Page 17

S arah spent a restless night and rose early to take a walk with her maid Esme.

It was a daily habit that she had no intention of breaking while in London, and Daphne had long since ceased to remonstrate with her about it.

James, the footman, followed them at a discreet distance.

They walked to Hyde Park at a brisk pace, as the morning was chilly and a little cloudy.

Entering the park, she was surprised to see the figure of a gentleman in evening dress sprawled upon a park bench.

She paused, considering whether to give him a wide berth, and then she recognized him.

It was Lord Lannister. He was quite pale and appeared to be asleep.

He also seemed to be in need of a shave.

His neckcloth was undone, baring his throat to the collarbone, and his clothes disheveled. Was he ill?

“Lord Lannister?” she said tentatively.

He sat up with a jerk. “Hm?” Blinking at her, his eyes widened in recognition, and he got somewhat unsteadily to his feet and bowed. “Miss Watson, you find me at a disadvantage.”

“Have you been out all night, my lord?”

“I have,” he said ruefully. He ran a hand over his jaw. “I’m a sorry sight, I do most humbly apologize. Lost my way last night, or rather early this morning, and became overcome with fatigue. The bench beckoned.”

“If you are quite well, I shall bid you good day, my lord,” she said.

“Well as can be expected, Miss Watson. I shall hope to see you again when I am more presentable.” He bowed to her, and she hurried on. She had seen men the worse for drink before during her work with the parishioners, despite her father’s attempts to shield her from such sights.

Lannister was clearly no angel. She tried to imagine the duke in like case and failed utterly to do so.

It was a mere step from there, however, to wonder what he would look like with his neckcloth undone.

Her cheeks stained pink at the notion, and she quickened her steps as if she could outrun her wicked thoughts.

She returned to the house in time for breakfast. Not that she was hungry this morning.

She was too churned up with indecision over last night.

She toyed with a piece of toast and a cup of tea, paying little heed to Daphne’s cheerful chatter about how wonderful the play had been and how kind and welcoming the duke’s family were.

“Mark my words, he will be calling upon you soon, you lucky girl! To think of you landing a duke! After all this time. Agnes would be so delighted. And such a nice gentleman, too, so handsome and everything in his manner so proper and respectful. I hope you gave thanks for your good fortune in your prayers last night. Nothing could be better.” She broke off to peer across the table at Sarah.

“My dear, are you unwell? You look a little peaky. Perhaps you should return to bed and rest. You want to be looking your best when he calls. As I am sure he will.”

“I had a slight headache, but it is passing. I am perfectly well, Daphne.”

Daphne frowned. “I don’t understand you, Sarah. This is the best possible match you could have made. Why are you not happy about it?”

“I should be, shouldn’t I?” she said, stirring her tea. She sighed. “You must own, Daphne, that if it weren’t for Aunt Agnes’s fortune he would not have looked at me twice.”

“What of it? You will get to be a duchess. It seems like a more than fair exchange to me. This is how things are done, you know that. Why this attack of missishness now, Sarah? If he were old or infirm or hideously pockmarked, I could understand some squeamishness on your part, but he is none of those things. On the contrary, he is young and handsome and in the best of health. He will treat you kindly, too, I warrant; even your sainted papa could not object to him as a suitor for you.”

“You are right of course.” Sarah swallowed her tea, trying to push down the ache in her throat.

If she hadn’t developed such a tendre for him, perhaps she could enjoy this for all the pragmatic reasons that Daphne pointed out.

Listening to his womenfolk sing his praises last night had fed the traitorous part of her that desperately wanted to think well of him.

The part that was dazzled by his good looks, seduced by his kisses, and gulled by his sincerity.

For of one thing, she acquitted him: duplicity.

He might be prickly and wrong-footed as he put it.

And stuffy and proud in his manner. But he was sincere.

If I could believe that he actually cares for me... her heart leaped at the notion. Could he care for me? Or is it all just my fortune, after all?

“This will also ensure that your family wants for nothing going forward, too. Surely that consideration must weigh with you.”

“It does.” Sarah gave herself a mental shake. “You are right,” she said again, attempting to smile and slough off her megrim.

“There then!” said Daphne with a smile.

