Simon wasn’t going to correct Dunsberg about the status of his engagement. But he felt itchy and unsettled, like thousands of tiny ants crawled under his skin. God knew, he wanted to tell the man. He wanted the whole damn thing over with. Now.
“Why did you never marry?” Simon asked him instead, deliberately turning the direction of the conversation.
Dunsberg regarded the liquid, swirling it in his glass. “Ah, well.” He slid Simon a wry look. “I was like you once, though I didn’t lose my own father until I was forty. But all the ladies were well aware that I would be a duke one day, and for ten years, at least, the matchmaking mamas emerged in full force every Season to plot my downfall.”
He took a sip of brandy. “But I wasn’t interested in marriage then. Those were wild times. No doubt you’ve heard much about them from stories of your parents.”
Simon made a small noise of agreement.
“And…” Dunsberg frowned into his glass. “Well, I suppose I found all of it a trifle distasteful. As if I weren’t a human being but my title was some kind of prize they were all vying for.”
“Yes.” Simon understood that completely.
“So I avoided being shackled at all costs. Eventually they gave up, for the most part.” Dunsberg chuckled softly. “Now, at the age of forty-nine, I finally feel ready to find a wife… but…” He shrugged. “I suppose I just haven’t found the right lady as yet.”
Simon raised his glass. “I wish you the best of luck in your search.”
Dunsberg chuckled. “I should concede defeat. I am too old. Ladies are attracted to the young and virile. Look at me” – he gestured to his wrinkled and pitted face – “the years have not been kind.”
“You’re still a duke.”
“Right. Yet to find a creature as lovely as the one you have snagged for yourself… well, I doubt such a blessing is in store for me.”
“You never know,” Simon said.
They talked for a while longer, then Simon excused himself to return to the ballroom.
The evening felt interminable, but he managed to endure it without anyone – besides his brothers – knowing something was amiss. Still, it was closing in on dawn when they returned home. Exhausted, everyone went straight to bed, except Simon, who paced his bedchamber, wanting to go outside, find Sarah, take her in his arms, and tell her everything.
But he needed to break with Georgina first. When he went to Sarah, he wanted to be a free man, a man who could lower himself on one knee and proclaim his never-ending adoration to the woman he loved.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the day he’d reveal all.
Chapter Twenty
Simon awoke from a short, restless sleep and asked one of the footmen to have Lord Stanley meet him in the library after the older man breakfasted. Simon was still in the library just before noon, mulling over accounts at his desk, when a knock on the door finally heralded a haggard-looking Stanley.
After he bade the man to be seated and offered him a drink, he got right to the point.
“I’m not going to marry your daughter.”
Stanley’s eyes went ice cold. He stared at Simon. Simon gazed back at him, keeping his expression blank. He didn’t know how long they sat there, staring at each other.
Finally, Stanley’s lips twisted. When he spoke, his words were soft. Calm. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Trent? Are you prepared for the repercussions of this decision?”
“The only repercussions should be the increased happiness of the parties involved, Stanley. Mine and your daughter’s.”
“Her happiness revolves around her upcoming marriage. To you.”
“That’s nonsense. She feels nothing for me.”
Stanley raised a brow. “Do not tell me you have fallen victim to romantic tripe regarding your future wife, Trent. You know, perhaps better than I do, that in our class there are more important factors than romance when choosing a bride. You have a dukedom to consider.”
Simon almost smiled. He did indeed have a dukedom to consider. One that Sarah would manage with grace and aplomb. One that he wished to continue to manage only with her by his side.
“I have come to the conclusion that for the overall happiness and well-being of all the people who depend upon me, Miss Stanley is not the right choice.”
Stanley’s expression soured even more. “You’re deranged. Of course Georgina is the right choice. I have groomed her for this very position.”
Simon leaned forward, resting his forearms over the papers on his desk. “That’s just it. You’ve groomed her to be a peer’s wife, Stanley. But not my wife. With my title comes my family and its reputation, and all the eccentricities weaved into that.”
Stanley shrugged. “Georgina’s entry into your family will only help its reputation.”
Simon’s smile was wry. “I don’t care about that. You see… I have spent most of my life trying to clear my family’s name. And do you know what? I am finished with that. My family is odd, certainly. We have struggled with more than our share of difficulties. But my family is mine, and if anyone dislikes them or wishes to judge them, I would thank them to stay well clear of the Hawkinses.”
“Are you implying —?”
“I’m not implying anything. I am telling you that I am sick and tired of people trying and convicting my family members of crimes against polite society. I am finished. From now on, I will no longer try to correct my family members’ alleged wrongs. From now on, I have only one thing to say to those of you who will condemn my siblings or my parents: to hell with you.”
“Is that what you’re going to say when the truth about your brothers’ and sister’s parentage is revealed?”
“I am hoping that, as a man of honor, you will see the wisdom in my decision not to marry your daughter, and that you will choose not to reveal that information. There is no point. Unless the idea of ruining the lives of innocents appeals to you.”
