Page 53 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
Sarah gasped at the cruelty of it; she could not imagine the hardness a heart would require to refuse help to the mother of your own blood.
“When Mrs Gardiner died, Mrs Bridges raised Flora without any financial assistance from her father’s family,” Jane continued, a note of bitterness in her tone. “She didn’t tell Flora of her true parentage, for fear that she would feel ashamed at being cut by her own blood. By the time Flora was grown, the secret had become a weight around Mrs Bridges’ neck and she was worried the girl would resent her for it.”
“But Mr Gardiner left her everything,” Emily interrupted, eager for the tale to have a happy ending.
Mr Mifford cleared his throat, his expression thoughtful.
“Some men reach the end of their lives and find their hands empty on their deathbed. No one to comfort them as they slip from this life to the next,”he sighed. “They look to make amends at the eleventh hour and hope it will count for something.”
He paused, folding his hands on the table and glanced around at the guests.
“It is not my place to say whether it did, in Mr Gardiner’s case. But I will say this; kindness offered late is still better than none at all, though it cannot always mend what was broken.”
Sarah suddenly remembered that Mr Mifford had sent Mr Treswell to Mrs Bridges, with a vague suggestion that she might know something. The kindly vicar had obviously counseled Mr Gardiner through his illness, and had carried the man’s secret shame—along with the hope that it might one day be set right.
“I expect Flora will have a bevy of suitors lining up for her hand, now that she has a sizable fortune to her name,” Mrs Mifford interjected, her eyes alight with excitement.
“One bad apple can spoil a silver lining,” Charlotte offered sagely.
There was a short silence as everyone attempted to unravel her meaning, then Mary patted her hand.
“Very wise, dear,” the duchess said firmly.
The rest of the luncheon passed in a cheerful muddle of talk and laughter, punctuated by only the occasional squabble. Afterwards, the party strolled into the gardens, where the midsummer roses were in full bloom and the air hung with the scent of lavender. It wasn’t long before Sarah and Lucian found themselves wandering away from the group, drifting down a shaded path that led to a quiet alcove.
“I spoke with Mr Mifford and he’ll read the first of the banns this Sunday,” Lucian murmured, as he drew her close.
“Three weeks feels like an age away,” Sarah sighed, as she leaned against him.
“I have offered to elope several times since my first proposal,” Lucian countered, with a mischievous grin. “And my offer still stands.”
“It’s better this way,” she said, though she still gave a sigh at the lengthy wait. “Rowan needs to get used to the idea of me.”
She hesitated and glanced up at him shyly from underneath her eyelashes.
“I do think he likes me,” she confessed, her heart fit to burst with happiness. The final piece in the puzzle of their future life had slot right into place.
“He’d be a fool not to,” Lucian whispered back.
He then drew her into a kiss, that sent her heart skittering and her whole body aching with need. Just as things werebecoming quite blissfully romantic, a loud, exaggerated groan rang out from behind them.
“Zounds, Papa,” came Rowan’s disgruntled voice. “She wasmyfriend first.”
Before either of them could respond, the boy marched over, took Sarah firmly by the hand, and began to tow her back toward the lawn to play a game of battledore.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder at Lucian, who stood abandoned but beaming as his son abducted her.
As she let herself be led away, Sarah felt the last of her doubts melt. She had a whole new life ahead of her and a ready-made family to share it with. Quite the achievement, she thought, for the town’s dustiest spinster.
EPILOGUE
ON THE MORNINGof the wedding, Sarah prepared in her bedroom, with Anne and the Duchess of Northcott who had insisted on waiting on her.
“A girl needs a sister on her wedding day,” was all Mary had said, when Sarah had tried to argue against a duchess playing ladies maid.
It was lucky Mary had been so insistent, for from the moment she awoke, Anne had spent the whole day in a state of heightened emotion. The poor girls tears had been so profuse, that Mary had banished her to the kitchen to arrange the bouquet, lest she got a water stain on Sarah’s silk skirts.
“It would be a shame to ruin such a becoming gown,” Mary clucked, as she crouched to straighten the hem.
