The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  Both appeared to be cudgeling their memories, but after a moment Lucy retreated to a pout. Sarah was relieved to note that it appeared her pride was more wounded than her heart. Lady Mountheath was not willing to give up so easily, however.

  "You have called frequently, my lord, and have danced with my daughter on more than one occasion."

  "I have danced with both of your daughters, my lady, but only because they rather brazenly put themselves in my way."

  At this, Fanny, who had been grinning maliciously at her sister's discomfiture, abruptly sobered.

  "My object in calling has been to see Miss Killian," he continued, "as I think you have suspected for some time. You have made it quite plain that it is burdensome to keep her under your roof. I should think you would be happy to be relieved of your responsibility for her."

  By now Sarah had managed to gather her wits, determined that she would not be bullied into a course she knew to be wrong —or, at least, not in Peter's best interests. "You forget, my lord, that I have not consented to marry you," she said. "Nor do I intend to do so."

  Lady Mountheath gave a snort that might have denoted satisfaction, but Peter seemed undeterred. "A word alone, if you please, Miss Killian. If we may, my lady?" This last was directed to Lady Mountheath, who stiffly inclined her head.

  "Come, girls," she grated to her daughters, who followed her from the room with obvious reluctance. She left the parlor door pointedly ajar.

  The moment they were gone, Sarah hissed, "How dare you try to force my hand like this? I thought I had made my feelings perfectly clear."

  To her surprise, he smiled. "I flatter myself that your feelings are far from indifferent to me, despite your stubborn determination to refuse my hand. Am I wrong?"

  She could not deny it, so she merely glared. "My reasons—"

  "Your reasons do you credit, but I fancy I know a bit more of the world than you do. You will simply have to trust my judgment in this."

  "Will I, indeed?" she asked, both startled and angry at his high-handedness. "And why is that?"

  He shot a quick glance at the parlor door, and if anything his smile broadened. "Because, Miss Killian, after spending much of last night alone with me at my house, you really have no other choice."

  Sarah opened her mouth to inform him that she most certainly did have a choice, when the parlor door was flung wide to reveal a scarlet-faced Lady Mountheath.

  "You young hussy!" she exclaimed, her ample frame quivering with outrage. "Is this true? You deceitfully crept out of the house last night to keep an assignation with . . . I am not certain I can now term you a gentleman, Lord Peter. I am shocked. Shocked!"

  While Sarah looked on in horror, he bowed his head as though in penitence, though she could see the corners of his mouth twitching. "I fear it is true, my lady. Our passions overcame our reason, though of course I take full blame. Had I known Miss Killian had no intention of accepting my hand, I would never have been so indiscreet."

  "Indiscreet?" Lady Mountheath echoed suspiciously.

  He shrugged. "If I could be certain that no one saw her enter or leave my house, then I suppose we could agree to pretend that nothing happened. As it is, however . . ." His voice trailed off, his hands spread wide as though open to suggestions.

  "Do you mean you were seen?" Lady Mountheath's horror now appeared to exceed Sarah's. "But the scandal . . . It is well known she is my ward—" She rounded on Sarah, waving a finger in her face. "You will marry Lord Peter without delay, miss. Without delay! Or you will find yourself with no roof over your head this very night."

  Before Sarah could respond, Lady Mountheath turned back to Peter. "I assume you can make the arrangements, my lord? Time is of the essence."

  Maddeningly, he smiled again and patted his breast pocket. "Indeed I can, my lady. It happens that I have procured a special license this very morning, which only requires your signature. Assuming you will provide it, we can be married by noon tomorrow."

  CHAPTER 13

  Before Sarah could summon her voice to protest this peremptory ordering of her future —of the rest of her life! —Lady Mountheath and Lord Peter had launched into a discussion of announcements and the time and place for the ceremony.

  "I dropped off an announcement to the papers on my way here," he was saying. "We will be married from my father's house, at half past ten tomorrow morning. I trust that will be convenient for your family, my lady?"

