CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sarah strolled down the rural lane, and through the trees she could see the manor at the end. The mail coach had dropped her in the nearby village, and after obtaining directions she’d walked the rest of the way. Her destination was in sight.
After spending several miserable weeks in town, she’d headed to the country where she was determined to locate her sisters. She had a bit of money put aside from her years of working so she hadn’t been in danger of starving or living on the streets. But London was expensive, and she couldn’t stay for long without earning a wage.
She never trusted Jasper and hadn’t necessarily believed him when he’d claimed her sisters were at Wallace Downs. Instead, she’d gone to the Bolton home where Catherine had had her last job. As Mrs. Ford had warned, she’d received no assistance from the Boltons and had had to listen to a Miss Priscilla Bolton accuse Catherine of being a thief and a trollop, then the door had been slammed in her face.
She’d interviewed at three other employment agencies, but with her splitting from Mrs. Ford they’d been suspicious about her and her references. None of the companies had been willing to take a chance on her.
She’d wanted to speak to Nicholas about his ordeal in jail, but she had no idea if Mr. Fenwick had freed him. And if he’d returned to London, she’d had no idea how to find him.
Finally, she’d visited Bedlam to try to meet with Mildred, but she’d been refused at the gate so no visit had been allowed. She’d tracked down Mildred’s lawyer, Mr. Thumberton, to be certain he was aware of what had occurred. But he’d been away from the office so she hadn’t been able to speak to him either.
He had a very nice clerk though, and she’d related her story about Clayton’s perfidy. The clerk had been aghast and had promised to inform Mr. Thumberton immediately.
Then she hadn’t known what else to do. She’d been suffering from a crushing need to be with her sisters, especially Catherine whose presence calmed her in times of trouble.
She couldn’t imagine what she’d encounter at Wallace Downs. If they weren’t in residence, she had no backup plan. In most instances when she was immersed in a catastrophe, she’d have trekked to her childhood home at Middlebury. But in light of her recent debacle with Desdemona, she doubted she would ever travel there again despite how desperate she became.
The Wallace estate was very prosperous, and there was activity everywhere. Crops were growing, horses frolicking, cattle mooing from over by the barns.
The house was magnificent, three stories high with large windows and painted trim. The grounds were manicured, the driveway swept of debris. Behind the manor, there was a park and beyond that a hint of blue ocean, with the property being nestled on the coast.
All in all, it appeared as if the owner was wealthy and settled, and some of her trepidation eased. It was never a bad choice to marry a rich man, and if this was where Abigail had decided to cast her lot it could only benefit all of them.
She approached the grand stairs, and a polite footman intercepted her.
“Is this Wallace Downs?” she asked, anxious to be sure.
“Yes, this is the correct place.”
“I’m hoping to locate my sister, Abigail Barrington Henley. I was told she might be here. My sister, Catherine, too.”
His brows rose practically to his hairline. “Are you Lady Sarah?”
It had been an eternity since anyone had called her Lady Sarah, and she was shocked.
“Yes, I’m Sarah.”
He grinned. “What a surprise you’re going to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me escort you inside. I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces.”
“Ah…all right.”
He took the portmanteau from her blistered hand and gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. As they climbed, the front door opened and two very pretty girls emerged. They were identical twins, about nine or so, attired in white dresses with lavender pinafores. They might have been blond-haired, blue-eyed angels.
“Aunt Catherine!” one of them said, then the other said, “No, silly, it’s not Catherine. Look.”
The footman pointed to Sarah. “Guess who I’ve found?”
“Who?” they asked in unison.
“It’s your Aunt Sarah!”
The girls squealed with delight, and they dashed down. They grabbed Sarah and pulled her forward, peppering her with so many questions she couldn’t make sense of any of them. She was led into the house, the butler beaming with smiles.
Word of her arrival had swiftly spread, and as she entered an ostentatious foyer servants were rushing down the halls to sneak a peek at her.
There was an elaborate staircase winding to the second floor, and from the landing a female shouted, “Sarah! As I live and breathe! Where did you come from?”
She glanced up to see Abigail running down to her.
“We’ve been searching everywhere!” Abigail said as she reached the bottom.
“You have?”
