Stand and Deliver Your Love (17 page)

“Stairs,” the man to the right of her said, mumbling. He nudged her forward. She stepped out, reaching to feel for the step with her foot. They made their way down a long flight of stairs. When they reached the bottom, she stumbled. The men steadied her without a word, pushing her along ahead of them. They stopped again and another door opened. She was pushed inside and one of the guards removed the sack from over her head. Both men left without a word, locking the door behind them, leaving her alone.

Looking around Sarah was pleasantly surprised. Instead of being placed in another cell she found herself in
a room like any well-bred lady’s private parlor. Two chairs covered in deep blue velvet stood close to a small hearth where a fire burned. There was an ornate table to her right on which sat a crystal decanter, a couple of still life paintings on the wall, otherwise the room was devoid of any personal influences.  Baffled, she crossed the carpeted room and held her cold, shaking hands out to the welcome heat from the fire. If she was being tried in a court, why was she in someone’s parlor? Had her fate already been decided? Had Byron secured her freedom or was he playing some sort of cruel trick on her?

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting and wondering, a key scraped in the lock and the door opened. Two masked men in long black robes beckoned to her to go with them. With a growing sense of dread she walked ahead of them down a candl
elit passageway. At the end of the passage the guards motioned for her to stop and wait while one of them rapped on the only door. There was a scuffling from the other side and the door swung open. Sarah was pushed into a dimly lit room. There were dozens of men seated in rows of chairs, facing a raised platform at the far end of the large room. Every man wore a black mask covering his face from his hairline to his upper lip, and a black robe. The loud murmurs in the room died down to almost complete silence and candles flickered as she was shoved along a red carpeted aisle toward the platform. Sarah was guided up the steps. Once she reached the top another uniformed man led her to a small three-sided box containing a single chair facing away from the crowd.

 
He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

 
She sat and looked around. All eyes seemed to be focused on her. Movement from the other end of the platform caught her attention. A man in a black robe, with a wide red sash draped across his chest and a matching black mask, stepped through a door almost hidden by a large tapestry. He crossed the platform and went to stand behind a marble podium facing her. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She looked over her shoulder as three robed men stood up from out of the crowd and climbed up onto the platform. One wearing a white sash across his chest stood beside her box facing the podium. The room became so quiet Sarah was sure her heart could be heard hammering in her chest. She looked forward again as the man behind the pulpit raised his hand and began to speak.

“We, the court of your peers have been summoned today to hear the charges being professed by Lady Sarah against Lord Byron. Will the hereby offended party come forward to be sworn in with the accused.”

Sarah gasped.
Who is this man? How does he know my name? Who is this offended party he refers to?
A tall man rose from the crowd and climbed the platform to stand behind a high wooden table. Despite the dimness of the candle light Sarah recognized Byron.

A guard approached her and held out a Bible. A quick glance showed Byron placed his hand on a similar Bible and was swearing to tell the truth. She followed his direction and repeated the solemn vow.

The man at the podium spoke again. “Will the counsel please relay the events of the evening of April twenty first, eighteen hundred and nineteen.”

One of the men standing in front of the platform walked up the steps. He took up a position behind the table with the marquis. After smoothing his gold sash he cleared his throat and began to speak.
“I the counsel for the accused party do hereby claim Lady Sarah held up Lady Elizabeth’s carriage. Lady Elizabeth was being escorted home from a party by Lord Byron. Lord Byron claims the holdup was a prank played by Lady Sarah in retaliation for causing her public embarrassment. It seems he was flaunting his mistress, Lady Elizabeth, in a way she deemed insensitive to her. Lord Byron admits to have been actively courting her at the time.”

Confused Sarah looked around
. What was the man talking about? Who was Byron

courting? Surely they were not talking about her?

“What say you to Lady Sarah’s charges, Lord Byron?” the judge asked.

Byron’s voice rang out loud and clear in the hushed room. “I plead guilty as charged, your honor.”

Sarah stared at him. What was he doing? Why was he pleading guilty when she was the one on trial?

“Your plea has been noted,” the judge said. He turned to her, “And what say the counsel for Lady Sarah?”

The man standing next to Sarah’s box spoke up. “I, the appointed counsel for Lady Sarah, do hereby agree the holdup was a prank played by her to get even for a real or imagined slight by Lord Byron.”

The judge nodded. “And what slight does the lady say she was getting even for?”

“The lady claims she received a kiss from the lord as a promise of a future

engagement.”

The judge fixed her with a stern stare. “Lady Sarah, how do you plead?”

