Sarah opened her eyes and glanced around in bewilderment. Indeed, the sun shone brightly on the eastern horizon as it had in her dream from which she just woke; however, James was not kneeling before her, but rather was squatted down on the forest floor, his hand inside his sack as if he had been searching for something.
“What was that?” he asked with a confused look on his face.
In that moment Sarah wished to dig a hole in the ground beneath her and crawl inside, never to return.
“Were you having a dream?” James asked.
“It…it is Shakespeare,” she managed to say. “I recite it every morning to start my day,” she said, hurrying to stand. She brushed the leaves from her dress in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
“I see,” James said, and he returned to whatever it was he had been doing before she woke. He pulled out a hunk of bread and offered some to her. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” she replied. “However, I will eat because I do not want to hear you grumble about it all day.” She snatched the bread from him and returned to the tree. She thought on the dream from which she had just wakened and wondered why she wanted James so desperately to kiss her.
***
They had been riding for some time when they stopped by once again at a brook to allow the horses to drink. Sarah watched as James squatted down to fill the canteen, the view of his broad back sending a wave of heat through her.
When he rose, she quickly turned away lest he catch her staring. She needed to be more cautious and not allow herself to spend her time gazing at the man. If he were to catch her doing so, it would give him the impression that she held some deep desires for him, something of which she certainly did not hold.
“Here, you take the first drink,” he said, handing her the canteen.
Sarah took it without a word of thanks, though she was indeed glad to be put first for once. When she drank her fill, she returned the container to him and he lifted it to his lips. The muscles in his arm pulled at the sleeve of his coat, and Sarah wondered what it was that men did to create such a pleasing contour.
“The cottage across the way,” he said pointing to a small house set back into a copse of trees, “does it remind you of anything?”
She followed his gaze and stared at the building, wondering at what game he was playing. “It reminds me of any number of cottages I have seen before.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I was referring to Mr. Baxter and his stolen tomatoes.”
Sarah went to laugh but quickly stopped herself by pretending to cough into her hand. “I do remember quite well.”
James nodded and then walked toward the bank of the brook, leaving his back to her. Once again, Sarah was taken with the way the man wore his coat so well and how his breeches tightened around his well-formed leg muscles.
“You told me that his tomatoes were special,” he said without turning, “and that if we took one and planted it, it would produce a chest full of gold.”
“Yes, I recall,” she said, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice. “It was simply a child's imagination, nothing more.”
“I begged you that day to keep away from the man’s garden. But you, Sarah,” —he turned and presented her with a wide grin— “you told me it would be just fine.”
Sarah nodded. Though she wished not to discuss memories of days past with him, she had thought of that day from time to time with fondness.
“I can still see you,” she said, finding herself warming to the subject, “the sweat rolling off your forehead as we gathered those tomatoes.” She laughed. “And when Mr. Baxter came rushing out screaming at us…he was so angry!”
A warm feeling rushed over her when James laughed. “Angry? I would say irate is a better way to describe the man’s reaction. However, the story you concocted at that moment…I believe it was your imagination which saved us that day.”
Sarah felt her face flush and assumed she had to be redder than the tomatoes about which they spoke. Her mind replayed the scene and she let out a laugh. “‘Please, sir, my husband and I are starving. We wish only to feed ourselves and our ten children!’” she recited, the memory making her laugh so hard she had to wipe at the tears in her eyes.
“Not that he believed us,” James gasped between laughter and wiping at his eyes. “No, as I look back, I wonder if he found the situation as amusing as we do now.” He shook his head. “Thankfully, he told no one.”
Sarah smiled as she looked over at James. There was one question about that day to which she never had an answer. “What made you finally go along with my plan? You were quite adamant to go against it.”
He smiled, then walked over to the horses and offered her Molly’s reins. “It was because I guessed that being defiant was harder work than going along with what you had contrived. And in the end, trusting you was well worth it.”
He offered her his hand and Sarah looked at it while contemplating his words. Though he was a scoundrel, he made a fair point. If she continued being mulish, it would only make what had to be done over the next month unbearable for them both. Let the man enjoy his time with her over the next few weeks while she suffered on and then they would part ways when he lost the wager.
Without a word, she took the offered hand and then mounted her horse. Neither spoke as they once again made their way toward her home, and Sarah’s mind drifted back to that day with the tomatoes and the worried expression a young James Foxworth wore on his face as Mr. Baxter yelled at them.
However, there was an aspect of the story she did not express verbally, one that was dear to her heart. For when she proclaimed that she and James were married and she took his hand in hers, she had felt giddy at the time. He would never know that it was in that moment she knew she had loved him.
When she glanced over at him, he had a broad smile on his face. “What is making you smile so?” she asked.
“Tomatoes,” he said as he shot her a quick glance.
Sarah let out a small laugh. “I am as well.”
