The Reluctant Duchess (11 page)

Sara smiled. “Because your mother is in residence or because the duke is in residence?”

Ross grimaced.

“Do you never intend to marry?” she asked, still teasing.

“Eventually. It's my duty to the title, but not yet.” His mother had been making noises that it was time he find a wife. Ross had responded by hightailing himself off to India. But she was right. He'd put it off for two years, using Meredith's death as an excuse. Truth be told, he didn't want to marry. Not because he still mourned Meredith, but because he had no desire to fall in love and risk loss again. He'd thought he was in love with Meredith, though he'd had his doubts about their union. In a way he'd felt trapped, unable to extricate himself from a situation he didn't want to be in anymore. The betrothal had happened too quickly, and they'd not had time to get to know each other. He'd avoided any future entanglements that might lead in that direction.

“What about you?” he asked. “Will you marry someday?”

Sara looked away, and he regretted the question, but he was curious. Why hadn't she married? She was past the age when most girls did.

“No.”

He waited for more of an answer, surprised when none was forthcoming. “Just no?”

A slim shoulder came up in a shrug. “At one time that was my future, but no longer.”

“Because of Meredith?” he asked, surprised.

“Because Meredith's death changed everything. I can't leave my father. He needs someone to watch out for him, and since my mother left, that falls to me.”

“So you give up everything for your father?”

“Of course.” She looked at him as if surprised that he would conceive of another option.

What a waste. Sara would make someone a wonderful wife. She was compassionate. She was undemanding. She thought of others more than she thought of herself. She would run a house efficiently. She was perfect.

For someone else.

The carriage pulled up to the mews and stopped. Ross jumped out, then helped Sara down. He paid the driver and indicated that Sara follow him. “This way.” He led her through a well-oiled gate and past the carriage house. “You were remarkable back there,” he said. “You could easily have a career in the theater.”

She laughed, and something inside him began to burn. He loved the sound of her laugh and wanted to hear more of it.

“Thank you, fine sir.” She spoke in a cockney accent, pronouncing fine like “
foine
.”

“You went right along with my story, and I must say, you were very convincing.”

“Would it be horrible to say that I enjoyed myself? Well, not the nethersken part—I didn't enjoy seeing the children—but the playacting was fun.”

“Who knew you had such a strong sense of adventure?”

They were laughing when they entered the house through the kitchen. Too late, Ross realized what it looked like as the cook and her kitchen staff all stopped to stare at them.

He nodded to them and hustled Sara through the kitchen and up the steps. His very angry mother met them in the hallway as they were about to ascend to their respective rooms.

“Where have you been?” Elizabeth asked with the pinched look that had made Ross tremble as a small boy. With a sweep of her gaze, she took in their attire.

All of Sara's acting ability had deserted her, for she was silent, her face pale and her eyes wide, as if she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. He knew this didn't look good, the two of them sneaking into the house, looking the way they did.

“We went riding,” he said.

“I see.” His mother looked Sara over, obviously displeased with her appearance. “There are guests in the drawing room. I thought it would be a good idea to introduce Sara to some of our friends.”

Ross didn't think it was possible, but more color leached out of Sara's face, alarming him.

“Your Grace, I don't think right now is a—”

“Oh, but I think it is,” the duchess said with steel in her voice. Ross could have told Sara not to argue with his mother when she was in this mood. “I suggest you both retire to your chambers and change. Sara, I expect you in the drawing room shortly.”

Sara lowered her head. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Ross wanted to curse his mother for frightening Sara to the point that she had retreated into herself. Where was the strong, outspoken woman who had stood beside him in the rookery and the one who had debated with him during the carriage ride home?

He watched Sara climb the steps with heavy feet. She glanced over her shoulder at him but quickly turned away.

When she had disappeared, his mother said, “I would speak to you in the music room.”

“Not now, Mother. I have business to attend to.”

“It was not a request, Gabriel. I will speak to you now.”

He always knew he was in trouble when she used his Christian name; there was no getting out of this discussion. He followed her to the infrequently used music room, his steps nearly as heavy as Sara's.

The drapes were closed, and the piano sat silently in the shadows draped in dust cloths. Never having been musically inclined, Ross had spent little time in this room.

His mother spun around to face him. Her expression was thunderous. “Where were you this morning with Sara?”

His own anger was coming to a head, but he stamped it down. It was never smart to argue with his mother when she was like this. “We went for a ride.”

“Unchaperoned.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away, his guilt heavy. “Yes.”

“What are you thinking, Gabriel?”

He'd been thinking that he wanted to make Sara happy, that she needed some excitement in her life, and taking her to the rookery would be exciting for her. He'd been thinking that he could spend a little more time enjoying her company because he liked being with her. He enjoyed their discussions. He obviously had not thought too much on the consequences of his invitation. But he couldn't tell his mother any of that. “We had business to discuss.”

