Duel of Hearts (22 page)

Sarah was overwhelmed by this flood of words. Her throat burned with tears she couldn't shed. She turned back to the window, unable either to look at him or to speak. After a while, hoping she could control her voice, she attempted to answer him. “What has
l-love
to do with
character?
” she asked quietly. “Does one fall in love only with one's
likeness?
”

“Perhaps not,” he answered, “but one
doesn't
fall in love with someone one can't respect.”

“Are you so sure of that?” she asked, turning on him. “What about
your
love for Corianne?”

He took a step backward, struck speechless. He'd always admitted to himself that his feeling for Corianne was illogical at best. The differences in their ages and tastes were great enough to make his love seem as ludicrous as Sarah's for North. He had no answer for her.

They stared at each other for a long time, pale and shaken. At last, Edward broke the silence. “You
do
love him, then,” he said dully.

She turned back to the window, her silence an assent.

“Then I suppose there's nothing more to be said. I … I wish you happy, ma'am.”

“And I you,” she responded in a choked voice. Her resolute bravado quite worn down, she lacked the courage to turn and look at him.

Chapter Sixteen

C
ORIANNE REMAINED IN
bed for two days. Except for a visit from Edward and sympathetic attention from her aunt and cousin, she saw no one. Her depressed condition was explained to callers as excessive fatigue, and since such conditions were commonplace among the young ladies of the social set, her brief hiatus from her usual activities caused few raised eyebrows.

In the many hours she spent alone, Corianne had plenty of time to think about what had happened to her, and what was to become of her. Edward had suggested wistfully during his visit to her bedside that they return to Lincolnshire without further ado, but Cory insisted that she wished to remain until the two months which they'd originally planned on should have elapsed. She had half the allotted time left. What should she do to make the most of the month?

Her plan to attach Lord North had obviously failed. Tony Ingalls had not shown himself at Stanborough House since the night she'd knocked him down. Young Denison had inexplicably stopped calling. (She suspected that his mother had heard she was “fast,” and had put her foot down.) The only suitor she could count on—and this was the very symbol of how far she had fallen!—was Wilfred Shirley. What made matters worse, she could neither understand nor explain why she'd failed so dismally. As far as she could see in her mirror, she was still the most beautiful girl in the Marriage Mart. Through all her tribulations, she had not developed a single spot to mar her complexion, she had not become gaunt or, worse, gained a pound, she had not lost the rich gold color of her hair nor the deep blue of her eyes. What had gone wrong?

More puzzling was the fact that the two most important men in her life—North and Edward—had turned to Sarah. What on earth did they see in
her?
When Sarah came in to sit with her at her bedside, Cory studied her with care. Sarah was really quite advanced in age (for Cory was well aware that a woman who was still unmarried at twenty-seven was beyond hope), although her years had not yet left telltale marks like wrinkles around the mouth and grey strands in the hair. Sarah's face was well-modelled, and her skin was smooth. And her carriage had a graceful dignity—Cory granted her that. But she was always so pale—and more so now than ever—and her eyes underlined with dark shadows. Her smile was wan, her hair (always tied back so severely) showed no special highlights, and her dress was drab. How could this colorless creature have kept a man like Lord North dangling after her for years? And how could she have won Edward's attention away from Cory herself, after Cory had had him in the palm of her hand since she was a little tot?

Sarah sat in a rocker near the bed, reading to Cory from
The Mirror of Fashion
magazine as Cory scrutinized her. She had to admit that Sarah's voice was low and mellifluous. Cory supposed that a man might admire the sound of it, but surely that couldn't be
all
! What was her secret?

Two days of scrutiny and cogitation, however, did not reveal the answer to Corianne, and she gave up trying to understand. She decided that it was something she herself would learn with age. In the meantime, she would make use of something
she
possessed that Sarah lacked—youth. And she did
not
intend to waste any more of it in bed. She had a month of her London adventure left. All was not lost.

Even without encouragement, Corianne's innate, youthful instincts would have shaken off depression and bounced back into normal optimism, but this natural recovery of her self-confidence was aided by two observations the girl made during her time in bed. The first was that Edward seemed to have recovered from his interest in Sarah. He came to the house only to see Cory, and as soon as he left her bedside, he left the house. (Of course, with the announcement of Sarah's betrothal, it was clear that he could no longer pursue Sarah as a suitor, but it seemed to Cory that he could, if he wished, still spend a little time in her company. The fact that he didn't do so was proof to Cory that he'd lost interest in the older woman.)

The second observation was that Lord North spent only a minimal amount of time with his betrothed. For example, he'd been invited to dinner the night before, but he'd left the house as soon as the meal was over. Cory had not gone down to the table, but she'd watched from her window and seen him leave. She could see no sign that Sarah and North had made a love-match. Perhaps, she speculated with rapidly rising spirits, the marriage arranged between them was to be only
de covenance
. A marriage of convenience was not uncommon. And it would explain much that was puzzling to Cory.

Was there, then, still a chance for her to accomplish what she'd originally set out to do? If she could still win North, she would not mind if her swains back in Lincolnshire deserted her. They were, after all, just a pack of silly boys—very much like Wilfred Shirley. With newly recovered self-confidence, she reasoned that all she needed was another chance to be in the company of Lord North alone. She didn't know how that could be accomplished, but she decided the best course to take would be to return to the social swing and watch carefully for her opportunities.

Lady Stanborough, too, was deeply involved in making plans. Her only daughter was betrothed at last, and she intended to celebrate the occasion by holding a ball which would set the
ton
on its ear. The problem was that Sarah would not agree. The most she would concede to her mother's desire for celebration was a small party for their closest friends. The subject was argued for hours. Finally, a compromise was agreed upon: a buffet dinner party for no more than fifty. But Lady Stanborough did not capitulate until Sarah reluctantly agreed to the addition of music and dancing.

