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“Yes. Now I marry... or we all find new places to live.”
Reid’s face relaxed, and she made a spinning motion with her hand. Sarah turned back to the dressing table, and Reid began to braid her hair. “Did you know this gentleman, my lady?”
Sarah’s shoulders drooped. “I have heard the Embleton name, of course. It’s a powerful family, quite wealthy, lots of children. Nine or ten, I think. Named for people in the Bible. The duchess is apparently quite religious, strict on protocol. But I did not even realize the older duke had died. I cannot recall ever meeting any of them. Of course, I left Society a long time ago.”
“But now you will be a duchess.”
Sarah squeezed her eyes tight. “Yes.”And once again a man will have control of my life... and my money.Her gut clenched. “I suppose I should be grateful.”
Reid tied the end of the braid with a pale blue ribbon, which matched the trim on Sarah’s linen night rail. “But you are not.”
Sarah faced the maid again. “To be honest, I am simply terrified.” Tears stung her eyes. “But I do not know what else to do. I cannot abandon all of you. Lose this house. I had simply hoped we could maintain everything, even with meager funds, until I was thirty.”
Her maid knelt in front of her, gripping both of Sarah’s hands. “You are terrified of the duke? Did he seem a cruel man to you?”
“I do not know him. But he is a man. And he will expect me to”—Sarah swallowed hard—“be his wife. And I do not know if I can.”
“Perhaps he will understand—”
“Did I mention that he is a man?” Sarah gave a half-choked laugh, and Reid almost smiled. Pulling her hands away, Sarah stood, wiping her eyes. “Enough. I dealt with one for ten years, I can deal with another.” But Reid’s glance at the side of her face reminded Sarah that she had not always dealt well with that first man—and that she had reasons to be frightened of another. “I know,” she whispered. “But we will make it work, won’t we?”
Reid stood, stiffening her back. “We will, my lady. We most certainly will.” Then the maid gathered Sarah’s clothes from that day and exited, pulling the bedchamber door closed behind her.
Sarah sank down on the edge of the bed, the last of her strength draining from her. She slipped beneath the covers and burrowed deep, her eyes shutting against her anxiety. But as she drifted off, another image drifted through her mind, that of Matthew Rydell’s hazel eyes as his warm fingers gently lifted her chin. His soft words.The man who did this was the monster. Not you. You are a remarkable woman.
A low spark of hope glimmered. Maybe... just maybe... Matthew Rydell was different, was not another Owen Ainsworth.
Chapter Four
Monday, 25 July 1814
Embleton House
Half past ten in the morning
Hiram Lewis fidgeted.Matthew watched as the ruddy-faced runner tried seven different ways to hold the cup and saucer the butler had handed him without either spilling the tea or breaking the fragile china. Large pudgy hands—far more suited for a pint of ale in a pub than a cup of tea in a drawing room—twitched, causing the cup to rattle in the saucer and Stephens to tense. The runner, a round man in his thirties wearing a rough woolen suit and a tattered bowler, had appeared at the Embleton House back door at half past eight that morning, asking for “the new duke.” As this was long before anyone in the house was suitable for receiving, the man had been forced to cool his heels in the servants’ hall for the past two hours.
The audacity of the visit had left Matthew in a foul mood, and he had suggested Mark join them in the receiving room to help him temper his responses. The room, with its cheery blue and white furnishings and feminine frills, seemed in stark contrast to the mood everyone was in. Two armchairs faced a settee across a low table, and matching wingbacks braced the small fireplace. Mark sat in one of the wingbacks, a newspaper on his lap, although his focus lay on the runner.
Matthew, in an armchair facing the runner, crossed his arms. “Tell me, sir, why you are here at such an outrageous time of day.”
The cup clattered, and Lewis cleared his throat, shifting his perch on the edge of the settee. “As I told your man... your butler—”
“Who is not a messenger. Explain it to me.”
A bit of tea slopped over the rim. With a frustrated growl, Mark dropped his paper onto the table and removed the china from the man’s hands. He took it to Stephens, who accepted with it with a brief, grateful smile. Mark then took up a position behind Matthew.
Lewis looked slightly relieved as he pressed his hands flat on his thighs. “When I heard that the first bann had been read, declaring your marriage to that woman—”
“You mean Lady Crewood.”
“Um, yes. I knew we must speak. Immediately.”
“So you show up at my door at the crack of dawn.”
The man blinked, then continued in his thick East End Cockney. “It were almost nine.”
“As I said.”
