For Love of the Earl Page 3

  She straightened so abruptly the orange blossoms slid down the side of her head. She shoved them back into place and clenched her toes in her slippers in order to force herself to stay rooted in reality.

  "Yes, I'm quite all right, my lord. I hope that you are all right as well. That is, I mean, I hope this arrangement doesn't displease you."

  She had spoken to enough earls in the past to not start tripping up now, but then again none of those earls had been hers. Hers. Yes, it was only because the War Office had obligingly dropped him in her lap, but the fact was this beautiful specimen was soon to be hers.

  The earl seemed to think on his answer longer than Sarah would have thought necessary. And it was that brief moment of hesitation that had her euphoric bubble bursting. No matter the circumstances, she was certain the earl still thought of her as only an illegitimate offspring with no title or heritage.

  "Yes, the arrangement is more than agreeable," the earl finally said.

  The earl was smartly dressed in solid black, which might have been odd considering the fashions of the day, but she was not one to judge how noblemen dressed. His dark hair fell over his brow in what would probably have been called a dashing manner. His skin was slightly tan, as if a hat never protected his face. There were faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His nose was slightly crooked as if it had been broken once. And his expression was sheepish.

  Sheepish?

  "My lord,-"

  "Ooo, you two have met! Brilliant!"

  Sarah braced herself as a woman in a magnificent red dress swooped in from the nave. It was the Duchess of Lofton, Jane Black, and the earl's stepmother if Sarah remembered correctly. The duchess was by all standards beautiful, especially considering she was on the other side of fifty. Fine lines were just starting to work their way into her features, features that were neither delicate nor strong but commandeered attention none the less.

  Sarah nodded her head, rattling her orange blossoms. "Yes, your grace, we have met."

  The earl reached out and threw an arm around the duchess, laughing rather obnoxiously.

  "Oh yes, we have met, Jane. Me and Sarah, here. Me, being Alec, and her, being Sarah. You know?" the earl said.

  He laughed that obnoxious laugh again, and Sarah wanted to itch her ears. Good Lord, she hoped he didn't laugh like that all the time. She wasn't sure if she could stand it.

  The duchess looked up at the earl. "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm just talking about me, the good ol' Earl of Stryden."

  The duchess nodded.

  "Would you excuse us, please?" she said to Sarah, and Sarah automatically nodded, unsure as to what was going on.

  The two walked away from her toward the hallway that led off to the stairs up to the choir loft. Their heads were together, whispers passing between them. Then the duchess let out a bright Oh, dear! and swung back around toward Sarah.

  And then the duchess laughed that same, loud obnoxious laugh.

  What was going on here?

  "Of course, of course," the duchess said, striding back toward Sarah with her arm through the Earl of Stryden's, "Of course, you were talking about him being the earl and all that. Now, is everything all right, dear? Is there anything you would like changed?"

  The duchess made a gesture, and Sarah wasn't sure if she was gesturing to the church or the world at large. Depending on the scope of the gesture, Sarah's ideas of what needed changed varied drastically.

  "No, everything is lovely," Sarah said, her voice having lost its will to leave her mouth, her mind so befuddled with the tableau before her.

  "Splendid," the duchess said, much too brightly for Sarah.

  "Oh, yes, everything is splendid," the earl concurred.

  "Everything is splendid!" the duchess said again.

  Sarah moved her head back and forth between them, and then somebody slapped her back. She almost fell off her feet with the impact.

  "Yes, everything is splendid!" said a loud, booming voice almost in her ear.

  Sarah forced herself not to cringe and looked up to find the source of the voice. It was the Duke of Lofton, looking striking as ever and incredibly similar to his son.

  "And I see you've met-"

  "The Earl of Stryden," the duchess and earl said together.

  Sarah was not ignorant in the matter of suspicious behaviors. She knew when something fishy was going on. In the orphanage, she had always been the first to know when they would not be getting their evening porridge. She had always warned the other children to fill up at the noon meal. Sensing something was amiss now was something even an amateur could have figured out.

  But the Duke of Lofton did not hesitate a moment.

  "Yes, the Earl of Stryden. My son," he said, moving to put an arm around the earl's shoulders. The earl still had his arm through the duchess's, and all three smiled so brightly it hurt Sarah's head.

  "What's going on?" Sarah asked, putting her hands to her hips and smashing the small bouquet of posies she held in her hand.

  "Nothing," the three said together.

  Sarah looked into the church as organ music began to play. The guests grew restless in their pews, and the priest shifted from foot to foot at the altar. She looked back at the duchess, the earl, and the duke and decided she'd have to figure it all out later.

  "It looks like we must get started," she said.

  The three nodded together but didn't move.

  "Shall we?" Sarah asked, gesturing toward the church with all the waiting people.

  "Yes!" The duchess all but shouted, dragging the men with her into the church.

