This was the brother who’d “died.” The Stanleys had hidden him away here, somewhat close to their properties so Lord Stanley could keep an eye on him, but far too close as far as Miss Stanley was concerned. She’d prefer it if her embarrassment of a brother was sent to Abyssinia.
Even more potentially scandalizing for the Stanleys, Georgina’s younger brother – Lord Stanley’s current legal heir – was only nineteen years old and at Cambridge.
Bertram was Lord Stanley’s true heir. The Stanleys were deceiving the world, pretending Bertram had perished when he was, in fact, right here in England, giving her a gap-toothed grin and singing about how he was four and twenty.
Sarah took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I am so glad to see you again, Bertram.”
“Four and twenty!”
“Your family… misses you.”
The smile turned into an instant frown. “Don’t like papas and mamas.”
Sarah looked at Mrs. Mills. “Have they visited?” she asked softly.
Mrs. Mills shook her head, her expression grave. “Not for many years.”
Sarah blew out a slow breath. “Do you remember your mama and papa?” she asked Bertram.
She held her breath as he looked up as if the answer dangled from the ceiling and he might pluck it down. Then he looked at her, his lips twisting, and leaned forward, close enough that she could smell him. His scent was an odd combination of harsh soap and sweat.
“I’m fat,” he told her, making circular motions around his girth. “Papa is skinny. Papa has blue eyes like me.”
“Do you remember your sister, Georgina?”
“Little tiny babe in mama’s tummy,” he said. “Big, big tummy like Bertram’s, but full of baby, and she went away forever and ever, and pop! Georgy!” He shook his head vigorously. “Bertram can’t hold Georgy. Bertram might break Georgy. Bertram can’t play. Bad, bad Bertram.”
His movements and words were growing more slurred and more frantic, and Sarah cast Mrs. Mills a hopeless look.
“Wouldst thou like to return to the common room, Friend Bertram?” Mrs. Mills asked.
“Cousin Sarah!” he exclaimed.
“I’ll come back and visit you again,” she told him gravely. It was a promise she vowed to keep, too. No matter where her new position took her after she left Ironwood Park.
“Common room, then.” Mrs. Mills turned him around and, with a hand on his back, firmly pressed him toward the door. He looked back over his shoulder at Sarah.
“Cousin Sarah, cousin Sarah black hair!”
Only then did she notice that two attendants had been waiting just outside the door. Mrs. Mills handed Bertram off to them, and he ambled away down the corridor, talking about cousins and papas and Sarahs until he was out of her hearing range.
Sarah just stood there, willing her heart to calm. Mrs. Mills reentered the room. She gave Sarah a small smile. “I should have warned thee that speaking of his family tends to agitate him. He sees so many other families here on visiting days. I believe a part of him pines for his own.”
“I am sorry,” Sarah said. “I didn’t know…”
“Yet his father has asked us to remove them from his memory,” Mrs. Mills continued. She looked at Sarah with a shadowed, wary expression.
“What do you mean?”
“They wish us to invent a new family for him so there will never be a chance of him being connected to the baron.” She gave Sarah a wistful look. “That was why I was rather surprised to see a cousin here today. I’ve been led to believe they meant to sever all family ties.”
Sarah blinked, then nodded slowly. “My… uncle and his family are prideful people.”
“Too proud to bring an idiot into their midst, certainly.”
“Right. But he seems happy. They have chosen well in his home.”
Mrs. Mills’s smile was genuine. “Thank you, Friend Sarah. My husband and I toil under the belief that all of us, even – and perhaps especially – the idiots, are God’s children and deserve to be treated with love and humanity.”
“A truly noble belief,” Sarah said, meaning it.
“Come. I will see thee out.”
“Thank you.”
As Mrs. Mills walked her down the long, silent corridor, Sarah gathered the courage to speak. As they began to descend the staircase, she asked, “I believe I know another of your residents as well, Mrs. Mills.”
