The Duchess Hunt

by Jennifer Haymore

  “You may go,” he told them.

  They hurried out, and Simon finished pouring the tea. He added a bit of sugar, the way he knew she liked it, stirred it, and handed it to her.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she said shakily. That was a lie. He frowned.

  “I’ll go to Bordesley Green tomorrow,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll speak with James and I’ll see Bertram Stanley.”

  “Yes.”

  He took her hand again. It was warmer now. “I’ll take care of everything, Sarah. I’ll find out whatever it is James knows about my mother.”

  Her teeth closed over her lower lip.

  “Everything will be all right.”

  She looked away from him. She didn’t believe him.

  “What is it? Is there something else?”

  She took a long moment to answer. Finally, she turned to him slowly, as if moving through pudding.

  “No, Your Grace. There is nothing else.”

  “It’s Sarah Osborne, isn’t it?”

  Simon snapped his head up from his drink and squinted at his brother. He sat slouched in one of the velvet armchairs in the dark library. The fire had long since stopped giving off heat, and there was a chill in the air he hadn’t noticed before.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked Sam.

  With a sigh, Sam did something most rare: he sat, lowering himself into the chair Sarah had occupied earlier. It was likely still damp, but Sam didn’t complain. One thing about Sam – he never complained. He had come home once from the Continent with a gunshot wound to his shoulder that had festered and taken months to heal, and he had never spoken one word of complaint.

  “Sarah Osborne,” Sam said. “The other woman whose identity you wouldn’t reveal to me the day you came to tell me about Stanley’s threats.”

  Good God, had he been that obvious this afternoon? If so, what were the rest of them thinking?

  And then, a realization jolted through him. He didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn if the whole world saw how he felt about Sarah.

  A great weight lifted from his shoulders, and he gazed at his brother, stone-faced. “Yes.”

  Sam tilted his head. Simon couldn’t really see his expression in the gloom, but his brother’s dark eyes shone.

  “Trent,” he said, his voice ever so quiet, “it is unlike you to dally with the servants.”

  Fury built in Simon so quickly he snapped out of his chair, still gripping his brandy in one fist. Cool liquid splashed over his hand. “Don’t push me, Sam.”

  Sam remained seated, gazing up at him. “Why? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  “No!” he roared. The bloody drink was in the way, so he stalked over to his desk and slammed it down. Then he rounded on his brother. “I am not dallying with anyone. And hell, if another person refers to her as a servant, he’s going to be receiving a mouthful of my fist.”

  “Then what is it, exactly, that you are doing with her?”

  “What are you doing?” Simon growled. “You come in here and accuse me of dallying with servants when you know damn well that’s not what this is.”

  “If not a dalliance, what is it?” Sam pressed. “Don’t tell me you had intended to propose marriage before all this Stanley nonsense.”

  “Marriage…?” Shaking his head to clear the sudden fog in it, Simon stared at his brother.

  “I see,” Sam said mildly. “The thought never even occurred to you. Of course it didn’t. She’s too far below you to consider such a preposterous idea.”

  “I…” Simon shut his mouth. Sam was right. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. Not once.

  “She’d make an unacceptable wife, of course,” Sam continued. “Her breeding isn’t of the proper sort, after all. She’s not remotely close to possessing an aristocratic lineage. And only a true lady could be a wife to you, right, Trent? Only someone who’s been groomed for the task, who has the correct aristocratic bloodlines. You could never marry a woman like Sarah Osborne. You must consider yourself lucky to have had Georgina Stanley fall into your lap instead.”

  A vague part of his brain registered that Sam had grossly insulted him, but the greater majority was overwhelmed by the concept that swirled about. Marry her. Marry Sarah.

  Make her his wife. Spend his life with her. Fall asleep beside her every night and wake beside her every morning. Have children with her. Grow old with her. Possess the freedom to love her openly. Make her his duchess.

  The thoughts grounded him; calmed him. It wasn’t like considering his marriage to Georgina, which always left him vaguely angry and slightly ill. No, the idea of marrying Sarah was a balm to his soul.

  All his life he had assigned such importance to aristocratic bloodlines and lineage, just like Sam said. But not anymore. He didn’t give a damn anymore. He’d learned there were things far more important than having the blood of the aristocracy running through one’s veins. In any case, from the evidence he’d gathered this summer, that blood was mostly tainted.

  Marry Sarah.

  But it couldn’t happen. He was betrothed to another.

  He pushed a frustrated hand through his hair and turned away from his brother. “This conversation is moot,” he said harshly. “It is too late for such talk.”

  “Right. Of course. Then tell me, Trent, what are you doing with Sarah, if it does not qualify as a dalliance?”

  “I am…” His voice trailed off. He rubbed his temples. “I am trying to do what is right. What you advised me to do. Marry Georgina Stanley to save my brothers and sister from disgrace.”

  “But what about Sarah?”

  Simon swallowed hard, emotions he dared not name churning within him. After a long moment, he murmured, “I’m hurting her.”

  He was hurting himself. Hurting them both.

