Suitors And Scoundrels

Suitors and Scoundrels A Regency Romance By Karen Woods

Published by Awe-Struck E-Books Copyright ©2004 ISBN: 1-58749-417-5 Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.

Dedication To legal guardians everywhere. May your wards thrive under your care!

Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter One The clock in the upstairs hall chimed off one a.m. on the morning of Monday, 30 July 1804. Sarah simply could not sleep. She went up to the nursery to check on Cousin Jane's twins, little Georgie and Anne. Two wet nurses had been engaged to provide for the needs of the babies. Both women woke with a start from their narrow beds when Sarah had entered the nursery. "I was just checking on my godchildren," she told the wet nurses in little more than a whisper. "Go back to sleep." The women didn't argue at all. Sarah sat there in the nursery for the longest time, just watching the children sleep. They were so small, so helpless...so precious. Jane, their mother, would have been an unfashionably doting mother, even as she had been an unfashionably devoted wife. Later today, the twins would be christened in the chapel here at the Blake ancestral home, Chisholm Hall. The entire Blake/Elham/Roberts family was here for that event. Sarah, George, Jane's sister Patricia, and Sarah's brother Edwin would all stand as godparents to the babies. Sarah took her candle, walked down the stairs and through the darkened hallway to her room. The house was peacefully quiet. Even the servants were abed. Having everyone she loved here should have made Sarah profoundly at ease. But she was not at ease enough to sleep. She thought that she might as well pick out a book from the library. Maybe if she read something appropriately mind numbing--like a volume of sermons--for a while, she would be able to sleep. Although, she doubted that anything would really help. The thunderstorm raging outside was a perfect

match for her dark and stormy mood. She entered the library and closed the door snugly behind her. The only light was from the dying fire in the hearth, the flashes of lightning as seen through the windows, and the flame of the single candle she held. Thunder rattled the windows as Sarah began to light the six candles of a silver candelabra. "Don't light those, Sarah, I beg you," her cousin-in-law George, Duke of Chisholm, said quietly from a chair in a dark corner of the large room. Sarah hadn't even known anyone else was in the room. "Chisholm, I am sorry to intrude. Forgive me?" "There is nothing to forgive. Just don't light the candles. I would rather be here in the dark, with my dark thoughts," George added. George was the son of Sarah's own godmama, a distant cousin to Sarah, the recent widower of Sarah's cousin Jane, and the father of young George and Anne. He was several years older than she was, but they had always been friends. That he would marry Jane was never a question. The families had settled that matter shortly after Jane's birth. Yet the marriage had been exactly according to the desires of both of them. She knew his heart had to be broken into tiny pieces just now. "Would you rather be solitary?" she asked him. "If so, I will leave you." "Can you not sleep, either, Sarah?" he asked quietly. "I haven't really slept in a fortnight." "It has been a difficult time, first with Jane's dying and then with the loss of Elizabeth and Percy. I am sorry that you share my insomnia. But no, to answer your question, I would not rather be solitary. Stay, Sarah. Talk to me for a few moments. I grow quite weary of people being quite so accommodating of my solitude." She heard desperation in his voice. She hated hearing that tone there. She understood it. But she still hated it. "You would rather be discommoded?" she teased him, hoping to bring him out of his dark mood for at least a moment. "I am not made of spun glass. I will not shatter if people behave normally around me. Come, sit and talk with me. There is no one in the entire cast of my cousins who has ever been less careful to promote my dignity than you, Sarah." "If you wish it, certainly, I shall sit with you for a few moments. However, I am not certain that I particularly care for that description of me. You seem to be describing an ill-bred boor." "No, Sarah. That is not what I meant at all. Many labels could be applied to you. Yet, ill-bred would never be one of those. You have always been honest with me. You have never fawned over me, unlike some others of my cousins. The ducal title has never stopped you from raking me over the coals when I have earned a dressing down. I do not believe that I have ever seen you be afraid of anyone, myself included."

She picked up the candle and went over to where George was sitting. She placed the candle on the table between the two leather covered chairs and sat down in the second chair. The almost empty carafe of brandy and a partially filled glass besides it sat in mute testimony that George had been drinking, as he had been drinking for the two weeks since Jane had died. He appeared to be wearing only his dressing gown. Sarah knew her reputation would be irreparably damaged should anyone ever discover them together in this state of undress. This could not be excused by the fact that they were cousins. "Chisholm, is it your wish to join Jane in the grave by drinking yourself there as others of our family have done in their bereavement?" she asked in concern. "If so, you are well on your way." "At least that would end the pain," George said on a sigh. The pain in his voice was nearly more than she could bear and he was making her angry. There was enough pain in this family, already. It didn't need to be added to and visited upon the babies. "Do you really wish to follow in the footsteps of Uncle Frederick and leave your children completely without a parent? Do you?" When he didn't answer her, she continued, "The children need their father. I know it is not easy. You aren't actually helping the situation with your hiding in the bottle, Chisholm. You know this." George looked at her, anger in his expression. "And you, of course, are speaking from your vast life experience?" "I am seven and ten. That's quite old enough to marry, to establish a home and nursery of my own," she replied, a measure of bitterness in her voice. "As my father keeps reminding me." George picked up his brandy and took another sip. "And how do you feel about that, Sarah?" She sighed, and decided that she would make him laugh, no matter how outrageous she had to be. "Making a suitable connection was the point of my having endured this Season in town, of being presented at Court. I cannot like this social whirl. The entirety of the Social Season smacks of the examinations before a horse auction, Chisholm. Look at the pedigree, examine the animal for any obvious faults, et cetera. All the time I was in London, I half expected some dowager to pull open my mouth to inspect my teeth and to lift my skirts to inspect the straightness of my limbs. The one advantage of a horse auction over the social season is that a buyer can usually inspect a mare's or stallion's get. In the beau monde, both parties contract with no knowledge that there will be offspring, and with precious little indication of the quality thereof." He gave a great bark of laughter, as she had hoped. "Only you would make that comparison, Sarah." "I've spent, I've been told, entirely too much time in the stables," she dismissed. "There is nothing wrong with knowing horses, Sarah." "As a considerable portion of my personal fortune is tied up in racing and breeding stock, I should certainly hope not," she replied with a small smile. "You are not, I take it, devastated at the fact that your first Season was cut short?" George asked her carefully.

She shrugged slightly. "Hardly. In the face of the real tragedy we have endured, how can I count the loss of the rest of the Season as anything other than a mild annoyance? I'll return to Town for at least part of next Season unless I wed in the interval." "So, would you wed the first man of position who sought your hand in order to avoid facing Silence Jersey once more within the hallowed halls of Almack's?" "Oh, certainly," she agreed in jest. "Squint-eyed, wastrel, cruel, or stupid, as long as there is money and title, bring them on. I regret only that I have a limit on the number I can marry." George laughed. "Sarah." Sarah sighed. "A lady has little choice in life. Marriage is the only honorable choice open to a gentlewoman. Making a selection of a husband is the only time that a lady really has any choice in her life." "So, would you marry me?" Sarah felt her face grow warm. "Of course not!" "Why not? Most females would quite fancy being a duchess." "I am not 'most' females. You need to find someone who can love you the way that you deserve to be loved, the way that Jane loved you. I can't think of anything that would be more ghastly for you and the children than for you to marry a woman who merely fancies being a duchess. The children need someone to love them in a motherly way. Jane wanted nothing less than happiness for the people whom she loved so well. She had asked me to look out for you and for the babies if anything were to happen to her, to make certain that you were both happy and well." George picked up his glass and drained it. "How do you see me?" he asked, his voice serious. "You are my friend. You always have been." "Do you love my children?" "Young George and Anne are extremely precious to me," Sarah replied, her voice low and earnest. "You should be aware of that. I will do the best that I can for them as their godmama." "There are worse things that could happen than for us to marry, are there not?" "You are intoxicated. We both will regret this conversation in the light of day. Or rather, I will. You, quite likely, will not remember it in the least. Goodnight," she said as she rose from the chair. He took her hand and pulled her towards him. "I am not all that firmly in my cups, Sweet Sarah," he said as he pulled her into his lap. Without giving her a chance to protest, he kissed her. He held her firmly with one arm. The other hand had a firm, but gentle, hold on her head. George kissed her deeply, as though he had every right to her mouth. The kisses were hot and

demanding. He tilted her head slightly to gain even fuller access to her mouth. His kisses were lightning, while she was like a dead tree. Desire swept through her as easily as fire would catch in a dead tree after a lightning strike. Just as that tree would burn from the heart outward, so was she burning with the desire that flamed, licking and swirling, through her. She had been kissed once before, but that had been nothing like this. As the kiss deepened even further, she simply wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as the world spun away. George filled her senses, leaving room only for the elemental reality of man and woman. The honesty of the need in his kiss totally undid her. Nothing else mattered at the moment to her, nothing except the passion she felt building up within her at his touch and kiss. Sarah gloried in the feeling, wanting nothing other than to be exactly where she was--in his arms. The hot, demanding pressure of his mouth made her dizzy. The stroking of his tongue against hers filled her with almost unbearable pleasure. A moment, or a century, later he sank to his knees, placing her on the floor before him. Then he lay atop her, kissing her hungrily once more. His wide chest flattened her breasts. Sarah stirred restlessly beneath him. She needed something, what she didn't know precisely, only that she needed him. His arousal was obvious pressing against her thighs. Then he kneed her thighs apart, jerked the fabric of her chemise up to her hips, and entered her with one swift powerful thrust. The suddenness of the pain amid the pleasure stunned her. She cried out. Her cry was drowned out by a clap of thunder that rattled the windows. George looked down at her now tear streaked face. She had closed her eyes. "Oh, Sarah, don't cry, sweetheart," he murmured to her as he gently wiped the tears from her face. "George, I beg you, do not hurt me further," she implored in a quiet voice "Do not hurt me." "No more pain, sweetheart. There will never be pain again. Only pleasure from this moment. I promise you," George assured her his tone gentle. "You will never have pain again." The pain passed. The pleasure began to build once more as George began to trace light kisses along the side of her face and throat as he slid a hand between them and began to caress her breasts. Slowly, he began to move again within her as he kissed her again and again. Sarah became lost in the pleasure he was giving her and the tension built within her. As his strokes came faster and faster, she knew that it was possible to die from pleasure. She didn't care, as long as he was with her. Sarah cried out as the tension building in her lower body exploded, sending shimmering release through her. Another window rattling clap of thunder masked her cry. She felt him within her throbbing as her body rewarded him with contraction after contraction. It was only a moment later that she felt the pulsing of his own orgasm. George moaned a name--Jane's name--low from his throat. The shock of being called Jane's name at a moment like this numbed her for a moment. A flash of lightning brightened the room enough for her to see his face. Then she balled up her fist and hit him in the ribs and then hit him again. She kept hitting him until he caught her fist in his hand.

"Stop this. Stop this right now, Sarah," George commanded. "There is no need for this." "Let me rise. Get off me," she growled at him. George rose to his feet. "Sarah?" She scrambled to her feet and went to stand beside the window. She looked out onto the stormy darkness and listened to the rain hitting the windows. How in the world could he have called her by Jane's name? After everything that had passed between them, how could he? "We shall be wed quietly, today, Sarah, my sweet. Uncle Robert will be happy to give us a special license, once I explain the situation to him, since he is here for the christening anyway. We'll wed in the chapel here right after the christening." She turned from the window and walked over to him. "You would embarrass me like this before His Grace, the bishop? You would cause me such shame before my family, before society? How could you?" "Sarah, sweeting, we have no choice. We must wed. You know what just passed between us. I owe you a large debt of honor." "You do not wish to marry me," Sarah replied, her voice quiet. "I will make this right between us, I promise you this." "Listen to me, Chisholm, quite carefully, before you say anything." "Very well." "I will marry you. You have given me no choice in the matter, if honor--mine, as well as yours--is to be satisfied. We both know that I can never honorably marry anyone else now. You have left me with only a limited number of choices; marry you, remain unwed for the rest of my life, or begin a life as a fashionable impure. The neither of the last two particularly appeal," she answered quietly. "This marriage to you would not have been of my choosing otherwise. My heart has belonged to another for some time now." George was quiet for a long moment. The ramifications of her words sank through his brain. This made him feel even worse. Not only had he wronged Sarah, but he had stolen from another man. "Was there an understanding between you and this gentleman?" he asked carefully. Sarah sighed. "No. You were at least spared that. Father refused his request for my hand last Christmastide." George thought back to the Winter Ball at Elham Park only a few short months ago. Sarah had danced all evening, only sharing two dances with one gentleman--the grandson and heir of the Earl of Barrow, one Marcus Lewis. Jane had remarked on how Sarah had clearly developed a tendre for the fellow. "Yet you lived in hope that your father would change his mind about Mr. Lewis?" "Father never changes his mind about anything. Mother says that he is like the love of God in that he changeth not," Sarah replied with a mixture of frustration and respect in her voice.

George smiled and lightly kissed her forehead. "That is as good of a definition of your father as any I have ever heard. He is a hard, but fair, man. I have a good deal of respect and admiration for him." "As do I. Father never changes. There was a chance--albeit a remote one--I might be able to remain unattached until I reached my majority, and could act on my own in the negotiating of a marriage for myself." "Remote?" "Father was encouraging me, then, to look favorably upon the suit of the Marquis of Latham." George had known about Latham's interest in Sarah. Jane had been appalled. However George had known the truth about that ruse. Sarah's father would have never completed the arrangements to wed her to Latham. Sarah's father had been using Latham's interest in Sarah as a means to an end. Sarah sighed. "You work with Father and Uncle Richard in their efforts at the Foreign Office. You know all too well that Father was attempting to use me as bait for a trap for Latham before Latham died so suddenly this last February." Sarah sighed and shook her head. "What have I ever done to lead anyone to form the conclusion that I am either stupid or unobservant? I am young, yet I am hardly oblivious to all that surrounds me." She sighed a third time. "Well," she allowed, "in most situations I am quite aware." "No one has ever accused you of stupidity, Sarah. However, your awareness of your surroundings is not directly the issue at hand." "Isn't it?" she asked with a fair amount of disgust in her voice. "Sarah, we need to deal with the issue at hand. Namely, our marriage." "Agreed. At this moment, we must deal with the situation in which we find ourselves. There is no choice in the matter. We must wed. I agree with you in this." "No, sweeting, there is no choice. I am glad that you see the wisdom. I will speak with my uncle the bishop and get a special license. We will wed this afternoon." "We needn't create unnecessary scandal in the discharge of matters of honor. My monthly flux is due in within a matter of two or three days. There shall likely be no child resulting from this mating. It is the wrong part of the cycle of the moon, for me." "That is plain speaking indeed. And displays a knowledge not common to virgins." "After what just passed between us, you can doubt I was a virgin?" she demanded on a harsh whisper. "No, Sarah, one thing of which I am certain is how deeply I have dishonored you," George said, self-disgust in his voice. "Aunt Henny sat down with me, as she did with all my sisters and female cousins, when we were each growing into young womanhood, and told us the rudiments about such things. As each of my sisters and cousins have wed, I understand that Aunt has passed on more words of wisdom to them as well." George smiled sadly. He knew only too well the results from those words of wisdom. Jane had always been full of delightful surprises in bed. "So I understand. What I fail to understand is how you are able to

be so calm, after what has just transpired between us." "Where would be the use, There is no time for recriminations, in this matter, Chisholm. I am not accusing you of anything, or demanding anything of you. However, this is too important a subject to allow for anything except plain speaking." "I do appreciate that fact, Sarah. I thank you for your self-control. And you may call me George. Considering the terms of intimacy we are on, I think that appropriate." "If I possessed any self-control, we would not be having this conversation now. Pray listen to me, carefully, for we may not have another opportunity to speak so plainly with one another." "I am listening to you, Sarah." "I have one suggestion for handling this situation. If at the end of a fortnight, I haven't experienced that monthly flux, then we will assume that I am likely with child and we will marry as you suggest. A quiet wedding, with us remaining in the country until well past the period of our mourning for Jane and Elizabeth, would then be appropriate. Otherwise, I would greatly prefer to wait out the year of your mourning for Jane and as long after that as it takes for you to actually be heart whole again. When you are ready to remarry, I shall be waiting for you. At that time, a wedding suitable for a duke would be able to be planned. No one would be then the wiser about this unfortunate event." "That you are offering this shows a great deal of trust in me. And demands that I have a great deal of faith in you." "I have always trusted you, Chisholm...er...George. If I had not trusted you so much, we would not currently be experiencing this contretemps. If I had not trusted you, I would have left the room as soon as I realized I was not alone here. As for your having faith in me, I give you my word, I shall be from this moment faithful to you." George held her tighter. "I will give you a good life, Sarah. I promise you." "Know this, George, regardless of when we marry, I will not endure your calling out for Jane during an intimate moment. Your having done so only a few moments ago was adding insult to the substantial injury you inflicted upon me." "Sarah, I..." She placed a finger on his lips. "Just listen to me. I am able to bear much, George. I am neither weak nor silly. However, I know myself well enough to know that regularly hearing my husband call out in passion for another woman would make me profoundly miserable. When the lady of the house is miserable, there is no one happy in the house. I do not wish to live in what would amount to an armed camp. Therefore until you are heart whole, there will be no further instance of intimacy between us, whether we wed now or ten years from now. I sincerely hope that you understand me." George sighed, a pained expression on his face. "Sarah..." "No, George. I've spoken my mind and heart to you," she said lowly as she gently pressed her fingers to his lips once more. "I will not mention this again. I do not wish to hear an apology. Let us leave it behind." "You are too kind to me."

"There must not be any more incidents placing us alone together, until we are wed. We have both seen how low our resistance is to one another." "That may be wise." "I shall return to my bed. Pray do not say a word to anyone about this." "I must talk with your father. Honor demands it." "Wait, George, I beg of you, wait to have that conversation. I do not desire to shame Father. I do not wish to see the disappointment and betrayal in his eyes when he looks at me. Spare me that, if it is at all possible." "As you wish, Sarah. He will eventually need to be informed that you have agreed to marry me." "Eventually, yes, the family will have to be informed. Yet the later that conversation might take place the better I will like it," Sarah replied with a calm she did not feel. "I can not think of any young lady who would have handled this with the calm logic you are displaying, Sarah. This situation could have easily degenerated into one of shouted recriminations and public scandal." "I am my father's daughter." George looked at her for the longest moment without saying anything. Then he smiled at her. "Yes, Sweeting, you are very much your father's daughter. You can't know how much that gives me pause." Sarah chuckled. "Then you will never attempt to treat me unkindly, will you?" "I could never treat you unkindly, Sarah." Oh no? Sarah wondered with a sigh. What would he call what just happened? "Try to get some sleep, George. And no more brandy. Little Georgie and Anne need you." "What about you? Do you need me?" Sarah lightly touched his face. "More than I thought possible." With as much dignity as she could muster, Sarah replaced the candle that had burnt itself out in her candlestick with another from the candelabra on the table and lit it. She picked up a book from that shelves, William Law's A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life, because it sounded like a suitably sleep inducing tome. Then she left the library without looking back at him. *** Reentering her bedroom, Sarah locked the door behind her. She lit the candles on the six branched silver candelabra atop the table beside the chaise. She took the carafe of water from the grog tray over to the wash basin and stripped off her wrapper and

examined that garment in the light of the candles. It appeared to be without damage. There was, however, a considerable amount of her blood on the chemise. There was a large rip in the chemise. She hadn't heard the cloth rip. She looked at the garment. In many ways, this was chemise was a symbol of her life-- ruined. She ripped a section off the garment. She wet the square of linen and washed the blood from her legs. Sarah allowed herself to feel the anger she had tamped down earlier. Her father taught her letting others see one's anger was unwise. It was never a good thing to give an adversary ammunition. The tears she refused to let George see came uncontrollably now. She had always thought herself to be a quite practical sort of female, not one given to fits of hysterics. Her father had always said of all his girls, Sarah had the most masculine of minds. But just now, she didn't feel particularly masculine in her mind or anywhere else. Sarah looked out on the storm. Determining the wind was blowing away from the house, she opened the window and dumped the contents of the wash basin out the window. The last thing she wanted was for some servant to see the bloody water and begin to talk. Servants' talk in this house could all too easily reach the ears of her parents, as a housemaid might say something to the housekeeper who might have a word with her mother's maid. Sarah couldn't take the risk. If she was with child, everyone would know soon enough. If not, then no one would ever have to know. She stoked up the fire, added wood, and made sure the fire was going well. Then she placed the chemise into the fire, and watched as the flames consumed it. She didn't want anyone ever to know what had happened between her and George. Scandal was one outcome the family did not need. A wise woman might have kept the garment as evidence to use against him if he chose later not to honor his commitments. However, if there was any word describing George, it was honorable. Sarah pulled her wrapper back on. She sat down on the chaise and pulled a lap rug over her legs. Then she picked up the book and began reading. But after several long moments of staring at the title page, she was forced to admit that her mind was not on the book. She put it down and blew out the candles before heading off to bed with no expectation of sleeping. *** George drained the rest of the carafe of brandy into his glass and swallowed the liquid in one large gulp. He couldn't believe he had acted in this way. He simply couldn't believe it. He had treated a gently reared young lady, a family connection, with less consideration than he would have used with a common lightskirt. He was bitterly disappointed in himself. Sarah was blameless in this. He had given her no choice in the matter. Yet, he knew she would be blaming herself, feeling badly about herself. He went to his office and lit candles. He sat down at his desk and wrote a note to his solicitor, telling the man to rewrite his Will. Lady Anne and the young marquis were to be left to the guardianship of their godmother, Miss Sarah Elham of Elham Park, should he die. Should Miss Elham not be at her majority at the time of his death, the children were temporarily to be in the guardianship of their grandfather, Baronet Elham, until such time of Miss Elham's majority. In any event, Miss Elham was to receive a bequest of fifteen thousand pounds sterling

in addition to an annuity for life of one thousand pounds per annum. He made the provision the sum was to be reviewed every five years and adjusted in order to maintain her in the same lifestyle throughout her life. The children were to be raised primarily at Chisholm Hall. George blotted the note, reviewed his instructions, then folded the paper. He melted sealing wax and pressed his ducal seal into the warm wax. The letter would go out by messenger to London tomorrow, first thing. Regardless of the circumstances, Sarah would be provided for during her life. George felt a sense of relief at that. More brandy sounded good. Sarah's words rang through his head. She was right, he did have people counting on him. He was prepared to do his duty to Sarah. However, he didn't know if he ever could meet her conditions for her being a true wife to him. George couldn't imagine a time in which Jane would ever fail to be in his heart.

Chapter Two Lady Constance, dowager Duchess of Chisholm, handed her fur lined gloves to a liveried footman on Thursday, the thirteenth day of December, 1810. She and her kinswoman companion, Miss Eustacia Everly, had arrived only moments before at Elham Park. "Miss Elham is in the stables, Your Grace. Master Elham is in the library with the Vicar, engaged in his studies of Latin and Greek. Lady Henrietta has retired to her rooms with the headache. Miss Elham instructed me both Your Grace and Miss Everly were to be shown to your usual rooms," Weems, the butler, informed the Duchess. "Thank you, Weems. Miss Everly and I would be most happy to have the occasion to rest after our journey." "Your rooms are prepared for you, Your Grace. It is a chill day. Would you take spiced wine to warm yourselves?" "Thank you, Weems. That would be lovely. We shall show ourselves up. Have the wine brought up." "As you wish, Your Grace." "My goddaughter still keeps country hours, Weems?" "Yes, Your Grace. Dinner shall be served at four." "We shall be down." *** Lady Constance looked at her goddaughter over the dinner table later that afternoon. Sarah was a quiet pretty, but not classically beautiful, woman. The child was too tall, too freckled, too Scottish in her

appearance, for her to be considered by the beau monde to be beautiful. What her goddaughter lacked in classical beauty, she more than made up for in the strengths of her mind and character. "Clive should be sent away to school," the dowager duchess stated. "I think not," Sarah replied, seeing the terror in her ten year-old brother's eyes. "His education is progressing quite satisfactorily, Godmama. When Clive is older, I'll send him to Oxford, much as Father did Edwin, Giles, and Matthew. For the present, he remains home with me and his various tutors, just as my brothers remained at home with their tutors until University. Father asked me to raise Clive in the way he and Mama had raised Edwin, Giles, and Matthew. I am bound by that promise to my father." Her brother rewarded her with a smile. Sarah returned the smile. She had been her brother's guardian since their father's death almost a year ago. It was only a matter of days now until the end of their period of mourning for their father. Sarah was ready to be done with mourning. She relished the thought of burning all of her black clothes, even though she knew that she wouldn't do so. There were simply too many of the women among the tenant families on the estate who would be glad for the gift of a well made dress or warm shawl, even if it were a black one. But the mere thought of burning these mourning clothes was profoundly satisfying. All in all, Sarah had not been in colors for more than a month over the last six years, as one member after another of the Elham family had died suddenly from either illness or injury. Sarah was still dressed severely in black. The color made her appear far more delicate and pale than she truly was. She could have gone into half-mourning months ago. Godmama had encouraged her to do so. Sarah had far preferred to retain the severity of the black for several reasons. Her half-mourning clothes were little better than threadbare rags. The day her father died, she had looked at her mourning clothes and discarded most of them because they had been in similarly worn condition. New mourning gowns had been a necessity. But Sarah hadn't wanted to spend the money for half-mourning clothes she would wear only for two months. It hadn't seemed to her a good use for their limited funds. Granted, one could always sell such garments to brokers and regain part of the cost of the clothing. Equally, she could have gone to London and acquired used clothes. The shades of purple and gray suitable for half- mourning wear suited her auburn coloring even less than the black did. So, Sarah had retained the black. "Surely, you are not telling me that you believe Clive should receive less than an excellent education at a school like Eton?" the Duchess demanded. "The quality of the education he might receive elsewhere is not precisely the point, Godmama. I am bound by my word to my father. Father wished Clive would be educated not only in the academics, but also in the practical matters of estate and stable management. That practical education is best accomplished here. The stables are Clive's livelihood. It is important he learn to manage them properly." "My dear, you must have a Season, this spring. If Clive is not in school, then how will you manage?" "Frankly, Godmama, I am not certain how I should manage a full Season, at all. Too much requires my attentions here for me to be spending the months following Easter in Town chasing pleasures," Sarah replied in a tone of false ease. "Many improvements need to be made around the Park. A new stable needs building. The drainage in the south fields needs improving. A new pond needs digging in that regard. Two dozen yearlings and a dozen two year olds among the racing stock need selling. And then there are that many hunters to be sold. The training of both the racehorses and hunters must be overseen.

Several of the tenant cottages need re-roofing this spring and summer. I simply cannot fathom how I may see to these things and be elsewhere. I was presented at Court when I was seventeen, as you well know. There is no pressing need for me to spend another Season in Town." There were times that Sarah knew she carried entirely too much responsibility for the estate. Who else was there to take on the responsibility? Clive? These weren't jobs for her ten-year old brother, although she tried to include him in as much of the work as possible in order to help prepare him for his adult life. Someone had to be held responsible for the estate. As Clive's guardian, that someone was she. She didn't particularly care for the amount of work involved in carrying out that responsibility. The only other option would be to hire an agent. Leaving their livelihood fully in the hands of a paid employee seemed a profoundly dangerous thing to do. No one else would be as diligent as she was. Besides that, she didn't know how she should be able to afford to pay an agent. "You have been rustic for all too long. You deserve to have some gaiety in your life. You can easily engage an agent to handle your business affairs," the Duchess said in a tone which clearly said that she failed to appreciate just how tight money was at the Park. The estate was operating at a profit, but just barely. Sarah was truly coming to hate spending the estate's money. Expenses of running the stables were high. That perhaps wouldn't have seemed quite as desperate if the income from the estate hadn't been substantially lower than it had been before her father had died. However, she couldn't see any viable way of lowering operating expenses. She could decrease the household staff. That was a step she was profoundly unwilling to take. It would let the world know the Elham family was on the decline. Fewer staff members would lead to the house being poorly maintained, perhaps even falling into disrepair, something she couldn't allow because of her fiduciary responsibilities to Clive. The only way of increasing revenues she could see would involve raising expenditures to the point of making the stables operate at a short-term loss in the hope of gain. It was a gamble she didn't know if she were truly willing to take. Debt could be a vicious cycle forcing the sale of part of the estate grounds, which would mean less income and more debt. Sarah had no desire to become embroiled in that cycle. "Gaiety was the point of the house party, Godmama," Sarah allowed gently. Never would she let anyone know just how bad the Park's financial situation truly was. There had been barely one hundred pounds net profit from last year's operations. If it hadn't been for the investment income from the Exchange and the money Father had loaned out at interest, Sarah didn't know how she should have managed, short of dipping into her own personal funds in order to meet estate expenses, something she truly could not afford to do. Since Father's death, sales of horses had fallen off dramatically. Some people, maybe even most people, had assumed the stables had died with Father. Then there was the fact that horses, even when they weren't racing, ate, well, like horses. The feed was the least of the expenses, because of it had been grown on the estate. Grooms, exercise boys, trainers, jockeys, and farriers, they all had to be paid and provided room and board. Tack had to be made as it wore out. Livery for the jockeys and stable hands needed to be replaced from time to time. The annuities for retired retainers had to be paid on schedule. The various tradesmen's bills went on and on, until Sarah thought that she should never see the end of them. It was one thing for her father to go to the races to conduct business. However, it would be another thing entirely for Sarah, as an unmarried gentlewoman, to do so. There were disadvantages to a woman running stables. She would never say something like that to her godmama. Father had distrusted agents, preferring to keep the family business firmly in his own hands. Maybe--just maybe--Godmama was correct. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to engage a good man to handle the

business end of things, at least as it related to the races. She certainly couldn't allow the stables to continue in this fashion. Perhaps, she could promote O'Sullivan from stable supervisor to racing agent. The man had a good head on his shoulders and knew both horses and men. He had a good education, for a man, particularly for an Irishman, of his class. He could read, write with a fair hand, and had sufficient arithmetic skills to keep books. More than that, he was honest, hardworking, and profoundly trustworthy. Putting aside the thought for later consideration, Sarah continued, "The need for some measure of gaiety was also behind the renewal of the Winter Ball tradition. Mama and Father used to give the most marvelous parties. It is time there was life in this house once more." Lady Constance smiled at her goddaughter. "It is indeed. It also is time for you to marry." Marriage. Godmama had not been shy in letting Sarah know she wanted Sarah as a daughter-in-law. George had been a widower now for six and a half years. Sarah still saw little sign in him that he had been able to put Jane out of his heart. It was only recently the rumors about George wanting to remarry had begun to circulate among the haut ton. Sarah had gotten several letters from old friends each asking if Sarah was to be the next duchess. A few of her old friends, and for those persons she used that term loosely, saw fit to inform her of the existence of George's current mistress and their newly born natural child. From the number of those letters, Sarah suspected the betting book at White's contained such a wager. Moreover from the tone of the letters, she would have laid odds on just which of her correspondents had husbands who had wagered pro and con on the matter of her speculated marriage to George. Sarah sighed. "We both know that you have someone in mind as you make that suggestion, Godmama." "Indeed. Both of you could do much worse than to marry one another. And my grandchildren need a good stepmama." "Your son has not spoken to me of it." That much was a lie. Her godmother didn't have to know anything about her son's initial proposal or about his subsequent attempts to convince her that the time was right for them to marry. Sarah wanted many things out of life, but marriage contracted out of a sense of reparation wasn't one of those. The problem was there would soon be no honorable way out of marrying George. She could no longer plead it was unacceptable for her to consider marriage when she was in deep mourning. "And when he does?" her godmama demanded. "I do not know, Godmama. I simply do not know," Sarah stated on a sigh, noting the question it was a 'when' and not an 'if' her godmama had used. She remembered all too well how much it had hurt that night six years ago in the library when George had spoken Jane's name as he had been firmly within her. She was less inclined than ever to repeat that incident. Her godmother looked at Sarah intensely. "Then I shall simply have to wait and see," Lady Constance replied in a casual tone that fooled no one into believing Sarah's godmama would fail to move heaven and earth to see Sarah and George wed.

"As I shall. I received a note from your son this morning to the effect that he would be delayed for several days due to urgent business." "My son is an important man, having many responsibilities," Lady Constance said with more than a hint of pride in her voice. "He needs a good woman beside him to assist him in his burdens." "After dinner, Clive, you will play your latest composition for Her Grace," Sarah instructed her brother, changing the subject, not too artfully. Before Clive could answer, Weems, the butler, announced the arrival of the Earl of Barrow. "Barrow?" Lady Constance asked quietly. Sarah's face showed her surprise. Marc Lewis, the Earl of Barrow, a friend of Edwin's had not been at Elham Park for nearly seven years, not since that Christmas when Sarah had been sixteen and completely smitten with him. "Show the earl to the blue salon. We shall be with him presently." Weems continued in a disturbed tone, "Miss, the earl has been seriously injured." Sarah's face showed her fear. The last time she had heard that tone from the butler was the day her brother Matthew had been thrown from Raphael's Rage and had died. Without a word, she rose from the table and rushed from the room towards the entryway. Marcus Lewis sat there, clearly in pain. A large gash on his forehead had clotted over. The right front of his great coat was dark and wet looking. The small round hole there eliminated any doubt as to the reason for the coppery smell of blood in the air. His right leg was clearly broken below the knee from the way that his foot lay. Sarah felt ill as she crossed over to him and sank to her knees before him. "Oh, Marc!" "Sarah, pray forgive me for intruding," he greeted her in a pained and weak voice. "There is nothing to forgive, my lord," Sarah hastily assured him. "Tell me how I may best assist you." "I need to contact your uncle," Marc replied, his voice no stronger than before. "It is of utmost importance, Sarah. Send for your Uncle James, I beg of you." "We shall tend to you, first, I should think, your lordship," she told him tenderly. "Uncle James can wait." "No, he cannot wait! Send for him, Sarah! Tell him that I need to see him, urgently! It is a matter of utmost importance!" Marc demanded in his weak voice, his eyes pleading, even though they showed unbelievably intense pain. "Of course, he is expected here tomorrow or the next day." "Thank you," he replied, his relief obvious. Then he added, "My mount is down." "That, too, will be taken care of, Marc. Have no fear," she said lowly to him, her concern for him clear on her face. "But you come first." "Sarah, I--" he said, then, to her horror, he fainted.

She took his left hand and checked for a pulse at his wrist. With a relieved sigh, she instructed, "He lives! He is feverish and in shock, yet he lives. Take him up to my father's rooms." "Sarah," her godmother asked quietly, "are you certain you wish to place him in your father's rooms?" "They are the rooms best equipped for long term nursing, Godmama. He will need constant care for some time, if he survives this," Sarah replied as four footmen lifted the chair containing the injured earl and began to carry him upstairs. "None of you are to say a word outside of this house and nor to the people here present about this. I'll have no gossip circulating about the earl. Is that perfectly understood?" The servants all replied with a prim, "Yes, Miss." Sarah knew that she could trust them. Her father had hand picked each and every one of them precisely for the sake of trustworthiness. Father, Edwin, and Matthew, bless their memory, had needed to rely on that loyalty often in their quiet work for the Crown, even as Marc now needed that loyalty for the same reason. *** Sarah's great aunt, Henrietta, who had made her excuses after nuncheon, pleading the headache, popped her head out of her room at the sound of the commotion in the hall. The elderly woman was dressed warmly in a flannel rail and wrap with a nightcap on her head. Wool stockings and leather slippers were on her feet and she wore her spectacles. "And who is that?" the old woman demanded as she came towards them. "Good Lawd, Barrow. I shall fetch my medicine basket." "Thank you, Aunt Henny," Sarah replied in relief. *** Henrietta Elham fixed her great niece with a strong look as they stood in the Master bedroom. "It is not proper for you to be here, child." "Propriety may go hang," Sarah replied with heat in her voice. "I shall stay here and help." "Sarah!" her godmama stated in a shocked voice. "This is not the place for an unmarried lady." "We must unclothe him to tend his wounds, Niece," Henrietta Elham explained with characteristic bluntness. "I have seen the unclothed male form before this Aunt Henny," Sarah replied. "I am not given to swoon." "This is not one of your brothers, or your father, Niece. It is not even one of the tenants for whom you might be called to render assistance in the absence of the surgeon or apothecary," Henrietta replied sharply. "You may not be put to the blush at his nakedness. But he might well be, once he learns of your presence here. Spare him his blushes, if nothing else. It would be another matter if there were no one else to tend him. Yet we are here. Pray take yourself off." Sarah sighed. "I shall be downstairs in the estate office, if you have need of my assistance," she replied

quietly. "If the situation arises that Weems, I, and your godmama cannot handle, then the man is likely to be dead," Sarah's great aunt replied with more sharpness in her voice than the situation warranted. Sarah left the room, that sharp rebuke stinging in her ears. *** Once downstairs, Sarah spoke briefly to the underbutler. Sarah went into the office and sat down at her desk. She had sent for two of the groomsmen who had often been used as messengers for her father. She wrote a brief note to her uncle, using the family code of English words written in Greek letters. "Dearest Uncle, The Earl of Barrow is at the Park. His injuries place his life in jeopardy. He asks for you. Please hurry. Your niece, Sarah." After carefully blotting the note, she folded it and sealed it with the horse head seal that had been carved by her own father as the emblem, a seal he had only used on correspondence with his brother. Then she wrote a note to Marc's sister. Miss Lewis, I am niece to Baronet Elham, with whom I believe you to be acquainted. Your brother, the earl, has been grievously injured. He is being cared for at Elham Park, my home, where he sought refuge following his injuries. I pray you, Miss Lewis, come soon to the aid of your brother. The groomsman who delivers this note is a highly trusted servant. He has been instructed to remain there until he may serve you as an armed outrider safeguarding your journey here. With a prayer for your safe and speedy journey, Miss Sarah Elham. "Come in," Sarah replied as the scratching came to the door to the estate office. The groomsmen, Robbie and Jack, came in. "Take Moonwind, Robbie. Draw arms and ride with all safe speed to Elham Hall. This note is to be placed directly in the hands of my uncle and in none other," Sarah stated. "I trust that you understand me?" "Yes, Miss," Robbie replied. "Return with an answer from my uncle tomorrow. You shall already be riding in the dark and cold to get there. That is sufficient risk for one day. I am certain my uncle will find a bed for you among the servants quarters and a stall for the horse. Godspeed." "Jack, I need for you to take Nightdancer quickly to ride with this message for Miss Lewis, concerning the earl. You will have to stop for the night. Here is some money for expenses. Whatever you do not use is yours for your trouble. However, make certain that you do eat and properly care for the mount entrusted to your use," she said as she pushed a small drawstring leather purse towards him. Inside the pouch was more than enough money to pay for both lodging and meals for the round trip with a guinea or two besides. "It is too far of a distance to cover in a few hours. These are the directions." Sarah quickly gave the groomsman instructions on how to find Barrow Hall. She had never been there. However, she remembered distinctly the description that the current earl had once given her of his

grandfather's country estate. "Repeat those back to me, pray." Sarah said then listened carefully as the groom accurately repeated the directions. "I wish for you to remain at Barrow Hall, returning only when you can do so as an armed escort for Miss Lewis. Should Miss Lewis decline to come, return immediately. Is that understood?" "Yes, Miss," Jack replied. "Ride safely, men. I trust that I do not need to tell you the nature of this errand is profoundly confidential?" "No, Miss," both men answered. "Disclose the full tale to my uncle, should he ask for details, Robbie. But Jack, I do not know Miss Lewis. I would not have you to deal with a hysterical female. Simply tell her that her brother is seriously injured and is being cared for. Still, her presence here would be most helpful to the recovery of her brother. Am I understood?" "Yes, Miss," both men replied. "Then draw small arms, balls, and powder, then ride swiftly and safely, men. I shall pray for your safe journey. Godspeed you both." The men hadn't been gone for more than two minutes when Clive walked in without knocking. "What happened to him?" "I do not know, Clive." "You called him, 'Marc'. Is he your friend?" "He was Edwin's dearest friend. You are too young to remember his last visit among us. Until recently, he has been in India." "Is he going to die, like Edwin?" the boy asked, concern and fear in his voice. "I really couldn't say, Clive. I pray not." "His mount is down and dying," the boy said, distress in his voice. "Looks like the animal was ridden hard, past the level of his strength." *** Sarah threw on her fur lined, boiled wool domino and went out to the drive. The Sorrel gelding on which Marc had arrived was truly in sorry shape. There was no doubt that the animal was dying. The grooms had not been able to get the beast back to its feet. "Miss," Kevin O'Sullivan greeted her, obviously agitated. "O'Sullivan, how could you allow any animal to suffer so at the Park?" she demanded of him. "His lordship's mount is not in my charge, Miss. That's his lordship's decision," O'Sullivan replied in a

distraught voice. "The earl is in no condition to make any decision at the moment. I will not allow any animal to suffer so at Elham Park. Give me the pistol, if you please, O'Sullivan." "I shall do it, Miss Elham. You needn't trouble yourself with this." "No. Since I shall be answering to the earl, I take the full responsibility. There will be no one to blame but myself. Just give me the pistol, if you please, O'Sullivan." Sarah took the pistol from him and looked at it. It was the weapon normally kept loaded in the stable tack room for just such a purpose. O'Sullivan had been ready to put down the animal. But the rank of the owner had given him pause. Sarah supposed she could not fault him for that degree of caution. Being Irish, he had more than sufficient reason to be wary of English noblemen. Sinking down on her heels, she stroked the animal's neck and spoke softly, "You've struggled long, old man. Now, it's time for you to rest." Then she stood, cocked the pistol, and fired a single ball into the animal's brain. "Dispose of the carcass as you see fit. I would have the tack put away for the earl," she instructed the grooms as she returned the pistol to O'Sullivan. "And kindly see the drive is cleared." *** Back in her rooms, Sarah tried not to let her vivid imagination run amok. Yes, Father had been often involved in tracking down traitors, scoundrels, and smugglers. Edwin had been similarly employed, an endeavor which had cost his life. Uncle James was still active in His Majesty's service in that regard. This family service to the Crown was not generally known. Sarah supposed that those who did know thought her ignorant of the involvement. But Sarah had inherited the family penchant for sniffing out details which others overlooked or dismissed as unimportant. Sarah knew for a fact, due to an overheard conversation, Marc Lewis had been recruited into the same service to the Crown that her family performed. She strongly suspected both he remained engaged in that activity and his wounds had been inflicted upon him in the course of that service. Were that to be true, and from his asking for Uncle James, she suspected it were, then Elham Park could very well be in danger. Whichever miscreant had inflicted the wounds would be looking for Marc in order to put a rather permanent end to the affair. Sarah didn't want to think about that. Yet she knew she had to think about it and prepare to deal with it. From her bedroom window, Sarah looked out onto the back gardens. The landscape was white as far as the eye could see. Deep, dark, clouds threatened another storm coming. Another storm. How appropriate. Had they not already weathered enough storms in this house? There had been so much death, already. Far too much of it had been related, directly or indirectly, to the family service to the Crown. So many people who had been dear to her had died in the past few years: her cousin Jane; her sisters Elizabeth and Susanna, and their husbands; her mother; her brothers Giles, Matthew, and Edwin; her cousin Nathaniel; and finally her father. There had been too much death in this house and for this family. She could only pray that Marc Lewis would not be added to that unhappy number. In what had Marc been involved? Did she want to know? Would it be safer for her not to know? Or would not knowing put her and the rest of the people in the house into even more danger? Was it better

to be forewarned of danger, so that one could be prepared? Or would knowledge serve as seed for further trouble that wouldn't be sprouting otherwise? Sarah looked unseeingly out onto the white landscape below. She remembered the last time that she had seen Marc. It had been almost seven years, nearly to the day, yet the memory was as fresh as though it had been yesterday. It had been the second Christmas holiday Marc had spent with her family. That Christmastide was the first time Sarah had been allowed to wear her hair up and to join the adults for dinner when non-family guests were present. She had been sixteen, nearly seventeen. Edwin and Marc would have been sitting their examinations in the spring. Both young men had just reached their majorities in the fall. Sarah, who had harbored a secret tendre for Edwin's friend since the first time she had seen him, had been most gratified when Marcus Lewis had been unable to take his eyes off of her during the first dinner of that visit. After that, the two of them had been in company as much as had been possible, even if it were a matter of being nearly constantly chaperoned. Nearly constantly, but not chaperoned every moment, Sarah thought with a small bittersweet smile. Marc had caught her under the kissing ball, once. Only once. The memory of the tender magic of that kiss remained with her, even now. During the Winter Ball, Marc had asked her to dance with him twice. She had been expecting a third dance. That would have been tantamount to an announcement of their betrothal. Yet the third invitation never came. Marc had left early the next morning without so much as a farewell to her. When Sarah had asked about him, she had been told Marc had been recalled to India to handle family affairs after the death of both his father and maternal grandfather, without having a chance to sit for his examinations. She had survived the heartbreak of calf love. On the other hand, perhaps she only had thought she had. Marc had returned to England only after his paternal grandfather's passing and his coming into the title. Sarah had received a note from Marc, shortly after his arrival in England. She retrieved the note from her prayer book. My dear Miss Elham, she read silently, Having but lately returned to England, my sister, the Lady Clarissa, and I are settling into the ancestral seat, Barrow Hall. I should like to call upon you. I lack only the knowledge that such a visit would be welcome. I remain, as always, Your Devoted Servant, Marcus A. Lewis, 19th Earl of Barrow She had immediately sent a reply stating the hospitality of Elham Park would always be available to friends and that she awaited his arrival at his convenience. However, Sarah never anticipated showing Marc hospitality in quite this fashion. Sarah looked at the door to Marc's room and bit her lip. Would he live? And if so, what danger did his presence here bring upon the occupants of the house?

Chapter Three James Elham sat in his study late on the thirteenth of December. Across the desk from him was his son-in-law, the Duke of Chisholm.

"Barrow is seriously overdue, Chisholm," Sir James said in a worried tone. George nodded. "There is no sense in looking for Barrow. If the ring has him, he is quite likely to be dead. I do doubt he would have told them anything. However, we should exercise reasonable damage control by severing all possible traceable ties from us." James sighed. "I am aware of this. And those steps to isolate him have been taken. This is dangerous business in which we are engaged. There are always plans to isolate any of us if we fall in the line of duty." "That this is dangerous business is something we have known since we began," George replied quietly. "It is necessary work as well, in order to protect the Realm." "That, it is. We must take steps to try to re-infiltrate this particular ring of traitors, before they go to ground once more." "I've had a second line of infiltration working since before Barrow became involved," George stated. A knock came at the door. Edwards, Sir James' longtime servant, came into the room. "A man has arrived from Elham Park. Says that he has a message from your niece to be given into your hands only, Sir James." George and James exchanged puzzled looks. What could Sarah have to say so urgently? There was no sense in speculating when the truth could be easily discovered. "Show him in, Edwards," Sir James said rapidly. The man called Robbie came into the room. "Sir, Miss El'am sends me to deliver a letter into your 'ands and your 'ands only." "You are Robbie Watson, are you not?" James asked. "Aye, sir, I am," the servant acknowledged. "'Ere's wot Miss El'am sent to you." "Robbie, you will stay here tonight. It is far too late to be riding back to the Park," Sir James replied as he took the message from the groomsman. "Thank'ee, sir," Robbie answered. "Miss tole me to ask if I might stay. Thank'ee kindly sir." James broke the seal on the note. It was the horse head seal that his brother had always used on correspondence relating to Foreign Office matters. Carefully, he unfolded the single sheet of heavy paper. He scanned the paper and fought back the shock he felt. Sarah knew the family code. How in the world had Sarah learned the code? Certainly, he hadn't taught her. Yet someone had. Either that or she had discovered it on her own. He didn't put that past her. The shock gave way to both concern and relief. "Barrow is at Elham Park," Sir James announced in rapid German, a language he knew the servants not to speak. "He's seriously injured. Sarah says his life is in jeopardy." "She isn't given to making rash statements," George stated, also in rapid German. "I should believe her

concerning the earl's condition." "Do you know what is in this letter?" Sir James demanded of the groomsman. "No, sir. Ain't no scholar, sir," the groomsman replied. That was the standard reply of someone who was illiterate. "It came sealed from 'er 'ands for you. You jist broke Miss El'am's seal. You know I ain't read it." Sir James said kindly, but firmly, "I did not accuse you of reading the note. I simply asked if you are aware of the circumstances that led my niece to send this word to me. I need to know more of the details of the recent happenings at the Park. My niece's note is sketchy on the details. I require more information. What can you tell me?" Robbie nodded. "Miss tole me to answer ye. E's hurt real bad, 'e is, th' Earl 'a Barrow. Saw 'im ride in, I did. All bent over 'is 'orse, 'e was. Tied 'imself to the saddle. Leg 'ad to be 'urtin' sumtin fierce. If it ain't broke, my name's not Robbie. 'E's got a 'ole in 'is shoulder, 'e 'as. 'Is 'ead was 'urt. 'E'd been in a 'ole 'eap a trouble, 'e 'ad. Beat up real bad. Jack and me, we picked 'im up off the ground when 'e untied 'imself and fell off 'is 'orse. Feverish, 'e was. Didn't rightly know wot to do wit 'im. So, we took 'im in th' 'ouse and 'e asked for Miss El'am. 'Is 'orse was down and dying when we rode from th' 'ouse. 'Eard a pistol as we was leaving. Miss was puttin' th' beast down. Miss ain't one to let an animule suffer if she kin 'elp it." "We?" Sir James asked sharply. "Miss sent Jack for th' earl's sister. It ain't a short ride to Barrow 'all." "Not from the Park, no. It certainly is not a short ride to Barrow Hall. I trust my niece furnished the man expense money?" "Tossed 'im a purse, she did," Robbie acknowledged in reply. "Nothing of this is to be said to anyone else," James stated. "You understand this?" "Course, sir," Robbie said, clearly affronted that anyone would think he was a talebearer. "If Miss El'am 'adn't tole me I could tell you, I wonna 'ave done. I never tole anyone 'bout the work I did for 'er Pa." The duke tossed a gold guinea at the groomsman. "This is for your troubles, Robbie." The groomsman caught the coin and quickly put it into his own waistcoat pocket. "Thank 'ee, Yer Grace." "Edwards, see Robbie fed and show him to a warm bed in the servant's quarters. Have his mount groomed, fed, and stabled." "Thank 'ee kindly, Sir James," Robbie replied quietly. When the servants had left the room, Sir James turned to his son-in-law. "Well, Chisholm?" "We have some misdirection to do, I think. If Barrow was seriously injured, and escaped, he would have easily have to have inflicted more damage upon his assailants," the duke replied. "He isn't a man to go down without a tremendous fight."