  The three walked slowly down the aisle. Slowly. Slowly. Sarah watched them feeling her suspicions grow. There was something going on, and she was going to find out what it was.

  Sarah waited for the earl to reach the altar and the duchess and the duke to take their seats. She started down the aisle and realized quite suddenly that she was nervous. She saw the earl standing so calmly in front of all these people when her insides were dancing jigs around her skeleton. How could he be so calm? Of course, he probably had vast experience interacting with the likes of the people that were staring so scrupulously at her. She had never had that experience.

  It was true that the woman who had taken her out of the orphanage in The City had been wealthy, but she had also been a recluse. Sarah had only been out in society once really, and well, that was a disaster she tried not to remember. It had been a country house party at the Duke of Kent's, and Sarah had made a complete fool of herself. Not that it really mattered. She doubted anyone remembered.

  But as she drew closer to the Earl of Stryden, she was reminded of how pitifully inadequate she was to be his wife. Not only in breeding but in experience. She just hoped to God that she did not fall in love with him.

  She had almost reached the steps up to the altar when the doors to the church flew open and banged loudly against the walls. The wind rushed in, forcing women to clamp onto their hats lest they fly away. A few not so quick women did manage to lose their hats and now were scrambling to get them, fearing to remain in such an impolite state for so long.

  And then somebody stumbled through those doors. He was partially dressed, his collar hanging around his neck, his waistcoat open, and his breeches only half done up.

  And he was singing.

  "Today is the fateful day when I marry my Lady Mady! And if she says she'll be my wife, I'll love her for all my life!"

  He tripped on the next down beat and rolled down part of the carpet covering the aisle. He sprang up though, greeting people in the various pews.

  "'Ello,'ello. Look at all of ye! Kind enough to show up at...show up at..."

  He spun around and sent himself careening into the opposite set of pews.

  "This is my wedding, isn't it?"

  His face ended up in a woman's hat that was overflowing with flowers. The man proceeded to smell everyone.

  "Oh, lovely! Oh, love-lee!" he squealed and spun aroun
d once more, gaining a few steps on the aisle.

  Sarah finally got a good look at his face, and once more the breath was sucked out of her. She turned around to look up at the man waiting at the altar. The earl obviously hid a laugh behind his hand. Sarah looked back at the man prancing up to the altar. They were identical. Her fists clenched, snapping the stems of the posies.

  She turned back to the earl, and he caught her looking at him. He shrugged his shoulders.

  "I'm Nathan Black," he said, extending his hand. "The Earl of Stryden's brother," he gulped on another laugh. "And that's the Earl of Stryden."

  Sarah swung back to the other man. He had come right up to her and stopped dead. His mouth hung open, and Sarah almost fell over from the stench of alcohol. The bile rose in her throat, and her temper rose in her blood.

  She opened her mouth to tell this man exactly what she thought of him, but the man beat her to it.

  "It's you," he whispered and fell backwards, completely passed out with drink.

  ~

  On a ship bound for France

  April 1815

  "At least we were actually married after that," Alec said, smoothing his hand down her back.

  Sarah pushed away from him, and Alec let her go, so she could look up at him.

  "After Nathan roused you from your drunken stupor," she said, her voice amazingly less forceful than he had expected.

  He reached up and rubbed a smudge of dirt from her cheek. Her head tilted slightly into his palm at his touch, and he wondered if she noticed. Her eyes were much too sharp though, and he figured maybe she didn't notice because she was thinking too hard. He wondered if he could stop that and started to lean in.

  "You know, I never asked you what you meant," she said before he could get his lips on hers.

  "What I meant when?"

  "When you said it's you."

  Alec felt a trickle of wariness run down his spine. He rubbed his thumb over the skin of Sarah's cheek having forgotten to remove his hand from her face. It seemed she had forgotten as well. Her skin was paler than he would have liked, but considering the situation, she looked pretty good. But not good enough to hear what he had to say yet. He had spent four years remembering a night from very long ago and doing all that he could to never allow Sarah to remember that night. To remember what he had done to protect her. He still could not speak of it.

  "Just that it was you, the bride. I was scared to death of you."

  She wrinkled her nose, making the deep lines around her mouth from the overbite wrinkle.

  "You were afraid of me?"

  "Why do you think I was drunk?"

  "You got drunk because you were afraid of me?"

  Alec felt his cheeks heating.

  "It was more that I was afraid to get married. I thought you were going to be a shrew or something."

  "A shrew?" Sarah shrilled sitting up.

  The ceiling of the bunk was much too low, and Alec caught her before she hit her head against it. He drew her neatly down to his chest, pinning her on top of him with his arms around her waist.

  "I am not a shrew," Sarah huffed, her voice much softer because he had brought her head closer to his with a hand around her neck.

