Robert’s expression didn’t change. “I told him you were with child by the duke.”
Heaviness settled thickly in her chest, like someone was pouring cooling iron into her lungs. Her father knew. He hadn’t arisen this morning to see her off. She hadn’t even seen him last night – she’d worked late at the house, and when she’d returned, he’d already been abed. Did he hate her now? Think of his own daughter as a whore?
Who knew how Robert had portrayed her relationship with Simon?
She turned slowly, looking at Robert with new eyes. He’d revealed her secret. He’d told her father something it was her right alone to reveal.
“How could you?” she whispered. She shook her head and looked away from him, her hands clenched tight in her lap, her eyes stinging, unable to communicate to him how betrayed she felt.
“It was for your own good, Sarah. Did you think you could hide it from him forever? Better sooner than later, I say. So we can protect you. Save your reputation.”
Foolish men. She had no reputation to save.
“We spoke at length and finally determined our best option,” Robert continued. “Your best option.”
She swung her head around to stare at him with narrowed eyes.
He took a deep breath. “We came to the conclusion that you and I must marry. Immediately. It is the only way.”
“The only… way?” she repeated faintly.
“Yes. To save your position and status at Ironwood Park.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“It is also the only way to legitimize the child – everyone will believe that he is mine,” Robert continued, “and I will not deny it. I’d do that for you, Sarah.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“Your father was thankful that I would sacrifice so much for you.”
He said it as if he believed she should be thankful, too. But her mind was swirling – full of betrayal and fear and hopelessness. “So you… you’re kidnapping me?”
His eyes widened. “Of course not. I’m simply taking you to Scotland so we can be married without delay. Without wasting the weeks it would require for the reading of the banns were we to marry in England. Before you swell with child and the speculation begins.”
She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t think, couldn’t process what was happening.
“Your father said you would come to your senses on the journey. That you would ultimately agree.”
She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. Was that what this swirling madness in her head was? The process of coming to her senses?
“Mr. Osborne and I spoke for hours. Believe me when I say this is the best solution for you. The only solution that will assure your future. The child’s future. You don’t wish to raise a bastard, do you?”
“I…” She closed her mouth, still unable to speak through the jumble of words cluttering up her throat. She stared ahead. So… they weren’t going to Birmingham, after all. They’d passed Birmingham and were headed north. To Scotland.
“Mrs. Hope?” she managed.
At that, Robert grinned. “Your father and I went to her with our idea. Don’t worry – we didn’t tell her about the child, though.”
Oh, thanks for that, Sarah thought bitterly.
“As soon as she heard the plan to whisk you away to Scotland so we could be married, she thought it was all very romantic. She told us she’d help us in any way we required.”
“So… she lied to me.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“She tricked me.” Even Mrs. Hope had betrayed her.
“She helped us,” Robert said quietly. “You know all the servants were well-aware of our courtship.”
Sarah closed her eyes, remembering the snide comments from the other maids, the smirks from the footmen, the comments from Esme… She’d simply brushed them off.
A courtship? Was that what this had been?
She gazed at the winding ribbon of road stretched out before them. The road to Scotland. Had she been on this road all along?
If only she could find a way off of it. But towering walls stood on both sides, hemming her in. There were no forks in the road, no intersections. No options.
Perhaps Robert was right. There was no other way.
Chapter Twenty-One
Simon hadn’t seen any sign of Sarah all day, and after Georgina stomped off in her temper, he itched to hurry off in search of her. Her father would know where she was. Or perhaps Mrs. Hope.
But he lingered at the stream for a few minutes, shaking off his surprise at Georgina’s behavior, bracing himself for the inevitable unpleasantness that the Stanleys would lay on the Hawkinses now.
Except for his mother, his whole family was still here. Tonight he’d bring them together – with Sarah, of course – and devise a plan about what to do.
But first… Sarah. He needed to reveal his heart to her. It couldn’t wait any longer.
He began walking in the direction of her father’s cottage, but he hadn’t gone far before he saw Mr. Osborne’s telltale straw hat peeking over a box hedge. Simon had always liked Osborne – the man took a special pride in the appearance of Ironwood Park and was passionate about his work. He worked hard and made good decisions, and Simon respected him for those qualities. He also respected the close relationship that Sarah seemed to have with him. Never once had Sarah made a disparaging remark about her father. By all appearances, he seemed to be a doting parent. Sarah had told him that was because she was the only family he had left, and that she doted on him as well, for the same reason.
Hurrying toward the older man, Simon found him heatedly discussing the use of stable manure as fertilizer with one of the under gardeners.
“Mr. Osborne,” he hailed.
Osborne went silent at the sound of his voice. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at Simon. Then, he turned back to the gardener, speaking in lowered tones. The other man immediately strode off after a quick bow in Simon’s direction.
Osborne turned fully to him and gave him a perfunctory nod. “Your Grace. How may I help you?” His words were polite but his tone was not, and though Simon had believed that the man knew nothing about his relationship with Sarah, he now wondered if that were true.
