Chapter Sixteen
The quad was almost empty as Sarah’s skirts flapped in the unusual summer wind.
Her mother thought the weather was going to take a turn, and for once, Sarah agreed. There was something in the air. A pressure that could only be released by a sudden downpour.
She should probably have taken her umbrella, Sarah thought as she strode right across the withered grass, ignoring the “Do not walk on the grass” sign.
It gave her a thrill to do so. Who would have thought? Her, Sarah Lockwood, striding into an Oxford college and ignoring their little sign for the grass!
Excitement filled her heart, but not because of her minor transgression. No. Standing before her, not yet noticing her presence, was Montague.
Her heart skipped a beat. And why shouldn’t it? Sarah asked herself. They were as good as engaged, after all.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, Sarah. God, far from it. It’s just…you know I have nothing to offer you.”
Though the precise words had not exactly been spoken, could the man have been clearer? Sarah hesitated by a column as she watched Montague pace around the quad, absorbed by the letter in his hands.
Her heart skipped another beat at the tension in his brow, the stiffness of his walk. There was something different about the Montague before her. She could not believe she had not noticed it before.
“Your cane!” she said, astonished. “Montague, your cane!”
Montague’s head tilted immediately, face serious and expression growing more so as he saw her.
Sarah’s steps faltered. She had intended to greet him, but there was such a look of thunder in his eyes she was not sure whether it was a good idea. There was still so much about the Duke of Caelfall she did not know, after all.
“Cane?” Montague repeated blankly. Then he looked at his hands, then his leg. His head shot up with bewilderment. “Dear God!”
“You’re walking without your cane,” Sarah said as she approached him. Why did her stomach twist so? Why were her nerves stretched out like wire? “You did not know?”
It seemed incomprehensible that the man who had been so conscious of the stick could now be without it without noticing.
Montague looked about himself wildly for a moment, then his gaze caught hers. “I suppose I must have left it in my room.”
Sarah stopped before him with a slow smile. “But Montague, that’s wonderful!”
“Is it?” he snapped.
She took a step back. It had been weeks since he had spoken like that. Where had all this animosity come from?
He seemed to realize he had spoken out of turn. His voice was gruff. “Sorry.”
Sarah swallowed. “It’s nothing.”
She had been a fool to think a man could change overnight, she told herself sternly. Besides, she had not wanted him to change, had she?
She searched her heart, worried what she would find there.
Falling in love was supposed to be with the person as they were. Not the person you wished them to become. Had she done such a thing? Had she accidently fallen into the trap of thinking she could mold Montague into her vision of a perfect gentleman?
The scowl across his forehead suggested he was thinking the same thing. “Sometimes I am in a bad temper,” he snapped before continuing to walk about the quad.
Hesitating, Sarah wondered whether it would be best if she merely…went home.
The duke was clearly not in the mood for lighthearted conversation, and whatever was in that letter had evidently soured his temper. It had to be news about the war—what else could it be? Montague had never mentioned family or friends. It had to be about France.
Oh, it was bad news. They would not accept him back.
Sarah rushed to walk alongside Montague in silence.
The army would not have him back; that seemed self-evident. Montague had surely known that within himself, but she supposed seeing it in black and white would finally cement the truth of his future. A future that would no longer contain his heart’s desire.
Sarah slipped her hand into his arm, and was relieved Montague did not pull away.
She would help him through this great disappointment. At least he could plan for the future now, a future he could be assured of rather than merely guess at.
And hope rushed through her, a hope that in this future Montague could now plan, she would have a prominent role…
“It’s this blasted letter,” Montague said darkly.
Sarah nodded, but said nothing. Though there were elements of Montague’s character she was still learning, she knew enough to stay silent. He needed to untangle this in his own mind first.
And it was therefore another few minutes of walking around and around the quad before he spoke again, this time in dull tones. “They want me back.”
Sarah blinked. The words did not make sense—who did?
Realization, when it dawned, was like a sword slowly slipping through her ribs. “The—the army? They want you back in France?”
No. No, it could not be. Montague could not return—he had only just started walking without his cane, for goodness sake!
Panic was suffocating her as Sarah stared at Montague in horror.
His jaw was set. “That is what they say in this letter. Here.”