“I do not understand,” Sarah tried to explain. “It was more than a kiss, but no promise was made.” Voices raised in surprise and disapproval. Sarah looked around the room before she continued, “I think there has been some mistake. I robbed the
coach not for my own gain but—“

The room erupted in noise causing her so-called counsel to yell to be heard.
“Lady Sarah pleads guilty, your honor.”

The judge banged his gavel to get the crowd in the room to quiet down then turned to Lord Byron. “What say you to the lady’s charge you forced upon her more than just the kiss you professed and you did so without promise or respect for her delicate reputation?”

Sarah looked at Byron.

He glared at her and addressed the judge. “I make no contest to the charge and plead guilty, your honor.”

The judge returned his gaze to Sarah. “Did this forced union result in a babe being conceived?”

Sarah blushed at the mention of something so intimate in public, but had no choice but to answer. “No, I mean, I do not think so,” When she looked back at Byron he was staring at her as if he wanted to choke the very life out of her.

“Did Lord Byron, see and touch more of your body than is acceptable to any other than a married union?” the judge asked.

Sarah l
ooked down at her hands as her face flamed with heat. “Yes but, it was my fault, I did not stop him—”

The crowd erupted in loud protest and it took many minutes to quiet them again.

The judge banged his gavel. “I will take a brief recess to determine the fate of both parties.” With that he turned and exited through the same door he had arrived, leaving Sarah shocked and bewildered. Sarah’s counsel pressed a glass of wine into her hands and wandered a short distance away to talk to a masked spectator. She took a sip. When she looked up, she found Byron standing in front of her.

His eyes glittered with anger, the little vein on the side of his head throbbing. “I told you to be quiet and let me handle this,” he hissed.

Sarah swallowed. “I do not understand. What kind of trial is this?”

 
“This is the kind of trial that will save your life, but probably irrevocably ruin both of our reputations,” he growled.

The room became silent
as the judge reentered. Byron gave her one last angry look and stomped to the table where his counsel stood. The judge cleared his throat, motioning for Byron to stand before him. “I, the judge appointed for the counsel of peers has weighed all the evidence presented before me this twenty-third day of April, in the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and nineteen. I hereby find the charges against Lady Sarah be dropped on the grounds she had probable cause to believe her reputation would be tarnished by a rake such as Lord Byron. Furthermore, I hereby order her to observe the punishment of Lord Byron, and be released into his care.”

The room buzzed with voices at the announcement causing the judge to again bang his gavel to regain the spectators attention.

“I find Lord Byron, in contempt of the rules of noble propriety and hereby sentence him to receive ten lashes for his crime. I also demand restitution on behalf of Lady Sarah’s reputation whereby Lord Byron, will put it off in the Morning Post he shall tie the nuptial knot by special license before the week is out.”

The room erupted with cheers, jeers and rowdy comments. Sarah swung her gaze to Byron. His lips were pressed into a thin, angry line.
Has he just been sentenced to marry me?
The noise in the room seemed to engulf her, spinning madly out of control.
Perhaps I am still in my jail cell, dreaming….

Chapter
Seventeen

Upon opening her eyes Sarah discovered she
was back in the room with the fireplace, reclining in one of the blue chairs. When she tried to get up a pair of gentle hands pressed her back.

“Sit for a minute.”

Sarah focused on the face of a serving woman. The woman favored her with a kind smile and handed her a small glass of brandy. “Drink this; it will give you strength for what you must see.”

Sarah tried to fathom what the woman was say
ing but her foggy mind refused to grasp the statement. “What do you mean?”

Before the woman could answer, there was a knock on the door and two masked men entered. “The judge is ready to have the lord’s punishment meted out. Come with us.”

Sarah stood and forced herself to follow the first man out of the room and down the hallway. “Where are you taking me?”

“You are not to ask any questions, nor shall you receive any answers.”

Sarah followed in silence as they made their way to a narrow staircase. They descended a flight of stairs into a dank cellar room. She was guided to one of four chairs placed in the shadows and told to sit. Once seated, two men whom Sarah recognized as the counsel from the trial entered with the judge. They sat in chairs on either side of her. A small door in the shadows opened and Byron was escorted shirtless into the room. He gave her a grim look, turned his back to her and leaned against the rough stone wall. Two guards raised his arms and tied them to a strap hanging from the ceiling above his head. Sarah gasped when one of the guards picked up a thick black riding crop.

They mean
to whip the marquis right in front of me!
She leaped from her chair. “No.” Her scream echoed off the walls and everyone turned to look at her. “Stop!” Pulling away from the hands trying to stop her she ran to Byron’s side.

Byron refused to meet her gaze
. “Go and sit down, Sarah.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “No! I cannot allow them to do this.”

“It is my punishment for any wrong I did to your reputation,” Byron replied stonily, “do not make it more than it is.”