After that, the morning dragged and Sarah’s nerves began to wear thin. She was about to beg Daphne to accompany her to the shops just to get out of the house, when Daphne’s butler Latham entered with a deprecatory cough.

“The Duke of Troubridge is here to see Miss Watson, my lady. May I show him up?”

Daphne smiled and threw Sarah an I told you so look. “Absolutely, Latham.”

Sarah’s heart thudded and skipped in panic, and she smoothed her hands over her gown nervously. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

A step on the stair and Latham opened the door wider and said, “The Duke of Troubridge, my lady.”

He stepped into the room, looking perfectly splendid in a navy coat of perfect cut, a grey satin waistcoat and alabaster-colored pantaloons. He was shaved, his hair immaculate, his linen impeccable. The contrast between him and Lannister could not be more stark. Sarah and Daphne rose to curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

He bowed, “Ladies.”

“Would you care for some tea, Your Grace?” asked Daphne, positively beaming at him.

“I was hoping that I might have a few words with Miss Watson alone?”

Sarah, who up until this moment had clung to the faint hope that there was some mistake, and he didn’t actually intend to propose, felt the world tip slightly on its axis. A faint whimper escaped her, but fortunately it was masked by Daphne’s reply.

“Of course! I won’t be far away, Sarah. I will give you ten minutes, Your Grace.” She left the room, very properly leaving the door ajar.

The duke took her hand and smiled at her, his eyes looked more grey than blue today. Perhaps it was the light, for the day was a little overcast.

“Miss Watson, you must know what I have come to ask, I’ve made no secret of my intentions. You must also know that my circumstances have dictated my course of action. I cannot pretend to be offering you more than a marriage of convenience, but I hope that it is one of mutual benefit?”

His pragmatic words dashed all her hopes. Foolish Sarah! Could I really think he would develop feelings for me in the space of a week? Sarah swallowed, she felt sick and was unable for the moment to utter a word.

In the face of her silence, he went on doggedly. “I hope also that I have demonstrated that you will be treated with respect and kindness by me and my family. I assure you that I look forward to meeting your family and finding harmony in joining both our houses as one.”

The mention of her family brought a lump to her throat, and she looked down trying to swallow it. She felt wretchedly torn in two. What can I do?

“Miss Watson?” he prompted. “This cannot have come as a surprise to you, surely?”

She swallowed again and cleared her clogged throat.

I should accept. Everything pragmatic screamed at her to do so.

The needs of her family also. But then her father’s image rose up in her mind’s eye, and she recalled his words to her: “If anything ever feels wrong in your heart, my dearest Sarah, no matter how much your head may tell you to do it, do not. For if you do not listen to your heart, you will never be happy. And the last thing I want is for my children to be unhappy.”

Papa’s words hammered in her head, and her heart clenched.

The truth of the lies she had been telling herself burst in upon her.

On the one hand, she had secretly hoped, foolishly, that an offer would mean he had some partiality for her, something that might burgeon into love with time.

On the other, she had pretended to herself that she could accept his offer and do her duty because her family required it of her.

Both she realized now were fallacies. I am weak and selfish. I can’t do it.

“Your Grace—” she stopped and took a breath. “I am sensible of the honor you do me, but—” His eyes widened in surprise and her heart skipped and thudded again. “I cannot accept your kind offer.”

His expression darkened into a frown. “Can I ask why not? I can see no impediment to our union, unless”—a fiery light came into his eyes that she had not seen before—“unless your affections are already engaged?”

She swallowed desperately, her heart thudding wildly.

She snatched at this excuse for her wayward behavior.

“Yes! Yes, they are—so you see—I—cannot. I’m so sorry!

” For it was true her affections were engaged, by him, and she could not—she just could not—marry him, knowing he didn’t care for her in return.

Tears scalded her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she looked away, tearing her hand out of his grip.

“I see.” His voice was grim, and she flinched as she moved away to stand with her back toward him. “I think you might have alerted me to this circumstance earlier, Miss Watson!”

“You are right, I should have done so. I am sorry. I”—she wiped her cheeks with the handkerchief from her pocket—“I-I have only just recently realized the full magnitude of my feelings.”