The Duchess Hunt (7 page)

Mark nodded. Over luncheon, they’d
discussed the need for someone to stay an extra week or two at Ironwood Park to
ensure no stone had been left unturned here… and to oversee the unpleasant
business of dragging the lake.

“Now that we know about the cart,” Simon
continued, “we can include it in our questioning. Odd as it sounds, it seems
the Duchess of Trent disappeared from Ironwood Park in a cart drawn by asses.”

“Good-bye, girl,” Sarah’s father said in a
gruff voice. He gave her a quick, tight hug, then pushed her an arm’s length
away from him, still gripping her shoulders. “Be good.”

She flashed him a grin. “I’m always good,
Papa.”

He smiled at that, though his blue eyes
clouded with melancholy. “Too true, too true.” He let her go, stepping back.
“And you’ll be good at watching over Lady Esme, too, I’m sure.”

“I will,” she promised. She leaned forward
to kiss her father’s cheek. Although he hadn’t said so outright, he was proud
of her rise in status. As far as he was concerned, she’d earned it first by
proving her intelligence in the years of lessons with Miss Farnshaw, then by
her unceasing loyalty to the Hawkins family, which in turn had earned their
trust. Papa believed she deserved every bit of the new prestige the title of
“lady’s companion” afforded her.

Sarah herself had doubts. She wasn’t
certain she’d be a success at the position. Yes, she could make pleasant
conversation with Lady Esme. She had an eye for fashion and could advise the
young lady on what to wear to any given ball or dinner party. Miss Farnshaw had
educated her on etiquette in excruciating detail.

What Sarah wasn’t as sure about was
keeping up the game with others. Those refined ladies of society who would
surely see through her pretense and know immediately that she had no right
holding the position of companion to a duke’s sister.

She took a deep breath and pushed that
thought into the dark recesses of her mind where she stowed all her
insecurities. She
would
do this. She’d do it because her father thought her worthy. She’d
do it because Simon believed she could, and because Esme thought it “the most
excellent idea my brother’s ever had!” She’d do it for the Hawkins family, and
she’d do it for her own selfish desire to wiggle her toes in the silky waters
of the lives of the privileged.

Most of all, she’d do it to be close to
Simon.

She hugged her father again, as quick and
short and hard as he’d hugged her, then she hurried to the rear of the two
carriages, the one upon which Robert Johnston had taken the position of driver.
She opened the door, and just as she had her foot on the step and was about to
haul herself inside, a sharp “Sarah!” had her leaning back and looking toward
the front carriage.

Simon stood beside the carriage, a slight
crease between his brows. He glanced around at the other servants milling
about, then, leaving the door open, he walked to her in a few long strides.

He leaned toward her and spoke so that no
one else would hear. “You will be riding with us.”

The flush burned, an instant reaction
clear on her cheeks for him to see. “Oh,” she mumbled. “Of course.”

It had been natural to think she’d be
riding with Amy, Esme’s lady’s maid. But she was a lady’s
companion
now. Of course, she’d be
expected to
accompany
the lady on the journey to London.

She grimaced at Simon, and he grinned in
response, then shrugged and gestured toward the front carriage. “After you,
Miss Osborne.”

Miss Osborne.
He’d never called her that before. But of course, it was the
proper way to address one’s sister’s companion.

She followed him to the front carriage and
then accepted his help as he handed her inside. Esme was already sitting on the
forward-facing lavender velvet squabs, and Sarah settled in beside her. Simon
climbed up behind her and sat on the opposite seat.

After greeting Esme, Sarah looked out the
window. Sam and Theo had left early in the morning – Simon’s departure had been
delayed due to the time it had taken to pack all the luggage Esme had required.
Now, Mark and the servants assembled on the lawn in front of the house to wish
them safe travels. Slightly off to the side and behind the carriage, Sarah saw
her father, clutching his wide-brimmed hat to his side. He raised his free
hand, and with a curl of his fingers, gave her a little wave.

“Good-bye, Papa,” she whispered.