Further discussion was impossible. Abigail drew her into a tight hug, the twins too, and the servants surrounded them in a happy, protective circle. People were laughing, clapping, commenting on her unexpected, astonishing appearance.
Sarah simply burst into tears and let herself be carried off on a merry river of congratulations.
* * * *
Mildred sat in an office, and she wasn’t clear on whose office it was. She hadn’t been at the asylum long enough to learn much about how it was structured.
Her experience hadn’t been particularly grueling. Mostly, she’d been left alone to fume in a small cell she shared with three other women who hadn’t seemed mad in the slightest. She’d been given an ice bath, a putative cure she was determined to never endure again. Other than that horrid event, she’d silently dawdled and had sent desperate mental pleas winging to Nicholas, Sarah, and Mr. Thumberton.
Before Clayton had moved against her, she’d wisely mailed all of Nicholas’s documents to Thumberton so her proof was safe. She’d prayed Nicholas or Sarah would save her. All three of them were competent and reliable, and she wouldn’t allow herself to believe that she would languish in the appalling facility.
Someone would free her—she’d been convinced of it—and someone had. Who would it be?
Noise sounded in the hall. In case she wasn’t about to be released, she steeled her expression, having resolved not to exhibit any upset. If for some reason it was Clayton, she couldn’t predict how she’d react.
A man said, “I’m here to collect my mother. I have all the paperwork.”
Nicholas… ah…
She sighed with relief, suffering a thrill at hearing him refer to her as his mother.
He marched in, followed by another man who was wearing a guard’s uniform. Nicholas hurried over to her, a comforting hand laid on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. A bit shook up, but fine.”
“I came as quickly as I could.”
“It hasn’t been that long, and I wasn’t worried.” She was disturbed to note that he had a black eye. “What happened to you?”
“I was locked away myself—in jail—for a few days.”
She gasped. “By whom?”
“I’m sure you can guess, and I’ll tell you about it later.” He grinned. “My jailers weren’t as polite as yours. Then again, I was a tad angry, and I have a mean left hook.”
“How did you gain your release?”
“You must remember Michael Fenwick. He was at Clayton’s birthday party.”
“Yes, I remember that blond scalawag.”
“He’s a grand friend to have in a crisis. He posted my bail.”
“Remind me to reward him.”
“He’ll like that. When we parted in Bath, he couldn’t stop talking about how much I owe him.”
He turned to the guard who’d seated himself at the desk, and he arranged several papers on the desktop. The fellow scarcely perused them.
“I’m sorry about this error,” the man said. “Had we known your relationship to her, Mr. Swift, we wouldn’t have accepted her as a patient. We weren’t aware she had a son.”
“She definitely does,” Nicholas firmly stated. “I trust—should she ever again be brought in by accident—that you’ll handle the matter in a more timely fashion.”
“I will. You have my word on it.”
Nicholas gave him a small pouch, and from how the contents clinked she assumed it was filled with coins. So…not only had he obtained the legal authority to free her, he’d had to tender a bribe too. It truly made her despair for the future of the kingdom.
He smiled at her. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Let’s get you out of here before people reconsider and hold us both.”
She tamped down a shudder. “Heaven forbid.”
“Have you any belongings? Should you pack your bag?”
“No, I was admitted with just the clothes on my back.”
He raised a brow. “Well, there’s another sin for which I’ll have to extract retribution.”
He helped her to her feet. She didn’t need any help, but she found it delightful to have him lead and guide her. They walked out together, a guard marching ahead of them. They wound down halls and across a courtyard, and then they were at the gate and on the street.
She gazed up at the sky, and it was cloudy, drizzle falling. It wet her face, and she breathed deep of the fresh air. Her son watched, but didn’t interrupt. She liked that about him. He understood her as no one ever had.
“When you were born,” she said, “I picked a name for you.”
“It wasn’t Nicholas?”
“No.”
“Then I have no idea how I came by it,” he said.
“I’d hate to think it was selected by that tart, Pegeen Swifton, but I chose a different one. I never told anyone what it was though. It was my little secret.”
“Can you tell me now? Or would you rather not?”
“It was Robert of course. I named you after your father.”
“May I keep using Nicholas?” he asked. “Or will it distress you?”
She studied him, pondered, then said, “Nicholas suits you, and I can’t imagine calling you anything else.”
