Duel of Hearts (30 page)

“Yes, of course. Why
shouldn't
I have done?”

“And that North has left the country for an extended stay in Italy?”

“Yes, that too. Why not?”

“I think, my love,” his wife answered, her eyes twinkling, “that the news had much better come from Sarah than from you.”

“Don't see why,” Fitz muttered, “but I'll take your word. You're the
connoisseur
in these romantic matters. But I don't see why you didn't tell him that we're packing to return home.”

“Because it's entirely possible, my pet, that we won't return home just yet.” She pulled him to his feet and whirled him around the room in a merry waltz. “Our presence may yet be required here in town.”

“Our presence? Whatever for?”

“For a wedding, you gudgeon. For a wedding!” She gurgled happily and hugged her husband tightly. “Now all we have to do is to persuade Mama to watch over the babies for a few more days.”

Sarah had spent the few days since the night at the Three Forks Inn in trying to recapture the feeling of serenity—wistful though it had been—that had been her usual mood before Corianne had come to stay. But she couldn't do it. She was not the same person she'd been two months ago. Two months ago, she hadn't really known Edward. He'd been merely a man in her dreams. Now the recollection of his face, his touch, his voice, his manner, his very
nature
was with her always as a distinct and permanent reality, filling her, in his absence, with a distinct and permanent pain. It was a pain she had to learn to accept, like a physical deformity. And, like a physical deformity, it made her life greyer and more difficult than it had been before.

She attempted, however, to resume her old ways of life. After she and Mama had sent the letters cancelling the betrothal party, she had again gone into her habitual seclusion. Her visits with Clara and Fitz were the only social activities in which she engaged, and even those would soon be at an end, for they intended to leave the next day. She was sorry to have to see them go, but perhaps, when they, too, had left her, she would be able to forget the events of the past few weeks and achieve some sort of emotional equilibrium.

She was completely startled when Madame Marie bounded into her sitting room with the announcement that a gentleman was waiting below to see her. “But who is he, Madame? You know I'm not receiving.”

“I can't say.
Je ne parle pas
. My lips are sealed.
Fermé
. But you must go at once, Miss Sarah. It's important.”

Sarah found Madame's air of suppressed excitement not only puzzling but annoying. However, she hadn't sufficient energy to quarrel. “Well, if I must,” she sighed as she reluctantly started for the door.

“Wait!” Madame cried, running after her. “You're
never
goin' down wearin' that faded gown, are ye? And that cap—it's
hideaux!
”

“What's gotten into you, Madame?” Sarah asked. “I've no time now to change my clothes.”

Madame Marie wrung her hands nervously. “No … not the entire
toilette
, o' course, but the hair … and p'rhaps yer Nor'ich silk shawl—”

“Don't be so foolish. I shall go down exactly as I am.”

She marched out of the room, leaving Madame in a frenzy. “At least the cap!” Madame called after her. “At least take off the cap—!” But Miss Sarah paid no heed. “Oh, well,” Madame consoled herself, shrugging her shoulders in Gallic acceptance, “it won't matter none.” Her eyes lit up in hopeful anticipation of the results of the meeting down below. “From the look of 'im, he's missed her as much as she's missed him. I don't s'pose he'll mind her clothes. Or even that cap, if I'm a judge.”

At the foot of the stairs, Sarah faced Edward dumbfounded. “
Edward
! What on
earth
—?”

He gave her a small, tentative smile. “I have to talk to you, Sarah. Urgently. Will you come for a ride with me in my carriage?”

“Of course we can talk, Edward, but come into the drawing room,” she suggested. “Surely it will be more comfortable to converse in there.”

“I'd rather talk as we ride,” he insisted.

“But, Edward, I'm not properly dressed—”

“You look quite proper to me.”

“And it's bitterly cold. It may even snow before long.”

“Please, Sarah,” he pleaded. “It will be more … private in the carriage.”

“But we can be quite private here,” she said reasonably, looking up at him wonderingly. “No one is here to disturb us.”

Edward twisted his beaver hat in his hand irritably. Why was everything he attempted with this girl so deucedly difficult? “But your mother … she might—” he suggested in desperation.

“Mama has gone to one of her card parties and won't be back for
hours
.”

He slammed his hand against the bannister in frustration. “Dash it, Sarah, how am I to
abduct
you if you won't
cooperate?
” he burst out in disgust.

“
Abduct
me? Edward, have you lost your
mind?
”

“No! Yes! I don't know … perhaps I have. Here, come into the drawing room. I feel like a damned fool standing about in the hallway like this.”

