The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) (8 page)

The reason it hadn’t been stolen when he’d been left for dead on the battlefield was because he hadn’t been been willing to leave it in his camp—or even in his pockets. He had tied it about the arm closest to his heart with the ribbon Sarah had used to fasten her stockings. For him, it had represented a piece of the past and his dreams for the future.

Back when he’d believed in such things.

He slid the ring on Sarah’s finger with steady hands that belied the trepidation gripping his heart. His desire to wed her had never once flagged. It had only grown stronger day by day, month by month.
 

Did she feel the same? Or for her, did this feel more like an ending than a new beginning?

It was too late for doubt. The vicar was nearly done.

“Forasmuch as Mr. Edmund Blackpool and Miss Sarah Fairfax have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a ring, and by joining hands…” The vicar’s voice rang out clear and true. “I pronounce that they are man and wife.”

Man and wife. Edmund’s heart swelled. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to kiss her senseless and thoroughly. But he’d already done quite enough to tarnish her reputation. Kisses could wait until they were alone tonight.

Hands clapped against his back as their friends surrounded them to give their well-wishes. Edmund’s ears roared from the noise and the feel of so many hands upon him at once. Everyone, it seemed, wished to hug him.
 

Ravenwood apologized again for being unable to fetch Edmund’s parents in time. And for offering up his own ring when Edmund needed no such intervention.

Edmund shook his head. He didn’t care what Ravenwood did with his ring. Edmund was finally married to Sarah.

“Where is Xavier?” he asked. “Could he not attend, or were we too intimate of a party?”

Daphne shook her head. “He’s in Chelmsford, I’m afraid.”

“Entertaining a bluestocking,” Bartholomew put in with a salacious wink.

Edmund couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “And Oliver? Now that he’s Earl of Carlisle, he must be in London. His presence is required in the House of Lords.”

“He… didn’t wish to intrude,” Ravenwood said, a touch too diplomatically.

“Intrude?” Edmund’s brow furrowed. “He’s been one of my best friends for as long as I’ve known him. One of
our
best friends. When has he ever chosen not to accompany us in anything?”

Daphne sent a pointed glance at the duke, who in turn sent a desperate glance toward Bartholomew, who lowered his eyes and looked away.

“Ah.” Edmund’s flesh ran cold. “The secret.”

Bartholomew glanced over at him, startled. “You know?”

“There obviously
is
one. Since everyone seems privy but me, you might as well come out with it. Why would my childhood friend have refused to attend my wedding?”

“He didn’t refuse,” Ravenwood said with a sigh. “He did it for you. He didn’t want you to look back on your wedding day and feel the experience had been soured because of his presence.”

“Soured how? He’s one of my best—”

“Waterloo,” Bartholomew interrupted, his chin up and his tone flat. “You had just been shot in the chest. The wound appeared mortal. But I refused to leave you there to die. So I raced as fast as I could to where I’d seen you fall…”

“—and ran directly in the path of the cannon fire,” Daphne finished, linking her arm with her husband’s. She lay her cheek to his shoulder.

Ravenwood nodded. “By the time Carlisle got there, you both had lost too much blood and the French were closing in. There was no time to save you both. Not with all the bullets and cannons firing in the air. Carlisle risked his foolish hide by even trying.”

The pieces clicked into place. Dully, Edmund nodded his understanding. “Oliver had to choose.”

Bartholomew grabbed his arm. “He wanted to save us both, but—”

“He chose you.” Edmund closed his eyes as months of pain and fear and hunger and desperation washed over him. He had felt furious. Frightened. Abandoned. And as it turned out, he truly had been. “I see.”

“Edmund—”

“I’m not angry with you, brother,” he said tiredly. His twin had tried to save him. That was how he’d gotten his leg blown off in the first place. It was more than Edmund could handle right now. “If you’ll excuse me, the only thing I really want right now is some time alone with my new bride.”

He couldn’t imagine what she must think. Sarah had been quiet during the entire conversation. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned. She was not behind him. He pushed his friends and brother aside to cast his frantic gaze about the entire empty room.

Sarah was gone.

Chapter 7

An hour later, Sarah accepted a steaming cup of tea from a little silver tray and settled back against a mountain of soft pillows in Miss Katherine Ross’s townhouse. “Thank you so much for taking me in. I didn’t know where else to turn. None of my friends know that I’m increasing, so I couldn’t go knocking upon their doors in this condition.”

And she’d needed to go
somewhere
. She needed a chance to collect herself. To think. To plan. And it was impossible to think whilst surrounded by her family, her friends. Edmund’s unexpected reappearance had thrown them all into a tizzy.
 

Like her, they were overjoyed at his return. Unlike her, they didn’t have to worry about what to do next. How to rekindle romance whilst eight and a half months pregnant. How to live happily ever after when hunger pangs kept them from sleeping. How to give her child the many opportunities of London on extremely limited purse strings.

“Having you spend the night is my pleasure.” Miss Ross poured a dram of milk into her tea and smiled at Sarah. “Anthony might be a rapscallion and a shameless rogue, but he is also a dear friend. The least I can do is open my home to his sister.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed at her teacup, but she made no further comment.
 

Her brother Anthony was indeed a rapscallion and a shameless rogue. Miss Ross, on the other hand, was a young, eccentric patroness of the arts—and first cousin to the Duke of Lambley. Sarah could scarcely imagine how her brother and the elegant Miss Ross had ever crossed paths, much less become fast friends.

“Anthony?” Miss Ross’s great aunt asked as her trembling hands brought her teacup closer to her lips. “You don’t mean that charming Mr. Fairfax, do you, Kate?”

“Yes, dear heart. The very one.” Miss Ross smiled indulgently at her great aunt, despite having answered this same query three times since Sarah’s arrival on her doorstep.
 

If Sarah found it hard to imagine Anthony moving in the same circles as Miss Ross, ’twas even more difficult to imagine him having cause to make the acquaintance of Miss Ross’s Great Aunt Havens.

Then again, Anthony worked in mysterious ways. He knew lots of women. Had gambled with most of their husbands. Once, when he’d thought Sarah wasn’t listening, he’d alluded to very nearly winning a young lady as a prize in a game of chance.
 

Sarah couldn’t imagine Miss Ross in so ignominious a position, but one never knew with Anthony. Perhaps he’d won Great Aunt Havens during a midnight game of hazard.

As the hot tea eased her parched throat, Sarah allowed herself to relax a little.
 

What she’d wanted—what she’d
needed
—was time to think. Now that she was safely wed, she could finally spare a moment to do so. Her child would be born legitimate… and to his rightful father. Sarah had missed him so much.
 

She desperately wanted them to have a happy marriage. She’d already destroyed his trust by standing at the altar with another man. Even without that, she’d ruined his dreams for an idyllic reunion by carrying a child in her belly—she’d seen the look in his eyes when he saw her. Shock. Horror. Disillusionment. He hadn’t returned to a lover. He’d had disappointment and fatherhood thrust upon him.

Sarah had a scant fortnight to take stock of her new situation and plan for the future before the baby was born. But she had only tonight to collect her thoughts and come up with a plan. She and Edmund had already been apart for far too long. Her greatest fear was losing him again. Not to distance, this time, but to unhappiness. Their new life would not be the romantic romp it once was. She swallowed hard.

Now that they were back together, he might no longer want her.

“I would ask if it’s a man,” Miss Ross said with a smile, “but it’s always a man. The ring on your finger makes me suspect marital bliss has proved elusive?”

“My husband has proved elusive.” Despite her fears, a delicious chill slid down Sarah’s spine at the words
my husband
. “He was a soldier, and had gone missing after Waterloo. We all thought he was dead until he showed up less than a week ago, just in time to stop my marriage to someone else.”

Miss Ross’s eyes widened. “Who on earth were you going to marry?”

Sarah twisted her ring. “The Duke of Ravenwood.”

Miss Ross very nearly spit tea into her lap.

“Ravenwood?” Mrs. Havens repeated in her querulous voice. “You don’t mean Lawrence Pembroke, the duke’s son, do you?”

“He’s duke now, Aunt.” Miss Ross patted her lips with a handkerchief then burst out laughing. “
Ravenwood
. Jilted!”

Sarah tilted her head. “I take it you know him?”

“Know him? I would’ve given a monkey to watch it happen.”

“
Kate
,” Mrs. Havens chastised her niece. “How many times have I told you not to say—”

“Fine. I would’ve paid ‘five hundred pounds’ to see the look on his face.”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, regretting she’d ever confided her story. Ravenwood was one of the best men she had ever known. “You dislike the duke?”

“Dislike him?” Miss Ross chortled. “Good God, no. Ravenwood is a beautiful, solemn, lofty, mysterious, utterly
unflappable
automaton of ducal restraint. I’ve never seen him smile or even frown. He just nods gravely and deals dispassionately with whatever comes his way. An automaton, I tell you. His lack of passion is utterly disturbing.”

“She’s quite taken by him,” Mrs. Havens whispered conspiratorially. “In case it’s not obvious.”

Miss Ross snorted. “He fascinates me, is all. The mystery of it. I’ve never known someone not to have
feelings
.”

“He has feelings,” Sarah protested.

“Does he?” Miss Ross arched a brow. “Did he fall deeply in love with you, then? Is that why you were at the altar?”

“No, but—”

“Was he crushed when your former lover returned? Did his piercing emerald eyes glisten with manly tears as he begged you not to leave him, lest his heart be forever broken?”

“No, but—”

“Can you say, with any degree of honesty, that he particularly cared one way or the other which groom you took to be your husband that day?”

Sarah tightened her fists and glared at her hostess in mute defiance.

Miss Ross leaned back in satisfaction. “There you have it. A classic automaton. All brain and no emotion. You should see him in the House of Lords.”

Sarah’s shoulders twitched. “You’ve watched him in the House of Lords?”

Miss Ross grinned. “I’ve watched everyone in the House of Lords since I was old enough to sneak in.”

“Kate hasn’t always behaved outrageously,” Mrs. Havens assured Sarah, sotto voce. “The few months before she learned to crawl were quite idyllic indeed.”

“Bah, Aunt!” Miss Ross snapped a playful handkerchief toward her great aunt’s knee. “I’m sure I found ways to be outrageous even then.”

Sarah found herself smiling despite her best effort not to. Miss Ross hadn’t meant to be disrespectful to Ravenwood. She didn’t know him. She simply said precisely what she was thinking, the moment it occurred to her.
 

She shook her head. “I suppose you’re the opposite of an automaton?”

Miss Ross affected a haughty expression. “I should hope so. I’m deeply emotional about absolutely everything. I even have deeply emotional feelings about the roasted chestnuts in this bowl and the currant biscuits on that plate. I will challenge you to a duel if you dare consume more than your portion.”