“Good. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”
“Take me home, would you? Take me somewhere safe and quiet, and promise you’ll stay by my side so I don’t have to be afraid.”
“I promise, Mildred. I will stay right next to you, and I will never leave.”
* * * *
Clayton huffed up the stairs to Mr. Thumberton’s office. The haughty lawyer had finally responded to Clayton’s frantic letters requesting a meeting about his aunt.
In his numerous missives, he hadn’t informed Thumberton that Mildred had been locked away, but he was about to apprise him. He supposed Thumberton would quibble, but Clayton had medical opinions from three doctors who agreed that Mildred displayed all the common symptoms of hysteria.
Clayton was her sole male relative so it was only natural that he would shoulder the onerous burden of minding her business for her.
Normally, he wouldn’t have contacted Thumberton at all, but he had to persuade Thumberton to sign over the bank accounts. If he wouldn’t, then Clayton would have to begin lengthy court proceedings to force a change of trustee, and he didn’t relish the notion of a legal spat with the renowned attorney.
Mildred was Clayton’s aunt, and he wouldn’t be put off by a functionary.
In the reception area, he handed over his hat and was immediately shown into the lawyer’s inner sanctum. This was more like it! His persistence had definitely paid off.
He strutted in, eager to make a stellar first impression, but with his blackened eyes and swollen nose it was difficult. He wasn’t about to explain that he’d been attacked by a felonious brigand in the dark of night in his own bed. If anyone inquired, he’d concocted a delicious story about a violent carriage accident.
“Mr. Thumberton,” the clerk said, “Mr. Farnsworth has arrived.”
Thumberton was an older, important looking fellow seated behind a huge desk, the oak polished to a shine. He was balding and portly, with the girth and muttonchops to indicate his success in life.
His suit was expensive, expertly tailored and sewn from just the perfect shade of gray to exacerbate his aura of consequence. He oozed power and authority, and Clayton would admit to being a bit intimidated.
“Hello, Mr. Farnsworth.” Thumberton gestured to an empty chair. “I appreciate your being so prompt. Won’t you join me?”
“I will. Thank you.”
Clayton started toward him when Thumberton added, “You know your aunt, and I’m sure you remember Mr. Swift.”
Clayton blanched, seeing what he hadn’t noticed when he’d initially entered. Mildred and Mr. Swift were present, and with their appearing where they shouldn’t be he felt dizzy with dismay.
Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Aunt Mildred! What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been consulting with my lawyer. The better question is: What are you doing here? I could swear Thumberton is my lawyer, not yours.”
“I…I…” He always acted like a bumbling toddler around her, and he turned his fierce attention to Swift. “Don’t assume you’ll exit this room a free man. I intend to summon the law and have you prosecuted for assaulting me.”
“I assaulted you?” Swift snidely retorted. “I don’t think so. Whatever date the incident occurred, I have a dozen witnesses who will testify I was somewhere far away from you.” Swift grinned his evil grin. “What happened to your nose? It looks painful. Might I hope someone broke it for you?”
Clayton might have hurled a scathing reply, but Thumberton sternly said, “Sit down, Mr. Farnsworth. We have a few matters to address, and I’d like to wrap up this meeting as quickly as we can.”
Clayton should have stomped out, but Thumberton had a commanding manner that was impossible to ignore. Clayton staggered over to the chair by the desk and eased himself down.
His thoughts were awhirl with visions of all that had been lost. His fortune. His new house and property. His status as a rich gentleman. He would be forced back to penury, but with no means to correct his descent. His gambling debts were soaring, with opponents calling in his markers and demanding he pay what was owed.
Mildred was supposed to be at Bedlam and Swift in jail. How had the duplicitous pair outwitted him? Sarah Henley must have been the culprit. Who else would have sounded an alarm?
Clayton bristled with fury. He should have had Miss Henley arrested when he’d had Swift arrested, but he’d viewed her as a harmless loose end. How could he have discounted how sneaky she would be?
He decided to seize the initiative. “My aunt is not well, Mr. Thumberton. I’ve come to confer with you about her mental problems.”
Thumberton steely gaze didn’t waver, but Swift and Mildred snorted with amusement.
“I won’t waste time on nonsense,” Thumberton said. “I have summoned you here to inform you that your aunt’s situation has been dramatically altered.”