  “I am fond of Sarah,” Sam said quietly. “All of us are.”

  “Not the Stanleys.”

  “You know I don’t mean the Stanleys. I mean all of us. None of us wishes to see her hurt.”

  “Nor do I, damn it.”

  Sam’s eyes glinted in the dim. “Are you saying that you care about her? That your aristocratic pride is willing to stoop down so low?”

  Simon straightened. “Society might think her lower than me, but she isn’t. She is… my equal. In all things.”

  Sam sat back in his chair as if Simon’s words had slapped him across the face. A long moment of stunned silence filled the room.

  Finally, Sam said, “If you’re hurting her, Trent, you’re going to need to put a stop to it.”

  Simon leaned on his desk, both hands flat on the sleek mahogany surface. “And what do you propose I do? Please, gift me with your wisdom, because I’m bloody well in dire need of it at this moment.”

  Slowly, Sam shook his head from side to side. “There is no solution that will result in everyone’s happiness. Worse for you, perhaps, is that there is no solution that won’t result in a scandal worthy of our mother.”

  Simon stared down at his hands.

  “But you must fix this, Trent.”

  Slowly, he raised his gaze until he met his brother’s eyes. “You’re right.”

  The next day, while Sarah was eating her midday meal, Robert Johnston entered the kitchen. She tried to smile a greeting at him.

  Forcing her lips into upward tilts had been a difficult exercise for the past day. Ever since she’d realized she was with child, she’d brought a dark cloud into every room she entered. People had noticed her dour mood, but she didn’t have any idea how to clear away the gloom.

  A pregnancy should be a time of joy and anticipation, but all she could feel was fear and dread. The simple fact was, Georgina Stanley was going to force her to leave Ironwood Park. Yesterday morning, Sarah had believed she had options, would find another situation in another house, and while she’d miss Simon, she’d survive. But now that she’d be bringing an illegitimate child with her, he
r options fluttered away, as fleeting as dandelion seeds whisked away on a strong breeze.

  She hadn’t the faintest idea what she’d do. Where she’d go. Who’d accept her now.

  How she and the babe would survive.

  She’d thought about telling Simon yesterday afternoon when she’d revealed her discoveries at Bordesley Green, but she hadn’t been able to do it. Who knew what his powerful sense of duty and propriety would compel him to do? If he jilted Georgina Stanley and married Sarah because he considered it the “right” thing to do, the scandal would destroy him and his family. She couldn’t do that to him – to any of them.

  Or, he might never even consider marrying her. He’d go forward with marrying Miss Stanley, but his sense of duty might compel him to “keep” Sarah, perhaps set her up discreetly in a small house far away with an allowance for her and the babe.

  That thought, when she’d had it just after breakfast, had given her such a sour feeling in her gut that she’d run to the privy to release the contents of her stomach.

  She had remained slumped against the door of the privy for a long while as she’d come to terms with this additional verification of her pregnancy, and while she’d stood there, she realized that she couldn’t accept the option of being Simon’s “kept woman.” She was too proud to be hidden away somewhere. To be Simon’s embarrassing secret.

  Although once her practical nature regained control, she admitted to herself that it might be her last resort. If it came to accepting his charity or the poorhouse, her pride would just have to endure the blow.

  Now, she pasted a smile on her face and directed it to Robert Johnston. “Good afternoon, Robert.”

  “I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said.

  She wiped her hands on her napkin and pushed her plate away. “Here I am. How may I help you?”

  He glanced around the kitchen. One of the housemaids was eating with Sarah at the table. Two kitchen maids were kneading dough, and the cook had poked her head out of the larder and was watching them with interest.

  He looked back down at her. “Do you have time to walk with me?”

  She didn’t want to walk with Robert Johnston, but her mind was too muddled to invent an acceptable excuse not to. “I might be able to spare half an hour.”

  His smile was brilliant. “Wonderful.”

  The summer day was fine, and she didn’t need a coat. They walked the garden path, then out onto the lawn, headed toward the stream and the line of trees marking the forest. They reached the line of blackberry bushes along the bank of the stream, then Robert cut behind them. Toward her and Simon’s bench.

  “Let’s sit for a while,” Robert said when the bench came into view.

  At his expectant look, she lowered herself woodenly. She hadn’t wanted to come here ever again, but to come here with Robert and not Simon – a part of her felt like she was being unfaithful.

  “I enjoyed our day together yesterday,” he said as he sat down beside her.

  She looked at him in some surprise. She’d hardly noticed him all day, so selfishly focused as she’d been on her own revelations. “It was very kind of you to drive me all that way.”

  “I was happy to do it for you.” He paused, then added in a low voice, “I’d do anything for you, Sarah.”

  Sarah’s heart began to pound, and her stomach roiled, reminding her of the tiny life growing there. She pressed her hand flat against her bodice. Her baby. Simon’s baby.

  Her luncheon tumbled around in her stomach. If she vomited here, she would be mortified.

  “Robert, I don’t —”

  He held up his hand. “Please. Let me speak.”

  She shut her mouth, stanching the impulse to beg him to stop talking, to take her back to the house.

