“Do you think we ought to make our excuses and leave?” she asked Charles. Her brother had fallen into step beside her right before they reached the terrace.
“That depends entirely on you and how much you care,” he told her softly.
Sarah watched Brunswick’s scowl deepen. “Then I suppose we’re staying. Shall we sit?”
Charles pulled out a chair for Sarah. She was just sitting down when the rest of the party arrived, all of them claiming a seat. Except for Brunswick.
“I’ll call for some tea,” the duke said, not breaking his stride as he disappeared into the house.
“I think His Grace may have an aversion to honeysuckle,” William whispered.
Sarah glared at him. “Be quiet.”
“It does seem a bit odd,” James murmured.
“Shut up,” Charles hissed.
A maid appeared in the next instant, carrying a tray filled with cups, saucers, a teapot, and a plate containing some tasty looking biscuits. Brunswick, however, remained absent.
“I’m going to find the necessary,” Sarah informed her brothers several minutes later when Brunswick still hadn’t returned and most of the biscuits had been eaten.
“One of us should go with you,” James said.
Sarah turned to him. “Absolutely not.”
“You can’t go alone.” James turned to Charles. “Tell her it wouldn’t be proper.”
Charles met Sarah’s gaze and smiled. “She’s a grown woman. I think she can manage a visit to the necessary on her own.”
Relief flooded her veins. She’d not expected her oldest brother to be so accommodating. “Thank you, Charles.”
She stood and he caught her by the hand, stopping her for a moment. “Don’t be too long.”
His voice was firm. Sarah answered with a swift nod and he promptly released her. As she hastened away she heard James say, “You do know she’s going to see what’s keeping Brunswick.”
“We might have to force a marriage,” William muttered.
Charles’s response was lost to her as she hurried toward the front of the house. All was quiet. She opened the first door she found and peered inside what ought to have been the dining room. Only it was completely empty, devoid of all furniture. There wasn’t even a painting on the wall.
The same was almost true of the parlor though it did contain a seating arrangement consisting of two sofas and two armchairs placed around a low table. But that was it. There were no knickknacks, no personal items to speak of, not even a clock or a vase.
Sarah frowned. She’d noticed how sparse the foyer and hallway were when she’d arrived, but hadn’t given it much thought since she’d actually liked the simplicity. It now became clear that the lack of decor had nothing to do with good taste, but reflected an emptiness that looked like a symptom of emotional distress. After all, Brunswick had lived here for years, only it seemed he’d not really moved in.
Leaving the parlor, Sarah approached the next door, eased it open, and peeked inside. Brunswick was there, his back toward her while he...painted. She stepped inside and quietly watched him move his brush across the wall. The light blue color dominating the room disappeared beneath a layer of creamy yellow.
“What are you doing?” This wasn’t normal behavior. In fact, now that she thought about it, very little about the duke was as it should be. At least not once one dove beneath the surface.
“The blue was starting to wear on me, so I’m changing it.”
“But you have guests. You can’t just walk away without excusing yourself.”
“I’m a duke, Miss Townsbridge, and this is my home, so I’ll do as I please.”
She stared at him in dismay. He hadn’t so much as glanced at her since she’d walked in. And he was wrong. This wasn’t a home, but that was something she’d try to address later.
First, she had to give him a kick in the arse. Proverbially speaking of course. “If you truly want to woo me into marriage, you might consider making more of an effort.”
Rounding on her, paint splattering onto the carpet, he gave a glare so fierce she took a step back. “Effort? So far I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me.”
He wasn’t wrong. Maybe she was being unfair. The truth was, she could sense there was something broken about him and instinct compelled her to try and help. It wouldn’t be easy unless she understood him and right now she didn’t, which bothered her more than it probably should.
“You could ask something of me in return.”
His eyes pierced hers. “Marry me, Miss Townsbridge.”
“Something besides that.”
“I don’t want anything else.”