“No, it hasn’t!” Clayton insisted. “You have to help me. You have to listen to me.”
“Her son has been located,” Thumberton declared.
“Nicholas Swift is not her son!” Clayton’s tone was pleading. “It’s a lie to remove me as her heir. Can’t you see through Swift’s scheme?”
“My staff has verified his evidence,” Thumberton claimed.
“They couldn’t have.” Clayton nearly leapt over the desk to shake the man. “He’s an imposter. A confidence artist. He’s played on her sympathies until she can’t discern up from down.”
“Mr. Farnsworth,” Thumberton calmly stated, “your aunt is in full possession of her intellect. I have had her fitness confirmed by the court as well as several medical doctors.”
“You couldn’t have! I have three doctors of my own who swear differently. She’s deranged, I tell you.”
Thumberton’s expression was pitying. “Control yourself or I shall have you escorted out. We’ll conclude this appointment by mail.”
“Aunt Mildred!” Clayton rudely gestured at Nicholas Swift. “You can’t be serious about this. Stop it at once.”
Swift replied for her. “I would ask that you not speak to my mother. If you have a pertinent comment, address it to me. If you deserve an answer, I will give it to you, but I must confess—in light of your antics—there are few queries you could pose that would warrant a response.”
Swift looked deadly and dangerous, Thumberton implacable and condemning. Mildred looked serene and composed, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as if she didn’t quite remember who Clayton was.
Suddenly, Thumberton voiced the most terrifying words Clayton had ever heard: “Your aunt has changed her Will.”
Clayton felt as if he’d been punched in the nose all over again. “What? No!”
“As of this morning, Nicholas Swift-Stone has become her sole heir. The document has been signed by witnesses and filed with the court.”
“No…no…” Clayton was muttering, shaking his head.
Thumberton continued. “Although you have behaved egregiously toward her, she does not wish to quarrel with you. She is willing to settle a monetary gift on you, but on one condition.”
“What condition?” Clayton spat.
“You must agree to never contact her again.”
“You can’t demand that of me. She’s my only relative.”
“Your connection to her didn’t matter much in the past month,” Thumberton disdainfully said, “and I find it amusing that you raise it as a defense.”
“You’re planning to let Swift saunter off with all my money,” Clayton complained. “It’s theft, and you’re aiding and abetting him!”
Thumberton wasn’t swayed by Clayton’s argument. “This is your one and only chance to accept the fiduciary gift. If you don’t accept it, after you leave my office it will be retracted and you will receive nothing.”
Clayton sneered. “And Swift will receive all, I suppose.”
“It’s not Mr. Swift,” Thumberton reminded him. “It’s Mr. Stone now. Nicholas Stone. He’s taking his father’s name.”
Clayton scoffed. “A name will make no difference. Once a bastard always a bastard.”
Swift wasn’t needled by the insult. He asked Thumberton, “Are we finished? Would you like me to show him out?”
Thumberton stared at Clayton and inquired, “What is it to be, Mr. Farnsworth? Will you accept the funds or not?”
Clayton’s irate gaze roamed over Thumberton, then Swift, then his aunt, and he burst into tears. He couldn’t help it. His head hurt from his pummeling, and his ribs throbbed where Swift had kicked him. He’d established himself in Mildred’s house. He’d ordered a wardrobe of clothes and a fancy carriage.
He’d started a whole new life! It was the sort of life he’d been destined to live! How could he have lost it all so quickly? It was so unfair.
“Aunt Mildred, please!” he begged. “You can’t mean to wound me like this.”
Swift stood and stepped in front of Mildred, blocking her from Clayton’s view.
“You’re not to speak to her, Clayton. Wasn’t I clear?”
Thumberton rapped his knuckles on the desk. “What is your decision, Mr. Farnsworth? Will you sign?”
He shoved a document at Clayton, and Clayton might have been frozen on a high precipice. He could jump either way. He could muster his pride, tell all of them to sod off, and march out of the room. Or he could choke on his pride and walk away with his aunt’s blood money.
He didn’t want to choose! He wanted to return to being Mildred’s beloved nephew and heir, but apparently they were far beyond that wonderful era.
“I’ll sign!” he fumed.