He tossed his hat on a chair, took her hand, pulled the bewildered girl behind him into the drawing room and shut the door. “I
will
abduct you, Sarah, whether you like it or no,” he said at once. “It's for your own good. So even if you force me to
carry
you, I'm quite prepared to do so. I only ask that you refrain from screaming—that might prove to be embarrassing.”

The intensity and seriousness of his expression were at such odds with the ridiculousness of his words that Sarah had to laugh. “But, Edward, why should you
wish
to abduct me?”

He took both her hands and looked down at her intently. “Don't laugh, Sarah. I'm not joking. I can't let you marry that worm. He'd only make you miserably unhappy. I know you think you love him, but such feelings sometimes fade. I'll
make
them fade. I'll make you so happy you won't think of him again.”

Sarah could scarcely make sense of what he was saying. Her pulse was racing madly, and she found it impossible to think calmly. She put a hand to her forehead. “Let's sit down here on the sofa, Edward, and see if we can make some sense of this.” They sat down together, Edward looking at her expectantly. “Your offer is … very kind,” she said. “It takes my breath away. But don't you know that I'm not—”

“Please don't say anything. Just
think
about what I'm suggesting. Please. Love
him
if you must, but
marry me!
”

Sarah's heart jumped up into her throat as the meaning of his words sank in. “Edward, I…! Haven't you guessed by this time that I've
never
loved North? Not for one moment.”

He couldn't quite believe his ears. “What? But you
said
—!”

“I lied. You would have fought that cursed duel if I hadn't.”

“Sarah! Does that mean … you
aren't
going to wed him, then?”

“That's just what I told Lord North at the inn. When he ran off with Corianne, he forfeited any right to hold me to my promise. So you see, you needn't have concerned yourself about me.” She smiled at him tenderly. “And there's no need to
abduct
me, either.”

“No, I suppose not,” he said, stunned. He dropped her hands, got up and took a restless turn about the room. He should have felt relieved—even happy—but he was aware only of a sharp stab of disappointment. “That's too bad,” he muttered, staring out of the window. “All my plans, wasted.” He shook his head in wry self-disdain. “I had looked forward quite eagerly to abducting you, you know.”

She studied the back of his bent head for a long moment. “Must I be in love with North in order to be abducted?” she asked, timidly bold.

He wheeled about to face her, his breath caught in his chest. “
What?
Do you mean you
would
…?” He crossed swiftly to the sofa, sat down and searched her face. The warmth in her eyes should have been enough, but he was afraid to believe what he saw. Taking her roughly by the shoulders, he pulled her close. “Sarah—?”

She slipped her arms about his waist and hid her face in his shoulder. “You idiot,” she whispered into his coat, “I've loved you for
two whole years!
”

“Good God!” He lifted her face and peered at her in utter astonishment. “I can hardly make myself
believe
—”

“I can hardly believe this either,” she said, smiling up at him tremulously. “You told me that … that you loved Corianne.”

“It seems we've
both
said a great many foolish things.” He pulled her to him, rested her head on his shoulder and rubbed his cheek against hers. “I never loved Corianne,” he said softly. “I didn't know what love was … until you.”

Sarah made a little, joyful gurgle in her throat and buried her face in his neck. All that was available for him to kiss was an ear, a bit of forehead, and a rather scratchy lace concoction covering her hair. “What is this thing on your head?” he asked dreamily.

That blasted cap
! Sarah thought, lifting her head and wincing.
The most wonderful moment of my life, and I must look a fright
!

But Edward was gazing at her in the most lover-like, besotted fashion. If she looked a fright, he didn't seem to notice. “Do you remember the night you made me kiss you?” he was asking with his spectacular, devastating smile. “You put my arms around your waist, like this … threw your arms about my neck, like this … and said—”

She giggled. “I said, ‘Kiss me, Edward, as if you really mean it.'”

He pulled her close and very expertly obliged. While he was preoccupied with the embrace, she gingerly lifted one of her arms from his neck, reached up to her head and pulled off the little lace cap. Then, behind his back—and without in the least disturbing this very satisfactory demonstration of his affection—she surreptitiously swung the cap by its ribbon from her right hand to her left and dropped it down behind the sofa.

About the Author

Elizabeth Mansfield is a pseudonym of Paula Schwartz, which she used for more than two dozen Regency romances. Schwartz also wrote an American immigrant family saga,
A Morning Moon
, as Paula Reibel, and two American history romances—
To Spite the Devil
, as Paula Jonas, and
Rachel's Passage
, as Paula Reid.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1980 by Paula Schwartz

Cover design by Andy Ross

ISBN: 978-1-4976-9767-6

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

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EBOOKS BY ELIZABETH MANSFIELD

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA