Sally MacKenzie Bundle (158 page)

“I’ll just send Thomas up with your things, miss,” Mrs. Stallings said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stallings, but I’m afraid I haven’t got any things.” Sarah smiled slightly. “My trunk went overboard in Liverpool. All I have is this sorry dress on my back. But if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would dearly love a bath.”

“You poor thing! I’ll have the water sent up directly.” Mrs. Stallings surveyed Sarah’s dress. “Shall I see if I can freshen your frock while you bathe?”

Sarah grimaced. “I’m afraid it would require a miracle to do anything with this dress.”

“Hmm.” Lizzie looked Sarah over carefully as Mrs. Stallings left. “You’re about my size. There might be something in my closet that you can wear.”

“Lizzie, I couldn’t borrow one of your gowns.”

“Why not? Do you
like
the dress you’re wearing?”

Sarah laughed. “No, it’s dreadful. It was never stylish, but after having worn it for four days straight now, I truly loathe it.”

“I should think so. My green silk should suit. My maid, Betty, can make any alterations that are needed. She’s very good with a needle.”

Sarah was tempted. She felt so drab, like a weed in a rose garden. Just this once she wanted to be a butterfly, or as close to a butterfly as a tall, red-haired spinster could be. She just wanted to match her surroundings. It had nothing to do with a certain handsome duke.

“Well, if you are sure you can truly spare the dress, I would be delighted to accept.”

“Good. And you must know that you can’t get by with only one dress—I am
not
counting that object you have on. We’ll need to have Mrs. Croft in—she’s the village dressmaker.”

“Lizzie! I admit I will need some new dresses, but I assure you I can’t afford a whole new wardrobe.”
I can’t even afford one new dress,
Sarah thought unhappily.

Lizzie shrugged. “James will pay for it.”

“He will not. That would be terribly inappropriate.”

“I don’t see why. He has piles of money.”

“It’s just not done, not in the United States or in England.”

“But you need new clothes,” Lizzie said reasonably. “
Someone
will have to pay for them.”

“Well, it won’t be your brother! He is not related to me.”

Lizzie grinned. “But Robbie is! He can foot the bill.”

The servants arrived then with the tub and water.

“I’ll be back when you’re done with your bath,” Lizzie said, slipping out the door after the footmen.

Sarah looked at the closed door. Then she sighed, shed the despised dress, and climbed into the tub. She sank into the warm water and closed her eyes.

What was she going to do about her clothing? Lizzie was right—she would need some new things. It did not seem right to burden Robbie with the expense. He certainly hadn’t asked her to show up almost on his doorstep. And she certainly could not let James buy them for her. The thought was shocking—and strangely seductive. A man bought clothes for his wife, but she could never be his wife. If she had entertained that possibility even for a moment, she was forced to discard it now. She did not know the first thing about managing a place the size of Alvord. Making her mistress here would be ludicrous, as ridiculous as putting the butcher’s boy in President Madison’s office. It just could not be done.

She rested her head against the back of the tub. Had her father known such wealth? He had been the son of an earl, after all. Yet he had given no sign of having been raised in privilege.

Of course, he had never been terribly interested in things. Ideas, theories, arguments—those were what he coveted. Even people held little interest for him. The first time she could remember her father showing any real concern for her was when he had insisted she come to England. She certainly had never felt from him the warmth that was evident between James and his sister or James and his aunt.

She sighed. She would love to be part of a family like James’s. He had offered her that if she married him. Did he know how tempting that was?

She grabbed the soap and scrubbed her arms. A tempting illusion. James did not love her. He was a British duke. He didn’t need a wife, he needed a brood mare. A marriage with him would make a family in name only.

She would get a job. She would be fine. She didn’t need much. She did not need any broad, strong shoulders in her life. She shook her head to get the picture of those shoulders out of her mind. The Duke of Alvord must be a rake of the worst sort. A thoughtless heartbreaker. After all, she had found him naked in her bed, hadn’t she? No, she was definitely better off by herself.

She didn’t need to wash her face. For some stupid reason, it was already wet.

Chapter 4

Sarah hung back to let Lizzie enter the drawing room first. Her heart was beating so fast she feared it might leap out of the low neck of her beautiful dress.