“I’m looking for Sarah,” he told Osborne. “Do you know where I might find her?”
“Yes.”
Simon waited for the man to continue, but he just stood there, looking at him, his eyes squinting at him under the shade of his hat brim.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Scotland.”
“Scotland?” He shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Osborne’s leathery skin twitched in the vicinity of his jaw. When he spoke, it sounded as if he was forcing each word out through a tiny tube.
“She is going to Scotland to be married.”
“Married? To whom?” Simon asked in bewilderment.
“Robert Johnston,” the man gritted out.
No. That was… No. Impossible.
Osborne’s eyes narrowed further, and he pointed a dirt-smudged finger at Simon. “I would thank you not to look at me like that, Your Grace. As if you are surprised. Your actions led to this. Your actions forced my daughter into this.”
“What are you saying?” Simon pushed the words through his closing throat.
Osborne shook his head in disgust. “You compromised her. My sweet, innocent, lovely Sarah. You…” He turned his face away, then turned back, his blue eyes – eyes like his daughter’s – shining with unshed tears. “Never mind.” His voice was lower now but rough with emotion. “I promise you, once she is married, she will keep her distance from you. I hope you will show her enough courtesy to do the same.”
Simon’s mind worked rapidly. Why would Sarah do this? She’d told him she possessed no aspirations of marriage, and he was certain she didn’t have feelings for Johnston. How had Simon’s actions forced her into marriage? Unless…
Oh, God
. Unless Sarah was with child.
Sarah’s child. His child.
But if that were the case, why go to her father? Why go to Robert Johnston? Why hadn’t she come to him?
Those questions would wait. For now… he had to find her. Had to stop the damn wedding.
Unless it was too late.
“When did they leave?” he snapped at Osborne.
“This morning.”
Simon gave him a short nod, then he took a step forward. “Listen to me, Osborne, and listen closely. I am leaving this instant. I am going to Scotland. I am going to stop this marriage.”
Osborne opened his mouth to speak, but Simon cut him off.
“She cannot marry Robert Johnston,” he said, spitting out the other man’s name. “Because she is going to marry me.”
Osborne spluttered in surprise. “But you’re – you – engaged – someone else – can’t —”
“There is no one,” Simon informed him. “There never has been anyone else for me. I love her… and I… love…” The child. Their child. Emotion welled up in him so fast he could hardly speak. When he did, it emerged as a shaking whisper. “Sarah is everything to me.”
With that, he swiveled around and headed toward the stable, his chest vibrating with the truth of his words.
Simon rode like the hounds of hell nipped at his heels. He rode for long hours, stopping only to change horses and only late at night when he was so tired he worried he might fall off the horse.
On a foggy late morning two days later, he rode into the village of Gretna Green, not knowing what he’d find. Maybe Sarah and Johnston were here now. Maybe they weren’t here yet. Maybe they’d already married and were heading back to Ironwood Park. He hadn’t encountered them, but there were those bits of time he hadn’t been on the road and there were certainly other times they hadn’t been on the road. It was possible they’d passed one another unknowingly.
But he hoped not.
The hard riding had stripped him of all emotion, all feeling. Except hope. Hope was all he had left.
He rode to the famed inn where the blacksmith of Gretna Green had married runaway brides and grooms for the past sixty years. The man had died last year, and the position of the Gretna Green Parson had been handed over to his grandson-in-law, a Mr. Elliot, who performed ceremonies in the inn, the largest establishment in the village, set among a tidy row of mostly old clay cottages and a few modern stone houses.
As Simon dismounted, a sallow-faced young man appeared at the door of the place. Securing his horse, Simon removed his hat and greeted him. “Are you Mr. Elliot?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Have you performed any marriages here in the past twenty-four hours?”
Elliot regarded him for a moment, then said, “Nay, I havena. Much to that lad’s disappointment.” He angled his pointed chin toward the lawn. Simon followed the movement, squinting at the dark figure slouched beneath a tree in the distance.
He strode toward the man, and as he drew closer he recognized Robert Johnston’s bearing and his dark hair.
The coachman straightened as Simon approached, and his features drew tight as he recognized Simon.
“Your Grace,” he said quietly. Then he shook his head, blinking as though Simon were some apparition he was trying to make disappear. “What are you doing here?”
Simon hadn’t ridden all this way to have a pleasant chat with Robert Johnston. He ignored the man’s question. “Where is she?”
“Sarah?” Johnston squinted his eyes at him as if he was confused. “You’re looking for Sarah?”
Simon’s hands fisted at his sides as he struggled for calm. “Where is she, Johnston?”
“Why would you come here… to Gretna Green… looking for Sarah? You’re the one who…” Johnston’s features went taut again, and his eyes narrowed.
Simon took a step closer, tapping the brim of his hat against his thigh. He addressed the man with slow speech, as if he were speaking to a child. “I need to speak with Sarah Osborne.”