He turned away and resumed painting while Sarah tamped down the fierce regret his words caused. He didn’t want to get to know her and she had no clue why. All he wanted was her agreement to be his wife. It made no sense. And it left her with little else to say except, “Thank you for showing me the folly, Your Grace, and for the refreshments. My brothers and I should probably go now. We’ll show ourselves out.”
When he failed to respond and just kept on painting, she left the room and closed the door softly behind her. He’d lost his family over a decade ago. She’d sensed he’d not yet recovered, but it was becoming very clear to Sarah that she was dealing with much deeper wounds than she’d ever have thought possible. It was the only conclusion she could draw from the lifeless rooms, his decision to take on a massive construction project alone, along with his peculiar decision to leave his guests in favor of painting his study because she’d mentioned honeysuckle. The word must have triggered something. Sarah was certain of it. And she had every intention of figuring out what, so she could help him past his suffering.
Damn, damn, damn.
Matthew tossed his paintbrush aside, not caring about the mess he’d created. Cleaning it up would give him something to do later tonight when the nightmares woke him.
He stormed out of the room, fully aware he’d just undone whatever progress he’d made with Miss Townsbridge. All because she’d mentioned honeysuckle.
Christ.
What were the bloody chances?
“I need a change of clothes,” he informed Albertson, his valet.
“Going out, Your Grace?” Albertson asked.
“To my aunt’s,” Matthew clarified.
“Ah.”
His best buckskin breeches were promptly selected along with a newly starched shirt, a waistcoat cut from creamy silk brocade, and a superfine jacket very few Englishmen could afford. To finish off the ensemble, Albertson presented Matthew with a freshly buffed pair of gleaming black boots.
“Excellent choice,” Matthew said. He allowed Albertson to help him dress, solely to make the man feel necessary, and departed.
One hour later he sat in his aunt’s drawing room, well into his second cup of coffee. The cream puff she’d set on a plate before him remained untouched.
“Frankly, I don’t see how I can help,” said Aunt Lydia, more formally known as Mrs. Perkins. “According to what you’ve told me, you’re well on your way to making an utter fool of yourself and all for a woman you hardly know. If I were you, which I thank God I’m not, I’d walk away from this mess before it gets worse.”
Matthew stubbornly shook his head. “I’ve made up my mind.”
Aunt Lydia sank against her chair with a sigh. “Why? There must be countless women who’d eagerly be your wife, among which there’s surely one who strikes your fancy. So why do you have to complicate things? Why go after the one woman who won’t say yes to your proposal?”
“For one thing, I’ve dismissed the rest, and you know me, I’m not one to settle for second best.”
His aunt snorted. “Like a horse wearing blinders. I never could make you glance away from the destinations you set for yourself as a boy. It was almost as if you feared you might fall the moment you looked to one side.”
“She mentioned honeysuckle.”
Aunt Lydia’s expression sagged w
ith sympathy. “Oh, my dear boy.”
“It made me so angry I struggled to speak. I certainly couldn’t explain it, so I left, and then she was gone and I’m just not...I’m not sure how to fix it.”
“The simplest way would be to tell her the truth. Explain what happened and then apologize.”
Matthew dropped his gaze to his lap. “I don’t know how to talk about it with anyone else. I’ve no idea how to begin.”
Aunt Lydia placed one hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze. “It will come to you when you’re ready, and if you’re as determined to win Miss Townsbridge’s hand in marriage as you suggest, you’ll figure it out.”
“How do you do it?” Matthew met her calming gaze. “How do you manage to go on without them?”
“Matthew, my loss was never as great as yours. Of course I mourned my poor sister and her family, but I still had my parents and two other siblings. And then I met Mr. Perkins who blessed me with children of my own and in time, my heart healed.”
“I envy you that.”
“I’m sorry.” She withdrew her hand. “What happened was tragic. I did my best to help you through it, Matthew, but you were impossible to reach. In many ways you still are.”
“I can’t stand thinking about it.” He finished his coffee and stood. “Reliving it while I explain myself to Miss Townsbridge would be unbearable.”
“So then?”
“I’ll have to find another way.”
The look on his aunt’s face wasn’t the least bit reassuring, but to his relief, she didn’t berate him. Instead, she wished him good luck and saw him to the door. “You parents would want you to be happy, Matthew. You know that, don’t you?”
He gave a swift nod and departed. Of course he knew this. It was part of the reason why guilt clung to him like a wet blanket. Because he just couldn’t seem to move on as he was supposed to.
Chapter 4
The ball hosted by the Marquess of Foxborough in honor of his wife’s birthday appeared to be a smashing success. Standing with her mother, Sarah watched the quadrille that was currently underway. It was two weeks since she’d walked out of Brunswick’s house. Two weeks of indecision and turmoil during which she’d struggled with her desire to try and help him. If she were smart, she’d focus more of her time and energy on the rabbit she’d rescued a few days ago. She’d spotted the animal during a walk in Hyde Park. It had been lying under a bush along one of the walkways. When she’d crouched for a closer inspection, she’d noticed the injured hind leg covered in blood. It wasn’t until she’d brought it home and gotten it cleaned up that she’d seen the teeth marks. From a runaway dog or a fox.
Sarah glanced around the sparkling ballroom. Every man her mother had invited to that blasted garden party was in attendance. None had asked her to dance. In fact, all appeared to be making a very deliberate effort to avoid eye contact with her.
With an inward sigh she turned to her mother. “Will you still love me if I never marry?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t do for your father and me to let all our children go anyway. We need one of you to care for us in our dotage.” She gave Sarah a cheeky smile. “Of course, we did imagine Athena would do so, but we’ll be just as happy with you, dearest.”
Sarah rolled her eyes and nudged her mother’s arm with her elbow. “You’re too hard on her, Mama. Athena has blossomed into a wonderful woman you ought to be proud of.”
“I am proud of her.” Sarah’s mother looked aghast. “Whyever would you think I’m not?”
“Because you always make those little comments - the ones suggesting no man will ever want her, that where she goes scandal will surely follow. It’s really not fair.”
Sarah’s mother pressed her lips together firmly. Contrition tightened her features. “You’re right. I suppose it’s become a bad habit.”
“Well, I think it needs to stop. Athena hears you, you know. She’s not deaf. And although she doesn’t talk about it, I’m fairly sure she thinks you believe she was wrong to stop Charles’s wedding.”
“It did cause a bit of a stir.”
“To be sure. But in the end things worked out for the better. We can all agree on that, can we not?”
Her mother smiled. “You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Sarah. I only wish all these foolish men could see how lucky they’d be with you as their wife.”
“Maybe it’s just as well,” Sarah mused. “In truth, I’m not sure they’d be interesting enough for me.”
“But the duke is?”
“Certainly, though not necessarily in a good way.” Her mood dimmed as she thought back on her last encounter with him. “He’s troubled. So much so I’m not sure I can help.”
“Time will tell, I suppose.”
Provided she ever saw him again.
“Oh, I see Viscountess Ruthridge over there, “Mama said. “Haven’t spoken to her in an age. Shall we go and greet her together?”
A vision of herself as her mother’s lady companion years from now clicked into place. Was this what it would be like? Would she always remain on the edge of things, looking at all the fun being had in the middle while resigning herself to the company of older ladies? She’d never been the outgoing one. That role belonged to Athena. Instead, she was quiet and reserved, always waiting for the right man to sweep her into his arms and fall madly in love with her.
Honestly. She was too old for such fanciful nonsense.
Though not old enough to completely lose hope.
“You go ahead, Mama.” Being a wallflower wasn’t so bad. She liked people-watching and the vantage point was better here than it would be on the opposite side of the room. Or so she told herself. “I think I shall stay here a while longer. The refreshment table is closer and I’ve been eyeing some of the sandwiches.”
