He stared into the carriage. They all stared back at him. And then his eyes moved to Sarah.
“Sar-ah,” he said in a broken voice, reaching his hand out to her.
“Y-your Grace. What are you doing?”
“I’ve come for you,” he said simply.
She shook her head, blinking hard to make sure it was Simon, not Robert. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the idea that she was gazing at him, that he was here.
Why was he here?
“But why?”
The corner of his lips cocked up ruefully. He glanced at the other occupants of the carriage and then back to her. “Come stand outside with me for a moment.”
She let him lift her from the carriage and set her on the dusty ground. Then he grasped her hand and led her a short distance away. Off to the right, she saw his horse, standing with head hanging and dusted with foam from nose to tail. Wherever he’d come from, he’d been in a great hurry.
She looked up at him in concern. “I don’t understand.” She couldn’t conceive of an emergency occurring at Ironwood Park that would send him chasing after her in the far reaches of the country.
He gazed down at her, his eyes softening. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, tilting her head up so she faced him.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered.
He’d never been demonstrative with people watching. And she knew people were watching – she could feel the fascinated gazes coming from the direction of the mail coach.
“Wha – what are you —?” she stuttered.
And then he bent down and kissed her.
She forgot the eyes watching them. She forgot she was standing in the middle of a road. She forgot that Simon was marrying someone else.
There was only him. His soft lips caressing hers, tentatively seeking, tasting. Moving against her with exquisite gentleness.
She wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss, pouring all her love into it. Pouring all the secret hopes and desires she’d ever had into it.
He pulled away, touching his forehead to hers, and for long moments, they just stood there, sharing a space in the world they hadn’t dared share for too many weeks, trading whispers of breath between them.
It felt so right.
And then reality returned. There were people watching. People who’d heard her call him “Your Grace.” They were on a road somewhere in the far northern reaches of England.
And she wasn’t sure what on earth Simon was doing. It wasn’t like him to behave so openly. He was ever conscious of listening ears, of seeing eyes, of the potential for scandal.
Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. He dropped his hands from her cheeks.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Why…” He glanced down in the vicinity of her stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me, Sarah?”
She stiffened.
“No,” he said, sliding his hands up and down her arms. “Don’t.”
“Who…?” she choked.
“No one told me. Your father…” He shook his head. “He didn’t tell me, exactly, but I was able to derive the truth from what he did say.”
She closed her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he repeated.
“I didn’t want to put you in an untenable position,” she said dully. “I didn’t want to force you to make choices that would hurt you… or your reputation.”
He blew out a harsh breath and his fingers tightened over her arms. “My reputation has no importance when compared to you, do you understand that?”
Gazing at him bleakly, she shook her head.
His chest rose and fell. “Sarah, I love you. So much.”
She looked hard at him, trying to see, to understand his words. The expression on his face, open and raw and honest, made her breath catch.
“I love you,” he repeated. Then, in a louder, stronger voice, “I love you.”
She struggled to breathe – because he’d said the words so loudly everyone from the mail coach must have heard. There was no air in the atmosphere. It had all been sucked away. Her breaths came in little gasping spurts.
Silence, and then she pushed out the only word she could manage through the thick well of emotion in her throat. “Why?”
Simon blinked at her, then shook his head, a slight smile on his face. The dimple in his chin winked at her. “Why do I love you?”
“Yes… why?”
“There are too many reasons – reasons I intend to spend the rest of my life making you understand. For now… Because you are kind and honest and loyal. Because you see beneath Trent straight through to the man I am. Because you understand me. Because you love me for who I am, not because of the title I hold. Because I can reveal my heart to you. Because you are the person I want to lie beside every night, and you are the only person whose face I want to see when I wake every morning.”
She blinked back tears. “It cannot be, Simon,” she whispered. “You are betrothed to another.”
“No. I ended the engagement.”
“What?” she gasped. “But… your family. Your brothers… The secret…”
“My brothers understand. I could never love Georgina Stanley, could never be happy with her. They have supported my decision. There is only one woman I want. You.”
A tight sensation pulled at her chest. “Is this because of the child?”
“I broke it off with Georgina before I knew about the child.”
She inhaled a full, deep breath – somehow the air had returned to the atmosphere. Relief flooded her as she realized he hadn’t come all this way with the intention of hiding her away somewhere to cover up her pregnancy.
“I finally learned to listen to my heart, Sarah. To really listen, like you told me to that night in London. The child didn’t affect my decision in the least. But I am not unhappy. I want you to be the mother of my children.” Suddenly, he sucked in a harsh breath. “I just realized something. My God.”
“What is it?”
He looked down and spoke in a low voice so that the people in the carriage, yards away, couldn’t hear. “I never… came inside a woman before you. I was meticulously careful to prevent conception – with every woman, it was always at the forefront of my mind.” He blinked hard. “I always thought of Sam and what he endured as a boy and how I wouldn’t do that to a child. But with you… I wanted you so badly, to be as close to you as a man could be to a woman. That concern never crossed my mind. Now I know why.”
She gave him a quizzical frown. “Why?”