When they actually drew up the guest list, Lady Stanborough found fifty to be a woefully inadequate number, and with instant tears managed to convince Sarah to expand the list to sixty-six. By the time she'd written the invitations, however, Lady Stanborough sent out an additional dozen cards. And without breathing a word to her stubbornly unsociable offspring, she sent an invitation to the Prince. She had no real expectation that he would attend, but since his highness was acquainted with the prospective bridegroom, she might dare to hope.

Leaving herself only a few weeks in which to prepare, her ladyship was soon involved in a flurry of activity. An expanded kitchen staff was already in the midst of preparations, seamstresses' fingers were flying over newly cut silks and gauzes, housemaids were polishing and dusting every corner of the house, musicians were in rehearsal, extra plate and cutlery were being delivered periodically, and an air of excitement infected every inhabitant of the household. Except the prospective bride.

Sarah tried admirably to throw herself into the spirit of the festivities. She listened to her mother's numerous plans with attention, tried to help solve the many problems which such preparations generate with calm good sense, permitted herself to be fitted into her new gown as frequently as an over-fastidious modiste required, and submitted to the effusive congratulations of her mother's friends with good grace. But anyone with an observant eye might have seen the strain behind her smile, the slight tremble of her fingers when her hands were at rest, the appearance of gaunt shadows in her cheeks, and a haunted look in her eyes when she believed no one was looking at her.

Fitz was one of the observers who noticed these changes. And he had strong suspicions of the cause. After a morning call at Stanborough House, he returned to his rooms in a troubled state of mind. Finding Edward in the drawing room, occupied with nothing more urgent than his perusal of the
Times
, he decided to voice his concern. “I say, Ned,” he ventured, “have you had a good look at Sarah in recent days? I don't think she's looking at all well.”

Edward glanced up at him with raised brows. “Isn't she?”

“I think she's lost weight. Looks peaked to me.”

“Do you think she's ill?”

Fitz shrugged. “I've asked her. She says she's fine. I think it's the upcoming wedding. Giving her the dismals, if you ask me.”

Edward hesitated, grunted and turned back to his paper.

Fitz dropped into a chair and glared at his friend lugubriously. “Don't see why you're pokering up, old man. I thought you were a
friend
of the lady. Don't you feel any concern?”

“I don't see that it's any affair of mine,” Edward muttered, not looking up.

“Then you should
make
it your affair,” Fitz said bluntly. “She got herself
into
this coil to save you!”

Edward lowered the newspaper with an exasperated sigh. “Confound it, Fitz, whatever gave you
that
idea?” he demanded.

“You did yourself. Isn't that what you concluded when you received North's letter cancelling the duel?”

“Yes, but I was quite wrong.”

“Wrong? You
were?
How do you know?”

“The lady told me so herself.”

Fitz sat back and gaped at Edward. “Are you telling me that Sarah
wishes
for this match?”

“That's what she led me to believe,” Edward said with finality, hoping to silence Fitz on a subject which he found utterly depressing. He raised his paper and pretended to read, but in reality he couldn't concentrate on it.

Fitz refused to believe that Sarah could care for a man of North's stripe. “Well, I suppose she
had
to tell you that,” he mused. “What else could she say under the circumstances? If she told you otherwise, you'd have insisted on fighting the fellow.”

“Do you think I didn't think of that?” Edward asked, throwing aside his newspaper in disgust. “I asked her …
begged
her to reconsider. I told her the fellow was beneath her. I assured her repeatedly that there was nothing to fear from the duel. She had an answer that silenced all my objections.”

“Oh? And what was that?”

“That she loved him.”

Fitz looked at his friend searchingly. “She
said
that? In so many
words?
”

“You needn't look so aghast. I know it's difficult to understand,” Edward said glumly, “but women are
attracted
to these … bounders.”

Fitz fingered his moustache dubiously. “My Clara would never—”

“Your Clara is undoubtedly a nonpareil among women,” Edward said with an indulgent smile at his friend.

“Yes, she is. But Sarah's not unlike her, you know. Best of friends, the two of 'em.” He refrained from adding that he'd noticed signs on several occasions that it was
Edward
, not North, who attracted Sarah. “Strange creatures, females,” he sighed. “Even the best of 'em.”

Edward's smile became wry, and he reached for his newspaper again. “Not much stranger than we are. I think it's
love
that's strange. No logic in it at all.”

Fitz slouched down in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Staring at the tip of his boots, he thought morosely of the truth of Edward's words. Love was indeed strange—especially if Sarah prefered the dastardly North to his friend Ned. If Sarah were truly in love with Frozen North, it didn't seem to agree with her at all. He wondered what his Clara would make of all this. Perhaps he ought to write her to come down. If she could be persuaded to leave her babies with the nurses for a few days,
she
might be the very person to set things straight.

Lady Clara Fitzsimmons had already received a card from Lady Stanborough for Sarah's betrothal ball and was considering if she could contrive to attend when the letter from her husband arrived. Although his masculine density had caused him to omit a thousand details she would have liked to learn, and although his equivocations about the value of his observations left her confused, Clara gleaned enough from the letter to realize that her friend was in deep trouble. She sent a message to her mother, who lived nearby in Aylsham, to come at once. And she began to throw various garments into a trunk.

“Have you gone mad?” her mother asked as soon as she arrived. “You can't go down to London now! The twins aren't yet weened! You've put on at least half-a-stone of excess weight, too. I'd vow you haven't a gown in that trunk that fits you properly. And, besides—”

“Enough!” Lady Fitz laughed, holding up her hands. “What sort of unnatural mother are you? And unnatural grandmother, too, for that matter. Don't you
want
to take charge of your grandchildren for a week or two?”