Chapter Fourteen
They had pressed on, and true to James's words, they arrived at the gates of Greystone Estate just before night fell. Her defiance was now gone, the worry of what her parents would do and say now consuming her. Part of her wanted to turn Molly about, to ride back to Weymouth and attempt that new life once again, one about which she knew nothing. However, the woman inside her scolded the child and told her it was time to face her parents. Besides, she had listened to the sea and it had told her to return.
“We made it,” James said, his horse beside her own.
She nodded as she stared off at the house in which she had been raised. Yes, they had made it. However, despite the self-scolding, the thought of pressing on terrified her still. Her parents had never beat her or treated her unfairly. Quite the contrary. They had always supported her, even indulged her at every turn. So, why then was her stomach attempting to jump out of her body and run as far away as it could? She shot James a glare, knowing he would not see it. This was all his fault and she would pay the price of his actions. She was sure of it.
James turned toward her and she quickly looked away, lest he see the scowl on her face. Although she blamed him for her predicament, they had come to pleasant terms. If he was still the scoundrel he once was, he would revert to that behavior in no time. It would not be on her head if he showed his true colors. “Do not worry,” he said with a confidence Sarah did not feel, “we shall see if my influence can put everyone at ease.”
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. It was not his bragging she found so insufferable, but that he had the audacity to read her mind. Not once during their journey had she voiced her concerns over her the reaction her parents might have, so how on Earth did the man know exactly what she had been thinking? She was about to walk into more turmoil than she had ever experienced in her life, and here he was boasting of his title and wealth and acting the mind reader in the process.
“But it will never put me
at ease,” she snapped. “Please, let us just go.” Under her breath she added, “to face the lions.”
They rode up to the front of the house, and before they could even dismount, one of the footmen came hurrying out exclaiming something Sarah could not make out for the pounding that was resounding behind her eardrums. Sarah almost fainted from the hustle and bustle that followed. Her mother came to the door sobbing, her father pushing past her and working his way towards Sarah as she dismounted. Before her feet hit the ground, he picked her up and hugged her so tightly she had trouble breathing. Perhaps that was what had brought on the near-fainting spell. She certainly was not one to give into bouts of hysteria, so that had to be the cause of her light-headedness.
“My child has returned!” her father cried as he set her on the ground.
Her mother fell weeping against a column and James ran up the steps and caught her before she fell.
“Come, your mother has been in bits since you disappeared,” her father said as he guided her up the stairs as if she were now an invalid unable to walk on her own.
“My dear child, you are alive,” her mother said as she pulled Sarah into her arms and kissed her cheek. “I had feared the worst!”
Before Sarah could respond, the woman pulled her into the house and led her straight to the sitting room and all but pushed her into a chair. Then both of her parents voiced a chain of questions without giving Sarah a chance to respond to even one, and she soon was so overwhelmed, she truly did almost faint.
“You had us worried,” her father shouted at her, his previous affections now gone, replaced by anger. “Your poor mother was nearly bedridden!”
“It is true, the worry was that great,” her mother replied as she fanned herself. “Why did you run away?”
“Where did you go?”
“Did any man accost you?”
“Were you injured in any way?”
Sarah struggled to keep up with the barrage of questions, but she found it increasingly difficult to do as the two continuously talked over each other. Finally, James cleared his throat, and much to Sarah’s relief, her parents stopped their barrage of questions and turned to James.
“It has been a long journey,” James said in a calming voice that somehow even calmed Sarah’s flustered soul. “It was one filled with excitement and also one which was quite tiring. Would it be too much to ask for a bite to eat and perhaps a drink? I think stories are better told on a full stomach.”
For once Sarah was thankful for his presence, for her parents quickly nodded, uttering their apologies. Sarah’s father summoned a footman and asked the man to have the cook prepare a light meal. She glanced over at James as her father barked his orders, and James gave her a wink. And for the first time since she could remember, Sarah gave him a genuine smile.
***
James sat back in the wingback chair with his foot crossed over one leg and a brandy glass hanging from the tips of his fingers. “Then I asked myself one question. Where would a lady brought up in one of the finest homes under the most careful eye of her parents go?”
“I must admit, I know not,” Sarah’s father said, as awestruck as her mother, the two staring at the man as if he were the Messiah himself.
“Why, the most upstanding inn in town. Not only did I find her there, but she had the admiration of those who sat enthralled with her stories. Of course, her constant boasting of her father’s business grew a bit dry,” James said, causing them all to laugh and her father’s cheeks to redden, though the look he had was more of pride than embarrassment.
Sarah watched James as he unfolded his tale, his eyes alight and his face showing his excitement, much like Sarah imagined herself to appear when she shared her stories with others. What she had expected was a man who joined in her parents rejoicing at admonishing Sarah for her foolish actions, not this man who wove a tale almost as good as she.
“Sarah, your father asked you a question,” her mother rebuked.
