A Reckless Promise (9 page)

Darby threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Yes, they are. Often bordering on delirious.” He looked at her curiously. “Has anyone told you about Basil and his sixtieth birthday?”

“Oh, yes. I know there is to be a small family party that day, followed by a ball that same night. At the very end of the month.” Then she frowned. “Unless there isn't. I would have asked about that, but everyone else simply nodded as if they understood, and I didn't want to pry.”

Darby leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “We'll still be in town, so you probably should know. Basil was never meant to be the duke. In point of fact, Basil never aspired to the dukedom. As the fourth—or was that fifth?—son in line, he wasn't raised to be the duke, and was allowed to marry whomever he wished, whomever he wished being the totally unsuitable candidate for duchess, our own Vivien. They were handed a generous allowance and told to please go off and amuse themselves, which they did, for many years. They traveled far and wide, collecting exotic birds on all their travels—but that story will keep for another time—and very definitely
enjoyed
each other, if you take my meaning.”

“I think I do,” Sadie said, the blush still burning her cheeks.

“Yes, well, frivolity of any sort came to a screeching halt when Basil realized that his brothers were turning up their toes just as they approached their sixtieth birthdays. One was sad. Two was coincidence. Three? Again, I'm not sure—there may have been a fourth. Suddenly, in his fifty-eighth year, word of the most recent death reached him and he found himself the duke. Oh, and clearly destined for a similar fate.”

“What a terrible thing to contemplate. He really believes that?”

“Alas, yes, he did. He retired to Cranbrook Manor, locked himself in his chambers, shutting Vivien out for the most part, and prepared to meet his Maker. Which, according to Vivien, turned him into the dullest, most depressing man in nature, and when all else failed she ordered Gabe to do something about it. My friend tried his best, but I believe it was Thea who finally convinced Basil that, if he was going to die, which she doubted, he might as well
live
in the interim. Basil has been, shall I say, making up for lost time these past weeks, as you may have noticed. Personally, I believe if he does end up cocking up his toes, it won't be because of some Cranbrook curse, but more because he's been cocking up something else with a bit too much enthusiasm. As the sister of a doctor, I do hope you take my meaning, and my apologies for my clearly inappropriate joke.”

Sadie lowered her head, doing her best not to smile. It was senseless to pretend she didn't understand what he'd meant. “But they are sweet, aren't they?”

“Cute as a pair of rabbits in the spring,” Darby said, leaning back once more. “Now, as we may have exhausted most subjects, unless you've a mind to talk about our unseasonably mild weather, I have a question for you.”

She slowly raised her head, tipping it slightly to one side as she looked at him. “I knew you were being too nice. You wanted me relaxed before you pounced. Very well, what do you want to know?”

He smoothed down his sleeves and got to his feet. “Nothing too terrible. I'd like to know why you felt it necessary to drag my ward from her warm bed in the middle of the night and march her to a posting inn.”

Sadie's insides turned to jelly and she drew in a quick, painful breath. “How...?
Marley.
”

“She told Camy, that first day.”

Sadie's mind was whirling. That first day. He'd known since the beginning. She and Marley hadn't been separated that day, except for the time she was in her own borrowed bedchamber, submerged in lovely, warm water for at least an hour. Was an hour long enough for Marley to chatter to the housekeeper, or Peggy? Of course it was. Marley always told the truth and, worse, never hesitated to tell it.

“Cat got your tongue, Sadie? Or are you doing as the ladies did the other day with your name, putting two and two together? In this case, Marley's retelling of her last night in Dibden, and your blurted insistence that the child be kept
safe
. Yes, there are reasons for everything I do, Sadie Grace. Other than the sad diversion, time spent searching for the nonexistent Maxwell Boxer, I have thought of little else.”

“And your answer to it all was to marry me? Even if you had not discovered my fib, and come chasing up the stairs after me?”