  "My— Goodness, I must inform them at once! A wedding at Marland House! Lucy and Fanny must choose their ensembles. Miss Killian, would you—? Oh. No, I suppose not. If you will excuse me?" Still muttering to herself, she bustled off.

  Sarah thought that Peter turned back to her rather reluctantly, his brows raised in a boyish expression of apologetic appeal that nearly melted her heart again. Nearly.

  "You . . . you orchestrated this whole thing," she sputtered. "You know perfectly well we were not seen last night. And you knew that Lady Mountheath was listening outside the door."

  "Guilty on all counts," he confessed, though his look of contrition was marred by his dancing eyes. "I could think of no other way to overcome your noble if misguided insistence on sacrificing yourself for my sake. Trust me, Sarah, it is better this way."

  She wanted to. Oh! how she wanted to. But— "You said we are to be married at your father's house? Does that mean you have already informed him of this? How did he respond?"

  Now he looked rather sheepish. "Truth to tell, I haven't yet been to see him. I, er, wanted to be secure of you first, you see. He is wont to question the judgement of others. I didn't wish to give him a chance to gloat, should you have refused me."

  "But I did refuse you," she pointed out.

  "Only because you wanted to protect me. Now, however, my reputation will be in far worse shape if I do not marry you than if I do. Lady Mountheath will see to that," he concluded cheerfully.

  Appalled, Sarah realized he was right. If she persisted in her refusal, not only would her 'benefactress' pitch her into the street, she would certainly do everything in her power to blacken Lord Peter's name along with Sarah's.

  "It would appear I have no choice," she finally admitted. "Of course I cannot allow the world to censure you on my account. Nor do I much fancy living on the streets. I'll not forget that you forced my hand, however." It was surprising how angry she felt about something that should have filled her with joy.

  Peter sobered. "No, I suppose not. But I do hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me eventually."

  Sarah felt her heart softening already, but resisted the feeling. "Perhaps, given enough time. Some things cannot be rushed," she said, then immediately regretted her acid tone.

  He appeared —or pretended —not to notice, however. "With so much at stake, I dared not tarry. Nor should I tarry now. I have still to visit my father, and make arrangements with the clergyman for tomorrow, among other things."

  Sarah's earlier fears suddenly revived. "Suppose he refuses to accept our marriage, or to allow it to take place in his house?"

  "Then we will hold it elsewhere," Peter said lightly, leaning down to give her a swift kiss before picking up his hat. "I am not dependent upon his approval. As he has met you, however, I have no doubt he will be delighted. You need not fear on that head."

  * * *

  "Absolutely not," declared the Duke of Marland with a scowl. "I forbid it."

  Peter stifled a sigh. He'd known his father would take some persuading, but he hadn't expected such vehement opposition. "I thought you and Mother were anxious for me to marry," he said reasonably.

  The Duke's scowl deepened. "To marry a woman befitting your station and lineage, yes. This Miss Killian may be beautiful, but she is scarcely worthy of a Northrup."

  "She is more than worthy," Peter snapped, his own anger stirring at this echo of Sarah's own words about herself. "I have come to know her quite well over the past week or so."

  "A week— what is that? Not three months ago Marc
us was forced by scandal to marry that American he'd only just met, and now you do the same thing. I had thought your judgement superior to his, but it appears I was wrong. You did not even learn from his mistake."

  With an effort, Peter kept his voice level. "Marcus and Quinn are deliriously happy, so I would scarcely call their marriage a mistake. Nor will I remain while you slander my future wife."

  The Duke raised one thin, graying brow. "The truth is scarcely slander. My inquiries show that Miss Killian's father was a penniless Irish tutor, her mother the cast-off daughter of a minor baron. That in no way puts her on an equal social footing with you."

  Peter was startled to discover the duke already knew about Sarah's grandfather's title, which Peter himself had planned to use as persuasion. Trust his father's network of informants to ferret out the truth, and only two days after first meeting Sarah. He was careful not to let his surprise show, however.

