CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Just when I suppose you have exhausted every idiotic notion, you pull an old relic down from the shelf and dust it off for another go.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her nephew upon news of his third reprimand at Oxford.
“An engagement?” mumbled Sarah’s mother an hour later. Eleanor removed a hairpin from between her lips and stabbed it into Sarah’s coiffure. “Are you certain you did not mistake his meaning?”
Sarah ran her hand over her mother’s handiwork. Tamed, she thought with relief. For now. “No mistake. I told him it was preposterous. That was the word I used. Preposterous.” She rose from the small stool and set her borrowed brush on the borrowed dressing table. “You are to act as our chaperone, apparently.”
Eleanor deliberately eyed the breakfast tray Colin had delivered earlier—still piled with food she’d been unable to finish—then looked back at Sarah. “It appears you need one.”
Scoffing with perhaps too much enthusiasm, Sarah replied, “Gracious me, Mama. Nothing has happened.” It was true. He had left her bedchamber after their almost-kiss. The disappointment had knocked the breath out of her. But, she supposed one did not form a habit of kissing the object of one’s pity.
Her mother stared at her with a mother’s eerie knowledge.
“Well, nothing alarming, in any event.”
More silence and speculation.
Sarah cleared her throat. “The Duke and Duchess of Blackmore are waiting to make our acquaintance in the drawing room. Mrs. Poole should be here any moment to escort us downstairs.”
“Sarah.”
She smoothed her hands down the folds of her gown, cringing at the worn, checked fabric, the dull brown color. It was the same dress she had worn yesterday, for their trunks remained on their cart. Colin had mentioned new gowns. Shamefully, she found her will weakening, her pride crumbling beneath the onslaught of temptation. She mustn’t give in. To accept his preposterous plan was to imply that a union between her and a man like Colin—handsome, wealthy, sensual, charming—was even possible. No, she knew precisely who she was. And who he was. And why he could never feel the same melting weakness for her as she did every time she glimpsed his lean hands or perfect chin or beautiful blue eyes.
Still, a new gown or two would be lovely. Her hand brushed over the black band on her arm. How dearly she wished to wear full black, to honor her father in that way.
“Sarah, look at me.”
The demand came from her mother, so she obeyed.
As always, Eleanor was tidy and composed, her skin pale, showing only subtle signs of her age and hardships in fine creases at the corners of her eyes and lips. Now, concern wrinkled her brow. “You mustn’t let him persuade you to actions which could result in … well, in new burdens … of a permanent nature.”
Sarah felt heat rise and tingle in her cheeks. “Mama,” she protested. “If I agree to his plan—and that is unlikely—we would be pretending to be engaged. It would be a drama, a stage play. And quite temporary, I assure you.” She turned and busied herself tidying the few items on the dressing table. “You needn’t worry so.”
A knock at the door signaled Mrs. Poole’s arrival. Sarah was grateful for the interruption, as her mother could be dogged when it came to protecting her daughter. Still, she dreaded meeting the duke and duchess.
As Mrs. Poole guided them through the lengthy corridors of Yardleigh Manor, Sarah cast surreptitious glances at her hem. Threads had come loose, damage from the last washing. The urge to turn back and hide in her bedchamber was strong. Instead, she followed the housekeeper to the paneled doors of the drawing room, drawing a breath just before Mrs. Poole knocked lightly and swung them open.
“Mrs. Battersby,” a deep, quiet, masculine voice said calmly from beside the fireplace. “And Miss Battersby.” He was tall, Sarah noticed. Even taller than Colin, and slightly wider about the shoulders, but with the same blond hair, trimmed severely short. His jaw was chiseled to a fine edge, his features refined and aristocratic. The Duke of Blackmore was an impressively handsome man, albeit in a more austere way than his brother.
“Your grace,” murmured Eleanor, curtsying and inclining her head briefly.
Sarah followed suit, her heart thudding with trepidation.
“I trust you have found the accommodations to your liking.” His words were courteous enough, but his tone was pure frost.
“Indeed, your grace. We thank you for your kindness,” Sarah said.