“I did not chase. I walked, slowly and deliberately. There will be no more moonlight flits, and there will be answers. The answers can wait—I'm a patient man. But it was necessary to ease the child's fears, which marriage—and a puppy—have seemed to do.”

“You could have stopped at the puppy,” Sadie grumbled halfheartedly, knowing she'd no one but herself to blame for finding herself about to be bracketed to a man who would not stop until he had every last truth from her—and probably have her tumbling into love with him along the way. “As for the rest of it, if we hadn't started out before dawn, we would not have arrived at the posting inn in time for the public coach. All you had to do was ask me.”

“Yes, and there was no one in the village who would have agreed to drive the late doctor's poor sister and orphaned daughter to the posting inn.”

He had her there. “I...I didn't want to bother anyone.”

He dropped to his haunches in front of her, his face close to hers.

“You're a terrible liar, Sadie Grace, most especially when you've had no time to prepare. You didn't want anyone to be able to say they knew the direction you were about to travel. Now hear this. I've asked you for the truth for the last time, and you've lied to me for the last time. When you're ready, I'll listen, but in the meantime, no more lies. I will protect you both from whatever or whomever it is that sent you running into the night, but sooner or later you'll have to trust me. Do we understand each other?”

Sadie bit her bottom lip, and nodded. There was no sense in pretending he was mistaken. “John... No, I can't do it, it's too soon. First I must come to grips with it all, as you say you have with your injury. Except for those...moments. But I will thank you for what you're doing for Marley. And for me. I had no expectations beyond acting as companion to her until I could be assured she no longer needed me.”

“You'd have given up any chance of a life of your own for her. I admire that, Sadie Grace. But that's not what John asked you to do, is it? You were to bring her to me. What did he suppose was to happen to you after she was delivered into my custody?”

His words hurt. She'd asked that same question of her dead brother at night, when she couldn't sleep.
How could you leave me this way?

She blinked at the tears stinging at her eyes. “I don't know. He... He was very sick. All he could think about was Marley, what would happen to her after he died. I can understand that. I've tried so hard to understand...”

She felt Darby's fingers beneath her chin as he gently raised her head so that they were eye-to-eye.

“Don't cry, Sadie Grace,” he said quietly. “We were off to a rocky start, you'll agree, but we're working this out, aren't we, step by cautious step? We're doing it together, no matter our initial reasons. For John. For Marley. And for you. You have my word.”

She could barely breathe. He was so entirely sincere.

“Your brother saved my life, even when I'd have rathered he not bother. Whatever he may have done since then is nothing compared to that, except for the fact that he's made you cry, and kept you frightened for some reason you'll tell me when you're ready. I hope that's soon, because a new world is opening for you, Sadie, and I want you to enjoy it. Now, do you feel better?”

She nodded, unable to speak. He was so close, and somehow she wanted him closer. She wanted to bury her head against his broad shoulder and weep like a baby, tell him everything, cling to him, as somehow he had become her one safe haven in the storm that had raged inside her since waking that terrible morning and finding the letter John had slid beneath her door.

“Good, then that's settled.” He tilted his head slightly, saying, “Do you know, Sadie Grace? No matter what, I believe I've gotten the better side of our agreement. The chance to give little Marley a happy, secure childhood, something that matters to me more than I would have suspected...and marriage to her beautiful aunt.”

“I'm not...”

“Ah-ah, we agreed, no more lies.”

He was going to kiss her now. She may never have been kissed in her three and twenty years, but she knew she was going to be kissed now. Perhaps to truly seal their bargain. Perhaps so that he could prove himself to be her lord and master. Perhaps—and wouldn't that be lovely—he actually
wanted
to kiss her.

Sadie looked down at his mouth, and saw no smile there. She looked into his eye, that beautiful eye, and saw no wry humor in its depths.

There was only an intentness she could feel all the way through her as he held her chin steady and came closer, even closer...