"That is very likely. I trust you will have the matter well in hand?" "I shall. Sarah already expects me to be delayed. A few more days will not cause any irreparable damage in my suit for her hand." Sir James smiled at his son-in-law. "Are we to wish you and Sarah happy soon?" "If all goes well," George replied. "Sarah, as you well know, has a mind of her own." "Indeed she does. You are aware Barrow once offered for her?" "I am." "With him there injured and helpless, she is apt to find tender feelings for him resurfacing." George sighed. "This is simply something with which I shall have to deal, should it arise. More pressing issues for the Crown must take precedence over my domestic arrangements. Have you a detailed map of the area?" George asked. "Indeed I do. Come along to the library." They pored over a map of the area surrounding Elham Park. "He couldn't have traveled in his condition for more than ten miles in any direction," James said. "Maybe fifteen at the most. But it is likely it was under ten." "That leaves only a few areas where he could have been. We can rule out any of the larger noble houses along the route." "Mayhaps. Yet if the ring leader is as well connected as we believe him to be, then I fail to see how we can easily rule out even the great houses." "Great houses have servants. Servants talk. If you were running an illicit operation of this magnitude, would you care to have your business broadcast about at the local pub?" James offered. "No. We will find nothing in or immediately around a noble house. This wouldn't have stayed quiet for quite so long if too many servants had heard of it. Even with the profits from this operation, he could not assure the silence of every servant." "Barrow was last seen in London. He was supposed to report to Thompson following his meeting with the ringleader." James nodded. "I know this." "We shall begin looking here," George said as he put his finger on a spot on the map. "It's the closest possibility from Town. They wouldn't have wanted to transport him any further than was necessary. Even with him bound and gagged in a closed carriage, it would have been far too dangerous." "I defer to your judgment on this, Chisholm. If Barrow did leave behind dead or seriously injured assailants, then we must make it to appear as though he himself had perished shortly after dispatching his

assailants. Preferably as a result of his wounds." "Otherwise, the ringleader will be apt to go to ground. We can ill afford that to happen. Not now, when we are so close to finding him and stopping this ongoing treason." James nodded. "Indeed." "I shall see this done." "I know that you shall. You have always succeeded in every task. When I retire from this work, my post will be yours." "You will never leave the field, James." "Probably not. Yet there are times the thought is profoundly tempting. My lady wife longs for me to spend more time at home." George smiled. "It is good when a man and wife are inseparable in their middle years." "It comes of a long and loving relationship, my son. I wish that you would have such a marriage with whatever lady you take to wife." "I've had one love match, to your daughter. For me to seek two such unions smacks of greed." "On the contrary, life is too short not to harvest the joy from every possible moment." George nodded. "Good night, Father Elham." "Good night, Chisholm. Rest well," James said. "I will get a few hours sleep, then I will set out at first light," George told him. "Godspeed, Son. Be safe." *** James went up to bed. He entered his dressing room and placed the single candle upon the table that sat just before a mirror. Quickly, he changed into his dressing gown. His valet despaired of his late hours and early risings. James went to his bedroom and was pleasantly surprised to find his wife there, waiting for him in bed. She sat there reading by the light of several candles. That was unusual. She only rarely came to him, these days. "My dear, I thought you had retired some time ago." "I've been awaiting for you, sweetheart." "Obviously," James said as he walked over to the bed. "What is on your mind?" Helen smiled at her husband as she held out her hand. "Must I have an nefarious purpose in mind to justify a visit to my husband's bedchamber?"

"I most certainly hope not," he said as he sat down facing her. "However, you must admit that you do so quite rarely these days." "You are rarely at home these days," she countered. "That will be changing soon. I promise you." "You have embroiled Chisholm into your work for the Crown," she stated. "You are grooming him to take your place at the Foreign Office." "Chisholm is never embroiled in anything against his will," James answered. Helen smiled. "No, he isn't. Has he said anything about Sarah?" James sighed. "Sarah?" "Pray do not be obtuse, James. Are we to have an announcement from that quarter?" "Mayhaps. I suspect that particular situation will not proceed smoothly." "Our grandchildren need a loving stepmama. Especially Lady Anne." "Helen, my dearest, there is little we can do about it. This is a matter to be settled between Chisholm and Sarah. I shouldn't count on hearing an announcement from them." Helen sighed as she removed her spectacles and placed the silver-framed eyeglasses upon the bed table. "Do you wish for me to return to my own room, husband?" James touched his wife's face. "Not unless you would have me join you there." "Your bed is far more comfortable, my love." *** George retired for a few hours sleep before he would have to begin his search. It was only a few hours ride to Elham Park. If everything went well, he should be able to have this resolved soon and be at the Park, with Sarah, before she had time to greatly renew her attachment to Barrow. In spite of what he had told his father-in-law, George was concerned about that relationship being renewed. And he resolved that whatever he had to do, he would do in order to win her heart as well as her hand. Questions of honor were enough to force the marriage. But he wanted more than a conventional marriage with her. He knew Sarah well enough to know that money, title, honor, and social standing alone would not sway her. Sarah was a romantic. She needed to be wooed, not to have the marriage presented to her as the payment of a debt of honor. With Christmastide approaching, there would likely be kissing balls hanging at various places throughout the house. With a little judicious planning, he should be able to catch her under those fairly regularly. A healthy dose of passion couldn't help but influence her decision. He could always bed her as often as it took to get her with child. If she had a child to consider, she would marry him. Then he dismissed that thought.

Yet before he could pursue Sarah, he needed to take care of this matter before him. And to do that, he would need a few hours sleep before he rode out at first light. With any luck, he would be able to handle this without significant problems. However, luck wasn't always on the side of the virtuous. This was as dangerous and unpleasant of a charge as he had ever taken on. That was something to say. George had been in many situations over the past ten years he would never be able to discuss with anyone who hadn't been there. Yet those people who had been there knew better than to ever discuss the events. So the secrets would remain secrets he would carry to his grave. He only hoped that would be quite some years distant yet. The duke was in no tearing hurry to leave mortality behind. This situation could easily call for desperate measures. George was prepared to do whatever he needed to do to resolve this. He didn't want to run the options through his head. He didn't want to think about what he might have to do in defense of the Crown. Yet he couldn't help running the various possibilities through his head. Those thoughts were not at all conducive to a good night's sleep. But sleep he must, he knew if he were going to be fit for the day's, or several days', work that lay before him. So, he lay back in bed, closed his eyes, forced himself to relax, to think of pleasant things--Anne's laugh, Georgie's gleeful face when the child was particularly proud of himself, and Sarah's gentle smile. In a few moments, he was asleep.

Chapter Four "Miss Elham," Weems said with considerable discomfort in his tone on the morning of Saturday the fifteenth. "Something must be done about the earl." "In what regard, Weems?" Sarah asked as she looked up from the pile of bills before her. Seemed there were always accounts to be paid. It would relieve her mind greatly if there were also a more than simply adequate income. She had bills amounting to one hundred pounds sitting before her. At this moment there were only one hundred and ten pounds in the safe. Additionally, just over five hundred pounds of the estate's money were on deposit with Barclay's Bank in London, and there were the funds in the exchange and the private notes still outstanding on which interest payments came quarterly. Weems continued, "He's foul tempered. Uncooperative. He sent young Bess from the room with a flea in her ear and such language as you would not want repeated when she tried to change the bed linens." Sarah sighed. She had been avoiding Marc. At least, she had been avoiding him during any time when he was likely to be awake. She didn't trust herself not to speak of things best left in the past. It was a relief the way in which Aunt Henny and Weems had contrived together to fit him with a nightshirt. By slitting the top of the sleeve and fitting it with buttons, the garment could be easily put on and taken off without irritating the shoulder wound by unnecessary movement. She was also encouraged by the fact Marc had experienced no nausea as an effect of his head wound and that he seemed to be eating well, by all reports. "I shall deal with his lordship, Weems. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." Sarah stopped at the linen closet for fresh sheets on her way to the earl's room. "Doing the servants' work, Sarah?" Lady Constance asked quietly.

"Seems that my guest is beginning to feel some improvement in his health, Godmama. Either that or his pain is wearing extremely thin upon his nerves," Sarah replied easily. "He has reduced one of the chambermaids to tears with his foul temper." The duchess laughed softly. "Pain does tend to make men edgy, child. I declare I do not know how mankind would survive, should God give the chore of breeding to the male. I've never yet known a man who could take any amount of discomfort in good grace." Sarah smiled and shook her head. "Godmama, the things you say!" "I shall accompany you to see the earl," the duchess declared. "No, thank you. I need to speak privately with him. I know that he is in pain. However, I can not have him disrupting the functioning of my home. Nor will I have him embarrassed by there being a witness to my words." The older woman looked at her goddaughter. "Very well, my dear. I shall rely on you to introduce me to young Barrow at your discretion." *** Sarah tapped lightly on the door of the room. "Your lordship?" "Go away!" Marc groused. "And a good day to you, as well, my lord," Sarah said breezily as she entered the room, leaving the door open behind her. "Miss Elham, it is high time that you deigned to look in on me." "In a testy mood, my lord?" she asked quietly. "So I have heard from my household staff. I cannot have my house thrown into disorder by an ill-mannered guest, regardless of rank or injury. I trust that you can understand that." "Miss Elham, you are a managing female." She smiled at him. "Naturally. I'm afraid you have found me out, my lord. I am one of that thoroughly dreaded type of lady, a strong willed, managing, female. I fear I cannot pretend otherwise," Sarah replied gently, with humor in her voice. "It is a grievous character fault. Albeit one which is far beyond my poor powers of repentance." The earl moved then winced at the pain. "That, Miss Elham, I can well believe," he replied quietly. "That it is a grievous character fault, or a fault which I possess in inordinate quantity, my lord?" The earl smiled at the mischievous tone. "Miss Elham, I am so glad the string of tragedies which have befallen you has not reduced your high spirits. And I am especially cheered you have seen fit to return to our previous state of intimacy." "How could we avoid being easy with one another, my lord? Nate's letters, as well as those of my brother, were always full of the adventures the three of you got yourselves embroiled while up at Oxford.

I daresay I am the only female who knows of your youthful high jinks." Marc raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "You needn't look at me thus. I am certain the accounts relayed to me were highly edited and purged of all that society deems improper for the ears, or in this case, eyes, of a gentlewoman. More's the pity. I should have liked to have all the details about the time that you paid an unscheduled middle-of-the-night visit to the bursar's rooms." Marc smiled broadly, a tinge of red highlighting his cheeks. "Are you always so plainspoken?" "Do you not remember that about me, my lord? It is a terrible affliction," she teased. Sarah smiled broadly. "Ah, yes, but who is afflicted? Yourself or others?" "Excellent point, my lord. I suspect the answer may well be 'both'." Marc smiled at her once more. "Thank you for coming." "Am I being dismissed?" Marc shook his head. "Miss Elham, you are not a female whom any gentleman would find it easy to dismiss. I would not presume to attempt to do so in my weakened condition." Sarah laughed boldly. "That is just as well. Now, I understand that bed linen is in dire need of changing. Since you will not allow young Bess to take care of this matter, I shall have to accomplish the task myself." "Most improper," Marc replied quietly as Sarah handed him a brocade dressing gown that had belonged to Edwin. "What am I to do with this?" "While other uses do come to mind, the advised course of action would be place your good arm in one sleeve, and wrap the garment about yourself. In order to change the linens, the easiest course of action would be to remove you from the bed to a chaise immediately beside it," Sarah told him, impishly. "And how do you intend to do that?" "By brute force if necessary," she replied in a breezy tone which did not disguise the seriousness of her intent. "Although, I would prefer it be with your full aid and support. I'm much less likely to cause you further injury if I have your assistance in moving you." "I do believe that you are serious," he said after a long moment. "Profoundly," Sarah told him. "This will not be particularly comfortable. Yet I will not have you suffering from bedsores. You shall remove yourself from bed every day from now on, at least long enough for the linens to be either changed or aired. The longer each day you can sit, the less time it will take you to fully recover your strength when your leg and shoulder are fully healed."

"Did anyone ever tell you it is a great shame that you were born female, since His Majesty could use more field officers with your resolve?" Sarah laughed boldly. "What fustian! I shall, however, endeavor to take that as a compliment. Now, do I remove you from bed by myself, or do I step outside and summon a pair of footmen?" "I believe you would not hesitate at all to attempt the task yourself," Marc replied thoughtfully. "The fact that I outweigh you by at least two stone, notwithstanding." "You believe correctly, my lord. You read mathematics at University. You should know about leverage and mechanical advantage." Marc laughed, then winced at the pain in his shoulder. "I do, but how do you know such things?" Sarah smiled softly. "I do read, my lord. It is hardly fashionable, yet I endeavor to use my head as something more than a post on which to hang millinery. I suspect, were such a thing allowable, I could easily sit the examinations for a University degree, mayhaps pass them with distinction. But such a privilege is not allowed me on account of my sex." "Sitting those exams was a privilege I did not have either." "You would have passed with distinction," Sarah said, fullest confidence in her voice. Marc looked at her for a long moment, without saying anything. "You are a true trooper, Miss Elham. You remind me so much of Edwin. Fetch the footmen. I shall cooperate in this venture. Will you keep me company for a time following this?" "I shall return shortly. There are other matters to which I must attend." "Such as?" "A potential buyer for several horses will be arriving, soon. I must show the horses and handle the inevitable last minute attempts to lower the price," she replied with amusement in her voice. "Several very fine horses have come from the Elham Park Stables." "My father was justifiably proud of his stables. I do my best to ensure the same quality of horseflesh is maintained." "Yet because you are female, some buyers underestimate your knowledge of your animals? Or attempt to manipulate you into lowering the price?" "Precisely. However, that is a mistake few attempt twice." Marc smiled. "I suspect you have a full measure of the Elham ruthlessness." "I am my father's daughter." "I have noticed that." "I sincerely hope you were not overly fond of the beast which carried you here?"

"Not overly," Marc replied dryly. "Truthfully, it was a borrowed animal. I confiscated it in the name of the Crown from a pair of ruffians who had no further use for it." Sarah heard what he had not said. The men who had harmed him were dead. "I am quite happy to find you have no great love for that particular beast. I put the animal down. It was the only other option apart from permitting him to suffer and then to die in great pain. The gelding was in truly sad shape. If it relieves your mind, several of the tenants are grateful for the meat. The hide will tan out and make shoes for several children around the estate. The bones and hooves have gone to the knackers." "You put the animal down? Yourself?" Marc asked in surprise. "I did," Sarah told him. "With all possible dispatch and minimum of pain for the animal. A single ball in the brain." "Do you not have an agent?" "No, Father never engaged one, preferring to handle his own business, by himself. I have carried on in the same fashion, as I suspect Clive will when he eventually takes charge of the stables after he reaches his majority. For now, I'm teaching him everything I know about the management of breeding and racing stables." "You have charge of your younger brother?" "Surely, my lord, you are not another one of those who believe a woman incapable by nature of comprehending matters of either business or estate management?" Sarah demanded quietly, with a steely challenge in her tone. "On the contrary, I should think you quite completely capable of accomplishing whatever tasks you set before yourself," Marc Lewis responded easily. "I have always had great confidence in your abilities." Sarah blushed. "Indeed." "Sarah," he began. "Miss Elham," he corrected himself quickly. Sarah cut him off. "Kindly be civil to the servants, my lord. The smooth running of this house depends on them. Shall I bring anything in particular for your amusement when I return?" "A London newspaper?" Marc asked. "Of course, my lord." *** The buyer, Lord Clifton, was an established customer. He had bought many fine racing horses from her father over the course of the last thirty years. The older man examined the yearlings and two-year olds closely. Sarah stood by while he made his selection answering his questions, but otherwise letting him look without distraction. "Fine horseflesh you have here, Miss Elham."

"Yes, my lord, we have maintained my father's high standards for his horses. Would you see any hunters today?" "No. Not today. Thank you." "Would you take some refreshment?" The old man nodded affirmatively. "As I recall, your father kept a very nice single malt on the grog tray in his office." "I believe that I could provide you with the same," Sarah replied. "It has to be difficult for such a young woman to run this establishment," the old man stated as they returned to the house. "Not at all, my lord, I have been raised to it," she replied. "I know and understand horses." "A stable is no place for a beautiful woman," his lordship replied strongly. "One does as one's duty compels." The old man nodded. In the office, with the door left open, Sarah poured the old man his whiskey. She poured herself a glass of lemonade. Many ladies drank spirits during the day. Sarah knew that she could not if she were to keep her wits about her. Dealing with Lord Clifton required all of her wits, and then some. She recalled her father saying on many occasions his lordship was a sharp dealer, not averse to twisting a situation to his own advantage at any possible turn. "You have not changed either the office or the stables," the old man observed as he took his drink. "It would be profoundly unwise to make modifications to something which operates well," Sarah answered. "Now, in which of the horses were you interested, my lord?" "Storm Dancer, Robbie's Lad, Night Boy, and St. John's Glee." Sarah suppressed a smile. He would pick the cream of the crop from among the yearlings she had chosen to sell. "Very fine, my lord. You have a good eye." The old man's eyes narrowed on her face. "Three thousand two hundred pounds for the four of them," Sarah replied. "Eight hundred pounds each." "I'll give you five hundred pounds for each of them." "I am not compelled to sell them, my lord," Sarah replied easily. "I will have the full price for the animals or they will remain in my stables." The old man gave a bark of laughter. "You remind me so much of your father." "Have we a deal, my lord?"

"Eight hundred pounds each? Do you realize how much training those horses have to have over the course of the next year to turn them into winners?" Sarah smiled broadly. "Each of those animals has a half or full sister or brother among the two year olds. Having seen to the training of those animals, I know precisely what is involved. The purchase of any of those two-year olds would require a minimum of three thousand pounds, frequently more, depending on the potential of the particular animal." The old man sipped his whiskey. "I want Moonchild, as well." "I had not intended to sell Moonchild, my lord. I had intended to race him myself." "I want that animal. Name your price." "The four yearlings and Moonchild would bring the total to eight thousand two hundred pounds, my lord." The old man finished his whiskey. He nodded. "Very well. Will you take a draft on Barclay's Bank?" "Certainly, my lord, a draft on your account at Barclays would be acceptable, under the usual conditions." "And those are?" "The same conditions my father used, my lord. A letter of credit from the bank guaranteeing the draft, or the bill of sale drawn and the horses leave here only after the draft is honored by the bank," Sarah replied easily. "This time of year, the delay in presenting the draft could be considerable, I fear, as travel between here and Town can be hazardous." The old man nodded. "I had intended to present those yearlings to my grandsons at Christmastide. So, I'll pay you in bank notes and gold." "That would be quite acceptable, my lord." The old man turned to his servant. "Have the strong box brought in from the carriage." Sarah began the work of putting together the bills of sale. "You drive a hard bargain, Miss Elham." "Only a fair bargain, my lord," she replied as she looked up from her writing. "Will you be in town this spring, Miss Elham?" "Perhaps, my lord. My godmama, the Dowager Duchess of Chisholm, is eager for me to join her in town this year," Sarah replied easily. The old man smiled. "Chisholm, eh? Heard the young duke was hanging out for a wife." "I couldn't comment on that, my lord," Sarah replied quietly, recalling her father's comments about this

particular member of the nobility's penchant for gossip. "The current Duke's late Duchess was your cousin, as I recall." "My cousin, Jane. Yes," Sarah replied as two men brought in a strongbox and placed it on the desk. "May she rest in peace." "Died over six years ago, giving birth to twins, as I recall." "Lady Anne and Lord George," Sarah replied with warmth in her tone. "Truly adorable children, even if I am biased due to my being their godmama. These miniatures were painted of them this last autumn," Sarah said as she pointed to the miniatures on the desk. "Chisholm painted these miniatures?" "I do believe so," Sarah replied easily. "They certainly bear his style. However, I was not told the name of the artist when I was given the miniatures." "That young lady will be a beauty." Sarah nodded. "Yes. She looks very much like her dear mother, having the same delicate blond beauty." "So, are we to wish you happy with Chisholm?" "Given that no announcement has gone to the papers, would it not be unwise of me to make such a statement, even if it were true?" The old man smiled slightly. "Miss Elham, you are as wise as you are beautiful." "Flummery, my lord, will avail nothing. Shall we return to business matters?" "That was six thousand two hundred pounds, Miss Elham?" the old man asked. "No, my lord, the agreed sum was eight thousand two hundred pounds," Sarah replied. "The four yearlings for a sum total of three thousand two hundred pounds and Moonchild at the price of five thousand pounds." "Ah, did you not say the two year olds were three thousand pounds?" "No, my lord, I said that the two year olds were priced at a sum beginning at three thousand pounds and escalating depending on the potential winnings of the animal," Sarah replied easily. "Moonchild is the cream of the crop of my two-year olds. As such, I expect a substantial compensation for parting with him." "Indeed. That is a most businesslike attitude. Very well, eight thousand two hundred pounds," he replied as he unlocked the box and began to count out the bills and gold coins. "My lord, to travel with so much specie money? Is it not dangerous to do so?" "I'm insured against theft. And I always have armed outriders," the old man dismissed, continuing to count out the money.

"Insurance will not replace a life, my lord. There are persons who would kill for a guinea, let alone a fortune of this magnitude." "There are. Which is why I do not broadcast the fact that I travel with large sums of money on my person," the old lord replied frostily. "You have been a good client of the stables, my lord. And your voting record in Lords has been such as to be proud of in your concern for the welfare of the poorer of His Majesty's subjects. For Patriotic reasons alone, it would be a shame to see you harmed or killed by a highwayman." The old man looked at Sarah. "You follow politics, Miss Elham?" "I am my father's daughter, my lord. Naturally, I am concerned with the affairs of government." The old man looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment before he returned to counting out the coinage and bills. Sarah looked away from his probing glance and continued working on the bills of sale for the horses. A few minutes later, after Sarah had verified the amount of money on the desk, she handed over the bills of sale. "You write with a truly fair hand, Miss Elham," the old man said. "These seem to be fully in order." "Thank you, my lord. Elham Park Stables is always glad to be of service. Thank you for your custom." "There is a general feeling the Elham Park Stables have ceased to operate following the passing of your dear father. I am pleased to see that widely accepted belief to be in error," the old lord replied. "I would count it a great service, my lord, if you would let it be known we continue to maintain my father's high standards and remain ready, willing, and able to serve the needs of our former clients." Lord Clifton nodded. "Aye, child. That is one service which I will gladly perform for such a lovely lady as yourself." *** Sarah sat there looking at the gold and bank notes for the longest time after his lordship left with the bill of sale. Over eight thousand pounds from a single transaction! Perhaps the stables would actually show a good profit this year. At the very least, in this gold lay the means for paying for the new roofing of the tenant cottages, the new stables, and the improved drainage in the fields, with a considerable sum remaining. She made the entries into the books. Then she bagged the money as she recounted it again, before placing it into the office safe. *** Because she had promised, Sarah returned to see Marc. She left the door to the bedchamber open, so to avoid any question of impropriety. She brought out a folding table she knew was stored in the closet. Then she carried the small table as well as the parcel of diversions to the chaise on which Marc semi-reclined. He wore the dressing gown over a nightshirt and was covered by a thick quilted

counterpane. His splinted leg was elevated with several thick cushions. And his arm was bound to his chest with a sling, to reduce additional injury to the shoulder. He had been freshly shaven. She placed the parcel on the bed. Then she set up the table. She began to set out the things she had brought for his diversion. "Behold, two new decks of cards, a chess set, a London paper, a bible, a Book of Common Prayer, two volumes of poetry, a military history, two pens, an inkwell, some sealing wax, a blotter, and a sheaf of writing paper. There is a lap desk in the closet, should you wish to write. Well, now, that should give you a way to pass the time. Is there anything else that I can do to make you more comfortable?" "Sit down, Sarah, if you please. Do you play chess?" "Yes, I play chess. Would you care for a game?" she said as she moved a straight- backed chair to the table from along the far wall of the room. He smiled at her. "That would be most diverting." Sarah smiled as she set up the board. The game continued for the better part of an hour. "Checkmate, my lord." Marc looked over the board for a moment, obviously running his options through his mind. "So it is, Miss Elham. So it is. I stand by my earlier statement. It is truly a shame that you were born female." Sarah laughed. "Now, there's a pretty compliment," she said in amusement. "And one guaranteed to turn the head of any lady, my lord." Marc smiled at her. "I meant no offense." "None taken, my lord Barrow." "I fear that I am poor company, having reduced you to formality." "Not at all. It has been a thoroughly pleasant game, my lord." "Did you sell some horses, Miss Elham?" Marc asked. "Yes. Four yearlings and a two year old." "I trust you got a decent price for them." "I wouldn't have sold them otherwise, my lord." Marc smiled at her. "I do believe that." Sarah sighed. "Lord Clifton does try to have things on his own terms." "Clifton? That old reprobate? That man gossips worse than any two old women," Marc replied in amazement. "Is he still around? I had thought he would have died by now." "Indeed, he is still with us and very much unchanged. That is why I got the purchase price in cash," Sarah

replied. "And why I answered his questions about my future plans only in the vaguest of generalities. The man's a worse gossip than any three women combined. However, he does know his horses. Once he begins to race Moonchild, trade around the Park should improve dramatically. Nothing adds to a stable's fame like producing winners." "I see," Marc replied thoughtfully. "And you would not have sold Moonchild at a decreased price just so that you could encourage that trade?" "No, my lord. I did not wish to part with Moonchild at all. So, I set the price five hundred pounds above what I thought was fair, in an effort to discourage him in his intention to purchase the animal." "Miss Elham, could I prevail upon you for another service?" "Of course, my lord Barrow. What do you require?" He hesitated for a moment. Then he spoke firmly, "A pistol, shot, and powder." She looked at him for a long moment. "You are safe, my lord. No one will harm you, here. I know Weems is fully armed." "Will you furnish me with a pistol, shot, and powder?" the earl demanded. "If that acquisition will allow you to rest easier, then I shall make certain that you have your request," Sarah replied lowly, calmly. "I shall return in but a trice." She walked through the connecting door to her rooms. Upon her return, she handed him an inlaid wooden case. "This is sized for a lady's hand, but you may have the loan of it, if it will set your mind at ease. I do warn you, my lord, it is loaded, primed, and ready for use. The trigger mechanism requires quite little pressure. The sights are true." "Why do you possess a loaded pistol, Miss Lewis?" the earl asked as he took the small box from her. "Contrary to Town standards, I frequently ride alone, my lord. My father insisted I be armed during solo rides. And I continue to abide by his wishes, seeing the wisdom of them." "Do you know how to use this weapon?" Sarah smiled broadly. "It may be profoundly hoydenish, but yes, I always hit those things at which I aim. My father trained me well. Any female who does not know how to defend herself, with or without any of an assortment of weapons, is placing herself at a profound disadvantage. While I have frequently found myself among the briars, seeking out difficulties is not among my bad habits." "I should hope not," Marc said lowly. Then he looked at the weapon and at her. "Have you ever had cause to point this weapon at a person, Miss Elham?" "No, I have never taken aim at another person," Sarah replied firmly. "The one time I had need of doing so, I was not able to shoot due to the acquisition of a broken arm. However, if such an unfortunate action became necessary, I am confident I could not only do so but do so successfully, my lord." Marc nodded, as he closed the box. When had she needed to be armed? Had she suffered an injury? The thought itself of someone hurting her filled him with rage. "I will not take your armament from you,

Sarah," he said quietly, thoughtfully. "I would never forgive myself if you found yourself in a situation where you needed the protection, only not to have it on account of having loaned it to me." "My lord, I can furnish you with other weapons, if you so desire. My father was quite a collector of pistols of various vintages, as you may recall. This was merely the most accessible weapon. Yet have no fear of leaving me at a disadvantage. This is but one of a matched pair that I keep in my rooms." The earl smiled at her. "Two?" "One which I take with me when riding alone. One within my reach at night," she stated plainly. "I can certainly make do with just the one." "Miss Lewis, are you normally so well armed?" he asked carefully, not particularly wanting to know the answer, almost fearing the answer. "Or is this on my account?" "I would be less than honest, my lord, if I were to say your presence in my home has not caused me to reconsider the matter of my personal safety." "I am no threat to you, Sarah," Marc replied, knowing that to be true, but also knowing that his presence here could indeed be bringing danger to her. Sarah sighed. "I know that. Yet the people who hurt you could very well be such a threat to myself, my brother, and all others in this house." Marc nodded tightly. "That much is true. I regret bringing this danger to you, Sarah." "Keep the pistol, my lord. It is my desire for you to feel safe, at all times." "Sarah," he replied lowly. "Thank you." She smiled at him and blushed at his use of her Christian name. "Is there any other service I may render to you at the moment?" "Not at the moment. I should like to see your stables again one day," he said gently, changing the subject. "When you have recovered, my lord, I should be most happy to show them to you. I hope that you will allow me to replace your mount." "That will not be necessary. However, I shall look forward to seeing your stables again." "Sarah," a young boy said from the open doorway. "Your lordship, allow me to present my brother, Master Clive Elham. Master Elham, his lordship, the Earl of Barrow. The last time, my lord, that you visited us at Elham Park, Clive was yet in the nursery," Sarah said gently as Clive came into the room. "Master Elham," the earl acknowledged. Clive bowed properly. "Your lordship. I trust that you are in better spirits?"

"I am, indeed," Marc replied to the boy. "Thanks are due to your dear sister in that regard." "Sarah, the Vicar is desirous of speech with you. He awaits downstairs in the library," Clive said quietly. Sarah smiled at her brother and ruffled his hair affectionately. "I shall be there presently, Clive." "Sarah," Clive continued hesitantly. "He is not happy with me. I do wish you would hurry." Sarah looked at her brother. "You will excuse us, my lord Barrow?" "Of course, Miss Elham, Master Elham."

Chapter Five Sarah and Clive stood outside of the door to Marc's room. Clive handed her a letter. "I think you had better read that," the boy said to her. "It's from the Vicar. I was supposed to give it to you on Thursday. But with all the excitement, I simply forgot to do so." Sarah nodded. She and Clive went into her sitting room. Sitting in a chair near the window, she broke the seal and read Mr. Latterly's note. My dearest Miss Elham, In the two years in which we have known one another, we have never spoken of personal matters. We have had discussions at length concerning the education of your dear brother. We have had long discussions concerning parish matters, particularly in regard to the relief of the poor. In general, I have found you to have a most admirable sense of propriety and, indeed, a charming sense of humor. I have come to regard you with the most sincere of affections. You have always been all that is kind to me, leading me to believe that you regard me with some degree of favor. As you will shortly be out of mourning, I venture to say that more personal converse between us is now overdue. You are a good Christian spinster in need of a suitable husband. This is a matter on which you need no instruction from me. I am a bachelor of thirty-two years. I took Holy Orders eight years ago, after having completed my Masters' degree in Sacred Theology at Oxford. I am the fifth son of Viscount Thomasgate. There happily exists none but the most remote possibility that I shall ever come into the family title. My godfather, however, saw fit to bequeath to me the bulk of his rather sizable fortune. That legacy has left me the luxury of being able, with comfort, follow my calling into the Church and of being able to serve only one congregation. I tell you this so that you need have no worry that I seek your hand seeking a fortune. I daresay that my personal fortune is the equal of any that you might personally possess. The simple truth is this: I am in need of a wife, my dear Miss Elham. This surely is not a circumstance that has failed to come to your attention.

Therefore, confident in your affection for me, I have procured a special license from our Bishop allowing us to wed quietly. My cousin, also a clergyman, albeit one without a cure at this moment, will be coming to spend the Christmas holidays with me and I hope to convince him to remain as curate here. Since my parents and sister will also be joining me for the holidays, and given that your family is also to be with you at this time of the year, it seems a most appropriate time at which to solemnize our marriage. I shall call on you Saturday in order to finalize arrangements for our nuptials. Servant, Nicholas Latterly "What does he have to say?" Clive asked hesitantly. "Nothing that need concern you, Brother," Sarah replied, distracted. The boy looked at her curiously. "Go to the conservatory and work on your music. I need to discuss this matter with Mr. Latterly privately." "I am not in trouble?" Clive asked carefully. "No, my dear, you have done nothing wrong," Sarah assured her younger brother. "Go, work on your music." Sarah left her sitting room and went downstairs. Mr. Latterly was waiting in the library, as Clive said. He stood looking out of a window, with his back towards her. "Mister Latterly," Sarah acknowledged as she walked into the room. "Miss Elham...Sarah...you received my letter?" "I did." "May I have a response?" "I am profoundly conscious of the honor your do to me by this offer. However, we should not suit, Mr. Latterly," she replied in a flat tone. Nicholas wore a stricken expression. "Not suit? We should suit each other quite well." Sarah fixed him with an angry glare. "I am unworthy of you." "You undervalue yourself," Nicholas countered strongly. "You are worthy of any gentleman in the Kingdom." "I will not marry you," she stated bluntly. "I do not know how to say this more clearly. I definitely will not

marry you. I have no wish to cause you discomfort or embarrassment. However, I can not state this more clearly. I absolutely will not marry you." He smiled at her in the manner one might smile at a much-indulged child. "I shall ask again." "You have my answer. It will not change." "We shall see about that," he replied quietly. "Mr. Latterly, do you for one moment imagine that I have formed no attachment, at my rather advanced age?" "An attachment?" "Is that so hard to believe?" "Of course not," he denied. "You are a beautiful, accomplished, charming, gentlewoman. Any gentleman would be honored to have you on his arm." "And that is why you thought that I would fall immediately into line with this farce of a proposal?" Sarah countered, more than a shade of heat in her tone. "Did you think I would be so flattered at the thought that you had already gone to the bishop for a special license I would simply fall in line with your plans? Did you believe this to be the first marriage proposal I have ever refused?" "I had hoped you had come to some measure of affection for me," Nicholas replied carefully. "Respect is chiefly my sentiment towards you, sir," Sarah stated. "You are a good man and an excellent vicar. Your kindness to my brother has been deeply appreciated. Yet I hold you in no greater esteem than friendship." "Friendship is a good basis for marriage, Sarah," he countered. "Perhaps. However, I will not marry you." "Am I to wish you and some other gentleman happy?" "That all is not yet completely settled although there is a preliminary agreement in the matter," Sarah replied, her voice calm. "I suspect the final details will be worked out during the next few weeks." "Then, as there is no final resolution to the matter between you and the other gentleman, there remains hope you will finally consent to be my bride," he stated with a small smile. "I should not count on that ever happening, were I you. You will be gravely disappointed if you have my changing my answer to you as an expectation. It will not happen." Nicholas shook his head as if to dismiss her statement. "The offer remains open." "It is my wish you would withdraw it." "The license is in my pocket."

"You are a fine gentleman. Surely, there are other ladies to whom you could pay court. Is there no one whom you would wish to marry, aside from me?" "It would be most unhandsome of me to answer that question," Nicholas replied, clearly taken aback. "I will not marry you, Mr. Latterly. That is my final word on the subject." "I have finished my doctoral dissertation. In the spring, I have every confidence I shall receive my doctorate from Oxford after I defend my dissertation before my committee," he said. "My name has been raised in certain circles as a candidate for a bishopric. I shall sit with the Lords Spiritual." "You will be a most excellent bishop, Mr. Latterly. You are a good man who honestly cares for the souls in his charge," Sarah said gently. "Yet that knowledge of your prospects has no bearing on my refusal to marry you. I return to my previous question. As you state in your letter, you are in need of a wife. Is there no lady whom you hold in high affection?" "None more highly than I hold you," Nicholas replied, his voice tight. "Yet some whom you would hold in equally high affection?" Sarah probed. Nicholas turned red. "Only one. Yet the lady is quite unavailable." Sarah felt a momentary surge of pity for the man. He loved a married woman. For a man of Nicholas' moral character to admit that, had to be difficult. "There are any number of young women of my acquaintance who would be suitable wives for a bishop. I shall introduce you to several at the winter ball." "I am still invited to your ball?" "I would be a poor hostess, indeed, to rescind an invitation," she replied with heat in her voice. "I have never done so, nor do I intend to do so at this late date, regardless of the degree of the provocation. Be not mistaken, Mister Latterly, I am not pleased with you in connection with today's conversation. You have overstepped yourself with me quite badly." "It was not my intention to aggrieve or offend you in any way." "I am certain it was not," Sarah allowed. "My family, parents and youngest sister, as well as my cousin, will be arriving today to spend the holidays with me. Will you extend to them invitations as well?" Nicholas asked. Sarah walked over to the writing desk. She took a piece of vellum card-stock and wrote out the invitation. She blotted it. Then she crossed the room and handed it to him. "Here is their invitation. I trust that you will give it to them." Nicholas smiled, ignoring her anger. "Yes. Thank you, Miss Elham." "We have much work to do to finish preparing for the coming houseparty, Vicar. I am quite pressed for time, sir." "May I be of assistance in any way, Miss Elham?"

"No, I do not believe so. Thank you." "I have yet to call in on your injured guest, Sarah. I was hoping to pay a sick call on him." "I am certain that would be both appropriate and quite welcome. He is rather seriously injured. So pray do not over tire him. Rest is a major part of his treatment." "I trust that I will see you in Church tomorrow?" "Weather permitting, we shall be there." "I have the license, Sarah. I will not give up on the idea of having you for my wife." "Then you are doomed to disappointment, sir, for I shall not marry you," Sarah said firmly. "That is my final word on the subject." "We shall see. I am going to pay my sick call on the Earl of Barrow." "I shall have a footman show you the way," Sarah replied. "Sarah," he said lowly as he closed the distance between them. "What can I do to persuade you?" She stepped back. "What you may not use is familiarities," Sarah said tightly. "I am not averse to the idea of boxing ears, if necessary, to discourage unwanted displays of ardor." "You will marry me, Sarah," Nicholas said. "No, sir. I will not. There is no power on earth or in heaven that could convince me to marry any one gentleman with whom my most tender of emotions were not engaged." Nicholas smiled. "Ah, that's the rub. Well, I shall simply have to woo you, then. I am not the world's most romantic of a fellow, but I shall endeavor to engage your more tender emotions." "Continue in this vein, Vicar, and you will find neither my brother nor myself at home to you in the future," she warned. Nicholas smiled. "You have no reason to fear me, Sarah. All I want is to make you happy." She wanted to retort all she wanted was for him to go away. Yet she didn't. "Go pay your pastoral call on my injured guest. I shall have a footman show you up. Good afternoon, sir!" Sarah replied just before she left the library. Sarah retreated to her office, stopping to speak to a footman on the way. Aunt Henrietta entered the office as soon as Mr. Latterly went up the stairs with the footman. "Oh, Sarah, that was the neatest job which I have ever seen of pulling the rug out from under anyone. I am proud of you." Sarah smiled. "I'm rather proud of myself."

"You did a fine job of it, with diplomatic skill," her great aunt replied warmly. "If you had been a man, your Uncle James could have used you in his work for the Crown." "No, thank you, Aunt," Sarah said tightly. "This family has seen enough trouble on account of that sort of service." "And yet you continue to harbor those who do the work," her great aunt replied. "Perhaps I am simply the type of female who needs the excitement of danger?" Sarah offered. "No," her great aunt denied. "You are simply a young woman with a strong sense of duty. It stands you in good stead. Now, do not forget to do your duty to yourself as you consider various marital possibilities. Follow your heart child. A woman's marriage can set the stage for either profound happiness or grave sorrow." "I assure you I shall attempt to choose wisely." "That is all I can ask of you," her great aunt replied, her voice pitched so that it went no further than the two of them. "Marrying Chisholm is the best thing you could do. At least, he will not be expecting blood on the bridal sheets, having already gotten that from you several years ago. Remind me to give you a bladder of pigeon's blood to satisfy the servants' curiosity concerning your marriage bed sheets." Sarah looked at her aunt for a long moment, as she reeled from the shock. What did Aunt Henny know? Did she know anything? Or was she guessing? "Do you think me oblivious to goings on around me?" her great aunt demanded when she didn't immediately reply. "I never underestimate what anyone in this family may know or not know." Henrietta Elham smiled broadly. "I do not know what the delay has been in Chisholm getting you to the altar. That delay will not last much longer, I'd wager. We shall have to have that talk soon about methods of spacing children in order to protect your health." "Yes, Aunt Henny," Sarah said because she didn't know what else to say. The old woman chuckled slightly. Then she spoke in the same low voice, "Do you think that you are the first woman in this family to anticipate her marriage vows?" "Excuse me, Aunt. I have work to do."

Chapter Six Marc Lewis leaned back in the chaise after Sarah left the room. There was no moss growing on the mind of Sarah Elham. She would be a most vivacious life companion for some lucky gentleman. Yet the idea of Sarah being married to anyone else filled him with anger. Was this jealousy? He couldn't remember ever being jealous of anyone. He couldn't say he particularly enjoyed the realization that he wanted her quite so badly that he was jealous at the very thought of her being married to anyone else.

"Barrow?" a female voice came from the doorway, intruding on his thoughts. He looked up to see two mature ladies standing there. "I am the Dowager Duchess of Chisholm, Lady Constance. This is my kinswoman companion, Miss Everly. May we enter?" "We have met before, Your Grace. Do come in." "Weems," Constance ordered, "you may withdraw." "Yes, Your Grace," Weems said briskly. Miss Everly closed the door behind a departing Weems with a decided snap. Constance Blake settled into the chair Sarah had recently vacated. Miss Everly stood behind her. "I shall come straight to the point, Barrow," Lady Constance said firmly. "Please do so," Marc allowed. "Sarah Elham is my goddaughter. I cannot like any situation which threatens to compromise her." Marc laughed lightly. "My dear lady, I am hardly in any physical condition to threaten the reputation of any lady." Constance was not amused. "Not physically, no. But I fear she is forming a dangerous attachment to you. The servants are already gossiping about how Sarah has sat up with you at night," Constance replied. "I needn't tell you if any word of this got out, Sarah would be utterly ruined. She has compromised herself quite enough by placing you in this room which adjoins her own." "If Miss Elham has been sitting up with me at night, I have no knowledge of that," Marc replied. "I am hardly in any position to be deemed a threat to her." "She watches over you as a hen watches over her chicks," Constance told him. Marc was careful not to smile at that knowledge. Maybe Sarah did feel something for him. Maybe there was a chance that they could make a life together. "What is it that you want of me, Your Grace?" "I want for you to take care not to encourage her," Constance replied sharply. "Sarah has seen precious little of the world. Since shortly after she left the schoolroom, she has been in mourning for one family member after another. Do not encourage her affections. Do not deprive her of the chance to see something of the world and to make her own decisions concerning what she wants from life." "From my acquaintance with Miss Elham, I fail to see how she would ever fail to make her own decisions," Marc stated firmly. "As her brother, Edwin, informed me often when we were at University together, she is a lady well acquainted with her own mind." Constance nodded. "She knows and does her duty to others. What she needs is an opportunity to do her duty to herself and to her future children by making the most advantageous marriage possible."

"You, perhaps, have someone in mind for her?" Marc asked. "Perhaps," Constance allowed. Marc was silent. "I can see we are over-tiring you, Barrow. We will send Weems back to you, so he can put you back to bed," Constance added gently. "I am weary." Marc had not been back in bed more than a few moments when another knock came at the door. Weems announced the Vicar, Nicholas Latterly. Mr. Latterly was a tall, angular, man about thirty years of age. "My lord," he began, "it was distressing to hear of your unfortunate accident." "Thank you, Vicar." "May I be of any service to you?" "Thank you, Vicar, I find my needs quite well met at the moment." "It must be distressing to be so injured among strangers." "I was closely associated with this family when I was at University. Edwin Elham and I were the best of friends," Marc replied easily. "This is hardly the first time that I have been under this roof." The vicar nodded. "The murder of her brother has added to the many burdens carried by Miss Elham. Had Edwin Elham lived, she would not need to concern herself with the raising of her youngest brother or the management of the estate." "The lad seems to be little trouble," Marc responded. "Miss Elham is a kind and generous soul who would not complain of her burdens should she suddenly be required to perform the tasks of Atlas," Nicholas Latterly replied easily, with affection in his voice. "Truly a remarkable lady." Marc shifted position slightly. So the vicar was in love with Sarah. That didn't surprise him. He imagined that most men of sense would be taken with Sarah. Granted, she was given to speaking her mind, and she wasn't exactly a pattern card of social ideas of beauty, but she would give any man a run for his money. "With your permission, I should like to call on you regularly during the time of your stay here," Nicholas Latterly said quietly. "I should be glad of the company, Vicar." "Would you be desirous of receiving communion?" "I should very much like that, Vicar."

"Then I will leave, before I weary you. I shall return on Sunday afternoon with my communion kit, providing that the weather allows travel." "Thank you for calling, Vicar." Marc must have tried to read the military history before he drifted off to sleep. Sarah, checking on him, later, removed the book from his hands and placed it on the bed table. She turned back to look at him only to find his eyes fixed on her. "You are awake." "No. I am dreaming." Sarah blushed boldly. "One might hope that it is a pleasant dream." "Indeed. I am being tended to by a ministering angel," Marc told her. "A beautiful, red-haired, angel." "Barrow," she replied with a catch in her voice. "Miss Elham, I would have private words with you," he said. Sarah looked at Weems and nodded. The servant left the room and closed the door behind him. "Your godmother has been here." Sarah looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "She expressed concerns my presence in your home could be compromising to you." Sarah closed her eyes and counted to ten, a trick taught her by her governess many years ago. It didn't help. She was increasingly angry. Not necessarily at her godmama, but just at the circumstances. "Godmama oversteps herself." "Sarah, I have been inconsiderate of you. I regret the necessity of having done so." Sarah shrugged slightly. "I am happy to be of service to you, Marc. Now, I should leave you to your rest." "It shall be at least six weeks, Sarah, before the leg is sufficiently mended to allow me to walk unassisted." Sarah nodded. "That is my understanding that it will be at least that long." "However, in three weeks or so, the bones should be knit enough to allow me to return to my home in a well-sprung carriage." "In the summer, perhaps. Yet this is almost Christmastide, my lord. The local roads in winter are frequently rough and hazardous. I fear you would do yourself great harm by removal before the bone is fully knit." "Yet in spite of those roads, you are holding a house party?"