  "You speak as though I am marrying a scullery maid. Miss Killian's lineage may not equal mine, but it is respectable enough. As her parents are both dead, you need not fear they will be a source of embarrassment to you."

  Though the Duke snorted, he did not argue the point.

  "I merely wished to inform you, as a courtesy, so that you would not learn of my plans from the afternoon papers," Peter said. "As it appears I must find another venue for my nuptials tomorrow, I will take my leave of you." He turned to go.

  His father's voice stopped him. "No, no, you must be married here. Whether I approve or not, the girl will be a Northrup, so the family must be seen to validate her. Whatever our differences, I'll not have them become a source of common gossip."

  "As you wish." Peter concealed a smile. His father's pride made him a rival of Lady Mountheath in his determination to avoid public scandal. "I will ask the Mountheaths to have her here at a quarter past ten tomorrow."

  "Very well. I only hope Anthony does not take it into his head to marry some chance-met girl next week. I'm not certain my constitution could take it." With that, the Duke waved him away.

  * * *

  "You understand, then?" Sarah asked Paddy, who already clutched the package she'd given him.

  Not until evening had she been able to slip away, for Lady Mountheath had insisted Sarah accompany her and her daughters on their shopping expedition, after which she'd been subjected to a lengthy lecture on the gratitude she owed the family —a gratitude Lady Mountheath hoped she would express to all.

  "Aye, miss. This goes the same way as the last, and if I needs to get word to you about anythin' you'll be at Renny's house." Paddy grinned widely. "I knowed you'd find a rich nob to take care o' ye, miss!"

  "Lord Peter is marrying me, Paddy," Sarah said, wondering again at the miracle as she spoke the words. The boy's awestruck expression showed she'd been right that he'd misinterpreted her news. How many others might make the same assumption?

  "Cor! Can't say I blame 'im, though. If'n I was older, I'd want to marry you myself," he said with a grin and a wink. "Oh, I almost forgot." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a grimy slip of paper. "Renny give me this to pass along, should I see you again."

  Sarah smoothed the sheet and scanned it. "It's a list of names," she said. "But who are they?"

  Paddy shrugged. "He said the bloke what sent the package would know. I didn't tell him it weren't no bloke, o' course." He grinned again.

  Some of the names, she noticed, had notations next to them. Simpkins: rent. Kramer: surgeon. These must be the families William had mentioned as needing the Saint's help. She sighed, for she knew she would not be in a position to send anything more.

  "Thank you, Paddy. And now, I must hurry back, before I am missed."

  "Don't forget Paddy once you're a fine lady, miss."

  "I won't," she promised, though she doubted she'd be able to help him any more than those others on the paper William had sent.

  Walking briskly back to Berkley Square, she glanced at that paper again. Even if Peter were a rich man, she would not ask him to donate any money. He had done so much for her already. She wasn't even bringing a dowry to this marriage, which made her little more than a charity case.

  Though having the power of choice taken away still stung, Sarah knew Peter had done this to protect her and she loved him all the more for it. After all, she had built much of her life around her determination to protect her brother.

  Thoughts of William brought up yet another dilemma. Just last night, she had told Peter that Flute was but a friend. How to admit to him that she had lied— again? Someday he would have to know, particularly if Sarah hoped to get William off the streets.

  But not now. Not while the idea of the Saint of Seven Dials was yet fresh in Peter's thoughts. Remembering his face when he'd spoken of the original Saint's treason, she doubted that whatever he might feel for her was strong enough to overcome his desire to see the Saint's accomplices brought to justice.

  No, her relationship to Flute would have to remain a secret for a while longer.

  * * *

  "Fanny! Take that spray of white roses from your hair and have your maid work it into Sarah's instead," Lady Mountheath commanded. "It will go perfectly with her white satin gown."

  "My white satin gown," Fanny grumbled, reluctantly unpinning the silk flowers from her wispy chignon.