“Well, that turned out to be a fine mess,” Clarice announced from the hallway. “Just as he finally had the hoop going, poor Rigby got tripped up in Goody's leash and went sprawling onto the cobbles, putting paid to his pantaloons and scraping his knees and hands like some little boy who—oh! Good Lord, Rigby, it seems we've interrupted something. See, I told you if we left them alone they'd be just fine. Better than fine, I'd say.”

Darby and Sadie had moved apart hurriedly, with Darby just getting to his feet as Clarice fully entered the drawing room.

He looked down at Sadie with a smile and a what-can-you-do shrug of his shoulders. “That will teach us to leave the children unattended. Sounds as if your skills might be needed, Sadie Grace.”

“What?” Sadie blinked, attempting to regain her focus, as she'd been about to have her first kiss, and she felt rather bereft to have missed it frankly. “Oh! Oh, yes, I should think so.” She took Darby's offered hand and stood up just as Rigby came limping into the drawing room, Marley holding tight to his arm and looking very nearly frantic.

“Sadie, Sadie! Uncle Rigby fell down and broke his crown. You must save him!”

“Not my crown, sweetheart,” Rigby corrected, grinning sheepishly. “I've told her I'm fine, save for a few scrapes. Darby, you'll never guess who saw me take my tumble. Lady Appleton. It will be all over Mayfair by suppertime, how that bird-witted Jeremy Rigby made a proper cake of himself in Grosvenor Square. My knees are beginning to sting. I think I might want to sit down.”

“I know this seems unfeeling of me,” Darby said, helping his friend to a chair, “but where are the dogs?”

“One of the footmen took them to the kitchens for something to eat. They're very sorry, really they are, and have promised not to do it again,” Marley said as she sat at Rigby's knee and looked up at him. “Does it hurt very badly, Uncle Rigby?”

“Yes, Uncle Rigby,” Darby said, shaking his head at the sight of the ripped and bloody pantaloons. “Tell us where it hurts, other than your pride.”

“Oh, stop,” Clarice scolded, taking Rigby's hand in hers. “You're just out of sorts because we walked in on the two of you. They were
kissing
, Jerry,” she told her betrothed. “I told you it all would work out. You owe me a new bonnet.”

Sadie shot a quick look toward Marley, but the child was fully occupied in stroking Rigby's arm and telling him Sadie would fix everything.

“Where are you going?” Darby asked her, following as she turned for the doorway and the stairs.

“It's you who pointed out my skills are needed. I brought John's medical bag with me, the one thing of his I kept. Please have Rigby moved to the kitchens, as I'll need water to clean his wounds of any dirt or small stones. He won't like that, I'm afraid. Oh, and ask the housekeeper for some bandages. I don't know what to say about the pantaloons other than that they need to be gone by the time I join you there.”

“The general, barking out orders. I was only teasing. You're not actually going to—no, never mind, I can see you are. But truly, one of the servants can take charge, especially if treatment necessitates the removal of Rigby's pantaloons.”

“Darby,” she said, attacked by a sudden need to be truthful about something. “I've been sitting about ever since you brought me to London, useless as a wart on the end of the king's nose. I'm not accustomed to that, and I really don't much like it frankly. At least, for the moment, I can be of actual use to somebody.”

“Yes, of course. Many others, whole multitudes in fact, would be delighted to become ladies of leisure, but not you. I apologize for not realizing that. Do what makes you happy, Sadie Grace, with my blessings. As long as I'm in the room while you're mucking about with Rigby's dimpled knees.”

She looked at him in some surprise, but then smiled. “For a moment, I thought you were being serious.”

“For a moment, I believe I was.” He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Go along now. I'll meet you in the kitchens.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I
S
THE
CANE
really necessary?” Darby asked as he and Rigby went off to find tame liquid refreshment for the ladies during a blessed intermission between Lady Clathan's daughter Emily's singing and daughter Amelia's promised proficiency with the harp. “It's your knees, not your ankles.”