“Because I knew even then… at least a part of me did. My body knew that you were mine. My heart knew. It just took a while longer for my head to catch up, for me to listen. But now that I have, I know the truth. I want you as my one companion for life. My wife.”
“Your…” Her voice drifted away.
“Yes.” His green eyes latched onto hers, and he sank to one knee before her, his hands trailing down her arms until his fingers wrapped around hers. He looked up at her, his green gaze overflowing with warmth and hope and love. “Sarah Osborne, will you marry me?”
She stared down at him for long moments that turned into minutes, her mind grasping onto the truth in bits and snatches.
Simon loved her.
Simon wasn’t marrying Miss Stanley.
Simon wanted her. To be his wife.
“I love you, Simon,” she finally breathed. “So much.” She always had, ever since that day he’d rescued her from the blackberry bush.
He was still gazing up at her, but he closed his eyes in a long blink. When he opened them again, they were the shimmering green of emeralds. “Marry me, Sarah.”
She nodded. Then she said, in a low, scratchy voice, “Yes.”
Rising to his feet, he enfolded her in his arms. And as their lips met, cheers and shouts of “bravo!” erupted from the direction of the mail coach.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Simon and Sarah turned around once again and
headed back up to Scotland, where there was no sign of Robert Johnston and where a seemingly unsurprised Mr. Elliot married them in a most efficient manner.
Simon spoke his vows solemnly and listened to Sarah as she said hers, her sweet, calm voice always such a balm to his soul. All the agony of the past few weeks slipped away as Elliot solemnized their bond before God.
Still dusty and dirty, they retired to the finest bridal chamber in the inn, where they bathed and ate their dinner, a simple meal of mutton stew, pigeon pies, and fresh bread.
Afterward, Simon removed Sarah’s clothes and kissed her belly, marveling at the life that was being created within her. Then, he spent the night making love to his wife until they both fell asleep in sated exhaustion.
The next morning, Simon procured a carriage for them to make the return trip to Ironwood Park. They moved diligently south, aware of the looming difficulty with Baron Stanley, but Simon refused to rush. They rose late and breakfasted, then paused on occasion to view the scenery and for picnic luncheons. In the evenings, they stopped at pleasant inns, where Simon gloried in bathing his wife, in feeding her morsels of dinner by hand, and then in worshiping her sweet body again and again.
Finally, on the fourth afternoon after their marriage, they entered through the tall iron gates that opened onto the vast property of Ironwood Park.
He glanced at Sarah, who stared straight ahead. Tiny lines of tension had formed around her mouth.
He took her hand in his. “Don’t worry,” he murmured.
She gave a shaky laugh. “I am trying not to.”
He knew she had many fears regarding her return to Ironwood Park – from her father’s reaction to how the staff would respond to her sudden elevation in status. In truth, he thought this might be even more difficult for her than the ultimate necessity of facing the ton. These were the people who mattered to her. The people she loved.
They rolled onto the graveled drive and the carriage drew to a halt. He turned to her and kissed her gently on the lips before slipping out of the carriage and holding out his hand to her.
She smoothed the skirt of her dress – one of the plain dresses she’d often worn before he’d taken her and Esme to London. Much to Sarah’s chagrin, Johnston and her father had taken it upon themselves to pack her luggage in preparation for her abduction. They’d included her hairbrush and hairpins, her underthings, and her two extra muslin dresses. They’d avoided the clothes Simon had bought her in London, probably thinking them too rich for a Gretna Green marriage to a coachman.
She looked at Simon with desperate eyes.
“They’ll hate me. They’ll think I trapped you.”
“If they believe that, then they’re undeserving of your respect.”
“I know… I’m just…” She looked past him to the stately façade of the house. “Mrs. Hope is waiting at the door,” she gulped.
“Of everyone, you can face Mrs. Hope.”
“Esme is there, too.”
He glanced over his shoulder as his brothers came out of the front door to stand on the portico beside Esme and Mrs. Hope. Even Luke appeared – Simon had expected him to have gone to Wales in search of their mother by now.
Sarah’s father emerged from the house – a place he seldom visited – wearing his broad-brimmed straw hat and looking decidedly uncomfortable.
And then the servants began to line up on one side of Mrs. Hope while Simon’s family and Mr. Osborne clustered on the other, everyone’s gaze directed toward the carriage. And the two of them.
“Oh, my Lord,” Sarah squeaked.
But Simon grinned. His brothers had done this for him. They’d prepared Mr. Osborne and the staff so Sarah wouldn’t have to face their shock and questions.
He grasped her hand. “Our people have come out to greet us. Our family.”
She gave a small nod and allowed him to hand her down from the carriage. They walked between two of the massive columns and up the steps, Simon holding his wife’s hand in a reassuring grip and feeling his grin growing wide. This was the perfect way to present his duchess to his household. With everyone waiting for them, standing with looks ranging from a stable boy’s awe to Mrs. Hope’s glowing happiness.
They reached her, and she gave a low curtsy. “Welcome home, Your Grace,” she said gravely.
Simon acknowledged her with a nod. Then he said, in a loud enough voice for them all to hear, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hope. I would like to present my wife, Sarah Hawkins, the Duchess of Trent.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Hope cried under her breath. She turned to Sarah, and her smile split her wrinkled face as she curtsied again. “And welcome home to you, too, Your Grace.”