He grabbed a quill, dipped it in the ink jar, and scribbled his name on the line. He didn’t bother to glance at the terms so he had no idea how much she was paying him, but whatever the sum it would never be enough.
“Perfect,” Thumberton said. “Now then, there are a few other details you should know.”
“I don’t care to hear them.”
Thumberton persisted anyway. “You appear to have seized control of your aunt’s house, which can’t be allowed to stand. Your belongings have been packed and set out on the road.”
“What? You can’t do that!”
“We’ve posted guards around the estate, and they will remain in place for the foreseeable future. If they discover you lurking in the neighborhood, you’ll be arrested for trespassing and harassment.”
“They’d have to catch me first,” Clayton seethed.
“I’m sure they are fleet-footed,” Thumberton blithely asserted. “Remember this most of all: You are never to contact your aunt again.”
“How will you prevent me?”
“If you try to force yourself into her presence, we will sue to retrieve the money she’s giving you today, and we will also sue to confiscate your own property as damages for breach of contract. You’ll be left with nothing.”
“That property is mine. My father bequeathed it to me.”
“If you wish to keep it,” Thumberton advised, “don’t be a fool.”
There was an angry, awkward pause, then Thumberton stood to indicate the appointment was over.
“Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Farnsworth.”
Clayton whipped away and stomped out. At the last second, he peered back at his aunt, his expression beseeching. He was desperate to begin generating sympathy so he could eventually worm his way back into her good graces, but Swift was still blocking her from view.
Clayton let his animosity ooze out, let Swift know that it wasn’t over between them. He would get even with all of them, and he would start with Nicholas.
He departed so fast he forgot his hat, but he was already plotting how he could rid himself of Swift and, in the process, regain his spot by his aunt’s side.
Ultimately, Nicholas Swift would be the sorriest man in the world.
* * * *
Sarah studied the faces of her family that was suddenly growing by leaps and bounds. They’d had supper together, and the meal had just concluded. Then they’d moved to the parlor to read and talk. It was a rainy evening, and a fire burned in the hearth. The scene was like something out of a favorite painting, and it comforted her more than she could have imagined possible.
There were her sisters, Abigail and Catherine, but there were two nieces and two brothers-in-law as well.
After their tragedy a decade earlier, it had just been the tiny trio of Sarah and her sisters for so long. They’d constantly been separated, having to correspond by letter and able to visit in person only on the rarest occasions. It seemed as if Fate had waved a magic wand so matters would improve.
She couldn’t deduce which surprise was the biggest. Abigail had stabilized her situation by marrying Alex Wallace. He was rich, but notorious too. They’d wed in a hurry, using a Special License, but Alex had promised Abigail a fancy church wedding later on. It was rushing toward them at the end of September. Sarah was ecstatic that she’d get to help with the preparations.
Catherine was married too, again with a Special License, and she was planning a double wedding with Abigail. It was turning into a large celebration. Not the sort they’d have had if their father had been alive, but it would be very grand all the same.
Catherine’s husband, Christopher Wakefield-Stanton, was a landed gentleman who owned an estate that was in a decrepit condition. Catherine wasn’t concerned though and insisted they were excited to be repairing the dilapidated place.
Sarah hadn’t seen it yet. When she’d arrived at Wallace Downs, Abigail had sent a messenger to inform Catherine that Sarah was safely with her, and Catherine and her husband had raced to Wallace Downs. After Sarah caught her breath—probably after the wedding—she would head to Stanton Manor and stay with Catherine until she could figure out what to do with herself.
Her days of employment were over, and it was an enormous relief. She could become a woman of leisure, and she would loaf and play in her sisters’ homes while they were working to build their families.
It wasn’t precisely a recipe for success, and with her being accustomed to earning a wage, she’d forgotten how to be idle. But the great news was that she needn’t fret over anything. She could take her time on every issue.
Perhaps the main surprise was that she had two nieces. Before her brother, Hayden, had died, he’d engaged in a salacious affair with Alex’s first wife, and he’d sired Mary and Millie.
Sarah had never heard any gossip about the affair or the duel Hayden and Alex had fought. All of it had been hushed up to tamp down the scandal. Alex had almost killed Hayden, and their parents had whisked him out of the country to avoid his being arrested. Then they’d all perished on the way back to England.
