Malia Martin (21 page)

“What is going on here?” Mrs. Biddle stepped away from the group of matrons staring at him. “What are you doing here alone with my daughter?”

Trevor glanced down at the top of Helen’s bent head. “I . . . it was a mistake. We both . . .” He stopped. He did not want to get Helen in
trouble for coming out to meet someone. “That is to say, I came out for a breath of air. And Helen was here at the gazebo.” Trevor bit his bottom lip. He was probably making it worse.

“You have ruined her!” Mrs. Biddle began weeping tearfully. “My beautiful daughter, such a young, naive girl, and you have ruined her!”

“Mrs. Biddle!” Trevor admonished. “Please, be quiet!”

“Oh my!” said one of the ladies.

He recognized Lady Hewitt as she planted curled fists on her beefy hips. “Well, I never!”

And then, from behind them, came Sara’s voice. “What is going on out here?” She pushed her way through the wall of matrons. “Your yelling has brought the dancing to a halt . . . oh.” Sara stopped quickly when she finally saw Helen sitting on the gazebo steps.

Mrs. Biddle cast a glittering look of triumph at Sara. “The Duke has just ruined my daughter’s reputation. He must, of course, marry her!”

T
revor stared uselessly as some of the women turned and began whispering to others who had come up behind them. It was like a huge wave that had crashed on the beach and now retreated back into the sea. There was no stopping it, no grabbing it and making it stay.

“Trevor?”

He turned his gaze on Sara’s wan face. Oh God. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and focused on Mrs. Biddle. “Stop your ranting, woman!” Mrs. Biddle blinked, but quieted.

Trevor leaned over and took Helen’s arm. “Come, Helen.” He led the girl through the mass of people as Sara and Mrs. Biddle followed them.

Trevor felt his temper simmering, and he counted breaths as he walked, trying to calm himself. He gestured for the quartet to continue
playing when he entered the ballroom, and smiled at the puzzled faces of his guests, but continued through the door and into the hallway.

He led the small contingent of women down the hallway, through the foyer, and into the next wing, before turning into the door of his study. He sighed as he entered, realizing that he would now completely abhor this room.

The room was dark, silent, and rather stuffy. Trevor went to the fireplace and took down the matches, lighting several lamps about the room before he finally went to the desk and sat. Helen, Mrs. Biddle, and Sara still stood about him. An amazing range of feelings played in each woman’s eyes.

“Sit,” he commanded. And they did.

“How could you do this, Mother?” Helen said quietly.

Ignoring her daughter, Mrs. Biddle scooted to the edge of her chair, her head high and back straight. “I insist that you announce your engagement to my daughter, your grace,” she said loudly. “You have ruined her.”

“Oh, please, Mother!” Helen stood, turning on her mother. “How on earth could the duke ruin my reputation? I have no reputation! I am a bastard daughter!”

This statement seemed to reverberate in the large room. Mrs. Biddle huffed, her face turning a dark red. “Well!” She blinked and huffed some more.

“Miss Biddle,” Trevor said quietly. “Please take a seat. Let us try and keep calm, as I am rather sure we have many ears listening at the keyhole.”

Helen sat, leaning against the back of her chair and closing her eyes. Sara discreetly patted the girl’s hand.

“Mrs. Biddle,” Trevor began. “Miss Biddle and I have spoken to each other on this subject already. We do not wish to . . .”

“It no longer matters what either of you wishes!” Mrs. Biddle stood and stalked up to Trevor’s desk. “My daughter is a beautiful young girl. She had many opportunities until you discredited her with your boorish behavior.”

“Mother!”

“I will not have it!” Mrs. Biddle pointed her finger at him. “You
must
marry her.”

“Yes, Trevor, you should.”

Trevor blinked in surprise at Sara, who had not moved from her chair.

“You acted badly, being found alone with the girl in the garden,” Sara said.

“But . . .”

“It does not matter, Trevor. It has happened.” Sara stood gracefully. “You should marry her.” The Duchess turned to Helen.

“It will be best for you, Dearest. You are born to such a life. One has only to look at you to see the breeding which flows in your veins.”

Helen shook her head slowly, but Sara continued. “You will be happy, I am sure.”

“Of course she will,” Mrs. Biddle said through her teeth, as she watched her daughter and the duchess.