"Many of my guests are coming no great distance. With the exception of the Duke of Chisholm, my cousin the Marchioness of Chatsbury, and now your sister, my guests shall be traveling no more than twenty miles." "The Duke of Chisholm?" "Yes. My godmama's son." Now, things were clear to Marc. Sarah was all but married to George Blake. He fought back the disappointment he felt. Yet he told himself he should be relieved. Sarah would make an advantageous marriage for herself. It would be for the best. Marc feigned a yawn. "Rest well, Marc." But Marc did not rest well. He didn't rest well, at all. He remembered only too well the innocent eagerness he had felt in her as he had once caught her under the kissing ball. There was passion in her. And he wanted that passion for himself. *** He heard the connecting door open in the middle of the night. Sarah dismissed the footman. Marc heard her cross the room and add more coal to the fire. He looked at her in the soft glow of the fire. "Miss Elham?" he asked quietly. She turned to him and came over to the bed. "You should be sleeping now, Barrow." He yawned. "Sleeping all the time is quite boring, you know." Sarah smiled softly. "Makes one quite weary." "Indeed. You have had a full day. Why are you not sleeping?" "Sleep comes only with the greatest of difficulty for me, these days," Sarah replied. "Why?" "Have you ever seen someone die?" Sarah asked tightly. "Not a peaceful death? But a particularly violent one?" Marc looked at her for a long moment. "Yes." "I was with Edwin when he was shot," Sarah replied, tightly. "We were riding. One moment we were talking together. The next there was the sound of a pistol shot and Edwin was on the ground, shouting at

me to ride for my life. His horse spooked, and I went after it. When I came back with the horses, a rider was there and shot Edwin a second time, this time to the head. Then he took another pistol and shot my horse out from under me as I was reaching for my pistol. In the fall, I broke my right arm. The man rode right past me. If I had been able to get to my pistol and could have used my arm, I would have shot him dead. Father was shattered. That was the beginning of the end for him, looking back on it, now. Father's health declined rapidly. I spent much of his last months sitting where I am now seated, tending to him. I sleep with only the greatest of difficulty." "Sarah," Marc replied tenderly. "I wish that I could take that memory from you." Sarah sighed. "Since we are both awake, shall I read to you?" "That would be very pleasant," Marc agreed. He was soon asleep. Sarah envied him that ability to surrender into sleep. She placed the book on his bed table. Then she sat on the chaise and pulled a lap robe over herself before she fell lightly into sleep. Mark awoke at dawn to find her sleeping. "Sarah," he said quietly. She was immediately awake. "What do you need, Marc?" "Go to bed, puss. You don't need to be found sleeping in my room." She yawned. "Did you sleep well?" "Yes." "Your sister and manservant should be arriving soon, I should think. I expect them any day now. Coach travel at this time of year is often not particularly quick." "I hope that you shall continue to look in on me?" Sarah smiled at him. "Of course I shall." "Sarah," he said with hesitation in his voice. "I do regret the necessity of imposing on you like this. It was not how I had anticipated calling on you." "We do not always get what we want out of life, Marc." "What do you want from life?" he asked her. "What every woman wants, deep down, I suppose: marriage with a gentleman whom I can respect--perhaps even love--and children, a degree of comfort; the ability to keep my horses; and a measure of respect from the neighbors. I have pretty simple dreams, really." "Good dreams," Marc told her. "Very good dreams." Sarah rose from the chaise. "Talk of dreams does not accomplish the work of the day," she dismissed. "No. It does not," he agreed. "Is your uncle expected soon?"

"Soon. Uncle sent a note he had a few matters to clear up before coming, but he would be here as soon as reasonably possible." "Thank you, Sarah." "It was a small service, Marc," she dismissed. She dropped a proper curtsey and left the room without further comment. Small service? Marc thought as he looked at the connecting door. Few things could have been of greater service. Marc sighed. He didn't know what he was going to do about Miss Sarah Elham. The idea of her marrying another man filled him with jealousy. But he couldn't offer for her, not now. As long as he was in danger, he couldn't link her into that danger. Yet hadn't he already done that? The fact was, and it was a fact of which she was aware, she was already endangered simply by his presence here. Would it be any worse for her if he were to marry her? At least, if something happened to him, once they were wed, she would never again have to worry about money. Marc shook his head as though to clear it. She had already suffered so much loss as a result of her family's involvement with his work. It would not be fair to her to put her more deeply into danger. It would be profoundly selfish to do so. Especially selfish, given the fact she could be a duchess. Even though Marc knew this, he still wanted her. He suspected he always would. He couldn't pursue her just now, not with so much danger swirling around him. His reluctance meant he might lose her. Somehow, he didn't expect that knowledge to hurt quite so much.

Chapter Seven "Miss Sarah, thank God, you've returned!" Mary Newton said genuinely as the hall clock rang off two fifteen on Sunday afternoon, the sixteenth of December. "Has the earl taken a turn for the worse?" Sarah asked in concern. She had just this moment returned from the stables. "No, Sir James is here." "Uncle James?" "The same." "Where is he?" "In the blue salon," Mary Newton replied, with a furtive look over her shoulder. Sarah suppressed a smile. To Mrs. Newton, Sir James had always been somewhat akin to the Devil himself. Truthfully, he was intimidating, if one allowed him to be. So, Sarah hurried out of her boiled wool domino, handing it, as well as her fur lined gloves to one of the footmen. She pulled on a pair of black kid

gloves. "Uncle James," Sarah said warmly as she crossed the salon to stand at her uncle's side near the fire. Looking at him, she was struck afresh by how closely the brothers resembled one another. It was like looking at her late dear father. How she missed him! Sir James took his niece's hands. "You look well, child. But you are chilled to the bone." "I am. It is a chill day." "Sit and warm yourself." Sarah smiled at her uncle. How like him to give her orders even in her own home. "I trust that nothing is amiss at Elham Hall." "Everything is well at the Hall." "As are we all," Sarah replied lowly. "Now tell me about your guest. The doctor was with him when I arrived," Sir James requested firmly. "How ill is he?" A pained expression went across Sarah's face. "The Earl of Barrow was involved in an accident, as I told you in my note. His injuries remain such that they bear close watching. For all that he feels improved, he is far from well." "How badly is he injured?" "He has broken leg, a head wound, a ball through the shoulder, a vast collection of bruises, minor cuts, but nothing that will fail to heal with a few weeks grace, thanks be to God," Sarah informed her uncle. "He seems to be in considerable pain. He has refused to be dosed." James absorbed that. His eyes narrowed slightly on her face. "I should think he would be uncomfortable given that litany of wounds." "Indeed," Sarah replied dryly. "I am assuming your query about his health was in connection with your mutual service to the Crown." "Sarah, there are times that you see too much." Sarah nodded. "Like Brutus' Portia, I am stronger than my sex," she replied quietly. "A fact of which I've been aware for many years," her Uncle James replied matter- of-factly before changing the subject, "I believe I shall call on Barrow, myself." "Indeed. For his sake, I am glad to hear it. I attempt to leave him in good humor, which, from what I gather from servant's gossip is not his lordship's normal state of being. Still, pain frequently reduces men to a state of ill-humor." Sir James nodded. "I have always found the man's personality to be cheerful. Yet when a man is in pain, he frequently will be known to be less than cheery. I am fond of Barrow. Nathaniel brought him to Elham

Hall over several long holidays while they were up at Oxford together. He is a fine man." "Just now, he is a quite uncomfortable man. But I recall how fond Nate was of him. No man who had such a large of a place in the affections of both Nate and Edwin could be other than completely unexceptional." "Given the extent of his injuries, I fail to doubt he is uncomfortable," Sir James remarked mostly to himself. Sarah sighed. "You said Doctor Fletcher was here when you arrived. How long have you been here? Will you take refreshments? Did Aunt Helen accompany you?" Sir James laughed. "You always speak rapidly, with multiple questions when you are frightened. Did you realize that?" "Not always," she answered thoughtfully. "Frequently. But not always." "To answer your question, I had only been here for three quarters of an hour before you arrived. Lady Helen accompanied me. Your Mrs. Newton installed us in our usual rooms. Your aunt is resting from the journey." "I wonder if that is a good sign? Is she well?" "It was a difficult journey. She is fatigued. You are not yet out of black gloves, Niece," Sir James observed, changing the subject. "No, Uncle. Our year of mourning is not yet up. Tomorrow will mark the year." Sir James sighed. "You must come to Town this spring. It is time to find you a husband." Sarah smiled. "I am far too long in the tooth to change my habits now, Uncle." At that, James laughed. "You are hardly ancient, child." "But not in the first blush of youth, either, Uncle," Sarah replied quietly, thoughtfully. "I am a woman of three and twenty, Uncle. Nearly on the shelf." "I always thought early marriages were a mistake. Women are like fine wines, they grow better with a little age on them," Sir James responded warmly. "Speaking of marriages, a gentleman approached me..." "E tu Brute!" Sarah exclaimed. "I do wish people would stop trying to arrange my marital settlements." Sir James smiled more broadly. "Your Aunt Helen has stated she will gladly sponsor you for a Season in Town after you are out of mourning." "Godmama has other plans. She intends to see I am in Town at Chisholm House during the coming Season," Sarah stated lightly. "Helen will definitely not like that," Sir James replied quietly, thoughtfully. "No, Helen will not like that, at all."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Uncle, I do not answer to Aunt Helen, nor am I convinced I shall undertake a Season, at all." Sir James shook his head. "Sarah, my dear child, I want you to know you will always have a home with me, should you need it." "Thank you, Uncle. But I doubt I will need to take advantage of your offer. I do have a competence of my own. It is more than sufficient to provide for me, especially as it has grown on the Exchange." Sir James smiled broadly. "A woman of independent means. That will make you quite sought after on the marriage mart." "Unfortunately, that is true," Sarah acknowledged. "My last stay in Town notwithstanding." Sir James laughed. "Society is as much concerned with the size of a young lady's portion as it is with her virtue." "Often, I have gathered, a fast woman with money is far more likely to marry than is a virtuous maiden in reduced circumstances." "Sarah!" he chided. "You must cease from your unfortunate habit of speaking so plainly. Society will not accept such bluntness from a marriageable lady." "I am not overly concerned with society, Uncle. I will have no lack of people who will accept me, simply for the hope of financial gain." Sir James looked at his niece. "Cynicism, child, does not become you." "I have heard about the fortune hunters of the world, Uncle. I have met one or two of them. I fail to consider my comment cynical. It was merely an observation." "Sarah, love," Sir James replied gently. "You are correct about fortune hunters. But this conversation about the fortunes, although earnest, was a ploy to divert me from the subject of your making a good marriage." Sarah smiled sheepishly. "It obviously did not work." "No, dear child, I am not easily diverted. Helen's brother, Philip, was widowed last year. He approached me asking about you," Sir James replied quietly. "I certainly hope you answered him with a resounding 'no', Uncle. His lordship, the Marquis of Bolton, is easily thirty years my senior. He and Papa were at Oxford together. He has children my age and older," Sarah answered firmly. "He has grandchildren. Marrying him, I should be a step-grandmother before I was a mother. No thank you, Uncle. The situation is not one I should find acceptable. If I marry, I should like for the man to be closer to my own age. I should also like to be in a position of actually leaving something to my own children from their father's competence." Sir James laughed genuinely. "I always said you were a young lady of shrewd and businesslike character. And I did instruct Philip his chances of making an alliance with you were roughly the same as the survival of a snowball in perdition."

"Thank you, Uncle," Sarah responded with genuine relief. "Although, I hope you phrased your reply much more kindly than that. The marquis did not warrant that large of a set-down. He will be here for the house party. I would not wish for him to be uncomfortable." "Philip is a good man. You could do worse for yourself than to become a marchioness," Sir James replied gently. "I am looking for a love match, Uncle James. I will settle for nothing less. Should the gentleman have both title and money, it would be but a superfluity." "I wish you luck, my dear. I wish you luck," James said quietly, thoughtfully. "The worst thing that could happen would be I would be unable to make such a match," Sarah said dismissing the comment. "I've nothing save what might have been to lose. And might-have-been is so insubstantial not to warrant worry." "Sarah," her uncle began. "There are some who would say the duchess was planning to marry you to her son," Sir James warned. "And would you be averse to that?" Sarah asked, with a lightness she didn't feel. "Not in the least, my dear. I have a vested interest in seeing Chisholm marries well. The woman whom he takes into his life will be the stepmama to my grandchildren. I want for him to find a woman who will be able to love Georgie and Anne equally well with any of her own children." Sarah nodded. "That is my desire for them as well." Her uncle continued, "I know you have deep affection for the children. What I don't know is in what esteem you hold their father." Sarah sighed. "That, my dear Uncle, would seem to be the question at hand." "Don't let anyone, even your godmama, force you into a marriage which you don't desire with every fiber of your being." "My son is well beyond the stage where I am able to dictate his behavior to him, Sir James," Lady Constance said quietly, gently, from the doorway. "And I certainly have no ability to coerce my goddaughter into any action." Miss Everly, obsequious as usual, followed Lady Constance into the room. "Good afternoon, Connie, Miss Everly," Sir James replied easily. "Good afternoon to you as well, James," Constance replied easily as she entered the room. Eustacia Everly echoed that sentiment. "You've been out, Sarah?" Constance asked. "Yes, Godmama. I've been out to the stables," Sarah looked at the clock. "Grace just foaled. Beautiful filly." "Grace foaled? She's early. May I go see the foal?" Clive asked as he bounded into the room.

Sarah smiled at her brother. "Tomorrow, Clive, you may see the foal." "Hullo, Uncle James," Clive belated greeted his uncle. "Clive," James greeted the boy warmly. Aunt Helen entered the room. Sarah noticed her aunt had resumed wearing colors. She was dressed becomingly in rich peach colored merino, which highlighted her natural peaches and cream complexion, a light gray woolen shawl, a lace cap, and leather slippers. "Have you rested from your journey, Aunt Helen?" Helen nodded. "Indeed, Niece. I have." Sarah smiled. "If you will all excuse me, I shall go change for dinner." *** Sarah washed quickly. This was the last evening she would wear black. She looked longingly at the array of new gowns she had ordered from Town. Madame Labonnier had been only too happy to come to Sarah weeks ago for a consultation. Winter in Town could be terribly slow for modistes. The gowns had arrived a week ago, with the slippers, boots, gloves, and all of the other myriad accouterments required. The bill had been outrageous. Sarah suspected Madame had inflated the figures to give herself a comfortable profit. But Sarah had paid her account in full, anyway, out of her own money. Sarah debated with herself if she could possibly put on colors. Then she decided she would. Surely, Father would not have begrudged her a little gaiety. The company tonight was only family. True, it wasn't strictly proper for her to be out of mourning yet. But she had a real need tonight to feel pretty. Looking in the mirror, as her maid, Mary, fastened the buttons on the emerald green Merino wool gown, Sarah decided the severity of the hairstyle was out of keeping with the gown. Yet she knew she lacked the time to change it. Sarah pulled on the full-length white kid gloves that were required, so not to freeze, considering the cap sleeves of the gown. "Miss Sarah," Mary said quietly. "I'm done. You need some jewelry, I think. With that neckline. Almost too low, if you ask me, Miss." Jewelry. Sarah hadn't worn jewelry, apart from jet pieces, in years. But Mary was right, it was required of this neckline. So she took her mother's pearls and fastened them about her throat. Then she picked up her shawl and draped it over her shoulders. Sarah went over to the door to Marc's room and scratched. Weems opened the door. Marc was sitting up in bed, with the lap desk over his legs, writing a letter. Marc looked up at her. "Green suits you, Miss Elham." "Thank you, kind sir. Dinner will be sent up soon, I am certain." "Thank you, Miss Elham, for your hospitality." Sarah smiled at him. "Uncle James has arrived. I suspect he will be looking in on you later this evening."

"I shall be looking forward to it." "Of that, I have no doubt." "Your guests await you." "Eager to be rid of me, my lord?" Sarah teased. Marc smiled at her. He met her eyes. "Sarah," he said with a sigh. "Never." She returned his smile, and swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact. "I shall look in on you later this evening, Marc." "I look forward to that, as well." "Do attempt to rest. You will heal much faster if you rest and relax." "Eager to be rid of me, Sarah?" She only smiled as she curtseyed and left the room. *** Sir James stood outside the doorway to the bedroom where the Earl of Barrow was recovering. There was just enough time to check on the young man before going down for dinner. The baronet knocked at the door. When the earl saw who his visitor was, he dismissed Weems. Sir James took a seat beside the bed. "You look much better than I had expected, Marc...or should I now call you 'my lord'?" "I see no need to be so formal, at this late date, James," Marc Lewis said quietly. "We've been on a first name basis for too many years." "The Foreign Office was concerned when you missed your meeting." "Keeping the appointment was rather beyond my ability, I am afraid," Marc replied flatly. "Do you know anything?" "There were two men found dead in a cottage about ten miles from here. I assume you had something to do with that." "Unfortunately, they were adamantly opposed to my leaving. And I was adamantly opposed to remaining, for obvious reasons." "So, I see. There was nothing incriminating on either body," Sir James responded thoughtfully. "Was anything said to give you any clue as to the persons behind the ring?" "They referred to him as 'the guvnor', 'the cove', and 'his nibs'. So, I would say our previous information

that he's well placed in society are likely to be correct." Sir James shook his head and sighed. "'Tis a sad world when the nobility and gentry turn traitor." "Birth is no guarantee of a man possessing character," Marc replied lowly. "We have taken steps to make the leader of the ring believe you died in the altercation. Very shortly, there will be discovered not far from the cottage a frozen body, with a face beaten beyond recognition and major injuries." "I hesitate to ask how one accomplished this," Marc stated. "All that matters is that the intruder be considered dead. My son-in-law, Chisholm, has taken care of that. Trust me when I tell you that even your own mother would believe you were dead if presented with the body. It will convince them." Marc shivered. "Are you fevered?" Sir James asked in concern. "No. We must discover the leader of the circle of traitors. James, it is important this man be stopped." James nodded in agreement. "What you must now do is to concentrate on recovering your strength. Leave the rest of this to us. You are out of this affair, for now." Marc sighed. "Your niece has risen to the occasion like a trooper." "Sarah is an exceptionally strong woman. She will need a strong man to share her life." "I doubt she would take kindly to a match being made for her." "True," Sir James replied quietly with a smile. "However, that is not going to stop some people. I know the Dowager Duchess of Chisholm, her godmama, is plotting a match between Sarah and my son-in-law." "Was that by nature of a warning?" Marc asked. "Not at all, old boy. Nothing is yet settled between Sarah and Chisholm. You must remember my grandchildren will be impacted by Chisholm's remarriage. Yet I wish for Sarah to be happy. If that happiness is to be found with someone other than my erstwhile son-in-law, then it is. Sarah's happiness is the only thing counting in this equation." Marc smiled broadly. "I'll keep that in mind. I do admire her. She is a woman of rare understanding. I asked her to bring me a pistol, shot, and powder. She didn't even ask why. She simply handed me a box containing her own pistol. Now, how many ladies do you know who carry pistols on their persons?" "My aunt, my wife, my daughter, and my niece," Sir James replied without hesitation. The earl smiled. "But then again, you have unusual women in your family." James laughed quietly. "True. I have never been bored by any of them. They are extraordinarily strong women."

"Thank you for coming." "Marc, do take care of yourself," James replied carefully. "I fully intend to do just that. Akbar should be here soon." James laughed lowly. "That should raise some local eyebrows. Does he still carry his scimitar?" "And a pistol." Sir James shook his head. "Is there anything that I can bring for you when I return after dinner?" "Do you know any way to make bones knit faster and with less pain? That is something I could use." James laughed quietly. "Afraid not, old boy. This is one avenue where medicine has yet to make advances. My niece has developed rather a tendre for you, Marc." The earl smiled, then he became quite solemn. "Are you warning me away from her?" "Not at all, old son. Before he died, my brother told me he regretted his refusal to allow you to pay your addresses to Sarah. That refusal was no reflection on you. It was merely a necessity in the investigation of Latham. Josiah had to gain the man's confidence. What better way than to promise him one's daughter in marriage?" "Does Miss Elham know her father used her in this manner?" Marc demanded. "I do not believe so. Although with my niece, one never knows precisely what she knows and what she does not. I would not be surprised either way." "Terrible thing for a man to do to his daughter, to use her as bait for a traitor." "Perhaps. But then again, I am certain Josiah knew Sarah well enough to realize she would never go through with the marriage. Concerning Sarah in the present, however, I fear that you are going to have serious competition for her hand." "Miss Elham is not the sort of lady who would meekly allow others to make her decisions for her." Sir James smiled. "No. She isn't. And neither are you the type to sit meekly by while others steal a march on you." "While my life is in danger, I have no business even thinking about getting leg- shackled. The last thing I need is to give my adversary another hostage." "You could walk away from this without any problem," Sir James stated. "He doesn't know who you are. And we arranged for him to believe you are dead." "I could walk away. I need to see this through. I need to bring this man to justice," Marc replied. "It's become personal." Sir James sighed. "Do be careful, my boy. When things become personal, we tend to take dangerous chances."

"I intend to be very careful," Marc replied dryly. "Well, you intended to be careful and yet you've found yourself in this situation," Sir James said quietly. "And others have intended to be careful and ended up dead," Marc replied tightly. "Let us not forget your nephews by blood and marriage." James nodded. "This much is very true." "Did you know your niece has trouble sleeping?" Marc asked. Sir James looked at the young man. "I wouldn't doubt it." "Edwin's death weighs heavily on her. I can't compound that sorrow, James, by giving her another cause of regret and heart-ache," Marc responded tightly. "If I am killed stopping this man, I don't want her to have that on her conscience." "You may live to regret that decision," James replied. "Life is short. Not taking every possible happiness when it is presented is a foolish move. I hope you do not live to regret this." "I simply hope I live," Marc said tightly. *** In Surrey, in the privacy of a well-stocked library, a man read a note for the third time. Then he placed it on the fire and watched it burn. The two men who had been put in charge of the man who had been snooping into his business were dead. The death of his employees didn't bother him, overly. Employees were quite expendable. Other men could be found soon enough to fill their positions. Part of the reason their deaths didn't bother him was because their charge was dead as well. He didn't have to worry about what those fools might have disclosed as they were dying. Granted, there wasn't much they did know about his operations. He kept at least three levels of intermediaries between him and the hirelings who did the street work. That this one man, who was probably working for the Crown in order to stop him, was dead only meant now there was one less person to cause him trouble. He laughed boldly, then went to change for dinner. He had guests coming; important people in government from whom he could receive information. While he didn't need that, some of his foreign contacts were always in the market for any interesting tidbit.

Chapter Eight Sarah was coming down the stairs before dinner on December sixteenth when she heard the knocker sound at the door. Dick, one of the footmen, opened the door. Standing there was the loveliest young woman whom Sarah had ever seen. Behind her was a turbaned, dark skinned, wiry, man who had the look of trouble about him. "Miss Lewis to see Miss Elham," the young woman stated, giving her calling card to the footman. Sarah smiled. Of course, this was Marc's sister. There was a strong familial resemblance. Sarah

continued down the stairs. The group entered. Behind the turbaned man was a young Indian woman with a caste mark in the middle of her forehead. Then there was an older, clearly English, gentlewoman. Two footmen helped Miss Lewis and her entourage off with their wraps. The Indian woman wore what Sarah thought had to be a sari, although Sarah had never actually seen a sari until now. The turbaned man wore equally strange clothes. A scimitar was worn on the man's belt. Dick brought Miss Lewis' calling card to Sarah. "My dear Miss Lewis," Sarah stated warmly. "Welcome. Your brother has been anticipating your arrival. I am Miss Elham." Clarissa Lewis was clearly Marc's sister. Sarah immediately understood the intelligence behind the deep blue eyes, the brain beneath the carefully coifed blonde hair. "How is my brother?" "When I checked on him before coming down, he was resting comfortably," Sarah replied easily. "Your note said he was injured? How?" Clarissa demanded. "I believe you should ask your brother that question, Miss Lewis," Sir James said from just behind Sarah. Uncle James had walked up behind her so silently Sarah hadn't heard him approach. "Sir James," Clarissa acknowledged with a sigh. "Is his condition serious?" "Nothing which will fail to heal with a few weeks time. You owe a debt of thanks to my niece for her quick action in saving his life," Sir James replied. "He has had the finest of care from my niece and her household staff." The relief that swept through Clarissa Lewis was visible. "Praise God for His mercy," she stated lowly. "Amen," Sarah agreed. "Will you let him rest a bit? Have dinner with us before you see him?" "I am not dressed for dinner," Clarissa demurred. "We can delay dinner until you can change, if you wish" Sarah offered. "Otherwise, I'm sure we shan't mind your dirt." Clarissa shook her head negatively. "I fear I would be a poor dinner companion indeed, this evening, traveling and worried for my dear brother as I have been." Sarah smiled and nodded. "Very well. I can well sympathize. Shall I have your dinner sent up with your brother's?" "I believe that would be for the best," Clarissa replied quietly. "Mrs. Newton will show you to your rooms," Sarah stated. "Your room, Miss Lewis, is just across the hall from that of your brother." "My companion, Mrs. Jones, will need a room, as well. And I will require accommodations for my maid,

Serita, and my brother's man, Akbar." Sarah nodded. "Mrs. Jones will be situated next to you. Serita and Akbar will have quarters below stairs, although your dressing room can easily accommodate a bed for Serita, if you would so desire." Clarissa smiled softly. "Thank you for your kindness to my brother." "He was a great friend of my brother, Edwin. No thanks are required," Sarah replied easily. "You must be truly fatigued." "I am. Yet I would look in on my brother," Clarissa stated softly. "Were he my brother, I should feel the same way," Sarah allowed. "I've left my man, Weems, in charge of your brother. With Akbar being here, that will no longer be necessary." Clarissa smiled softly. "Akbar will do his duty to my brother." "The earl speaks highly of his man," Sarah replied easily. Mrs. Newton came into the hall. "There you are, Mrs. Newton. Would you kindly see Miss Lewis and Mrs. Jones to their rooms? Then see Serita and Akbar settled in their quarters below stairs at such time as they may be freed from their duties." Mary Newton's eyes were as big as saucers. "Miss, are they from India?" "Yes, Mrs. Newton, I do believe they are," Sarah replied. "Therefore, we shan't expect them to turn out for Sunday services." "No, Miss. I shouldn't think so," Mrs. Newton replied, her voice shaky. "A word, please," the older woman asked nervously. "Excuse me," Sarah asked Clarissa. Mrs. Newton walked into the dining room. Sarah followed her and closed the door behind them. "Miss," Mrs. Newton stated in a worried tone, "I've heard tell about them Indians. Slit Christian folks' throats in the middle of the night, they do, in prayer to their bloodthirsty pagan goddess. He's wearing that big knife." "That sword is better suited for hacking at people than slicing throats, Mrs. Newton," Sarah replied, humor in her voice. "Between that bloodthirsty man and the woman...Look at how she is dressed. It isn't decent, Miss. Showing her ribs off like that. Them Indian women are no better than they ought to be. I've heard tell of their wanton dancing in the streets wearing nothing but their skins." "He's the earl's man, Mrs. Newton. Neither of the Indian servants is a threat to you or anyone else in the house. Akbar has been with the earl for many years," Sarah said firmly. "You and the staff will show both of the Lewis' servants every courtesy. Is this understood?" "But Miss," the housekeeper protested.

"There will be no but, Mrs. Newton. The earl wants his manservant here. Miss Lewis needs her maid. The earl has spent most of his life in India. Miss Lewis, until the last few months, had spent all of her life there. That they should retain their servants is only to be expected. That their servants should retain the ways of their homeland is also to be expected. You, and the rest of the staff, will make them welcome. Is that clear?" The older woman sighed. "I don't like them foreigners here. Neither will the rest of the staff. This has always been a good Christian house." "It is still a good Christian house, Mrs. Newton. And we will exercise Christian charity to those who differ from us. Anyone unable to do so may see me for their reference and final wages," Sarah warned her housekeeper. "Is that clear?" She hated the hurt look in her housekeeper's eyes. "Yes, Miss." "Now, if you are truly worried about them. I do believe there are four private rooms in the servants quarters--yours, Weems, the one in which Wilkins is usually installed, and one in which I had planned to put the duke's man. If you are so nervous about Akbar, you may put him in that room. The duke's man will simply go into a shared room." Mrs. Newton was aghast. "No, Miss. We couldn't do that. It wouldn't be proper. That would insult Williams, the duke's man." "Then make the best of it, Mrs. Newton," Sarah said gently. "I have every confidence in you. You have to know if Akbar were dangerous I wouldn't allow him in the house." "Yes, Miss Elham, I know you believe that," the housekeeper replied tightly. "Can you not trust my judgment on this matter?" Sarah asked gently. The housekeeper's face was troubled. "I would like to." "Miss Lewis, Mrs. Jones, if you would be so kind as to accompany me?" Mrs. Newton said quietly when they returned to the hall. "Dick, Harry, fetch in their luggage. And see to it the horses and carriage are tended to." *** Sarah went into the blue salon where everyone had gathered in prelude to dinner. Sir James looked up at her. "Everything settled?" "I sincerely doubt it," Sarah replied wearily. "Mrs. Newton seemed upset," Sir James observed. "She's heard the legends of the Thuggis," Sarah replied, "and their worship of Kali. She is in mortal terror we all shall be murdered in our sleep." "Oh," Sir James replied in understanding. "Shall I talk with her?"

"That may not be wise," Sarah stated on a sigh. "You already excite profound nervousness in the woman. I have never known exactly what you did to make her jump nervously at the mere mention of your name." Sir James smiled tightly. He spoke in rapid German, "Did anyone ever warn you, niece, there were some things into which you should not inquire too closely?" Clive asked excitedly, "Did you see that scimitar? I wonder how many people he's killed with it." Sarah fixed her brother with a cold look. "That, young sir, is not a proper topic for conversation." "Sorry," he muttered in reply. "They're certainly strange aren't they?" "Strange is not always bad, Clive," Sarah answered in a gentle tone. "They're not English," Clive replied. "No. Most of the world isn't English, Clive," Sarah replied indulgently. "Have we an exclusive ownership of the good, the true, and the beautiful?" "God is an Englishman," Clive replied, his voice full of youthful certainty. Sarah laughed. "And the Christians in Nippon probably think He has slanted eyes. We tend to remake God into our own image." Clive looked at his uncle. "Uncle James, isn't God on our side against Napoleon?" "I do believe so, Clive," Sir James answered gently. "Then God is an Englishman," Clive replied, obviously thinking himself justified. Sarah sighed. "I do believe that it's time for dinner." *** The duchess looked at her goddaughter at the end of the meal. "Have you given more thought to coming to Town for the Season?" "I cannot be there for the entire Season. However, I should be able to manage part of it," Sarah replied easily. Aunt Helen smiled broadly. "Silence Jersey assures me you shall have vouchers." Sarah smiled tightly. "Then how can I be anything short of an unmitigated success?" Aunt Helen laughed quietly. "Of course, you shall stay with us." "No," the duchess replied, "she shall stay with me." "I had thought of taking a house of my own," Sarah replied.

"Nonsense," Aunt Helen, the duchess, and Great Aunt Henrietta all replied simultaneously in precisely the same disapproving tone. Sir James laughed. "That, my dear, would seem to settle that," he replied easily. "It would indeed," Sarah replied before she sipped the last of her glass of wine. Aunt Helen spoke up, "If Sarah stays with you at Chisholm House, where will Chisholm be?" The Duchess replied quietly, "My son has had his own accommodations in Town for some years now." Accommodations, hmmm. That's an interesting way of describing the little house where George keeps his mistress, Sarah thought. "I received a note from young Anne on Thursday," Sarah stated, changing the subject. That got the attentions of both of the young lady's grandmothers. Aunt Helen asked, "And what did the beautiful Lady Anne have to say?" "That she is greatly anticipating the house party. That being in the company of Cousin Clive and Cousins Jason and Jessica will be a great pleasure. That Christmas with both of her grandmamas and her grandfather will be a great joy. And she requested I teach her to ice-skate," Sarah replied easily. "But you can read the note for yourselves, if you so desire." Sir James looked at Sarah. "Does Anne write to you often?" "I hear from her twice a week, occasionally more frequently, never less frequently," Sarah replied. "Georgie writes to me about twice a month." Both grandmothers looked at one another. It was clear they were puzzled. Aunt Helen sighed. "I get a note from both of them about once a month." The duchess agreed. "That is the frequency with which I hear from them, as well." "Anne writes to Jessica about as often as she writes to me, according to Patricia," Sarah replied easily. "Georgie writes to me twice a week," Clive stated. "I usually get a letter from him on Monday and Thursday. And I hear from Anne about twice a month." The duchess sipped her wine. "It's a good thing when cousins are close." "There are only the eight of us left who are Elhams by blood," Clive said quietly. "Sarah and myself, Jason and Jessica, George and Anne, and Cousin Patricia and Uncle James. That's it. I think the younger among us feel the need for staying close." Sir James nodded. "And you, Clive, are the last male with the Elham name." Clive sighed. "There is that, as well, sir."

James sipped the last of his wine. "You know, Clive, the baronetcy will be coming to you when I'm done with it." "May that be a long time in the future, sir," Clive replied tightly. "I am in no hurry," Sir James responded, his lips twitching upwards in a suppressed smile. "I should hope not," Sarah replied. "We have already had sufficient funerals in this family." "Do you hear from Jason and Jessica as often as you do George and Anne, Clive?" Aunt Helen asked. "I get a letter from Jason about twice a week. Jessica, I hear from once a week, usually on Wednesdays," Clive replied. "Patricia and I correspond," Sarah offered before the question could be asked, "weekly." The older woman nodded. "It is, indeed, a very good thing when cousins stay close," she replied in approval. "The east pond is frozen over well," Clive stated. "I thought we could go out there for ice-skating." Sarah smiled at her brother. "I shall have it inspected. If it is truly frozen well enough, then I see no reason why we shouldn't get out on the ice while everyone is here. Especially as Anne wishes to learn to skate." Clive's eyes sparkled with joy. Sarah loved to see that. He was such a solemn child as a rule. Any innocent thing that made him happy, she was more than willing to give him. "Shall we retire to the music room?" Sarah asked. "I believe Clive has some music to share with us." Sarah sat listening to Clive play his composition on the pianoforte. It was very good. Much better since he'd had the time to polish it. A footman appeared at the door to the music room. He came in and gave Sarah a note. She read it quickly, then excused herself from the company. Standing at the door to Marc's room, she knocked once. Akbar opened the door. "Miss Elham, please come in," the Indian servant said in perfect English. Marc was in bed. His sister was not in the room. Sarah walked over and took a chair near his bed. "You sent for me, my lord?" Sarah asked. Marc nodded tightly. "I understand from my sister there is some problem with your staff." "My staff is my concern," Sarah replied lowly. "Your servant and your sister's maid will be accorded proper respect. On this, you have my solemn word." "I do not doubt you, Miss Elham," Marc replied honestly. "Do you not?" Sarah demanded.

"What threat did you have to utilize with your staff?" Marc asked quietly. "I shall remember the ability of your web of observers," Sarah replied shortly. "You have not answered my question," Marc observed. "This is none of your concern, my lord. It's an internal matter of running the house. As such, it is my problem alone." "It is my concern. I would not bring discomfort into your home. Keeping your servants happy is essential to the running of your home, as you yourself have reminded me." "I have a very English staff. They've heard stories about the Thuggis." Marc nodded. "Akbar is a Mohammadan." "My staff wouldn't know the difference. I daresay not many people in this part of England would," Sarah replied. "They might associate Mohammadans with Saracens. But that is hardly a favorable image, either, in light of English history." "But you do know the difference," Marc observed, with interest. "I am fascinated by the differing ways people have chosen to connect themselves to God in various cultures," Sarah replied. "I've made it a habit to read as much about different religions as I could." Marc smiled at her. "Then again, you are an unusual female." "I am a bluestocking, and I am not ashamed of it," she replied in amusement. "There's nothing wrong with that," Marc stated. "There are people who would fail to agree with you in that statement. Highly born females are not expected to be conversant in any areas of intellectual pursuit more challenging than insipid poetry or the latest fashionable novel. The general advice is it is proper for a woman to disguise her mind." "Something you refuse to do," Marc replied. "Absolutely." "I applaud you for that, my dear Miss Elham." "I must get back to my guests," Sarah stated, fighting the blush that came to her cheeks because of the endearment so easily uttered by him. More than anything in the world, she wanted to be his dear. Yet that didn't seem to be possible. Every circumstance conspired to place her at George's side instead of at Marc's. "Sarah, if it becomes necessary for the peace of your household, we will quite willingly remove to the village Inn," Marc offered. "You most certainly will not remove to the Inn!" she replied with heat in her voice. "You shall be far

more comfortable remaining here. And your personal safety will be much greater here than at the Inn." "Akbar informs me he would be more at ease were he to take the sitting room adjoining this room as his quarters. I'm certainly not going to need it in the immediate future. And he feels he can be of greater service to me if he remains close by," Marc announced. "Is this a problem?" "No. It may in fact be a solution," Sarah replied easily. "I shall have the furniture in there moved out and a bedstead brought from the servants quarters." "That will not be necessary," Akbar said from the corner of the room. "The divan in there is quite comfortable." Sarah looked at Akbar, then at Marc, then back at Akbar. "Are you certain, Akbar?" The Indian servant nodded. "Some bed linens, a pillow, and warm coverlets would be most appreciated, Miss Elham." "Of course. I'll have a girl lay a coal fire for you, nightly." Akbar nodded in agreement. "That would be most appreciated, Miss Elham. This climate requires more of an adjustment than I had anticipated. How can you stand the cold?" "Wait until summer. You'll love it then. Everything is so green and warm," Sarah said. "We get rain, but it is nothing like the Indian monsoons I've read about." Akbar nodded. "I shall withhold judgment." Sarah looked around the room. "Have you had dinner, yet?" "Yes. Your cook is a treasure. The staff has already cleared away the plates." "Cook has been with us for a long time. I shall inform her Akbar eats neither pork nor shellfish. Are there any other restrictions of which I should know?" "Serita eats no beef," Marc replied. "Because of the cow being sacred to the Hindi's," Sarah replied. "I should have thought of that." Marc yawned. "I shall let you rest now," Sarah told him. "I shall look in on you again, later." But Marc had closed his eyes. Sarah met Clarissa in the hall outside Marc's room. "He sleeps now." Clarissa sighed. "Thank you for all you have done for him. My gratitude to you is boundless." "Would you come downstairs? We will have some music, perhaps a poetry reading, and maybe some card play." "I should enjoy that," Clarissa allowed. "Mrs. Jones is however fatigued." "Allow her to rest," Sarah urged. "Surely my godmother, aunt, and great aunt, would be sufficient duenna

for anyone. It is time we became friends, Miss Lewis." "My name is Clarissa. My friends call me Rissa," Marc's sister replied easily. "Then, Rissa, I would be deeply delighted if you would call me Sarah."

Chapter Nine Marc's Indian servant, Akbar, answered the door on the morning of Thursday, 20 December. "Ah, Miss Elham, come in, please." "It's early still. His lordship is not asleep?" Akbar smiled. "Come in. Perhaps your company will sweeten his mood." "Today, Akbar, I doubt it," Sarah replied wryly. "Come in, Miss Elham. I am beginning to think you only come to visit me so that you can speak with my servants," Marc chided good-naturedly from his bed. Sarah laughed slightly. "I wondered when you would find me out, my lord," she teased gently as she entered the room. "There are times when your servants are far and away better company than you are." "Sarah," the earl replied, suppressing a smile. "Perhaps you are correct. I was wondering when I would see you today." "How are you feeling?" "Like the devil himself," he responded tightly. "Pardon the language." "There is nothing to pardon. I am so sorry to hear you are in pain. There are days as the bones and flesh knit when the pain is unavoidable. It is just something which must be borne. We could arrange to dose you at regular intervals, my lord. That would get you through the worst of it. However, I do believe the cure could be much worse and far more debilitating than the injury." Marc looked at her. "Why is it you are always capable of putting everything into perspective for me?" he wondered quietly. "Perhaps because I do not sugar coat my words. The truth, spoken in friendship, often has a way of setting our thought patterns back in the proper setting." "Friendship?" Marc asked in German. "Do you count me as your friend?" Sarah smiled. She replied in the same language. "You always have been my friend. I hope we will always be friends." "Is that all you want from me?" Marc demanded in German. "What I might desire, or not, is not mine of which to speak. It would be highly improper," Sarah replied

in rapid German. Then she blushed boldly. She spoke in English and changed the subject. "Shall we play at cards, my lord, or would you prefer Chess?" "Cards, I think." "Very well," Sarah replied. After a little more than a half-hour of play, Marc threw down his cards in disgust as he lost yet another hand. "You want to tell me what this cutthroat playing has been in aid of. You aren't usually this ruthless of a player, especially this early in the morning, my dear Miss Elham. Is there something weighing upon your mind?" Sarah sighed. "I fear I shall be poor company, indeed, today. I should not have inflicted my presence upon you this morning. I had not the slightest intention of doing so. But then, I found myself here. My apologies." "What has put you in this mood, Sarah?" Marc asked lowly. "Am I not entitled to be blue-deviled from time to time?" she asked quietly, fighting back the surge of pleasure she felt to hear her name upon his lips. "Yes, you are so entitled," Marc said gently as he took her hand. "But it isn't depression I see on you. You are angry, fiercely angry. Is this on my account? Have I done something to anger you?" "No. It is of no importance, my lord. If you will excuse me, I have matters to which I must attend." Sarah managed to avoid every member of her family by hiding in the stables for several hours. None of them needed to put up with her black mood. George would be here any day. He would be expecting her to marry him. She wasn't sure that she could give him the answer honor demanded. And yet, the idea of remaining a spinster for the rest of her life, without children, and at the mercy of her family filled her with dread. After nuncheon, she hid in the office in order to work on the accounts. As she was working on the ledgers, a firm knock came at the door. "Come," she said not taking her eyes off the ledger where she was recording the last expenditure. When she was done, she looked up to see George seated on the other side of the desk. Her breath caught in her throat. He was genuinely a handsome, and generally kind, man. Tall, narrow of waist, broad shouldered, dark hair, blue eyes. He was dressed immaculately in the latest of masculine fashion. His coat was dark blue superfine. His linen was pure white with gold links at the cuffs. His cravat tied in a knot of simple elegance and graced with a gold stick pin which bore the Chisholm crest. His Hessian boots were polished to a high gloss in contrast to his buff breeches. She could do much worse than to marry him. "You appear busy, Sarah," he told her thoughtfully. Sarah sighed as she blotted the entry. "I am always busy, George. There is always work when one runs an estate, even one as relatively small as Elham Park. Yet I am nearly finished in here for today." He nodded. "Does the estate do well?" She smiled slightly. "Well enough," she answered quietly. "We are in no danger of starvation."

George smiled at her. "I should hope not." "There have been times since Father died when I was quite fearful the income would not be equal to the expenditures, and that would require us to institute severe economies," Sarah admitted quietly. "I have had numerous occasions to be thankful the home farm produces most of our food and that we have been in mourning and not expected to socialize." George looked at her, seriously. When he spoke, there was only concern in his voice. "You needn't have borne those burdens alone, Sarah. There are other people about who are more than willing to assist you. Had you asked for assistance, I would have been only too happy to advance you whatever you needed." "Father charged me with the obligation of managing this place for Clive. I must do the best I can for him," Sarah replied. "Had I desperately needed assistance, I certainly would have asked. However, it did not quite come to that. We have managed." George nodded. "Speaking of Clive, I declare that lad has grown a foot since last I saw him." "And the cobbler's bills genuinely reflect the increase," Sarah teased. He smiled at her genuinely. "Sarah, it is good to see you," he said warmly, almost too warmly. She stood. George rose to his feet. "Well, I have done the work that I set out to do today. On the matter of a gift for your children, about which I wrote to you, would you now accompany me down to the stables?" George smiled at her. "I'd be delighted. Colors suit you, Sarah." "It's a pleasure to be rid of the black," she replied as she stripped off the black gloves and arm protectors which she always wore when working with the ledgers since the black of the ink would have ruined her white gloves and stained her arms. Then she quickly pulled on her white gloves. "I see you've engaged Madame Labonnier." "Have you now become such an expert on women's fashions that you can discover that on examination of the garment?" she teased him mercilessly. "There is no one else on earth who has less regard for my dignity than you do," George replied easily. "We've known each other too long, and too well, for either of us to stand on our dignity with one another. Besides, someone must periodically relieve you of your loftiness, Your Grace," she stated. "Otherwise, you would tend to see yourself as someone other than who you are." "Indeed...You are so kind," he replied quietly. "I should very much like to see those animals of which you wrote," George agreed. "And so you shall," Sarah promised. "I assume the children are settling into the nursery." "They are. Both of them have been so looking forward to this house party. Did you promise Anne you would teach her to ice-skate?"

Sarah shrugged. "Have you an objection?" "None at all. Both of them have brought skates. As did I." "Patricia and her children should be arriving soon. I expected them before now. I had thought the children would enjoy spending some time out on the ice," Sarah replied as she walked to the door. George opened the door for her. Once in the hall, he offered his arm, which she took. "Of course, you will enjoy the time on the ice as well as the children do," George offered. "Naturally. One must take the simple joys of life when they come," Sarah replied easily. "Otherwise, the sorrows tend to overwhelm." They walked into the blue salon where the adult women were gathered. "George and I are going to walk down to the stables. I have some horses to show to him. Would anyone else care to come along?" Sarah asked. Lady Constance and Aunt Helen exchanged glances and smiles. Aunt Helen replied, "No, my dear, I think not. Have a pleasant walk." *** The afternoon was clear and brisk. Sarah had George's arm as they walked to the stables on the cleared path. "I have been lonely." "Indeed, I can well imagine that. Although, according to reports, you have not been without female companionship in the person of Marie Marchand," Sarah said without rancor. George colored. "I will not discuss Marie with you. You should not have any knowledge of such things." "Oh, fustian, George! Ladies of quality know only too much about such noblemen and their mistresses. We only pretend not to be aware. The beau monde is far too insular to allow for much in the way of privacy. Already the betting book at White's has odds running in the favor of my being the next Duchess of Chisholm. Do not tell me you were unaware of this." "And how would you know this?" George demanded. "Do you think I receive no letters?" she answered dryly. "Do you believe I have no acquaintances who are only too willing to write to me with queries about our relationship? Who are only too glad to inform me of your mistress and infant love child? One can easily tell on which side of the bet the various correspondents have landed." "Sarah, I profoundly regret your being subjected to this," George replied with a tightness in his voice. "I am hardly scandalized, George. The ways of the world do not send me into vapors," Sarah assured him gently. "Not much sets me reaching for the burnt feathers. Yet I feel sorry for Mademoiselle Marchand, as her love for you is not respectable, and I feel sorry for your child, Robert, because he will

never be able to know his brother and sister, never be able to lay claim to his grandmother's love." "Sarah," he began. "There is no need, George. I know how the world operates," Sarah replied. "I cannot change the way of the world. Like all women, all I may do is to muddle along as best I am able. It is a man's world and the rules are made for men." George stopped and turned her to face him. "Do you think I enjoy this untenable situation?" Sarah shook her head. "No, my dear, I do not believe you care for the situation at all. You are a good man who would never be able to feel less than a fatherly obligation to any child, regardless of the circumstances of the child's birth. However, you put yourself in this position. Mademoiselle Marchand did not give birth to your son as a result of a visitation of the Holy Ghost." George sighed. "What can I say? This situation causes me great embarrassment. More so because you know about it. Marie has an uncle who fled to New Orleans during the Terror. He is comfortably situated there. She talks of going to him and passing in the world as a widow." "Then give her a generous settlement, or even an annuity handled through a solicitor, help her formulate her story with the requisite supporting paperwork, and let her go try to make a decent life for herself and the boy in New Orleans," Sarah offered. "Do you believe the matter is easy, Sarah?" he asked with pain in his voice. "What future lies before him in England, George?" Sarah demanded of him. "Would things not be better for him in America, where he may be passed off as an orphan instead of being known to society as a bastard? Would it not be a better life for him there, with the future potentially holding a respectable marriage and a life without scandal." Pain crossed over George's face. Sarah knew how difficult this was for him. George was a man who loved all of his children. "I do not mean to cause you distress, George," Sarah said lowly. "You would never consciously harm anyone without that action being a matter of defending yourself or another. It is one of the traits that I cherish about you," George allowed quietly. "The other option, George, is for you to marry Marie Marchand," Sarah replied with a sigh. "The paperwork may be predated, with enough of a remuneration offered to any one of three or four bishops whom I can easily name, in order to make Robert legitimate." "You have your father's mind, indeed," George observed in a tone holding no approval. "A trait of which I have long been aware." "I have a mind I am not afraid to use in defense of my family and friends," she countered. "For that I will make no apology. There is usually a solution, if one is willing to make the necessary sacrifices. There are times in which it is necessary to bend some rules for a greater good." "I would not want to be found in opposition to you, once you had decided what was necessary," he said quietly.