A guard took hold of her, pulling her from him. She fought to no avail and was forced
into her chair. “No,” she moaned, watching in horror as the masked man flexed the whip and brought it down across Byron’s back with a loud crack. A blood-curdling scream fled her lips and as a result the hands on her arms tightened.

Byron clenched his teeth, groaning as a thin red welt raised across his back where the crop struck him. Sarah began to sob as the crop was raised again and brought down on his back nine more times. By the time the punishment was done Sarah was inconsolable and incoherent from shock and grief. She hardly noticed when a glass of brandy was forced to her lips. She drank its contents, choking on the bitter dregs at the bottom. When she looked at
the wall where Byron had been tied, the straps were empty and he was gone. Her head began to spin, her eyelids suddenly too heavy to keep open.
Have I dreamed it all? Am I back in my bed at the orphanage?
She was aware of being lifted up and carried, but was too tired to open her eyes to see where she was being taken.

* * * *

With a sigh Sarah rolled over and snuggled deeper into the soft satin sheets and feather mattress. She was so warm and cozy, she wanted stay here all day, but Ann would be needing her help in the kitchen before the children awoke. Five more minutes wouldn't hurt she assured herself.

The door opening and closing
roused her from her sedated state. When she opened her eyes a young girl in a mob cap was placing a silver tray on the bedside table. As hard as she tried, Sarah couldn't place the girl. Who was she and what was she doing in her room? Her mind was dull and sluggish. Realization dawned on her. She was not home at the orphanage; she was in a strange room. Sitting up, she looked around. The bed she was in was made up with pink satin sheets and blankets. The curtains all around it were drawn back to allow the heat from the nearby fireplace to warm it. The bed was placed at one end of a large room which also contained a dressing table and stool, two pink upholstered chairs, a large wardrobe and a cozy looking pink pillow filled window seat.

“Where am I?”

The girl smiled at her. “You are at your fiancé’s home.” She handed Sarah a

steaming hot cup of tea from the silver tray.

Sarah shook her head trying to chase away the cobwebs in her mind. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

“This is his lordship, Lord Cobbett’s, home.”

“How did I get here?”

“You arrived late last night with a note from his lordship saying he regretted he could not join you here, but he had some pressing business matters to attend to. He ordered us to see you rest so you are well enough for your wedding, the day after tomorrow.”

The events of the previous night came flooding back. She had been ordered by the Court of Peers to marry Byron, the man she loved, who must surely hate her above all reason now. It was her fault he had been punished. In order to save her life he must have invented the story about her pretending to rob him to get back at him. Sarah frowned down at the unfamiliar white cotton nightdress she wore. When she looked up the maid smiled.

“His lordship, wrote there was an accident with your luggage carriage.”

Sarah was puzzled.
What luggage carriage?
“Whose nightdress do I wear?”

The maid blushed. “It’s mine. I am sure it is not as fancy as your own, but it is all there was on hand at such short notice.”

  Sarah gave her a grateful smile. “It is fine, thank you for giving up your own things for me.”

“His lordship ordered a dressmaker to be summoned as soon as you are awake to replace your wardrobe.” With a sympathetic smile the maid placed the silver tray across Sarah’s lap and continued to chatter. “I feel terrible for you. It must be awful to lose all your belongings, not to mention your wedding trousseau right before you are to marry.”

Sarah stared down at the contents of the tray, not wanting to talk about her upcoming marriage. Her stomach gurgled at the scent of the crisp buttered toast, fluffy scrambled eggs and fresh sliced fruit drifted up. She lifted a piece of toast to her lips and

took a bite.

“We were all so happy to hear his lordship finally decided to bury old ghosts and

choose someone to marry.”

Sarah choked on her mouthful of toast. If only the girl knew her employer had been ordered to marry a highwaywoman, she thought as she washed the lump stuck in her throat down with a large gulp of tea. Her curiosity got the best of her. “Old ghosts?”

“Oh my. I suppose I have said too much. Cook always says, ‘Mavis, your mouth will get you fired one day, mark my words.
’” The servant blushed and looked down. “I don't mean to gossip, my mama always says gossip is not becoming in a servant. She says I will never make a lady’s maid if I can't control my tongue. I would like to be a lady’s maid. It is so much better than being just a downstairs maid or working in the kitchen.”

Sarah moaned, resisting the urge to dive back under the covers to escape the young girl’s seemingly tireless prattle. Instead she gave the girl a patient smile and tried another approach to g
et the information she sought. “I have heard my fiancé is considered quite the rake.”

The maid corrected her
, “Oh my no, he is most certainly not. The poor man pined

away for two whole years over his beloved Lady Clarissa. He was devastated when she died. They were very much in love you see
, and engaged to be married.”