“Very well.” Her mother looked across the dance floor. “Your brothers and sisters-in-law will soon be finished anyway, so you won’t lack company for long.”
Sarah knew she meant well, but the comment and what it implied still grated. Nevertheless, she forced a smile, gave a small nod, and watched her mother drift away with her billowing emerald organza skirts trailing behind. Fanning herself, Sarah cast a gaze back to the dance floor. She was secretly glad she wasn’t out there. This particular dance was taking forever. The soles of her feet would have been worn out by now if she’d joined the set.
Thank God no one had asked.
“Miss Townsbridge?” a footman inquired.
She stared at him blankly, then slowly nodded.
He discreetly gave her a note and said, “This is for you,” before stepping away and disappearing into the crowd.
Sarah glanced at the folded piece of paper. She’d never received such a mysterious note before. Unfolding it, she read the brief message.
Meet me on the terrace.
Brunswick
Curt and to the point. No please or thank you. Just the expectation of being heeded. Sarah placed the note in her reticule and moved toward the French doors. Ordinarily, she believed, she would have taken issue with such arrogance. Especially after the way in which they’d last parted. But instead, she felt a secret thrill. Brunswick wanted to see her, so he must have something to say. Sarah couldn’t wait to learn what it might be. She also realized with some surprise that she was ridiculously eager to simply see him again.
She gave her head a little shake as she pushed through the doors. How could she possibly have missed this model of serious aloofness?
Because there’s more to him than that.
What she’d missed were those moments when he’d relaxed. He didn’t strike her as someone who easily smiled, and yet in the brief time she’d known him, she’d seen his face transformed as he gave way to humor, and it humbled her.
Surveying the terrace, she took a moment to spot him, but when she did, the strangest urge to run to him assaulted her. She resisted the pull and slowly crossed to where he stood, slightly obscured in a corner where the torchlight didn’t qui
te reach.
Tall and perfectly still, he watched her approach. Sarah’s pulse leapt and her stomach started to flutter in a way she’d not experienced since her presentation at court. He’d been strikingly handsome in his day clothes, but dressed in his evening attire, she didn’t think there was a man in all of England who could compare. Not even her brothers, who’d always struck her as being blessed with exceptionally good looks.
“Your Grace,” she said when Brunswick didn’t speak. “You wished to see me?”
His expression, cast in shadows, appeared as stern as ever. It was impossible for her to discern the emotion in his eyes which made it difficult to perceive his mood. The flutter in her stomach intensified until it turned into a whirlwind of utter confusion. Why did he affect her so? It didn’t make any sense.
“You look incredible tonight.”
His soft-spoken words felt like a caress, which only confirmed her descent into madness.
“Thank you.” She straightened her spine and hoped she didn’t look too pleased with the compliment. After all, the man was conceited enough as it was. She offered a smile. “You look rather dashing yourself.”
His eyes held hers until her heart hammered against her breast. Something was different tonight. He was different. She wasn’t sure how, but she could feel it.
“I would like to apologize to you,” he eventually said. “My behavior the last time we met was horribly rude. I’m embarrassed by it, Miss Townsbridge, but there are things that plague me - memories I cannot seem to escape. Sometimes, they creep up on me without a moment’s warning, and when that happens my instinct tells me to run.”
Sarah stared at him in rapt silence. She was captivated by his confession, both surprised and honored by what he was willing to share. She’d not expected it. Afraid to push him too hard yet needing to know a bit more, she carefully asked, “Do you know why this happens?”
“Yes.” He reached for her hand and twined his gloved fingers with hers. “Can you forgive my behavior toward you and your brothers?”
“Of course.”
His expression relaxed and he blew out a breath. “Thank God. I was worried you wouldn’t.”
The Townsbridge's Series Page 36