Johnston’s lip curled. “Why? So you can ruin her all over again? So you can leave her broken and scattered to the winds, with no one to turn to?” He shook his head and added bitterly, “I’m not going to be there to pick her up the next time.”
Simon stared at the other man, shaken. Had he done that? Broken her and thrown the pieces to the wind?
“I am trying to make this right.”
“Right? How do you intend to make this right, Your Grace?” Now patent dislike shone in Johnston’s gaze. “What will you do? Set her up in some fine townhouse in London as your secret mistress while you show off your high-and-mighty lady wife to the world? She’s too good for that.” He poked a finger into the air in emphasis. “Too. Good.”
Only now did Simon see the half-empty bottle of whiskey nestled among the roots at the base of the tree. He looked back at Johnston. “You’re drunk.”
Johnston gave a negligent shrug.
Simon stepped forward, his gaze narrowed on the coachman. “She didn’t go through with marrying you, I presume.”
Johnston scowled and looked away.
Simon pushed his hand through his hair, which was already sticking up straight from the lack of both a comb and Burton’s fastidious care. “Why did she refuse you?”
Johnston pressed his fingers to his temples. “Accused me of kidnapping her. Of not knowing her mind. Her heart. She left this morning on the mail coach.”
“Where was it headed?”
“To England. Manchester.”
“When did it leave?”
“Nine o’clock.”
Hell. He’d passed the mail coach on the road less than an hour ago. Sarah had been inside.
That put him more than an hour behind it now.
He secured his hat and turned toward his horse.
As he walked away, Johnston called out to him. “For what it’s worth, I quit. I shall never darken your doorstep – or your driver’s seat – again.”
Simon didn’t answer him. Moments later, he turned back onto the road to England, spurring the horse into a gallop.
Sarah clutched her hands in her lap and stared at them. There were three other passengers in the mail coach – a married older couple and a young man heading to London. They’d tried to make conversation with her, and while she’d usually be eager to get to know other travelers, she didn’t have it in her today to converse with strangers.
So she’d let their talk flow around her while she sat gazing at her clenched hands, feeling the enquiring gazes they sent her way, knowing they understood the significance of the mail coach fetching a single young woman from the inn at Gretna Green.
Robert had been kind to her during their journey north. He hadn’t tried to touch her, had given her the time he thought she needed to come to terms with marrying him.
She’d remained quiet, for the most part. Trying to find some acceptance in her heart of what she couldn’t deny was the best solution for her and for her baby. But she hadn’t been able to.
Finally, as Robert had discussed their situation with the parson at Gretna Green, she realized she couldn’t do it. Not to herself, and not to him. He deserved a woman who cared for him as much as he cared for her. Marriage might be what he wanted, but she knew she would never grow to love him in the way he thought she would. As much as she might like him – and she couldn’t even say she liked him after how he’d betrayed her to her father – she could never love him.
He’d been hurt and confused. It was only providence that had the mail coach arriving at just the right time for her to slip onto it, paying the driver with part of the funds that Mrs. Hope, playing her part to the letter, had given her for the “draper” in Birmingham. As she’d reached into the purse to find the coins she needed, her hand had brushed over a tiny, folded paper.
When the coach was underway, she’d withdrawn the paper and unfolded it to find a note from Mrs. Hope.
Dearest Sarah,
I am so happy f
or you, my dear. Mr. Johnston is a lovely man and I wish you both many felicitations and happy years together. Please accept this little purse as a wedding gift from the staff at Ironwood Park, and I insist you take the next week off as a honeymoon for you and your new husband to enjoy together.
With all my love,
Mildred Hope
Swallowing hard, Sarah had refolded the note and tucked it back into the purse. She’d need to return all the money once she returned home.
And that was the plan. She’d return to Ironwood Park to tie up everything there. As soon as Simon was married, she wouldn’t be welcome there anymore, but she intended to be far from the place by then.
But before she left, she was going to tell Simon how she felt. She was going to tell him that he was going to be a father – not because she wished to manipulate him or threaten him, but because he deserved to know.
The carriage jerked to a halt, and Sarah looked up in surprise. “What is it?” she asked no one in particular.
Mrs. Jones, the only other female occupant of the carriage, exclaimed, “Well, I never. Now we’ll certainly be late!”
The single man – Sarah could not recall his name – pushed aside the curtain and peered outside. He bent closer, then turned to the rest of them, eyes wide. “There’s a man on horseback outside. He looks rather wild. I think we’re being robbed!”
Mrs. Jones pressed her knuckles to her mouth. “Highwaymen?” she squeaked.
And then a shout came from outside, in the vicinity of the driver. “Sarah? Sarah Osborne?”
The three other passengers stared at her. She raised her gaze to theirs.
Good God, what was Robert doing? She’d thought him above making a scene on a dusty country road.
The door of the carriage flew open, and the passengers all found themselves looking at a set of bright, wild green eyes staring out of a dirty face.
Not Robert Johnston, but a very dirty, very rumpled Duke of Trent.
The Duchess Hunt Page 28