Sarah looked up at him, a hurt look on her face. "I am not totally ruthless, George." "No. I would never call you ruthless. You would never be without mercy. Yet you are implacable when you set your mind to things. Know this, Sarah, marriage to Marie is not an option. Had it been a reasonable solution, for more than the reason of our betrothal, I would have already pursued it." "Her family were aristocrats before the Terror, so it is not a question of her pedigree." "Sarah, there are things you do not understand." "What I have never understood is how a man can find a woman acceptable to share his bed and thus to bear his children, but not acceptable to share his pew at Church or be beside him at Court," Sarah replied, a touch of heat in her voice. He shook his head. "I fail to credit how I could be having this conversation with you, of all people." "If the situation were to have been reversed, George, the situations could have well been closer to home. If England had suffered a Reign of Terror and the English aristocracy had been forced to flee to France in fear for their lives, think about it. Jane, Patricia, Elizabeth, Susanna, or I could have well been in Marie's position: forced to the earn our own bread by whatever means at our disposal, even if that were to involve being the mistress to some wealthy gentleman or nobleman," Sarah replied. "Would you not want for any of us to have a second chance at a decent life? Why should it be any different for your Marie? I assume that you feel, or once felt, some measure of affection for the woman." George looked at her for the longest moment. "This whole conversation would scandalize most of society," he observed in an effort to side-step her question. "Society is made to be scandalized. It is the principle purpose of the beau monde," Sarah dismissed. "Without scandal, there would be nothing for most of the female members of our class to discuss." George sighed. "Sarah, in that situation, you would find another option. You wouldn't consent to being the mistress of one man after another, to being kept as temporary possession and to be passed from man to man." "If there were another option, yes, I would find it," Sarah allowed. "Yet you must acknowledge, George, there are few honorable options generally available to impoverished ladies of quality. Even fewer for those ladies who find themselves outside of their homeland. And a woman does not always have a choice about becoming intimate with a man, if he is bound and determined to take her. You know this." "No," George agreed. "There are not a wide selection of choices." He hesitated a moment before continuing, "Were you to be in such a situation what would you do?" "Who can say, George?" "Would you allow yourself to be so treated?" George demanded. "Death before dishonor?" Sarah queried. "You make that sound faintly ridiculous," George observed with an edge to his voice.

"It is quite ridiculous, George. Suicide will result in a person spending all eternity in Hell. A sin of the flesh can be repented," Sarah countered logically. "Where there is life, there is a possibility of redemption. And the world is quite large enough so that one may always find a spot where one's private misdeeds would be unknown." George looked at her in astonishment. "Sarah, that is quite the most, er, original thing I have ever heard from your mouth." "I am a realist, George," Sarah replied with a sigh. "As long as life endures, one can reform oneself. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem." "If a gentleman, tomorrow, offered you the insult of carte blanche?" George demanded of her. "Given my current position, I'd box his ears," she responded flatly. "Or inflict a more serious injury, were such a thing to be required for my safety." "You are a dangerous woman," he replied with a suppressed smile. "As dangerous as I need be given the circumstance," Sarah stated with resolve in her voice. "You have known me long enough to know that." "I have," he agreed. "And I find you enchanting." "As for the matter of being a man's possession, what else is a wife but part of a man's chattels? She ceases to be able to own her own property or manage her own affairs. Instead, she is merely an adjunct to her husband." George looked at her carefully. "Sarah, your manner of speaking your mind is not something that society will easily accept." "I was unaware that I had to cloak myself in propriety and utter only commonplaces and bromides with you, George. We've been friends for far too long for me to feel that to be a necessity. May we not continue to be at ease with one another?" "I really wouldn't have it any other way, my dear. You are far too precious to me for me to want you to change." "Then why are you making an issue of this?" "You smile at me, and I forget that you are the brat who tripped me into the river, or lured me onto a horse which only an experienced jockey should have ridden. There are times, Sarah, when I see you only as a beautiful woman whom I would very much like to have in my arms, at my side at court or church, across the table from me at meals, and most of all in my bed." Sarah unsuccessfully fought a blush. "George, come along. Let me show the animals to you," she said changing the subject. "Lay on, McDuff." Sarah led George through the North stable until she reached the final two stalls at the west-end of the stables. "They're Welsh ponies, George. Very gentle. We breed them for children, either for carts or for

riding. These have been trained to both. They are one of the innovations about which my father was excited in the years before his death. These ponies are two years old and among the first of those come from the stables." He reached out and stroked the head of the first animal. "They are beautiful animals." "Then the twins may have them?" "When have I ever been able to deny you anything?" George asked in resigned amusement. "Anne and Georgie will love them." "So, I hope. Over here are the horses for Patricia's twins," she said quietly as she walked over to the stalls. "This is April Dancer and the roan is Morning Star." George cast an appraising eye over the animals. "Fine horseflesh there. Do you think that Patricia's twins will be able to handle them?" "They are both very gentle mounts, of profoundly calm disposition. Neither of them have any speed, or any inclination to move faster than a gentle walk, and they have to be urged to that," Sarah replied. "They're perfect for the Patricia's twins. Just as the ponies are perfect for your twins." "And what would be a perfect gift for Sarah?" George asked. She sighed and shook her head negatively. "The only thing that I want no one can give to me," she replied lowly, painfully. "And what would that be?" George demanded. "It is of no consequence," she dismissed with a shake of her head. "Is it not? What is your heart's desire, Sarah?" "To turn the calendar back about seven years, to have my family with me once more," she admitted, her eyes tearing up. She turned away from him hurriedly as she fought for control. He placed his gloved hand upon her shoulder. "Sarah," he said painfully, "how dearly would I wish to turn back the calendar as well. But we cannot. We must live within the scope of our experiences and society's expectations for us. One of those expectations is that we will both wed." She shrugged and sighed as she regained control of herself. "I know. We should return to the house." "Indeed," he agreed quietly. They walked arm in arm, half of the way back to the house, in silence. "I know that these last years have been difficult for you," George said, breaking the silence. "I should rather not speak of it." George sighed. "We have always been able to talk about nearly everything, you and I."

"This is true." "Sarah, that level of understanding between a man and a woman is rare." "Yes." "It would make for a most comfortable marriage between us." "Within the last week, a gentleman observed I should have been born male." "No gentleman would say something like that to a lady," George stated, his tone holding surprise. "He did. And he was quite right. God gave me a mind. Father and Mother saw I had an education equal to that of my brothers, at least until they went to University. That was in addition to the skills a lady needs to have. I do not readily fit into the mold into which society expects a gentlewoman to conform. I should never be a proper duchess for you, George." "My children need a stepmama who loves them," George said. "And I need a woman by my side who will never bore me. You would never bore me, Sarah. Drive me to distraction. Infuriate me. But I've never been bored by you." Sarah sighed. "You know I love Georgie and Anne. I will always love them. They are my godchildren and I will always be there for them. But children grow up and have their own lives. Anne you may have with you for another twelve years. Georgie will be at University in another nine or ten years. Marriage is more than overseeing the raising of children." "Sarah, you are dear to me." "And you are dear to me, George." George sighed. He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. "There are worse reasons to marry than a friendship such as we have. As for warmer affections, they fade with time. If a strong friendship doesn't underlie a marriage, then the couple is doomed to a life of unhappiness." "Perhaps. Although this is the second marriage proposal within the last week in which a gentleman urged me to marry him on the basis of friendship," she said quietly. "Who has been proposing to you?" George demanded. "That is none of your business." "It is if you accepted his suit," George replied. "We have an understanding you and I, if you recall." "I had a quite difficult few moments convincing him I would not marry him. And I suspect he left here planning to renew his suit," she dismissed. George smiled in relief. At least, if the man left, it wasn't Barrow. That was something of which to be grateful. "Sarah, we will have a good life together. Simply promise me that you will think about setting a marriage date."

"You know that I shall. This is what is expected of us. Under a strict interpretation of honor, it is what we must do," Sarah replied. "Even as we speak, I suspect Godmama and Aunt Helen are debating the merits of Westminster versus St. George's Hanover Square." George sighed. "In all likelihood, that has been decided by now. They have moved on to discussion of the menu for the wedding breakfast." Sarah laughed. "And the modiste who shall make the wedding clothes." George smiled. "We could make this work between us, Sarah." "Perhaps. Yet my heart longs for more than comfort and duty," she replied quietly. "I should like to possess my husband's heart and to have him possess mine as well." "There lurks the romantic within you," George observed. "I have seen it arise on occasion. You are more than a bit of an idealist, my dear. Yet that, is just one of the traits that makes you so precious to me." "Yes, I am a romantic at heart. But I would hardly call myself an idealist. I have seen too many sides of life to hold childish expectations about much," she answered lowly. "At my advanced age, you would think I would have outgrown the most unfortunate tendency to romanticism." "I pray you never do," George answered. "For if you do, I fear cold cynicism would take pride of place." "You may well be correct," Sarah acknowledged with a sigh. "I see that tendency in myself all too clearly." "The children are eager to see you," George said. "And I am eager to see my godchildren." "Then let us return to the house." "It is nearly time for dinner." "I am certain the children will enjoy that."

Chapter Ten Dinner was a boisterous family affair. All of the family children were at the table: Anne and Georgie, Jason and Jessica, and Clive. Patricia and her children had arrived during the time that George and Sarah had been down at the stables. The children were full of ideas for things they wanted to do during their time together. Sarah smiled broadly. She loved being surrounded by the sound of happy children. Oh, how, she longed for children of her own to love. That would be one good reason to marry. Her eyes rested on Anne. Sarah imagined a little girl very much like Anne but with Sarah's own red hair and freckles. If Sarah had been looking for a stallion for the racing stud, she would have examined both his

get and his track record. George had certainly sired handsome children. She looked over at George, finding his eyes on her. He smiled at her, almost as though he was aware of her thoughts. She found herself blushing and diverting her eyes. This did not go unnoticed by either Sarah's godmother or aunt. Sarah told herself there were worse reasons to marry than for the purposes of having children. "Father," Georgie said quietly. "There is an Indian above stairs." "An Indian?" George echoed. Clarissa Lewis interjected with good humor in her voice "My brother and I have brought our servants from India. My brother's man has engendered some measure of excitement from among the children." "He wears a turban," Georgie said. "And a scimitar," Clive added. "And a pistol," Jason interjected. "And he has his own carpet which he sits and lies on, facing the east," Anne stated. "Why does he do that?" Jessica asked. "Akbar, the earl's man," Sarah explained, "is a Mohammadan. This is their way of praying." "What's a Mo-ham-a-dan?" Anne questioned in puzzlement. Sarah smiled at the little girl. "You live in England and are a member of the Church of England. People who live other places have different religions. The earl's man is a member of a religion whose founder was known as Mohammad. Miss Thomas has made a more thorough study of that area of the world than I have. Perhaps you can learn more about the religion from her." "Oh," the little girl replied. "Cousin Honora, does that mean he doesn't believe in God?" "There are many different religions in the world, Anne," Honora explained in a gentle tone. "But there is only one God. Men call Him by different names. And they understand Him differently. Some religions are closer to what we understand as truth than are others. The earl's man, and those who share his Islamic faith, do not believe Jesus to be God Incarnate as we do." "Then they don't keep Christmas?" the child asked in a bewildered tone. "It isn't one of their major holidays, no," Honora answered quietly. "They believe Jesus was a great prophet and teacher. But Christmas isn't a particularly holy day for them." "No Christmas pudding, no presents?" Jessica asked in horror. Jessica said solemnly, "How sad!"

"It is indeed, children," Honora replied gently. "Miss Lewis," Patricia asked, changing the subject, "you have lived in India all your life?" Clarissa smiled. "Until the last few months." "What was your house like there?" Jessica asked. Clarissa spent the rest of the meal answering the questions of the young people and telling of her life in India and of their journey to England. By the end of the meal, the children were all very interested in learning much more about India. The children retired to the nursery. The ladies went to the blue salon, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars. Clarissa excused herself to go sit with her brother. Patricia looked at her cousin. "The earl is unwell?" "He has a broken leg and several other injuries incurred on his journey here," Sarah answered. "How horrible for him!" "He has been in much pain," Great Aunt Henrietta interjected. Aunt Helen changed the subject, "Did you have a pleasant walk with George earlier?" "Quite pleasant," Sarah replied. "And?" Aunt Helen demanded. "And I showed him some horses." Aunt Helen rolled her eyes. "Sarah Elizabeth," she began. "Mother," Patricia interjected, "I shouldn't, were I you." "Quite right," Aunt Helen replied. "My apologies, Sarah, dear." "Accepted. Now, shall we get to work on decorating the Hall and the rooms for Christmas?" Sarah asked. "Will you have a kissing ball?" Aunt Helen asked. "Mother always had several," Sarah replied quietly. "I thought we would revive that custom." Lady Constance laughed. "Capital idea, my dear. Make certain that there are lots of berries on them for George to pluck off." Sarah blushed boldly. "Godmama!"

"Sarah," the dowager duchess replied easily. "What is the enjoyment of a kissing ball if you do not allow yourself to be caught beneath it?" "Somehow, I thought you would approve," Sarah said affectionately. "White cotton gloves and aprons for all." When the gentlemen joined the ladies, the salon had been transformed into a florist's shop. Pine roping was woven from fresh evergreen cuttings. Mistletoe, holly, and ivy were woven about the kissing ball frames. "How long does this need to be, Sarah?" Patricia asked as she was weaving a pine rope. "About ten feet. We shall hang it over the mantle there," Sarah answered, looking up from her work. "I say, ladies," George said in amusement, "you seem quite embroiled in industry." "Indeed. Come and help," Sarah replied easily. "Not I. All thumbs with such," George denied. Sarah laughed good-naturedly. "So you are, as I recall. Pray George, sit and keep us company. Regale us with the latest idiocies from Lords." With the aid of several footmen on ladders, the greens adorned with red velvet ribbons were hung much later that evening, putting a festive face on the house. "I do enjoy the scent of freshly cut pine," Sarah stated. Lady Constance yawned. "Sarah, I believe I shall go up." "Sleep well, godmama," Sarah replied warmly. Miss Everly quickly bid the company good night. Aunt Henrietta also excused herself. As did Miss Thomas. When Uncle James showed no such tendency, Aunt Helen whispered in his ear, then they quickly excused themselves as well. Sarah looked at George. "Well," she stated with a sigh. "I should also..." George cut her off. "Pray don't excuse yourself, Sarah. Spend some time with me." "How about a game of chess?" Sarah offered. George smiled at her. "As you wish." They sat in the library at her father's chess table. The room was awash with the light of a glowing wood fire and of two dozen beeswax candles. The door was open. "I enjoyed the evening," George said as he countered her move. "Good. So, did I," Sarah replied easily, looking over the board and making her move.

"This, Sarah, is very much as our life together shall be," he said, making his counter move. "Will it not be pleasant?" She nodded as she looked over the board and took his knight. "I suspect it will be a quite pleasant life, George," Sarah replied. George smiled at her as he moved his Queen's bishop. "Then will you finally make me the happiest of men?" Sarah sighed as she looked at the chessboard and made her move. "George, I do wish you hadn't asked me that question." Then she looked up at him. "Pray hear me out before you speak," she said quickly. George nodded in agreement. "Neither of us are under any illusions marriage between us would be a love match," Sarah began. "No. No illusions," George answered a certain tightness in his voice. Sarah missed the tightness in his voice. She sighed. "This is going to sound horrible." "We've always been able to discuss everything, Sarah," George reminded her. "I see no reason for that to be any different." "I continue to have a tendre for a certain nobleman," Sarah confessed. "I should very much like to have the time to get past this attachment, to free myself of my feelings for this person, so I could go unreservedly into marriage," Sarah replied quietly. "It would not be right for either of us for me to accept you when a portion of my heart rests with another. It would be a mental adultery for me to come to your bed, while dreaming of him. Just as it would be the same for you to hold another woman in your heart while you were in my arms. I do not wish to lie in your arms and call out his name in the night. I would not harm you in that manner. You are far too dear to me." George smiled slightly at her. "You always have been painfully honest," he told her quietly. "Today has been adequate proof that has not changed." "I would not cause you pain, George. You are dear to me," Sarah told him honestly. "More dear than I can tell you. Yet I need time to be heart whole again. Just as I insisted on your taking time when you first raised the issue of marriage between us, shortly after Jane's death." "Neither would I cause you to suffer discomfort, Sarah," George assured her kindly. "Shall we make a compact, my dearest?" "Name the terms," Sarah replied lowly. "We shall have the banns called for the first time on the first Sunday in July. Then we shall be married by the end of July," George said. "This will give you the time you need." "That seems reasonable," Sarah allowed. "Another six months after waiting for him for seven years."

George's eyes narrowed on her face. "It is Barrow, is it not?" She sighed. "You know me all too well, George." "Jane remarked to me how happy you looked when dancing with him. I remember the joy on your face when you danced with him." "How could you remember that?" "You have always been dear to me, Sarah. I took Marc aside and questioned him about his intentions toward you," George admitted. Sarah rolled her eyes. "I do wish you had not done that. It is your move, George." "So, it is," George agreed. "I suspect I overstepped." Sarah looked at his move. "You suspect?" she echoed in a dry tone. "If all you have is a suspicion you overstepped, I do believe that your mother needs to spend a good deal of time reforming your character." He smiled at her. "I am beyond reformation by a mother. At this stage, I can only be molded by the gentle hand of a wife." "Much in the same way that water erodes rock," Sarah offered dryly. George laughed boldly. "Not a bad analogy." "What did Marc say when you questioned him?" she asked as she surveyed the board and made her own move. "That I should mind my own business," George replied as he moved. "Which I should have done." "Which you didn't do," Sarah stated as she moved. "I do believe this is check and mate, George." George looked at the board. He laughed boldly. "Why, so it is. You are ruthless, my dear. I can only pray you never decide to use those strategic skills of yours against me." "You have not yet told me what he said to you after he told you to mind your own business." "Nor shall I. Another game?" "Set up the pieces." Miss Clarissa Lewis walked into the library. "Ah, Miss Lewis," George said as he looked up from the board. "Your Grace," Clarissa replied quietly. "Miss Elham." "Come to look for something to read, Rissa?" Sarah queried easily as she made her chess move.

"Marc is not sleepy. I thought that I should read to him, Sarah," Clarissa replied easily. "I have read to him on several occasions since his arrival," Sarah said. "It seems to allow him to relax enough to sleep. Either that or it numbs his sensibilities sufficiently that he falls into the arms of Morpheus." Clarissa smiled. "I cannot thank you enough for your aid to my brother." "There is no need for thanks. I am glad to be able to provide assistance. As for the books, help yourself to whatever you believe he would enjoy. Books are shelved alphabetically by the title of the work," Sarah replied easily. "Marcus tries. Yet we know how much pain he is experiencing," Clarissa allowed. "It is presumptuous of me to ask this of you, Sarah, given how much you have done for him since his accident. However, I shall ask anyway. Would it be possible for you to spend more time with him? You cheer his spirits so. I cannot help but to think that one recovers more quickly when one is in cheerier spirits than when one is in low spirits." "I had been spending considerable time with him until you arrived," Sarah admitted. "I had thought that perhaps having people around him all the time would be wearisome and that he should rest more. However, if you believe that I may be of assistance to him, I shall certainly find more time to spend in his company." "I do thank you," Clarissa replied easily. "You've allowed us to be such an imposition on your life as it is." "Helping friends is never an imposition," Sarah replied easily as Clarissa began to look for a book. "It is your move, Sarah," George stated. Sarah looked once more at the board. She made her move. Clarissa took two books from the shelves. "I would bid you both a good night," she said. "Good night, Miss Lewis," George and Sarah both replied almost in unison. Clarissa dropped a proper curtsey before she left the room. George moved his queen's bishop. Sarah laughed. "Oh, no, you do not think I will let you get by with trying to outflank me, do you, Chisholm?" "Where there is life, there is hope," George replied with humor in his voice. Sarah laughed genuinely. "So, indeed, there is." *** Clarissa sat in her brother's room, reading to him from the volume of poetry she had just retrieved from the library. She closed the book.

Marc looked at her in curiosity. "Marcus Aurelius, you are a fool!" "And what is that statement in aid of?" "Can you see what is before your own eyes, I wonder?" "Rissa, would you kindly explain of what you are speaking and stop speaking in riddles? I am not in the mood." "Miss Elham is enamored of you." "You are imagining things, my dear," Marc replied after a shocked moment. "No. I am not. I have heard it from her own lips." "There is a tale there." "She and the Duke were sitting in the library, playing chess. When I went down to get these books, I heard voices inside the room and stopped, not wanting to intrude." "So you stood in the hall eavesdropping. Bad manners, Rissa." Clarissa sighed. "I am quite aware of my own failings, Marc." "Continue with your tale," Marc instructed. "The duke offered her marriage," Clarissa stated. Well, old man, he told himself, the realization he had lost Sarah washing over him, it's your own fault. Marc composed himself, even though the loss was tearing him apart. "I shall wish her happy." "It's not too late, Marc," Clarissa stated strongly after she watched the pain cross her brother's face. "She would never go back on her word. She's lost to me, Rissa." Clarissa sighed. "She didn't accept him. They have reached no firm understanding that way. She asked for time." Marc looked at his sister. "What else are you withholding?" "I would suggest you not waste any time in securing her acceptance of your offer of marriage," Clarissa replied. "And why would that be?" "While she and the duke were out walking today, her aunt and godmama had plans made down to new future duchess should call her firstborn."

"They went out walking in this weather?" Marc asked. "I suspect they wanted to speak privately," Clarissa replied. Marc smiled tightly. "It is all but settled between them, then." "Settled in the minds of the relatives, perhaps, but not in her heart. Do not be a fool, brother. If you want her, fight for her. Her response to the duke was not that of a woman with her chosen suitor. She asked for time, Marc. Time to get over her affection for you. She is in love with you, I know it." "Did he grant her time?" Marc asked. "Six months. If you have not come up to scratch by then, they will call the banns and be married by the end of July," Clarissa said. "I should like to rest now." Clarissa nodded. "Of course," she replied gently as she rose from the chair. "Please remember what I have said." "As though I could forget." "Miss Elham is the young woman you were taken with, the one whom I heard you discuss with Mother when you came back from England years ago, isn't she? The one whose father refused you permission to address her?" "You have far too long of a memory," Marc stated lowly. Clarissa laughed softly. "She loves you, Marc. She has loved you for the last seven years. That kind of devotion is priceless. If you asked her, she would marry you without hesitation." "I am not so certain of that, Rissa," Marc replied wearily. "I should allow you to rest now, Marc. However, if you do not pay your addresses to her, you are much less of a man than I know you to be." "I am in no position to be proposing marriage to anyone, Rissa," Marc said. "Your leg and shoulder will heal, Marc." "There is still a matter of finishing the work." "I wish you would give that up. Tracking down this man has already almost cost you your life, Marc." "Not catching him could well cost England the struggle against Boney." Clarissa sighed. "I love you, Marcus. Yet there are times I truly would like to throttle you. You are not indispensable, except to those of us who love you." Marc yawned. "Good night, Rissa."

Clarissa rose from her chair. She kissed her brother on the forehead. "Good night, Marc. Sleep well." Yet Marc knew he wasn't likely to be able to sleep. Sarah was so close. Perhaps he was a fool after all.

Chapter Eleven Sarah sat within the Elham family box in the village Church on Sunday, 23 December. Usually, Sarah felt isolated in all the space. Yet this morning, with most of her guests accompanying her, apart from Miss Lewis, Barrow, and Mrs. Jones, the box was as full as it had been since her brothers and sisters had all come to Church. George sat on one side of her. Clive was on the other side. The familiar words of the service enveloped Sarah with all the comfort of an old friend's arms. The Reverend Mister Latterly actually preached an eloquent, and relatively short, sermon. Sarah left the Church on George's arm. She stopped to greet the vicar on the way out of the Church. "Your Grace, may I make known to you, Mr. Nicholas Latterly, the vicar. Mr. Latterly, His Grace, the Duke of Chisholm." The vicar searched Sarah's face for a moment, then smiled tightly. "Your Grace, you do honor our village Church." "Not at all. It is an ancient lovely building needing no honor apart from that which it has from the service it does," George replied easily. Anne tugged at her father's coat. Sarah removed her arm from George's. George lifted the child into his arms. "Lady Anne, this is the Reverend Mr. Latterly. Mr. Latterly, my daughter, the Lady Anne." The vicar bowed. "My lady," he said solemnly. Anne smiled prettily at the clergyman and extended her hand. "How do you do, Mr. Latterly?" George beamed with joy at his daughter. Sarah sighed lightly. Oh, how George loved his children. He was a good father. He was a good man. Was romance really that important? Many women lived their whole lives without ever feeling love or desire for their husbands. Perhaps, her desire for a love match was nothing except a childish fantasy. Georgie wriggled forward between George and Sarah before Nicholas could reply. Sarah smiled at the child. "Lord George, may I present Mr. Latterly. Mr. Latterly, this is Lord George Blake, Lady Anne's twin brother." "Your lordship," the vicar stated with a proper bow. "Are you the clergyman who will be reading the marriage ceremony for Father and our dear godmama, Cousin Sarah?" Georgie asked boldly. The vicar looked at Sarah, disappointment and resignation flashing momentarily in his eyes before polite formality settled over his face. "Miss Elham, Your Grace, I would be honored to receive your vows. Shall we set a time to discuss the necessary arrangements?"

"George," Sarah replied in rapid German, a language she knew the Reverend Mr. Latterly did not speak, "this is not fair." "Life is frequently not fair, sweetheart," George replied in equally rapid German. "The announcement has been made publicly. You didn't immediately refute it. Seems the only thing to do is to go through with it." Sarah wanted to scream. She was very neatly boxed into a corner. The announcement would spread around the beau monde soon enough. Everyone expected her to marry George, anyway. George's son had made the announcement. Anne was looking up at her with such a look of expectation. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. But if she really felt that way, why did her stomach hurt so badly? Why did she feel so trapped? "Vicar, I believe you know my godmama," Sarah stated, in English, skirting the issue, as she introduced Lady Constance. "Your Grace," the vicar replied. "How happy you must be at the coming nuptials." "Oh, yes," Sarah's godmother said warmly. "Sarah has long been as a daughter to me. I could wish for nothing better than this match." Now, the pain in Sarah's stomach was quickly being matched by throbbing in her head. "The Marchioness of Chatsbury, my cousin," Sarah continued with the introductions, not showing her distress. "Lady Charles, I am delighted," the vicar replied in a tone which matched his words. Sarah had never seen the man smile so broadly. "Is Lord Charles with you?" "My dear Charles entered into rest a year ago in September," Patricia informed him, her voice low. "My sympathies, my lady. I hadn't heard. With Henry on the Peninsula with his regiment, I have become somewhat isolated from news of your family, not realizing you were cousin to Miss Elham," the vicar explained, his tone gentle. Sarah began to wonder if Patricia wasn't the married woman whom the vicar had loved. "That is understandable," Patricia replied. Then she added. "My children, Lady Jessica and Lord Jason." The vicar smiled and bowed. "My lord and lady," he greeted them. "I have not seen you in several years. I declare I should not have known either of you." "And my aunt and uncle, Sir James and Lady Helen Elham, are already known to you," Sarah replied easily. "Sarah," Patricia said on the way back to Elham Park. "I was so surprised to see Mr. Latterly as your vicar." "And I was surprised to find you know him." "He is a friend of Charles' younger brother, Henry," Patricia replied. "More than once, Henry and he were together at Chatsbury. He's a thoroughly pleasant man."

"I have always found him so," Sarah replied easily. Clive laughed. "Right. That's why his marriage proposal sent you into fits of anger." Sarah looked at Clive coldly. "That, young sir, is not a matter of which you could have learned had you not read the vicar's note. Bad form, Clive." Clive rolled his eyes. Sarah sighed. She looked at Patricia. "Did he offer for you?" Patricia asked. "Yes," Sarah answered tightly. "You refused him?" "Actually, it wasn't a proposal as much as it was a statement he had acquired a special license and arranged for the ceremony." Patricia shook her head. "He's a good man. I am at a loss to understand why he thought you would be amenable to that." "Yes, he is a good man. And I am also at a loss to explain this. The only possibility is he has been used to seeing me live quietly because we have been in mourning. He may have assumed this is the usual fashion of our family." "Have you and George set a date for your nuptials?" Patricia queried quietly. Sarah sighed and replied in rapid Italian. "No. We have not." "You have not turned him down as well?" Patricia asked in disbelief, also in Italian. "I am aware of how deeply you are concerned about this," Sarah responded after a moment's hesitation, retaining the Italian. "At this time, the matter should remain private between George and myself, until or unless such an arrangement is finalized. Pray do not involve yourself." Patricia laughed, then replied in Italian. "Very well, my dear. I am here for you should you need my assistance." Jessica looked at Sarah, "May we go ice skating this afternoon, Cousin Sarah?" "I see no reason why we shouldn't," Sarah replied easily. "We shall have to see what the others would like to do." Sarah scratched on the connecting door. Akbar opened it. "Miss Elham, do come in." "How is our patient today?" "Most impatient," Marc replied.

Sarah smiled at him as she walked over to the straight-backed chair that sat near the bed. "So I can see. I had thought your sister would be here with you." "She was until a few moments ago when she went down to the library for another book to amuse me," Marc replied easily. Sarah nodded. "Have you need of anything?" "Your company." Sarah met his eyes. She sank into the chair, trying not to read too much into his statement. "Of course. I have some time before I promised the children to take them out for ice skating." "Ice skating," he echoed. "The south pond is shallow enough to freeze sufficiently to be safe." "I have not been out on ice since the last time Edwin and I skated here," Marc replied wistfully. "I should think not. One would not see much snow and ice in India." "No," he replied quietly, humor in his voice. "The heat and monsoon rains make up for the lack of snow." "Monsoon," Sarah replied. "That is an interesting word." "It is a miserable reality." "I can only imagine. Do you foresee you shall return to India?" "No. I've sold most of my holdings in India, apart from my shares in the Company. I had thought to settle in the ancestral seat." "I am certain your tenants would be glad to hear that," Sarah replied easily. Marc yawned. "I should let you rest," she stated. "I am keeping you from the things you need to do with your house guests," Marc acknowledged. "I did promise the children I would teach the younger ones to ice-skate during their time here," Sarah replied reluctantly. "Their first lesson is today." "How was Church?" "Much the same is it always is," Sarah replied. "The music was well done. Mr. Latterly was eloquent and not terribly long-winded. He preached for only forty minutes. The children, mostly, behaved themselves." "How did they misbehave?" Marc asked.

Sarah sighed. "It is unimportant." "I doubt that. You are bothered terribly by some thing." "This is a matter which I must deal, without your assistance or counsel." "Even in the role of surrogate brother?" "You are hardly my brother, and we both know that." "Sarah," he began. "Yes." No, he wouldn't ask her. He sighed. "Your young guests eagerly await their ice- skating lesson." "Indeed, they do," she answered quietly, her disappointment showing in her voice. "Miss Elham," he began again. "My lord Barrow," she replied stiffly. "I understand you are to become a duchess," he said. "That is very much the current rumor." "The duke has always cared for you," Marc stated. "His Grace is a man who does care for those around him," Sarah answered. "It is one of his finest traits. He is devoted to his family and to his friends." "As you are. Indeed, in that, you are well matched." Sarah sighed. "Indeed, we are. I really must be attending to my other house guests." *** The servants had gone ahead to the pond. Benches were set up near the pond. An iron grate had been set up and a fire burned brightly to allow the skaters to warm themselves and to keep the chocolate and chestnuts hot. The two sleighs stopped near the pond. The children were excitedly chattering among themselves. Sarah quickly helped the children get on their skates. The servants took the bricks from the sleighs and put them near the fire to gently heat for the trip back to the house. "I'm going to take a turn around the ice. Watch my feet carefully," Sarah instructed them. She enjoyed the feel of the ice under her skates as she slowly did a circuit of the pond. Sarah was looking at the pond to make absolutely sure it was frozen well enough to be safe. The surface seemed solid and safe.

"Lady Anne, are you ready to try to learn?" Sarah asked quietly as she came around again. "I am," the child said, with a little fear coloring her voice. "Clive, you and I will take Anne around. Anne, darling, you are going to hold my hand and Clive's. We'll help steady you a bit on the ice until you begin to get the feel of how to do this." *** Almost three hours later, Sarah sat on the bench beside the pond, watching the children and George and Patricia. She sipped from the cup of hot cocoa, enjoying the warmth of the dark, sweet, liquid. Patricia skated over and sat down. One of the servants brought her a cup of cocoa. "Thank you," Patricia replied. Then she turned to her cousin. "Now, that the little ears are busy, I do believe we should talk." "Concerning?" "Pray do not play coy with me, Sarah dear." "Chisholm," Sarah said on a sigh. "Precisely. What is the problem preventing your coming to an understanding? Surely, you wouldn't be so missish as to hold his bastard against him." Sarah sighed. She didn't want to have this conversation at this particular moment. "Cousin, you know I love you." Patricia nodded. "This sounds to be the beginning of a 'Pray stay out of my affairs' speech." "How well you know me." "It would appear that the children have had nearly enough of the ice for today," Patricia observed. "Indeed," Sarah acknowledged as she stood and motioned for them all to come. The sleigh ride back to the house went quickly as the children enjoyed their packets of hot chestnuts and the warmth of the heated bricks beneath the fur lap robes. The day began to dim. George's children sat between Sarah and George in the small sleigh. No one had raised an eyebrow when George had maneuvered Sarah and the children into this smaller sleigh. Sarah would have been happier keeping some distance between herself and George. Yet here they were, out in front of everyone else, still within range of eyesight, but out of hearing range. About half way back to the house, the children's eyes fluttered closed. "Poor tykes," Sarah said quietly, "they are completely exhausted." George looked tenderly at his children, then at Sarah. "This afternoon was delightful, Sarah. Thank you for organizing it," he told her quietly.

"It was a pleasant afternoon," Sarah agreed. "I do believe that tonight it would be appropriate to let the children have their dinner in the nursery. They are so weary." "Of course," he agreed easily. "Sarah," he continued after a pause, "I do regret Georgie's comments this morning to the vicar. And I thank you for your handling of the situation." "I do not care for this situation. I will not be coerced into marriage when I am not certain of either of our hearts, regardless of the gentleness of the coercion," Sarah stated lowly. George was silent for a moment, then he asked tightly, "Do you believe I orchestrated the episode this morning?" "No," Sarah assured him. "I do not believe you would do such a thing. Yet I do not wish to cause your children pain. I love them dearly, a fact of which you are well aware. They must be made to understand, however, marriage is a matter for adults, not for children, to settle among themselves." "I have had words with both of them about this matter," George informed her quietly. "I trust that you were not harsh with them," Sarah stated. "I could no more be harsh with them than I could deny you anything that you asked of me," George told her quietly. Sarah sighed. "George," she began. "Very well, Sarah, shall we simply not discuss this topic at this moment?" "That, Your Grace, would be a welcome relief." The rest of the trip was passed in inconsequential talk of common acquaintances. Arriving back at the house, George and Sarah carried his twins upstairs to the nursery without waking them. Footmen had helped to remove the children's wraps when they had come into the house. Hannah, the nursery maid, rushed to turn down the beds. George and Sarah both deposited their precious bundles on the children's beds. George began to loosen Georgie's boots while Sarah made quick work of Anne's boots and stockings. "I hate to wake them to put them into nightclothes," Sarah said quietly. "I can do that, Miss, without waking them," Hannah stated. George smiled at the maid, after he kissed his son's forehead. "Then do so." "We should change for dinner," Sarah said as they walked down the stairs from the third floor to the second. George nodded. "It is that time," he acknowledged as they reached the landing. He gently took her arm and turned her to face him. "Sarah," he said tenderly. She knew that George was going to kiss her. "George," she warned on a breath.

He smiled at her, a purely masculine smile full of entreaty, as he drew her closer to him. "Look up, Sarah," he whispered to her. Hanging there was a kissing ball. Sarah sighed. She hadn't intended to have one hung here. There hadn't been one hanging here this morning. And she hadn't seen it there when they had carried the children up to the nursery. This was someone's bright idea. Sarah didn't want to inquire too closely into that. George's lips closed demandingly over hers. His left hand held her head while his right hand lightly traced her spine down to her hips then pulled her closer, molding her to him. Sarah raised her arm to his chest in order push him away. She felt his heartbeat strongly against her palm. She tried to turn her head from him. But he simply spread his legs slightly and brought her in even closer to him, wedging her between his iron muscled thighs as he continued to demand her passion. He was an experienced man. He was using every bit of that experience to entice her. And it was working. Sarah felt herself returning his caress, which in retrospect shocked her. Yet at the moment, she was entirely too swamped by the growing desire she felt to be able to think about this rationally. George lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. He touched her face gently. "Deny anything. But don't deny this, sweet Sarah. The physical side of our marriage will not be onerous for you. I can promise you a good deal of pleasure in our marriage bed, my dearest Sarah. You are able to respond to me and you hold me in affection. Is that really so far from love?" Sarah blushed boldly as she stepped back from him. "George, I..." she stammered. "Yes, I think it is far from lasting love. I am not such an innocent I do not know the difference between lust and love. You are aware of this." "I do care deeply for you, Sarah. You are precious to me." She nodded. "I know. I care about you as well. You are a dear friend," she replied gently. "Perhaps we should go dress for dinner, now?" *** Weems handed Sarah a message as she came back down the stairs before dinner. She broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper. Miss Elham, My young nephew, Daniel, the Marquis of Trouvaine, is desirous of acquiring one or more of your horses to augment his stables. In that regard, I should like to call on you tomorrow morning. Should this be amenable to you, please send word by the messenger who brought you this note. We lodge at the Black Swan. Your servant, Lord Peter Richmond. She looked up at Weems. "Is the messenger still here?" "He is," Weems said quietly. "'tis Bess's brother, Jack, who brought the message from the Swan. He's in the kitchen with her now." "Send young Jack back with the word I shall receive Lord Peter and the marquis tomorrow at two in the afternoon," Sarah said quietly.

"Yes, Miss," Weems replied and went about his duty. "What is that in aid of?" George asked, coming down just behind her. "Lord Peter Richmond and his nephew, the Marquis of Trouvaine, will be arriving here tomorrow to look at some horses." "Who shall be buying?" George asked as he stood beside her on the main floor. "According to the note, Trouvaine," Sarah replied. "Why?" George nodded. "Lord Peter Richmond plays deep and is said to be firmly in dun territory. Selling anything to him would require me to see the color of his money before closing the deal." "I always have the cash in hand, or a draft guaranteed by a letter from my banker, before allowing the departure of the horses," Sarah replied easily. "I do believe the others are waiting for us." "Sarah, did I offend you?" he asked hesitantly, lowly. "I am three and twenty, George, not an unfledged chit of sixteen just out of the school-room. It takes more than this to offend me, as you should well know." George's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her. "Sarah," he began. Sarah cut him off. "Shall we join the others? I am quite ready for dinner." "Of course, my dear," George replied. But Sarah knew she had not heard the end of this discussion. Although why she had felt compelled to make that statement to him was beyond her. The more she thought about it, she more she was puzzled at her own behavior. The children were all above stairs in the nursery, leaving dinner as an adult-only event. Sarah had placed George at the head of the table. She took the hostess position at the foot. Thomas Stanton, Baronet Marbry, had arrived while the skating party was still down at the lake. Sarah noted with interest the way Thomas seemed to be utterly fascinated by Clarissa Lewis. The conversation over dinner was lively, centering on politics and world events. "There is war coming with the Americans, I fear," Marbry said quietly, but since there was a general lull in the conversation at table at that moment, everyone heard his comments. Great Aunt Henrietta shook her head negatively. "I certainly hope you are wrong, Marbry. One war is quite enough for us to fight. How much more warring will the public purse support?" "As much as is necessary, my lady," Lady Clarissa replied, surprising some at the table whom had judged her to be a pretty, but vacuous, young woman. "This is a matter of survival. In that case, the money will be found to wage the war." "Perhaps the Americans have a legitimate grievance," Honora Thomas offered. "Would we not be better

served by solving this through diplomatic channels?" "What manner of grievance could they have?" the elderly Henrietta demanded. "Let us look at this from the Americans point of view. If a foreign power were to board our ships at sea and remove nearly all the able bodied seamen aboard them on a regular basis, we would be quite upset as well," Honora replied. There was a general silence at the table for a moment. "Aren't we simply removing our own deserters from those vessels?" Clarissa asked. "Are we?" Honora asked. "Oh, I know that is the official reason behind the impressment of able-bodied seamen from American vessels. However, I must seriously question if the facts actually support that contention." "What facts?" Marbry asked. "Over the last few years, the Americans have lodged complaints with the Foreign Office concerning no fewer than six thousand two hundred cases of impressed seamen. I have to wonder, given the official rationale for the actions, why we have had well over six thousand men desert from our ships," Honora continued. Sir James looked at Honora intensely. "And how do you come by those figures?" "They are accurate, are they not?" Honora replied, not answering the question. Sir James nodded tightly. "The number is at least that high. I would have to make inquiries to determine the exact number." "Is not the penalty for desertion summary execution?" Sarah asked. "Indeed, I believe execution is the prescribed punishment for desertion," Honora continued. "However, the impressed seamen have continued to serve aboard our ships, instead of facing the punishment for their alleged acts. The Royal Navy is not precisely known for either its compassion or leniency in meting out discipline. I believe we all would be in agreement on this matter?" Marbry looked at Honora and smiled. "You raise a valid question, Miss Thomas. As soon as we win this war against Boney, I hope to put a measure through Lords to restructure the Naval service. We have to take steps to reduce the number of desertions. It is a scandal. And I will agree with you the Navy needs to modify its code of justice." "Perhaps, the Royal Navy could begin by discontinuing the use of press gangs and bounties," Honora Thomas suggested quietly. "If more of the men in the Naval service actually wanted to be there, perhaps we would see a decrease in the need for such harsh discipline?" Marbry nodded in approval. "My thoughts exactly. Miss Thomas, were that you were a man, we could use you in Commons," he said firmly. Honora smiled softly and sighed. "Were women to have the right of suffrage and the ability to legally hold public office, I shouldn't doubt Commons is where I should be."

"Women holding public office," Sir James echoed quietly as he covered his surprise at the turn of conversation. "That is a radical idea, indeed." Honora sipped her wine. "Profoundly progressive at least," she allowed gently. "While not all women should be suited to professions, I do believe we would have a much more just society were women to have other socially acceptable options for spending one's life other than marriage or being an old maid at the disposal of one's family." "Chisholm, you harbor a radical under your roof in your cousin," Lady Helen stated with clear disapproval. George looked at his mother-in-law. "My cousin is entitled to her opinions. And for what it is worth, I tend to agree with her." Then he smiled and sipped his wine. "Surely, Miss Thomas, you do not believe a woman to be equal to a man?" Helen asked Honora. Honora smiled. "I do not believe there is any insurmountable innate difference in the minds of men and women. It is a question of societal expectations and the way in which the members of the different sexes are reared." Clarissa Lewis looked at Honora. "For good or for ill, those are not things we can change in our generation. We must simply live within the rules of the world, and stretch them gently in every way possible so that our children will be able to make further progress." "No, the changes will not be made in our generation. I do doubt society could be changed so rapidly without grave consequences," Honora agreed. "Yet," Sarah interjected, "for the children, and their children, we must always be working for a more just world. Just as we have turned the tide of opinion about slavery, other matters may indeed be imminently changeable." "Are you comparing being a woman to the state of slavery?" Sir James asked his niece. Sarah replied, "There are similarities, Uncle. However, for the most part, I am quite glad to be female." George smiled at her. "And for the most part, dear Sarah, we are quite glad you are female." Sarah laughed musically. "La, sir, such pretty phrasing could turn a lady's head." George shook his head in dismissal. "No, sweet Sarah, you are far too strongly willed to ever be influenced by words, regardless of the source." "I fear you know me too well, George," Sarah replied quietly. George smiled at her. If his words held a trace of censure, only Sarah heard it. "There are times, dearest Sarah, at which I wonder if I know you at all." Sarah looked at him thoughtfully. "How well does anyone know another person?" "Indeed," Sarah's godmama interjected. "The late duke frequently surprised me with extraordinary acts

of kindness and condescension. My son reminds me quite forcibly sometimes of his late father. Do you not think so, Sarah?" "Yes, Godmama," Sarah replied quietly before sipping from her own glass of wine. Conversation at the table continued. Sarah looked up and met George's eyes across the length of the long table. Remembering that kiss, she found herself blushing. George smiled softly at her. Lady Clarissa looked at Marbry. "Returning to an earlier point, I fail to see how you can justify the possibility of war with America." Marbry sipped his wine before replying, "Boney in 1807 issued the Milan Decree which declares any neutral vessel which allows itself to be boarded by the crew from a British ship will be considered by the French to be British, and thus the lawful prize of any French vessel. French Privateers are apt to snatch up any American vessel which passes their way. Or, at least to make a valiant attempt to do so." "I would think," Lady Clarissa stated firmly, "that would give the Americans more cause to wage war on the French, than upon us. It is the French who are causing the injury to them." "That would be so, except for the fact the American government is severely biased against the Tory government," Honora replied gently. "The American leaders are equally biased in favor of the French government with its empty talk of liberty, equality, and fraternity, in spite of the reality the revolutionary ideals in France have been, for all practical purposes, ground beneath Bonaparte's tyrannical heels. The American government does not seem to realize Great Britain, in spite of what the Americans perceive as our grievous faults, is fighting for the liberty of the world. We struggle against a tyranny as crushing and treacherous as any which the world has ever before seen," she added, her voice becoming considerably less gentle and more impassioned as her words poured forth. "It is a war which the world cannot afford for us to lose. There is nothing less at stake than the liberty of all free men throughout the world." "I say," Marbry replied in approval, "well said, Miss Thomas. Indeed, it is a shame indeed you cannot take a seat in Commons. That speech is one Commons needs to hear." Honora sipped her wine and composed herself. "You seem exceptionally well versed on the Americans, Miss Thomas," Clarissa Lewis stated in puzzlement. "One of my dearest childhood friends is married to an American diplomat. Her letters to me are regularly full of the news from America," Honora explained with a smile. "She moves in the highest of American political circles. She writes so vividly of Mr. Jefferson and Virginia society, in general, I believe I should be able to put a name to any of the leading participants upon first sight." Clarissa smiled. "What a brave lady your friend must be! To leave home, family, country, for the love of a man." "Bravery, I've found, is nothing more than doing what we must do under difficult circumstances," Uncle James offered quietly. "Well, gentlemen," Sarah stated, "the ladies shall leave you now to your port and cigars. When you are

ready, you may rejoin us. We shall be in the conservatory for a musical evening." *** James looked at his son-in-law. "George," he asked, "in spite of the announcement at Church this morning, have you and Sarah yet reached an agreement?" "I continue to await her decision." "I see. Shall I speak with her?" James asked. "Give her time, James. I wish that she be certain of her mind and heart." Marbry laughed boldly. "Miss Elham is decidedly worth the wait. Now, will someone tell me about that enchanting creature, Miss Lewis, and that strongminded female, Miss Thomas?"

