Page 33 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

M eredith went to the door and pulled it back. “Come in, Graham. I believe the earl requires your assistance in, er, in being made more comfortable.” She flung a hand indicating his boots.

Graham moved in the direction of the table and Meredith hurried over to take up the betrothal agreement that was spread out for all and sundry to see. Quickly, she gathered up the documents and took them to the escritoire and set them atop with a quick glance to her husband.

He watched her with a small tip of his lips. She suspected he wanted to roll his eyes but was too exhausted or weak to do so.

“I’ll just retrieve a wrap for him,” she told Graham.

He offered her a respectful bow. She quite liked him. “Thank you, my lady.”

Meredith stole back through the bathing chamber, through her sitting room, and into Pender’s chamber.

The space was a stark reflection of neglect and disuse.

She’d quashed her guilt before, but it hit her now in full force, seeing the lack of warmth and vitality.

Especially in light of her goals toward that of a well-tended estate.

The heavy four-poster bed dominated the space and was draped with faded damask curtains that were once richly colored but now hung limp with age and dust. The mattress and linens were serviceable but clearly not of the quality befitting an earl, hastily arranged after years of disuse.

The chamber was lit by the fire, casting long shadows across the walls, which were adorned with outdated tapestries and a large, once-ornate mirror that had long-ago tarnished along its edges.

She made her way across the cold floor partially covered by an antique rug that had grown threadbare in places to a massive wardrobe carved with intricate but worn designs.

She pulled the door back, its hinges creaking ominously.

The air carried a faint mustiness, and she wrinkled her nose.

She was a horrid person, forcing him to stay in such abhorrent conditions.

She reached inside and drew out his black silk banyan and pushed it shut.

She strolled back to the adjourning door and stopped, catching sight of a familiar pamphlet, Women and the Need for Economic Equality: A Plan for England’s Future , and picked it up.

The sight of it startled a laugh out of her.

“Ah, well, sir. I hope you were suitably enlightened,” she whispered.

Beneath that was Aylesbury’s journal. She started to set the pamphlet back down only to see another set of tri-folded papers.

She laid the pamphlet aside and, hesitating only briefly—long enough to justify how he’d found her pamphlet as he had to have gone through her escritoire to find it, hadn’t he?

“Yes. Why, yes he had,” she murmured. She swooped up the folded papers and moved to the fire and unfolded them.

To the Most Reverend Official of the Ecclesiastical Court,

I, Lucius Oshea, Earl of Pender, write to formally seek counsel regarding the annulment of my marriage to Lady Meredith Jephson, daughter of His Grace, the Duke of Rathbourne.

Meredith’s heart stopped, her breath constricted. Difficult with her vision blurring so. She yanked a handkerchief from her pocket, wiped her eyes and blew her nose and forced herself to read on.

This union, entered with solemn intent, has not fulfilled the conditions necessary for its continuance.

Chief among these is the absence of consummation, which renders the marriage, by the laws of our Church and state, invalid in practice if not in form.

Additionally, circumstances of misunderstanding and mistrust have arisen, leading me to question the foundation of our union.

In keeping with propriety and the dictates of conscience, I have enclosed herewith a preliminary draft of the petition for annulment.

It is my understanding that Lady Meredith must also affix her acknowledgment to this petition, thereby consenting to the dissolution of our bond and facilitating the proceedings.

The further she read, the hotter her blood roiled.

And, yes, there was a little line for her signature to serve as confirmation of her agreement to pursue this course with dignity and discretion .

The blank signature line below her name reeled through her as if her gun had fired haphazardly and she hadn’t time to set her stance.

“It is my sincere hope that this matter be resolved without undue delay or hardship,” she read aloud, bitterness pulsing through her. “I await your guidance on the next steps.” How dare he! “I remain, Your humble servant, Lucius Oshea, Earl of Pender.”

Disbelief curdled her stomach. Her knees gave way as shock, betrayal, and self-loathing congealed her blood and her bum hit the horribly uncomfortable settee. That cur! He could stay in this hovel for the rest of his days for all she cared.