“You only say that because your knees aren't stiff as two boards and wrapped in miles of bandages. I think Clary might have overdone the bandages. But the gloves are a nice touch, don't you think? I thought I'd faint dead away while Sadie was digging for that last stone in my palm.”

“A faint would have been a blessed relief from the moaning and whimpering when you saw her coming at you with that wire brush, to scrub away the bits of gravel. Since she refused to leave your side, I was forced to cover Marley's ears. She was amazing, wasn't she?”

“Marley? Yes, I suppose so. You would have heard a lot more than a few moans if she hadn't been there to act as my supporting prop.”

“My ward was quite the little soldier, yes, but I meant Sadie. It was rather like watching a field surgeon at work.”

Rigby grinned at him. “And don't you sound the proud fiancé. Not that anyone can know, as I've explained to Clary. The Viscount Nailbourne's betrothed, mucking about with a gentleman's bare knees, and with said gentleman's pantaloons butchered above the knee so that his entire lower legs were exposed. Save for my hose, that is, and she tugged those down over my protests, to make sure I wasn't scraped anywhere else. Quite put me to the blush, the entire episode.”

Darby plucked two glasses of lemonade from the tray of a passing servant. “She's bored, you know. Apparently being fitted for gowns and such, and having tea with the ladies, is not enough to keep Sadie from feeling she's wasting her days. Marley has her nurse, the duchess's staff tends to her every need, and she's nothing to do. I caught her out earlier, mending what appeared to be one of Marley's night rails. A servant's job. Ladies knit, or embroider. They don't
mend
.”

“And you're angry about that?”

“No, Rigby, I'm not. I'm angry with myself for not realizing she might feel useless, as she's certainly hinted as much. Useless as a wart on the tip of our good king's nose, in fact.”

“Here now, you can't blame yourself.” Rigby leaned in close, to whisper his next words. “Clary went from lady's maid to swimming in Society overnight, remember? Doesn't bother her any to spend her days shopping and gossiping and whatever else ladies do. Took to it all like a duck to water. It's true. One of her favorite things is sitting in a bath she neither carried the water up two flights for nor would have to scrub afterward. I can't say as I blame her.”

Darby searched his brain for a response, but couldn't find one. He certainly wasn't going to tell him Sadie had apparently decided wealthy, titled men were, as a species, lazy layabouts with nothing more to do with their lives than enjoy them. “You and Clarice are a match fashioned by the heavens, my friend.”

They went off to rejoin the ladies, who apparently had deserted their chairs. “Could be hiding out on the balcony,” Rigby suggested. “I know that's where I'd like to be. Vivien didn't mention that this was to be a musical evening. I loathe musical evenings, and so do my ears. Oh, wait, here comes Sadie, heading straight for us. But where's my Clary?”

“Quickly—do I curtsy?” she asked in a whisper as she stopped in front of them.

Darby gave a slight shake of his head as he handed her one of the glasses. “Nor do I bow over your hand, since we've been sitting together on those chairs over there for the past excruciating hour.”

“Still, I believe I'll need lessons. Clarice tried to help, as we were making our way to one of the withdrawing rooms, but she admitted to not being certain, usually relying on the duchess or Thea or Dany.”

“None of whom, now that I consider the thing, are overly conversant on all the nods and curtsies and such,” Darby said, smiling. “We should perhaps hold group lessons.”

“Where's Clary?” Rigby asked. “This lemonade is growing warm. Is she with the duchess?”

Sadie looked at Darby, and gifted him with a quick, grimacing smile. “Yes, Rigby, about Clarice...”

“What? She's ill? She's been cornered by Lord Haslitt again? Damned old lech keeps trying to look down her gowns, every time we see him. Where is she? I'll put that man to the right-about this time, and I don't care if he is older than dirt and Clary says he probably can't even remember why he's looking.”

