Chapter 29 #2
You say that it’s wrong, that we cannot love each other. I say, how do we stop? By words? By actions? What more can be done to us, dearling, than to marry us to other people?
The third letter of the thirteen covered three pages, detailing his life, his children, his loneliness for the woman he called dearling. At the end of it, he signed his name, and she knew. Michael.
She skipped the remainder of the letters, hesitating over the last one. Finally, she opened it to find that it was dated only a few months earlier. Slowly, she began to read, thinking that her own heart would break.
I shall not write you again, dearling, nor shall I see you, I fear.
My heart is tired, and the beating of it has been of great concern to my family of late. My eldest son is posting this letter for me, and I hope it reaches you soon. Perhaps my soul will visit you at your English castle to say farewell before my letter arrives.
I shall love you into eternity. I shall wait for you there.
Tears blurred Sarah’s vision, stinging her eyes.
Morna Tulloch had found herself with child, just when her lover had been tricked into marriage. To protect her unborn child, she’d married an English duke desperate for an heiress. She’d managed to have a life away from Scotland.
Her memories of her mother, wrapped in the gauze of time, now saw a smile less happy than bittersweet and a faraway look less contemplative as simply longing.
Perhaps her mother had never told Michael that she’d borne his child, hiding that secret from everyone, everyone but Sarah, to whom she showed the false bottom of the secretary and whom she called dearling.
Had she wanted Sarah to know, in the end? For that matter, had her mother simply willed herself to death? Could one die of a broken heart?
Sarah stood, walked to the fireplace and knelt, building a fire. Once it was caught, she fed the letters to the flames, hiding the secret of her mother’s love and sorrow.
Douglas left his solicitor’s office feeling a little more heartened.
The Duke of Herridge could not dissolve his marriage without his consent.
Even if Sarah wanted their marriage to end, she would have to prove he’d been an adulterer, as well as guilty of several other sins.
As long as he drew breath, he would contest any such action.
There was still time to court his wife.
Unfortunately, there was one task still remaining to do first.
The carriage stopped, and he exited, striding up the steps to the Duke of Herridge’s house.
Simons opened the door.
“I’m surprised you’re not out doing your master’s bidding,” Douglas said.
“This is my master’s bidding, Mr. Eston.” There was a small smile playing around Simons’s lips, an expression so irritating that Douglas gave some thought to knocking it from his face.
“Is he here?” Douglas asked.
“What shall I tell His Grace is the purpose for this meeting?” Simons asked.
“His Grace’s impatience, Simons.”
“I doubt His Grace will want to discuss that, Mr. Eston. Instead, I believe that he will want to see the results of your labors. I trust you have diamonds with you, Mr. Eston.”
“Where is he?”
Simons bowed, then turned on his heel, leading the way to the duke’s library. At the door, Simons rapped lightly on the wood, waited one moment and turned the handle. Once the door was open, he stepped aside and announced Douglas.
The Duke of Herridge didn’t stand at his arrival. Nor did he even bother looking up from the papers he was signing. Instead, he waited until Douglas walked to the middle of the room and came to stand in front of his desk. Only then did he look up, replacing the quill in its stand.
“You said it would be only a short time until you had results, Eston.”
“I said it was a matter of weeks, Your Grace. Not days. Threats will not accelerate the process.”
“Threats?”
“To dissolve my marriage?”
The Duke smiled. “I wondered if that would work. You are quite taken with my daughter, aren’t you?”
The Duke of Herridge was one of those creatures that, once scenting vulnerability, used the knowledge as a weapon. He wasn’t about to give him any information, especially about Sarah.
“There was an explosion at Chavensworth,” he said.
Herridge sat back and regarded him steadily, his smile fading.
“All of the diamonds that were being harvested were destroyed in the fire,” he said.
The duke’s expression didn’t change.
“You’ll have to wait even longer than I originally estimated,” Douglas said.
“Why did this explosion occur?” Herridge asked, staring down at the blotter on his desk. “Is there a flaw in your formula?”
“There is no flaw. Perhaps the mortar for the furnace didn’t cure long enough. Perhaps I tried to fire too many diamonds at once.”
“Can you prevent such a disaster from happening in the future?”