Chapter Twelve Sarah sat in the breakfast room early on the morning of Christmas Eve. She was reviewing all of the plans for the ball on Friday. Mother had always converted the long gallery into a supper room for the ball. The Yule Logs were already in place within the twin fireplaces in the gallery. Those would be set ablaze tonight as part of the Christmastide festivities. The tables and chairs were already in place. Sufficient beeswax tapers were available for the lighting of the rooms. The Supper was firmly in Cook's control. And the musicians from London were already at the Inn in the village, making extra money by playing at the Inn. Her dress was upstairs in her wardrobe. The only blot on the whole event was George was likely to ask her to dance more than twice. Well, that and Marc would be unable to ask her even once to dance. She sighed heavily. George asked from the doorway, "Why the sigh?" "Too much time to worry over the plans for the Winter Ball while I remain far too uncertain of weather. Have you looked outside this morning? There is another storm on the way. I suspect this one may actually close the roads." "The weather I can do nothing about," George said easily. "However, I can render assistance keeping your time occupied to such an extent you will not be able to worry." The three older Elham cousins bounded into the breakfast room, followed by the younger pair, all of them were chattering about plans to go out and build snowmen. "Somehow, I do doubt that will be a problem, Your Grace." *** Marc sat on a chaise, his splinted leg stretched out before him and slightly elevated with cushions. He was looking out the window at Sarah, the Duke, Sarah's cousin, the Duke's cousin Honora, and the children engaging in a snowman building contest. The contest quickly disintegrated into a good natured

snowball war. "They seem to be having a grand time," Clarissa observed. "Yes," Marc answered, not taking his eyes from the group outside. "They do." "I cannot easily credit anyone could enjoy being out in the cold," Clarissa replied in dismay as she pulled her warm woolen shawl more tightly around her. "Even less that anyone could actually enjoy being hit with the snow." Thomas Stanton laughed good-naturedly. "Ah, but then you have spent your life in India. Personally, I can't believe anyone can tolerate the monsoon season, year after year." Clarissa shrugged as she saw the group come back towards the house. "Looks like they've had enough of the cold." Henrietta rang for the footman. "Tell Cook the pots of chocolate and tea will be needed shortly." The children were quickly ushered up to the nursery to change out of their snow- encrusted coats and clothes. Sarah stopped on her way upstairs in order to bespeak pots of chocolate for the children and tea for the adults. *** Clad in dry clothes and beginning to feel warm, Sarah returned to the morning room. She stood by the fire until she felt truly warm. The tea helped warm her. The children stayed upstairs, plotting their next activity and, Sarah was sure, having a good time over their chocolate. Settling onto a sofa the morning room, Sarah picked up her knitting. This time of year, there was such a need for warm baby clothes among the poor of the area. Three women among the tenant families on the estate were due to deliver at any time. Sarah had made baby clothes for two of those and was finishing the work on the things for the third family. Only this cap to complete, then the garments could be taken to the families, along with a basket of food for each family and small gifts for the older children. Sarah's mother had ingrained in Sarah a sense of responsibility for those who worked the land. Sarah sat knitting. George came over and sat beside her. "Jane used to do little things like that for the tenants," he said quietly. "She made so many of these for the twins. They didn't wear them that long." "No. Babies grow quickly into people," Sarah replied. "Thankfully. Babies are adorable. They are far more enjoyable, however, when they have learned to walk and talk." George lowered his voice so that it was only audible to her. "This time next year, you could be making those for a child of ours." Sarah sighed. "George..." "Wouldn't you like to have children, Sarah?" he asked her equally lowly.

"Of course," she replied quietly. George smiled at her. "I am being unfair," he stated lowly. "Yes, George, you are," she told him lowly. "Sarah, I..." "Papa," Georgie said, as he came into the room. George turned to see his son. "I thought you were with Cousin Honora." "I was," the small boy said quietly. "And I shall return to her in a minute." George smiled at his son. "How may I serve you, my lord?" The small boy giggled. "Will you come read to us?" "Go to the nursery. I shall be there presently," George said indulgently. Georgie thanked his father, then obediently took himself back upstairs. "He is a good boy, George. Jane would have been so proud of him," Sarah stated. "Yes," George answered, with sadness and the lingering pain of Jane's loss in his voice. "Jane would have been proud of him. Now, if you will allow me leave, I shall go to the children." "What will you read to them?" Sarah asked. "I've been reading them 'Julius Caesar'. " "Shakespeare for six-year-old children?" Sarah asked in amusement. "Certainly. Children are a bloodthirsty breed," George replied, humor in his voice. "And Caesar appeals to them. The soothsayer and Caesar's ghost, the plots and fights, are all of suitable appeal to the minds of children." Sarah continued in her knitting once George left the room. "Did he say he was reading the Bard to the children?" Aunt Helen demanded. Sarah continued knitting as she looked at her aunt. "He did, indeed." Aunt Helen sighed. "Definite ideas of child rearing, that man has." "Progressive ideas," the Dowager interjected. "Just wait and see. Those children will be the well-spoken, well-read adults who will be well equipped to take their places as leaders of society." Aunt Helen nodded. "I'm not doubting that. They are already much better with a pen than one could otherwise expect a six year child to be. No doubt that is due to George's methods of directing their upbringing."

"It's the same way we raised him," the Dowager said quietly. "With good literature, adult conversations, and much affection. It was not fashionable then, and remains profoundly unfashionable now. However, George has never let the dictates of fashion or convention stand in his way of doing the right thing." "The manner George is raising his children is much the same way I have tried to raise my twins. However, I do not believe I began them on Shakespeare at age six. I believe I saved that treat until they were eight," Patricia offered. Sarah smiled softly as she continued to knit. There was no doubt in her mind George was a good father. Her only concern was if could they make a good marriage. Did she even want to try? Sarah realized she was being spoken to. She looked up from her knitting to see her uncle had sat down beside her. "Pardon me, Uncle James, I was not attending." "That much, my dear, is obvious," her uncle replied quietly. "Your aunt wishes to know if you shall be staying with us during the Season." "Under the circumstances, I do believe it would be a mistake to lodge with godmama." "With that, dear Niece, your aunt and I agree." *** It was after noon when Weems came into the blue drawing room bearing the calling cards of the Marquis of Trouvaine and his uncle, Lord Peter Richmond. "Show the gentlemen in, Weems," Sarah stated. Daniel, the marquis, was a boy, Sarah judged, about Clive's age. The boy looked tense and even a bit frightened. Sarah had to wonder at that. Perhaps, the lad was simply uneasy around strangers. Lord Peter, Sarah decided in a snap judgment, was as handsome as the Earl of Hell, and every bit as trustworthy. He looked very familiar to her, yet she could not place him. However, she knew it would come to her how she should know his face. That was only a matter of time. "Trouvaine, Lord Peter," she stated in a welcoming tone. "Welcome to Elham Park. Will you take both seats and refreshments? I am Miss Elham." "I was told Miss Elham of Elham Park was a good horse-woman," Lord Peter said as he bowed over her hand. He raised his head slightly and met her eyes. "No one told me she was equally beautiful." "La, sir!" Sarah dismissed as she removed her hand from his. "Would you both take tea?" The introductions were made. For a few moments, the conversation was general. Sarah stood. "I believe you said you wished to view some horseflesh?" "Indeed," Lord Peter agreed. "I have not yet seen the improvements to your stables, Niece," Sir James stated. "Then come along, Uncle," Sarah offered.

The children came bounding down the stairs, chattering noisily among themselves. "Oh, there you are Sarah," Clive stated. Sarah laughed at him. Whenever he had that particular look on his face, he wanted something. "What is upon your mind, Brother?" "We were wondering if we could go ice skating again tomorrow afternoon?" Clive asked as the other children went to their respective parent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Peter register this. And she saw longing pass over young Daniel's face. This was a lonely boy. "If the weather permits, I see no reason why you shouldn't." Seeing that young Daniel was quite interested in getting to know the other children, Sarah looked over at Lord Peter. "It is a chill day. May your nephew remain in doors with the other children?" Lord Peter looked at his nephew. It was a warning glance foretelling of dire consequences indeed if something were not done. The boy flinched. A look of irritation flashed quickly over Sarah's face. She didn't much care for bullies. She regained control of herself. Lord Peter smiled, but the expression was void of any real joy. "I should like for him to accompany us. The purchase will be for his stables. He is not too young to learn more about horseflesh." "Very well." Uncle James, Sarah, Lord Peter, and the young marquis walked down to the stables. Snowflakes were beginning to fall. Sarah, well used to Clive's constant chattering, found the marquis' relative silence to be oddly disturbing. Sarah showed the group the horses on offer. Young Daniel had a natural ease with the animals. While Lord Peter carefully sized up each animal, young Daniel clearly had a much better eye and a much better sense for horses. Lord Peter gave Sarah a list of the horses he wanted for his nephew's stables. Sarah saw young Daniel was not fully happy with one selection. Yet the lad said nothing. "Trouvaine?" Sarah asked. The boy looked at her, startled at the prospect anyone had actually noticed him. "Yes, Miss Elham," the lad replied. "Are you happy with the selection of the animals?" Sarah asked. "I will be guided by my uncle in this," Daniel stated quietly. "Of course, that is how it should be. Now, tell me, which of the horses did you particularly favor?" Sarah asked the boy.

"Oh," the boy's eyes lit up and he showed the first sign of boyishness she had seen from him, "Ryan's Boy is simply wondrous. His conformation is excellent. And he has spirit." "You are a good judge of horseflesh, my lord," Sarah replied. "And to which of the horses are you perhaps not so favorably disposed." The boy's face closed up. He looked up at his uncle. "I like them all, Miss." "Now, I do not believe that to be the case, young man," Sarah replied gently. "You are not totally pleased with one of the animals. Pray tell me your reasoning." The boy was hesitant for a long moment. "That filly, 'Morgana', she is named for Morgana le Fey, the witch?" "You know your Arthurian legend, my lord," Sarah acknowledged with approval. "She looks to have the disposition of her namesake," the boy replied. "I doubt she should make a good saddle horse." Sarah nodded in agreement. "She is strong-willed and fast, my lord. A far better choice for racing and breeding than for any other use." "I doubt I could manage her," Daniel confided in a worried tone. "You shall grow into that ability," Sarah assured him. "You have a good eye for horses, my lord, as well as an understanding of the animals. As you grow larger and stronger, there will be fewer and fewer horses that you will be unable to control. I see in you a future horseman par excellence." The boy beamed at her. "Thank you, Miss Elham." "'Tis but the truth, my lord," she dismissed. "Miss," O'Sullivan stated as he walked up to her. "Susannah is foaling and having a hard time of it. Will you come?" "I'll be there presently," she replied without hesitation. "Has the foal turned?" "She remains breech, Miss, and having a terribly hard time of it," O'Sullivan replied, then hurried away. Sarah sighed. She looked at Lord Peter and the marquis, then she looked at her uncle. "This will take considerable time. Pray return to the house. I shall be with you as soon as that may be possible." *** It was a long three hours later that Sarah was finally able to rise from her position in the stall and look at the new foal standing on wobbly legs. "We'll call him 'Yule'," she said as she took the towel that had been hanging on the stall's gate. She wiped off the blood and gore from her hands and arms the best she could. Hot water and soap would have to do the rest. She undid the buttons on the long work smock she wore as an apron.

"I'll be keeping an eye on her." "Thank you, O'Sullivan. That wind sounds fierce, doesn't it?" "Aye, Miss, it does." "After the first of the year, O'Sullivan, I intend to see you are given a large increase in both wages and business responsibilities, if you are amenable to that." Kevin O'Sullivan smiled at her, his Irish green eyes smiling as broadly as his lips. "And what manner of increase would that be?" "I need a good racing agent. Someone who knows horses and men, and is able to work with both," Sarah replied. "It's not a position we've ever had at the Park, but it is one my current circumstance dictates. My father conducted business at the races. This is something I cannot do." O'Sullivan nodded. "Aye, Miss. And who would you be putting in my current place?" "Young Charlie Williams is capable." "Aye, he would be the one whom I would recommend." The wind howled loudly. Sarah put on her boiled wool domino. "That wind sounds truly wicked." "It does indeed. Shall I see you to the house?" "You have your own duties, O'Sullivan. I am able to make my way back to the house. Thank you," Sarah said gently. "Miss, I don't want to be speaking out of turn," Kevin O'Sullivan stated hesitantly. "I should hope my racing agent could always feel free to speak about whatever was on his mind," Sarah replied easily. "When you become Duchess of Chisholm," he asked, "will you be keeping this place open?" "This is Clive's property. Of course, the Park will be kept functioning. My marrying, or not, will have no effect on that." Kevin O'Sullivan smiled slightly. "The staff will be happy to hear it, Miss. There's been some rumors to the contrary." Sarah shook her head negatively. "Do your best to end those." "Yes, Miss. I should have wished you happy." Sarah sighed. "Thank you, O'Sullivan." "Miss Elham," he began, then he stopped.

She looked at the Irishman. "What is on your mind, O'Sullivan? You know you may speak freely." "It is unimportant...Are you certain you wouldn't have me walk you up to the house?" he asked, a worried tone in his voice. "Thank you for your concern," she replied quietly. "I shall have no trouble returning to the house." Sarah opened the door and was hit in the face by a wave of cold air and snow. By the time she had made her way up to the house, the snow was coming down heavily, far too heavily for anyone to be able to travel any distance in the storm at all. She would have further guests in the persons of Lord Peter and the young marquis. Sarah went into the house via the servant's entrance into the kitchens, as she usually did when coming from the stables messy. Several members of the kitchen staff were in the process of putting the last touches on dinner. Cook poured hot water into a wash pitcher. "Right nasty out there," Cook observed. Sarah smiled at the middle-aged woman who had been responsible for meals at Elham Park for almost fifteen years. She took the pitcher of hot water from cook's hand. "Yes, Mrs. Riggs, the weather has turned nasty. We will be having two more guests for the next few days. No one should be traveling in this storm." Then Sarah went up the back stairs to her room, with her pitcher of hot water. Twenty minutes later, she was clean and changed for dinner. The hour rang off four as she came downstairs. She didn't know how she should manage the conversion from country to town hours during the Season. Everyone else was assembled in the blue drawing room, ready to go into dinner. Everyone except Marc, that was. Sarah made a mental note to check on him later. The children were all assembled together enthralled as George read to them. Sarah stood at the doorway, listening to him read from "Julius Caesar." But then he could read from a dull military history and Sarah would have still gladly sat and listened to the pure melody of his voice. His voice washed over her, filling her with a sense of contentment. Clive was the first to notice Sarah had come into the room. He rose from where he sat on the floor and walked over to her. "How's Susannah? The foal?" "Susannah and Yule are both fine." "Yule?" Clive echoed. Then he smiled. "Well, for a colt born on Christmas Eve, that's not a bad name." "Did the earl retire?" Sarah asked quietly. "He was quite weary. The footmen carried him upstairs about an hour ago," Clive told her. "He has done well for his first day down." "He's a good man, Sarah," Clive told her lowly. "If you decide to marry him, it will be perfectly acceptable to me. Even though I'd rather have George for a brother-in- law." Sarah smiled. "You, young man, are an original."

"It runs in the family," Clive replied. Sarah laughed quietly. Weems entered and spoke softly to Sarah. "It would seem Dinner is served," Sarah announced. "Shall we go in?" Clive took his place at the head of the table. Sarah was at the foot. George sat to Sarah's right. Honora was seated beside George. Lord Peter was to her left. Aunt Henrietta was seated beside Lord Peter. The Dowager sat at Clive's right. The group of family and friends found positions around the long family dining table. It did Sarah's heart good to see so many happy faces. The meal was excellent. The conversation was lively, even livelier because of the children. It reminded Sarah so much of meals when she was growing up with all her brothers and sisters around her. Especially of those meals when Uncle James and Aunt Helen with their children were at Elham Park. She felt a great sense of contentment. Lord Peter spoke to her. "I regret the necessity of imposing on you in this way, Miss Elham." "It is no imposition, my lord," Sarah told him gently. "You simply could not safely travel on in this weather. I hope no one will be worrying about you when you fail to arrive." "We were just on our way to my hunting box, about another sixty miles from here. Daniel and I usually spend the Christmas holiday there, alone. Only the two of us are left in the family, now. The only people who might be concerned will be the servants. Yet there is no way of getting a message to them, so I shan't worry about them." "The marquis has a fine sense for horses, my lord," Sarah replied. "He's learning, Miss Elham," Lord Peter allowed. "That is not something learned. It is innate," Sarah stated before she sipped her wine. Honora interjected, "I rather suspect it is similar to language. It is something we learn by exposure." Sarah allowed, "You may be correct, Miss Thomas. Your skills with languages far outstrips my own." Honora smiled slightly. "And your skill with horses far exceeds mine. It is all related to how one is reared. I grew up surrounded by Oxford scholars. You were raised here with the horses." Lord Peter looked at Honora. "Was your father at Oxford?" "He was a professor of classical languages," Honora replied. "Your father was Sir Reginald Thomas?" Lord Peter asked. "He was indeed," Honora answered with a smile. "God rest his soul." Lord Peter nodded. "He was a hard taskmaster."

Honora smiled. "He was. Yet he was a fair man." "I studied under him," Lord Peter replied. "As did a great many gentlemen." "I should like to speak with you at your convenience about your father." "Godmama," Lady Anne asked quietly, "may we go see the new foal tomorrow?" "Let us wait and see what the weather tomorrow will bring. I do not think it advisable at this time to venture out of doors," Sarah responded gently. "Yet on the first good day, yes, I will take you all down to the stables to see Yule." "Thank you," Lady Anne said with a genuine smile. "You are so kind to us." "I trust, Sarah," George stated with amusement in his voice, "you have outgrown the unfortunate tendency to lure unsuspecting children onto animals too spirited to be easily managed." "Now, George," she replied, "you survived the encounter with that stallion. Besides, you were all of sixteen at the time. You were at University. And I was then but nine years old." "Yet even then your smile was capable of bewitching men," George bantered. "Even at that tender age, I was unable to refuse you anything. You've always left me somewhat bemused by your beguiling eyes and winsome smile." Sarah laughed genuinely, her eyes twinkling. "Pah, sir! You rode the stallion because you wanted to impress Jane, who was standing just outside the fence." George smiled sadly and sighed. "There is something to that." "Indeed. Now, we will have no further talk of bewitchments, beguiling, or bemusing, at my table, if you please," Sarah replied in amusement. "Oh, then what shall we discuss?" George demanded quietly in an indulgent tone. "Christmas Pudding!" Lady Anne exclaimed happily in her childish voice as she saw the silver trays bearing the seasonal treat.

Chapter Thirteen After dinner, everyone gathered in the long gallery for the lighting of the Yule logs. One of the logs had been wrapped with one green vine for each of the single ladies of marriageable age present in the company. A piece of each of the Yule Logs from two years ago--the last time they had made merry at Christmastide at Elham Park--had been carefully saved to light each of these massive logs which now rested in the large fireplaces on each end of the long gallery. "Cousin Sarah," Lady Anne demanded. "Pray which vine is yours?"

Sarah pointed out the vine in question. "Surely, it will be the first to burst into flame," Anne stated with assurance. Sarah only smiled at the child. The tradition was the vine that burst first into flame would signify the lady to whom it belonged would be the first of the company to wed in the upcoming year. The fire was carefully kindled. The children looked at the flame quite intensely, watching the flames lick the log, until the first of the vines caught fire. The vine represented the Marchioness of Chatsbury. Jessica and Jason looked suspiciously at their mother. Anne and Georgie groaned. Clive only laughed then announced "This is a bit of superstition, if ever there was one." "Customs are frequently superstitious, Clive," Sarah informed her brother, gently. "Well, my dear sister, you are certainly the dark horse," George teased Patricia. "Who is it to be?" Patricia didn't miss a beat. She smiled and, with a small laugh, told him, "Ah, would you not like to know, George!" George laughed. "Ah, Patty, I could venture a guess." Aunt Helen's ears perked up. "Could you, now, Chisholm? Daresay that is more than I could do, as her mother." Patricia looked as though she wished to melt through the floor. Only someone who knew her quite well would have seen the signs however. The daughters of Sir James and Lady Helen were all too well bred to make an outward show of emotion in public. "Come now, my dear cousin is a widow of sufficient age to be able to manage her own affaire of the heart. If and when she has something to announce, I am certain we shan't have to read it in the Times," Sarah offered firmly. "Until then, I do suggest the subject be changed." "Thank you, Cousin," Patricia replied in relief. "Indeed. Now, come, Cousin, and all, let us adjourn to the warmth of the drawing room," Sarah offered. The children began to show every symptom of tiredness about eight o'clock that evening. Promises were exchanged that parents and guardians of the Elham clan would be coming up shortly to hear the bedtime prayers. The young Marquis of Trouvaine was shown up to a bed in the older boys' room on the nursery floor. Downstairs, the adults were preparing to play Whist. Lady Constance, Sir James, Lady Helen, and Lord Peter were at one table, at Sarah's godmother's insistence. Baronet Marbry, Miss Lewis, the duke, and Sarah were to be at the other table. Patricia had already gone up to oversee her children's bedtime. Aunt Henrietta had pled a headache and had gone up to her own room. Honora had taken herself off to the library. George and Sarah had gone up to hear the children's prayers.

Clarissa Lewis and Thomas Stanton sat on a sofa, speaking quiet words of growing respect and affection. The first table had already begun to play cards. Lord Peter dealt the cards. "You realize, Lord Peter," Lady Constance stated pointedly, "this is a party of family and close friends. The stakes are purely imaginary." "Of course, Your Grace," Lord Peter replied, his pleasant tone not quite masking his evident disappointment. Aunt Helen sighed. She looked at her cards and discarded. "It is unusual your niece chooses to run the stables herself," Lord Peter stated. "My niece," Sir James replied, "is a lady of good sense and strong abilities. That she runs the stables both for herself and for her brother's interests until he is of age, is admirable. She could have easily closed down the business interests of the stables. Yet she wanted to maintain this as a viable enterprise for her brother." "I said nothing to the contrary. It is unusual a young lady chooses to be involved in business, however." The dowager laughed, "My goddaughter is an unusual lady." "A remarkable lady," Lord Peter continued. "I can think of few ladies of my acquaintance who would have the sang-froid to accept two additional house guests for an indefinite period." "My goddaughter enjoys being surrounded by people. She's been isolated for so long, in mourning as she has been," the dowager replied easily. "It will be a pleasure to take her to Town this spring." "I shall look forward to seeing both of you there, Your Grace," Lord Peter replied easily as he discarded. Up in the older boys' room on the nursery floor, Patricia and Sarah were putting Jason and Clive to bed. Daniel was looking at them with longing in his eyes. Sarah walked over to Daniel. "Shall I hear your prayers?" "Does God exist?" Daniel asked quietly, in a profoundly painful tone. "Of course, Daniel, He exists," Sarah assured the boy. "I wish I could believe that," the boy replied. "What kind of a God lets innocent people die?" Sarah pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. "I understand that concern. I have lost many people for whom I have cared: my parents, my sisters, three of my brothers, my cousins, except for the Marchioness of Chatsbury, and many friends of the family. Sometimes one simply wants to yell at God and ask Him just why He's permitting us this pain." The boy nodded in agreement. "Yes, I can understand that."

"We must remind ourselves God has revealed Himself as all loving and good. The cause of misery in this world is sin, rebellion against God's holiness and goodness. God has limited how He will work in the world by having given man free will. People can choose to harm others, which brings most of the misery into the world. Free will also brings us our greatest joys in that it allows us to give and receive love." Daniel digested that for a moment. "I hadn't thought of it that way." The boy smiled at her, his lips trembling slightly. "Good night, Miss Elham." "Sleep well, my Lord Trouvaine." "My mother used to call me Danny," the boy said quietly. "Would you not call me Danny? I'm so tired of always having to be so starched up proper. The Marquis of Trouvaine is a terribly burdensome title for a boy." "I shall call you Danny, if you will call me Sarah," she replied easily. "Sarah, thank you." "Good night, Danny. Sleep well," Sarah said as she brushed the boy's hair from his forehead. "You too, Sarah," the boy replied as he snuggled further down under the coverlets. She stopped at Clive's bed and kissed her brother's forehead. She was going to tell Jason good night when she noted he was already asleep. So, she took her candle and left the room. George was waiting for her. "You look troubled," he observed. "What would make a boy doubt the existence of God?" Sarah asked the Duke. "In young Trouvaine's case, perhaps seeing his parents die and being himself left for dead," George offered quietly. "How awful," Sarah stated, genuine horror in her voice. She knew how much she had suffered because of Edwin's death. She couldn't even imagine a boy going through that terror twice over compounded by being injured and left for dead. She blinked back tears. George took the candle from her and placed it on the table. He held her tightly and let her compose herself. When she had regained control, she started to step back from him. However, he continued to hold her. "Give me this much, Sarah," he said thickly. "Just this much." Then he tilted her chin up and covered her mouth with his. She tried to ignore the pressure of his lips, the way his tongue petitioned, demanded, entrance, the surge of warmth through her midsection, and the sudden hardening of her breasts. In the corner of her mind that was still functional, she wondered why each time he kissed her, she was more and more lost to propriety. All she knew was that she wanted, needed, something that he could give to her. She nestled closer to him and opened her mouth to him. He kissed her as though he was a starving man and she was a seven-course meal. And she found herself answering his hunger with her own. She found herself overwhelmed by the feel, smell, and taste of him. Sarah tingled and ached with the pleasure of the

caress and her need for more. He lifted his head and looked at her. Her passion-glazed eyes and swollen, red, lips, were almost his undoing, as was the moan of protest that came from her lips as he broke contact. "Sarah, sweet Sarah," George murmured. "You make me lose all sense." "And you make me find new senses," she admitted, her voice a little awed. "Everyone will take one look at you and know you've been well and truly kissed," George advised. "If you are unwilling to set a wedding date tonight, it would not be wise for you to return downstairs at this time." "Tell everyone I suddenly developed the headache," Sarah replied, as a blush stained her cheeks. "I think that would be for the best," Patricia stated from just outside the doorway to the older girls' bedroom. Sarah felt herself turning five further shades of red. She buried her face in George's shoulder. George held her tightly. "Patty, did not your mother tell you it was bad form to spy on people?" George demanded, angrily, of his sister-in-law. Patricia laughed quietly as she came to stand nearer to them. "You tell everyone Sarah and I have settled down together for a cousinly coze. She might be back down when we are finished. It's time my cousin and I had a little talk." Sarah wished at that moment for nothing so much as for a hole to open up beneath her feet. "Sarah, are you able to stand without assistance?" Patricia asked. "Patricia, pray, go away," Sarah said, her voice muffled by George's coat. "George, you know I hold you in great affection," Patricia stated. "You are a brother to me. Yet I will not allow you to compromise Sarah." "Patty," George said in a tight voice. "This is not your affair." "I do not intend to stay still and let it be yours, either. I shall leave when Sarah comes with me. You two should not be left alone together," Patricia replied firmly. "Neither one of you obviously has any sense of self-control with the other. Anyone could have come upon you. Have you no sense?" Sarah turned and faced her cousin, fire in her eyes. "It would seem not...And you are a fine one to talk, Patricia Anne Marguerite," Sarah replied lowly. "I seem to recall catching you and Charles in more than one compromising embrace prior to your marriage." Patricia smiled. "Indeed. Come along, Cousin. George, pray tell everyone Sarah and I settled in for a cousinly coze. I do doubt Marbry and Miss Lewis will mind having time to sit and gaze into each other's eyes."

Sarah rolled her eyes. She looked pleadingly at George. "We will continue this conversation later, my dearest," George told her. Sarah sighed as she resigned herself to being read a scold by her cousin. "Let us repair to the children's sitting room," Patricia offered. "Goodnight, George." Sarah lit the candles on three multi-branched candelabra. A coal fire glowed slightly, from its almost burned out state, in the grate behind a wire mesh screen. Sarah stirred the ashes and added a bit more fuel to the fire. The furnishings of the room were old-fashioned. The room had not changed appreciably since Sarah had been a little girl. She settled into one of the oak chairs at a small table. Patricia sat across from her. Sarah steeled herself for the scold that never materialized. "I know you are aware of how horses breed." Sarah looked at her cousin. "Yes." "Has anyone had a serious talk with you about how things are between a man and a woman?" Patricia asked. "I do know the facts of life, Patty," Sarah replied. "Aunt Henny and I have had these talks many times." Oh, how Sarah longed to tell Patricia that she knew more than theory. "So you know the facts of life?" Patricia asked, humor in her voice. "Well, I'm certain you know the life science part of it at least up to the point of knowing that sexual congress is the method by which babies are gotten. And I'm certain that you have had a taste of passion in that kiss that I saw between you and George." "Patty, make your point." Patricia smiled softly. "I often think of remarrying. I do not at all enjoy celibacy. I miss having a man in my bed. I do not intend to remain alone much longer." "I wish you well, Patricia." "I am going to speak bluntly to you." "Now, that would be a pleasant change," Sarah offered dryly. "Sexual congress is one of the most wonderful activities on the face of the earth. The degree of pleasure that can exist in good marriage has to be experienced to be believed." "Patricia," Sarah began, embarrassed by this conversation. She remembered only too well the degree of pleasure she had felt in George's arms, before and after the pain. "Jane was always happy with Chisholm," Patricia continued. "She and I discussed our marriages, often. I can tell you things about his bedroom habits. Things which will aid you in pleasing him."

"I really don't want to hear this..." "I know. But you should sit here and listen to me." "Continue," Sarah allowed. "Yet I do not want to hear about George's...er...bedroom practices." Patricia nodded. "Very well. Perhaps it is better for you to discover those for yourself...Therefore, I'll speak to you of other, more general, things. When a woman is stimulated by a man, her body changes. Her breasts harden. Her loins grow moist and warm, readying themselves for the penetration of his maleness. A man's body changes as well when he is aroused. There is a certain...er...rigidity that comes over them...You have seen horses breed. And you have cared for ill and injured men, so the masculine anatomy should be of no major surprise to you. A stallion ready to mount a mare is not all that different from a man who is prepared to ride a woman." Sarah drew a deep breath. She looked at her cousin. "Do you think I do not know this?" Patricia nodded. "I should imagine you do. However, it is important. Are you aware a lady may fully enjoy sexual congress without risk of a child resulting? And there are other ways, apart from sexual congress, for a man and a woman to enjoy one another and to achieve the pleasure of sexual release?" Sarah looked at her cousin in dismay. This was a terrible conversation. Yet she couldn't bring herself to end it. Patricia continued, "Women are like horses. We have a season of fertility within the monthly cycle. One can easily learn to read the signs and avoid sexual congress during and just prior to that time. There are also herbs that can render a woman infertile, temporarily, and allow her to fully enjoy her husband without worry about risking the dangers of a pregnancy. These have been known since antiquity. Aunt Henny knows of them. She's given a list of them to all of her nieces and grandnieces on our wedding days. I will give the same list to Jessica on her wedding day, and to Anne if another member of the family does not do so. There are also sheaths that a man may wear...encasing his...maleness...for the purpose of catching his seed during the release of sexual congress. Those, I believe, are made from sheep entrails. And there are whole ranges of courtesan tricks from inserting a satin bag into one's birth canal to placing half of a squeezed lemon as a cup over the mouth of one's womb. But there are also ways of hand and mouth, caressing, encasing, stimulating, the private parts of man and woman which are without risk of a woman becoming with child as a result of the pleasure shared." Sarah blushed boldly. "If those worked so well, why are there so many bastards?" Patricia shook her head negatively. "Perhaps because women are generally not taught these things. Yet I know that they work. Charles and I made love every day, sometimes twice a day, occasionally more than that, for the first fifteen months of our marriage, using a combination of these techniques during my fertile time. When we decided to have children, we discontinued them. About two months after the twins were born we resumed relations for pleasure. And we continued in this manner, making love with one another each day, sometimes several times a day, until his illness and death without further pregnancies." Sarah sighed. This was far more than she wanted to know. "Until you marry George, try to avoid being alone with him," Patricia advised. "It is profoundly easy to be carried away by passion. Chastity is more workably observed in whole than in part. Once one allows an intimacy, the range of what is acceptable grows rather quickly until it becomes almost a given that one will be allowing and welcoming all degrees of intimacy up to and including sexual congress."

Sarah sighed once more. She wanted to tell her cousin that none of this was news to her. But, she didn't dare. Aunt Henny knew her secret. She wasn't sure who else in the family knew. Patricia looked at her cousin and spoke in a gentle tone, "There is no need to look as though you were a whipped puppy. It's normal for a woman in love to want the attentions of the man who holds her heart." That made Sarah feel worse. George didn't hold her heart. Her body. Yes, that he had held. But her heart belonged only to Marc. Or did it? Was what she felt for Marc anything more than just remembered calf-love mixed with her reluctance to enter into marriage with George while there was no room in his heart for her? She didn't know. Patricia continued, "Have you spoken of a date for the wedding?" "Perhaps the end of July." "Why so far away?" "Patty, do not ask so many questions. There are issues involved of which I do not wish to speak." Patricia sighed. "I would help you, if you would allow it." "There isn't any assistance possible, Patty. I must resolve this on my own initiative," Sarah replied sadly. "Sarah, talk to me. You worry me." Sarah shook her head. "Do not worry, Patty. Worry does none of us any good." "Is this about Marie Marchand?" "No. Even though George and I have discussed her." "Now, that's unusual. Speaking to a man about his mistress and natural child." "George is troubled by this. He wants to do right by the child." "Of course he would wish to do that. George is a decent man." "He is that." "If the problem is not his mistress, then what is the cause of the hesitation?" "It's about my examining at my life and trying to decide what I want. George has promised me time in order that I might have the leisure to make those decisions." Patricia smiled at her cousin. "It didn't appear to me that he was giving you time to do anything except feel." "There is that," Sarah replied with a sigh. "I do believe that he is trying to persuade me in one of the most elemental ways possible."

"It appeared to be working," Patricia replied dryly. "You know that I vowed to Jane that I do all in my power to see that George only remarried to one who loved him as she did and whom he loved equally in return." "When did you make that promise to her?" "As she lay dying, she demanded it of me," Sarah replied tightly. "I gave her that vow before God as she asked. I thought that it was the thing to do." "A deathbed promise is a difficult thing with which to live," Patricia observed. "So, what's the problem?" "George is dear to me. I do not love him in the way that Jane did. I do not even come close to loving him in that fashion, nor he me," Sarah replied tightly. "He is not the complete center of my life. He will never dominate my life in that manner. Nor will I his. I can function quite well without him. And he doesn't need me. This union--if it takes place--will be a marriage of convenience, not a love match." Patricia nodded. "You are stronger than Jane was. I loved my sister dearly. Yet she was not a person who was comfortable in her own company. She drew her feelings of worth from those around her, not from within herself. You, on the other hand, are stronger than that. You know who you are and do not need the slavish devotion of others in order to support your sense of self. It is unreasonable that you should expect to mirror Jane's devotion to George." Sarah reflected on that for a long moment. "There is another nobleman who holds my heart. He offered for me when I was sixteen. My father refused him. Had I known then of the offer, I would have eloped with him," Sarah confessed. "If he would give me the slightest indication that he still felt tenderly for me, I would marry him tomorrow." Patricia sighed. "I see the difficulty. Does George know that you are not heart whole?" "That is the reason he has permitted me this time," Sarah told her cousin. "He knows of my tendre for another. I felt obligated to tell him of this." "The nobleman would be Barrow, I take it?" "Certain members of this family are fortunate that they did not live in prior centuries. Back then they would have been burned as witches." "Most witches were not burned. They were hanged or failed the water test and drowned. Is it Barrow?" "Yes. Barrow holds my heart." Patricia looked at her cousin for a long moment. "Has he said anything to you beyond the level of friendship since he has been here?" "No. He is a gentleman." "Have you any reason to believe that he feels romantically towards you?" "A few comments into which I may have read too much."

"What passed between you and Barrow seven years ago?" "A kiss." "A kiss. Is that all?" "Is it not enough?" "How did it compare to George's kisses?" Sarah blushed boldly. "I know Marc was trying not to frighten me. Had Marc kissed me then, as George kisses me now, I would have run away like a frightened rabbit." Patricia laughed genuinely. "Enticing is good. I trust that you will come to the right decision, Sarah. Remember, little Georgie and Anne need a stepmama who they can love, too. There is no doubt that they love you." Sarah sighed. "I know. I love them dearly." "And their father?" "George is dear to me." "There are worse reasons for marrying." "I know. I tell myself that. Then I look at my parents' marriage. They each were the center of one another's life." "However, their marriage was arranged," Patricia offered. "As my parents' marriage was arranged for them. And yet both couples grew in love and respect for one another until they became absolutely devoted to one another." "I simply need to work this out in my mind and heart." Patricia nodded. "We should rejoin the company now." "Terrible hostess, I am." "No. This was important. Anytime that you need to talk, I will lend an ear," Patricia replied. "Shall I speak to George?" "Do not. Allow us to work this out among ourselves." "As you wish, dear cousin." *** Returning downstairs, Sarah found George standing by the window, looking out onto the vast darkness of the stormy night. Sarah walked over to him. He seemed not to notice her for a long moment. "Terrible storm," she said. "Listen to the wind howl."

"Are the children still asleep?" "They were when I checked on them before I came down." "It was storming on the night that Jane died," George replied quietly, thoughtfully. Sarah put her hand on his arm. "I recall. I recall several storms around that time. But that was rain and thunder and lightning. Not snow, like this. The two storms aren't comparable." George covered her hand with his. "Are you ready to play cards?" "I suppose so." *** The card game continued for two hours until the clock on the mantle rang off eleven. Sir James and Lady Helen excused themselves. The dowager duchess quickly followed suit. Patricia had been sitting with the chaperones, embroidering. "Cousin Sarah, are you retiring as well?" Patricia demanded. "When the last of the guests do," Sarah replied. "Miss Elham," Lord Peter assured her, "no gentleman would be so ungracious as to keep you from your rest. You have had an eventful day." "Indeed," Sarah agreed. "Do you often help with difficult foalings?" Lord Peter asked. "Always," Sarah replied easily. "Susannah is my mare." "It must be difficult for you to run the stables and to manage the house and to care for your brother, all by yourself," Lord Peter continued. "One does what one must," Sarah answered. "Did you wish to finalize the arrangements for the horses?" "If you are not too weary," Lord Peter replied. "It appears that I will be here for quite some time until the storm ends." "I should prefer to complete the business at hand. Cousin Patricia, would you accompany us to my office?" Sarah asked. "I should be delighted." George, Clarissa Lewis, Thomas Stanton, and Clarissa's companion, Mrs. Jones, remained in the drawing room. Sarah with Patricia and Lord Peter repaired to her office. Sarah lit several other candles from the flames

of the single candle she held. When the room was well lighted, she took a seat at her desk. "Now, as memory serves, Lord Peter, you wanted the following horses," Sarah began her list. Lord Peter nodded. "That is the list for Daniel's stable, yes." "Very well. The total price for those horses is four thousand, two hundred pounds." Lord Peter reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a brocade purse. He untied the drawing strings and removed a roll of bills. Forty-two one-hundred pound notes were counted and placed on her desk. His roll of notes remained substantial as he placed it back into the purse. Sarah recounted the notes, then made out the bills of sale for the horses. As each document was done, Sarah handed it over to Lord Peter. He read each document as she produced it. "Is everything satisfactory?" "Indeed," he assured her. "You write with a fine hand, Miss Elham." Sarah smiled at him. "Credit my mother, rest her soul. There were long hours of practice with pen and ink for all of us." "This branch of the Elham family is limited now to just you and your brother?" he asked gently. "We are all that remains above ground of Josiah Elham's line, yes," Sarah replied. "Much as you and the marquis are all that remains of your line." Lord Peter nodded. "'Tis a sad place to be." "It is life. One lives it as it comes, my Lord Peter." "One does indeed," he replied thoughtfully. Sarah watched as he rolled the bills of sale for each of the horses together and secured them with a ribbon. She stood, "I believe our business at this moment is complete. I shall be along presently. Cousin, will you escort Lord Peter back to the drawing room?" As soon as they were out of the office, Sarah took the stack of money, wrapped it in a sheet of paper and tied it off with a ribbon then labeled the package as Richmond. Then she went to the wall safe. Quickly, she opened the safe and deposited the cash inside. Equally quickly, she closed the safe and locked the door. Then she replaced the picture over it. She made the entries into the books of the stables annotating the sales of the horses in question and the amount of income. Then she locked away the books for the stables. She started to return to the drawing room, when she heard music coming from the conservatory. Someone was playing a rather lively waltz. Sarah stood at the door to the conservatory. Mrs. Jones was at the pianoforte, doing a most credible job of dealing with a waltz. Sarah couldn't quite place the music. It was Viennese, of that she was sure,

but she knew that she hadn't heard this particular piece before. Clarissa Lewis danced with Marbry. Lord Peter danced with Patricia. George came over to Sarah. "Come, dance with me," he said. It was not a request, not quite a demand. But whatever it was, she was not disposed to refuse. The music ended all too soon for Sarah. Lord Peter walked over to Sarah, "Miss Elham, may I have the next dance?" She sensed George's disapproval. Yet there was no reason to refuse Lord Peter a dance. "Sarah," Patricia said lowly, interrupting, "a country dance would seem to be in keeping." Sarah saw Patricia's concern in the way Marbry was looking at Miss Lewis. Definitely time to dampen the romantic closeness. "Sir Roger de Coventry?" George asked. "That would be appropriate." George walked over to Mrs. Jones for the purpose of having a word with her. Sarah smiled at Lord Peter. "My lord, you were asking for a dance. I would be honored." The three couples formed up for the figures of the dance. Mrs. Jones began to play the music. "Miss Elham," Lord Peter began, "I find you a most fascinating female." Sarah sighed. "Indeed," she answered. Lord Peter continued, " Yes, indeed. I should like to call upon you when you are in town, this spring." "That, you would need to discuss with my aunt. I shall be residing with her at Elham House," Sarah replied as they separated in the figure of the dance. "So, Sarah," Marbry demanded lowly, "are we to wish you and Chisholm happy?" Sarah smiled at her old friend. "I could ask you the same question about you and Miss Lewis." Thomas Stanton, Baronet Marbry, smiled broadly, and replied in a quiet voice, "So you could." "I cannot like the way that Richmond is flirting with you," George told Sarah, his voice low, as they met in the figures of the dance. "He is a fortune hunter." "I have met his like before," Sarah dismissed. "Of that, my dear, I have doubt," George replied gravely as they separated. When they met again in the figures, Sarah continued, "For one as deeply in dun territory as you claim him to be, he is certainly well enough supplied with the ready," she countered. "He paid for the horses with

forty two new one hundred pound notes." George pretended indifference, but Sarah knew him too well to believe that. She had seen the flash of surprise and interest in his eyes. Just then, she knew, simply knew George was as deeply involved in the family service to the Crown as her own father, uncle, brothers, and cousins had been. Sarah felt a deep fear settle into the pit of her stomach as she realized that the 'urgent business' which had delayed George had likely been associated with Marc's injuries. She couldn't fight the chill that settled over her. If George was involved with this on the side of the Crown and was actually concerned about Richmond, then Marc might well be in grave danger, as could everyone in the house. At the conclusion of the set, Sarah announced, "Gentlemen, Ladies, I do believe I shall retire. Good night everyone." *** An hour later, giving everyone time to settle in, Sarah lightly scratched at the connecting door between her room and Marc's. Then she entered. Marc was asleep. Akbar, as usual, was on his feet with the pistol in his hand as she walked in. "Get some rest, Akbar. I will sit with the earl." The servant nodded then retreated into the sitting room and closed the door. Sarah settled in on the chaise. Marc didn't waken for almost two hours, during which Sarah had plenty of time to think about ways to protect Marc. "Happy Christmas, Marcus," she said as she became aware of his having awoken. "These middle of the night chats are becoming a habit." "They are, indeed. I try to give Akbar an opportunity to rest." "I have been such a burden to you. This was not how I had envisioned paying a visit to you." "Life is seldom as we envision it." "Sarah, the wind sounds particularly fierce." "We are having quite a snow storm." "Then Richmond and Trouvaine have been unable to leave?" Marc asked in a far too casual of a tone. "Young Daniel is upstairs in the nursery. Lord Peter has been given a bedchamber as far distant from you as possible." Marc looked at her carefully. "Why did you phrase it that way?"

"Do you think me a complete nodcock?" "Not even a partial one, Miss Elham." "His arrival is all too suspicious," Sarah replied. "I will not be rude to the man on the basis of suspicion. However, I also will not endanger you needlessly." "Your dear godmama warned me that you look over me as a hen cares for her chicks." Sarah blushed. Marc could see that even in the low light of the room. She spoke. "I would not have phrased it in that manner." Marc smiled. "I am certain that you would not have done so. Nevertheless, there exists a grain of truth in that assessment." "Mayhaps," she allowed. "You have not been to bed," Marc observed. "No. I knew I would be unable to sleep." "Sarah, I am concerned that you attempt to do far too much. Do not allow yourself to become ill." "I am in no imminent danger of becoming ill, Marc," Sarah replied in a slightly frosty tone. "I thank you, however, for your concern for me." "How could I be otherwise than concerned for you?" he demanded. "There are times, my lord, in which I confess I wonder what you are thinking." "Those are matters into which you should not probe exceeding deeply." Sarah sighed. "Sleep. I will sit with you for a while yet. Then I will awaken Akbar. Starting tomorrow night, there will be two footmen taking shifts caring for you at night so that Akbar will be better able to care for you during the day." "Does that mean our middle of the night conversations will come to an end?" "For a while." "Did Richmond buy horses?" "For Trouvaine's stables." "Fine horseflesh?" "All of my horses are fine," Sarah replied, a hurt undertone in her voice. "I did not mean to cast aspersions on your livestock."

Sarah sighed. "I understand that. You need to rest now." Marc yawned. "I would rather spend hours in your company than to sleep even for five minutes." "Nonetheless, your body needs to heal itself and for that you need your sleep. Now, rest voluntarily, or I will brew for you a sleeping tisane and force it down your throat by means of a funnel." "I do believe you would," he replied with a yawn. "I shall remember and treasure these conversations and all of your acts of kindness to me for the rest of my life." "As will I," Sarah replied quietly. "Now, close your eyes and rest. I shall read to you." She lit three candles from her single candle stub. "Something immensely boring." She picked up one book after another and examined their titles. "Here is just the thing. Caesar's Gallic Wars. In Latin. Guaranteed to put you to sleep. I shall read to you from the spot you have marked with this ribbon." "Is your Latin good enough to translate as you read?" Marc asked. "We shall see."

Chapter Fourteen Christmas Day dawned with the diffuse light of a winter storm, filtered and softened by the snow clouds and the continually falling snow. The worst of the storm had passed. Yet the clouds gave every indication that there would be another storm coming on the heels of this one. Marc had finally drifted back off to sleep about the time the great clock in the hall had chimed off three. By three-thirty, she was in her own bed finally tired enough to get some measure of rest. The dreams awakened her with the chiming of seven on the clock. As Sarah washed in cold water and quickly dressed for the day, she looked out onto the back garden and said a prayer for those who would be cold or hungry this day. There would be no going to Church this morning, Sarah thought. Christmas in the village was always special. The Church would be festooned with greenery. After services, the villagers would be gathering in the Parish Hall for a roast pork dinner. Elham Park had furnished the pigs this year for the roasting. Several of the other estates had furnished other parts of the village feast. The children from the village penny school would present a Christmas Pageant. And there would be music and dancing. It was a country assembly, but one that Sarah had always loved. However, there was not any sense in regretting the missing of the day's celebration when it wasn't possible to go. They would just have to make as merry as possible at home. "Good morning, Miss," Mrs. Riggs stated cheerfully as she supervised two girls who were preparing kidneys for breakfast. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Riggs. Happy Christmas, Everyone." "Happy Christmas, Miss," the people in the kitchen replied.