“What possible business could you have with Lady Sara Emerson?”

He pressed his lips together. In this he would not budge: He would not reveal to his mother the extent of his business with Sara.

She stepped closer and pointed at him. “Don't trifle with her, Gabriel. Lady Sara is not your type.”

His gaze flew to hers. “Not my type? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean she is a sweet, quiet girl. She is not used to the ways of men like you. I will not see her hurt.”

“Men like me? Mother, I'm offended.”

“Good. I meant to offend.”

He stepped back and crossed his arms, valiantly trying to control his rising anger. “I have no idea what you're speaking of.”

“Let me be clear, then. Sara Emerson is a wonderful girl. But she's also naive. She is defenseless against your charm and charisma. The parties and balls, the drinking, the staying out all night at your clubs. That's not who Sara is. You will chew her up and spit her out and leave her bleeding, and I will not have that.”

“I would never—”

She made a shushing sound, slicing her finger through the air so close to his nose that he was forced to rear back or have his nose slapped. “You wouldn't mean to, but nevertheless it will happen if you don't leave her alone. That poor girl has no mother to watch out for her and no father to protect her. It is up to me to stand in for her parents.”

Ross was so astounded and so hurt that he had no words to defend himself. “Do you think so poorly of me?”

Her expression softened and she pressed her palm to his cheek. “I don't say these things to hurt you but to make you realize what damage you could do to her. She isn't like Meredith. She doesn't run in the circles you do. She is a wounded soul who needs protecting.”

His mother was right in more ways than she knew. Sara did need protecting, but not in the way his mother thought. “I would never hurt her,” he said.

She looked at him sadly. “You would never intentionally hurt her.”

“Can't you see that I'm a changed man?”

“Are you?” She stepped back, her hand sliding from his cheek. “Leave her be, Gabriel.”

Sara sat in the drawing room with a pretend smile, feeling like a chastised child. Elizabeth acted as if she had not just caught Sara and Ross sneaking in through the back of the house wearing old clothing and acting as if they were doing something wrong, but Sara could feel the duchess's displeasure.

She took her lead from the duchess and pretended nothing was wrong. She'd just told Ross that she enjoyed playing a role, but this was one role she never enjoyed. The duchess couldn't have devised a more brutal punishment for Sara.

She hated social gatherings. She wasn't good at small talk. Her mind stalled. She couldn't find the words she needed, and if she did, they were inane and the conversation quickly died. More often than not, she was left to herself because people generally gave up on trying to draw her into their conversations.

She'd found that her anxiety wasn't as acute in Hadley Springs. She knew the women on the festival committee almost as family and was so comfortable with them that she spoke freely, although infrequently. But London was another story. The intrigue, the gossip, the backstabbing were not to her liking, and she was forever in fear of saying the wrong thing, so she rarely said anything. Which could be just as bad. She'd lost count of how many pitying looks she'd intercepted over the years. The looks caused her to withdraw even more.

She'd counted three such looks in the past half hour. Poor Elizabeth was valiantly trying to pull Sara out of her shell.

“We invited Lady Sara to stay with us at Rossmoyne House when we discovered she was traveling to London,” the duchess was saying to the group of ladies sipping their tea and looking at Sara out of the corners of their eyes.

Lady Harriett Connor turned to Sara with a polite smile, and Sara wanted to shrink into the shadows. “And what brings you to London?”

“Oh, uh…” She shot a desperate look at the duchess because all she could think of was the truth, and Ross definitely didn't want her blurting out that she was receiving threatening letters.
She
didn't want to blurt out that she was receiving threatening letters.

Well, you see, I've been receiving letters from someone who we believe might be Meredith's killer. The duke and I traveled to a nethersken today to question the proprietor in the hopes of discovering the identity of the letter writer. Have you ever visited a nethersken? No? Oh, you definitely should put it on your list of things to do. The suffering would astound you.

That would not do.

“Shopping,” Elizabeth said a bit too brightly. “Sara has come to do some shopping.”

Lady Harriett smiled encouragingly, obviously expecting Sara to elaborate, but for the life of her, Sara couldn't think of anything to add. The silence seemed to drag on interminably, until Lady Harriett's smile started to slip and she appeared confused.

“Yes, well,” Lady Harriett said. “That's wonderful. There is always good shopping on Bond Street.”

“Yes,” Sara said. “Yes, there is.”

Lady Harriett's eyes narrowed a bit, and to Sara's immense relief, she turned her attention to the person beside her. “I found the most adorable little shop run by a Frenchwoman. She makes the best hats—”

Sara's gaze wandered around the room until it alighted upon Elizabeth, who was looking at her in confusion. The duchess wouldn't understand Sara's feelings about being in social situations. Her position and responsibilities included entertaining people. Just like Ross's wife would have to someday.

