and their mamas and papas and cousins. Then, suddenly, he stopped cold, frowning as if he’d lost his train of thought.
Mrs. Mills patted his arm. “Friend Bertram has become something of a pet to many of our patients’ families.”
“Oh?” Sarah didn’t know what else to say.
“Indeed. Thou might recall his humble, happy nature. He seldom requires restraints, he doesn’t complain or cry, and his only ambition in life appears to be one of the simplest, yet one of the most important for all of humankind: to be happy.”
“Oh,” Sarah said in some surprise. Bertram grinned at her, showing his little gapped teeth.
“It’s my birthday! Cousin Sarah! Happy, happy!” he exclaimed, clapping and bouncing on his toes.
“And how old are you today?” Sarah asked him.
The question appeared to confuse him. He looked to Mrs. Mills for help.
“Why, Friend Bertram, thou art four and twenty. Dost thou not remember?”
“Four and twenty,” he told Sarah brightly. “Four and twenty, four and twenty, four and twenty,” he sang.
And, with that, it all became clear.
In the parlor at Ironwood Park one day, Sarah had overheard Miss Stanley telling Esme that she’d had an older brother who’d died at the age of nine when she had been five years old.
The Duchess Hunt Page 23