Page 43 of Drowned in the Pleasure of a Devilish Baron
Lady Marlow smiled. “I think not. Hand it over or send nothing at all.”
Sarah put the letter in her hands. Her mother picked up a quill from her side table. Scanning quickly, she began to make notations on the sheet. “Not this.” A strike out. “Certainly not that.” And then she scribbled something quickly. “Add this.” One more strike out. “And finished.” With a flourish, she passed the page back to Sarah.
She looked down at the new version.
Dear Juliet,
My family is quite busy, and has requested my attention to matters here at homemost displeased with me.Rebecca told them aboutI had a lovely time yesterday,and I confessed to the rest.Thank you for having me visitingyou. I am unable to receive calls for a while, as I will focus on my family.Can you call on me here? I would very much like to speak with you.
Please give your brother my apologies.
Sincerely,
Miss Sarah Marlow
“Rewrite it exactly like this, and then give it to Rebecca and she shall see that it sent.”
Sarah straightened. “Mother, you will not be able to keep me locked up in this house forever, you know. I will accept this for now, because I did go behind your back. But I will not live like this.”
Her mother only smiled at this. “Very well, my dear.”
Bothered by this calmness, Sarah returned to her room, rewrote the letter, and managed to not roll her eyes as Rebecca went word by word, checking the new letter against Lady Marlow’s approved version. At last, the letter was approved and on its way to Juliet. Not that it mattered anymore. Though she was sure that Juliet would be able to read between the lines and recognize that the voice was not Sarah’s, there was nothing she would be able to do.
After her tea, she took up her embroidery materials and joined her mother in the drawing room.
“Where is John today?” she asked her mother, who was embroidering her own piece of fabric.
“He’s at a fox hunt,” her mother said, a note of pride in her voice.
Sarah settled into her seat, spreading the muslin carefully across her lap. “Whose hunt?” It was not often that the Marlow family was invited to prestigious events such as fox hunts, which were typically held at the sprawling manors of the nobility and with invitations that were much coveted amongst theton.
“The Duke of Elmsbury.” She placed her fabric to the side. “Now, let me see your work.”
Sarah held out the piece, showing her mother the miniature birds now trailing the bottom of the sleeves, trailing curlicues and flower petals behind them. She had lit a candle and worked on it last night after a flash of inspiration, the birds becoming a way to give herself the wings and freedom she so craved.
“Why, Sarah, it’s excellent.” She held the piece up to the light with satisfaction. “When did you become so accomplished with the needle?”
“You taught me well.” Despite herself, she felt that crack once more, the need for her mother’s approval sweeping past her frustration.
“You are good with your hands, clever, and if you were to put even just a bit more effort into your appearance, you would be truly beautiful.” Her mother folded her hands in front of her. “These are the qualities that will make you a good wife.”
Sarah leaned forward, eager to capitalize on this rare display of praise, particularly two days of praise in a row. “You have raised me to make a good wife someday, Mother, and I believe that time is now.”
“I agree with you.”
Hope flared bright in Sarah’s heart. She reached out and took her mother’s hand, the rings cold in her palm. “You do? Then please allow me to be betrothed to Sir Felix. I promise I shall do you and our family proud. He is a good man, Mother, and I would be so nearby.”
The cold look of near-disgust her mother shot her then doused the warmth of the moment as suddenly as she pulled her hand out of Sarah’s.
“We are both in agreement that it is time you were married, Sarah, but there is another gentleman your brother and I have in mind for you. I have told you already, you must forget Sir Felix. There is a better prospect in your future.”
Sarah felt herself gaping like a fish. “A-another gentleman?”
Lady Marlow’s smile returned as she went back to her seat to sit, careful to smooth her gown beforehand. “Yes, and he is quite the prospect, indeed, my dear. In a year’s time, if we can pull this off, you will laugh at yourself for ever even considering that boy down the road. And you will be doing so from a beautiful manor, not a rundown old cottage.” She scrunched her nose at this.
“Who?” Sarah asked, barely able to force the word past her lips. “Who is he?”
Her mother leaned forward, her eyes shining as if she were about to divulge a delectable piece of gossip. “It is Broderick Davis, the Earl of Ashton. Can you believe it, my girl? You would be aCountess,” she uttered the tone with soft reverence.