Sarah shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had not realized her mind had wandered, which was strange since James had been telling such a wonderful tale about her adventures while away. She turned to her father. “I am sorry,” she said and forced a yawn to cover her inattentiveness, which turned into a real one once she started. Granted she was tired, but her parents would not allow her to go to bed until they knew all of the details of her travels to Weymouth.
“I asked why you left as you did in the first place,” her father stated. “That still has not been established.” Her father had that look he often had when he became irritated with her storytelling and would broker no more misbehavior.
In an attempt to give herself time to think of an answer that would appease her parents, she took a sip of her tea. Then she set her cup down and stood up. All three sets of eyes were upon her, and she let out a sigh that would have impressed the greatest of actors.
“Well, you see, with all the talk of marriage and the planning for the wedding, I became overwhelmed,” she began as she walked over to her father and placing a hand on his shoulder. She shot a glance at James, who continued to sit back in his chair, amusement now on his face. “I thought it would be the last time I would have to myself, and a notion came over me to enjoy my final moments on an adventure.” She found her story creation lacking, to be horrible at best, and she looked over at James, pleading with her eyes that he would take up the story in an effort to aid her. She must be extremely tired if she was unable to use such an opportunity to concoct a wonderful story to explain her disappearance.
James grinned at her, and she found herself wishing she had requested time to rest before she explained herself. Or perhaps she should have taken time to create a story on her way home rather than batting her eyelashes at James like some sort of lovestruck woman.
“It may have been my fault,” James said. “I spoke of our future together without regards to how all of these sudden changes had been affecting her. “
“My boy…em…that is, My Lord,” her father stammered, “you are not at fault with my daughter’s disappearance. She was the one who made the decision to run off and leave her parents in distress.”
“Still,” James said in reply, “I have put too much on her in such a short amount of time. I believe that with Sarah now returned safely to her home, we can once again look to the future and what it has in store for us.” He looked directly at Sarah, his eyes narrowing, and added, “And leave the past where it belongs.”
Sarah was aghast. How dare he? Even in her most fragile moment he had to play his games. Before she could get a word in, however, her father spoke up. “Very well, then. Sarah, you need to get some rest. Have a bath drawn, and then go straight to bed. Tomorrow, you will rest and recover from your experience. Then, the following day, you and your mother will begin the planning for your wedding.”
James sat up in the chair. “About the wedding…” he said, his tone causing everyone to remain still.
Mrs. Crombly let out a short gasp and clutched at her chest. “Surely you will not call it off?”
Mr. Crombly shot his wife a harsh glance. “Jane!” he hissed.
“No, we still will be married,” James assured her.
Her mother sighed in relief, but Mr. Crombly’s cheeks were a bright red—from anger or embarrassment, Sarah was unsure, but either could be just as terrible as the other.
“There is one request I must ask before the engagement is announced,” James said.
“But of course,” Mr. Crombly said emphatically. “Whatever you deem, we shall abide.”
“My mother is due back in a month’s time. What would be more fitting than to have her present, at Greystone Estate, to hear the good news?”
Mrs. Crombly went to speak but her husband spoke up, his voice booming over hers. “Another excellent idea. There shall be no more talks of weddings or planning thereof until the Dowager Duchess returns. Come, My Lord, let us have a drink.” He stood up and grabbed James’s arm, practically pulling the
man from the chair.
Sarah looked over at James, and though he did not say a word, his eyes said it all. They told her that, as promised, he would take care of the situation. He was true to his word, and Sarah felt gratitude that he had done so while at the same time the old feelings crept back into her mind. He might be taking care of the situation, but he was also doing it without consulting with her, just as he always did.
She found herself unable to stymie the anger that threatened to boil over. Where that anger came from exactly, she did not know or understand, but she knew it stemmed from a feeling of lacking control of her own life. And for whatever reason, Sarah latched onto it as a woman who was drowning in that sea that had misguidedly counseled her into returning home.
***
Sarah closed her eyes, allowing the hot water to sooth her aching muscles. From her neck down to her toes, every part of her body was sore. The excessive amount of riding she had done over the past week had drained her physically, and the realization of having her dreams at the coast crushed had drained her emotionally. For a moment as they had traveled back together, a thought had crossed her mind that perhaps James was the prince she had been looking for. He did arrive at the seaside, though not by boat, and he had remained at the house rather than returning to his home. His actions tonight of saving her from the scorn and shame of her parents was a heroic act indeed.
But that was all part of his way to win her for his own gain, much like he did winning her in the game of cards he had played. For the next weeks she would have to remain on guard, ignore his smiles, his eyes, the sound of his voice. They had already taken hold of her, his manipulation was that great, and she would not fall into his arms at the end. No, she would not lose who she was simply because she was acting the love-enchanted child.
Letting out a sigh, she wondered what would happen if she failed, that at the end if she did want to marry him. Then what? She would be the one to sire him children while he was out enjoying the women of the countryside or at the various portal villages much like Weymouth. Would he make her work as a footman by day and then parade her around to his guests as his wife at night? She put nothing past him.
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