Honoria sat next to her on the bed and gently brushed Sarah’s hair from her face. “How can I help you?”
Sarah did not lift her head from her pillow. Nor did she turn to face her cousin. “You can’t.”
“There must be something we can do,” Honoria said. “I refuse to believe that all is lost.”
Sarah sat up a little and looked at her in disbelief. “Did Daniel tell you nothing?”
“He told me some,” Honoria replied, showing no reaction to Sarah’s unkind tone.
“Then how can you say all is not lost? I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me. And now, I find out—” Sarah felt her face contorting with anger that Honoria did not deserve, but she could not control herself. “Don’t tell me all is not lost!”
Honoria caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Perhaps if you talked to him.”
“I did! How do you think I ended up like this?” Sarah waved her arm in front of her as if to say—
As if to say, I’m angry and I’m hurt and I don’t know what to do.
As if to say, There’s nothing I can do except wave my stupid arm.
As if to say, Help me because I don’t know how to ask.
“I’m not entirely certain I got the whole story,” Honoria said in a careful voice. “Daniel was very upset, and he said you were crying, and then I rushed off . . .”
“What did he tell you?” Sarah asked in a monotone.
“He explained that Lord Hugh . . .” Honoria grimaced, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. “Well, he told me how Lord Hugh was able to finally convince his father to leave Daniel alone. It’s . . .” Once again, Honoria’s face found at least three different expressions of incredulity before she was able to continue. “I thought it was rather clever of him, actually, although certainly somewhat . . .”
“Mad?”
“Well, no,” Honoria said slowly. “It would only be mad if there was no reasoning behind it, and I don’t think Lord Hugh does anything without reasoning it through.”
“He said he would kill himself, Honoria. I’m sorry, I cannot— Good God, and people call me dramatic!”
Honoria bit back a tiny smile. “It is . . . somewhat . . . ironic.”
Sarah gave her a look.
“Not that I’m saying it’s funny,” Honoria said, very quickly.
“I thought I loved him,” Sarah said in a small voice.
“Thought?”
“I don’t know if I still do.” Sarah turned away, letting her head fall back against the bed. It hurt to look at her cousin. Honoria was so happy, and she deserved to be happy, but Sarah would never be pure enough of heart not to hate her just a little bit. Just for this moment.
Honoria held silent for a few seconds, then quietly asked, “Can you fall out of love so quickly?”
“I fell into it quickly.” Sarah swallowed uncomfortably. “Maybe it was never really true. Maybe I just wanted it to be true. All these weddings and you and Marcus and Daniel and Anne and everyone looking so happy, and I just want that. Maybe that’s all it was.”
“Do you really think so?”
“How could I be in love with someone who would threaten such a thing?” Sarah asked in a broken voice.
“He did it to ensure the happiness of another person,” Honoria reminded her. “My brother.”
“I know,” Sarah answered, “and I could admire him for that, honestly I could, but when I asked him if it was just an empty threat, he didn’t say that it was.” She swallowed convulsively, trying to calm her breathing. “He did not say to me that if . . . if it were necessary”—she choked on the word—“he would not go through with it. I asked him straight to his face, and he did not answer.”
“Sarah,” Honoria began, “you need to—”
“Do you even understand how awful this conversation is?” Sarah cried. “We are discussing something that would only come to pass if your brother was murdered. As if . . . as if then . . . whatever Hugh did would be worse?”
Honoria laid a gentle hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
“I know,” Sarah choked out, as if Honoria’s gesture had been a question. “You’re going to tell me I need to ask him again. But what if I do and he says that he does mean it, and that if his father changes his mind and does something to Daniel he’s going to take a pistol and put it in his stupid mouth?”
There was a terrible moment of silence, then Sarah jammed her hand over her mouth, physically trying to hold in a sob.
“Take a deep breath,” Honoria said soothingly, but her eyes were horrified.
“How can I even talk about it?” Sarah cried. “How awful I would feel about Hugh and how angry I would be at him when obviously that would mean Daniel is already dead, and shouldn’t that be what crushes me and— God above, Honoria, it is against the very nature of man. I can’t— I can’t—”
She fell into her cousin’s arms, gasping through her tears. “It isn’t fair,” she sobbed into Honoria’s shoulder. “It just isn’t fair.”
“No. It’s not.”
“I love him.”
Honoria did not stop rubbing her back. “I know that you do.”
“And I feel like a monster, being upset that he said—” Sarah gasped, her lungs pulling in an unexpected gulp of air. “That he said that he would kill himself, and then I begged him to tell me that he wouldn’t do it, when shouldn’t I really be upset that all this would mean that something had happened to Daniel?”
“But you can see why Lord Hugh made that bargain in the first place,” Honoria said. “Can’t you?”
Sarah nodded against her. Her lungs hurt. Her whole body hurt. “But it should be different now,” she whispered. “He should feel differently now. I should mean something.”
“And you do,” Honoria said reassuringly. “I know that you do. I’ve seen the way you look at each other when you think no one is watching.”
Sarah pulled back just far enough to look at her cousin’s face. Honoria was gazing down at her with the tiniest of smiles, and her eyes—her amazing lavender eyes that Sarah had always envied—were clear and serene.