Mrs. Mills glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh?”
“Mrs. James. She is the mother of a… well, someone I once knew.”
“Ah, yes. Liza James.”
“Is she still here?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Mills said in a clipped tone.
“Would it… be possible to see her as well?”
“No.” They’d reached the bottom of the stairs, and Mrs. Mills drew to a halt. “Thou must not be truly acquainted with Liza James, Friend Sarah, for she is one of our most difficult residents and requires restraint nearly all the time.”
“Oh.” Sarah swallowed hard. “I am sorry to hear that. You’re right – I’ve never made her acquaintance. I only know her son…”
“Of course.” Mrs. Mills gave a short nod. “We have believed for some time now that she is not suited for an idiots’ home and should be transferred to a home better equipped for lunatics, but despite the hopelessness of her condition, Mr. James refuses to move her and continues to visit her monthly. He is a very loyal and devoted son.”
Sarah’s heart began to race yet again. “You say he visits every month – when was the last you saw him?”
“Why, on visiting day last month. He arrives when the doors open at ten, like clockwork.”
Heavens. James had been here last month! Sarah spoke through her suddenly dry throat. “And you expect him tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes. He hasn’t missed a visiting day in the five years his mother has resided here.”
“Thank you,” Sarah breathed. She began to walk quickly down the corridor toward the exit. At the door, she thanked Mrs. Mills profusely and promised to come again to visit her “cousin.”
She hurried down the path toward the phaeton, trying to refrain from lifting her skirts and running, hardly noticing the first drops of rain splashing against her cheeks.
The duchess had been missing for almost four months now. James had been seen last month, which meant he surely had some information on the duchess’s whereabouts.
She needed to hurry home. Tell Simon all that she had learned.
Robert pushed off from where he was leaning against the side of the phaeton as she rushed up, breathless, and moments later, they were once again under way. He’d put up the hood, but soon the infrequent drops evolved into a shower. The hood only provided partial shelter from the rain – they’d both be soaked by the time they arrived home.
Not home. She had to stop thinking of Ironwood Park as home. Something fluttered in her stomach at that thought. A feeling she’d been having often in the past week or two – a rumbling stomach, like she hadn’t eaten in a week. She glanced down at the sack she’d brought containing their lunch. No, that wasn’t it. The odd feeling had come and gone seemingly with no connection to how full or empty her stomach was.
What, then?
She thought hard.
And then it hit her. Her courses. She must be about to begin them. How awkward it would be to start them on the way home with nothing —
Wait.
When were they due? Her breaths began to quicken as she calculated, and she felt the blood rushing from her head as she came up with the answer.
She was late. For goodness’ sakes, she’d completely skipped her courses last month. So much had been happening, between her heartbreak over Simon’s engagement and the move back to Ironwood Park, she hadn’t even noticed.
She swayed toward Robert, then jerked herself upright.
Oh, God. Oh, God. It was the eighth of August. The last time she had lain with Simon was the eleventh of June – a date she’d neve
r forget.
Two months.
Robert glanced over at her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She’d meant the word to sound like a firm, confident statement, but it emerged instead as a breathy wisp of air.
Robert reined the horses to a stop and turned to her, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Sarah, what is it?”
She passed the back of her wrist over her forehead, soaking up beads of water she knew were not raindrops.
“It’s just… what I learned today.”
“Can you tell me?”
No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the rushing tide of blood as it swirled in her head in a descending whirlpool, leaving her dizzy and faint.
You are two months gone with child, Sarah.
Simon’s child.
Chapter Eighteen
The family was sitting in the parlor before dinner, along with Lord Stanley, who’d arrived from London late last night. Earlier today, Simon, Georgina, and Lord and Lady Stanley had had a picnic on the northern banks of the stream and had then gone for a ride through the property, Simon pointing out the features and borders of his lands. When it had begun to rain, they’d raced home, but not before all of them had received a good dousing. They’d bathed and dressed for dinner, and now they relaxed on the royal-blue silk upholstery of the parlor, comfortable and warm, with Simon’s brothers and Esme.