  Sarah sat bemused amid the flurry of preparation for her wedding, which was to take place in less than an hour's time. So anxious was Lady Mountheath that the Duke of Marland find no fault with her care, that she was taking great pains with Sarah's appearance —to her daughters' evident disgust.

  "It seems wrong, Mama, to reward Miss Killian for stealing Lord Peter away from me," Lucy said petulantly as she directed the crimping of her own curls.

  "Were you truly attached to him, then?" Sarah had to ask. "I never meant—"

  "Attached? What has that to do with it?" Lucy replied, clearly affronted that Sarah had dared to address her. "Of course I was not attached to him—he is neither so handsome nor so charming as Mr. Galloway. But he was my most eligible suitor, and you had no right to seduce him away from me."

  Sarah gasped. "I did not—!"

  "Girls, girls," Lady Mountheath admonished, for once not taking sides. "We have no time for bickering just now. We are expected at Marland House in half an hour. Fanny, where is your blue bonnet, the one that matches your gown?"

  Twenty minutes later they all bundled into the carriage for the short drive to Grosvenor Square. Even the Mountheath daughters now seemed excited at the prospect of a wedding in such exalted surroundings. Only Lord Mountheath looked discontented, and Sarah could not bring herself to regret that.

  Indeed, she was not sure what she felt. Everything had happened so quickly, her emotions had not yet caught up to the reality of her situation —which would change yet again once the ceremony concluded. It was as though she were caught in a current, being swept along, helpless, to a place she could not yet see.

  On reaching the Marland mansion a few minutes later, they were ushered up wide marble stairs, through an enormous pair of double doors and into a wide entry hall. Numerous liveried footmen flanked the passage they traversed behind an imposing butler, until they finally reached the chapel at the rear of the house.

  Sarah fought against a sense of unreality, overwhelmed by the magnificence of her surroundings. She had been in other fine houses since coming to London, but this was different. This one belonged to her future family, impossible as that seemed.

  That future family was waiting in the chapel, and a glance showed that most of them appeared no more eager to be there than Sarah had expected. The Duke of Marland she recognized, and Lord Bagstead. The women with them must be their wives.

  Another gentleman she assumed to be another of Peter's brothers —did he not say he had four? This unknown brother and his wife, at least, looked less disapproving than the others. That was comforting, as was the grin Mr. Thatcher sent her way when he caught her eye.

  And there,
at the far end of the room, stood Peter himself, heart-stoppingly handsome in subdued black and cream. Her eyes met his across the length of the chapel, and he smiled reassuringly. Unexpected warmth flooded her at that smile and for a moment she was able to believe that everything would be all right.

  "Oh, my dear, I am not late, am I?" came a hurried whisper from behind her. Turning, she saw tiny Mrs. Hounslow, her hands fluttering with excitement.

  Sarah gave her a quick hug. "Thank you so much for coming."

  "Goodness, I would not have missed this for the world. Especially after Lord Peter —that is—"

  A word from the clergyman signaling the start of the service compelled her to silence and any curiosity about what Mrs. Hounslow might have been about to say fled Sarah's mind. Again her gaze sought Peter's, and again she felt that comforting warmth flow through her.

  Then, she was moving down the center aisle toward him, to change her circumstances forever.

  * * *

  Though a week earlier Peter would have sworn he never intended to marry, he now found himself repeating his wedding vows steadily, with no reluctance whatsoever. How had Sarah come to mean so much to him in so short a time? It seemed natural, even inevitable, that she should be his wife.

  She was as beautiful as he'd ever seen her in a white satin gown that actually appeared to be new. That in itself was a relief, as there'd been no time for him to have anything made up for her. He had Lady Mountheath's pride to thank, no doubt.

  Sarah stumbled over her own vows once or twice, but he hoped that stemmed from nervousness rather than reluctance. When the clergyman at last pronounced them husband and wife, his sense of exultation offered proof that he'd done the right thing.

  He hoped Sarah would come to believe that as well.