Ah, the joys of being in Rigby's company. They never ended.

“Clarice is on her way back to Grosvenor Square, Rigby,” Sadie explained. “She...she has the headache, and the duchess was about to leave, anyway, since the duke said he'd rather
erp
—whatever that means—before he'd stay here and listen to Althea's offspring murder a perfectly fine harp. I'm sorry, but that's what he said. They took Clarice up with them, and I was commissioned to tell you she is horribly sorry, but she is definitely sick as a toad that swallowed a mouse whole, and she didn't want to chance casting up her accounts in Darby's town coach. The duke didn't seem to care either way about his coach—he just wanted to leave.”

Again she looked to Darby, who was doing his best not to laugh.

“I'll go to her immediately.”

“Oh, no, don't do that. She specifically asked me to tell you not to come. She doesn't suffer often from the headache, but told me she can be sick for a day, even days, and she will send you a note when it's safe to visit. I'm sorry, Rigby. But she'll be fine, I'm sure of it.”

Poor Sadie Grace. She really needed to learn how to lie if she planned to remain in Society for long.

“I don't care,” he exclaimed, waving his cane in the air as if prepared to strike down anyone who would stop him from going to his beloved's side. “I'm going to see her, if I have to beat down the door.” He bowed quickly to Sadie before striding toward the hallway, completely forgetting to lean on his cane.

“He's upset, poor fellow, but I promised Clarice. I was quoting, you understand, both Clarice and the duke,” she said. “I wanted to get it all right. What's an
erp
?”

“Supposedly, it's what each of the duke's brothers uttered just before planting themselves facedown on the floor.”

“But that's terrible!”

“On the contrary. Gabe will be delighted to hear that his uncle is now able to joke about his fears. She's really ill? You convinced Rigby, which is no great feat where Clarice is concerned, but I'm sensing there's something deeper going on here.”

Sadie shook her head. “There is. But not here. Is there somewhere we can be more private?”

Darby gave in at last to a grin as he offered her his arm. “Off the top of my head, hundreds. Sadly, propriety greatly limits that number. You have your shawl with you. We could step out onto the balcony for a few minutes, as long as we return in time for the remainder of the recital. If we run off, as well, we may instigate a stampede for the door, and poor Lady Clathan will go into a sad decline.”

They passed through the small crowd without much notice, as the other guests apparently already had their fill of attempting to guess whom the viscount had on his arm this evening. After all, no female stayed on that arm for long, and the Little Season was awash in hopeful country misses who would most probably end up bracketed to a local landowner before the spring Season, which none of their families could afford. Besides, Darby knew—as he knew Society nearly too well—Sadie was no dewy infant of no more than seventeen or eighteen, but clearly had kissed her debutante status farewell several years ago. Sadie might be beautiful, but if she hoped for a marriage, Society certainly wouldn't think she'd find one with Darby Travers. She'd best decide to settle for a middle-aged widower in need of a mother for his children.

Announcing their betrothal the day of the duke's birthday celebration should put the capper on what would afterward always have been the highlight of the Little Season. Unless, of course, Basil
erped
into his birthday toast; then Darby and Sadie's news would fade into oblivion.

“You're feeling comfortable here?” he asked her as they stepped out onto the balcony.

“I suppose I am. Thankfully, nobody is paying me much attention, and a few seem to deliberately pretend neither the duchess nor Clarice exist. No one has given them the cut direct, I believe it's called, but they're politely distant. Although the gentlemen can't seem to keep their eyes from straying to Clarice's bosom.”

“Partially explaining why the ladies don't seek her acquaintance, as making comparisons are one of the many failings of most men.”

“But not you? And how can we be having this conversation?”

“We're having this conversation because, once you've seen Rigby's dimpled knees, and whatever you saw in John's infirmary, I no longer see any reason either of us should feel the need to dance around most subjects. Especially since you've admitted you watched the gentlemen...watching.”