"Since we will not be going to the village, what do we have for dinner?" Sarah asked. "A nice thick soup. Smoked Salmon. Roast Goose with chestnut stuffing. Braised beef with horseradish sauce. And a pork roast," Mrs. Riggs answered. "Gingered carrots. Parsnips and onions. Boiled beetroot. Baked apples, stuffed with nuts and currants. Christmas Pudding, flamed, with hard sauce. Assorted tarts: apricot, gooseberry, and quince. Bottles of that claret your father liked so. Spiced cider for the young ones." "That will do wonderfully, Mrs. Riggs. It is a family Christmas, more or less. So, we needn't be extremely formal. Thank you. Please make nuncheon a light meal." "Meatpies are already made and in the cold pantry, Miss. Enough for nuncheon today and tomorrow. And the vegetables for tomorrow's dinner soups are cut up and are in the cold pantry, as well, along with the pocket soups for the broth. There will be sufficient cold meats for tomorrow's family dinner. Breads were baked yesterday. You shouldn't have any problem with the meal." "Very good, Mrs. Riggs." "Are you certain, Miss, that you wish to carry on this tradition? With the duke in the house, and all?" Mrs. Riggs asked carefully. Sarah laughed. "I shan't poison anyone by my cooking, Mrs. Riggs." "Lawd, Miss, I didn't mean that! Your dear mama always trained her young ladies in the French fashion, to be fully capable of running a grand house. Not everyone understands that, these days," the cook said in a worried tone. "There are people who look down on work, especially some grand people." Sarah nodded. "Any of my guests who are offended at having to shift for themselves for a few hours can simply be offended. You all deserve to have a rest at Christmastide. Mother always gave you leave from duties on this day. We will continue in that tradition. I do regret, Mrs. Riggs, the fact that we are snowed in and that you will be unable to see your grandchildren perform today in the penny school pageantry." Mrs. Riggs smiled at her. "Christmas is a season, not only a day. We shan't be snowbound forever." The housekeeper came into the kitchen. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Newton." "Happy Christmas, Miss." "At ten, I wish the staff to assemble in the conservatory. Since we cannot go to worship services, we will celebrate the Lord's birth in the conservatory, followed by an exchange of gifts." Mrs. Newton smiled at her employer. "Very well, Miss." Then she shuddered slightly, "The Indians?" "Should they wish to attend, they will be welcomed." "As you wish, Miss." ***

Sarah sat in the breakfast room, absent-mindedly picking at the food before her. She didn't hear her godmama and Miss Everly enter the room. "Sarah! I have spoken to you three times." the Dowager said. She looked up. "Sorry. Lost in thought." "Obviously. Of what were you thinking?" "Is a lady not allowed the privacy of her own thoughts?" Sarah challenged. "Of course, my dear," her godmama agreed quickly. "I would not want to intrude." "I am sorry, godmama. I was rude." "No more so than I was to my mother-in-law at a house party at Chisholm when she intruded on my daydreaming. Have you and George set a date for the wedding, as of yet, my dear?" Sarah sighed. "Mother," George said from the doorway, "when Sarah and I have an announcement to make, you will be the first person to know, apart from the two of us." Lady Constance smiled at her son. "Very well, my dear. I shall rely upon that." "You may do so," George told her. "Happy Christmas all." "Happy Christmas George," Sarah replied. "Would you read a lesson this morning during the Lessons and Carols?" George laughed. "If you wish it." "I do." "You know that I can refuse you nothing." Sarah smiled at him. "So you say." "Do you doubt my word?" George asked quietly in a tone of warning. "Never," she assured him. "Now, pray, break your fast. And let us talk before the children come down." George helped himself from the sideboard. Cold toast points with brambleberry jam, kidneys, bacon, and stewed dried fruit taken from chafing dishes, composed his breakfast. Lady Constance's and Miss Everly's plates were similarly laden. "The weather does not allow for us to take the children down to the stables," Sarah stated. George nodded in the affirmative. "We shall simply have to tell them about the ponies." Sarah sighed. "If we both worked at it, we could get sketches of the ponies and horses done for the

children before they come down." Then she dimpled up at him and teased, "You used to be quite a fine hand with sketching." He smiled. Art was one of his passions, and she well knew it. "That would be enjoyable." Sarah returned the smile. "When you've finished your breakfast, we'll go into the morning room. The light is better there for early sketching." "It is very pleasant to share interests," Lady Constance observed. "Mother, pray, do not interfere in my life," George replied quietly. George's mother laughed boldly. "Very well, my son." Then she tucked into her breakfast with all suitable gusto. *** Sarah stood by the window of the morning room. The sky remained one nearly solid mass of clouds. And the snow continued to fall steadily. The roads would remain impassable for several days. "The ball looks less and less likely." George walked up behind her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly. This Winter Ball meant a good deal to her. It was a symbol, he knew, of the formal end of sorrow in the house. But instead of holding her, he simply laid his hand on her shoulder. "If we are to have this done before the children come down, should we not begin?" he asked quietly. "Indeed," Sarah replied as she turned to face him. He lightly touched her face. It was all that she could do not to turn her head into his hand to nuzzle it. Sarah forced herself to breathe as she saw the desire and tenderness on his face. She swallowed hard. "The sketch pads and pens and ink are on the table." "Sarah," George said quietly, entreaty in his voice. Nothing would be easier than to step closer to him, to offer him her lips and to lose herself in his embrace. Patricia's words of warning came back to her. "Come. Let us sit and sketch." George smiled at her. She was filled with contentment. As she sat sketching from memory the horses for Jason and Jessica, she wondered at why she should feel so contented just to be alone with him. She looked up and found George looking at her speculatively. "What is on your mind, George?" He smiled slowly. She really wished that he wouldn't smile like that. It did strange things to her. "I believe that you know what I'm thinking," George told her.

Sarah blushed boldly. "Yes. I see that you do," George continued. "George, I wish that you wouldn't..." "No. You do not wish for me to discontinue my attentions to you. I confuse you. Yet you do not in the least wish for me to discontinue speaking to you in this manner," he told her smoothly. "Do not be a hypocrite, Sarah. It suits you not." "Attend to your sketches, George. The children will be descending on us soon." George smiled at her as she worked quickly on the pictures. Finished with his sketches of the ponies, George began to sketch Sarah. "I should like to paint you, Sarah." "Indeed," she teased. "Think you that I should appear more favorably with blue skin?" George rolled his eyes. "Will you sit for a portrait?" "If you wish." "We could begin tomorrow." "I do believe that I have some canvas suitable for stretching in the house," Sarah replied. "I have some oil and some pigments. I fear that my brushes have seen better days after having been used by a certain ten year old." "I can begin with sketches," George stated easily. "If we complete those, I do have my own brushes." "Very well, George. I do not sit well, however." "Then I shall simply have to capture your impetuous nature on canvass," he continued as he began to sketch her. They worked in silence for a few more minutes, the only sound being the faint scratching of the pen nibs on the paper. "Done!" she stated as she put the last touch on the sketch for Jason. "May I see your work?" George asked. Sarah handed over the sketches. "Very well done," he told her, approval in his voice. "Very well done, indeed." "Your sketches?" George handed them over to her. At least, he handed over two of the three. Sarah looked at them for a

long moment. "I am in the presence of a master," she said quietly. "I always am stunned by how beautifully you draw." "And I am always stunned by your beauty," he told her honestly. "Not just of face and form, but of soul." Sarah blushed boldly as the clock rang off ten. At the moment, she wasn't all that certain that she had a beautiful soul. "Shall we take these and go into the conservatory? Everyone was to assemble there at ten." *** Nearly everyone was present when Sarah and George entered the room. The only guest absent was Lord Peter. Marc sat on a chaise. Sarah saw that he was uncomfortable. She wanted to go to him, to see what she could do to make him more comfortable. Yet she knew that action would be improper in the minds of many. The entire household staff was also assembled. A large pile of gifts lay on a long table. The children were standing there, looking at them, wondering which ones would be theirs. "Happy Christmas, Everyone," Sarah greeted them as she walked over to the piano- forte and began to play Handel's tune, "Antioch". After the first five and one-half measures, she began anew, and the family and servants began to sing, "Joy to the world, the Lord is come, Let earth receive her King. Let every heart prepare Him room, and heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing, and heaven and heaven and nature sing." All the verses later, Sarah handed George the Bible that she had previously marked with a ribbon. George took the Bible from her and opened it. "A reading from the second chapter of the Gospel According to Saint Luke." Then he read the Nativity story. Sarah closed her eyes and let his voice wash over her. She would gladly sit and listen to him read anything. His voice was always beautiful. He always read extremely well. But listening to him read Scripture was particularly moving. When he finished the reading, Sarah began to play "The First Nowell". Lord Peter walked in during the middle of the song. His tenor voice blended in with the voices of the rest of the group. Several other carols were sung. Miss Everly lifted her flute in joyful celebration of the Nativity. The caroling continued for quite some time. Clarissa Lewis stood beside her brother and sang a solo of the ancient plainchant hymn, "Veni, Veni, Emmanuel," in alternating verses in Latin, then in English. Then Clarissa and Marc sang Luther's great Christmas hymn, "Von Himmel hoch" in perfect German. They followed that with "Es ist ein Ros." The beauty of Marc's music made Sarah smile. He really did have a lovely voice. He smiled at Sarah. It was all that she could do to keep herself from going to him. "Anyone else care to favor us with a song?" Sarah asked the group. Lord Peter went forward. "I heard this on the continent. It was, however, oddly enough, written in Latin by an Englishman during the last century." He paused a moment, then began, "Adeste fidelis, Laeti triumphante, Venite, venite, in Bethlehem, Natum videte Regem angelorum. Venite adoremus.

Venite adoremus. Venite adoremus, Dominum." He paused for a moment, "In English, that would be..." Then he began to sing, "Come, you faithful, joyful and triumphant. Come, oh come, to Bethlehem. Come and see Him who is born the King of Angels. Come let us adore Him. Come let us adore Him. Come let us adore Him, the Lord." He stopped for a moment. "I don't recall the rest of it. There were several verses." Sarah smiled. "Thank you, Lord Peter, that was wonderful. Anyone else with a song to share?" Sarah waited for a long moment. "Very well. It's time for gifts." The children made a happy shout. Sarah and Clive distributed envelopes to each member of the household staff. Each of them received a fortnight's wages as a Christmas gift. Then most of the servants were given liberty for the rest of Christmas Day as well as Boxing Day. The kitchen staff would be working until dinner was ready and then would have the entire day free from duties on Boxing Day. Sarah only wished that she could give the stable hands the day to themselves. The horses needed to be cared for. The occupants of the house could fend for themselves for a few hours. The occupants of the stable could not do so. After the servants left, small gifts were exchanged between the families. George gave miniatures of the children to both his mother and his mother-in-law. George's twins and Patricia's twins were equally delighted with the sketches of the horses and ponies. "Papa," Georgie asked George, "may we go down to the stables and see the ponies?" "Not today, my lord," George replied with affection. "No one is venturing out of doors today. The snow falls too heavily for an outing to be safe." The little boy sighed. "As soon as the storm stops," Lady Anne asked, "may we see the ponies?" "As soon as it is safe to venture out of doors," Sarah replied. "Will the horses be well?" Lady Anne asked. "It is so cold outside." "My dear, the stables are warm enough. The stable hands will see that the animals have plenty of food, water, and exercise. They will be just fine. They are, after all, animals. The good Lord gave them the ability to withstand this weather." "My lord Trouvaine," Sarah said as she walked over to the boy. A satin wrapped parcel was in her hand. Both Danny and his uncle stood as Sarah approached. "Happy Christmas, Danny," Sarah added. The boy took the present. "I haven't anything for you, Sarah." "An exchange is not necessary," Sarah replied easily as the boy untied the parcel and removed the book.

"L' Morte d' Arthur," the lad read the title of the work. "It seemed only fitting. Clive and I wanted you to have that book." "Thank you, Sarah. I shall treasure it always," the boy said as he embraced her and held her tightly. Sarah smiled softly at the boy and returned the embrace. Lord Peter cleared his throat. Sarah looked up at him as Danny broke the embrace. Sarah read only speculation in his face. "Happy Christmas, my lord." "It may be that, after all, Miss Elham," the man said cryptically. There was a wary hard speculation about his eyes that chilled her to the bone. Just then Sarah knew from where she knew his face. She forced herself to keep a straight face. She couldn't afford to show him the revulsion she felt. If this man was who she believed him to be, he was profoundly dangerous--more dangerous than even she had previously thought. She needed to go look at the sketches before doing anything with her suspicions. And if she were correct? Well, she would simply have to deal with it at that time.

Chapter Fifteen Sarah was in the kitchen, alone, early on Boxing Day, thinking. She caught sight of her reflection in the well polished bottom of a copper kettle. A long apron covered the front of her serviceable brown wool gown from the neckline to the floor. Her hair was protected under a mop cap. She looked like a scullery maid, she thought with a laugh. Then her thoughts became serious. She definitely needed to talk privately with her uncle. The sketches were not absolute proof of anything, or at least that was what she tried to tell herself as she stirred the copper pot in which dried fruit was stewing slowly with honey and spices. The fragrances of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves, and the sweetness of honey, filled the kitchen and mingled with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans, hot chocolate, and ham. It would be a good winter breakfast. How Sarah longed for a boiled egg. There would be no more fresh eggs until the hens began to lay again in the spring. There were eggs in the cold pantry. Yet they were preserved in water glass. While they would be fine for using in baking, eggs preserved in that manner were not suitable for eating boiled or fried. "I thought I would find you here," George said from the doorway. "Thank you for the hot water this morning." "Father used to hate shaving with cold water," Sarah dismissed. "There is coffee and chocolate. If you would like a cup, pray serve yourself," she said as she stirred the fruit. He smiled as he came into the room and poured himself a cup of the coffee from the pot on the stove.

He sat down at the table. He sipped the hot, dark, brew. "This coffee is quite good. Elham Park surely has the best coffee I have ever tasted." "Thank you, Your Grace," Sarah replied impishly. "Sarah," he replied quietly, with a warning tone in his voice. "It's the beans, George. Father always imported them from Brazil...We've continued in that practice. Breakfast will be ready shortly." "Come sit with me." "For a few minutes," she allowed as she poured herself a cup of chocolate. She sat on a bench at the table where the servants generally worked and ate. George was across the table from her. "How long have you been working?" Sarah smiled. "Just under two hours." "You shall be working all day at this," he stated, not questioned. "Probably. People have to be fed." "Indeed. Allow me to help." Sarah laughed. "George, I remember another Boxing Day during which you almost set yourself ablaze." George smiled at her. "I am not a callow lad any longer." Sarah laughed. "No. You are definitely all man." George looked at her intensely. She met his eyes for a moment, then found herself blushing but unable to look away from him. "Sarah, surely, it is time to end this game." "I play no game, George." "Certainly, you do. It's entitled, 'Keep George on tenterhooks.' You play it with all the skill of a master." "Gamesmanship is a topic with which you should be well acquainted, Your Grace. For how many years have you worked with my uncle?" Sarah countered. George looked at her carefully. "That, Sarah, is not a topic for discussion outside of closed doors." She nodded. "At least you do me the courtesy of not denying it." "I have never lied to you," George told her.

Sarah looked at him for a long moment. "No, you have never lied to me." "And I never shall," George replied with an honesty that touched her heart. Sarah closed her eyes and nodded tightly. She looked at him. "You are so very dear to me," George told her, tenderness in his voice. "And you are dear to me," Sarah replied honestly. "Much as a beloved Cousin should be." "Sarah," George began. Whatever else might have passed between them was cut off by the sound of the bell from the breakfast room. "Sarah, I," George stated, only to be interrupted by another ring of the bell. "We will talk later, George. Pray go tell the ringer that breakfast will be laid out soon. Then return and assist me in carrying in the food?" Sarah asked. "Gladly." George walked down the hallway and into the breakfast room using the service door. "You rang?" he asked Lord Peter. "Your Grace," the nobleman stated in surprise. "I was seeking breakfast." "Indeed. However, Miss Elham has given her servants liberty for the day." "An unwise move certainly with guests in the house," Lord Peter replied. "She is now finishing the cooking of our meal." "Herself?" Lord Peter asked tightly. "Indeed." Lord Peter sighed. "I suppose that one must make the best of it." "If you will excuse me, I shall go assist her." "I shall accompany you," Lord Peter offered. Sarah stood with her back to the door. She was busily ladling the stewed fruit from the pot into several chafing dish trays. "Racks of toast are there. The jam is out on the sideboard already. And I'll have the ham in the serving dishes by the time that you have returned. Pray light the fire under the chafing dishes if these are to be kept reasonably warm, George." "Certainly, Sarah," George agreed quietly. "Thank you, George."

"I say, Miss Elham, how may I be of service?" Lord Peter asked. Sarah finished filling the dishes. She didn't want to have to deal with Lord Peter this early in the morning. She especially didn't want to cause him to suspect she knew. He was dangerous. She wouldn't give him any reason to act against the people in the house. She forced herself to speak to him in a conversational tone, even though civility was the last thing on her heart for this man. "You may assist the duke in carrying the food into the breakfast room, my lord." "Of course, Miss Elham," Lord Peter replied. "Carefully, now, they are quite warm," Sarah advised, handing both men doubled over toweling to insulate their hands from the pans. "Good morning, Niece," Sir James said as he came into the kitchen. "Good morning, Uncle," Sarah replied easily. "Breakfast will be laid in a matter of moments." "May I have a pot of chocolate and some toast to take to your aunt?" Sir James asked. "Certainly, Uncle. I shall prepare a tray in a few moments," she said as she pulled large baking dishes from the brick oven she had fired early this morning. The ham slices were nicely warmed through. Sarah piled the meat into chafing dish pans, covering each pan as it was filled. "You have been busy this morning, Niece," Sir James stated. "Indeed. I should like a word with you in private this afternoon at two in my sitting room," she told him tightly as she ladled hot chocolate into a small warmed china chocolate pot. "In what regard?" Sir James asked carefully. "We shall discuss it later, Uncle," Sarah replied lowly as she heard the other men return to the kitchen. "I see..." "I sincerely doubt that," Sarah said with a slight tightness to her voice. "Thank you, gentlemen, for your assistance. These are ready to take in. Pray serve yourselves. I shall bring coffee and chocolate, in but a trice." "Nonsense, I shall carry those for you," George replied. "You have already done a good deal of work. You should allow someone else to do some of this." Sarah smiled at him. "Now, George, did my mother ever allow anyone else to tend her kitchen on Boxing Day?" "As I recall, most of us were put to work," George replied, "my revered Mama included." Sarah suppressed a laugh. "Only the once." George smiled broadly. "Ah, yes, the infamous whip Syllabub."

Sarah giggled, in spite of herself. "Oh, your poor mother." "Oh, my poor stomach," George protested. "I rather believe that you have survived," Sarah replied easily. "Indeed," George replied, his eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter as he and Lord Peter took the dishes into the dining room. Once they were gone, Sir James turned to his niece, "What did you wish to discuss?" "Later, Uncle. Behind closed doors." Sir James looked at her in concern. "Are you sure that you wish to wait until this afternoon?" "It will be soon enough. I have some thinking to do," Sarah replied tightly. "As you wish my dear." Returning to the kitchen, Lord Peter looked between Sarah and George. "You have spent many Christmastides together." "Yes, we've spent many Christmastides together," George replied easily. "The family has gathered either here or at Elham Manor or at Chisholm. We've gathered together each year, those of us remaining in the Elham/Blake/Roberts families." "The assemblage grows smaller each year," Sarah stated quietly. "The family is sadly diminished in numbers." "Indeed," George agreed with a sigh. "This too will change as the children become adults and set up their own nurseries." Sir James interjected, "It may not take that long for the family to be increasing, Sarah. You, George, and Patricia are all of marriageable age." Sarah smiled tightly. "Uncle, had you not best take that chocolate up to Aunt Helen while it bears some resemblance to warmth?" "Indeed. I shall have speech with you later," Sir James replied as he picked up the tray and put it into the dumb waiter. "Yes, we shall," Sarah replied, a tightness to her voice. "What was that in aid of?" George asked. "Family business," Sarah replied. "I see," George responded. "Perhaps you do, at that." Sarah moved to pour the coffee into a serving carafe.

The nursery bell rang. "Sounds as though the children are awake," George observed. "Indeed it does," Sarah replied as she walked over to the nursery dumbwaiter and placed a note on the platform along with several pitchers of hot water for the children to wash in before coming down. Then she rang a bell and closed the door to the dumbwaiter. "The traditional if-you-want-to-eat-you-will-work message?" George observed. "Yes. Expect a horde of the youngsters to descend on the breakfast room shortly," Sarah replied.. "I believe I shall go break my fast," Lord Peter stated. "By your leave, Your Grace. Servant, Miss Elham." Sarah's eyes followed him until the kitchen door closed behind him. She looked at George and sighed. "Well, there is work to be done. Will you meet me in my sitting room at two of the clock? You should be involved in this overdue discussion with my uncle as well." George smiled at her. "No, George. This is about old injuries that need redressing." He looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Old injuries?" "We shall discuss it this afternoon. I have too much work to do now. Pray go break your fast. Then aid the children with their breakfasts. I need some time alone to think," she said wearily. "I do not have to tell you that this is not a matter for discussion with anyone else." The puzzlement became concern. "Sarah, are you well?" "I am profoundly troubled. Yet I shall work this out." "Tell me about it." "This afternoon, in my sitting room," Sarah stated flatly as she walked toward the cold pantry. "Pray take in the coffee and chocolate." "Will you not eat?" "I have eaten. Pray leave me alone and allow me to work, George." "As you wish, my dear." "Thank you," she said as she entered the cold pantry. *** Sarah put some beef tallow in the bottom of the large open-hearth soup kettle. When it was melted and hot, she dumped in several large crocks of chopped carrots, onions, parsnips, and turnips. With a long paddle, Sarah gave the vegetables a stir. She filled the crocks with water from the kitchen pump. Then she stirred the vegetables, again. When the onions were limp and slightly brown, Sarah added one after another of the crocks of water into the pot. When the water boiled, she added the pocket soup--a rich

dried beef broth that cook made at butchering time with all of the scraps of beef and bones and vegetables from the kitchen garden. She let that come to a boil. To the richly colored broth with vegetables, Sarah added more water, barley, split peas, and a packet of herbs wrapped in cheesecloth. In a few hours, she would add chopped cabbage and small pieces of meat. Sarah rearranged the coals beneath the pot so that the soup would simply simmer, not boil, all day. Sarah retrieved a canister of dried pear halves from the pantry. She put some in a pot and covered them with boiling water to reconstitute. With a practiced hand she carefully cut lard into flour and salt to make a pastry crust then she added just enough water to bind the mixture together. George returned to the kitchen for more chocolate. He stood there for the longest moment in the doorway, watching her work the pastry into tart crusts. There was something about the precision of her movements that told him whatever it was which was troubling her, it was serious. Soon enough, he'd know. Sarah looked up at him. She smiled. George felt nearly intoxicated with the joy of seeing her smile. "Making tarts?" he asked. "Pear tarts." George's smile broadened considerably. "Thank you." "You always did like pear tarts," she offered quietly as she returned to her work. "Chocolate is on the back of the stove staying warm. Shall I get it for you?" "No. I will handle this. You continue with your tart making." George ladled the hot chocolate into the chocolate pot. Sarah finished rolling out the last of the tart crusts and putting the crusts into the tart pans. The brick oven was still hot enough, so Sarah put the tart shells in to bake. When she closed the oven door, George was right behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her head. "I cherish you, Sarah Elizabeth. You are the most important woman in my life." She turned in his arms to face him. "George, I..." Whatever it was that she was going to say was lost as his lips closed over hers. Her arms came up around his neck as his mouth plundered hers. The caress could have lasted only a moment or an eternity, she was that lost to everything except her growing need. As if she weighed nothing, George swept her up in his arms and carried her a few steps to one of the chairs at the ends of the table, without breaking off the caress. He lowered himself and his precious burden into the chair. His lips trailed down her throat. She made a small, startled, moan of pleasure and threw her head back. Taking that as an encouragement, George allowed his lips to go lower, to brush the tops of her breasts. Her quick in drawn breath told him all that he needed to know. With all of his strength of will, he lifted his head and looked at her. The passion-drugged look in her eyes was not something that he had imagined. She desired him as deeply as he wanted her.

"Sarah," he said his voice thick with both need and regret. "This isn't the place or the time." Embarrassment flooded her face. He gently touched her cheek. "My darling, even if you won't give me the words, your body betrays your passion. It is not a cause for embarrassment. You never have to feel embarrassed with me." She buried her face in his shoulder. "Oh, George..." "Your body loves me. It is enough for now. You care for me and you want me. The rest will come. I shall procure a special license, my sweet...I'm not sure either of us can wait for the Banns to be called. Together we are an explosive combination." "Explosive..." she echoed the word. "Yes. That's the word for it," she added thoughtfully. Then suddenly recalling the pastry, "My tarts will be burning!" She stood and for a moment she thought that her legs would not support her. Like a newborn foal, she walked on wobbly legs to the oven. Mercifully, the pastry was merely done, and not burnt. Quickly, she used the oven paddle to remove the pastry shells. As Sarah was laying the tart shells on the baker's rack to cool, Patricia came into the kitchen. "The children grow impatient for their chocolate." George stood. "Very well. Sarah, we shall finish this conversation later." Sarah fought a blush and lost. "As you wish, Your Grace." "Saucy imp!" he charged affectionately as he took the chocolate pot towards the dining room. Sarah just shook her head and sighed. Clive came into the kitchen. "Sarah, I need to have speech with you, privately," the boy said lowly in a troubled voice. "Patricia, you will excuse us?" Sarah asked. "Of course. However, I should like to speak with you, privily, as well," her marchioness cousin stated with the stiff dignity Patricia always adopted when offended. "Later, Patty." When only Sarah and Clive were in the kitchen, the boy began, "Danny's uncle beats him." "Why would you think that?" Sarah demanded. "He has scars, fresh scars, all up and down his back and upper legs. Welts as from a narrow strap," Clive told his sister. "Did you ask him about them?" "Danny dismissed my questions. Sarah, he's frightened. I really like him. I fear for his life."

Sarah nodded. "Physical punishments are not that uncommon, Clive. Beatings are commonly enough administered punishments by many schools and tutors." "To the point that one bears the marks for life, Sarah? His scars may fade somewhat, but they were deep enough to leave welts. Men die of such beatings, Sarah. He's only a boy. And these weren't the first set of scars." "I shall try to do something about this, Clive." "Thank you." "Pray return to the others. I have work to do." It wasn't ten minutes later, that Akbar appeared at the door to the kitchen. "Good morning, Miss Elham." "Good morning, Akbar. Is your master ready for his breakfast?" "Indeed he is, Miss." "The only meat I prepared for breakfast was ham. Would you care for some cold roast goose? Perhaps some cold beef?" "Either, Miss." "Take a tray into the breakfast room and fill it for your master and you. Then return here and I will have your meat ready." "Thank you, Miss Elham." "How are his spirits this morning, Akbar?" "He is in some pain today, Miss. I fear that he has been attempting too much at this point in his recovery." "See that he rests." "I shall." Sarah took ten minutes and sat down to drink the last cup of chocolate in the pot. What did she feel for Marc Lewis? Once, she had loved him. Had that been only calf- love? Certainly, he had shown her nothing of his sentiments other than the warmth permissible between old friends. More importantly, how did she feel about George? She was still confused. It would be easy to get carried away with the passion George engendered in her. It would be easy to mistake the passion for love. Certainly, he was showing her things about herself that she had never imagined. Could she live up to his standards for his duchess? Could she fill Jane's shoes? Could anyone? Jane had made George her total life. Jane had practically worshipped him. Could anyone love George the way that Jane had? Was that an impossible promise to fulfill?

*** Finishing supervising the children as they cleaned the luncheon dishes, Sarah looked at the kitchen clock. She would have about ninety minutes to herself before she would have to go upstairs to prepare for the meeting with her uncle and George. She didn't want to open up this terrible set of memories. If she were correct, her only choice was to bring this to light. The soup for supper was already slowly simmering in the pot. Together with an assortment of cold meats, some pickled vegetables, bread, and the pear tarts, it would have to be enough. She wouldn't have time or energy to do more. Sarah sighed raggedly. Clive looked at her in concern. "You look weary, Sarah. Will you not allow us to finish the preparations for dinner?" "When you take the china and the silver back to the dining room, please set it up properly on the sideboard for ease of serving," Sarah instructed them. "Then you may go amuse yourselves until dinner time." "When do you get to amuse yourself, Sarah?" Clive asked. "Right now," George said firmly from the doorway. "Lady Helen is now in charge of the kitchen." *** Sarah added more coal to the fire in her sitting room. Soon the room would be pleasantly warm. The clock on the mantel told her that George and her Uncle would be here shortly. Sarah looked again at the sketches. They were all Lord Peter. Her uncle walked in without knocking. He took one of the wing chairs near the fire. "Well, Niece?" he asked as Sarah closed the portfolio and placed it on the table. "We shall wait for George," Sarah replied. "He shall be here shortly." Sir James smiled. "Am I to wish you happy?" "That's not what this is about," Sarah replied, a tightness to her voice. He looked at his niece. "Tell me what is troubling you." George also walked in without knocking. Sarah had left the key in the lock. George turned it and left the key in the lock. That was not lost on Sarah. "Thank you, George. Pray be seated." George sat beside her on the sofa. "I wish for you both to remember back to when Edwin was murdered," Sarah stated. That got both of their attentions, immediately.

"Niece?" Sir James demanded. Sarah bit her lip. "I have not talked extensively of this, apart from my testimony at the inquest." George took her trembling hand within his. "I saw his murderer," Sarah stated bluntly. "Yet you told the coroner's jury that you had not seen the man," Sir James challenged immediately. "What I said was that I hadn't seen him clearly, that all I clearly remembered was the pistol being pointed at me," Sarah replied. "Did you commit perjury?" Sir James asked in a gentle tone. "At the time, it was too painful for me to sit and analyze what I had seen," Sarah replied. "The memories were still paralyzed with fear. He shot Edwin, and he shot my horse out from under me. What I kept seeing was the pistol, aimed at me. It took some time before I could deal with that memory. It took longer before I could go beyond it." She sighed. "Inadvertently, I suppose that I did commit perjury." George squeezed her hand. "No, you spoke only from the best of your recollection. That is not criminal. And it may have saved your life." Sarah smiled tightly at him. More than anything, just now, she wanted the comfort of his arms. "I don't sleep well. I keep reliving that few minutes around Edwin's death in my dreams. And I awake in a cold terror. When I wake, I sketch what I have seen, in order that I may deal with the memory, make it less frightening, and that I may somehow come to live with it. Each of these ink sketches is dated. They begin with the night after the murder and continue through last night." She removed her hand from George's and retrieved the portfolio that had lain on the table beside the sofa. There were hundreds of pen and ink sketches there of the events surrounding Edwin's murder. "These can't be used in a court of law, Uncle. Any good barrister would not let them stand," Sarah replied. "But I now know who murdered Edwin. Now, I have to decide what I am to do about this. I will leave you two alone with the sketches. Look at them. I shall be in my bedchamber. Pray summon me when you have reached a conclusion." It wasn't twenty minutes later that her uncle popped his head into her bedchamber. "Sarah?" he said gently. "Coming, Uncle." George stood looking out at the back garden. There was tension in his shoulders. She walked over to him. She laid a hand gently on his arm. He looked at her and pulled her into his embrace. "Oh, Sarah, how you have suffered! I am sorry." She stood there enjoying the comfort of George's arms. Sir James cleared his throat.

"Come, let us sit," Sarah offered. "Yes," George agreed. "So, do you see the resemblance?" Sarah demanded from her place on the sofa. George sat next to her. Sir James sighed. "It is Lord Peter, without a doubt." Sarah looked at George. "Do you concur?" "Indeed, I do." "Then we must decide what is to be done," Sarah replied wearily. "Will you not leave this to me?" Sir James asked. "Uncle, I cannot," Sarah stated. "This became a family matter when he killed my brother. It became personal when he shot my horse out from under me. The biggest mistake that man made was in letting me live, for now I will see him pay." Sir James sighed. "Niece, this is dangerous business." "Indeed. My whole life has been surrounded by dangerous business." She paced the room. "It is time to invite the earl into this conversation. Come." She said as she walked towards her bedroom door. The other two men followed her. Marc was still dressed, sitting up in bed, propped up by many pillows, his leg elevated, and reading Cicero. Akbar had opened the door. "Marc?" Sarah asked. "Do you feel up to a conversation?" Marc looked up, saw the three of them standing there and put down his book. "Come in." "Sarah," Sir James said quietly. "Suppose that you continue your quite extraordinary exposition?" "Do you think me a total nodcock, Uncle? Do you not think that I know my own father to have used me as a pawn in the Latham matter? Do you think that I do not know that Elizabeth's death at the hands of highwaymen was nothing of the sort? Do you not think that I know how closely the earl came to dying from his engagement in this risk-riddled business? And do you not think that I know that Edwin's death and the earl's injuries are related to their investigations of a group of traitors? Do you think me ignorant of George's involvement in this work? Further, do you think me ignorant of the fact that there were three men found dead in and around a cottage not fifteen miles from here? That is somehow associated with the danger in which I have placed my house by sheltering the earl. I suspect that two of the men were assailants of the earl whom he dispatched. The third, from the rich quality of the clothes, and the fact that the man's face was damaged beyond recognition, was supposed to serve to convince persons that the earl was dead." Sir James was silent for a moment, stunned by the calm certainty of his niece. "What else do you think that you know?"

"I think that I know nothing. I am certain that I know much," Sarah replied firmly as she paced. "Sarah, your imagination is certainly active," Sir James dismissed unconvincingly. "Logic and intuition, Uncle, not imagination," she countered. "Do you honestly believe that Lord Peter just happened to call by? Is that not too coincidental for words?" Sir James was silent. "George warned me that Lord Peter was firmly in dun territory." "He is known to be so," Marc replied. "Then why was he able to pay for the horses in nice new one hundred pound notes, forty two of them to be precise?" Sarah asked. "And that sum did not begin to make a dent in the roll he was carrying." Sir James' lips thinned to a tight line. "He's had some money from somewhere," Sarah offered. All three of the men's faces were curiously blank. Too blank. Sarah smiled tightly as pieces fell into place. "Ah, that's it, isn't it?" "What is it?" Marc asked. "The treason in question, it is counterfeiting," Sarah stated, not asked. "And rather serious at that, if it causes the Foreign Office such consternation as to involve the three of you." "That is an intuitive leap, my dear," Sir James stated after a long moment. "Am I in error?" Sarah asked. "Sarah, there are things which you would be better off not knowing," George replied. "He has bills of sale for four thousand two hundred pounds worth of horseflesh from Elham Park stables. If the money is spurious, I certainly will find out when it is deposited in the bank," Sarah replied. "I cannot stand a loss of that magnitude." George looked at Sir James. James nodded. "Sarah, do not worry at the loss," her uncle said. "I shall inspect the notes. If they are spurious, then I shall see you have reimbursement from the Foreign Office in exchange for the spurious currency. And we shall take it into evidence to be used against him." Marc explained, "There is a large amount of spurious English currency floating about the Continent, India, and America. Over the past three years we have been investigating this, in an effort to find the ring and break it before it completely undermines the Bank of England." "This spurious currency is all in one hundred pound notes, I take it?" Sarah replied. "No, the majority has been one and five pound notes. Only within the last month or so have the one

hundred pound notes been seen," George said. "And we've only seen the one hundred pound notes among those who play truly deeply." "Like Lord Peter," Sarah offered. "So if they are spurious, it is not solid proof that he is involved. He could have won the notes. Or he could be the one putting those notes into circulation." "Indeed," George allowed. Marc said, "Sarah, pray do not become involved here." "I am already involved up to my neck, Marc, and you are quite aware of this." She looked at all of them. Then she continued, "I propose this premise: that the decoy you laid for him in the third body, George, was not convincing to him. He came by here because of the news in the neighborhood of the earl's accident. However, he seems convinced of the truth of the story I crafted about Marc's accident." "That's quite a supposition, niece," Sir James remarked. "It is, indeed. However, I know that Edwin was tracking traitors. Lord Peter killed Edwin. We are in agreement that it is Lord Peter in the sketches." "What sketches, Sarah?" Marc demanded. "My sketches. The ones I've made every night when I've awakened shaking from the nightmares," Sarah replied tightly. Marc looked at the other two men. "You have seen these sketches?" James nodded. "My niece just showed them to us." "May I see them?" Marc asked. Sarah left the room to get the portfolio. "James," Marc said quietly, "when she has come to talk to me late at night, there have often been ink stains on her hands." "I have no doubt that she has been sketching in an effort to relieve her fear," Sir James replied as Sarah came back into the room. She crossed to Marc and handed him the portfolio. Then she walked to the window and looked out. The snow was still coming down. Sarah sighed. It was beautiful. Pure. Clean. In other words, the landscape was a complete opposite of the state of her own soul Sarah made the mental assessment. "Miss Elham?" Marc said gently a few moments later. "Is this a true representation of the day Edwin died?" "It is as I recall it," she told him flatly. "Miss Elham, look at me," Marc said in a tone that was tantamount to a command. She turned from the window.

"The sketches are clearly Richmond," Marc agreed. Sarah sighed. "Therefore, since my brother had no other connection to Lord Peter Richmond, it is likely that Lord Peter is the traitor whom Edwin was attempting to isolate. Marc was tracking traitors. Although he hasn't said as much, it is clear to me from the nature of his wounds that the earl was abducted and brutalized, escaping with his life, barely. And who should appear when the earl is present at Elham Park recuperating from his wounds but Lord Peter, the man who killed my brother," Sarah said quietly. "Given that there are not that many Englishmen who would commit treason, it is not too large of an intuitive jump to see that Lord Peter is likely to be involved somehow in this current bit of mayhem." George sighed. "Sarah, I wish for you to stay out of this matter. Leave it in our hands." "I cannot do that, George. You would not be able to leave this in the hands of others either, if it had been your brother." Sir James spoke first. "He has had one chance to kill you, Sarah. I do not wish to afford him a second opportunity." "As long as he remains in the house, he has that opportunity," Sarah stated. "Which is why I've been sleeping with a loaded pistol within reach since the day Ma...the earl arrived here. There are also loaded weapons secreted in accessible locations in each room of the house in case I or anyone else has need them," Sarah replied. "They're the same locations that my father used." Sir James laughed boldly. "You are your father's daughter." "Yes, she definitely is," George concurred. Sarah smiled broadly. "Here is what I have in mind. The man seems to be taken with me, whether that is real or affected in order to determine if I recall him, I could not say. I plan to encourage him, ever so slightly, just enough that he will see it to his advantage to leave Daniel with me until spring." "Why?" Marc demanded, his voice harsh. "Why would you place yourself in that kind of danger?" "Because I know from Clive that Daniel bears fresh scars from several serious beatings that Daniel had told Clive he had received at the hands of his uncle. He is a small lad. Richmond could easily kill the child." "And when spring comes?" George asked tightly. "Hopefully, by then, you three will be able to assemble enough hard evidence to convict Richmond of some Capital crime and we will be able to watch the man dangle from the end of a silk rope," Sarah replied, her voice flat. "And if we can't?" Sir James demanded. "Then, at least, I would have given the boy a few more months to live. He will have the opportunity to have good country food and the companionship of another boy his own age. With a little tender care and proper guidance, I believe the child has the potential to be quite special. At the moment, he's the only thing standing between the title of marquis and Lord Peter Richmond. Do you think that any man who will commit treason and murder will stop at anything, including the murder of an innocent boy, to get what he

wants?" Sarah replied thoughtfully. "He may have already tried once to kill the boy in the incident where the lad's parents were killed. I cannot prove that he was behind that accident. Yet I do not believe he shed many tears over the death of his own brother." "You paint the man's character truly black, Niece," Sir James replied. "I describe him as I see him, Uncle." "And yet you believe that you can bring off an innocent flirtation with the man?" Marc asked carefully. Sarah sighed. "I must. Therefore I will." George crossed the room to her and took her hand. "I know that you have to try. Yet pray consider the consequences if you fail? If he ever detects a chink in your façade, Sarah, the results could be disastrous to you and to the investigation." "I know, perhaps better than anyone else, exactly of which the man is capable. I do not propose to chase him. However, I will be slightly more than merely civil to him. He's a gazetted fortune hunter. I shan't need to do more. He needn't even think as far as being wed. I am certain that he has already heard the speculation about my becoming the next Duchess of Chisholm. It will not be reasonable to him that anyone should give up the chance for marrying into great wealth and title for one such as he. However, it may well suit him to color my character to be as black of his. I have found that unscrupulous persons generally attribute their own motives to others." The men were silent for a long moment. Marc cleared his throat. "What exactly do you plan to do, Sarah?" "Nothing overt. I will encourage him slightly. Drop little hints that perhaps George and I are not involved in a love match. That would not be out of keeping with the commonplace among the haut ton. It would also not be unheard of for a married woman to seek male companionship outside of her marriage. With a little private encouragement, a word here and there, a few scenes staged for his benefit alone, he may come to view my character to be as black as his own. And that is the lure by which he shall be caught." "Sarah!" George protested. "Do you not see, George. The man will be doing everything in his power to ingratiate himself with me. Not only does he have the prospect of a torrid affair, when it would grow cold as these things are wont to do there would be a ripe situation for him to profit from blackmail. After all, what woman wouldn't move heaven and earth to keep her wealthy husband from learning of her adulterous liaison? I am a perfect target for him. And in the process, I take his attention away from both Marc and Danny. Oh, yes, it is a perfect trap for him and by setting it I protect two good people," Sarah replied with feeling. George looked at her for a long time. "Sarah, the workings of your mind frighten me." "Personally, I find nothing fearsome in your thinking. Fascinating, yes. Fearsome, not in the least," Marc stated. Sarah smiled at Marc. "I do not like this, Niece. Yet I see your reasoning. If the goal is to take the lad out of the man's control

and to misdirect the attentions of Richmond away from Marcus, then indeed this is worthy of your actions." "For now, this is the goal. Clive told me that he fears for Daniel's life. What else can I do, given what I know of the man, and my lack of legal options?" She sighed. "Sarah," Sir James said as he stood, "be careful. Be very careful." "I shall. I am my father's daughter." "Indeed," George concurred dryly. "And frequently that fact frightens me out of my wits. There is a most unattractive edge to your soul, Sarah." "On the contrary, I find the workings of her mind to completely admirable," Marc said. "Are you certain that you wish to do this, Sarah? It is a dangerous game you propose, this masquerade." James spoke, "Her reasoning is sound. Sarah, you will avoid being alone with Richmond. Your plan stands as much of a chance of working as any other. You have my permission to attempt it." "I see no other reasonable course of action," Sarah replied. "I suppose I could always poison him," she offered, only half in jest. "Poison is not reasonable," George said firmly. "Under normal circumstances, no," Sarah agreed. "However, there is nothing normal about this situation." "You are your father's daughter," George said without approval in his voice. "It is difficult to disguise most poisons, Sarah," Marc said. "I could easily brew one or two deadly potions which would leave results consistent with a death by natural causes," Sarah offered. "It would not be difficult to slip those into his brandy." George paced the room. "Sarah, I forbid it." "I am not yet vowed to obey you!" she protested. "Woman, if Richmond dies of anything remotely resembling poison, you will not sit down for a month," George warned her. "You ever lay a hand on me in punishment and you will be a gelding," Sarah countered, her voice low and fierce. "On that you have my solemn word." "Children!" James said, his voice low, but his authority firm. "You are, without doubt, the world's most devious female," George replied tightly, his voice holding anger. "Given that my own mama is an accomplished intriguer, that is saying something indeed." "Does this mean that you are rescinding your offer of marriage, Your Grace?" Sarah taunted. "It is not too late. The notice has not yet gone to the Times. You cannot possibly wish to marry a devious

woman." "Perhaps I should rescind the offer," George countered a shade of heat in his voice. "Indeed. Perhaps you should," Sarah replied, quiet anger in her voice. "Trust is a valuable item in a marriage. How could you trust a 'devious' female, the workings of whose mind you would be unable to predict?" With that, Sarah left the room, pausing only for the briefest of curtseys on her way out the door.

Chapter Sixteen George took Sarah gently by the arm and escorted her through the connecting door, through her bedroom--stopping only to turn the key in the lock, and into her sitting room. Then he let loose of her arm. She crossed the room and stood in front of the fire. George walked up behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sarah, forgive me?" She turned her head and looked at him. "It isn't the first time that you have expressed unease with the way in which my mind works. I cannot change the way I think, George. I will never be a proper Duchess for you. I shall release you from our agreement, if you so desire." "Would you like to know what I desire?" George said thickly. "Perhaps we should not be pursuing that conversation," she told him, her voice weaker than she thought it ought to be. George turned her to him. He smiled at her. Her breath caught in her throat. "Sarah, sweet Sarah," he said hoarsely as he pulled her to himself. Sarah found herself trembling. "Shall we sit down?" she offered, her voice trembling even as her body was. Just as he had earlier in the day, he swept her easily into his arms. "George?" she asked breathlessly. "Do you trust me, Sarah?" "With my life." "Which is exactly how I trust you," he replied as he carried her over to the sofa. "So there will be no more talk of my not trusting you." Then he kissed her.

She forced herself to pull away from him slightly. "George, please, I cannot think when you do that." He smiled at her. "Then do not think, only feel." "Are you intending to seduce me, Your Grace?" He looked at her intensely. "I'm not certain who the seducer is, Sweet Sarah," he said as he lightly traced the curve of her breast. "You seduce me with a smile." She gasped and threw her head back arching her back as his fingers lingered playfully. His lips lightly traced from her ear down her throat to come to rest on the top of her breast. With the deftness of long experience in playing lady's maid, George unfastened the top three buttons on her bodice back, allowing him fuller access to her breasts. His mouth went lower as he pushed the dress from her shoulders to reveal her hidden splendor. She cried out brokenly as his lips lovingly caressed the newly revealed flesh. He raised his head and looked at her. She was his for the taking. Oh, how he wanted her; right here, right now, forever. Yet he wanted her to have no regrets with which to begin their life together. One of them ought to have some semblance of sense. He, at least, knew where they were going. She was merely being swept away by a tide of desire. Desire. She felt desire for him. It stunned and humbled him, the depth and immediacy of her desire for him. He wouldn't take advantage of her, again. "Sarah, sweeting," he said reluctantly. "If we do not stop now, we will not stop. Soon, very soon, neither one of us will be able to stop." He watched her as the heat of embarrassment filled her face. Gently, he refastened her dress. "You have nothing to be embarrassed over, Sarah, dearest," George told her quietly. She walked over to the window on shaking legs. George followed her. "Perhaps, we should avoid being alone together," she offered quietly. "We seem to lack self-control with one another." He turned her to face him. "Perhaps we should simply marry now and put us both out of our misery." "Are you miserable?" "Sarah, I will not be truly happy until we are wed." "Do you love me, George? Do you love me as you loved Jane?" "You are not Jane," he told her after a long moment. "I am not the same man I was when she and I wed." Sarah nodded. "I can never compete with Jane's memory, George." "I do not recall asking you to compete. Memories are cold bedfellows, Sarah." "Indeed," she agreed. "Almost as cold as what might have been." George nodded. "I will not apologize for my behavior, Sarah."

"Did I ask you to do so? Did you see or hear me resist?" He smiled at her. "No. I heard no protest." "Then why should you think that I require an apology?" "Possibly because my actions were improper?" "Indeed, they were. However, mine were as well. I should have boxed your ears," she replied with a small smile. "Why did you not?" "You are attempting to convince me to marry you. I am vastly enjoying the attempt," she answered him honestly. He stroked her face. "Vastly enjoying?" "George, surely, you have learned by now to recognize when a woman enjoys your attentions?" Sarah demanded. George smiled broadly. Then he became somber. "Do you realize how deeply I desire to carry you into your bedchamber, to remove every stitch of clothing from both of us, and to show you, time and time again, just how much pleasure both of us may share." Sarah smiled softly. "About as deeply as I would wish for you to do that," she replied with an honesty that shocked both of them. George looked at her. "We'd probably get no further than disrobing before Patty would be knocking at the door." "She warned me about this," Sarah replied as she stepped into George's arms. "She warned me of the progressive nature of granted liberties." George groaned. "Woman! Marry me soon before we both disgrace ourselves completely and irrevocably." "There is much to discuss before we can commit to marriage, George." "The details of the settlement can be worked out between the solicitors," he dismissed. "I care not if you come in your shift." "Oh, I have more than my shift, Your Grace. I have an independence which I intend to keep under my sole control," Sarah replied firmly. "I intend to keep and race my own horses." "I have no problem with that," he told her. "I do not need your money or possessions. You keep your own money and property. Do not, however, deny me the joy of providing for your personal needs. I want the joy of supporting you." "The word of the announcement your children made at Church will soon spread throughout the ton, George. The community is far too small, too connected, and too many tongues like to wag."

"All the more reason to confirm it with an official announcement." "And spoil the fun of all those gentlemen at White's?" "Why not? If they haven't anything better to do than to wager on our marital settlements, then we should cut their pleasure short and force them into more admirable pursuits," George said quietly. "Our original agreement, George, is still in force." George closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked at her, "Are you still enamored of the earl?" "I do not wish to murmur his name in the night as I lay in your arms. I want to come to you heart whole, if I come to you at all," Sarah replied tightly. "Has he given you any indication at all that he reciprocates those emotions?" "None. Not really. A few comments I may have read too much into simply because I wished to do so. George, the situation is not even one of my being attached to him. It is simply that I wish to know my own mind and heart in this." George sighed. "Very well. If you insist on the original agreement, I will abide by it and the corresponding modification on which you insisted." George watched her face as a shaft of pain crossed it. He hated doing this to her. But at the same time, he knew that he had to make his point. "You know your happiness is of primary importance to me, George," she replied softly. "Should you find another whom you could love as you loved Jane, and if the lady in question returns your affections and cares for your children, then I shall rejoice for you." "Shall we return to the company?" "You go ahead. I wish to rest for a quarter hour before I change for dinner. I shall be down shortly." *** George met Patricia in the upstairs hallway. "Where is Sarah?" "I left her in her sitting room. She requested to be left alone so that she could rest," George told his sister-in-law. "Very well, George. Shall we return downstairs?" Patricia demanded. "You would not have come up simply to play chaperone would you?" he teased his sister-in-law. "I did." "No need, Patty."

