Silk and Shadows (30 page)

Uneasy at his expression, Sara halted just inside the door. "Father, I've decided to accept Prince Peregrine's proposal."

"I should hope so," he said brusquely. "Marrying him is the only way to repair the damage you've done to your reputation."

His gaze strayed to the sofa, where he had seen her writhing shamelessly the night before, and Sara flushed as she guessed his thoughts. Evenly she said, "I'm not marrying him to save my reputation, but because I want to."

Her father shrugged. He seemed to have aged twenty years since the night before. "Why are you bothering to tell me? You are of age and don't need my permission, and you've shown precious little respect for my wishes."

Sara's hands clenched, the nails digging into her palms. She should have accepted Mikahl's offer to come with her, for this was worse, much worse, than she had expected. "I was hoping for your blessing."

"It was your marriage to Charles Weldon that had my blessing." His mouth twisted bitterly. "But I will give you away at the wedding. Not to do so would cause talk."

For a hurt, angry moment, she considered rejecting his grudging offer, but the scandal would be much greater if he didn't attend her wedding. "We are going to marry in three weeks, as soon as the banns are posted."

Her father made a vague motion with his hand. "Let my secretary know the details of place and time, and I'll be there."

For a moment Sara teetered on the brink of tears or flight. Instead she swallowed, then crossed the room and knelt beside him. "I have not lived up to the standards you taught me," she said softly. "But you are my only father as I am your only child. You are angry, and you have the right to be, but please don't let us be estranged over this. I need you too much."

For the first time, his bleak gaze met hers. "You don't need me, for you have your mother's strength. When she died…"He sighed and glanced away. "I am not so much angry at you as at the repercussions. Perhaps this will turn out for the best, at least for you. I just don't know."

Puzzled, she sat back on her heels. "What do you mean?"

"Pray God you'll never find out." After the cryptic comment, he touched her hair for a moment. "Be off now. I will draft a new betrothal notice for the newspapers."

Sara felt troubled as she left the library. She had expected anger, and instead found a desolation that seemed somehow inappropriate to what had happened. Perhaps her father was regretting the loss of Weldon's friendship, for after last night things would never again be the same between the two men. Still, the way he had spoken at the end gave her hope that the duke would accept Mikahl in time.

Next she went in search of Ross and Aunt Marguerite. As she expected, her cousin was in his office, which had originally been a sitting room attached to his bedroom. Now Ross used it for his writing, so books, papers, and souvenirs of his travels lined the bookshelves and occasionally spilled to the Persian carpet.

Ross pushed his chair back from the desk when Sara entered, his brown eyes, so much like hers, scanning her shrewdly. He knew her better than anyone, but if he guessed what mischief she had gotten into in his garden, he didn't comment. Instead he stood and crossed the room to give her a much-needed hug. "Been a difficult day, little cousin?"

Her head against his shoulder, she nodded wordlessly, almost trembling with relief now that she could let her guard down. Strange that she was always uneasily aware of Mikahl's strength, while with Ross, who was equally tall and strong, she felt only comfort and protection.

He ruffled her hair, then released her. "Have you decided what you are going to do?"

"I'm going to marry him."

He regarded her gravely. "Are you sure that is what you want to do? Scandals can be ridden out—don't do something you'll regret just because a few people will talk."

Sara began to drift around the room. "Perhaps it is a mistake to marry him." She picked up a small brass figurine of an Indian goddess, a miniature study in sensuality, then set it down after a brief study. "But— I 'm sure it would also be a mistake
not
to marry him.''

"I see." Ross perched on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed on his chest. "Are you in love with him?"

"I don't know." An antique Venetian mirror hung on the wall, and she gazed into it, thinking that the words "fallen woman" ought to be written in scarlet across her forehead. But she appeared much as she usually did. She shifted her gaze to Ross's reflection, which was easier to address than his actual face. She wanted him to understand, and after a moment she thought of the one example that would explain everything. Haltingly she said, "I think that now I understand about you and Juliet."

A spasm of pain crossed his face so swiftly that Sara almost missed it. Full of remorse, she spun around, wishing she could retract her words. "I'm so sorry, Ross— I should never have said that. It's been so long… I didn't know that you still felt so strongly…" She stopped, wretchedly sure that she was making matters worse.

The moment of self-revelation over, Ross's expression was impassive again, though she saw the tension in his lean body. "That's an understanding I wouldn't wish on anyone," he said dryly, "but if that is how you feel, I suppose there is nothing you can do but marry him. And unpredictable though Mikahl is, I think you are better off with him than with Weldon."

Sara frowned. "Ross, do you know why Mikahl is so set against Charles?"

"Didn't you ask him?" her cousin asked, surprised.

She colored and looked away. "I—never got around to it. There were so many other things to—discuss. He did admit that what happened last night was no accident. I assume that he misled you into helping him?"

Ross winced. "I'm afraid so. I'm sorry, Sara."

She absolved him with a wry smile. "If you hadn't cooperated, I imagine he would have thought of something else." With a pointed glance at the cut above her cousin's eye, she added, "What did he tell you after you two had your 'very physical' discussion last night?"

"He claims that Weldon owns a number of unsavory and illegal businesses," Ross said carefully. "If true, your former betrothed is a hypocrite of massive proportions, and you are better off without him."

Sara's brows drew together. "The only unsavory, illegal businesses I can think of are brothels. Surely Charles could not be involved in anything like that!"

"Apparently he is," Ross said. "In a way, I can see how it would be easy. You and I both had the same reaction—that it is unthinkable for a gentleman to soil his hands with such sordid matters. Which is why a gentleman who is so inclined might get away with almost anything."

Sara shook her head, sickened by the very idea. "Perhaps, but I just can't believe that of Charles, who is so proper. Look how horrified he was to find me kissing another man.''