Simon must have given the signal because
the coach lurched into motion, and with that, Sarah felt the pull and then the
snap, as if some connection had been severed. She was free. Cut off from the
proverbial apron strings and letting them fly in the wind behind her as the
horses trotted away from the place that had been her home for so long.

Sarah loved her father and hated to leave
him alone. Yet she was literally leaving him in the dust to explore a new
world, and she couldn’t prevent the excitement that welled from a place deep
within her.

When they turned down a bend in the road
and she could no longer see Ironwood Park, she gave a soft sigh.

Simon gazed at her, an expression of
understanding on his face. “We’re not even to the village yet.”

“I know. It’s just… I know we’re going to
go straight through it. And,” she said breathlessly, “I can no longer remember
what’s on the other side.”

“Really?” Esme stared at her with rounded
eyes.

“When we first came here, I was only eight
years old,” she explained, “and I was so sad to be leaving our old house in
Manchester, where my mother died.”

A deep crease appeared between Esme’s
brows. The young lady was one of those rare fortunate souls who had never lost
anyone she loved, so she was sensitive to discussing death or those who’d died
to begin with. Now, considering the fact that Esme’s mother was missing, Sarah
realized speaking of her own mother in the past tense wasn’t the wisest idea.

“I pouted all the way from Manchester,”
she continued. “I was afraid of this new place, where I knew no one and had no
idea how my days would be spent.”

“I suppose you never predicted being
attacked by a blackberry bush,” Simon said.

Something in his smile made her breath
catch so hard that she had to look away before responding.

“Not at all. The first few days here, my
father was very busy, so I was left to wander about.”

Esme frowned. “Until a blackberry bush attacked
you?” Esme had never heard the story, and she had been too young to remember
the incident.

“I fell deep into one of those bushes out
by the stream. I was essentially stuck, and fortunate that His Grace came by
before I caused myself permanent damage trying to climb out.” Though the little
scar remained on her knee, reminding her of that day every morning when she
pulled on her stockings.

“And I took her back to the house for Mrs.
Hope’s salve, and she met our mother for the first time.”

“… and Mama loved Sarah,” Esme finished.
She knew
that
part of the story.

“Precisely,” Simon said.

Sarah smiled, her heart fuzzy with the
memory, only to pang with the reality that the duchess was missing, and no one
knew where she was.

She met Simon’s eyes, and his expression
grew serious. “I wonder what you will think of London.”

Beside her, Esme gave a small shudder, but
she didn’t share her opinion of the noisy, smelly city with her brother.

Esme was still painfully shy in Simon’s
presence. She had the same problem with Luke and Sam, but one simply couldn’t
be shy around Mark – the second youngest brother could coax the most reticent
turtle out of its shell. Of all her brothers, though, Esme was closest to Theo
– fewer years separated them, and they were near identical in temperament. Both
tended to keep to themselves and preferred academic pursuits over social ones.

Esme wasn’t shy with Sarah, however, and
Sarah knew all too well what Esme thought of London. But if Esme wanted to
withhold that information from her brother, Sarah had no intention of breaking
her trust and telling him about Esme’s aversion to the city.

“I believe I will like London,” she told
Simon. She didn’t know how she knew it; she just did. London would have to do
something truly horrible to her to prove her instincts wrong.

And if Simon was there, how could she not
like it?

Late that afternoon, Simon and Sarah had
fallen into silence. Esme had tried to read but the motion of the carriage had
made her queasy, so she’d fallen asleep, her cheek resting on a silk pillow
wedged between the door and the back seat cushion.

Sarah possessed the boundless curiosity of
a child discovering a part of her world for the first time, and Simon couldn’t
take his eyes off her. The scenery, each structure that they passed and each
subtle change in landscape, entertained her endlessly.

She was so different from the bitter and
cynical men who frequented Simon’s club, those men who were weighted down by
politics, their positions and their responsibilities. By the fact that America
was close to declaring war on Britain, or by the fact that Wellington was
taking the war on the Peninsula deeper into Spain. Men who could no longer find
joy from an early daffodil jutting up from the grass. Men like himself.

Sarah’s fascination with the world around
her reminded him of his humanity. Of the small things that were still worth
looking at.