She had been struck dumb when she had looked at herself in the mirror upstairs. The woman looking back at her was a stranger. The green dress made her eyes glow. Betty had tamed her hair so that only a few tendrils drifted gracefully around her face. Rather more of her neck and chest was exposed than she was used to, but Lizzie and Betty had both insisted that such was the fashion. Upstairs in her room, Sarah had felt elegant. Now she felt awkward.

“Come on, Sarah. You can’t stay out in the hall all evening.” Lizzie grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room. “James, I’ve given Sarah one of my dresses. I think it looks quite good, don’t you?”

Sarah thought she might expire on the spot. James’s eyes traveled carefully over her dress. She grabbed her skirt to keep her hands from flashing up to cover her bodice. He spent an inordinate amount of time studying that aspect of her attire.

“Beautiful,” he said, looking directly into Sarah’s eyes and smiling. She smiled back, feeling an odd mixture of relief and tension.

In deference to her limited wardrobe, James had not dressed for dinner. Of course, Sarah thought as she accepted a glass of sherry, the Duke of Alvord could be dressed in rags and still be imposing. Or dressed in nothing. She blushed and glanced at him. The corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes acquired a distinctly knowing gleam.

This will never do, Sarah chastised herself. She raised her chin and willed her voice to remain cool. “You have a beautiful home, your grace.”

“Thank you. Did Lady Amanda give you the history lesson when you arrived?”

Lady Amanda sniffed. “Gladys was the one who mentioned that the first Duke of Alvord fought with the Conqueror. She may have neglected to point out, however, that it was his distinguished service at the Battle of Hastings that earned him the duchy.”

“No one distinguishes himself in battle, Lady Amanda.” James said, a new, harsh note in his voice. “War is an ugly, messy business. I’m certain my illustrious ancestor caused untold suffering to the poor wretches he evicted from these lands.”

Lady Amanda frowned. “If I remember correctly, it was not so very long ago that you were anxious to go to war.”

“I know better now.” James took a large swallow of his sherry.

“But don’t you agree that sometimes war is warranted, your grace? To free people from oppression, for example?” Sarah could remember her father and his cronies holding forth about that for hours.

“Yes, surely you can justify curbing that monster Napoleon,” Lady Amanda said.

“I rather think Sarah was referring to the American War of Independence and perhaps our latest contretemps with our former colonies,” James replied. “And yes, I suppose some wars are necessary. But war is rarely a simple matter. Political firebrands like to have a clear rallying cry, but most wars include a lot of simple greed, personal and political. It’s hard to justify any of that when you watch an 18-year-old boy die in your arms or find a sobbing child alone in the wreckage of her village.”

Layton then appeared at the doorway to announce Robbie and Charles.

James smiled, dispelling the bleakness that had tightened his face. “Gentlemen, I was beginning to wonder if you had turned craven.” He moved forward to greet the men, bringing Sarah with him.

“I do think Robbie was tempted, James,” Major Draysmith said. “Good evening, Miss Hamilton.”

“Good evening, Major.”

Major Draysmith crossed the room to speak to the other ladies while Robbie took Sarah’s hand.

“Cousin.” He looked distinctly wary.

“Cousin,” Sarah returned tonelessly.

A dark flush covered his cheeks. “My humble apologies about the confusion last night,” he murmured. “I was drunk, don’t you know. Half-seas over. Never would have made the mistake had I been sober.”

“Perhaps you should limit your drinking.”

“Uh, right.” Robbie looked over at James. “My apologies to you, too, of course.”

“We met the lady you were waiting for,” James said. “She doesn’t look at all like Sarah.”

“No, of course not. Didn’t think she would. I
said
I wouldn’t have made the mistake if I’d been sober. Nan set the thing up. Said her friend wanted to get established in the business. Uh, where did you happen to meet her?”

“In the inn yard,” James said. “Apparently she encountered Richard first and decided to take the sure thing. She was regretting her decision. He had blackened her eye.”

“Damn. Come to think of it, when I saw him in the common room, he did have a redheaded tart—uh, your pardon, cousin—female with him. They must have ducked into the tap first for a drink before going to the girl’s room.”

“Do you know many prostitutes?” Sarah asked.