Sara desperately wanted to run her shaking, damp hands down her skirts, but she kept still, more afraid to draw attention to herself. She didn't even take a sip of tea, terrified that she would spill it and people would look at her. She prayed the afternoon would end soon.

Alas, the afternoon was just getting started. Once Lady Harriett and her entourage left, another took their place, and more after that. An endless succession in fifteen-minute increments.

They talked as fast as they could to get in all of the gossip before the constrictions of society forced them to move on to the next house and do the same thing all over again. What foolishness all of this was.

Sara spoke only when spoken to. Ladies tried conversing with her, but her one-word answers put them off. Though she knew they thought her arrogant, that was far from the truth. She didn't have anything to say to them. She didn't
know
what to say to them.

Not like when she was with Ross. She could talk to him forever with nary a heart thump of anxiety or fear of her palms sweating or the terror of saying something wrong.

She could converse just as freely with her best friend, Lady Blackbourne. Why couldn't she do that with strangers? Why was it so difficult for her to find something to say? Why did her body want to recoil from all of it and her stomach turn until she thought she would be sick?

Her mother had always chastised her for what she considered shyness, and God knew Sara had tried to be different, but this went far deeper than being shy. She'd tried to force herself to be more animated in social situations, but it always came out wrong, and eventually, she'd sit back to let Meredith take over.

A few visitors brought their daughters, who were all of marriageable age and looking to hook a duke. The daughters glanced around wide-eyed, no doubt measuring the windows for the curtains they would put up if they were the next Duchess of Rossmoyne.

Stop it, Sara. You're being uncharitable. For goodness' sake, you don't even know these girls. They could be very nice.

Maybe. But they all seemed to have only air between their ears and no original thought in there at all. She couldn't see Ross with any of them. He would be miserable.

Eventually, as it had all afternoon with the various groups of callers, the conversation turned to the upcoming ball hosted by the Earl and Countess of Plainfield.

“Will you and your son attend?” one particularly eager mother asked Elizabeth. The woman's daughter looked sick and hopeful at the same time. She had yet to say anything. Sara feared the girl would collapse in a swoon if the duke were to enter.

“I'm certain I can persuade the duke to attend,” Elizabeth was saying.

Sara looked at her in surprise for she was certain the duke would rather have a tooth pulled than attend a ball. But of course she didn't say anything. It wasn't her place, and it wasn't as if she were invited. So if Elizabeth and Ross attended, Sara would be left behind to wonder which of these mothers were foisting their daughters upon Ross.

Stop it, Sara. It's none of your concern. This is not like you at all.

No, it wasn't, and she was disappointed in herself. She acted as if she was listening, but her mind kept wandering to the morning she'd spent with Ross. She didn't remember having such a deep conversation with another man. There were depths to Ross that she had never imagined.

“Sara?”

Sara looked up, pulled from her thoughts by Elizabeth, who was standing at the door. The room was empty. No more matchmaking mamas and their too-young-for-Ross daughters. No one except Sara and Elizabeth.

“Yes?”

“You were woolgathering.” Elizabeth walked to a chair and sank into it. “As you have been all afternoon.” There was censure in her voice, and Sara knew she had disappointed Ross's mother on more than one front.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. Socializing is not…I've never been that good at making small talk. I never seem to know what to say.”

Elizabeth looked at her shrewdly. “Is it that, or have you been thinking of your morning with my son?”

Sara could feel her face heat in a fierce blush. “Your Grace, I can assure you—”

Elizabeth held up her hand. “Normally, Ross's business is not my concern unless it will grievously affect the Rossmoyne name, but in this I must step forward. I see the way you look at Ross, and I feel I must counsel you. Nothing good can come of your feelings for him.”

Was she that transparent? And if Elizabeth saw, had Ross as well? Montgomery? Anyone else? Sara was mortified that the duchess had guessed her feelings for Ross even before she had allowed them free rein in her mind. Oh, how humiliating. Maybe it was best if she moved back to the hotel.

“Whatever it is you think you saw, you are mistaken,” Sara said. “Ross and Mr. Montgomery are helping me with a…situation. There is nothing more to it than that. You have my word.”

She stood and, with head held high, walked out of the room, purposely not allowing the duchess a chance to speak. It was probably rude, but she didn't care. She didn't want to hear how unsuitable she was for Ross, because she already knew that. He needed a duchess who was vibrant and who sparkled in social situations. Sara was quite clearly not that. He needed someone with social ties, and while her family once had that, they hadn't been active in society for two years. People tended to move on and forget. Sara's family had lost all the ties that a powerful duke would need.