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“Military discipline is—”
Phyllida waved him silent. “So what are we going to do about these disastrous rumors about you, Sarah?”
The room fell silent again, and Sarah felt more than a bit confused. As obviously did the two men. They glanced at each other and Mark returned to stand by his brother. “Mother, whatever do you mean?”
Matthew cleared his throat. “Disclaiming rumors, in my experience, only makes them flare higher.”
Phyllida sniffed. “You all have an appalling lack of imagination. Of course disclaiming them is useless. The point of combat would be taking a side tactic. What is it you soldier types call it?”
Matthew’s scowl returned. “A flanking maneuver?”
His mother pointed at him. “That’s it. We cannot come at them head on. We must devise another way.” She looked from Matthew to Mark. “You will not tell me that my sons are less clever than Crewood’s sniping relatives.”
Sarah blinked. “Does this mean, Your Grace—Phyllida—that you approve—”
“Oh, my dear. There was never a question of that. My son is an excellent judge of character, despite being one of the sourest men on the planet. I merely needed to see for myself what he had found in you. Now, I have some ideas to discuss.
Chapter Six
Tuesday, 26 July 1814
Hyde Park, London
Half past three in the afternoon
Sarah hesitated, herback pressed against the velvet squabs of the Embleton ducal carriage, as Matthew waited for her outside. She could hear Phyllida chatting with someone on the pavement, their high voices ebbing and flowing in rapid pattern of whispers, soft laughs, and cleared throats.
I cannot do this!Sarah’s fingers clutched at the purple cambric skirt of her walking dress. The duchess had given her one of her gowns of half-mourning, sent over the night before, and Reid had been able to alter it for Sarah’s slight frame overnight by tightening the seams at the side, adding a black sash tied under her breasts, and removing the intricate shell needlework around the hem. The gown embraced her, a lovely creation meant for another woman, and Reid had paid particular care to her hair that morning, affixing a tiny black bonnet over the upswept auburn ringlets. But Sarah had not appeared in public without her veil since the incident that had left her with a freakish appearance and a desire to hide away, untouched. Only covering her face with the veil gave her the courage to leave the house for the short walks to the Lyon’s Den.
Matthew peered into the carriage. “Lady Crewood?” He held out his hand.
“I do not think I can.” Her voice rasped in her throat.
His frame filled the door, shadowing his face. “I know you can. Because you are fierce.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Fierce? You think I am fierce?”
“And braver than you believe.” He held out his hand again. “Come with me.”
Sarah dabbed the tears away with her gloved fingers. With a deep, juddering breath, she slide across the seat and reached for his hand. He helped her out, one hand on her elbow, as she found her footing on the pavement.
A sharp gasp sounded from her right, and she froze, not daring to look in that direction, taking refuge at Matthew’s side. But the relentless nature of Phyllida covered a great deal of territory. “Sheisadorable, is she not, Lady Blackwell? Her strength and courage is part of what drew my son to her, as it should be.” Her voice dropped in volume. “She is a reminder of how strong women truly are, that we can survive even the cruelest of treatment. Come, my dear.”
Reluctantly, Sarah turned, emerging from Matthew’s side. Her eyes widened as she saw three of the most powerful women in thetonstanding with her future mother-in-law—Lady Blackwell, Lady Jersey, and Lady Cowper. The last two, patronesses of Almack’s, peered at her as if she were an exhibit at the British Museum, their chins down, their eyebrows arched, as Phyllida made the introductions. Sarah gasped and dropped into a curtsy so low that only her grip on Matthew’s arm kept her from tumbling forward onto her face.
Phyllida grasped her hand and urged her upward. “Easy, child.” Her gentle words helped calm Sarah. “These are your peers.”
A reminder that Sarah was, still, a dowager countess, despite her circumstances. She forced herself to face the women, greeting each by name.
“What cruel treatment?” Lady Blackwell’s voice was firm but not unkind.
Phyllida leaned closer to them. “The fact that her husband was a despot who pushed her into a fireplace.”
The women stilled. “We heard,” Lady Cowper said slowly, “that she fell.”
“After he pushed her,” Phyllida replied. “Anything else you may have heard are rumors started by uncaring kin who were most definitelynotin residence at the time.”
“The earl—”