Talking about the wedding.
Simon secretly wished he were still out riding in the rain. But no, Georgina and Lady Stanley were going on and on about whom to invite to the wedding breakfast.
“Yes, Lord Granger, for certain,” he said in response to Lady Stanley’s question. He wandered over to one of the windows to glance out at the rain, which was now coming down in sheets. Mark and Theo gave him twin sympathetic looks as he walked past them.
Mark and Theo were so alike. More alike, really, than any of his other siblings. Now he knew why – they were probably the only two with the same two parents.
And they didn’t know. It plagued him that he hadn’t told them the truth. But how to go about it eluded him.
He sighed, parted the curtains, and looked out into the gray.
It had been a long day. Tedious, really. The air between him and Stanley had been stretched taut since breakfast. On the verge of snapping.
Simon’s hatred for his situation grew daily. He was determined to grit his teeth and face it with stoic acceptance, but every time he saw the smug expression of victory on Stanley’s face, he wanted to tackle the man to the ground and beat the snide look off his face.
He missed Sarah, damn it. Missed her smile and her scent. Her soft skin, dewy after they’d just made love. He’d only had her for two weeks. But those weeks were imprinted upon every inch of his skin and had seeped deep into him. He’d never forget. He wondered if he’d ever stop longing for more.
“What do you think, Trent?”
Stanley’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. He turned to the older man. “What’s that?”
“Georgina would like to do something different at the wedding. Instead of one bridesmaid, she’d like to have a dozen,” Lady Stanley said.
A dozen bridesmaids. This was going to be the spectacle of the decade.
He inclined his head at Georgina. “Whatever you wish, of course.”
She clapped her hands. “I’m having them all wear plain white, so the beauty of my dress, which will be silver, will be a shining star among them.”
Simon wondered if his smile appeared as pained as it felt. “Excellent.”
The door burst open and banged against the inside wall. Simon jerked his head in the direction of the noise as someone – Esme, perhaps – gasped in surprise.
Sarah stood at the threshold wearing a dripping wet gray pelisse, her black hair in whipped wet clumps, and her blue eyes wild. Her gaze searched, seeking, then latched on to him. “Your… Grace.”
Her voice was choked. Full of some indefinable emotion.
“For heaven’s sake!” Lady Stanley exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this?”
From the corner of his eye, Simon saw that she’d risen from her chair. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Sarah. His chest clenched tight. When she wore her public face, Sarah was always restrained, never dramatic. Something was very, very wrong.
“Sarah… what is it?”
“Your Grace,” she pushed out. “I need to… we need to…” Her gaze darted around the room. She was trembling. Cold and wet and terribly upset about something.
He strode forward. “What is the matter?”
“I… I…” She wrapped her arms around her body as if to contain its shuddering. “I need to speak with you.”
“Is it so urgent you cannot take a moment to dry yourself off?” Lord Stanley asked dryly.
“You are dripping all over the Persian carpet, girl,” Lady Stanley snapped.
As if from far away, he heard Georgina say, “What insolence, to thrust herself upon us in such a fashion. Can you imagine?”
Simon turned on his wife-to-be. “Miss Osborne is a valued member of my household. If she has something to say to me, she will be given leave to say it.”
“Trent,” Lady Stanley said, “this is highly improper. She is a mere housemaid and should not be bursting in on the family with the impudence of some dirty wild thing. If something important has happened, she should go to her superior, who will then address you if she deems it of enough consequence. But I cannot abide a servant behaving so freely – and this one, in particular, has forgotten her place more than once in my presence.”
“Mine, too,” Georgina added primly.
Sarah stood at the door, looking so alone, so vulnerable. She needed him right now.
First, he turned to Lady Stanley. “This is my house and I shall treat everyone who resides here as I see fit, my lady. Do not ever presume to know more about my household than I do.”