“No, of course not.” Robbie ran a finger under his cravat and looked around the room. “It must be time to go into dinner. Where’s your butler, Alvord?”

“Here’s Layton now. Perhaps you would like to take Aunt Gladys in, Robbie?”

“Happy to.” Robbie fled across the room to Lady Gladys. He offered her his right arm and Lady Amanda his left. Major Draysmith escorted Lizzie.

Sarah frowned up at James. “Is Robbie a procurer?” She knew the
ton
was degenerate, but she would never have thought her own cousin might be a panderer.

“Good God, no. You can stop looking so ill. It really was no more than a misunderstanding.” James put her hand on his sleeve.

“A
misunderstanding?
I don’t see how anyone can have that kind of misunderstanding.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” He raised his hand slightly when Sarah opened her mouth to pursue the topic. “No, love. We can discuss this if you want, but later. It truly is not a topic my aunt would welcome at her table.”

Sarah sighed. “No, of course not. I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t beg
my
pardon, Sarah. I hope there will be no topics we can’t discuss—but some things are better said in privacy.” This last was whispered near her ear as he seated her. Her breath caught and an odd little shiver ran down her spine.

The dinner went on for what seemed to Sarah a very long time. She limited herself to just a taste of each course, yet still felt uncomfortably full. She couldn’t help but think she and her father could have lived for weeks on this one meal.

“Robbie, Charles, you’ve just come from town,” Lady Gladys said. “Tell us, please, who else is bringing out girls this Season?”

Robbie had taken an unfortunate mouthful of wine just as Lady Gladys spoke. He choked and reached quickly for his napkin. “Not much in the petticoat line, ma’am. Can’t say I paid much attention.”

“Surely you’ve made note of which mamas to avoid.” Lady Amanda, his neighbor at the table, whacked him on the back.

“Ah, my thanks.” Robbie shifted so Lady Amanda could not get another swing at him. “Well, I think the Barringtons might have a girl coming out.”

Lady Amanda nodded. “No doubt spotted like the last two.”

“And the Amesleys.”

“Walleyed,” Lady Amanda said.

“No, that one came out last Season. This one’s the rabbity-looking girl.”

“Right. Clarinda or Clarabelle or something.” Lady Amanda took a delicate sip of wine. “Of course, the mother’s no beauty. I never could understand how she got Billy Amesley to the altar.”

“I think it might have had something to do with the fact that the Amesleys’ pockets were to let,” Lady Gladys said. “Harriet Drummond was a significant heiress, if you’ll remember, Amanda.”

“True. The gleam of a well-filled coffer has led many a man into the parson’s mousetrap—and as they say, you can’t tell a beauty from a beast once the candles are snuffed.”

It was James’s turn to choke on his wine. “Who says, Lady Amanda?” he asked, a note of laughter in his voice.

“Everyone.” Lady Amanda sniffed. “I’m not a member of your mealymouthed generation, James.”

“For which I must be grateful.”

“I think the Earl of Mardale has a daughter making her bows this year,” Major Draysmith offered.

“Mardale—now there was a fine figure of a man,” Lady Amanda said. “I’m sure he must have produced attractive offspring.”

“Are we embarrassing you, Sarah?” James asked softly as the conversation moved on to rival mantua-makers.

“A little,” she admitted. She rubbed her fingers over the soft fabric of her borrowed dress. Now that she had seen—and worn—Lizzie’s dress, she knew she could never afford the clothes she would need for a trip to London. She lowered her voice. “Your grace, I’ve been thinking of my future.”

James gave Sarah a slow smile. “I am glad to hear that.”

She felt unaccountably flustered. “Yes, well, I think it would be best if I found a situation as a teacher now, instead of going to London.”

Unfortunately, there was a lull in the general conversation just then and Sarah’s words carried. Lady Gladys put her wineglass down so quickly, she knocked it against her plate. A few drops of wine jumped out onto the tablecloth.

“A situation as a teacher? You aren’t going to be a teacher, Sarah; you’re going to be a duchess. If you have such a burning desire to teach, teach your own children. I’m sure James won’t waste any time filling his nursery.”

Sarah was sure her face was as red as Molly’s hair. She was afraid to look at James for fear she’d prove the theory of spontaneous combustion.