  He turned to face her. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Sarah.”

  She tried to remember to breathe, forcing air in and out, in and out. She shook her head in silent denial, pleading him with her eyes to stop, stop now, before he said something they’d both regret.

  But he didn’t seem to understand her silent pleas, because he continued. “You are lovely. You are kind and honest and pure.”

  “No —” she gasped, but he raised his hand, stopping her again.

  “In short, you’d make the most perfect of companions for me. I have asked your father for your hand in marriage, and he has given his consent.” He took a deep breath. “Sarah Osborne, will you make me the happiest of men? Will you marry me?”

  She opened her mouth, but now that she’d been given leave to speak, words failed her. She scrambled through the cackles of laughter from the devil in her soul – “Pure? You? What a wonderful farce!” – and tried to find the words she could string together into a coherent sentence.

  Finally, she spoke, her voice low and scratchy. “You… hardly know me.”

  “I’ve spent a full day in your company,” he answered readily, “and we’ve seen each other on countless other occasions. I observed you in London. You behaved admirably, given the challenging situation the duke and his sister put you in. You remained composed in every circumstance, and through it all, your grace, your gentle and compassionate nature shone through.”

  She blinked at him, feeling like she was in some kind of warped dream. His words sounded so formal. Had he rehearsed them? Again, she shook her head. “No, you don’t understand.”

  He looked up at her, his brown eyes dark and serious. “But I do. I know you, Sarah. I know you will make me a fine wife. Your father agrees.”

  She rubbed her forehead, trying to eliminate the awkward image of Robert asking her father for permission to marry her.

  “Oh, Robert.” She squeezed her eyes shut. As much as she hated to hurt him, it had to be said. “I cannot marry you.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “No. I can’t. I truly can’t.”

  The first lines of concern deepened between his brows. “I’ll give you whatever time you need. I will court you properly. I will do whatever it takes —”

  “No. It will never… It can never be. I am so sorry.”

  “If you take some time to think it over —”

  “No, Robert.”

  “Give me a chance to prove myself to you, then.”

  “No,” she repeated as her heart wept. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if Robert were the man she’d fallen in love with? But, no, she’d lost herself, lost everything to an impossibility.

  He shook his head. “I can’t accept no. There is no logic to that answer.”

  “But there is. I don’t love you.”

  “I will earn your love. It’ll come in time.”

  She simply shook her head. “I am sorry.”

  A frown marred his lips. When he spoke, all softness had melted from his tone. “Why, then?” His dark eyes bored into her. “Tell me why.”

  “I… can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Sorry, Robert. I am so sorry. But she knew all the sorrys in the world wouldn’t save her from Robert’s probing gaze.

  She looked away from him and felt the hardness of his stare for long moments. She gazed down at her hands twisting in her lap.

  Finally, he said in a low voice, “It’s the duke, isn’t it?”

  Every nerve ending in her body jolted as though each one had been struck with a tiny bolt of lightning.

  “What?” she gasped, swiveling her head to look at him.

  “It’s the duke. You fancy yourself in love with him.”

  Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord.

  “I…” She shook her head vehemently, gathered her wits, and then stilled and growled out, “I daresay that is none of your business.”

  “And that’s enough of a confirmation for me,” he said in a gravelly voice. Then, he added, “Sarah, even if you have engaged in some sort of liaison with the Duke of Trent, you must know nothing can come of it.”

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t sit here and discuss her love for Simon with Robert Johnston.

  �
�He would never marry you,” Robert continued. “He’ll never give you his home. I want to share my life with you, Sarah. My home. My children.”

  She met his eyes, her own stinging with tears. “You don’t understand, Robert. It’s too late.” It had always been too late for the two of them. “Too late for any of that.”

  Robert understood. She watched as understanding dawned in his eyes.

  “Hell,” he whispered. “You gave him everything, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Your love. Your body.”

  She closed her eyes as his gaze lowered to where her hands were pressed against her stomach.

  “You’re with child, aren’t you? His child?”

  Bending her head, her shoulders slumping as her body closed in upon itself, Sarah burst into tears.

  Chapter Nineteen

  To everyone’s surprise, Luke had arrived at Ironwood Park sometime between midnight and dawn. When Simon and Sam had gone down to breakfast, Luke was slouched in the breakfast room drinking coffee and talking to Theo and Mark. The Stanleys were not yet up, nor was Esme.

  Luke seemed sober, but black bags puffed beneath his eyes, and he was in a dour mood as he reported that his search for their mother had not resulted in any revelations. Simon had known that from the investigator he’d hired, so it came as no surprise.

  Luke didn’t offer any apology, an excuse, or even an acknowledgment of the last time he had seen Simon, and for that, Simon was grateful. He had enough on his shoulders at the moment without being dragged down by an old encounter with his brother. He was content to start fresh.

  Over poached eggs and coffee, Simon told his brothers how Sarah had learned that James would be at Bordesley Green today. Again, Simon wasn’t surprised when all of his brothers insisted upon going there with him. Half an hour later, they were packed tightly in the family carriage.