Page 33 of To Claim the Long-Lost Lover
Once they were settled in the drawing room with the tea tray, the conversation turned to proving the validity of the marriage. Nate described his conversation with Wakefield. “We may have results from Oxfordshire in time for the ball,” he said, “but I don’t know how long it will take to get news of my cousin.”
Lechton’s brows shot up. “But I can tell you that. Winshire put pressure on our mutual cousin who was earl before me to get rid of the man. He was only a curate, you know. I lost track of him for a while, but the solicitors found him again when the previous earl died. He is my heir after you, you know. After Elias, now.”
“You said you know where he is?” Nate asked.
“Why, not more than an hour’s drive from here, in the village of Hounswood. He is curate to the vicar of St Chad’s. I... um... we do not talk. But he would talk to you, Nate. He always felt that you were in the right back then, and were badly treated.”
Sarah could see Nate swallowing a sharp answer before he asked, politely, for his cousin’s direction, and Lechton went off to his study to find it.
“What an astounding coincidence, Nate. St Chad’s in Hounswood sponsors the training centre I told you about: The Theodora Foundation. I might have met him myself if I had taken the women Charlotte rescued to deliver them to the village. But apparently Aldridge is going to Kent, and has promised to detour past Hounswood, so their travel is all organised.”
Sarah and Nate left the Lechton townhouse not long after. “Shall we drop you off, Bentham?” Uncle James asked.
Sarah took a deep breath and said, “Can we go past Nate’s rooms so he can get a change for the morning, Uncle James? I would like him to come home with me.” By the time she had finished the sentence, her face was burning, and the heat had spread even to her ears and her throat.
But Nate’s broad smile and the warmth in his eyes made it all worthwhile, and Uncle James didn’t turn a hair. “Certainly.” And he turned to give the instruction to his coachman.
* * *
The servants would not talk. Their enemies had ensured that. In the last two and a half years, Sarah’s cousin Sutton and Yousef, her uncle's aide, had tested and confirmed the loyalty of everyone who worked in one of their households. Not everyone in England approved of a mixed-race ducal family, and they had suffered everything from gossip to assassination attempts.
Here, in Sarah's own home, she and Nate could begin their marriage again without word leaking before they were ready.
Even so, she led him, her hand in his, up a secondary staircase to the suite she shared with her sister. As soon as she opened the door, she knew Charlotte was home early. The wrap Charlotte had worn was thrown over the back of a sofa, and the door to Charlotte's chamber was open. She could not see the bed from this angle, but Charlotte’s maid Clarke moved around the room, snuffing the candles.
Sarah drew Nate into the room and shut the door behind them. "I will just check on my sister. Would you care for a brandy?" She gestured to the decanters. "Help yourself. I won't be moment."
"Do you wish me to go?" he asked.
She had already taken two paces across the room but at that she turned back. She reached up to his face with her palm, kissing his other cheek. "I want you to stay. Will you stay, Nate?"
His eyes devoured her as he nodded, and the heat rose in her again.Charlotte.I am going to check on Charlotte.She stiffened her shaking knees, and crossed the room to Charlotte's chamber.
"Her ladyship is right poorly tonight," Clarke whispered. "The usual trouble."
The heap of blankets on the bed shifted. "Is that you, Sarah?" Her voice was barely louder than the maid's. When Charlotte's indisposition approached, it began with a headache that only worsened as the other cramps and aches descended upon her. "You are home early."
"And I have a guest, my dear. Nate is with me. Clarke, Lord Bentham is in the sitting room. He will be staying the night." The maid's training held good; her reaction confined to widened eyes and a dropped jaw that she closed immediately. "Congratulate me. You are the first outside of immediate family to know that I am married.”
Clarke curtsied in her confusion, and stammered, “I am about done here, my lady." Her head came up at a knock on the outside door. "That will be Lady Charlotte's brick." She curtsied again. "Please excuse me, my lady."
Sarah moved to where she could see Charlotte's face. "Is there anything I can do, beloved? I can send Nate away if you need me.” Usually, Charlotte wanted nothing more than to be left alone with a hot brick, a few drops of laudanum, and a darkened room.
Yes, there she was, shaking her head and wincing at the pain. “Go have your reunion, dearest. Love you.”
Clarke was at her elbow again. “I’ll look after her, my lady.” She cast a glance back towards the sitting room door. “You go to your husband.”
With a last glance at her poor sister, she did as she was told. Charlotte was a martyr to the woman’s trouble; had been ever since that terrible infection after the incident they never spoke about. Fortunately, her courses were not frequent or regular, and the symptoms became bearable again after a day or two.
Furthermore, Sarah usually left her to the tender ministrations of Clarke, who was, after all, with her all the time. It was foolish to feel guilty about welcoming Nate to her bed when Charlotte was in pain and miserable, and would never know the joy and pleasure of being one flesh with a husband.
Well, and are you going to spoil your life—and that of your son and husband—because you cannot improve mine?That’s what Charlotte would say if Sarah expressed such thoughts to her. She never complained. Indeed, she compared herself to those whom Sarah rescued, and insisted she had a wonderful and privileged life: wealthy, independent, and surrounded by family who loved her.
“Is she very ill?” Nate asked. She had drifted to where he stood by the sideboard, his bag of clothes still slung over one shoulder. He put down his glass of brandy to brush his fingers across the furrows between her brows. “Does she need you? Do not feel you have to—"
Sarah slipped her arms around his waist and rested her face against his waistcoat. “She has taken something to help her sleep, and her maid is with her. Hold me for a moment, Nate.”
He had wrapped her in his embrace even before she had asked. “Gladly.”