"That could be hypocrisy as easily as propriety." Ross's voice softened. "Don't torture yourself wondering if it is true—you have quite enough things to worry about. When and if you decide you want to know more, ask Mikahl for the details. Devious though he sometimes is, I've found that he will usually answer direct questions."

It was very rare for Sara to refuse to face unpleasantness, but this time she seized her cousin's suggestion gratefully. Later she would be strong enough to evaluate what Ross had told her, and to wonder how Mikahl could have learned such things,
if
they were true. But not just yet. She smiled ruefully. "Who was it that said we should be careful what we wish for,because we might get it? And I was foolish enough to wish for a little more excitement in my life!"

Ross grinned. "You'll certainly get excitement with Mikahl."

"If worse comes to worst and he abandons me in favor of an Oriental harem, I'll accept your invitation to move in here and keep house for you.''

"With your cats and my Turkish poetry?"

"Exactly." They both laughed, but Sara took comfort from the knowledge that with her family behind her, she would never be wholly in her husband's power. Less comforting was the knowledge that she had agreed to marry a man she did not fully trust.

Aunt Marguerite also proved to be supportive. The Duchess of Windermere was in the kitchens, ruthlessly using her charm to bully the kitchen staff into reorganizing the pantries. She looked up when Sara entered and waved a breezy hand. "Ross's housekeeper does a decent enough job, but a kitchen is never properly run in a gentleman's household. You would not have believed the state I found the stillroom in."

"Show me," Sara suggested, unable to suppress a smile. Of the Magnificent Montgomery twins, Marguerite had been the outgoing one, Sara's mother, Maria, the quiet one. Ross had told her once that his staff looked forward to his mother's visits, because it made them feel important to be the objects of a duchess's attention. And under her imposing manner, Marguerite had the warm heart and practical nature of a Scottish housewife.

When they reached the stillroom, Marguerite closed the door, then regarded her niece with bright-eyed anticipation. "Well, are you going to tell me what's going on around here?" she exclaimed. "Ross only gave me the barest outlines—there's no getting anything out of that lad when he's being discreet. Are you going to marry that glorious barbarian?"

"Yes," Sara said, thinking the description was a good one. "Do you think I'm mad?"

"Probably, but no more than any young woman in love," her aunt said cheerfully. "And if you must make a fool of yourself over a man, better a rich one than a poor one. Besides, if the truth be known, I like him much better than I do Charles Weldon."

Preferring to ignore the comment about love, Sara said, "He's coming for a quiet family dinner tonight. I imagine he and Father will talk of settlements and such things."

"If he can survive that, he's made of strong stuff." The duchess bit her lip. "You and I must sit down and make a list of everything that needs to be done, such as returning all the wedding gifts that were sent for you and Charles."

Sara groaned. "I hadn't thought that far. Why does high drama always end in tedious details? Think of all the gifts that were monogrammed with a
W
!"

"Don't feel too guilty about that—there are two other important weddings coming up this season where the initial is
W
, so the gifts will find a new home soon enough."

Sara laughed. "You're outrageous."

"Of course," her aunt said placidly. "That's why Windermere married me. Everyone said it wouldn't work, that we were too far apart in age and social position, and that I was a fortune-hunting baggage, but here we are, thirty-five years later." She sighed a little. "The only regret either of us has is that we won't get another thirty-five years together."

Sara went back to her room feeling considerably cheered, because she had had ample opportunity to see that the improbable marriage of the Windermeres was a successful one. Perhaps Sara and her mad Kafir would do equally well.

Reality intruded in the shape of her maid, Hoskins. Sara was wearily letting her hair down, preparing to take a nap, when the maid burst into the room.

Hoskins was about the same age as Sara, but her acid disposition had carved premature lines around her mouth, and she looked much older. "Lady Sara," she said, her voice quivering with indignation. "They're saying belowstairs that you're going to marry that foreigner, but I can't believe it, not when you're betrothed to a real gentleman like Sir Charles."

Sara swiveled around to face the servant. "Rumor is correct in this case. Sir Charles and I ended our betrothal, and I am going to marry Prince Peregrine instead."

Hoskins gaped for a moment. Then she said viciously, "I would never have believed that a mistress of mine would disgrace herself and me by marrying a filthy heathen nigger."

"How dare you!" Sara gasped. For a moment her vision darkened with pure rage; she had not been so angry since she had learned how the governors of an orphanage were abusing the children in their care. Then she rose to her feet, her hand tightening around her hairbrush like a weapon. "You won't have to worry about the disgrace because I am discharging you, effective this instant. I won't have an evil-minded bigot like you in my household."

"I wouldn't work for a slut like you!" Hoskins snapped back. "Fine clothes and a fancy name don't make a lady. That randy foreigner is only interested in one thing, and only a lustful bitch would want to give it to him. The very idea is disgusting to a decent female. But I'm not leaving till I get what's owed me— I know my rights."

The curse of a fair mind was that even fury couldn't make Sara forget simple justice. Wrapping herself in the icy dignity of generations of noble St. Jameses, Sara said, "You can collect your belongings at Haddonfield House the day after tomorrow. The butler will have the money owed you, plus an extra month's pay and a letter of reference attesting to your skills, though not your disposition. Now get out of my sight!"

"With pleasure. Plenty of
real
ladies have tried to hire me away from you before." An expression of malevolence crossed the maid's face. "They must figure that if I can make a plain little cripple like you look good, I can do anything." Satisfied that she had had the last word, she whisked out the door.

Sara sank onto the stool, shaking all over. There was a remarkable similarity between what Hoskins had just said and Charles's words of the night before. In a protected life, she had seldom been exposed to such virulence, and it was not pleasant to know that soon others would be saying the same things. Though on the whole, Sara decided, better behind her back than to her face.