Chapter 30
The next morning, Sarah sent Florie back to her own room, with instructions for her maid to take as much time as she needed to recuperate from the journey to Scotland. Florie looked drained and exhausted, and if she weren’t better in a few days, Sarah would insist upon her visiting the physician.
She next went in search of Alano, discovering that finding their guest was almost as difficult as locating her husband.
Alano wasn’t in the chamber assigned to him, or helping clean up the area around the observatory.
When Sarah inquired as to his whereabouts in the kitchen, one of the cook’s helpers volunteered, “I’d ask Mrs. Williams about that man,” she said, then looked away.
Chavensworth had not been the same since she married. Some of the changes were long overdue, but some of them were very odd. She opened the door to the kitchen garden and stepped outside.
Instead of diligently inspecting the planting of the new herbs, Mrs. Williams was seated on the garden bench, her face in her hands.
Sarah halted, shocked beyond measure. She’d never before seen the inimitable Mrs. Williams cry. She didn’t know whether to continue onward or slip back into the kitchen. Finally, her need to talk to Alano was greater than her reticence about disturbing Mrs. Williams, and she stepped forward.
“My dear Mrs. Williams, are you all right?”
The other woman dropped her hands and hastily retrieved a handkerchief from her apron pocket. She wiped her face dry, while nodding, all the while looking away from Sarah. A few minutes later, she’d gathered her composure.
“I’m fine, Lady Sarah,” she said, standing and facing her. “Is there something you wanted?”
“My mother wouldn’t want for you to grieve overmuch, Mrs. Williams.”
The look of surprise on the other woman’s face was response enough.
“But you aren’t grieving for my mother, are you?” she said.
Mrs. Williams blotted her eyes with the handkerchief and pointedly ignored the question. “Is there something I can do for you, Lady Sarah?”
“Do you know where Mr. McDonough is? One of your helpers thought you might know.”
The statues in the garden couldn’t be any more frozen than Mrs. Williams’s face.
“He has returned to London.”
“With Mr. Eston?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Lady Sarah. All I do know is that Mr. McDonough is no longer in residence at Chavensworth.”
And Mrs. Williams missed him a very great deal, a supposition that could be entirely incorrect, but Sarah didn’t think so.
“I have his address in London,” Mrs. Williams said, “if you would like to correspond with him.”
“I would appreciate having the address,” Sarah said, not asking how the other woman came to have it, suspecting that the question would result in one of two reactions: a cold stare or Mrs. Williams’s tears. Neither one was welcome.
“I shall bring it to you.”
Sarah nodded her agreement and left the kitchen garden. What was she supposed to do now? Pretend that Douglas was not gone? Ignore his absence? Evince no curiosity? Remain patient, keeping a vigil for his return? That might be easier if she knew where he’d gone.
A high, screeching wind howled through the branches of the trees, audible even through the walls of Chavensworth. Her shoulders rose as if to protect her neck from the sudden, unseasonable cold.
At the double doors to the Duke’s Suite she hesitated, then continued on to her own chamber. Her pristine childhood room, and the bed where Douglas had slept the night before last.
She carefully and slowly unfastened her dress, her corset, and her undergarments.
She told herself that she was as tired as Florie.
And her nakedness? A matter of defiance, or simply a way to remind herself of her husband.
Despite the fact that it was barely noon, Sarah drew the curtains shut and crawled into bed, smelling the scent of him, and wishing him there.
He was damned if he was going to make diamonds for a man who was holding him prisoner. All the same, he’d given Simons a list of the equipment and solutions he needed, and Simons, like the good little toady he was, asked him some questions about where he could obtain the various materials.
“Figure it out yourself,” Douglas said.
“We have taken the precaution of putting your coachman in a safe place,” Simons said. “I would hate for anything to happen to him, Mr. Eston.”
“Just how badly do you need a position, Simons?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“When does becoming a perfect servant pale in comparison to being a halfway-decent human being? Do you not ever have any problems with your conscience?”
“Where can I obtain these materials, Mr. Eston?”
Douglas told him and watched as Simons shut and locked the door behind him. He’d been outmaneuvered, but not for long.
He hadn’t lied to the Duke. He had figured out what had caused the explosion.
The curing process required fire. However, because the crystals were much larger than usual, and because there was more of the volatile chemical present, the result had been an explosion.
Either he needed to make the crystals smaller, resulting in smaller diamonds, or he needed to cure them one by one.
Douglas opened the window and peered out, but there wasn’t a roof overhang to support his weight, only the ground three floors below. He looked up. The eaves were too sharply angled for him to lever himself up and onto the roof, which meant he’d have to find another way out of the room.
The door was securely bolted, and he didn’t have a doubt that one of the duke’s mastiffs was sitting outside the door armed with a pistol. There was only one way to get around that fact, either overpower the guard or surprise him. But he couldn’t overpower a guard he couldn’t reach.
He wanted out of here, now. Longing for Sarah exploded like his diamonds, a thousand smaller bursts that lodged in his heart, his mind, and his body.
He was not going to allow the Duke of Herridge to dictate the course of his life, and he was certainly not going to let His Grace keep him from his wife.
Only one thing would work, and the more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed.
All he had to do was wait for Simons.
Two days later, Douglas had not yet returned.
Sarah attempted to go about her duties as she normally would, but she found herself without much to do.