“It is not my house, and therefore not my kindness.”
She blinked, uncertain how to respond. If not his, then whose? Colin’s? Someone else’s?
“Well,” said Eleanor, blessedly entering the conversation. “Whoever has provided so generously for our accommodation has our sincere gratitude.”
The duke simply stared at them from twenty feet away. A long silence stretched before a feminine throat was cleared.
Sarah had not even noticed the woman standing behind one of the velvet chairs. She was short, a bit plump, with dark-brown hair pulled back from a round face. Except for the fringe of hair along her forehead, it was a severe style on a rather plain woman whose spectacles made her eyes appear larger than normal. She slowly moved to stand beside the duke. Who is she? Sarah wondered. Yet another guest, perhaps? Surely she is not the—
“Ladies, may I present my wife, the Duchess of Blackmore.”
Sarah looked to her mother. Eleanor blinked back at her. Together, they approached the unlikely couple, then gave this wren-like duchess her due courtesy. For all that she was a plain woman, Sarah could not help noticing the Duchess of Blackmore was exquisitely gowned in shining red silk. Along with the dress’s hue, the square neckline and darker sash at a lowered waist were quite flattering. And obscenely costly. She could see it in every stitch.
Again, Sarah thought of the threads at her own hem, the stitches she had sewn herself rather than hiring a London modiste or even an Exeter seamstress. She longed to disappear.
“Truly,” Eleanor ventured, “we are honored to make your acquaintance, your grace. And most grateful to have been recipients of such generosity.” Sarah’s mother gave them her best smile. They responded with taciturnity, the duke grim and unsmiling, the duchess’s expression closed and tight.
Sarah could only conclude that they did not approve of her or her mother. Two shabbily dressed women from an obscure seaside village were poor company indeed for a powerful duke and his wife. Such a reaction was hardly unexpected, though quite uncomfortable.
It was yet another reminder of why Colin’s plan was both preposterous—a most fitting word—and destined for failure. But she had tenuous ground from which to argue his folly, as she had perpetrated the same lie upon her village only two months ago. He would call her a hypocrite for her objections, and he’d be right.
“M-Mrs. Battersby, I—I am given to understand you were the granddaughter of Lord Chalsea,” said the duchess, her voice husky and halting.
“Indeed,” Eleanor replied. “My father was a third son. The title has since passed to a cousin, though I cannot claim a close acquaintance, I fear.” She gave the duchess a warm, kind smile. “London and Keddlescombe are quite a long way from one another. In many respects.”
A trembling smile, small and hesitant, preceded a warming of the duchess’s dark eyes. She reached up to adjust her spectacles. “I have found Devonshire a delight. It is my first journey to this area. One can smell the sea on every breeze, here.”
Watching the change in the duchess’s demeanor with curiosity, Sarah almost missed hearing the duke’s stark question. “Have you consented to my brother’s proposal, Miss Battersby? Or may we assume you are in greater possession of your faculties than he?”
Well, she thought. This one does not mince words. His forbidding expression made her swallow against a dry throat. “I … He … That is, Lord Colin appears to be most committed to this course.”
“He is. Precisely why, I have not yet determined.” His eyes were blue, but a shade grayer than Colin’s, like a lake that had frozen over.
“Were it not for his insistence, your grace, my mother and I would even now be on the road to Bath. I assure you of that.”
He said nothing in response, merely stared down at her from his lofty height until his wife looped an arm around his elbow and gave him a subtle nudge. “Harrison,” the spectacled woman murmured. “Be nice.”
“Yes, Harrison,” came Colin’s voice from behind Sarah, at the entrance to the drawing room. “Do let’s be civil.” He was striding toward them, his gaze fixed on his brother, his brows lowered in a glare. “You are speaking to my future wife, after all.”
“A false engagement,” replied Blackmore dismissively. “And a preposterous plan.”
Sarah blinked upon hearing her words echoed back to her from those aristocratic lips.
Colin came to stand beside her, causing a flush of warmth at his nearness. “Perhaps,” he said softly. “But it is my plan, not hers. I will not countenance anyone treating her with less than proper respect. Even you.”