Sarah agreed with Abigail that it seemed Hayden was staring down from Heaven, that he’d brought Abigail to Wallace Downs so she could watch over the twins for him. They had all adored Hayden, and his daughters were such a precious gift he’d left behind. Sarah nearly burst into tears whenever she saw them.
She was seated on a sofa, Catherine next to her and holding her hand. Mary and Millie sat at their feet.
“They look just like us when we were nine,” Catherine said.
“Exactly like us.” Sarah smiled down at the twins. “Can you read each other’s minds?”
“Of course,” the twins replied together. “Can’t everyone?”
“No,” Sarah said. “Only certain people can.”
“Will you stay at Wallace Downs, Aunt Sarah?” Mary asked. “What have you decided?”
It was their repeated question. Their younger years had been chaotic and their eccentric mother difficult to tolerate. They didn’t like changes or fluctuating circumstances. With Sarah having entered their world, they were nervous about her flitting out of it.
“I haven’t decided if I’m staying.” She grinned. “Will Alex get sick of me if I refuse to leave?”
The twins shook their heads and, appearing solemn and serious, Millie said, “Alex is never upset. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Sarah told her.
“Do you like it here?” Mary inquired.
It was also a concern for them. They were afraid—if she didn’t like it—she’d vanish.
“I love it here,” she assured them, “but if I travel to Stanton Manor after the wedding, could you come with me? What would you guess Abigail’s opinion would be? Would she let you?”
Millie glanced up at Catherine and asked, “Could we come? Would that be all right?”
“It’s always fine with me,” Catherine said, “but the wedding is in September, and I’m betting you’ll be busy with your school lessons after that.”
There had been some discussion about sending them to boarding school. They were old enough, but Alex had quashed the notion. While he’d initially had a strained relationship with the twins, he’d become a doting father, and he didn’t want them gone. Abigail was interviewing governesses and would hire one soon.
It was another facet of Sarah’s restored reality that she couldn’t quite accept. Everything suddenly seemed so normal. For too long, it had been turmoil and disaster and juggling jobs and security. Now it was weddings and manor houses and picking a governess to teach the children.
The differences were disconcerting, and she was incredibly jealous over her sisters’ good fortune. They had found marvelous, affectionate husbands. Alex and Christopher were honest and decent, kind and generous. They’d provided stable homes and a spouse’s income and protection.
During a brief period, she’d imagined she’d found her own version of paradise with Nicholas Swift, but it had been an illusion. She was still struggling to figure out what type of man he actually was. What were his genuine traits? If he walked into the room that very second and she had to describe him, how would she?
She had no idea.
To her disgust, she hadn’t mentioned her amour to her sisters. On observing how happy they were, she’d been too embarrassed to confess it. And what was there to tell really? She’d been seduced by a scoundrel. What woman would be eager to admit to being so gullible? Not herself certainly.
There was no reason to talk about Nicholas.
Besides, she recollected him saying he knew Catherine and Christopher, and she was terrified as to what Catherine’s opinion might be about him. If she had a low view and had already deduced what a dastardly blackguard he was, how would Sarah explain her infatuation?
Millie asked Abigail, “Aunt Abigail, when Sarah travels to Stanton Manor after the wedding, could we go too?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Abigail responded. “Autumn will be hectic so it might be better for all of us to go at Christmas.”
“Or could they come here again?” Mary asked.
“Yes, they could come here,” Abigail said, “but would you stop pestering Sarah? She needs to relax and not fret over where she’ll be staying.”
Sarah peeked down at them and winked. “I’m fine, and I’m very relaxed.”
They grinned up at her, and she wondered if Alex realized the trouble he’d encounter in a few years when boys started to notice how fetching they were. They were definitely a father’s worst nightmare.
Alex and Christopher were shuffling a deck of cards, and the twins rose and went over to watch their game. Sarah snuggled closer to Catherine and rested her head on her shoulder.
“I’ve been so worried about you,” Sarah said.
“I could feel you reaching out to me.”
“I could feel you too, but I couldn’t get away to visit you. And I kept sending you letters using Mrs. Ford. Did you receive any of them?”
“No. Did you receive any of mine?”
“No.”
“The old witch,” Catherine muttered. “I’m so glad we never have to deal with her again.”