“They're rather difficult to ignore, especially the one with the quizzing glass. But you're right. No wonder the wives aren't eager to be in Clarice's company. The...comparisons.”

“There's also the fact that our beloved Vivien is a fairly loose screw, bless her, and being cornered by her when she's of a mind to tell one of her stories could have a marble statue reaching for the hartshorn and burnt feathers. Now, tamping down my curiosity, I want to apologize for not realizing sooner that turning you overnight into a lady of leisure might bore you senseless.”

It was dark on the balcony, with only a few flambeaux burning in the gardens below them, but Darby could see the embarrassment on Sadie's face. “Oh, no, it's I who should apologize. How could anyone be so crass as to complain at having been dropped into what is certainly one of the deepest gravy boats in all of England? I'm delighted for Marley, and couldn't have hoped for a better situation for her, not in my wildest dreams.”

“We're not talking about Marley.”

She lowered her head. “No. No, we're not. And I know she'll...gravitate back to me once we're returned to the cottage, or wherever we'll be, no longer surrounded by so many who are bound and determined to make her feel loved, and wanted.”

“It's just that you're now left to twiddle your thumbs, with nothing to do,” Darby pressed. “So I want you to think about what you would like to do, as I'm afraid that, as part of our
business agreement
, you'd be expected to do more of that same
nothing
. At least by your standards. There will be the estate residences to oversee—I've a few—and parties to hostess, parties to attend. Oh, dear, and gowns to buy, such as this lovely creation you're wearing tonight, in case I forgot to compliment you.”

“Thank you, yes, you continue to play your role nicely. You remarked on how well the color brings out the green in my eyes, and I appreciate that, truly I do. I doubt there is a woman alive who doesn't wish to be thought of as...as attractive.”

“You're much more than attractive, Sadie Grace. I'm well aware I've gotten the better half of our bargain.”

“You can't mean your eye,” she said, her shyness gone, replaced by a touch of anger. “I won't say the patch doesn't make you appear dashing and even slightly dangerous, which it does. It's the reason behind your sacrifice that fills me with pride. Besides, and I don't mean I take your injury lightly, I've seen much worse in John's infirmary. Those who came back missing legs, arms, even their wits. Victory has its costs, and often those who helped attain that victory are left forgotten, barely able to fend for themselves. Soldiers, those brave men, should never be left to beg passersby for coppers, or sleep in the streets. John and I had many conversations about that, and he remained as frustrated as did I.”

There was such conviction in Sadie's voice, in the earnest expression on her face. She hadn't been to war, but she'd seen its consequences, and not only in the way John was affected by it. “I can only agree with you, and have been thinking about just that since we spoke this afternoon,” he said, taking her arm once more and heading to the end of the balcony as other couples began returning inside, all of them looking as jolly as those condemned to the hangman. “I promise you we'll discuss this again. Sadly, I'm afraid we'll have to return our attention to Clarice's sudden indisposition that has so greatly upset her devoted Jerry. What happened while you ladies were in the retiring room?”

“How did you know it happened there? Oh, never mind, where else could it have happened? There was a woman there as we walked in, the only other occupant of the room, thankfully. She was leaning close to a mirror and rubbing rouge into her cheeks, although she already looked very much like an apple, which is probably why I noticed her. But then Clarice noticed her, as well, and I don't think an entire pot of rouge could have raised apples in her cheeks at that point. She rather swayed where she stood, so that I felt it necessary to support her. She whispered that we had to leave, but before we could the woman must have caught out our reflections in the mirror and called out Clarice's name. Actually, she called her
Goodfellow
, and then ordered her to hop to it and fetch a damp cloth, so that she could wipe the rouge from her fingers. Just
ordered
her, as if she were a servant.”

“She was a servant, remember? How did Clarice respond?” This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all.

“She didn't. Well, that's not true. She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room, warning that she could be sick at any moment, which she thankfully was not, and the rest you know.”