Trevor swallowed hard. “Are you sure, Sara? Are Miss Biddle’s prospects truly diminished by what has happened here tonight?”

Sara turned to him. “Yes.”

“Well, then, I shall have the banns announced beginning this Sunday.”

He heard Helen gasp. She looked as if her world had just crumbled at her feet. Trevor pulled his gaze away from her.

Sara stood staring at him, obviously surprised. At least she did not have a carrot in her mouth, this time. Perhaps there might even come a day when she actually believed in him, and did not find his shows of good character so shocking. And in the moment he knew that he wanted to see that happen. No matter how much he had fought it, Trevor wanted to please this woman.

He wanted to be the Duke of Rawlston, no matter how hard that would be for him. Because he wanted to see Sara happy. And because he wanted to see these people happy.

Trevor sighed. He had been right to seal himself off in Paris. The moment he joined the real world, he just wanted to please everyone.

He watched Sara for a moment. No, he was happy he was no longer in Paris. With Sara by his side, he would be able to do anything.

Including marry Helen.

He stood and walked around the desk. “I shall announce our engagement now.”

Mrs. Biddle made a small sound of triumph, Sara nodded stoically, and Helen slumped heavily against the back of her chair. The scene boded ill for the rest of his life.

The lovely weather had turned ugly. Sara stared out at the torrents of rain which beat relentlessly against her window. The roses which she had planted when she’d first arrived at the dowager house looked as if they were drowning. Their heads bowed beneath the onslaught and the round tunnels she had dug at their bases overflowed.

With such rain, her children would not be able to make the trek to school. Sara sighed and reopened the book that lay in her lap.

She ought to be ecstatic. She had accomplished what she had set out to do. The duke resided at Rawlston, and would marry a young bride the next day. He had, in fact, taken his duties to heart, it seemed. For he was rather intent on starting up the wool mill again. She had heard through Mr. Goldblume that Trevor had bought sheep which were to be delivered in a fortnight. And Robert Duncan was building a new home for his family, for it seemed the duke had paid him in advance to be the foreman of the new wool mill.

All was well at Rawlston, finally. She was
free to devote herself to her school. “Oh, blast!” Sara slapped her book shut and threw it on the table beside her. It slipped across the slick surface and landed on the floor.

Why did she feel such disquiet, if all was well? Sara stood, leaving the small windowseat where she had perched and paced the room. It was too damn quiet. She missed Filbert yelling down the halls that everyone ought to quit screaming at him.

She heard a knock at the front door and ran to get it before Wesley did. Anything to disrupt her tedium. Perhaps it was a student who had braved such awful weather. Sara waved her new young butler away and pulled open the heavy wooden door.

“Your grace!” Grady stood in the doorway, his hat molded to his head, the brim holding a small river.

“Grady! You are soaked through!” Sara took a step back and ushered the young man in. “Did you run the entire way here without an umbrella?”

“Yes, your grace, it was too important to wait for James to saddle a horse.” Grady stomped his feet on the stoop before coming in. Immediately, puddles formed about him on the floor.

“
What
was too important?” Sara turned and called for Wesley to bring drying sheets. When she returned her gaze to Grady, the boy just shook his head.

“The Duke is gone.”

Sara frowned. “
Gone?
What do you mean?”

“He left during the night. I think . . . I think he has run away.”

Sara swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. Wesley came then with large, dry towels, and Sara helped wrap them around Grady. “Come sit down in the dining room, Grady.” She glanced at Wesley. “Have Lily bring us some hot tea.”

“Yes, your grace.”

Sara guided Grady into the dining room and pulled out a chair for him.

“Now, tell me everything.”

“Well, he—the Duke; that is—got a letter yesterday which he took to his room and didn’t let Mr. Goldblume read. Then, this morning, when I brought his grace’s clothes in for him, he was gone. He left a note, but I couldn’t make head nor tails of it. Something about London, and taking a ship to the West Indies.”

“For the love of St. Peter.” Sara covered her mouth with her hand, biting her little finger to keep herself from saying anything worse. “Have you told anyone else of this, Grady?” she finally asked.

“No. I ran over here as fast as I could.”

“Do you have the note?”