Sarah took another bite of her toast and chewed thoughtfully. “What was she like?” Mavis pulled the dressing table stool up to the side of the bed and sat down. “Lovely she was, a great beauty, some say the only diamond of the first water seen in London in years. She had delicate skin so pale it was almost transparent, the bluest eyes I have ever seen and hair as black as coal. The men would line up for hours just to have a single dance with her, but it was our fine lord who won her sweet hea
rt.” The servant paused for a moment with a faraway look in her eye. “It was so very tragic her loss, we all mourned her, his lordship especially.” Mavis looked at her sadly with tears in her eyes. “She pleaded with his lordship to take her up in that horrid balloon. He tried to discourage her but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. While they were high in the air the balloon caught fire and crashed to the ground. His lordship broke his leg, poor Lady Clarissa broke her back. Some say she killed herself when she learned she would never walk again, others say she willed herself to die. Either way it broke his heart. He closed up the house and moved to his country estate. We all thought we wouldn’t ever see him

again. Then a few weeks ago he sent word he was returning to London on business and

wanted the town house reopened. Of course we are all so glad he has found happiness again with you.”

Before Sarah could correct her, Mavis jumped to her feet and picked up the empty tray. “Oh dear, listen to me chatting away when there is work to do. Cook wil
l be fit to be tied if I don’t scurry back to the kitchen.” She hurried to the door balancing the tray rather precariously. “I will have the dressmaker sent up as soon as she arrives,” she said, over her shoulder then left the room.

Sarah pondered the story for a moment. Byron could not possibly want to marry her when his heart so obviously belonged to another. It sounded as if none could
possibly hold a candle to the exquisite Clarissa. The love she felt for Byron would never be returned. Had she been spared a quick death by hanging, only to die with a broken heart? No, she told herself firmly. She could live without his love, after all most of the ton were trapped in loveless matches. It was rare for any woman other than the poorest ones to marry for love as her parents so luckily had. Anyway, she had her children to love. Her orphans needed her and she could fill many hours seeing to their welfare while Byron was occupied by business and his mistress, Lady Livington. Her heart pinched at the thought of Byron kissing Lady Livington, and bringing the wanton woman’s body to life as he had hers that forbidden night in the cottage. A tap on the door dismissed any further thoughts. She looked up as Mavis poked her head around the door jam.

“Madame La Rue, the dressmaker is here.”

Sarah scrambled out of bed and slipped on the soft pink wrapper laid out for her at the end of it. Noticing a pair of matching slippers on the floor she shoved her feet into them and tried to smooth out her hair. She smiled self-consciously as a tall authoritative looking woman was ushered in. The woman was impeccably dressed in a dark blue day dress devoid of any ruffles or garnishes. Behind her trotted three young girls and a butler, their arms loaded with baskets of fabric, patterns, laces and trappings.

The modiste gave Sarah an appraising look as she removed her bonnet and dropped it unceremon
iously onto the dressing table. “Ah, ma chere, I am here to create for you a most haute couture ton wardrobe
n’est-ce pas
?” Without waiting for an answer she crossed the room and motioned for Sarah to take off her robe. Snapping her fingers, she held out her hand. One of the girls set down her armload of supplies and hurried to hand the modiste a measuring tape. Madame La Rue did not even look at the girl, but took the tape as if she expected it and began to measure Sarah’s waist.

“I see we will have to make you an entirely new wardrobe. I do however, have a few ready
-made pieces that might flatter you. They can be altered to fit until your new clothes are ready.”

Once her measurements were taken, the girls busied themselves draping her with different types and shades of fabrics. Sarah was ashamed to think of all the money the marquis would spend just to have a suitable wardrobe made for her. The material for just a few of the elaborate evening and ball gowns alone would feed the children in her orphanage for months she was sure. When the colors most suiting her were picked out she was told to re
-robe. Tea was called for and she was soon seated amongst books and catalogs to pick out the styles she liked.

“Really, I should think only a few of these dresses will be enough,” Sarah protested when the modiste listed a double digit number of dresses to be commissioned.

“No, no cherie. His lordship did specifically request a full wardrobe be made and to spare no expense.”

“Please, I cannot possibly use so many dresses.”

Madame Le Rue fluttered her hands. “Would you have me displease his lordship by refusing his orders?”

“No,
” Sarah relented, realizing the woman was truly distressed by her refusal. “Surely we could cut down on some of the ruffles and lace adorning the garments at least.”

“
S’il vous plait
, my lady,” Madame La Rue agreed. She gave Sarah an approving smile. “Now, do you ride?”

“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.”

“Well then, you shall need a riding habit. What color is your mount?”

“My mare is dark gray. But I do not have her here with me.”