If he wasn’t so consumed by looking at
her, his gaze, too, might have been drawn out the window. But he was content to
watch her stare out at the pastures and meadows and rolling hills of the
Cotswolds.

“Endless green,” she murmured without
looking at him, quiet so as not to wake Esme. “And every shade encompassed, it
seems, from yellow all the way to blue.”

Simon glanced out his window. “Yes,” he
said simply. It was true – the expanse of land between Ironwood Park and London
was quintessentially English and not unpleasant to look upon.

The carriage began to traverse the arched
stone bridge that descended onto the high road of the town of Burford. “What
river is this?” she asked, one of the many, many questions she’d asked today.

He didn’t always have a ready answer for
all her questions, but this time he did. “River Windrush.”

She was silent as they passed through the
village, studying the landmarks, the church and sandstone architecture. To
Simon, Burford was just one of the many villages they passed through on the way
to London – its only special quality being that it was near Oxford, where
they’d spend the night before continuing on to London tomorrow. But Sarah saw
something new and wonderful in it, her big, expressive blue eyes taking it all
in. Her lips parted as she absently twirled a dark curl around her finger, her
deep breaths showing in the rise and fall of her bodice.

Her lips were pink, plump, and her tongue
peeked out and ran over them. God, he wanted a taste. He wanted to know if she
was as sweet as he remembered.

She glanced at him, then quickly back to
the window, a light pink flush rising on her cheeks.

So pretty.

Something clenched inside him at that
thought. He’d thought of Sarah as pretty for years, but in a detached way.
She’d been pretty to him like a painted landscape might be pretty, or even like
he might describe his sister as pretty.

But this kind of pretty was altogether different.
This kind made his body harden in places it should damn well be prohibited to
harden in her presence. And, God forbid, in the presence of his sister,
sleeping or not.

He tore his eyes away from Sarah to stare
up at the ceiling of the carriage, willing his body to cool.

Chapter
Four

Something was wrong. Simon had turned
inward. It had begun this afternoon and had continued this evening as they’d
settled at the Angel Inn in Oxford.

Perhaps Sarah had been too exuberant in
her expressions of delight as they passed through the English countryside.

Or… perhaps he worried for his mother.

Not wanting to upset Esme, Sarah tried to
hide her fretting as they ate a sumptuous dinner that had been prepared
especially for them and served in a private room. She pushed around the mashed
turnips and pork roast on her plate until Esme eyed her suspiciously, and Simon
asked in a low voice, “Is the food not to your liking, Miss Osborne?”

Sarah’s head jerked up, and she glanced at
the cook and Mrs. Stewan, the mistress of the inn, both of whom had been
hovering since the Duke of Trent and his companions had sat down to eat. Both
of them blanched in horror at the duke’s question and stared at her fearfully
in anticipation of her response.

“Oh, no. It is delicious!” To illustrate,
she took a big bite of the pork, which was cold, its sauce rather congealed,
and tried not to choke on it. After she managed to chew and swallow without
even a hint of a grimace, she spoke in a low voice. “There are just so many
worries.”

“Ah. I see,” Simon said shortly. He’d
explained to them that he wanted to keep the duchess’s disappearance quiet for
as long as possible, so Sarah knew better than to mention it out loud.

Simon didn’t believe they could keep such
a secret for very long, as not only would he be hunting in London but his
brothers would be hunting all over England. Soon enough, the rumors would
begin. But Simon thought that whatever information they could glean before the
gossip spread might be more valuable.

She looked him square in the eye. “I want
to help.”

The corners of his lips quirked up. He
glanced to Esme and then back to Sarah. “You already are.”

“Yes, but…” She sighed. “I believe you do
know what I mean, Your Grace.”

“I believe I do.”

She glanced at Esme. The poor girl had
hardly spoken all day, and despite having taken several naps in the carriage,
she looked simply exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. Alarm stirred in
Sarah’s belly. “Are you well, my lady?”

Esme gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, yes.
Just a bit tired.”

Sarah glanced at her plate. The food was
cold, and she had no intention of eating any more. But then she glanced at the
cook and Mrs. Stewan and chewed on her lip, not wanting to offend them by not
partaking of the next course.