“So am I. I sat through an appointment in her office, and I had to listen to her call you and Abigail trollops. I was so angry she was lucky I didn’t pummel her to the ground.”
Catherine chuckled. “I’d like to have seen that.”
“It was one of my better moments.”
“Abigail insisted we shouldn’t bother you about the future, but you must have been considering it. What would you like to do? Christopher has tons of friends. He could probably find you a husband—if you’re interested. I could have him begin inviting them from town.”
Sarah could think of no more horrid fate than to have her brother-in-law begging his friends to court her. “I’m not interested. Please don’t mention it to him.”
“Wouldn’t you like to marry eventually?” Catherine asked. “After being single for so long—and facing all the difficulties that come with being a spinster—I’m much happier now. I highly recommend matrimony.”
Sarah scoffed. “Newlyweds always do. They assume they invented marital bliss.”
“Well, things have been quite blissful for me recently. I’m not about to pretend otherwise.”
“I’m delighted for you, Catherine. I’m jealous too—of you and Abigail. You snagged such excellent husbands. How did you manage it?”
“There were bumps in our roads. It wasn’t smooth sailing by any means.”
A footman entered, and he walked directly over to Sarah.
“This is for you,” he told her as he handed her a letter. “It just arrived, and the butler thought you’d want to have it right away.”
Sarah frowned. “Are you sure it’s for me?”
“Yes, there’s no doubt,” he said, and he left.
“It’s so late in the day,” Catherine pointed out. “It must be dreadfully important. Who is it from?”
Sarah was unnerved by the missive and couldn’t imagine who would know she was at Wallace Downs. Desdemona? Jasper? They’d never contact her so who could it be? But she quickly recognized the identity of the sender.
Everyone had paused to look over at her, and she said, “It’s from Mildred.”
The room exploded with sighs of relief, exclamations, and even some clapping. She’d apprised all of them about Mildred and her despicable nephew, how he’d been determined to seize her fortune, how he’d had her carted off as a lunatic.
They’d all been incensed over Mildred’s plight and had grown to view her as a sort of grandmother. The twins especially were concerned about her. With their own complex history always bubbling just below the surface, they never liked to learn that a person was experiencing trouble.
Alex had offered to assist Mildred, and he was acquainted with Attorney Thumberton. He’d written to the renowned lawyer to be certain he was aware of her dilemma and to inquire how he could help, but there had been no answer.
If Mildred had been able to mail a letter to Sarah, it could only be good news.
She flicked the seal and scanned the words. “She’s been freed, and she’s safe at home.”
There was more clapping, and Alex asked, “How did she get out of Bedlam? When you’re incarcerated in a place like that, it’s nigh on impossible to win your release.”
“Mr. Thumberton arranged it,” Sarah said, “and he whisked her away from her nephew so he can’t harm her again.”
There were more sighs and many smiles.
“And guess what else?” Sarah said.
To which there were general replies of, “What?”
“She misses me, and she’d like to visit Wallace Downs.”
There was a cacophony of responses: “That would be wonderful!” and “Absolutely she should come!” and “Invite her immediately.”
“I will, I will.” Sarah laughed at their excitement and read it a few more times.
It was short and concise, but with the twins listening she didn’t share the more sordid details. Mildred had spent nearly two weeks in the hospital while Thumberton had obtained the appropriate legal paperwork.
She’d changed her Will, and they’d had a very distasteful meeting with Clayton where they’d informed him that Nicholas was her heir. He’d been ordered to stay away from her, and so far the edict seemed to be effective. She was recuperating at her residence outside London.
Through it all, Nicholas had been with her, and she’d publically confirmed he was her son. Apparently, he’d been present when she’d written the letter because he’d scribbled a terse note beneath her signature.
I will accompany Mildred to Wallace Downs, he’d penned like a threat, and she scowled at the sentence, trying to decipher what it indicated.
Was it a simple statement of fact to notify her of his plans? Or was it his intent to quarrel a bit more? To resume their romance? Or perhaps was it a subtle warning for her to be silent about his dodgy dealings with regard to Mildred?
She murmured to Catherine, “Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
“Of course.”
They stood and slipped out, and they strolled down the hall to an empty parlor.
Catherine shut the door and asked, “What is it?”