Rather than responding directly to his brother, Blackmore turned his frost on her. “You are aware he has no funds of his own, but lives on an allowance over which I have complete control.”
“Harrison,” Colin gritted.
“Additionally,” the duke continued, “my brother’s present circumstances are entirely caused by his failure to repay debts incurred through profligate wagering at Mr. Syder’s gaming hells.”
Colin’s voice deepened, sounding angrier by the second. “You are wrong. That is not the reason. I have already settled my debt, and well you know it.”
Blackmore ignored him, holding Sarah’s gaze with the force of his own. “So, you see, Miss Battersby, if your interest lies in securing a husband who can be relied upon to provide a home and income for you and your mother, I advise looking elsewhere.”
“Harrison!” The Duchess of Blackmore’s hiss and outraged expression finally turned him away from Sarah as he frowned down at his wife. “There is nothing to suggest Miss Battersby is of such mercenary character.”
“She is not,” growled Colin. “If anything, I have had a devil of a time persuading her to cooperate.”
Carefully, Sarah cleared her throat. “May I say something?”
Blackmore turned his head toward her then, surprisingly, gave her a dignified nod.
“I am in agreement with his grace.” Her simple statement seemed to stun everyone in the room, including the duke, as they all fell silent to await further explanation. “If I were searching for a man to support us, then I would look elsewhere. In fact, I would not have involved your brother in my life very much at all. He stayed in Keddlescombe for days longer than he’d planned in order to help me avoid such a marriage.”
Blackmore appeared to consider her point, then countered with one of his own. “Perhaps you threw back a minnow in favor of a salmon.”
The duchess stared at her husband, aghast. Eleanor gasped sharply. Colin was the first to speak. “Stop this, brother.” His voice was low and deadly serious.
But it was the duchess who finally convinced Blackmore to relent, and her tone was surprisingly gentle. “If not for Miss Battersby, Colin would be dead, my love. Do you not think she is owed the benefit of the doubt?”
Blackmore’s chin lowered a bit, his eyes softening on his wife. “Perhaps you are right. My apologies for any insult, Miss Battersby.”
Sarah inclined her head in acknowledgment. But inside, she understood his concerns all too well. A vicar’s daughter from a tiny village with only the barest trickle of noble blood should scarcely be in the same room with a duke’s brother, much less pretending an engagement—for the second time. If she were the duke, she would take one look at the ragged, impoverished woman standing before him and draw the same obvious conclusion.
“He—my husband is quite protective of those he loves,” said the duchess, her expression friendlier and her gaze more direct than when Sarah had first entered the room. “He is not as stodgy as he seems, I assure you.”
Colin snorted. “He is precisely that stodgy. And I do not need protecting from a woman I could lift over my head if I so chose.”
The duchess’s mouth quirked and she stifled a giggle. “Now, there’s an image.”
The tension along the back of Sarah’s neck eased, and she let herself smile at the woman across from her, whom she was beginning to think she had misjudged. The duchess now appeared shy rather than standoffish. Sarah had observed similar behavior in some of her students. Often it took a week or more for those girls to relax and feel comfortable around new acquaintances.
“We are here to discuss our plans for London,” Blackmore interjected.
Colin nodded and invited everyone to sit. Sarah noted he took the spot beside her, on one of the sofas. He was close enough that she could feel his warmth and weight tugging at her senses, smell sandalwood and fresh air.
“The rain appears to be letting up, so we shall depart tomorrow morning,” he began. “I have instructed Underwood and Mrs. Poole to see to the arrangements. With luck, we should arrive in three days.” He glanced pointedly at Blackmore. “The engagement is not negotiable. Everyone must agree, and everyone must tell the same story. Miss Battersby and I met in Bath. She was there to visit her mother’s cousin; I was there seeking a new horse for Blackmore’s stable. We happened upon one another when that very horse went lame. She stopped to assist me, and we fell in love. A correspondence led to a proposal, and now I am bringing her to London to meet my family and prepare for the wedding. Questions?”