But Esme covered her mouth with a yawn,
and when Sarah looked at Simon, he gave her a nod as if to say, “Go. I will
placate them.”

So Sarah rose. As soon as she did so,
Simon rose, too. She stared at him across the table in shock for a second
before she came to her senses.

Dukes didn’t rise for servants.

She blinked, shaking it off, wondering if
she’d ever grow accustomed to her new status.

She held out her hand to Esme. “Let’s go
upstairs, my lady. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Esme took her hand gratefully and let
Sarah help her up. Upstairs, Sarah and Amy assisted her to undress and wash.
When the younger woman was comfortable, yawning in her nightgown, Sarah
dismissed Amy then led Esme to the bed and tucked the blankets around her.

“Thank you, Sarah. I’m sorry I am so…”
Esme’s voice trailed off.

Sarah trailed a hand over Esme’s forehead.
No fever. “Are you certain you’re not feeling ill?”

Esme sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just…
Mama. Trent. London. It’s almost too much to take at once. Es-especially Mama.”

“I understand,” Sarah soothed. “But I know
your brother will find her.”

Esme’s hazel eyes filled with tears. “Yes,
you’re right, but what good will that do if she’s d-d —”

“Hush,” Sarah admonished gently. “You
cannot think that way. We must continue to trust that your mother is alive and
well unless someone proves it otherwise.”

“But do you really believe that?”

“I do,” she said firmly. “Now go to sleep,
my lady. And I believe this will be good for you.”

“Losing Mama?”

“No, spending some time with your brother.
Maybe now you will finally learn to be more comfortable in his presence.”

Sarah had always been comfortable in
Simon’s presence, so it was odd to think that his own sister found him so
frightening. And yet she did.

“Maybe,” Esme said doubtfully.

Sarah patted her shoulder and rose. “Good
night, my lady.”

“Will you be going to bed, too?”

Sarah glanced over at the door to the
adjoining room, a small space with a tiny window – just a closet, really. She
didn’t feel like being cooped up in there just yet. “No. I think I’ll go check
on Amy, Robert, and Ned. Make sure they’re settled.”

“All right,” Esme murmured.

“Sleep well,” Sarah said before going out
the door that led to the second-floor corridor. The Angel Inn was small, and
Simon had let all the rooms on this floor for their party.

She went to the room Robert Johnston was
sharing with Ned, a new coachman he was bringing to London to train to drive
there, but neither answered the door. Amy didn’t answer either, and Sarah
realized they had probably all gone downstairs for dinner.

She had just descended the first step on
her way to the kitchen when she saw Simon climbing the narrow stairway.

She stepped back up onto the landing and
waited for him. Deep in thought, he didn’t realize she stood there until he reached
the top.

“Sarah, what are you doing?” He looked
past her to see if anyone else stood on the landing. Finding it empty, the
parallel lines on his forehead deepened. She wanted to soothe them away. Press
her thumbs to them and work them until his forehead was smooth again and a
smile touched his lips.

“Lady Esme just went to bed, but I’m not
tired. I was going to go downstairs to check on… everyone else.” She knew that
to Simon they were “the servants,” but calling them that would set them apart
from her, and she had always been one of them.

He stared at her, long and hard, then
nodded. “I see.”

She frowned at him. No one else was near,
so she could be frank with him. “What is it, Your Grace?”

“I…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’m
just not comfortable with you being out alone.”

“I am not going out,” she said, “just
downstairs to see whether Amy, Robert, and Ned are settled and whether they
need anything.”

“Always taking care of everyone, aren’t
you?”

She couldn’t tell whether he meant that in
a positive way or a negative one, so she simply shrugged.

Suddenly, he raised his hand to the bridge
of his nose and pressed hard, blowing out a breath.

On impulse, she reached out and touched
his arm. His gaze dropped to the place where her body made contact with his.

“Sorry,” she whispered, withdrawing her
hand. “It’s just… You have been out of sorts since this afternoon. I know how
upset you are about the duchess. Tell me how I can help.”