Grady dug in his pants pocket and took out a bedraggled piece of paper, the ink a blotchy, running mass of black. He winced. “I guess it got wet.”

Sara took the paper carefully and spread it
out on the table. It was completely illegible.

“And you say you could not read it even when it was not wet?”

“No, your grace. It was very strange. Seemed like the duke was in quite a hurry. He even spelled London wrong.”

“Hmm. And he said he must catch a boat to the West Indies?”

“Yes, I definitely got that part.”

Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “It was too good to be true, wasn’t it, Grady?” She laughed brittlely and pushed up from her chair. “You must go back to Rawlston. Tell everyone that his grace had urgent business in London, but that he will be back soon.”

“What of the wedding?”

Sara dropped her head into her hands. “I forgot about that for a moment.” She straightened. “We will write another note and sign the Duke’s name. He can postpone the wedding for a week because of his urgent business in London.”

“All right,” Grady said hesitantly.

“And I will go and bring back the Duke.”

“Oh no!” Grady stood, the soaked towels dropping to the floor. “I think I should bring back the Duke.”

“I will do it, Grady.”

“Then you will take me with you.”

“No, Grady, I need you to stay at Rawlston and keep everyone calm. I shall leave immediately, and I will ride a horse. I must intercept
the Duke before he reaches London.”

Grady just stared at her in horror. “No!” he cried, finally finding his voice. “I cannot let you ride off by yourself . . . I . . . no!”

“Grady,” Sara tried to pacify the young man. “I will dress as a boy. I will be all right.”

Grady blinked and rubbed his ears. “I cannot be hearing you correctly. You’ll be riding astride, acting like a boy on the road to London without any protection. But I’m supposed to be assured by this? Well, I’m not!” he roared.

“Grady, calm down!” Sara said, looking about quickly to make sure no one had heard.

“And what are we to say happened to you, your grace? Suddenly, you’re nowhere to be found. But not to worry, everyone, I’m sure her grace’ll turn up soon?”

“Lily will put it about that I’m sick. Besides, I’m hoping to catch up with the Duke tonight, when he stops at an inn. I’m sure we’ll be back by morning.”

Grady shrugged, waving his hand in the air. “That is, if you don’t get waylaid by footpads!” The sentence rose in octave until Grady was yelling the last word.

“Sh!”

Grady turned away from her. “I cannot go along with this, your grace. What if you are hurt? I will never forgive myself.”

“I will not get hurt, Grady, you have my word. I can handle this, believe me.”

There was a knock and then Lily entered with a steaming tray of tea.

“Good, Lily, you will have to be in on this with us.”

“Ah, for God’s sake!” Grady dropped into a chair, shaking his head.

Lily was much more game for the project. Promising complete silence, the maid went to find Sara some boy’s clothes that would fit her.

“Now, I just need you to bring me a good, fast horse, Grady. Quickly, we are wasting time.”

“I hope you know I shall spend the next twenty-four hours on my knees, pleading with God to keep you safe.” The young man marched to the door, then turned before leaving. “And if you are not back before luncheon hour tomorrow, I am coming after you!”

“Fine!” Sara said, exasperated. “Now go, quickly, and get me a horse.”

Grady was still shaking his head and mumbling as he left.

Sara cursed the rain that had surely soaked right through her skin. She pulled the brim of her hat lower, her hands trembling with the cold, even though they were encased in thick leather gloves. The gloves were wet, her clothes were wet: when she clenched her toes in the boots Lily had found, she felt water squish between them.

She was miserable. And the worst thing was
the thought that Trevor had deserted her . . . them. Sara wrapped her horse’s reins around her wrist so she would not drop them, and, pushing thoughts of Trevor aside, concentrated on the road before her.

The sun had set hours ago, and the night was pitch black. She had to lean low over Ophelia’s neck, straining to see the road before them. Her back hurt and her head had begun to throb. And she was scared.

She was doing a foolish thing. The only comfort she could give herself was the knowledge that no footpad in his right mind would be about this miserable night.

Up ahead, Sara saw the welcome twinkle of a light. Another inn, she was sure. She had stopped at two posting houses now, checking to see if Trevor had taken shelter within for the night. She began to pray as the light bobbed slowly closer that this would be the place where the Duke had stopped. She was not sure she could go on, even if it wasn’t.