He thrust it toward her and Sarah was only just paying enough attention to catch it in her hands before it blew across the quad.
Blinking furiously, as though trying to ensure she was not dreaming, Sarah looked at the letter. It was short, to the point, and could not be misunderstood.
Your Grace, the Duke of Caelfall,
Greetings. We have received word from your physician, Doctor Walsingham, that he has proclaimed you fit for duty, and we therefore expect to see you in London on August 15th with steed, supplies, and your weapons.
Please provide by way of reply your acceptance.
We remain your respectful servants, etc.
His Majesty’s Council of War
Sarah read the scant lines three times before she permitted herself to look at Montague again. It was only then, with desperation in her chest, that she realized she’d been holding her breath.
Montague—fit for duty? What was that doctor playing at?
The thought rushed through Sarah’s mind before she could call it back, and was relieved to find she had not spoken aloud. After all, this was a disaster, but Montague did not have to know that.
She must write to this doctor, this Doctor Walsingham. She would tell him in no uncertain terms that Montague was unfit to return. Why, the man had only started walking without his cane this very moment!
“I cannot believe it,” was all Sarah permitted herself to say.
“Neither can I. Doctor Walsingham was always dour when speaking of the future.”
Sarah’s head was spinning. Thank goodness she had thought to take Montague’s arm, for she was not sure whether she would be standing without it.
Montague, leave? For war? Leave her here, to worry and fret about his fate?
Doubt encircled her heart as she tried to think. If it was what he wanted—Montague had such honor, he’d been devastated to think he may not return to the army.
But to risk losing him…
“You…you received this letter this morning?”
Montague grunted. “And I must reply forthwith. I cannot in all honor let them go on without a reply.”
Sarah’s shoulders sagged. He was not thinking of going. He had changed his mind—perhaps because he had met her, but more importantly because he wanted to keep himself safe, whole, alive! And she would never have to worry about losing him.
“I think that an excellent idea, I really do,” she said aloud, squeezing his arm. “It would be unfair to let them continue on under a misunderstanding, after all.”
The moment the words were spoken, Sarah realized she had made a grave error.
Montague halted, twisting to release her arm as he stared with incomprehension. “What do you mean, you think—you think I should not go?”
Sarah swallowed. “I did not say that—”
“You think, in short, that I am a coward,” the duke growled.
“No!”
She could not understand how this conversation had gotten away from her so swiftly.
Montague’s eyes were filled with pain. “After all this time we’ve spent together—”
“Montague, no, I did not—I merely thought—I misunderstood!” Sarah cried.
Her words echoed around the quad, but she did not care. What did it matter if someone else heard? The whole world could hear she had made a mistake.
Anything to take the pain from his eyes, make Montague realize her words had not been a comment on his own bravery, but more her fear for his safety. Her love for him.
Sarah swallowed. Love. It was not a word uttered between them, and in a way, she had thought it did not need to be. Had they not shared the fruits of such love? Had not their lovemaking been more than enough proof of their affections?
That was what she had thought. Now, as Montague stared as though he had never met her before, she was not sure.
“I merely meant,” Sarah began, but was not given the chance to continue.
Montague scoffed. “I knew it. I knew it; it was all pity, wasn’t it?”
She stared blindly. “What do you—”
“All this time we have spent together, learning fencing, talking, the…the way I kissed you,” Montague said, lowering his voice into a growl. “It came from a place of affection for me, but I can see now those hours were endured by you!”
“Endured!” Sarah could not understand it.
How could he say such things? How could he believe she would entertain a gentleman for that length of time, that often—that she would permit a man to kiss her!—if she had no genuine regard for him?
The wind was growing, whipping around the quad, tugging his hair and her bonnet strings. Sarah barely took in the changing weather. All she could think of was Montague.
“I have an affection—I care about you so…” Sarah swallowed, her cheeks burning. Why had her words suddenly failed her? “Montague, you know what I think of you!”
“Do I?” Montague shot back. “All I know is that you think me too weak—”
“That is not what I said!”
“—too pathetic to fight for my country,” he continued doggedly, pain etched across his features. “I wish you had told me so sooner, Sarah, so I could have prevented myself from—”