“When I was working for Mildred, I had a brief amour.”
Catherine grinned. “You minx! Why didn’t you say something?”
“I was confused about him.”
“Women are always confused about men.”
“Yes, but this is more than a case of confusion. It’s worse, I suppose.”
“Worse, how?”
“I have to tell you a secret about Mildred, but you can’t tell anybody else.”
“I don’t even know Mildred. Who would I tell?”
Sarah took a deep breath, terrified over what she was about to put into motion. “Ah…as a young lady, Mildred had an affair with an unsuitable boy, and she wound up with child. She tried to elope with her beau, but her father stopped her.”
“My goodness! What an awful story.”
“It goes downhill from there. Once the elopement was averted, her beau vanished, and when her baby was born—a son—it was given out for adoption. She never learned what happened to either of them, and it’s haunted her.”
Catherine frowned in a sympathetic way. “I can just picture how distressing it must have been.”
“Her nephew, Clayton, had been her heir, but while we were in Bath a man appeared and declared himself to be her missing boy.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t imagine her nephew was too pleased.”
“No, and it’s the real reason he had her committed—so she couldn’t claim the man as her son.”
“Where does your amour fit into it?”
“The man I fancied was the one who stepped forward.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes, and I think you know him.”
“I know him?”
“Yes, and your husband too. They’re friends.”
“What’s his name?”
“Nicholas Swift.”
Catherine gasped, so shocked that she had to grab onto a nearby chair to steady herself.
“Nicholas Swift?” she wheezed. “Thirty years old, black hair, blue-blue eyes, handsome, dashing, dissolute. A gambler, womanizer, and wastrel. Are we talking about that Nicholas Swift?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Catherine was horrified and alarmed. “Are you in love with him?”
“No! Well, yes. Well, maybe. He proposed to me in Bath, and I accepted, and I thought—”
Catherine shrieked. “He proposed?”
“Yes, and then all the drama started with Mildred. When he announced he was her son, I couldn’t decide if I should believe him. I was worried he might be deceiving her to get her money and—”
Catherine held up a hand to halt the rest of her comment. “Wait right here. Don’t move.” She yanked open the door and went to the family parlor, saying, “Christopher, would you come with me for a minute? I need you.”
She returned, and Sarah studied her, then asked, “What is it? Is it bad?”
“Yes, it’s bad.”
“If I invite Mildred to visit, Nicholas intends to accompany her. Even if I don’t invite her—and I don’t see how I can refuse—I expect he’ll show up by himself.”
“Are you still engaged to him?”
“Ah…I think so.”
Christopher entered the room, and Catherine clasped his arm and pulled him inside.
“What’s wrong?” Christopher asked her. “You look like you’re about to faint.”
“Sarah informs me that she’s engaged.”
“Ah…ah…that’s good news. Isn’t it?”
Catherine’s brows shot up practically to her hairline. “Her betrothed is Nicholas Swift!”
Christopher blanched as if Catherine had punched him. “It’s who?”
“She’s engaged to Nicholas!” Catherine hissed.
“Oh, my Lord,” Christopher muttered. “You Henley girls shouldn’t be allowed out on your own.”
“She can’t marry him, Christopher!” Catherine insisted.
“Absolutely not,” he agreed.
They gaped at Sarah, and she realized every aspect of her relationship with Nicholas had grown a thousand times harder to unravel.
Tentatively, she ventured, “I’m guessing you’d never give us your blessing.”
Christopher scoffed. “I’d have to kill you to save you from yourself.”
“You assume it would be that dreadful?” Sarah asked.
“You have no idea,” Christopher replied. “This seems like a problem for sisters to discuss. Catherine can clarify the situation.”
Not inclined to linger and debate the issue, he slipped out before Catherine could prevent him.
“Coward!” Catherine called after him as he hurried away.
He called back, “You’ll do a much better job of explaining than I ever could.”
Catherine spun to Sarah and said, “Let me tell you how I met Mr. Swift, which means I have to tell you about a girl named Libby Markham.”
“I might have heard him mention her.”
“The cad mentioned her?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe he had the gall.”
“Will I be shocked by what you’re about to confide?”
“Definitely, and I have to wonder if you and Libby haven’t wound up in the same sinking boat.”