Was that the difference between the two of them? Sarah wondered. Honoria approached each day as if the world were made of greenglass seas and soft ocean breezes. Sarah’s world was one storm after another. She’d never had a serene day in her life.
“I’ve watched the way he looks at you,” Honoria said. “He is in love with you.”
“He has not said it.”
“Have you?”
Sarah let her silence be her reply.
Honoria reached out and took her hand. “You might have to be the brave one and say it first.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Sarah said, thinking of Marcus, always so honorable and reserved. “You fell in love with the easiest, loveliest, least complicated man in England.”
Honoria gave a sympathetic shrug. “We can’t help with whom we fall in love. And you’re not the easiest, least complicated woman in England, you know.”
Sarah gave her a sideways look. “You left out loveliest.”
“Well, you might be the loveliest,” Honoria said with a crooked smile. Then she nudged Sarah with her elbow. “I daresay Lord Hugh thinks you’re the loveliest.”
Sarah buried her face in her hands. “What am I going to do?”
“I think you’re going to have to talk to him.”
Sarah knew Honoria was right, but she could not stop her mind from racing through all of the eventualities such a conversation might bring. “What if he says he will hold to the bargain?” she finally asked, her voice small and scared.
Several seconds went by, and Honoria said, “Then at least you will know. But if you don’t ask him, you will never know what he might have said. Just think if Romeo and Juliet had actually talked to each other.”
Sarah looked up, momentarily flabbergasted. “That’s a terrible comparison.”
“Sorry, yes, you’re right.” Honoria looked abashed, then
changed her mind and pointed at Sarah with a jaunty finger. “But it made you stop crying.”
“If only to scold you.”
“You may scold me all you wish if it brings a smile back to your face. But you must promise me that you will talk to him. You don’t want some big, awful misunderstanding to ruin your chance at happiness.”
“What you’re saying is, if my life is to be ruined, I need to do it myself?” Sarah asked in a dry voice.
“It’s not quite how I would have put it, but yes.”
Sarah was quiet for a long moment, and then she asked, almost absentmindedly, “Did you know he can multiply large sums in his head?”
Honoria smiled indulgently. “No, but it does not surprise me.”
“It takes him only an instant. He tried to explain it once, what it looks like in his head when he does it, but I couldn’t follow a thing he was saying.”
“Arithmetic works in mysterious ways.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “As opposed to love?”
“Love is entirely incomprehensible,” Honoria said. “Arithmetic is merely mysterious.” She shrugged, stood up, and held out a hand to Sarah. “Or maybe it’s the other way around. Shall we go find out?”
“You’re coming with me?”
“Just to help you locate him.” She gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “It’s a large house.”
Sarah quirked a suspicious brow. “You’re afraid I will lose my nerve.”
“Without a doubt,” Honoria confirmed.
“I won’t,” Sarah said, and despite the butterflies in her stomach and dread in her heart, she knew it was true. She was not one to back down from her fears. And she would never be able to live with herself if she did not do everything in her power to ensure her own happiness.
And Hugh’s. Because if anyone in this world deserved a happy ending, it was he.
“But not right away,” Sarah said. “I need to tidy up. I don’t want to go to him looking as if I’ve been crying.”
“He should know he made you cry.”
“Why, Honoria Smythe-Smith, that might be the most hard-hearted thing I have ever heard you say.”
“It’s Honoria Holroyd now,” Honoria said pertly, “and it’s true. The only thing worse than a man who makes a woman cry is a man who makes a woman cry and then doesn’t feel guilty about it.”
Sarah looked at her with a new sort of respect. “Married life agrees with you.”
Honoria’s smile was a touch smug. “It does, doesn’t it?”
Sarah scooted herself to the edge of the bed and slid off. Her legs were stiff, and she stretched each one in turn, bending and straightening at the knee. “He already knows he made me cry.”
“Good.”
Sarah leaned against the side of the bed and looked down at her hands. Her fingers were swollen. How did that happen? Who got sausage fingers from crying?
“Is something wrong?” Honoria asked.
Sarah gave her a rueful look. “I believe I would rather Lord Hugh think I’m the sort of woman who looks gorgeous while she cries, eyes all glistening and such.”
“As opposed to red-rimmed and puffy?”
“Is that your way of telling me I look a mess?”
“You’ll want to redo your hair,” Honoria said, ever the epitome of tact.
Sarah nodded. “Do you know where Harriet is? We’re sharing a room, and I don’t want her seeing me like this.”
“She would never judge,” Honoria assured her.
“I know. But I’m not up to her questions. And you know she’ll have questions.”
Honoria bit back a grin. She knew Harriet. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “I will make sure that Harriet is distracted, and you can go to your room to . . .” She fluttered her hands near her face, the universal signal for fixing one’s appearance.
Sarah gave a nod. “Thank you. And Honoria . . .” Sarah waited until her cousin had turned back around to face her. “I love you.”
Honoria gave a wobbly smile. “I love you, too, Sarah.” She brushed a nonexistent tear from her eye, then asked, “Would you like me to send word to Lord Hugh, asking him to meet with you in thirty minutes?”