More tears blinded her. She swallowed the rising lump in her throat and forced herself to read the document through a second time, all her thoughts clashing.

How could he draft such a letter after they’d been together?

Was she nothing but an obligation to him, even now?

Hands trembling, she gripped the arm rest for support, her chest tightening.

Well, he wasn’t worth her tears. Her fury fed into humiliation. How could she have been so… so foolish for believing they’d turned a corner.

She came to her feet, strode to the bed, and snatched his banyan off the floor where it had fallen. Then stormed her way back to her chamber fully prepared to demand answers.

“Ah, you’ve returned, my lady,” Graham said. “His lordship is sleeping. Would you, er, should I…”

His face turned scarlet.

“I’ll stay with his lordship. If there is a need, I shall summon you.” Like murdering him in his sleep . Meredith closed her eyes against the hurt and fury thrumming through her.

Graham nodded and slipped out, without even taking Lucius’s silk wrap from her.

And she still clutched the damning draft.

Meredith’s gaze went to Lucius. The coverlet was pulled to his chest though his shoulders were exposed.

After all the recent events, it was difficult to imagine him wanting to go down a path of ruin, destruction, not to mention public humiliation.

She drew in a deep breath. The air flowed through her veins and the rage inside gave way to reason.

She glanced down at the document again. There was no indication of who’d assisted him in drafting it.

Realization dawned as her thoughts swirled and settled into common sense. He’d told her the moment he’d arrived his intentions of petitioning for an annulment. At the time, they hadn’t even consummated their marriage. That had since changed. Not since he’d learned she hadn’t disavowed him.

With another deep breath, she moved to the bedside and looked at him. Really looked.

His slumber was restless, his face pale and shadowed, making the sharp contours of his cheekbones and jawline more pronounced against his ashen complexion.

Something inside Meredith cracked. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, giving an illusion of peace that belied the tension visible in the furrow of his brows and the faint tremor of his lips.

Thankfully, the bandage over his shoulder showed no discoloration.

His breathing was shallow but steady. She watched the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Meredith moved to the table by the window where the other documents were and laid the agreement on top of the small stack and stared out at the night.

Except it wasn’t the night she saw. It was her own reflection.

She rubbed her arms and looked about her comfortable chamber with a new sense of resolve.

Three years of running things at the Keep to her own specifications had allotted her an independence she didn’t relish relinquishing. From hiring Mr. Ashcroft to seeing to other servants, and even to the restoration process.

Perhaps it was time to own up to her duty to her marriage.

It had since been consummated. She looked down at the tri-folded agreement.

Signing a document that stated she’d been unfaithful was ludicrous.

Lucius’s only other recourse would be to admit to impotence.

The thought touched her with a sense of hysteria—he wasn’t, and she couldn’t see him submitting to such a farcical claim.

He stirred drawing her attention back to him. He’d kicked the coverlets sending them askew.

Meredith hurried over and tugged them back in place, but he remained restless. She set her hand on his forehead—burning up. “Shush,” she soothed.

His hand shot out, claiming her wrist. She met his unfocused eyes. “Don’t,” he croaked out. “Don’t leave me.”

Again, she was blinded by a sudden welling. “It’s all right, darling. I-I won’t. You aren’t alone.”

It took a moment, but he calmed and his slumber grew more restful. His hand relaxed but she found she couldn’t convince herself to move. Eventually, she crawled up on the bed, clothes and all to stretch out beside him—just in case he woke—and let sleep take her too.

*

That carriage that Lucius felt had run over him the day before seemed to have made a return trip to finish the task of grinding him into pulp.

Not the pulp of wood, but one of lavender or violets.

Soothing, clean, herbaceous fragrance filled with a sweetness that should have refreshed and calmed.

The images of sun-drenched fields and gentle breezes assailed his nostrils even as rain pelted the windows.

He had no desire to open his eyes, wanting to drown in the unfamiliar sensation of…

hope… filling him from the inside out. Yes, his body felt like a week-old corpse but a corpse didn’t experience warmth along one’s side.

Did it? He turned the only part of his body that didn’t ache to the source of heat and that invigorating aroma, soaked in its tranquility.