Even when she should have been relieved to have time to write in her journal, she spent the time staring off into the distance, wondering about Douglas.
Twice, she wrote to Alano at the address Mrs. Williams had furnished. Twice, she tore up the letter, knowing that it revealed too much of their circumstances and her personal fears.
She knew, however, as each hour passed, and Douglas still didn’t appear, that something would need to be done. She could not go on like she was, pretending that nothing was wrong, pretending that life at Chavensworth was as serene as it had been prior to her mother’s death.
No one mentioned Douglas’s name. Not one person remarked on his absence. Did each person employed at Chavensworth think that Douglas had left her? She suspected they did from the pitying looks she was receiving.
On the evening of the second day, she entered her room, opened up her writing desk, and wrote a third letter to Alano.
Regardless of how much she revealed of herself, she needed to know where Douglas was, and she hoped Alano would know.
Whether or not he told her was another problem entirely.
The letter done, she sealed it and propped it up against the inkwell.
In the morning, she would send it to Alano via a footman and request that the young man wait for a reply.
She stared at the bed, viewing it as an enemy rather than a simple piece of furniture. She hadn’t been able to sleep well since Douglas had left Chavensworth. Tonight, she would not go to bed until she was sufficiently exhausted. If she needed to remain awake the whole night, then so be it.
She smoothed her hand over the top of her bureau, feeling the silken wood, well dusted and waxed.
The mantel had been dusted; none of the bric-a-brac had a speck of dust. The brass of the andirons and the screen was perfectly polished.
On her dressing table, the crystal atomizers were perfectly aligned.
The silver tray on which they sat had been buffed to a gleaming shine.
Everything was perfect, and nothing was right.
The knock on the door proved a welcome respite from her own company. She walked to the door, opened it and smiled at Florie.
“Are you feeling better?” Sarah asked.
Florie ignored that question for one of her own.
“Lady Sarah,” Florie said. “I wouldn’t bother you, Lady Sarah, but I wonder if you know when Tim might be coming home?”
She gestured her maid into the room with one hand and closed the door behind her. “I didn’t know he was gone,” she said.
“He took Mr. Eston to London, two days ago. But he told me that he’d be home that night. It’s been two days, Lady Sarah, and I’ve heard nothing.”
Sarah felt both foolish and selfish. She’d never even thought about Tim. “You’ve had no word since then?”
“No, Lady Sarah. Nothing.”
“Do you know why they were going to London?”
“No, Lady Sarah. I don’t think Tim knew,” Florie said, beginning to weep.
She led Florie to a chair and sat beside her. Despite her tears, there was a glow about the girl, a beauty Sarah had never before noticed. A suspicion slipped into her mind.
“Florie, are you with child?”
Her maid beamed through her tears, a smile of such joy that Sarah almost reeled from its brightness.
“Yes, Lady Sarah, I am. But I haven’t even told Tim,” Florie said, her smile fading to tears once again. “I was going to tell him Tuesday, but he never returned home.”
Sarah glanced at the note on the secretary. “I’ll see to it myself, Florie,” she said. “Tomorrow I’ll go to London and see what has happened to Tim.”
“Can I go with you, Lady Sarah?”
“You must take care of yourself now, Florie.”
Florie smiled. “A smooth carriage ride will not hurt me, Lady Sarah. My mam had seven of us and worked the whole time.”
“She didn’t work for me,” Sarah said. “If she had, she’d have taken better care of herself.”
A shadow flitted over Florie’s face. “It wouldn’t be proper for you to go off on your own, Lady Sarah.”
“Nonsense,” Sarah said, smiling. “I’m a married woman now. I can do as I choose.”
That statement wasn’t entirely true, but she kept a smile on her face as she hustled Florie from the room with hopeful words and cautions not to overdo it.
She watched as her maid walked to the servants’ stair.
Where would they live? In their snug little apartment above the stable?
With a child? Chavensworth’s accommodations for its staff did not run to cottages, but perhaps it was something she could arrange.
Or a suite of rooms, perhaps, on the fourth floor.
But Chavensworth wasn’t hers, and any arrangements Sarah made could be easily overturned by the Duke of Herridge.
She sat on the edge of the bed, knowing that sleep would come late tonight, if at all. Yet she needed to be rested for the journey, for the meeting with Alano, and for the news she might receive, however terrible it might be.
When had she fallen in love? Was that what she felt? This horrible, yawning cavern inside her chest, what was that? Not the same kind of grief she felt for her mother, but something different. As if her heart had begun to shrivel or turn to stone.
She lay back on the bed, staring up at the tester.
In less than a month, Douglas had changed her life.
Yes, he’d brought her passion, but he’d also brought her tenderness.
He’d amused her, and touched her heart, and held her when she’d cried.
He’d been loyal to her, and at her side, accompanying her on her errand to Scotland.
He’d demanded that each member of her staff work on his own, in a way she’d never before considered, but only to spare her tasks she sometimes found onerous.
He was stubborn, intelligent, and given to striding around naked more often than not.
Yet he’d let her see his vulnerability. It’s where I write those things I learn.
So that I don’t forget. He’d seen the world, but she had the feeling that he’d never be complacent with past deeds.
Douglas would want to learn more and do more throughout the whole of his life.
Living with him would be a passionate, tumultuous adventure.
And living without him? What would that be like?