"Every need, George," Patricia countered. "I have seen you two together. We need to talk, my dear brother-in-law, privately." "Papa!" Lady Anne cried as she came running to her father as soon as he reached the main level of the house. "Papa, tell Georgie to stop pulling my braids." George picked up his daughter and held her on his hip. "And why did your brother pull your braid, my darling?" "I don't know. He's such a BOY!" George tried not to laugh at the emphasis his daughter put on that last word. He kissed his daughter's forehead and promised her, "I shall speak to him about this, my dear." Then he put the child down. "Do you know where I may find him?" "In the kitchen with both grandmothers." "My mother is in the kitchen?" "Yes, Papa, the duchess is in the kitchen." "You will excuse me, my lady?" George queried. "Of course, Your Grace," Lady Anne replied with a proper curtsey. *** George stood at the door to the kitchen and watched as his mother sat at the table, drinking tea, and keeping the others company. At least, she wasn't cooking. He came into the kitchen. "Something smells good." "Sarah made the soup," Lady Helen dismissed. "Where is Sarah?" "She said that she needed to rest," George answered. Helen nodded. "I doubt that not. She has labored today in both providing food for all of us and supervising the running of the house. She deserves a rest." "Indeed, she does. As do the members of the household staff," George agreed. "I've always approved of this tradition." "When does the announcement go to the papers, my son?" the dowager duchess asked. "Soon." "Son," Lady Constance began in a frustrated tone. George looked at his mother calmly. "It is your life, my dear. I only wish the best for you."

"Sarah wishes to wait until the settlement is officially drawn before we make the announcements." Lady Constance frowned. "I had hoped for an announcement at the ball." "At least the snow has stopped. There now is a chance that the roads may be cleared in time for the ball," Lady Helen stated. "That will make Sarah happy," George said quietly. "She so wanted to resume the winter ball tradition," Helen agreed. "Yes, she did," Lady Constance agreed. "George, might I have a private word?" Patricia asked. "Of course, Patty. The library?" *** Patricia settled in on the leather-upholstered sofa in the library. "I am breaching a confidence in telling you this," Patricia began. George looked at his sister-in-law questioningly. "Are you aware Jane extracted a deathbed vow from Sarah?" George closed his eyes for a brief moment to compose himself. Sarah had told him of this. Yet he wasn't certain that she had told him the whole of it. "What manner of promise?" he asked carefully. "That Sarah would see to it you remarried only in a love match," Patricia replied. "Is that the extent of the promise she made?" George asked carefully. "To the best of my knowledge," Patricia stated. "You should also know that she has a tendre for another." "I am aware of this, Patricia," George stated. "I never thought you a fool, George. However, if you allow Sarah to slide through your fingers, I shall have to revise that opinion." How was he to make Sarah realize how deeply he loved her, even if that was a different kind of love than he had for Jane? Especially since the plot in which she had now embroiled him required the façade of this not being a love match? George sighed raggedly. "I shall deal with this to the best of my ability." "Pray do not tell Sarah I told you." "I shan't." ***

George went into the billiard room. Lord Peter was playing against Marbry. "That shot is impossible," Marbry stated. "Care to back that statement with some of the ready?" Lord Peter asked. "Certainly. Ten guineas?" "You certainly haven't a good deal of confidence in your judgment, have you? Ten guineas? That shot is worth at least a monkey," Lord Peter said as he looked at the table. "Deep play, indeed!" Marbry, said thoughtfully. Lord Peter removed the bills from his wallet and placed them on the rail of the table. "I am confident in my ability to make the shot." Marbry opened his wallet and placed the funds on the rail. "Make your attempt." George watched as Lord Peter executed the shot perfectly. "I say, good shot," Marbry replied, a bit in awe. "Ah, there you are Marbry, Richmond." "Your Grace," Lord Peter replied as he put the money in his wallet. "Afternoon, Your Grace," Thomas Stanton said. "Good shot, Richmond," George observed. "Dame Fortune smiled," Lord Peter replied easily. "Apparently," George stated. "Another game?" Lord Peter asked the baronet. "I think not. You play too deeply for my taste," Marbry replied. "I will play," George stated. "I should be honored, Your Grace," Lord Peter replied. *** Sarah returned to the kitchen. Aunt Helen and the Dowager Duchess were seated at the table, chatting away. Great Aunt Henrietta was there, as well. "Niece," Helen said in greeting. "Aunt Helen," Sarah replied easily. "Aunt Henny, Godmama, pray now tell me what mischief is it that

you all are hatching?" Aunt Helen laughed quietly. "No mischief. Simply speculating on when you will tell us that you are going to marry George." "You all seem to have my life planned out for me," Sarah replied, sidestepping the issue. "Shall we get dinner on the table, ladies?" Dinner was a lively, informal, affair. George sat at her right hand at the foot of the table. Uncle James was at her left hand. Lord Peter sat wedged between the dowager duchess and Great Aunt Henrietta at the opposite end of the table. Sarah was grateful for that small mercy. Sarah was careful to limit her consumption of wine to half of a single glass. The last thing that she needed just now was to allow her tongue to wag. Tonight, and indeed the remainder of his stay here, would require a cool head. George rose to his feet. "I should like to propose a toast," George said. "To Miss Sarah Elham, who has made me the happiest of men in her agreement to become my duchess." Sarah's brief irritation at George's announcement was not unnoticed by Lord Peter. Everyone drank to Sarah. "Have you set a date for the wedding, Sarah?" Lady Helen asked. Sarah smiled softly. "There are still matters of settlements to negotiate. And a duke's marriage requires some planning more than is customary in such things. Since there will be Royals in attendance, the plans must be drawn carefully. When we can meet with the Rector at St. George's Hanover, then we shall be able to set a date. I suspect that it will be no sooner than the end of July." "Indeed there are plans to be made," the dowager duchess replied. "Very wise of you, my dear. It is not every young lady who can see such things. My son has chosen well." "If I could convince her, I'd have a special license tomorrow, and we would forego the circus of a society wedding," George stated. Sarah glared at him. "A lady is entitled to an elaborate wedding only once in her life. Pray do not deny me this." "I've been through it once," George replied. "It is more trouble than it is worth." "We are all aware that this is your second marriage, Your Grace," Sarah replied frostily. "However, this shall be my first." "Planning on a second?" George demanded. Sarah replied in both a far too sweet tone and rapid Italian, "I did have an ancestress who was of the house of Borgia, as you may well remember." George sipped his wine and smiled. He replied in equally rapid Italian, "I am aware of your heritage. You clearly inherited her penchant for mischief." "You would do well to remember that, Your Grace," Sarah advised quietly, retaining the Italian.

The dowager duchess looked puzzled. Miss Honora Thomas was literally aghast. Miss Thomas spoke in equally rapid Italian, "It is most unhandsome of you, my cousin, to quarrel with your intended bride in such a manner." "I did forget you spoke Italian, cousin Honora," George replied. "Forgive me for imposing our quarrel on you?" "Perhaps you should reconsider the arrangements, if you are already threatening one another with mayhem?" Honora suggested in rapid Italian. "That is a most excellent idea," Sarah stated, retaining the Italian. "But when I made it to our mutual cousin, he threatened to spank me to such a degree as I would be unable to sit for a month." "Must you," George asked in a tone which could have easily been an endearment, "really attempt to elicit aid from within the ranks of my blood relatives?" Sarah smiled prettily. Her tone was honey, and her language was Italian, "If that were my goal, Your Grace, I should have already spoken to your dear mother, my godmother, and told her a number of completely true but unflattering facts about you. Yet I have not. If I had remembered Honora to speak Italian, I would have chosen another language. Shall we switch to Greek? In this manner, at least my uncle and the rest of the gentlemen of this company would be able to follow the gist of the conversation without the ladies being scandalized. Or shall we cry peace?" George smiled. He sipped his wine. Then he replied, retaining the Italian, "I can say without fear of contradiction that marriage to you will be anything except boring. Peace. Or at least a truce." George's mother looked at them in puzzlement. "I do love the sweet sounds of Italian. I only wish that I spoke the language." Sarah smiled at her godmother. "As do I, Godmama. As do I." After dinner, the women and children left the men to their port and cigars. "Well, George," Sir James said quietly. "Congratulations. I wish you and Sarah happy." George nodded. "Thank you. We shall march along well together, she and I. At the very least, she will not bore me to death." Lord Peter observed the exchange with interest. "Marriage is a topic I endeavor never to raise with a lady." Baronet Marbry smiled. "I do believe that I shall be raising the issue myself shortly." "Miss Lewis?" George asked. "Yes." Sir James raised his glass of port, "Then gentlemen, to the health of our ladies!"

"To the health of the ladies," Tom Stanton agreed. The group re-assembled in the Conservatory. Music was offered by several of the adults and older children. The younger of the children began to appear quite sleepy. George walked over to his twins. "My lord and lady, it is time for you both to be departing to dreamland." "Yes, Papa," Lady Anne said. Georgie yawned before requesting, "Carry me upstairs, Papa?" Sarah walked over to Clive. "Time for you to go up, as well, my dear." Clive nodded. "Come hear my prayers?" "Of course," she agreed. "Cousin Sarah," Lady Anne asked tiredly. "Will you carry me upstairs?" "Yes, my dear, I shall," Sarah told her gently as she lifted the child into her arms. "May I call you 'Mama'?" the child asked. "Sweeting, I shall have to discuss that with your Papa," Sarah replied lowly. Anne was asleep as soon as her head hit Sarah's shoulder. Sarah looked at George and smiled softly. "They grow so quickly." "Indeed they do," George told her as they walked out of the room. "It seems only yesterday that we stood at the chapel at Chisholm and made their baptismal vows for them." "It does indeed," Sarah agreed readily. The children all filed out of the room, leaving the older adults, Miss Lewis, Marbry and Lord Peter behind. "Tomorrow, the staff will be out clearing the driveways and paths," Sir James stated. "Perhaps the road can be clear enough to allow the ball to proceed on Friday," Lady Helen replied. "A ball?" Lord Peter asked. "Another Elham Park tradition," Sir James explained. "It is a smallish gathering for the local worthies. Although, on occasion, it has been favored by the presence of a royal personage." Lord Peter absorbed that in silence before asking, "Shall we play at cards?" Lady Helen shook her head. "I believe that I shall retire." Sir James looked at his wife. "I shall be up shortly, my dear."

"Good night, all," Lady Helen replied, excusing herself. Henrietta Elham also excused herself, followed quickly by the dowager duchess and Miss Everly. "I believe that I shall go spend some time with my brother," Miss Lewis said. "May I join you?" Marbry asked. She smiled at him. "Of course. Marc would welcome the company." The pair of them, with Lady Clarissa's companion, left the room, leaving only Sir James and Lord Peter. "Seems that everyone has opted for an early night," Lord Peter observed. "It has been a long day." "Does she give the servants liberty like this often?" Lord Peter asked carefully. "On Boxing Day, and then half of the staff has liberty every other Sunday," Sir James replied easily. "It is a way of ensuring loyalty." Lord Peter nodded. "I can see that." "Chess?" Sir James asked. Lord Peter demurred. "I think that I will borrow a book from the library, and have an early night." "Then I will bid you a good night," Sir James remarked. *** Sarah was about to open the door to the older boys' room and leave when Lord Peter pushed the door open. "Miss Elham," he greeted her in little more than a whisper. "My lord," she replied. "The boys are asleep. Shhh..." He stepped back and allowed her to leave the room. She pulled the door closed behind her. "I should like to have speech with you, my lord," Sarah stated. "Of course, Miss Elham. I am at your disposal." "We have been in mourning for most of my brother's life. Consequently, apart from family, he has been in contact with truly few boys of his own years," Sarah stated. Without giving him time to respond, she continued, "I should count it as a great personal favor, my lord, if you would allow Daniel to remain with us until we come to Town in the spring. I am prepared to see to his education by allowing him to share in Clive's most excellent tutors. Additionally, he will have some time to learn more of horses. The boys have taken quite a liking to one another. I truly believe that the time in the company of another child of quality would improve both boys."

Lord Peter was silent for a moment. "You present a good case, Miss Elham. What will the duke think?" "My life is still my own, for a little while at least." "Miss Elham, will you allow me to speak freely?" "A dangerous request, my lord," Sarah answered. "Yet one I am prepared to grant." "Is this marriage with the duke a desire of your heart?" Sarah looked away from him, then answered lightly, with a trace of bitterness in her voice, "A lady would be mad to turn down an offer from a duke." "'Mad' is not a word I would use to describe you," Lord Peter said gently in rapid Italian. Sarah blushed boldly. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh, indeed," Lord Peter replied in English. "Should you ever need a friend," he began with a gentleness that made her want to gag. He was clearly taking the bait. "Thank you, my lord, I shall keep that firmly in mind," Sarah replied. "This marriage is obviously not a love match," Lord Peter stated. Sarah sighed, and changed the subject, "About Daniel?" "I see no reason why the boy shouldn't remain here in your charge, if he is amenable to that." "Clive will be so pleased." "Are you pleased?" Lord Peter asked. "Indeed. Daniel is a delightful boy," Sarah answered. "I doubt that you have ever met a child whom you failed to find delightful," he countered. Sarah looked at him. "I shouldn't wager on that, were I you," she replied darkly. "Would you care for a game of cards?" he asked her. "No, thank you. It has been a long day, and all I desire is a little solitude." *** Sarah walked into her darkened sitting room and stoked the fire, adding coal to it. She wasn't going to be able to sleep, so she might as well be warm. The fire cast an increasing amount of light in the room. Sarah lit other candles from her single candle. Soon the room was bathed in light. An hour later, George scratched on her door. Getting no answer, he opened the door and found her

sleeping on the chaise. Entering the room, he gently closed the door behind him. One by one, he extinguished the candles until the room was in semi- darkness. "Sarah," he said as he touched her shoulder. "Sarah?" She did not wake. George picked her up and took her into her bedroom. Her bed was turned down. He placed her on her bed. Then he removed her slippers from her feet before he untied her garters and removed both her stockings and a lethally sharp dagger she wore. He placed the dagger and sheath on the night table. After rolling her stockings, he placed them beside her slippers. Thinking she would be uncomfortable in her clothes, he turned her onto her side and unbuttoned her gown. "I have to be mad," he muttered to himself as he pulled her gown from her shoulders. Unlike most fashionable ladies, she had not dispensed with wearing a chemise. Swallowing hard, he reached under her pillow in search of her nightgown. Instead, first he found a small pistol. "I do believe that is mine," Sarah stated lowly. "How long have you been awake?" he asked little above a whisper. Sarah sat up. In the semidarkness, George made out her form. He swallowed hard. She reached for her nightgown and quickly pulled it over her head. "I shall be with you in a moment, George. My sitting room." By the time that Sarah had arrived in the sitting room, George had lit the candles and stoked the fire once more. He stood before the sofa. Sarah wore her flannel night rail and her quilted dressing gown. Her hair was loose and she was barefoot. "Were you hoping to seduce me, George?" she asked as she walked up to him. He swallowed hard. He hadn't seen her hair down in years. It was so beautiful. She was so beautiful. Almost of their own volition, his hands were in her hair. "So beautiful," he moaned just before he kissed her. Before she knew it, he was seated on the sofa and she was on his lap. His lips were gentle, demanding, pleading. And she gave him everything he asked for, while demanding passion from him as well. "Sarah, sweetheart," George said hoarsely as he pulled away. "I shall soon be taking you to bed." "Do you love me, George?" she asked him quietly as she nuzzled her head into his shoulder. "Sarah," he told her gently. "I am not so lost to honor that I would make a child with you before we are wed." "Do you love me, George?" Sarah asked him once more. "Do you love me as you loved Jane?" "When I wed Jane, I wanted, even needed, to be the center of her life. Jane was slavishly devoted to

me. And I adored her in return. What I want, what I need, what I desire more than anything, now, is a strong woman who can run my houses, supervise my children's education, and be in every way a companion and helper for me. I want a passionate bedfellow, a woman who can best me at chess, a strong woman who knows how to be gentle. I cannot imagine a time in which I will fail to hold you dearly with respect, passion, and affection." Sarah nodded. Being held dearly with respect, passion, and affection was close to a declaration of love. Eventually, this would grow into love, wouldn't it? Sarah rested her head on George's shoulder. "We have a façade to maintain. Lord Peter's already taken the bait. He's offered his friendship." "Write your solicitor, Sarah. Let us have the terms of the marriage settlement finalized as quickly as possible," George advised her. "Whatever you want is perfectly acceptable to me. Chisholm is entailed to Georgie. Anne shall have the Irish property. Our children will divide the Island property, the Scottish estates, the shares in the India Company, and the shipyards." "Are you certain, George? Surely, those things should remain with Chisholm to maintain the wealth of the duchy?" Sarah asked carefully. "I wish our children to be provided for," George said. Sarah sighed. "I also do not wish for Georgie to be placed at a disadvantage. There are future generations of Blakes to consider. Future dukes who may someday be needful of that wealth. Your mother has promised that she will modify her personal will in order to leave her personal fortune to our children." "When did she promise you that?" "Recently," Sarah replied. "That sounds like mother. Yet she has something less than one hundred fifty thousand pounds in funds and a small estate in Cornwall," George replied. "Aunt Henny has changed her will in my favor," Sarah informed him. "Some jewelry, and about thirty five thousand pounds in the bank," George stated. "And a small estate in Yorkshire, as well as a sugar plantation in the islands," Sarah explained. "Both of which are managed well and turn a substantial profit, most of which she dedicates to charity. It's enough, George, to provide an income for any children we might have." "It is a start," George replied. "Any daughter of a duke will be a great matrimonial prize. And our sons can make names for themselves in the Army, in the Church, or in honorable professions like Law. Surely there can be had a QC or a Judgeship for a younger son of the Duke of Chisholm. And there are livings in your charge with the Church. Once established, a bishopric is not totally out of the question. There is certainly precedent." George smiled gently at her. "You have the future all planned out."

Sarah shook her head. "No. I do not." George turned his head towards hers. Their lips met. Sarah's arms twined around George's neck. He had intended for the caress to be light. Yet their passion exploded once more. She moaned his name when the kiss ended. He held her tightly. "Sarah, I must leave now," he told her a few long moments later. "If I do not leave you, you will very shortly be with child." Sarah looked at him and swallowed hard. He continued, "The servants will know if I stay." Sarah turned red with embarrassment. He smiled at her. "I am not a callow lad, Sarah. Unfulfilled arousal is not fatal," he said gently as he removed her from his lap and gently deposited her on the sofa. "There will be the rest of our lives to learn what pleases each of us. Now, I must leave while I still have some self-control left." "Sleep well, George," she said quietly. "Neither of us will sleep easily tonight. Marry me soon, Sarah?" She sighed. "Oh, George," Sarah replied. "I should like that." *** George returned downstairs. He stood with a brandy, looking out of the library window. If Sarah really wanted a big wedding, he would see that she had it. However, the effort to keep his hands off her would be monumental, and probably beyond his abilities. The brandy burned as it went down his throat. He heard someone come into the library. It was Lord Peter. George decided that the easiest thing would be to pretend to be thoroughly drunk. "Your Grace," Lord Peter greeted him. "Good evening," George said with affected difficulty. "Join me?" "Why not?" Lord Peter replied cautiously. He watched George slop some very fine brandy into a snifter. "Women!" George said with a disgusted tone to his voice as he handed Lord Peter a glass of brandy. "Indeed," Peter agreed. George swallowed some more of the brandy. He watched as Lord Peter drank deeply from his glass. "Any idea of a date of when you will be legshackled?" Lord Peter asked.

"Knowin' my dear Mama, it'll be soon," George replied tightly. "She likes Sar'h. That'll make m' life eas'r." "Man has a right to drink himself stupid, if he wants," Lord Peter said quietly. "But have you a reason?" George drank deeply from his glass. He returned to the grog tray and poured some more brandy into his glass. He hated slopping the very nice brandy, but that was in keeping with his façade as being drunk. George stumbled as he made his way back over to Peter. He sat down in one of the wing chairs. Peter took the other. George took another swallow. "A r'son," George laughed bitterly. Then he continued in a slightly slurred voice. "Oh, I have a r'son. She tells me, not asks me, tells me, to send away m' sweet Marie. Or else." "Or else?" "She'll cuckhold me," George replied dryly. "I almost pity the poor fellow she takes to bed. He'll freeze t' death in her arms. The woman is ice. Marie is so warm and loving." Then he looked at Lord Peter, and mimicked Sarah's voice, "'Where Ulysses goes, so shall Penelope.'" Peter sipped his brandy and filed that information away. "You should be finding your bed, old man," he advised. Ignoring Peter, George continued, "Not even married yet, and she's telling me what to do." "Let me see you up to your room," Lord Peter offered. "Not sleepy," George replied in a slurred voice. Then he drained his glass. "Miss Elham is a remarkable lady," Lord Peter stated. George looked at Lord Peter. "She has a man's mind. There's nothing soft or gen'rous about that woman," George offered. "Women can be controlled by cutting off their spending money," Lord Peter offered. "Not Sarah. She has a sizable comp'tency of her own remainin' under her control," George said, his voice slurred. "That's unusual," Lord Peter observed. "I will have no means to control her. Anytime that she will take it in her head to leave me, she will be quite able to do so," George replied, his voice unsteady. "Forget about my being the head of my household." *** Clarissa Lewis stood outside of the Library, listening to them and growing more alarmed by the moment. Marc would have to stop this marriage. He would just have to. Sarah Elham didn't love the Duke. And the duke clearly didn't love Sarah Elham. Marc had to protect the woman whom he loved from making

this large of a mistake with her life. He just had to. Anything else would be unthinkable. Sarah deserved far better than marriage to this terrible man, duke or not.

Chapter Seventeen Sarah, dressed in her ballgown, stood just outside the ballroom on Friday evening, 28 December. The roads had finally been cleared today. She had thought that Lord Peter would have gone by now. Yet he seemed intent on staying for the ball. She couldn't tell him that he was unwelcome. Too much rode on maintaining a "friendly" relationship with the man for her to be rude to him at this point. However, it was quite wearying to have to keep up appearances, especially since over the past couple of days the man never lost an opportunity to pay her an overly warm compliment or to press her hand a bit too warmly. Guests would be arriving soon. Sarah pushed open the doors and looked at the room. The musicians were tuning up. She looked around to see everything was in place and ready. The room was beautiful, just as it had always been when her mother had supervised this event. Her uncle walked up behind her and lightly touched her shoulder. Sarah startled and turned to face him. She sighed. "Uncle, you startled me." "So sorry, Sarah, my dear. The room is beautiful and so are you." Sarah smiled at her uncle. "Thank you, Uncle James. I believe that I shall collapse into a heap and stay there for a week after this is all over." "You most certainly shall not," he told her, "regardless of how tempting that might be." She sighed. "You may well be correct, Uncle." *** The room was already filling with people. Many of the guests had arrived. Weems announced, "Viscount and Viscountess Thomasgate, Mister Latterly, Miss Latterly." Sarah greeted the Thomasgates and their grown children. "How very kind of you to include us," Viscountess Thomasgate said. "I shouldn't have dreamed of doing otherwise, since you were in the neighborhood visiting our Vicar," Sarah replied lowly. "I hope that you have a lovely evening." "I am certain that we shall," the viscountess replied quietly. Nicholas lightly pressed Sarah's hand, "Miss Elham, may I tell you how very beautiful you look this evening?" Sarah smiled slightly. "La, sir, you flatter me." "No, I tell only the truth," the Vicar answered quietly.

"Vicar," Sarah began, but Nicholas cut her off. "This is m' sister, Miss Alice Latterly." "Miss Latterly, I am pleased that you could join us tonight." Sharp intelligence shone through the blue eyes of the pretty blonde. "Are you?" she demanded softly. Sarah looked at the young woman. "I am indeed." "I should wonder why," Alice replied lowly, then walked away. Sarah greeted the next person in line. The music was a country dance. Sarah watched her guests enjoying themselves. Everyone that was to be here had arrived. Over one hundred people were in the ballroom. Certainly, it was a respectably sized gathering for a winter party. George walked up to her. "The next dance is a waltz. May I lead you out?" She smiled at him. "That would be lovely." *** "They are so well suited for each other, Connie," Lady Helen said quietly to the dowager duchess as she watched Sarah and George dance. "Indeed," the Dowager replied lowly. "I am so happy that they have finally settled matters between them." "As am I," Lady Helen said quietly. The Marquis of Bolton walked up to them. "Evening, Ladies." He was a handsome, distinguished, man in his mid-fifties. Faint touches of gray had only just begun to grace his temples. Helen smiled broadly at her brother. "Hello, Philip. I had thought you would join us for the bulk of the house party." "I was delayed, my dear sister, and then the weather conspired against me," Philip replied. "I was indeed fortunate to arrive today." The dowager smiled at the marquis. "Indeed, you were, Philip. This is a grand party." "The next set will be beginning in a few minutes, Connie. Will you stand up with me?" he asked. In spite of her years, the dowager duchess of Chisholm felt her face grow warm. "Do you not think that we are too old for such, Philip?" Philip smiled at her. "Not at all, Connie. Neither of us are in our dotage."

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. "I should enjoy dancing again. You will excuse us, Helen?" "Of course," Lady Helen replied easily. "Now, if that husband of mine could be persuaded to leave his political discussions..." She sighed. The waltz came to a close. George held Sarah a moment longer than the music allowed. "I wish to kiss you." "Not here, George." He smiled at her as he released her. "Meet me in the library in twenty minutes?" "I do not believe that wise, George," she replied in an equally low tone. Sarah took her place with Lord Peter in the next set of the country dance then forming up. The music for the dance began. "Miss Elham, allow me to say that the duke is indeed a fortunate man in his choice of bride," Lord Peter offered. Sarah wanted to turn and walk away. Yet she could not do that. She wanted to slap him silly. But she couldn't do that either. Instead, she minded her steps and stayed perfectly within the figures of the dance. "Think you so?" she asked quietly. "I do indeed. I fear no man could ever be worthy of you." Sarah smiled tightly and sighed as they parted and went onto other partners. Sarah met up with the Marquis of Bolton into the dance. "I am so glad that you have finally arrived. Aunt Helen was worried over you." Philip smiled at her indulgently. "James told you of my query of him?" Sarah sighed. "We should not suit, my Lord. Besides, I have accepted another." "Who is the lucky man?" "The Duke of Chisholm," Sarah said evenly. Philip nodded tightly. "You may then be of assistance to me in the matter of my suit for your godmama's hand." She looked at the marquis. "Now, that seems a very good idea indeed! Shall we enlist George in the effort, as well?" "Capital idea," Philip replied as they were separated in the figures. "Miss Elham," Nicholas Latterly said quietly. "When do you announce your betrothal to the duke?" "As soon as he returns to Town, I expect the notice will appear," Sarah replied easily.

"I am certain this is wise," he said with approval in his voice. "Indeed. Now, I see certain children lingering in the doorway," Sarah stated. "Clive among them. At the end of this set, I shall have to see to their return upstairs." "It seems to me that you have had too much responsibility for too long without assistance," Nicholas observed. "One does as one must," Sarah told him before they separated in the figures of the dance. Once the set ended, Sarah left the ballroom and escorted the children back up to their bedrooms. "It isn't fair," Jessica stated. "No, sweeting, it isn't," Sarah agreed. "However, life is seldom fair. Pray do not allow me to see any of your faces downstairs before morning." *** Sarah returned downstairs and found George waiting for her in the library. She left the door open behind her. "I just put the children back to bed." George laughed. "We used to do the same thing." "I know." He crossed the room to her. "I thought that you said this was unwise." "It is. Profoundly so. Yet, living dangerously seems to be something that we do quite often these days." Very lightly, he touched her face. "Sweet Sarah." "George," she said in his ear. "There are appearances to keep up. We are being watched by a certain nobleman." "Then shall we give him a performance?" George asked in a whisper. Sarah sighed. She looked at George. All would be well if this were a love match. Then she told herself that she was being silly. Marrying for love was a romantic concept out of keeping with reality in most cases. She felt profoundly sad. She sighed again. "Sarah," George said in concern as he stepped back from him. "Will you not tell me what is on your mind?" "Neither of us is under any illusion that this is a love match, George." He was silent for a long moment as his eyes searched her face. "No illusions, Sarah," he told her quietly. She nodded and sighed. "Oh, George," she replied. If his passion was all that he could give her, she would take it.

He touched her face. "This face of yours is so expressive." "It is unfashionable." "It is honest. I prefer that to fashion. I will be busy for many years capturing on canvas the shades of your facial expressions." "Then I shall endeavor to please you, Your Grace," Sarah replied woodenly. George's lips twitched into a smile. "You needn't see it as an endeavor. You accomplish this quite satisfactorily of your own nature. I neither need or want artifice from you, my dear." Sarah sighed. "Will you not discuss whatever is weighing on your mind?" George asked tenderly. "I must go to see to my guests," Sarah replied. George nodded a tight agreement. "The children and I shall depart in two days for Town." "You have great affairs to manage, George. I understand that. I wish you a safe journey." George lightly touched her face. "I shall miss you. Do come to Town early in the Season, my dear." "When I am able to, I shall come. Until then there are many things which need attending here," Sarah replied in a weary tone. "I must see to the re-roofing of tenant cottages, to a new stable being built, and to the racing season beginning." "Save me the supper dance," George demanded. "I have reserved it for you." "The bishop is here. He could issue a special license, Sarah. We could be wed tonight, here among our friends and family," George advised. "No, George," she refused. "Absolutely not!" George sighed. "Then you are asking me to trust you?" "Trust between us is necessary." "Indeed. Very well, Sarah, I hold you to our bargain." "I abide by it, George. 'Pon my soul." George took her hand and kissed it. "Remember to save me the supper dance." "I shall." ***

Sarah took a few moments to drop into the ladies' retiring room to take care of some necessary business. Miss Alice Latterly was sitting there mending the flounce on her gown. Several other ladies and maids were just finishing repairs to coifs or to gowns. Sarah disappeared behind the screen to use the chamber pot. When she emerged, the room was vacant except for Miss Latterly who was dutifully working on her flounce. "Quite a tear," Sarah observed. "Indeed," Alice agreed. "A certain gentleman of this company is not exactly light on his feet." "May I render assistance?" "I have nearly completed the repair," Alice dismissed. "If you are certain?" "We were all quite thrilled when Nicholas wrote us that he was finally marrying," Alice added suddenly. "Why did you break my dear brother's heart?" Sarah looked at Alice and sighed. "Just what did your brother tell you?" "That he had offered, but that you had rebuffed him." Sarah laughed quietly, but the sound was not pleasant. "That's true as far as it goes." "And you have no excuses for your jilting my brother?" Alice demanded fiercely. "Such a surplus of family feeling, Miss Latterly, is to your credit," Sarah replied gently, but firmly. "However, I would have had to have accepted your brother in order to jilt him. By neither word nor deed, did I convey to him any intention of accepting him." "He was heartbroken," Alice replied strongly. "I am sorry to hear that. However, I can neither credit that nor be responsible for his having built hopes upon absolutely no encouragement from me. Indeed, I could hardly have accepted him when I had already reached an agreement with another," Sarah replied gently. "Did he tell you that he proposed in writing with the news that he had already acquired a special license and arranged for a clergyman to read the service?" Alice looked shocked. "Nicholas wouldn't have done anything that crass." "Yet he did," Sarah asserted. "I have his letter to prove it. Would you like to read the evidence?" "I cannot credit this. Yes, I should like to read the letter," Alice replied. "Come with me," Sarah instructed.

Once they were in her sitting room, Sarah lit candles and invited Alice to take a seat. Sarah then handed the letter to the vicar's sister. Moments later, Alice returned the letter with a sigh. "I simply do not know what to say. Pray excuse me. I must finish this stitching. Then I believe that I should go have a discussion with my brother." "I suspect that your brother will shortly wed, Miss Latterly," Sarah replied. "And to a woman of good birth who will be able to secure for him advancement in the Church, eventually a place among the Lords Spiritual." Alice looked at Sarah questioningly. "Observe your brother closely this evening, Miss Latterly. There is but one lady of the company upon whom his interest is fixed. And although she tries not to be obvious about it, her own interest is also fixed on him. I suspect that before June we will see an announcement to that effect in the Times." Alice smiled slightly. "Very well, Miss Elham, I shall take your advice." "Pray do not take him to task in this matter. It was quite unhandsome of me to show this letter to you." "It was quite unhandsome of Nicholas to behave in this manner," Alice corrected. "May we not be friends?" Alice Latterly smiled. "I should like that." "My name is Sarah." "I am Alice." "Very well, Alice," Sarah replied. "Are you certain that you need no assistance?" Alice took the last stitch and tied off the thread. She replaced the needle in the pincushion. "No. I am quite finished. Thank you. However, you could render me assistance in one area. I should like to meet that handsome gentleman with whom you were dancing during the first waltz." Sarah smiled. "That is George, Duke of Chisholm." "You have a long acquaintance with him?" "All my life," Sarah explained easily. "The Elham, Blake, and Roberts families have been connected since the War of the Roses. The dowager duchess's maiden name was Roberts. So was my mother's. My Aunt Helen's mother was also a Roberts. They were second cousins, all three of them." Alice smiled. "My mother's grandmother was a Roberts." "The vicar never told me of our connection." "My mother is our father's second wife. Nicholas's mother died when he was very young. Mama is the only mother he recalls," Alice said quietly. "Yet lineage is one area which has always been of no interest to Nicholas. He hasn't the faintest interest in how people are connected one to another. Never has had."

Sarah smiled. "I can believe that. He was rather surprised to find that he was acquainted with a cousin of mine." "That would be in keeping with Nicholas' disdain for genealogy. He tends to see no sense in worrying about how people are connected to one another. He says that we're all brothers and sisters in Christ, so every other connection is meaningless." "He may have a point. However, for myself, it is always pleasant to discover another cousin, however distant," Sarah replied. "We shall have to sit down with our respective family trees to determine to what degree we are related." "I should like that very much. I do not know much of my mother's family. Whatever light you may shed on the subject I would be delighted to receive." "Call by at any time, Alice. I should be happy to receive you." "I shall. Yet I have kept you long enough from your guests." *** The supper dance was a waltz. Sarah looked up at George. He was distracted. "What is wrong?" Sarah asked. "Do be careful, Sarah," he told her lowly. "I am gravely concerned about you." "As I am for you," Sarah replied. George swung her about in his arms as the music continued. "I believe that you may be correct in the matter of Patty's future," he said lowly. "The only thing more obvious than two people staring at one another is two people attempting not to do so." "Yet there they each sit watching the dance," George said. "I shall see to it that Mr. Latterly leads Patty out after supper," Sarah replied. *** The wine punch gave way to hot drinks about two a.m. The first ensemble of musicians had taken a respite about one-thirty. A second group had taken their place and lively music filled the ballroom. Lord Peter asked her for a second dance at about two-thirty. Sarah had felt the need to continue to keep him dangling. "You will be staying with your godmother at Chisholm House in Town?" Lord Peter asked. "No. I shall be residing with my aunt and uncle at Elham House, until the wedding."

"And His Grace, the duke?" "George has his own accommodations." "So I have heard," Lord Peter replied in a knowing tone. "I should imagine," Sarah answered dryly. Lord Peter looked at her hard. "I wasn't certain what you knew." "Do I appear to be completely stupid, my lord?" "Not in the least, my dear Miss Elham. Not in the least," he said as they separated in the forms of the country dance. Sarah made inconsequential talk with other partners in the dance. Sarah went towards the ladies' retiring room. Clarissa Lewis followed her. "Sarah, might I have a word?" Clarissa asked as they walked down the hall. "Certainly, Rissa. What is on your mind?" Sarah replied. "I have come to have a great amount of affection for you, as if you were my own sister," Clarissa began hesitantly. Sarah smiled. "And I have grown fond of you, Rissa." "There is no way to ask this, except to ask. Are you certain that this marriage to the duke is something you desire?" Clarissa asked. Sarah sighed. "Rissa, women seldom have the privilege of following their heart in matters of matrimony. My marriage to the duke would be no worse than any other marriage in the ton. However, I fear it will be no better." "It is not a love match," Clarissa replied. "Precious few marriages are." "You are willing to settle for this cold of a marriage with a man who does not love you?" Rissa asked. Sarah sighed. "There was a time I believed in falling in love and living happily ever after." "What happened?" "My heart was broken. Irreparably." Rissa was silent for a long moment. "Perhaps the man who broke your heart could also mend it?" she offered hopefully.

Sarah sighed. "I fear the scars are too deep to ever mend." "I wish you every happiness, Sarah. You know that." "I thank you for your concern. When are you and Marbry making your own announcement?" Clarissa blushed. "Soon." "I am so happy for you." "Will you serve as my bridesmaid? I haven't any made many female friends since coming to England," Clarissa asked. "Rissa, my dear, I should be delighted. I am assuming that the marriage will be soon?" "The first Saturday in June, I believe," Clarissa replied. "The Church remains an open question." "You must allow yourself to be advised by my own dear Godmama." Lord Peter stood in the hall behind a large arrangement of plants listening to the ladies talk. She didn't talk as a woman in love would. Clearly, the union between Chisholm and Miss Elham would be something other than a love match. Playing his cards right, he just might be able to use this to his own advantage. When Sarah returned to the ballroom, George was dancing with Alice Latterly. The tune was a waltz. The two of them looked well together. Lord Peter was dancing with Honora. If there was a woman on the face of the earth who would not be deceived by the smooth charm of Lord Peter it was Honora. And yet, Honora gave every indication that she was enjoying the conversation. Sarah went to speak with several of the most notable gossips in the ton. One word in their ears would pass the word of her engagement to George faster than an announcement in the Times.

Chapter Eighteen It was four in the morning before the musicians ceased to play. It was five by the time that the last of her guests had departed. By six, Sarah had collapsed into her bed. Sarah gave herself six hours rest. Then at noon, she arose, washed, and dressed simply. The staff had cleared away after the ball. That much was obvious. Sarah made her way to the breakfast room and helped herself to food from the chafing dishes. From appearances, the food had not been out very long. Sarah rang for a pot of chocolate. The clock rang off twelve-thirty when George walked into the breakfast room. He smiled at her. "You are up relatively early considering the long night."

"Did you expect me to lay abed all day in an effort to recuperate from the ball?" Sarah challenged. "The children, I have been informed, are out building snowmen under the watchful eyes of the servants." "That sounds like something they would greatly enjoy." George filled his plate from the chafing dishes. He sat beside her at the table. "What plans have you made for the day?" "I have no plans, precisely. I was thinking of taking the children out ice skating again later this afternoon. And of course, there is a matter of showing them their ponies and horses." George nodded. "Yes. There is that," he said as he took a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his coat. "This is the announcement that I shall be placing in the papers. I thought that you should read it prior to publication." Sarah took the paper from him and unfolded it. She read it. The pain in her stomach returned. She sighed. "It is in the acceptable form," she said tightly. "There is nothing exceptional about it." "Sarah, cannot you express some degree of joy concerning our betrothal?" George asked. Lord Peter stood at the doorway. Sarah saw him in her peripheral vision, but decided to play this out anyway, for his benefit. "I have never lied to you, George. Nor shall I ever tell you anything that is not the utter, unvarnished, truth. Therefore, I will make no claims of joy concerning this forthcoming marriage of ours." "Perhaps I should withdraw the offer of marriage?" George asked smoothly, a hint of anger in his voice. "That is quite the best idea I have heard all week," Sarah agreed with a smile. "Sometimes, Sarah, I think that your temperament would improve with a good thrashing," George warned fiercely. "If you ever strike me in anger, for your safety's sake make absolutely certain that you kill me, Your Grace. For if I would recover, you would not be long for this world. I would find a way of putting you completely out of my misery," Sarah replied smoothly, cold certainty in her voice. "I stand on notice," George stated with equal coldness. "Good afternoon," Lord Peter said firmly as he came into the room. Sarah had noticed moments before that the nobleman was dressed for travel. "Good afternoon," Sarah replied with a faux warmth that only accentuated the chill of her earlier words. "Richmond," George stated as he turned his attention to his food. Lord Peter filled his plate and sat down at the table.

"You are leaving us?" Sarah asked quietly. "I am, as soon as I eat. Thank you for your kind hospitality, Miss Elham. I have seldom spent a more genuinely enjoyable Christmastide," Lord Peter replied. "With your permission, I should like to call on you in Town." "As I have told you before, it is always a pleasure to meet with friends," Sarah stated, forcing a smile. "Are you certain that my nephew will be no burden to you?" Lord Peter demanded. "It will be the greatest of pleasures, Lord Peter, to have Danny with us. I plan on taking the children out to skate later. After Twelfth Night, Clive and Danny will resume their studies." "I suspect that you are quite correct in your assessment that the association will profit both boys," Lord Peter replied. "Miss Elham is seldom in error when it comes to matters of horses or of children," George stated firmly. "Would that my abilities to refrain from error extended beyond those categories," Sarah said lowly. "Then," Lord Peter offered, "we poor mortals would be deprived of your companionship for certainly you would have been already translated into heaven having achieved perfection in all things." Sarah laughed. "Hardly." "You undervalue yourself," Richmond replied. "Undervaluing herself has seldom been among the faults of my betrothed." Sarah glared at him. "Must we quarrel in public?" George put down his fork. He stood. Then he grabbed Sarah by the wrist. "No. Come with me. We will finish our conversation in private. Excuse us, Richmond." With little choice but to follow him, since he was virtually dragging her along, Sarah went with George into her office. Once the door was closed, George looked at Sarah, "I trust that was a performance for Richmond's sake." Sarah nodded. "He was standing in the door from the moment I finished reading the announcement." George grimaced and sighed. "Very well, Sarah. Now, answer me one and only one question. Are you prepared to marry me?" "I have given you my promise, George. Conditional on both Barrow not proposing and your not actually finding someone else who would meet Jane's requirements," Sarah said quietly. George pulled her closer to himself. "I doubt I could find anyone whom I would care for more deeply than I care for you."

"I am a dear friend to you, George. And one with whom you wouldn't mind sleeping," Sarah said bluntly. "However, this is far from the deep sort of love you had with Jane. I would not have you settle for less than a soul mate, George. I fear that could destroy you." George smiled sadly at her. "I swore that I would never put myself in the position of being again devastated by the loss of anyone. Pray do not attempt to revive that part of myself I have closed off in self-defense." Sarah sighed. "You are asking me to settle for second-best, George. No woman should have to marry a man who can not give her his heart." "I haven't a heart to give," George stated. "Oh, you have one, dear friend, but you have not yet discovered a woman who can make you want to risk the pain in order to have the joy. I do you no favor by letting you settle for a marriage of convenience." "The betrothal will soon be announced." She sighed again. "I trust that you will keep your word to me about actually looking for a lady whom you could love, truly love." "I gave you my word. I will keep it." Weems scratched at the office door. He popped his head inside without being told to come in. "Miss Elham, Lord Richmond is ready to take his leave of us." "Have his horse brought around." "I have already sent word." "Thank you. I shall be there presently." Weems closed the door. George turned to her. "Pray be quite cautious about what you say around the lad, Daniel. We do not know that his uncle has not left the boy precisely to allow the boy to gather intelligence on the operations of this house and of your uncle." "I am aware of that possibility," Sarah replied quietly. "It is highly possible, given the ease by which he agreed to my suggestion of Danny remaining here." "Be careful." "I am always careful. Now, I must bid Richmond farewell." "Indeed. I shall come with you." After seeing the man off, Sarah returned to the breakfast room. Her plate, as well as those of the duke and Lord Peter, had been removed. She took a fresh plate and gave herself a fresh serving of food.

George sat down with his own plate beside her. "Seems we have done this once today." Sarah laughed. "Indeed it does. I hope this time is more pleasant." George sighed. "I do as well." "I discovered more Roberts connections among the guests last night." George smiled. "Who?" "The Viscountess Thomasgate and her daughter, Alice Latterly." "But not the Vicar." "The current viscountess is the second lady of the viscount." "Ah," George replied. "I expect Miss Latterly and her mama to call on us today or tomorrow." "She's a most attractive young lady," George remarked. "She had no compunction about taking me to task for refusing her brother's offer for my hand. She was quite upset that I had 'jilted' her brother." George was silent for a long moment. "I was unaware that the vicar had offered for you," he said in a cold tone. "It wasn't the first offer of marriage I had ever refused," Sarah dismissed. "Just the most embarrassing. He had gotten the license, arranged for the ceremony, and told his family that he was to be wed, before he announced to me in a letter that we were to be wed." "Cheeky." "It was, rather." "In spite of all that, you are still in favor of the vicar courting Patty?" "He's a good man. Patty cares for him. That is enough for me." George nodded. "Very well, Sarah. I do trust your judgment. You have known the man far longer than have I." The children came into the breakfast room. They were chattering happily among themselves. The older ones headed directly for the sideboard to help the younger children to food before fixing their own plates. "Papa?" Lady Anne asked. "May we go down to the stables to see our ponies?" "Well, Sarah?" George asked.

"As soon as they have eaten and have regained their warmth following their snowball wars." "Uncle George," Jason, the Marquis of Chatsbury asked, "we were thinking--we children--that we should very much care to spend more time together. Might not the Lady Anne and Lord Georgie remain with us when you return to town? Mama is planning to spend at least another month with Cousin Sarah." This was news to Sarah. But it was quite welcome news. It meant that Patty was resolved to spending time with the vicar. George looked at Sarah. "What say you, Sarah dear? Are you up to hostessing such a crowd of children for this prolonged of a time?" "I should very much enjoy having the children here." "Then I see no reason why my children should not remain here for another fortnight, at least. Does that please you, Anne, Georgie?" "Oh, yes, Papa," both of them replied simultaneously.

Chapter Nineteen Sarah rode into Town in her Uncle's carriage on Easter Monday. The Season had begun and would continue through the beginning of grouse season in August. Aunt Helen had gone to Town some six weeks earlier to open up the house and to put all things into readiness. Madame Labonnier had Sarah's measurements. Sarah had sent her an order for a number of walking dresses, morning gowns, riding habits, evening gowns, ball gowns, and a court gown suitable for the fiancée of a Duke. Sarah anticipated them being ready for final fittings upon her arrival in Town. Sarah had Madame Labonnier send the bills to George, at his request. Patricia and Uncle James sat across the carriage from her. The children rode in their own carriage following with Jason and Jessica's governess and tutor. Sarah was not eager to turn Daniel over to Lord Peter. The boy had confided to Clive about Lord Peter's habit of beating the boy severely over minor infractions. Sarah had grown immensely fond of the boy and the idea of placing him in harm's way by returning him to his uncle was something she found profoundly repugnant. Yet she did not know how she was to prevent the boy from going back to his uncle. More than that, she did not know how she would live with herself if Lord Peter injured or killed the lad after taking custody of him. Town. Sarah hadn't been to London for almost seven years. The last time that she had been here was for her first season. Now, she was back in London. No longer was she just the slightly odd Miss Elham, but the affianced wife of the Duke of Chisholm. Sarah wondered what the weeks would bring. "You look solemn," Patricia observed. "It's been a long time since I've been to Town," Sarah stated. "You will find it very much the same," Patricia replied quietly. "People still throwing money away, left and

right, chasing pleasure and rarely catching it." "Now, cousin, I have never known you to be quite that critical of the ton," Sarah stated thoughtfully. "Could this be the influence of a certain clergyman of our acquaintance?" Patricia cleared her throat. "I would say that was highly likely." "Alice writes me that she and Nicholas will be in Town next week," Sarah informed her cousin. "So I have heard," Patricia replied. "He's defending his dissertation before his committee. Soon he'll be the Reverend Doctor Latterly." Patricia smiled. "Soon after that, there will be a preferment coming his way. I have that on good authority. He shall be a fine bishop, don't you think? Possibly even Archbishop of York or even Canterbury, someday, with the right backing." Sir James looked at his niece then his daughter. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Patricia?" "Not yet, Father. Perhaps soon. The gentleman hasn't asked me, yet. But I live in hope." *** Elham House was comfortable in a way most stately homes could never be. In spite of the grandeur of the house, it was a family home, and not a showplace. Sarah was shown to her rooms. Mary, her maid, unpacked, while Sarah wrote a few notes to friends to announce her arrival. Sarah had just blotted the last of those when someone scratched at her door. Mary opened the door. There was one of the footmen, a young man whom Sarah didn't know, with a silver tray in his hand. Mary took the note from the tray. "Thank you." The maid handed the note to Sarah. Sarah read it, "The Duke of Chisholm requests the pleasure of your company for a drive through the Park as soon as you may be able to make yourself even more beautiful. G." Sighing, Sarah told the footman, "Tell His Grace I shall be down in five minutes." "The sprigged muslin walking dress and pelisse, with the cream hat," Sarah told Mary after the footman had departed. Precisely five minutes later, Sarah walked into the main parlor where Aunt Helen and George had been having tea. George stood as Sarah came into the room. "Sarah, I know of few other ladies who could be so prompt," George replied as he looked at his watch. "And good day to you, as well, Your Grace," Sarah said coolly. He took her hand and kissed it. "It is good to see you, again, Sarah, my dearest."