They walked down the line, and Simon watched everyone, from Fredericks the steward to Burton, Simon’s valet, all the way down to the most junior of the scullery maids, bow and greet their new mistress. None of them seemed surprised or upset to find Sarah in this position.
His talk to his brothers on the way home from Bordesley Green – about how he intended to erase the lines of separation society had drawn between him and Sarah – had sunk in. His brothers had prepared the household well.
Simon and Sarah circled back around to greet their family. His brothers slapped him on the back and gave Sarah brotherly kisses. Simon watched Mr. Osborne blink back tears as he gave his daughter a gruff hug. And then Sarah turned to Esme.
Sarah had told him that this was the relationship she worried for the most. Out of everyone, she feared Esme might never understand why Simon would marry someone like her.
Esme looked at Sarah for a long moment. Then, a small smile curved her lips. “When Luke told me Trent had gone after you, I didn’t believe it at first,” she told Sarah softly. “I thought you and Mr. Johnston… well, I needed to mull it over for a while. You and Trent – the both of you hid it so well, Sarah, but the more I thought about it, the more I recalled those subtle clues. The way you looked at each other. The way you spoke to each other…” She gave a rueful shake of her head, but then she smiled a real smile that went all the way through to her hazel eyes, and whispered, “I once said you were the closest thing to a sister I have ever had. And now you really are my sister. I am so happy.”
“I’ve always longed to have a sister like you,” Sarah said. And they embraced.
Esme looked over Sarah’s shoulder at Simon. “And thank the Lord you didn’t marry that awful Georgina Stanley! She was the most horrid little brat I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!”
Not only was the statement utterly true, but such a hearty declaration coming from Esme’s lips was so uncharacteristic, Simon burst into laughter, as did his brothers.
They meandered inside, Mrs. Hope shooing everyone away and commanding Simon and Sarah to go upstairs to bathe away the grime of travel and to dress for an informal luncheon that would be served in the parlor.
Inside his bedchamber, Sarah stopped to gaze around, her blue eyes round with wonder. Simon chuckled. “You look as though you’ve never been in here before.”
“I have been in here before,” she told him. “Many, many times. To change the linens or iron the draperies or dust the mantel.”
“But this isn’t the same,” he said.
“Not at all.”
“You’ll come to know it in a different capacity now. But if you wish to do any ironing, I certainly won’t begrudge you that.”
She turned to him, grinning, but their conversation was interrupted by the servants carrying the bathtub and water to bathe and Sarah’s London clothes fetched from her father’s cottage. Burton entered wielding a pair of freshly shined shoes which he arranged in exact precision beneath the clothes that had been laid out for Simon to wear.
Then the valet turned to Simon. His brown eyes widening, he let out a heartfelt sob. “I am a failure, Your Grace. Look at you, just look! Your outward appearance as a duke of the realm is my duty, my responsibility, and you look like a… like you’ve been rolling about in a meadow.” With an expression of s
upreme disgust, he plucked a piece of grass out of Simon’s hair, then held it between his thumb and forefinger and gazed at it as though it were a particularly revolting species of insect.
Simon grinned at Sarah, and she glanced away, smiling and blushing. He had, in fact, tumbled her in a meadow earlier today when they’d stopped for a picnic luncheon. He’d laid her on a blanket and tasted every inch of her sun-kissed skin. He’d made her come with his mouth and his tongue. Then he’d taken his pleasure with her on her back, then on her knees, then riding him, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and shining blue-black in the sunlight.
With effort, Simon turned his attention back to his poor, fastidious valet. “Burton,” he said reasonably, “I have been traveling.” He gestured to the steaming bathtub. “And please note that I am attempting to remedy my unseemly appearance. If you would kindly go away, then I could proceed.”
Burton sniffed. “Very well, sir. I shall return in half an hour to shave you and assist you in dressing.”
“Oh, no. You shall come when I summon you.” Simon slid Sarah a look filled with heat and promise. “And you can be sure it’ll be far longer than in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir.” Burton bowed stiffly to Simon and then to Sarah before slipping out the door, closing it with a tidy snap behind him. The other servants soon followed him out, and moments later, Simon found himself finally, blessedly, alone with his wife, who pushed a dark lock of hair out of her face and cast a longing glance at his enormous linen-lined copper bathing tub.
He gave her a wicked grin. “My bathing tub is large.”
She gave it a considering look. “I’ve always thought it to be excessively so. Its size makes it all the more difficult for servants to fill.”
“Be that as it may, a large tub does have some advantages.” Reaching her, he began to undo the simple buttons of her dress.
“Such as?” she asked innocently.
He’d been right about her proclivities when it came to the bedchamber. She learned fast. And she was a vixen.
“Such as giving a certain duke the ability to share a bath with his wife.”
The dress slipped off her shoulders, and he stroked the palms of his hands down her arms, pushing her sleeves all the way off as he did so. Her dress pooled on the floor, quickly followed by her petticoat and her stays and chemise, and finally, she stood before him, naked save her stockings and shoes.
The Duchess Hunt Page 29