“We had a deal, Trent.”
“Not exactly. You attempted to extort a marriage out of me, and I allowed it for a while. But no more.”
Stanley tilted his head, gulped the last of his drink, and smacked his glass down on the desk as he rose. “You will regret this decision. Mark my words, you will regret it.”
He swiveled and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the window rattled. Simon sat there for some moments, composing himself, then he went to look for Georgina. He found her on the far reaches of the lawn with her mother, Esme, and his four brothers, who’d clearly taken pity on him and brought the ladies out into the lovely summer day. Servants had set up a variety of archery targets, and they were taking turns at shooting.
As he approached, Georgina let an arrow fly, then squinted at the distant target and squealed. “Ooh! I do believe I hit it that time!”
Mark grinned at her. “I do believe you did.”
Seeing Simon, Georgina hurried toward him. She was dressed in white muslin trimmed with cornflower blue ribbons that matched her eyes. Her blond curls shone beneath her crisp white wide-brimmed hat, and a healthy color glowed on her cheeks.
She was a flawless English rose. On the outside, at least. Even now, he wasn’t sure about the inside. She hadn’t shown him anything of herself but what she wanted him to see.
“Oh, Trent! Where have you been? We are having such fun!”
“It certainly looks like it,” he told her, taking in the scene. Theo was helping Lady Stanley nock her arrow. Esme carried a bow slung over her shoulder and was selecting an arrow from the long table. Even Luke was there, but he hung back from the action, standing under the shade of a sycamore tree, a faint smirk on his face as he studied the proceedings and sipped at a glass of what appeared to be lemonade.
Luke met his gaze and gave him a slight nod, but the cynical expression on his face didn’t change.
Simon turned back to Georgina. “Will you walk with me?”
“Oh… of course.” She cast a longing glance back toward the table, where Esme was talki
ng to Theo about the arrows. “Mama,” she called, “Trent and I are going for a walk. We’ll be back…” She gave Simon an enquiring glance.
“Soon,” he supplied.
“Soon!” she said.
“Oh, do take all the time you need,” Lady Stanley crooned, waving them off.
Giving Georgina his arm, Simon turned his back on his family and began to walk, taking care not to enter the area where Esme and Theo were shooting.
They were well out of sight of the party when they stepped onto the bridge over the stream, heading back toward the house. At the top of the arched bridge, Simon stopped, then rested his hands on the rail and gazed down at the flow of the stream. Georgina duplicated his every move.
Ahead, the willow trees that grew on the banks sloped toward the water, their long branches reaching across the stream toward each other, like lovers seeking a caress.
He felt no need to use small talk to delay the inevitable. Instead, he spoke quietly and got right to the point. “Georgina, I think it would be best if we called off our engagement.”
Her pink lips parted, and she blinked at him several times.
“What?” she finally breathed.
“I cannot marry you.”
“Yes you can!”
“I’m sorry. I cannot.”
“Why?”
He tried to make his voice gentle. “I don’t love you. I am sorry.”
“Oh.” Her chest seemed to deflate, and she matched his gentle tone with hers when she spoke again, patting his hand. “That’s all right, Trent. I don’t love you, either. That little thing shouldn’t get in the way of our marriage, though.”
Her words stunned him for a moment, but he gathered himself quickly. “You don’t understand. I don’t wish to enter into a marriage without genuine affection.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t, Georgina.”
“If that is the case, then why did you propose to me?”
Well, then. She really didn’t know the reason. He considered his answer for a long moment, then told her a half-truth. “Your father thought it would be the perfect match. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse at the time. But now… things have changed.”
He thought of Stanley’s rage. How the baron wouldn’t hesitate to spew his venom about all of Simon’s siblings.
He closed his eyes, remembering how his brothers had demanded that he not compromise his morals to save them.
Georgina had been pondering his words, and now she asked, “Why did you change your mind?”
Her reaction was far less emotional than he’d expected. Obviously he did not know or understand this lady at all.
“I’ve learned in the past few weeks how important it is for me to have someone I love at my side.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is there someone else? A mistress, perhaps? Mama taught me that I should never begrudge my husband his mistress. She has got along quite well for years with my father and his mistresses. She told me it is better if he has someone to turn to for physical release, because it removes the burden of his unwelcome advances.”
Simon tried not to grimace, not wanting to think about the carnal lives of Lord and Lady Stanley. He remembered his parents screaming at each other about their paramours. Whenever one of his parents learned about one of the other’s lovers, it lodged another shard of glass into that parent’s soul. By the time his father had died, they’d both been so broken, Simon could hardly look at either of them without feeling their pain inside himself.
His mother had healed somewhat after his father died. She’d let her children – even her husband’s mistress’s children – help with that. He knew now that that was part of why she’d become so “eccentric” in her decision to always keep them close.
“So,” Georgina continued, “if you should decide to keep your mistress once we are married, I shall not be put out.”
Put out? Really? He raised a brow, remembering his mother sobbing, flailing out with fists at his father, his father’s retaliatory hit, and his mother’s blackened eye the next day.