"And you, George." "You must see my new grays," George said. "I must drive those new grays." George smiled indulgently. "Of course, my dear. Eventually. Shall we go?" Sarah inspected the horses thoroughly before taking George's assistance to climb up on the high-perch phaeton. His groom stood behind the seat. "They are beautiful animals, George, and so well matched," Sarah said. George took up the reins. The horses moved smoothly forward. "I am glad you approve." "Did Aunt send round a footman when we arrived?" Sarah demanded. "Of course. We shall stop at the jewelers before we take a drive through the park. There is the matter of your betrothal ring." "As you wish, George." "So demure and so unlike you," George observed. "What is on your mind?" "My solicitor writes he has the settlement papers drawn according to the terms we had set out. They are ready for signing." George nodded. "Very well, Sarah. Shall we call in on him first?" Sarah sighed. "I believe that would be appropriate." There was companionable silence between them for a long moment. "How are the children?" "They daily ask me when you will be their Mama," George replied. "We shall shortly be to the point of having to fix a date, George," she stated in a low voice. "Tomorrow morning would not be too soon," George responded. Sarah looked at him. "Now, George, do you want everyone to be speculating on there being a pressing need to rush to the altar?" George looked at her briefly, then turned his attention back to the street and the horses. "There just might be. I am not certain that I can stop myself from seducing you." Sarah blushed boldly. "Then I shall simply have to make sure we are never alone." "Pick a date, Sarah." "I wrote to the Rector of St. George's Hanover Square," she replied. "He tells me his schedule fills quickly once the Season begins in earnest. As of this moment, any day in the last week in May would be

available, as would any time in July or August." "The announcement has been published," George told her. She nodded. "I read it. I do receive the London newspapers, George." She looked up just in time to see Clarissa Lewis and the earl riding toward them. At the earl's greeting, George reined in the horses. Clarissa greeted them, "Good afternoon, Your Grace, Sarah." "Afternoon, Barrow, Miss Lewis," George replied formally. "Sarah, I am so glad that you are in town. Call by Barrow House tomorrow morning and we shall have a great talk about the wedding," Rissa said quietly. "Indeed," Sarah agreed. "Rissa, these people are on their way somewhere, we should not detain them further," Marc stated. "Indeed," George volunteered in a kind yet pointed tone, "we are on our way to sign the marriage settlement." Marc's eyes searched Sarah's face. Sarah refused to meet the earl's eyes. Instead, she blushed slightly and cast her eyes downward. George did not miss the intensity of the reactions from both of them. George felt jealous. Jealousy wasn't an emotion with which he had ever been overly familiar. He wasn't sure he liked it, at all. But he was too honest to deny that jealousy was what he felt when he saw Sarah and the Earl of Barrow together. In spite of his need for her, George knew he couldn't command her heart. And she had been honest, confessing to him her affection for the earl. Rationally, George knew she was correct in asking for time. Yet he couldn't help wishing the earl had never returned from India. There were several things that he wished fervently. That the earl had never returned. That Sarah had never launched her campaign to revive his heart. That all of this wasn't wound up with a plot to entrap Richmond. Yes, there was much to regret. "A happy occasion, indeed," Marc replied thoughtfully. "I do wish you both every joy." "Thank you, Marcus," Sarah replied quietly. "If you will excuse us, we must be on our way. I shall call in on you, Rissa, tomorrow morning." "Good. We shall have a long coze, then," Clarissa Lewis responded kindly. "Marc has his own announcement going to the papers." George smiled. "Which lovely lady are we to wish happy, Barrow?" "Miss Alice Latterly has accepted my offer. We are to wed in May." They made their good-byes and George put the horses into motion. "Barrow seems to have made a good recovery," George observed.

"Indeed he does," Sarah replied distractedly. "I hadn't seen him since he left Elham Park at the end of his recovery. He seems to have regained some of the weight that he had lost. And his color is good." "You were able to determine that on a glance?" George demanded. "I am an excellent observer, Your Grace." George wondered if it was that Sarah was an excellent observer or that she was so hungry for a glimpse of Barrow that she had absorbed his appearance in the way a sponge absorbs water. He suspected that it was the latter. They made inconsequential small talk until they reached the solicitor's office. The groom hopped down from the phaeton and took charge of the horses. George climbed down and lifted Sarah down from the phaeton. They stood there face to face for a moment longer than they needed to. George saw how deeply his nearness was affecting her. Sarah saw the desire flash across his face. What she didn't know was how deeply his desire was mirrored on her face. She wasn't a good enough actress to deny how physically attractive George was to her. Before she made a fool of herself with a very public display of her attraction to him, she took a half step backwards. "We should have sent a note around, first. He may be engaged in other work." George smiled tightly. "He will see us." The harried clerk in the outer office was obviously flustered when George announced "The Duke of Chisholm and Miss Elham to see Mister Brazelton." Yet the young man recovered quickly. "Yes, Your Grace. Please take a seat. I shall tell Mister Brazelton you have arrived." It was a matter of a few short minutes before they were shown into the inner offices. John Brazelton was a tall man, very distinguished of appearance. He greeted them warmly. "So very happy to be of service to the both of you in this joyful time. These are the settlement papers. There are four identical sets. There is one set for each of you and for your solicitors records." "These are printed," George observed. "I keep a press and employ a crew of printers. I find that multiple copies are more accurate when set in type," the solicitor explained. "This is held every bit as confidentially as if it were hand-copied by my clerk." "I am sure this is very wise," Sarah replied. "I should like a few moments to read the documents." "Of course, Miss Elham," the solicitor replied. "Are you certain you will be able to live under the terms of this agreement, George? It is rather unusual," she asked, when she had read through the document. "I do not need or want your money or property, Sarah," he replied. "If this provision is according to your

wishes, then by all means, I am willing to concede it." "Miss Elham," the solicitor advised kindly, "you must be aware this settlement is simply a private agreement between you and Chisholm. It does not alter the fact that a man and wife are one legal person. That person is the man. I do doubt any court would uphold this agreement, flying as it does in the face of custom." "There will be no need for the courts. If George tells me he will abide by something, then I trust him," Sarah replied quietly. "He is a man of his word. This is a formality." George took her gloved hand within his. She looked at him. The solicitor cleared his throat. "Then we should get on to the signing." Sarah sighed. "We shall need witnesses." "Indeed, we shall," the solicitor replied quietly as he rang a bell. The clerk and two well-dressed young men entered the room. Once each copy of the document was signed and properly witnessed, the solicitor called for champagne. They drank a toast to the future before leaving. "Next stop, the jewelers," George stated as he handed her up into the phaeton. Sarah's stomach was churning. How could she even contemplate marrying a man who didn't love her? Especially when she had promised Jane that George would only marry a woman whom he loved as he had loved Jane? Yet here she was moving inexorably towards exchanging marriage vows with George. That prospect filled her with anxiety, worry, and grief. "What was it of which Miss Lewis spoke?" George asked, some minutes into the drive. Sarah was quiet for a moment, replaying the earlier conversation. "She asked me if I would be her witness when she weds Marbry on the first Saturday in June." "I see. Then you wish to delay our wedding until after that?" "We had spoken of the end of July, George," Sarah said, conscious of the groom standing just behind them. "Indeed we had. However, I remain hopeful of an earlier date, especially given the news you have had of Barrow and Miss Latterly's engagement." Sarah sighed. "We will discuss this, privately, George." "Have you any preference as to a betrothal ring?" "Frankly, I would just as soon have a good horse." George chuckled. "Ah, but you cannot wear a horse." "No, that I cannot. Shall we look at the selection at the jewelers, then make up our minds?"

"The ever practical Sarah," he replied indulgently. "There are advantages to being sensible," she stated with amusement in her voice. "One of the advantages being that one is quite seldom disappointed?" George asked. "True," Sarah agreed. But sensible was the last thing that Sarah felt during the visit to the jewelers. Jewelry was not something in which Sarah had ever had an overwhelming interest. Yet George spared no expense in picking out a large number of lovely pieces for her. "That is quite enough, George," Sarah stated firmly. "I couldn't wear all of these if I wore a different set each day for a fortnight." "With the addition of the Chisholm gems, I should doubt that you would repeat the same set of jewels within a quarter were you to wear a different set everyday," George replied. Sarah drew a sharp breath. "I had forgotten about the Chisholm collection." George smiled at her. "You never pay much attention to things that are without four hooves or two feet," he said indulgently. "I do know more about horses and children than I do about gems," she replied lowly, in agreement. George took her hand and kissed it. "Of course, my dear. That is to be expected. However, you have a stepped into a decidedly different arena of life as the future Duchess of Chisholm. Just think of these gems as something of immense value to pass on to our children. They will only grow more valuable over the years. The bulk of the Chisholm collection is entailed. These will be outside of the entail as a personal gift to you. And as such, may be passed on as you will." "Very well, George. If this is what you wish." "It is," he told her quietly. "We have not yet acquired that which we came for," Sarah replied in dismay as she realized that they had not yet seen rings suitable for the purpose. "Indeed, we have not. Betrothal rings, if you please." The jeweler brought out several large trays for Sarah's inspection. "All I really need is a plain gold band and I do not need that until you place it on my finger during the marriage service," Sarah stated in dismay as she looked upon the stunning array of glimmering gems. "Sarah, indulge me. I enjoy giving you beautiful things," he replied quietly. "In your case, it is rather gilding the lily." Sarah blushed boldly. "I am happy you believe it so," she answered lowly.

George sat and watched her. He saw her eyes go time and time again to a particular ring. It was simple enough and not so large as for her to feel constrained. He reached for it and picked it up. "This one is lovely, Sarah. It seems to suit you," he said as he slid it on her finger. Sarah looked at the ring and at George. "Yes," she said quietly, "I believe that it does." "Pure and lovely," he said thoughtfully. "Of course it suits you." Pure and lovely, he had said. Sarah felt even worse. She was neither. The vengeance driving her against Lord Peter was not pure. Neither was the desire she felt for George. "Send the parcels around to Elham House," George instructed the shop assistant. "Care for a drive in the Park?" he asked, once they emerged from the jewelers. "Honestly?" "Of course." "It has been a wearying day. I would rather return to Uncle James' home," Sarah replied. "Then I shall return you to James and Helen." "Thank you, George." "I am being inconsiderate. You have done much traveling today. Will you allow me to call for you for the opera tonight?" "That would be lovely, George. I should have time between now and then to rest." Yet rest was not to be for Sarah. George escorted her inside her Uncle's house. Sarah was informed that she had a visitor, one Lord Peter Richmond, waiting her in the family parlor. Sarah rolled her eyes as she removed her hat. "Tell Lord Peter that I shall be with him shortly. Is my brother at home?" "No, Miss. The young Mr. Elham, the Marquis of Chatsbury, Lady Jessica, and the Marquis of Trouvaine went out with the Marchioness. I believe their destination was the Park," the footman stated kindly. "I also believe they said something about stopping for an ice before coming home." "Thank you." The footman retreated. "Sarah?" George asked lowly. "Go on, George. I shall see you this evening for the opera." "Miss Elham," Lord Peter stated in greeting as he rose to his feet. Aunt Helen sat on the sofa working a

cushion top in needlepoint. "My lord, how good of you to call by," Sarah replied. "I came in search of that scamp nephew of mine," Lord Peter stated. "I do imagine that you have missed him dearly. Such a charming boy," Sarah answered as she took a seat. "I have missed him," Lord Peter replied. "However, I trust that he has been no trouble." "No trouble at all," Sarah stated warmly. "He and Clive amuse one another." "I should take him home," Lord Peter stated. "I hope you will see fit to allow the boys daily outings together during the Season. I know they both want to see the Tower. And they were talking of a visit to Astley's Amphitheater. I suspect they have other plans as well. Next week, I shall be taking Clive to several of the Museums. I suspect Daniel would be desirous of tagging along." Lord Peter was quiet for a moment. "I can see no harm in allowing the boys their outings." "Clive will be glad of that," Sarah replied easily. "And you?" Lord Peter queried. "It pleases me to see my brother happy," Sarah stated easily. "He tends to be a solemn child." Lord Peter drank from his glass of punch. A footman came into the room. He handed her a card. "Send him in," Sarah instructed the footman. She looked at her aunt. "I should have asked, Aunt. But may I store some things in Uncle's safe?" "Certainly," Aunt Helen replied. A well-dressed man from the jewelers entered the room, carrying a large parcel. "Miss Elham?" "I am Miss Elham," she told the man. "Miss," the man stated, "I need for you to sign for these things." "Have you a manifest?" Sarah asked. "Indeed I have," the man replied. "Pray be seated and let us both be satisfied it reflects the items delivered," Sarah offered. She looked at her aunt. "George practically bought out the shop," she confided. "That is typical of him," Aunt Helen replied easily. "I trust they are lovely things?"

"Of course," Sarah stated. "Amethyst, opal, sapphire, emerald, ivory, pearl, diamond, and...oh, I forget what else...I declare, by the time George was done with his selections, I was simply overwhelmed." "Miss," the man from the jewelers said quietly. Sarah favored him with a smile. "Of course, let us begin. You have the manifest?" Once the jewelry was accounted and signed for, the jewelers' man left. "His Grace has excellent taste," Lord Peter stated. "All of those will look lovely on you, Miss Elham." Sarah looked over at him, almost as if she had forgotten his presence. "You must forgive us, my lord." "Nothing to forgive," he dismissed affably. "I enjoy gazing upon beauty." Sarah forced herself to look downward. She didn't trust herself to continue hiding her rage at this man. "I shall call back tomorrow afternoon at one for my nephew, Lady James," Lord Peter stated. "It would appear that the young people are enjoying their outing without any concern about those of us who may be awaiting their return." Sarah forced herself to bite back a sharp retort to the effect of no one knowing Lord Peter would be waiting for his nephew. "Allow me to see you out, my lord," Sarah offered. "You have had a full day," Lord Peter observed as he stood near the door. "It is far from over. I am to attend the opera tonight," Sarah replied. "Mayhaps I shall see you there," he offered. "There is that possibility," she allowed. He smiled at her. "Then I shall look forward to it." Sarah watched him go. She sagged slightly in relief, then returned to the drawing room. "Aunt Helen, I believe that I shall rest." Her aunt handed her the diamond set. "Wear these tonight with your opera gown. I shall place the rest of the jewelry in the safe." "Thank you, Aunt," Sarah replied. "Uncle James and I shall accompany you and George. Your godmama will be in the box. We shall return here for a late supper." "Very well, Aunt."

"Sarah, do be careful." "Careful, Aunt?" Sarah asked quietly. "Pray do not play these games with me. Neither of us are stupid. James has embroiled you in something. I know that. I also know Lord Peter is a central figure. And not in any heroic role." "Aunt, you have quite an imagination," Sarah replied lightly. "So your uncle and my brother have often told me," Aunt Helen remarked dryly. "It is not so much imagination as experience, however. My father was in much the same position with the foreign office as James is now. I have lived with intrigue for most of my life, as you have." "Let me set your mind at ease. Uncle James has not embroiled me in anything," Sarah stated honestly. "Ah, then you jumped in yourself," Aunt Helen observed. "Do be careful, my dear. We have already had sufficient funerals in this family." "Is Uncle in his study?" Helen looked at her niece and sighed. "He is. And you are definitely your father's daughter." "Then I shall go see Uncle," Sarah replied as she gathered the jewelry together. "Sarah," Aunt Helen warned, "do be careful." *** Sarah did not like the speculation in some eyes as they looked at the occupants of the box belonging to the Duke of Chisholm. She supposed it was to be expected. Sarah attempted to follow the music. It was particularly well done. However, it couldn't hold her attention. The nervous flutter in her stomach had become more pronounced as the evening continued. Something felt wrong. George was tense. A petite raven-haired beauty seated in another box was glaring at them with barely disguised malice. Sarah met the other woman's eyes. There was hurt and rage contained within the other woman's expression. But Sarah knew she had never met that woman. Other people had noticed the antipathy of the woman. Sarah saw people pointing and whispering to one another. Marie. The woman had to be George's mistress, Marie Marchand, the mother of his natural child. Sarah held her head high. She had done nothing wrong. And she refused to be cowed by the hatred emanating from the other woman. Sarah opened her fan with a quiet, but firm, snap. George looked at her. She met his eyes, sighed, and then tilted her fan slightly to indicate that he was to look in the direction of the tilt. George frowned slightly as he saw Marie sitting there with Lord Clifton. Then he forced his attention back to the play. At the intermission, George asked Sarah if she would take a turn with him. She rose and went with him,

her arm on his. "I thought you were going to send Marie and the boy to America," Sarah stated lowly. "I thought I had," he said sotto voce. "We shall discuss this later, George," she replied lowly. He nodded tightly. Lord Clifton and Mademoiselle Marchand met them in the corridor. "Chisholm," Lord Clifton greeted George. "Clifton," George replied. "'Allo, ma cherie," Marie greeted George without warmth. "If you were a man, Mademoiselle, I'd see you on the field of honor," Marie castigated Sarah in rapid French. George warned, "Marie." "Were I a man, this situation would never have arisen," Sarah replied quietly, without hesitation, in the Marie's native language, but in a tone of slight amusement. She tightened her hold on George's arm. Marie's smile was feral. "Farewell, my lord," Sarah stated. She realized that brief exchange had not gone unnoticed by several members of the ton who were in the corridors. Sarah knew the story would become general knowledge among the beau monde before dinner tomorrow. She didn't want to give them more to talk about. Before the end of the intermission, Lord Peter Richmond called in on their box. The conversation was general for a few moments. Then as George was distracted, Lord Peter slipped a note to Sarah, who quickly hid it in her reticule. The rest of the Opera was wasted on Sarah. Her mind was in turmoil. She remained silent on the way back to her aunt and uncle's home. George sat beside her in the relative silence of the carriage. Her aunt and uncle sat across from them. "It was lovely music," Aunt Helen remarked, trying to break the silence. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Helen," George replied easily. "George and I need to talk, Uncle, privately, for a few minutes before supper," Sarah announced, breaking her silence as the carriage stopped at Elham House. "Certainly, my dear. Use the main salon. Supper will wait." George closed the door behind himself. He looked at Sarah. She was obviously distressed. He couldn't blame her. "Is Robert your child?" she demanded bluntly.

"Yes." "Are you certain?" "He has the Blake birthmark," George replied. Sarah sighed. "You cannot leave the boy in this situation, George." "What would you have me to do?" George asked in an anguished tone. "Bring the boy home to Chisholm and install him in the nursery?" he added in a tone conveying how ridiculous he found that possibility. "In the absence of other options, yes," Sarah replied firmly. "He is your son. And you love him." "Yes, I love him. But you know what bringing him to Chisholm would mean for the boy." Sarah sighed. "It would mean that you would have to legally recognize the boy. Yes, he would have the stigma of being known as a bastard. He's going to have that or worse living with his mother. Consider this, George, he would be alive and healthy in a home where he was loved at Chisholm." "Would you be able to love him?" George asked quietly. "He is your son, George." George looked at her for the longest moment. He sighed. "I shall see what I am able to do." "The best solution would be for Marie and the boy to go to Louisiana, as we had discussed earlier." "Her ship was supposed to have left on the tide today. I booked the passage for her, and she was to be given the documents and money at sailing," George replied. "I thought she had left. I will talk to my man of business early tomorrow in this regard. Rest assured of that." "I have no doubt of that, George," Sarah replied as she retrieved the folded paper from her beaded drawstring handbag. "Lord Peter slipped me this note at the Opera." "What does it say?" "I have not yet had a chance to read it. If you will give me a moment, pray?" Sarah read the note. "It is about what we would expect: an offer of assistance, of friendship, in whatever manner I might need a friend. And he offers his good offices to see Marie Marchand permanently removed from the area. I cannot like that phrasing, 'permanently removed'. It is as though he is offering to have her murdered. Here, you read it." George took the note from her and read it. "It is an innocuous enough phrase. However, I agree with your reading of the note. This is likely his meaning, although it is not actionable by itself. We need to show this to your uncle." "After supper."

"Indeed." *** Yet supper was as sawdust in her mouth. Sarah could not help but reflect on the entire situation. The world expected her to marry George. The settlement agreement they had signed earlier today was one more steel thread binding her to George. Granted, a betrothal could be broken--even at this stage. Yet the scandal would be terrible. Then again, scandal had been unavoidable in the whole situation because of Marie Marchand, and George's son, Robert. The only honorable course would be for her to marry George. Sarah's head knew that. But her heart longed for something else entirely apart from a marriage of convenience. "Sarah," Aunt Helen said quietly, "I do not believe that you have heard a word of what I have been telling you." "No, Aunt. I fear that I have not been attending." "It has been a long day, niece," Aunt Helen allowed. "Indeed, it has. However, the day is not yet over. Uncle James, after supper may I see you in your study?" "Of course my dear." Once in the study, Sarah laid the note out before her uncle. He read it. "This came from Richmond's hand, I take it." "It did." James looked at George. "Do you want for me to station men to watch Mademoiselle Marchand?" "Yes," George replied. "I concur," Sir James stated. "A certain level of collateral loss is expected, but to leave a woman totally at the mercy of a man like this is totally unacceptable." "Collateral loss?" Sarah demanded fiercely. "That is a harsh and cold way indeed of speaking of a human life." "Life is harsh and cold," James said quietly. "We have duty and, if we are truly fortunate, both companionship and comfort." "This investigation has already cost many lives, Sarah. We must be quite careful in our placing of a watch on Marie. Doing anything obviously out of the ordinary now might warn Richmond of our intentions. This is something we cannot afford," George added. "If we can reasonably protect her from harm, we shall." Sarah sighed. She rose from her chair and paced. "You are correct, of course. I apologize," she finally stated. "Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me?" "Sleep well, Sarah," George said.

"I have not slept well in years, Your Grace. The current situation has not helped that. Good night, gentlemen."

Chapter Twenty "Miss. Miss Sarah," an insistent voice intruded on her sleep early Tuesday morning. Sarah roused herself to wakefulness. She pried open her eyes and looked at the maid. "What is it Mary?" "Someone left a sleeping child on the doorstep," the maid said quietly. "Left the wee one, rang the bell, and went off," Mary added in an agitated voice. "Pinned a note onto the little thing's blanket. The note bears your name, Miss." Sarah sighed. "Very well. What o'clock is it?" "Just five, Miss," Mary replied. Sarah barely suppressed a groan. It had been two before she had come up to bed. "The blue morning gown, Mary, please. And quickly." "Yes, Miss." Sarah rapidly brushed her hair and wound it up into a knot at the back of her head. After securing the less than fashionable hairstyle with three combs, Sarah slipped into the morning gown, then slid her feet into slippers. "Where is the child?" Sarah demanded. "In the main salon. Poor little thing. Can't be more than seven or eight months old," the maid replied. *** Sarah sat on the sofa, looking at the child who was yet asleep. Picking back up the tearstained note once more, she tried to decipher the words, yet the writing was uneven and streaked. Every now and again, she made out a word or phrase. Robert, George, no longer in his life, This is for the best, and trust you to care for my child, were about all she could decipher. The note had obviously been penned in haste, folded without being blotted, then cried over. Perhaps, this was for the best. A foundling child could be easily placed with a good family. Or even kept and raised. She looked at the sleeping child. He was the image of his half-brother at that age. Sarah's heart filled with love for this innocent child. She would find a good home for him. How could she do anything else? The child was known by society as Robert. The kindest thing would be to rename him and create a background story for him. Yes. That was what she would do. He was no longer Robert. Now, the child

would be known as William. William Roberts, the child of her distant cousin Quintin. Quintin and his young bride had both just died in India. There was no one to say this child hadn't come from India. Her aunt and uncle walked into the room, clad in their dressing gowns and slippers. Sir James took one look at the baby and frowned. "George's natural child," he stated, not questioned. "I believe it could be none other," Sarah replied quietly. "Have you sent for Chisholm?" Aunt Helen replied. "I shall shortly do so," Sarah replied. "This child is his father's son. He deserves a good home." "My dear, you must not make this decision without discussing it with George," Sir James stated lowly. "George will concur," Sarah told him. "We have already discussed the possibility." The child woke up with a cry. Sarah cradled the baby in her arms. "I believe that you, young man, are in dire need of a nappy change and a bath," Sarah stated softly to the baby. "Followed very shortly by breakfast." The child agreed with an uncomfortable squall. Helen knocked at Sarah's door some time later. "Come in," Sarah called. "You can use these things," Helen said as she placed a stack of nappies and baby clothes on the bed. "I went through the attic and found some things. The nursery is being equipped with a baby cot and everything needful. Have you decided on a story?" Sarah shook her head as she continued washing the youngster in the washbowl. She grabbed a towel and wrapped the baby up in it. "Nana," the baby said. Sarah smiled at him. "Nana nana nana nana," the baby prattled, happily, showing his four teeth. "I do believe that he'll call me 'Nana'," Sarah replied in amusement. "And at this point, that is all I do know." *** Sarah sat at the breakfast table with the boy on her lap. Hungrily, he ate mashed stewed apple, the yolk from a hard-boiled egg, and rice gruel--all of which Sarah fed him from a silver spoon. The child managed sips of milk from a cup. Just as the child was finishing his breakfast, George was announced. Sir James dismissed the servants as George walked into the room. "Have some breakfast, Son," he

offered. While James was speaking, Robert called out joyfully, "Dada!" The child held out his arms to George. "Dada!!" "That would seem that would settle any questions of identity," Sarah replied gently. George took the child and held him. "Hello, my lad. You have had an eventful morning, have you not?" "Dada!" the child answered as he snuggled his face into George's coat. "The boy was left here," Sarah told him as she handed him Marie's note. "I see. Well, we must do something with him, mustn't we?" George said after reading the note. "I could see to the legal paperwork to adopt him. He's a foundling, now. That changes things a bit." "Or we could find a childless couple who are emigrating to either India or Australia and send the lad with them," Sarah offered. "That is also a possibility." "It might be the kindest option. He would have a home with parents who loved him." "We should have him christened." "He has not been baptized?" Sarah queried. "No. Marie is a Roman Catholic. She would not allow me to have him christened in the Church of England. And I would not have him baptized Roman." "We could take him to Chisholm Hall, and have him christened in the family chapel," Sarah said thoughtfully. "That way, the records remain in the family. We shall call him William, if that would suit you. William Roberts." George smiled at her. "It does." The boy had fallen asleep on George's shoulder. "That sounds like a very good idea." Clive and Daniel entered the breakfast room. Clive looked at George and the baby, then at Sarah. "I say, what is going on here?" Sarah sighed. "We've had a bit of excitement this morning. Young Master William showed up on our doorstep early. We are determining what to do with him." Clive looked at George and the baby. "So why is George holding him?" "Do you not think I have a stake in any child introduced into my household?" George asked Clive. "Indeed," Clive answered. Then he looked at Sarah, "Will I be living at Chisholm after you and George marry? Or may I continue to live at Elham Park?"

Sarah sighed. "Elham Park is your home. It is the source of your income. Yet I cannot allow you to live there without adult supervision." "Great Aunt Henrietta is there," Clive offered. "Aunt Henny is quite elderly, my dear." "If Cousin Patricia weds the vicar, would I not have sufficient adult supervision?" Clive answered with a question. Aunt Helen choked on her chocolate. She looked at Sarah. Sarah nodded tightly. "Clive, if Cousin Patricia were to wed the vicar, I should doubt the man would long remain a vicar. I should suspect it would be a matter of truly little time until he became a bishop somewhere. There are any number of older bishops who may not be long for this world." Clive set his jaw in that expression worn by the Elham men whenever they were dreadfully serious. "I do not wish to live at Chisholm Hall. I wish to live at Elham Park. It is my home. Someone must oversee the stables." Sarah sighed. "I suppose that we can arrange that. O'Sullivan is doing well as the agent." Clive smiled. "I knew that you would understand. You love Elham Park as much as I do." "Yes," Sarah replied quietly. Then she turned her attention to Daniel. "Your uncle will be calling for you today, Danny. He desires to take you back home." Daniel turned white. "Sarah, I beg you, allow me to stay here." "I have your uncle's word that you shall be allowed daily outings with Clive and Chatsbury," Sarah stated. "Nothing untoward will happen to you, not when he knows there are many people of prominence watching out for you. He wouldn't dare harm you." Daniel relaxed considerably. "I shall look forward to those outings." "As shall I," Clive replied warmly. "Now, eat your breakfast," Sarah instructed. "The duke and I have some talking to do about the future of the young man who now sleeps on George's shoulder." *** Sarah, George, and the infant, as well as her uncle, left the breakfast room and went into Sir James' study. "Do you doubt me now?" Sarah demanded of them. "The boy is frightened to death of his uncle." "I see that," Sir James allowed. "Are we any closer than we were last Christmastide to bringing him to justice?"

"Within the fortnight, I expect to have the matter resolved," Sir James replied wearily. "Will we see him hang?" Sarah asked. James sighed. "I suspect he'll see a silk rope." "If there is any justice," Sarah replied. "Sarah," her uncle stated bluntly, "if you keep the child some people will believe that little William is your son. Your reputation will be severely damaged in their eyes." "Uncle, the speculations of spiteful tabbies are not anything I am able to control," Sarah replied fiercely. "Perhaps, it would be better to engage a nanny, then send the child to either Elham Park or to Chisholm Hall," Sir James offered. "Either place would be healthier for the baby than Town," Sarah allowed. "What think you, George?" George nodded. "Send him to the Park," he said quietly. "That will give us some time to make the right decision about his future. He is my child. I want him to have a good life." "Very well," Sarah replied. "I shall have him installed within the nursery at the Park." George looked down at his son. Sarah's heart broke when she saw the love and tenderness on his face. Then he looked at Sarah. Her breath caught in her throat at the tenderness, affection, and desire she saw there. Maybe he did love her. Yet quickly, his expression became only a polite one. "Thank you, Sarah. You cannot know how very much your kindness to this child means to me," George stated, his voice thick with emotion. Sarah challenged tartly, "Have you ever known me to be less than kind to any child?" George bristled, then smiled at her "I do seem to recall a certain stallion upon whom you enticed a young man." Sarah smiled. "Indeed." Then she turned to her uncle. "I shall leave Town today, and take William to the Park. There is no need to engage a nursery maid here. I know a young widow in the village who needs work." "When will you leave?" George asked. "As soon as I am able, about an hour, I should think. If Uncle will have his carriage made ready." "It is at your disposal," Sir James replied. "Will you allow me to pay the nanny's salary and any other expenses of the boy's upkeep?" George asked carefully. "If you wish, George. It will not be much, however. He is at the stage where all he needs is someone to

look after him, a few clothes, and some good simple food." George nodded. "Thank you, Sarah." "Then I should change and be on my way. I shall return by the end of the week." "Your Aunt will accompany you," Sir James stated. "I should be happy of the company." "Shall I relieve you of the child, George?" Sarah asked. "No. Not yet. Leave him with me while you change and take care of the arrangements," George replied easily. "Very well, George," Sarah stated. "I shall return shortly." *** Sarah reappeared downstairs in twenty minutes. Aunt Helen was waiting for her. A large basket had been found and a cushion and blanket placed inside for the child. Food for the wee one had been put into another basket, along with extra clothing and nappies. Sarah put on her bonnet and pulled on her gloves. She sighed. Aunt Helen turned to her. "This is for the best." "I know." *** Sarah closed her eyes as the carriage rattled along the streets of the city. George had looked so forlorn when he had surrendered the sleeping baby. "We shall have to tell Constance," Aunt Helen stated. "I am aware of this," Sarah replied lowly. "I do not anticipate with joy doing so." *** Sarah sat late that night in the nursery at Elham Park. Nancy Browne, a local young widow, had agreed to take charge of the boy. She would begin tomorrow. The boy stirred, then settled back into sleep. Sarah stretched out on the bed beside the baby cot, and slept lightly, dreaming only of little boys who looked like their father. And their father was George. *** George's rest was not so peaceful. Marie had not gone to America. Instead of going to the ship, she had

gone to Green Park. There she had met a man who had shot her. The men George and James had posted on her had not been able to get to her in time to stop the shooter. They did however, identify the shooter as Peter Richmond. Yet, they hadn't moved quickly enough to apprehend him. George rose from his lonely bed. He walked to the window. And he said a prayer for the repose of Marie's soul, and for forgiveness. But the guilt he felt wasn't so easily purged from his soul. He anticipated many more sleepless nights. He threw on his dressing gown and slippers before heading downstairs at Chisholm House. He made his way to the grog tray. He poured himself two fingers of scotch whisky. The amber liquid burned his throat. He started to pour another. It would be easy to find solace in liquor. He had done it after Jane's death. Yet he had almost ruined his health, then. Only the fact that his children had needed their father had brought him back from that awful time. And the only person, apart from his mother and his ins-law, who had enough courage to say that to him had been Sarah. He put down the decanter. His children still needed him, all three of them. Sarah needed him, too, although she would seemingly rather die than admit it. At least, he hoped she needed him. Heaven knew he needed her.

Chapter Twenty-One Sarah sat beside George, at Lady Bellingham's musical evening, listening as yet another young lady gave a wooden performance, this one upon the harp accompanied by the young woman's technically pure soprano, hitting the notes and mostly keeping the correct time but failing to convey any of the emotional meaning behind the music. Sarah found the evening deadly. From the quality of the music, she suspected more than one of the young ladies had consumed an intolerable amount of wine with the excellent dinner they had finished just an hour ago in Lady Bellingham's spacious dining room. Everyone applauded as the performance ended. Lady Bellingham stood. "Thank you, Miss Smythe-Thomas. Perfectly lovely...Perhaps now we could prevail upon Chisholm's fiancée, Miss Elham, to favor us with a tune?" Sarah sighed. "Of course, my lady," Sarah replied easily. She really didn't want to do this. Yet there was no way to politely refuse. Sitting at the harpsichord, she began to play Bach's English Suite in G major. The prelude was rich and almost orchestral. It gave way to the Allemande, then to the Courante and Sarabande, then to a pair of Gavottes, and then finally to the Gigue. By the time Sarah had played the last note of the final movement of the suite, she had been playing just about fourteen minutes. The room had been the quietest it had been all evening during her performance. As the last note died off, all around the room, people rose to their feet in applause, led by the Duke of Clarence. Sarah rose from the bench and curtseyed deeply to the Royal Duke before returning to George's side. Lady Bellingham beamed. "Thank you, Miss Elham. We are awed by that performance. Seems fitting to close this part of the evening. Cards in the blue salon. There will shortly be dancing in here, for any so

inclined, as soon as the servants clear away the chairs. And there will be a discussion of poetry in the main salon, for any interested parties." *** Sarah stood out on Lady Bellingham's patio, looking up at the night sky. The night air was cool and refreshing. Music by professional musicians wafted out onto the spring night. "I thought you should be dancing," Marc said from behind her. Sarah did not turn around. He came to stand beside her. "Good evening, my lord," she said quietly. "You seem to have made quite an impression on the haut ton. Everyone speaks of the accomplished Miss Elham who is soon to be the Duchess of Chisholm." "Yes, but how do they speak of me?" she teased without looking at him. "Sarah, I wish for you to speak freely to me on this." Sarah looked at him. "When have I ever not spoken freely with you?" "Most likely more often than I would like to admit," Marc said. "Have you heard that Chisholm's mistress, Marie Marchand, was found dead?" "Dead?" Sarah echoed on a whisper. "She and the child were both killed." George came in search of her and found them together. "Ah, there you are Sarah." "Yes, here I am." "You will excuse us Barrow. George and I have matters to discuss." *** George handed her up into the carriage. She took her seat. He sat across from her. The carriage began moving. Sarah rose, meaning to sit beside him. A sudden jar of the carriage sent her, however, into his lap. His arms tightened around her. "Sarah," he said thickly, just before his lips descended on hers. There was no pretense of gentleness. Instead, the caress held need, passion, and even desperation. He held her gently, cradled within his arms. "Sarah, marry me soon!" he said just before he began to kiss her neck. Sarah threw back her head and moaned lowly. His lips trailed down her neck. "George," she said lowly, her voice thick.

He raised his head and recaptured her mouth. Her arms twined about his neck. "George," she practically moaned as she forced herself to break off the caress as she found herself responding to him with equal passion. "No. No more. Proving that you can seduce me will avail nothing. We both know that you are a man well skilled in the arts of pleasing women." George sighed. "Indeed, it would not. I've missed you, Sarah." "I heard about Marie," Sarah offered quietly. George held her tightly. "Barrow didn't waste any time, did he?" "You think that it was Richmond, do you not?" "We know it was Richmond. I'd had a man watching Marie's house." "And your man just let her be murdered?" "There was little he could do to prevent it." Sarah sighed heavily. "The story I've heard said that Robert died with his mother." "That's the story that the papers have." "Well, that would at least serve to insulate little William from suspicion that he is your child." George sighed. "The warrant for Richmond's arrest on murder is being drawn up as we speak." "Marie made her own choices, George. She knew going into this arrangement with you that it would end someday," Sarah replied. "Neither of you planned for it to end so permanently." "Seems as all my relationships with women end badly." "There are only two ways for marriage to end. Death or divorce. With divorce being so rare, many people die each year." "I did." "Then do not complain." The carriage pulled to a stop before Elham House. "Come on in, if you are coming." Sarah handed her evening cape off to the footman. "Lemonade and cakes in the main salon," Sarah instructed the young man. "Yes, Miss Elham," the young man replied. "I'll meet you there in five minutes, George. I need to pop upstairs for a moment." ***

Sarah walked into the salon to find George staring out onto the dark back garden. "Anything interesting out there?" "No," George replied. "You are dismissed," Sarah told the servants who were hovering. She closed the door behind them. "Come, have some lemonade, George." Sarah sat. She handed George a glass. He placed it down on the table before him. Before George could speak, Clive came in, wearing only his nightshirt. "And what, young man, are you doing out of bed at this hour?" George asked. Clive sighed. "Couldn't sleep. Came down for something to eat." "Not so fast, boyo," Sarah replied as she turned to face him. "You have never had any trouble sleeping. What is the matter?" "It's Danny." Sarah sighed. "What about Danny?" "He had a bruise on his cheek today. Said he'd fallen. But I don't believe him. I'm worried." Sarah nodded. "I understand that. Yet we can do very little about this. Most people are not like our parents, Clive." Clive's face crumpled. "I still miss Father." Sarah smiled tightly. She crossed the room to her brother. "Come on, Clive. Time for you to be back in bed. I shall come to hear your prayers." Sarah returned downstairs to find her aunt sitting in the salon. "George and your uncle are in his study. Go join them," Helen advised. Sarah scratched at the door. "Come," her uncle instructed. She entered the room and closed the door behind her. "We have the warrant for Richmond's arrest on the charge of the murder of Marie Marchand. We have another warrant on charges of his having murdered his brother and sister-in-law. There is a third warrant for murder of Edwin. And another warrant on the charge of the counterfeiting. And still another charging him with High Treason." "The charge of murdering Edwin cannot be proven to a jury," Sarah replied wearily. "I am the only witness. And my testimony is not uniform." Her uncle sighed. "That is a good enough summation of the situation." "When are you going to serve him with the warrants?" Sarah asked.

"We have information that he is to make a trade with a gentleman in the Park tomorrow afternoon. After that trade is made, we'll serve the warrants. To both Richmond and his accomplice." "I want to be there," Sarah replied. "And I wish you would be as far distant from that event as possible," George replied. "I do not believe he will go quietly." "The man killed my brother, nearly killed an old friend, and probably killed his own brother and sister-in-law. He is brutal to his nephew--a friend of my brother's," Sarah replied. "I need some sense of justice here." "You can come to his hanging," George offered. "I'll arrange for you to watch him hang. But I do not want you anywhere near the park tomorrow afternoon. Do you understand me?" "I understand that is your wish," Sarah answered. George and her uncle both looked at her in consternation. "You understand. However, you are planning to be there regardless," George stated wearily. "I am not vowed to obey you, Your Grace," Sarah answered stiffly. "I wish for you to remain in tomorrow, Sarah," George echoed. "I know you do," she replied. "Understand that I cannot do that, George." "He is likely to be armed, Sarah," Sir James replied. "As shall I," she stated coldly. "Sarah!" George protested. "Give it up, George," Sir James said in exasperation. "The only way that we could keep her away would be to manacle her to the bed in her room, lock the door, pay off the servants, and bar the windows." "Don't tempt me," George said meaningfully.

Chapter Twenty-two The park was crowded, as usual. People were there to see and be seen. Both the bridle path and carriage drives were laden with people. The dowager duchess rode in Philip's barouche, sitting beside him and laughing. Sarah thought those two should be able to march along famously together. She was very happy for her godmama who was looking at least ten years younger lately, with the glow of a woman in love. Sarah was expecting an announcement from them sometime in the near future. Cousin Patricia was supposed to be taking a drive with Mister Latterly, yet Sarah had not seen them. That Nicholas Latterly had come to town was a good sign, and Sarah expected any day to hear of a

betrothal from that quarter. Prinny and Clarence were both rumored to be within the park today, although Sarah had seen neither royal. Sarah had spied Lord Peter in the company of Daniel, who was seated on Morgana, and two men whom she did not know. Daniel wasn't skilled enough to handle that horse, and he knew it. Sarah was concerned. The boy looked as though his whole attention was focused on controlling his horse. Ahead of them, a curricle collided with a high perch phaeton. In the confusion of splintering wood, loud voices, and neighing animals following the collision, Sarah saw Lord Peter reach out and swat the rump of the horse that carried the boy. The horse reared and bolted. Sarah, without a moment's thought, urged Arthur over the railing fence and across the greens to intercept the bolting horse. Her eyes never left the boy. Daniel had dropped the reins and was holding onto the horse only by the mane. Sarah prayed that she would be able to reach him before he was thrown. Marc, Clarissa, Thomas Stanton, and George watched Sarah gracefully take the fence in her quest for the child. George and Marc followed her, taking the fence easily. Clarissa and Thomas would have followed but there were people lining the railing, apparently in hopes of seeing a ghoulish spectacle. Sarah caught up with the child. Circling his horse, and coming up on the offside, Sarah scooped the child from the bolting horse, bringing him to rest on her lap. The horse, free of the weight of the child, slowed to a stop and stood shivering. George attached a leading rein to the animal and brought the gelding back to where Sarah was trying to comfort the child. She had dismounted and was holding the child under the shade of a tree as he cried upon her shoulder and clung to her. "Shhh...It's all right now...You are safe..." Sarah spoke comfortingly to the child. "Shhh...Danny...Shhhsh..." Yet Danny could not shush. He was frightened, terribly frightened. Sarah couldn't blame him. It was something of a miracle that he hadn't been killed. Sarah stroked his hair and continued to speak comfortingly to him. A crowd gathered around them. Gradually, the boy calmed himself. "I must thank you for saving my life. But, Uncle Peter will be angry." A horse and rider made his way through the crowd. "Out of my way," Lord Peter demanded strongly. "I would thank you, Miss Elham, to unhand my nevvie," Lord Peter said fiercely. Sarah stood Daniel on his feet. Lord Peter dismounted with his riding crop in hand. Daniel shrank away from his uncle and tried to hide behind Sarah. "Don't beat me, Uncle Peter. It wasn't my fault," Daniel begged with tears in his eyes. "Please...Do not beat me..."

Lord Peter took hold of the boy's arm and yanked him forcibly from behind Sarah. Then he brought down the riding whip upon the boy's shoulders with such force that it cut the cloth. Sarah stepped between Peter and Daniel. In the process, she took the next blow meant for the child. Sarah winced with the pain as the whip connected with her shoulder. "I will not let you beat that child," Sarah stated firmly as Lord Peter brought the whip back for another stroke. Just before the whip would have hit her face, Sarah caught the end of the whip, wrapping it around her arm. She gave a mighty tug yanking the braided leather from Lord Peter's hand. George put his hand on Lord Peter's shoulder and spun the man around to face him. With a single blow, George knocked Peter to the ground. "I will have satisfaction for that, Your Grace," Lord Peter said stiffly as he rose from the ground. Marc addressed him quietly. "I think not. Lord Peter Richmond, in the name of the Crown, I arrest you on charges of High Treason and four separate murders. I would have your pistol." "This is insanity!" Lord Peter replied fiercely. Sarah gently urged the boy backwards a few paces, to put some distance between them and Lord Peter. "I think not," Sarah replied. "Further, I intend to see that you are brought before a magistrate on charges of attempted murder in connection with today's incident. I saw you, Lord Peter, swat the boy's horse. You mounted the child upon an animal you knew to be too difficult for the child to ride. You wanted the boy to be thrown. He is the only person standing in your way of the family title and fortune. I wonder how many discrepancies the courts would find in an examination of your management of young Daniel's estates." Lord Peter turned towards her and laughed derisively. "You, Miss Elham, are nothing more than a mad spinster." "I think not," the Duke of Clarence said strongly from the crowd. "For I saw the same thing as Miss Elham. Would you call me a mad spinster?" Clarence challenged. "I saw that as well," the Prince Regent announced. Lord Peter looked around the crowd. The faces within the crowd grew angry. Lord Peter had to know that this could become very ugly, very quickly. "Lord Peter," Marc said as he held up the warrants. "You see these are warrants for your arrest." Peter grabbed Sarah, pulled her in front of him, and placed his pistol to her temple. "One move from any of you and she dies. I have nothing to lose." Sarah went limp as though to swoon and crumpled to the ground, sitting on Peter's feet and with her head propped up against his knees, leaving Lord Peter without his human shield. Both Marc and George had drawn their pistols and had them pointed at Lord Peter. "Surrender the weapon, Richmond," George demanded fiercely. Peter, assuming Sarah had fainted, pointed his weapon at George and ignored Sarah. "Your Grace, I

have nothing to lose." "You have your life," George replied. "We could arrange for transportation." "Australia. I'd rather die." "A silk rope awaits you," Marc said. "Lower your weapon." Sarah slumped over, rolling off Peter's feet, so that she lay on her side. Peter stepped forward, past her. Sarah rose quietly to her feet and reached in her reticule for her pistol. Peter made motion as though to begin to hand over the weapon. Yet suddenly, he placed it to his own temple and fired. He crumpled to the ground, dead. The crowd around them cried out in shock, then went silent. George went to Sarah. "Come away, Sarah, my love, he can do no one any further harm." She turned to Prinny, "Your Highness, I propose to take custody of the Marquis of Trouvaine, to see to his proper education, and to supervise his holdings, until such time as his majority. My brother and he are of an age and are friends." Prinny looked at George. "What say you, Chisholm?" George smiled. "I am fond of young Trouvaine. As a ward of the Duke and Duchess of Chisholm, the boy will be in good care." "And when will Miss Elham become Duchess of Chisholm?" Prinny asked. "Tomorrow morning at eleven. My uncle will officiate. I have a special license in my pocket even now," George said. Sarah looked at George and smiled. "Oh, do you?" "I will wait no longer," George replied smoothly. "A lady does like to hear some sweet words of affection," Sarah replied lowly. George handed her a folding silver frame for two miniatures. "A picture is worth an essay any day." Sarah opened up the silver frame. There were two images of her. She looked at them for the longest moment and she knew he loved her. She looked up at him, folded the frames shut, and agreed softly, "Yes. Tomorrow morning." He took her into his arms and kissed her soundly. Then he smiled down at her. "Sarah, dearest, the next time that you steal ten years from my life, pray give me advance warning." "But, George, who will give me advance warning?" Sarah replied bemusedly.

THE END

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