“Of course I —”
“And you,” he said, interrupting her and turning on Georgina, “will treat everyone at Ironwood Park with respect.”
He didn’t wait for a response from her. He turned to Stanley and his brothers. “Please excuse me. I’ve no idea if I’ll return in time for dinner.”
Finally, he looked at Esme. “Have Mrs. Hope fetch warm towels and tea and have them sent to the library.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
Was it his imagination or were the corners of her lips twitching? He didn’t have time to analyze his sister’s expression. He turned back to Sarah. “I’m sorry about all that.”
“It’s… all right.” Her teeth began to chatter, and she clenched them together to stop.
“Hurry, Esme. She’s ice cold.”
As they left the parlor, Esme was on their heels. She turned toward the kitchen and Mrs. Hope’s office while Simon steered Sarah in the opposite direction toward the library. As they walked, he unbuttoned his tailcoat and laid it on her shaking shoulders, hoping it would help keep her warm until the towels and tea arrived. Burton would have a fit about the ruination of this particular coat, but Simon didn’t give a damn.
Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he led her into the library and to one of the warm rose-colored velvet chairs by the hearth, then he bent to stoke the fire. After a few moments, he turned, brushing his hands. Crouching in front of her, he took her cold hands in his own and began to chafe them as he looked up into her face. Her expression could only be called haggard.
“What is it, Sarah?” he asked quietly. “What has happened? Why were you out in the rain?”
“I…” She bowed her head, breaking their eye contact. “I found out something… about the Stanleys and about the duchess… and I think there’s more.” She looked back up, but her gaze shifted, not quite meeting his. “We might be able to find your mother.”
He rose and pulled a chair beside hers. “Tell me what happened.”
“I overheard Miss Stanley and Lady Stanley talking about a
place called Bordesley Green.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of the place. It’s a home near Worcester.”
“They were talking about someone they knew who lived there whose identity they didn’t want to expose.”
Simon kept trying to work some warmth into her hands, moving up to rub her wrists and forearms.
“I had no idea what they were talking about, but I’d heard of Bordesley Green before, I knew it. It wasn’t until this morning that I remembered where. You see… your mother’s manservant, James, keeps his own mother there. I went this morning to investigate. And I discovered that James was there to visit his mother last month, and he’s due again tomorrow. It seems he’s very much alive, Your Grace. I don’t know where he lives, but he’ll be at Bordesley Green tomorrow. He might have all the answers. If you intercept him there, he might be able to tell you once and for all what happened to your mother.”
Simon sat quietly for a moment, taking all this in. Then he looked at her and asked softly, “You went all the way out there on your own?”
“Yes.” She flinched. “Well, Robert Johnston drove me. It took some time to return home. The rain and the mud —”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Sarah? You needn’t have taken this on yourself.”
“You were busy with Miss Stanley,” she whispered.
Her pain was raw in her eyes, and he had to close his own in sheer self-preservation.
“And… I found the man the Stanleys are trying to hide.”
His eyes opened, and he stared at her.
“Bertram Stanley. The eldest brother. He’s alive.”
“What?”
“They tell everyone he’s dead, but he’s not. He’s alive and living at Bordesley Green.”
“What the hell?”
“Because they don’t want an idiot to inherit, Your Grace. If Bertram is ‘dead,’ Miss Stanley’s younger brother is the legal heir.”
“Good God,” Simon murmured. “Their selfishness and deviousness knows no bounds.”
He glanced at Sarah, but she was gazing into the fire, her eyes welling with unshed tears.
There was a knock on the door, and he pulled his hands away from her. It was a maid and a footman bearing tea and towels. While the maid laid out the tea service, Simon took the towels from the footman and wrapped them around Sarah. She was sitting stiffly, her back straight, blinking hard and staring at the hearth, obviously trying to hide her emotions from the two who’d just entered.
The Duchess Hunt Page 24