“It’s not only my mother,” Simon said on a
sigh. “Flighty and peculiar as she is, she can take care of herself. While my
brothers and sister may worry that something unspeakable has happened to her, I
doubt that. I intend to go forward under the assumption that she is at some
family member’s house on a holiday and she simply forgot to tell us. You know
how she is,” he added, gaze dark.

“Yes, I do.” Sometimes the duchess did
seem to forget about her children. She loved them more than anything, but now
that they were grown and on their own for the most part, she had become more
absorbed in her own activities. She didn’t always tell the family about
everything she did and everywhere she went.

“So you understand why I am not worried.”

“And yet you intend to find her.”

“I do. To ease my siblings’ concerns, and
because she needs to know that it’s unacceptable, not to mention irresponsible,
to worry us like this.” He blew out a breath between pursed lips.
“Unfortunately, we probably won’t be able to find her before the gossip mill
starts to grind out the story, certainly with all kinds of embellishments.”

“Ah,” Sarah said. “So that’s why you’re
frustrated.”

He gave a cynical shrug. “What’s another
blemish on our family name? There have been so many. Between her and Luke, I’m
surprised we’re not the sole topic of every scandal sheet.”

“Those blemishes heal with the work you do
every day,” she told him, certainty throbbing in her voice.

He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Thank you.
There’s much work left to be done, though.” Then the laugh faded and he scanned
her face. After a long, silent moment, he murmured, “I’ll walk you back to your
room.”

But he didn’t move, and neither did she.

She just stared at his handsome face, at
the way his eyes narrowed as he studied her. At the heat in them. It prickled
over her skin, building in her core. The look in his eyes was full of such…
promise. Instinctively, she licked her lips, and his gaze flickered down to
them.

And then he leaned forward and kissed her.

Simon remembered her taste – as fresh and
sweet as the sunbaked grasses in a country meadow. Her mouth was warm and soft
and dry, and he felt a little puff of air as her surprised “oh!” whispered over
his lips in the gentlest caress.

Simon wrapped his arms around her slender
form and drew her close.

His body screamed with need.

For Sarah. His friend. His sister’s
companion. The gardener’s daughter.

He closed his eyes and stifled a groan as
her arms came around him. Of course it had come to this.
Of course.
He’d been a fool to think he
could keep his hands off her.

He pulled her closer until her pliant body
was flush against his. He splayed his hand over the muslin covering the curve
of her lower back and coaxed her lips open with his. Wanting more of that sweet
taste. Wanting to insinuate himself inside her in every way.

And then he heard voices. The softest
whisper of sound was like a slap, drawing him back to the world. He tore
himself away, immediately missing the feel of her against him.

She blinked her wide blue eyes at him. Her
cheeks were flushed, her lips now damp from his kisses.

And guilt made a frigid wash through him.
He averted his gaze. Damn it. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said through
clenched teeth.

She didn’t answer him right away. The
voices were growing louder – there were people coming up the stairs.

Finally, she whispered, “I liked it.” And
then she smiled.

A part of him – a very, very large part –
wanted to accept that smile, to sink into it and bask in its warmth, allowing
it to burn away his guilt. A very large part of him wanted to take more from
her. Much more.

But he wasn’t a man who took advantage of
servants and innocent young ladies. He left all that to his carousing peers.

The voices came closer. He recognized one
of them as Johnston, the coachman. After an instant of confusion as to why
Johnston would be coming up here, Simon recalled that he’d reserved the whole
floor for his party – the suites for him and his sister and Sarah, and the
smaller rooms for the servants. His family often frequented this inn on their
more leisurely trips to and from London, and the mistress of the place tripped
over her skirts to make certain all was perfect for any member of the Hawkins
family whenever they chose to visit. Today had been no exception.

He didn’t have much time.

“Listen to me, Sarah. That was a mistake.”

She gazed at him, unapologetic. As lovely
and sweet and innocent as she was, she was no wilting flower. She never had
been.

“It can’t happen again,” he told her
quietly, and took a step back from her. The servants were upon them now with
bows and curtsies and “Your Graces.” He greeted them all politely and wished
them a good evening.