“Perhaps an hour?” Sarah was brave, but not that brave. She needed more time to bolster her confidence.
“In the conservatory?” Honoria suggested, walking toward the door. “You’ll have privacy. I don’t think anyone’s used the room all week. I imagine they’re all afraid they might stumble upon us practicing for a musicale.”
Sarah smiled despite herself. “All right. The conservatory in an hour. I shall—”
She was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.
“That’s odd,” Honoria said. “Daniel knows we—” She shrugged, not bothering to finish her statement. “Enter!”
The door opened, and one of the footmen stepped in. “My lady,” he said to Honoria, blinking with surprise. “I was looking for his lordship.”
“He very kindly allowed us the use of his room,” Honoria said. “Is there a problem?”
“No, but I have a message from the stables.”
“From the stables?” Honoria echoed. “That’s very strange.” She looked over at Sarah, who had been waiting patiently through the exchange. “Whatever could be so important that they told George to come find Daniel in his bedchamber?”
Sarah shrugged, figuring George was the footman. Honoria had grown up at Whipple Hill; of course she’d know his name.
“Very well,” Honoria said, turning back to the footman. She held out her hand. “If you give the message to me, I will make sure that Lord Winstead receives it.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am. It’s not written down. I was asked just to tell him.”
“I will relay it,” Honoria said.
The footman looked undecided, but only for a moment. “Thank you, ma’am. I was asked to tell his lordship that Lord Hugh took one of the carriages to Thatcham.”
Sarah snapped to attention. “Lord Hugh?”
“Er, yes,” George confirmed. “He’s the gentleman who limps, isn’t he?”
“Why would he go to Thatcham?”
“Sarah,” Honoria said, “I’m sure George doesn’t know—”
“No,” George interrupted. “That is, I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to cut in.”
“Please, go ahead,” Sarah said urgently.
“I was told that he went to the White Hart to see his father.”
“His father?”
George didn’t quite flinch, but it was close.
“Why would he go see his father?” Sarah demanded.
“I-I-I don’t know, my lady.” He threw a rather desperate glance over at Honoria.
“I don’t like this,” Sarah said.
George looked pained.
“You may go, George,” Honoria said. He gave a quick bow and fled.
“Why is his father in Thatcham?” Sarah asked the moment they were alone again.
“I don’t know,” Honoria replied, sounding as baffled as Sarah felt. “He certainly wasn’t invited to the wedding.”
“This can’t be good.” Sarah turned to the window. The rain was still coming down in sheets. “I need to go to the village.”
“You can’t go in this weather.”
“Hugh did.”
“That’s entirely different. He was going to his father.”
“Who wants to kill Daniel!”
“Oh, dear God,” Honoria said, giving her head a shake. “This is all such madness.”
Sarah ignored her, instead dashing out into the hall and yelling for George, who thankfully had not yet headed downstairs. “I need a carriage brought ‘round,” she said. “Immediately.”
As soon as he was gone, she turned back to Honoria, who was standing in the doorway. “I will meet you in the drive,” Honoria said. “I’m going with you.”
“No, you can’t,” Sarah said immediately. “Marcus would never forgive me.”
“Then we’ll
bring him, too. And Daniel.”
“No!” Sarah grabbed Honoria’s hand and yanked her back even though she hadn’t taken more than a step. “Under no circumstances may Daniel go see Lord Ramsgate.”
“You cannot leave him out of this,” Honoria insisted. “He is as deeply involved as—”
“Fine,” Sarah said, just to cut her off. “Get Daniel. I don’t care.”
But she did care. And the moment Honoria dashed off to fetch the two gentlemen, Sarah yanked on her coat and raced to the stables. She could ride to the village faster than any carriage could be driven, even in—no, especially in this rain.
Daniel, Marcus, and Honoria would follow her to the White Hart; Sarah knew that they would. But if she got there far enough ahead of them, she could— Well, to be quite honest, she wasn’t sure what she could do, just that she could do something. She would find a way to placate Lord Ramsgate before Daniel showed up, irate and itching for a fight.
She might not be able to engineer a happy ending for all; in fact, she was fairly certain she could not do so. More than three years of hatred and bitterness could not be swept away in a single day. But if Sarah could somehow keep tempers from rising, and fists from flying, and—good heavens—anyone from getting killed . . .
It might not be a happy ending, but by God, it would have to be happy enough.
Chapter Eighteen
An hour prior
Whipple Hill
A different room
If Hugh eventually did become the Marquess of Ramsgate, the first thing he was going to do was change the family motto. He could do that, couldn’t he? Because With Pride Comes Valor made no sense in the context of the current generations of Prentice men. No, if Hugh had any say in the matter, he was changing the whole bloody thing to Things Can Always Get Worse.
Case in point: the short missive that had been delivered to his room at Whipple Hill while he was off in the little drawing room, breaking Sarah’s heart, making her cry, and apparently being a terrible person.
The card was from his father.
His father.
It had been bad enough to have to look upon his familiar sharp handwriting. Then he read the words and realized that Lord Ramsgate was here. In Berkshire, practically down the road from Whipple Hill at the White Hart, the most fashionable of the local inns.