This was a side of Colin she had previously glimpsed in small doses but rarely observed in full force. He was commanding, assured, his words crisp and his tone resolute. He had thought through his plan and was determined to carry it out. Even his formidable brother would not deter him.
She wanted to kiss his beautiful mouth. Right there, in front of the duke and the duchess and even her mother. She wanted it so badly, her lips began to tingle, her palms to dampen, her breath to quicken.
“London is Syder’s domain. What makes you think he will not come after her, once you have made your relationship with Miss Battersby so very public,” Blackmore asked.
Colin glared darkly. “He may try. But he will not touch her. Ever.”
The duke sighed. “Colin, we will do our utmost to guard against it, but even Jane was not safe from him on Blackmore lands.”
“He will not touch her.”
“Will you give him what he wants, then, if it comes to that?”
Colin was silent for a moment before answering. “I will not have to. My contact at the Home Office has a timeline for his raids, and soon, the knowledge I possess will be meaningless. Syder’s empire is crumbling brick by brick. It is why he has grown desperate.”
Blackmore’s eyes narrowed on his brother. “You still have not told me who this contact is. Are you certain you can trust him? He did, after all, leave you to the mercies of that despicable butcher.”
Sarah glanced at Colin, her heart twisting at the memory of his injuries. It was her first time hearing an explanation of their cause. He’d been aiding the Home Office somehow. Tortured to reveal vital information, he had refused to comply, allowing himself to be pummeled black and blue, sliced open like a piece of meat. She felt her overlarge breakfast churning to escape her stomach.
“I know you are vexed about that,” Colin said. He was directing the statement at Blackmore, but he might as well be saying it to her.
She watched as the duke’s face turned thunderous—dark and flashing white-hot. His voice, however, was eerily quiet. “I will have his head served to me on a platter.”
“Which is why I insist on speaking with him before I tell you his name. Harrison,” Colin said, silencing his brother’s objection with a look. “This is how it must be.”
“I beg your pardon, Lord Colin,” said Eleanor, leaning forward a bit in her velvet chair, resting her hands on the wooden arms. “But if my daughter has agreed to any of this, I fear I must object in the most strenuous of terms.”
Sarah had to give her mother credit for bravery. And Colin credit for maintaining his composure. He calmly nodded. “I would expect no less, Mrs. Battersby. If you will allow me to explain, I shall attempt to set your mind at ease.” He then carefully did as he had promised, discussing his months spent alone, running from one end of England to the other to escape Syder’s long reach. He described returning home to Blackmore Hall, hiding in a cottage on estate lands, and finding, even there, he had not been safe. “I was never safe, as long as I was hiding, running, alone. Syder operates in darkness. He is comfortable there. What he fears is exposure. By hiding and running, I have encouraged his pursuit. A man alone, anything can happen. Another wealthy chap set upon by thieves, a cottage catching fire. Not so unusual.
“However, if I am quite prominently in London, celebrating a new engagement, reuniting with my family, constantly surrounded by them and others within the beau monde, my disappearance would be noticed. He will be hard-pressed to spirit me away without drawing further attention to himself. Attention he does not want. That is also why the safest place for Sarah is at my side. If he cannot get to me, he cannot get to her.”
Eleanor, patiently listening, finished his thought. “And if she and I travel to Bath together, as we had planned, you believe she will be in danger.”
“I know it. Once I made my appearance in London, he would send his men after Sarah without hesitation. Easier target and all that.”
Sighing, Eleanor looked to Sarah. “Do you agree to this?”
Everyone’s eyes were suddenly upon her. She considered what had been said, what Colin had explained about Syder. She knew it to be true. Syder had pursued him to her village. He had all but threatened her in her cottage.
But, mostly, she remembered every time Colin had kissed her, and how she had felt watching him ride away. How achingly she had missed him after only a few days’ acquaintance. How she had foolishly dreamed of him riding back into Keddlescombe upon Matilda’s back, going to his knees at the sight of her and declaring that he could not stay away. She knew it was a fantasy. An impossible fantasy.
And yet, in the end, her choice was not really a choice at all.
“Yes,” she said, knowing it might be the biggest mistake of her life. “I do.”
*~*~*