Douglas frowned. The Duke of Herridge had begun to smile, which was not a good sign. Anything that pleased the older man was probably not in anyone else’s best interests.
“I believe so, yes,” he said cautiously.
“Then you will have to prove that,” Herridge said.
He stretched out his hand, grabbed a brass bell from the corner of his desk, and rang it twice.
Simons opened the door so quickly that Douglas wondered if he’d been standing on the other side all this time.
“See Mr. Eston to the third floor,” he said. “Make sure he has suitable accommodations and all the equipment he needs to make his diamonds.”
“I’m not staying here, Herridge,” Douglas said.
“Oh, but you are, Mr. Eston.”
Simons stepped aside. Two burly men who looked more like fighters than footmen entered the room. Each man grabbed one of his arms, and although he struggled, he was no match for the two of them.
“I do apologize for the necessity of this,” Herridge said. “But I truly need those diamonds, Mr. Eston.” He turned to Simons. “See to it, Simons,” he said, pulling open the drawer and retrieving a pistol from the interior. He handed the pistol to his majordomo. “Shoot him if necessary.”
Simons took the pistol wordlessly and pointed it at Douglas as the two men dragged him out the door and up the stairs.
Sarah dressed in a very simple black gown. For the occasion, she wore jet earrings and a small jet brooch. She dispensed with large hoops, only wearing two petticoats, but one of those was lace-edged taffeta that made a slithery sound when she walked.
Although she hadn’t seen Douglas since the morning, she’d given Cook orders that dinner was to include all of those foods that Douglas had requested in the last few weeks. Consequently, they had a variety of meats and puddings—Douglas had a liking for sweets—some fruits, and two wines.
Unfortunately, all of her plans were for naught when she was informed that Douglas had left Chavensworth hours earlier.
She stared at Mrs. Williams, hoping that the woman could not discern her shock.
“He’s left?”
“I understand Mr. Eston has business in London.”
“Who told you this?” she asked, very calmly.
“The stable master,” Mrs. Williams said.
Sarah managed to eat her dinner, remembering her manners at the end of it. She called Cook and her staff into the dining room.
“I only wish that we had more visitors,” she said to all three of them. “Other people deserve to eat your food. As it is, I consider myself very fortunate to live at Chavensworth. Thank you for a wonderful meal.”
She was beyond humiliated. Cook and her staff had labored for hours to produce a feast that only one person had eaten.
“Please distribute the food among the staff.”
“And we’ll save a bit for Mr. Eston,” Cook said, smiling brightly.
Could he do no wrong in their eyes? A smile from him, and the silly women beamed for the rest of the day.
If he jested with them, they blushed and simpered.
This meal had been for him, and he’d missed it.
So what did they do? Simply accepted it, put some food back for him, and eagerly awaited his arrival.
Douglas didn’t arrive in the next hour, when she paced through the public rooms. Nor any hour after that when she made a point of walking in the corridor near the Duke’s Suite.
Finally, she gave up and returned to her own room to find Florie sitting on the bench at the end of the bed, looking undeniably fatigued.
“Go to bed, Florie,” she said. “I won’t need you anymore tonight.”
“Let me help you with your dress,” she said.
The unfastening done, she waved Florie off. “You’re the one who looks like she needs her bed,” she said. “Go and get some rest.”
Night was a whisper, a soft entreaty to sleep.
Sarah stood on the terrace outside her chamber, staring off toward the eastern sky.
Tonight she could see the heavens in all their glory, marveled at the clear summer night, feeling small, insignificant, and yet part of all the majesty that God had created.
A breeze, scented with lavender and roses, swept over her, tenting her nightgown.
I’ve been advised that there’s something called the Matrimonial Causes Act. That it’s possible to have a marriage dissolved.
Dear God, was that what his business was in London? Surely not. Not after her spending hours in his arms, weeping in bliss against his chest. Not after last night. Or even this morning, when he’d carried her back to Chavensworth and treated her as if she were precious and rare.
She walked to her escritoire, took out her journal, and began to write, putting into words all her heartache, all the sudden and inexplicable sense of loss she felt. When she was done, she put her pen down, watching as the ink was wicked from the tip to the blotter.
When she began to cry, she told herself that her tears were for her mother.