Page 83 of Drowned in the Pleasure of a Devilish Baron
“He sees me as a horse to break to his will,” Sarah said back, and realized it was true as the words left her mouth. A cold horror suffused her at the thought. She had been right from the beginning, when she had sensed something dangerous about the man.
“Whymust you always be so dramatic?” Lady Marlow had calmed some now, after taking John’s hand in hers and venting her frustrations. “Darling, yes, we are forcing you to make this marriage but this is a fact of life in the modern age. Arranged marriages happen, and you must trust those who have arranged the union,” she swung a heavily ringed finger between herself and John, “to have done it right. You will be a Countess and wealthy beyond our wildest imaginings.”
She smiled at her daughter and Sarah could see that she truly believed every word she was saying, especially those which came next.
“This is every lady’s dream come true, dearest. You will be glad about this one day. Trust me on that,” she said, and her voice had grown soft.
Sarah looked away from the ardency in her mother’s eyes, and with a sigh, Lady Marlow stood and left the room, the guards parting to let her pass, John lingering behind.
“John,” she said softly as he made to leave as well. “Do you truly believe this is the best thing for me? We were close once. As a child, I used to callyoumy greatest friend, my fiercest protector. Do you believe what you are doing is right?”
His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to hold hers. “I’m sorry, Sister. I really am. But it must be this way.” And he hurried outside without looking back, his shoulders high as if on the defensive.
As she watched him go, the guards closing ranks behind him, she was able to clearly see her brother for who he truly was, perhaps for the first time in her life. A man who had the capacity to be kind and generally was, but also a man who was impatient, one who was grasping desperately to climb socially and improve his lot in life… and also a man who was weak. One who could allow injustice and pain to be inflicted on a loved one if the end, in his mind, could justify the means.
Even as this knowledge broke her heart, she loved him anyways. Because that was the kind of person she was.
* * *
In the same pub where they had previously met, at the same table, Leonard and Felix sat, speaking in low voices with Cast, their voices deadly serious. Outside of the pub, tucked away on a dark street was the carriage, guarded by Leonard’s coachman.
“Are you certain?” Leonard asked.
“I never bring any information to someone unless there is absolutely no doubt whatsoever,” Cast replied.
“Who do they work for?” Felix asked. “We need to find the man behind all of this, not just the ones responsible for the fires. They are simply the tool, but who is wielding them? And to what end?”
“I believe we will be able to come to that answer thanks to what the two of you accomplished today,” Cast said with a sharp smile. “I have a few questions for those men in your carriage, My Lord.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Refusing to give up, Sarah spent all day Thursday playing the last card she had in her hand.
“I’m too ill to eat,” she rasped that morning, face turned to the wall, when Rebecca gained entrance into her room from the guards to bring her tea and breakfast. “Do not come too close.”
“What is it, Miss?”
“My head…” Sarah whispered, laying very limp and still. “It aches so terribly. I’m cold and then hot. And my skin…” She turned her face then so Rebecca could see.
“Smallpox!” Rebecca shrieked, dropping the tea and skipping backwards, her hands out in front of her as if they could ward off the deadly disease. “Smallpox!” she said again, running from the room. At the door, Sarah could see the guards backing up hastily, cursing the maid for getting too close to them.
She turned her face away once more and smiled, careful not to rub her skin against her counterpane. She had worked so carefully to spread rouge across her face, neck, and hands this morning, she didn’t want it to rub off onto her blankets now.
The taboo word spread across the house like wildfire, and Sarah could feel the panic level in the house rising with it. The disease which had killed so many, and left its survivors horrifically scarred, was her last hope at a ticket out of this. She would be locked inside the house for weeks, quarantined. They would have to send the guards out, or quarantine them as well, elsewhere in the house. Surely during that time she would be able to slip away.
“Move aside!” a voice called at the door. She did not look up—she knew it was her mother.
“What is this foolishness, Sarah?” she said from across the room.
In response, Sarah gave only a small, pitiful cough. Light footsteps sounded, coming closer, and then her counterpane was ripped away from her body. Looking down, the evidence of her ploy was clear for all to see. The rouge had indeed rubbed off, and streaked and splotched the inner section of the blanket. It was a risk she’d taken, thinking that no one would want to come near her or her bed at the sign of the disease. A gamble.
She met her mother’s eyes fiercely, saying nothing.
Lady Marlow let out an exasperated cry and stormed from the room. “It was only rouge, you foolish thing!” she shouted from the hallway.
The entire house relaxed at that, Sarah could feel it even from bed. When Rebecca came back, her face was full of reproach as she cleaned the broken dishes and spilled tea she’d dropped on the floor.
“Perhaps it is not smallpox after all,” Sarah said calmly. “I suppose it is a different sickness.”