“Georgina, you’re not understanding me. We’re not marrying. I’ve made the decision and it’s final.” When she didn’t have a ready answer for that statement, he added, “I am sorry.”
She turned back to the rail and gazed out over the stream. The afternoon sun shone on the water, making its ripples sparkle and glitter.
“I thought you should be the one to formally break our engagement to the public. It will be the best way to keep the scandal contained.”
She gave a short, scoffing laugh. “You have informed my father of this, I assume?”
“I have.”
“And?”
Simon sighed. “And nothing. He’s no choice but to accept it. As do you.”
“No,” she said quietly. Then she pushed off from the railing and turned to look up at him. “No. I won’t accept it.”
“You must.”
“But I want to be a duchess!”
“I am sorry I cannot assist in your endeavor to become one.”
“I was promised a duke, and I will accept nothing less.”
“So it is true, then.” Simon wasn’t surprised, but to hear confirmation of it voiced out loud felt like sandpaper scrubbing his skin. “I am just a title to you.”
Her eyes seemed to shoot icy blue sparks at him. “You are a duke.”
“I am a man.”
Her lips were tight, but her voice was deadly quiet. “You will not do this to me, Trent. You cannot offer everything and then just turn around and throw it all away based on some ridiculous notion that you don’t love me. I won’t accept it, I tell you!”
“You haven’t any choice,” he said again.
She stamped her foot. “Change your mind. I insist!”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Ugh!” she cried in frustration. “I’m going to my father. He’ll make you change your mind.”
“You may go to your father,” he said calmly, “but I won’t change my mind.”
“Then he’ll make you suffer. We’ll all make you suffer!”
He gave her a bland stare. He could manage the wrath of all the Stanleys combined with Sarah by his side.
She stamped her foot again. “This is your last chance,” she growled, rage deepening the color on her cheeks.
“Threats against me won’t work for you. Nothing will. I will not marry you.”
She made another frustrated humph, stamped her foot again, and spat, “Rot in hell, Trent,” before spinning away and storming off toward the house.
The sun had settled high overhead, beating down on the cart Robert Johnston drove with Sarah seated beside him. She dipped her head so her bonnet brim would shade her face from the penetrating rays.
When Mrs. Hope had asked her to make this journey to Birmingham to fetch a collection of new linens she’d ordered last month, Sarah had agreed, thinking that a brief time away from Ironwood Park would be good for her. She hadn’t expected Robert would be her driver. She’d also expected one of the housemaids to accompany her, but Mrs. Hope said that everyone was busy with the houseguests, and two maids had the day off, so she’d be shorthanded as it was.
So the day after rejecting his proposal and accidentally pouring out all her wretched misery to him, Sarah found herself side by side with Robert Johnston on the bench of a cart on an errand that would last well into the evening hours.
They’d traveled mostly in silence all morning, Robert working the horses, Sarah turned away from him and staring out over the landscapes they passed. Green, fertile farms. Tiny villages with timbered houses. Willow-herbs blooming with splashes of pink. Fields of clover and forget-me-nots, and clumps of blue fescue. Copses of elms… sycamores… oaks. She could name almost every plant and tree that they passed, thanks to her father, and she passed the time by listing them in her mind and categorizing them and saving the details of those she couldn’t name to ask her father about later.
That way, she
didn’t have to think about how mortified she was to be sitting beside Robert Johnston, the person she’d least wanted to come in contact with today.
It was now past noon, and they were still driving. She’d never been to Birmingham, but she’d heard from the other servants that the drive took about half a day. They’d left at dawn, which meant they were closing on seven hours now. Seven interminable, miserable hours.
She glanced at Robert. “Are we almost there?”
“Ah… not yet.” He didn’t look at her but doggedly remained focused on the horses.
Suddenly, every alarm bell in her body seemed to go off at once. She stiffened in her seat.
“Robert?”
“Mmm?”
“Is something wrong?” She looked in the direction he was staring – the team of four horses – but they all looked hardy enough. Though she wasn’t an expert on horses like he was. “Is something wrong with one of the horses?”
“No, Sarah. Nothing is wrong with the horses.” Gradually, he slowed the animals to a walk. When they were plodding along at a far more sedate pace, the sounds of their clomping hooves subdued, he stared straight ahead and said, “I need to speak with you about something.”
She stifled an inward groan. In a way, she wished he’d hated her after what she’d revealed to him yesterday. She wished his image of her perfection had been shattered. Instead, he’d gently comforted her. Whatever anger he had possessed seemed to be directed toward Simon, not her.
Gripping her hands in her lap, she nodded.
“I went to your father yesterday.”
She flinched. Oh, good Lord. “Again?”
“Aye. I told him everything.”
“What?” she gasped. No. Oh, no. Her father… She knew he’d learn about her pregnancy at some point, but she wasn’t sure how he’d respond to it. She’d wanted to have a firm plan in place before she told him to limit his worry… and his disappointment in her.
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