  He massaged the tight skin there, but the tension quickly raced back even as he rubbed it away.

  "I know you're not a shrew. Now, at least. I didn't know when the War Office said I was getting married."

  "You don't think I'm a shrew?" Sarah asked barely loud enough for him to hear.

  His hand stilled on her neck.

  Sarah looked insecure. He had never seen her look insecure. She had always been brimming over with confidence that she threw in anyone's face who doubted her, either with a sharp retort or a fist to the gut. He'd experienced both and no longer questioned her ability to fight back even if her confidence lacked solidity. But now her eyes had gone soft, watchful, completely dependent on his response to her quiet question. And he felt a moment of panic, his resolve to say something mature finding its way to the surface.

  "I don't think you're a shrew," he said, his voice equally as soft.

  He thought that a safe response. Very adult of him.

  "Even though I sometimes get angry with you?"

  Her voice had not strengthened, and Alec felt himself stepping onto shaky ground. He had never been the dominant one in this relationship, and he wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to swallow the tension in his throat as if that would help bring the conversation to a level he knew how to handle. A level that required a joke and a laugh. He kept his arms firmly around her and told her exactly what he thought.

  "Because you sometimes get angry with me."

  She frowned. "What?"

  "I don't think you're a shrew because you get angry with me. It takes a brave person to point out others' shortcomings in an attempt to improve the person."

  She tried to roll off of him, but he tightened his arms.

  "I'm not a brave person because I pick on you," she said, the rough note back in her voice.

  Alec felt his heart slow down but also regretted the loss of their momentary reversal of roles.

  "You don't pick on me. You try to make me a better person."

  She slammed her hand against his chest, and the wind rushed out of his lungs.

  "Alec, don't lie! I pick on you to make myself feel better!"

  As he struggled to regain his breath, he realized her face had gone absolutely ashen. She struck again, violently trying to get away from him. He let her go, and she rolled toward the wall putting her back to him.

  He tried to rise up on his elbow to look at her face over her stiff shoulder.

  He raised a hand to reach out for her and said, "Sarah-"

  "Don't touch me," she cut him off, her voice void of any emotion.

  He looked at his hand no longer sure what to do.

  His wife had finally let him in, but now she had not only thrown him out but slammed and locked the door in his face. He thought he had said all the proper and mature things the situation called for. He eased down on the bed, shifting as close as possible to her without actually touching her. The narrowness of the bunk helped in his endeavor, but she only moved further away from him. He stopped when she was almost up against the wall.

  Her stifled breath mixed with the sound of the water hitting the sides of the ship as it floundered in the Channel. And he tried again.

  "Sarah, why do you have to make yourself feel better?"

  She took three whole breaths, and Alec thought she wasn't going to answer. But then she did.

  "Because I'm not an earl."

  Her voice had returned to that insecure tone, and Alec felt his hopes rising. If she was insecure enough about something, perhaps he could get her to talk to him. He nestled closer, not actually moving closer, but in his head, he was closer to her.

  "Sarah, I don't think you can ever be an earl. You're a girl," he said, feeling the return of his usual demeanor.

  A sound emerged from her that resembled a laugh, but it was muffled by what sounded like a sob. Sarah was crying? Now Alec did move closer.

  "Sarah? Please tell me what's wrong."

  He had never asked her that question. He'd never been brave enough to. A question like that was bound to get a necessary extremity ripped off. But if he didn't ask now, he knew he would never ask.

  "You deserve a lady," she whispered.

  He leaned his head over her shoulder, resting it gently there so he could hear her better. She didn't recoil from the touch, and he carefully slipped an arm over her waist, not pulling her back against him, just letting it rest there so she would be physically aware of him.

  "You are a lady, Sarah."

  She sniffled, and he leaned in a little more, adding a little more weight to his hold on her.

  "No, I'm not. I'm a...a...bastard."

  Alec turned his face into her hair, which incidentally smelled horrible, but he held his breath and nuzzled into her neck, forcing her to not shrink ment
ally away from him.

  "Nathan's the bastard, love," he said automatically and cringed when he realized he had brushed off a genuine concern of hers because he had accidentally resorted to a familial response about his brother.

  But then Sarah let out a soft laugh that ended on a hiccup, and Alec felt his insides unwind.

  "We're both bastards," Sarah said.

  Alec shook his head, letting it fall back on her shoulder so he could see part of her face in the dim.

  "Maybe technically, but Nathan really is a bastard."

  Sarah turned her head and smiled briefly at him. He barely caught the sight of the tear tracks down her cheeks before she turned back to the wall.

  "Ah, Sarah, I don't know why your birth matters so much. I don't care who you were. I only care about what you've become. And I love what you've become."

  "You do?" Sarah whispered, not looking up at him.

  "I do. Very much."

  He settled back down on the bed then, pulling her against him so he cradled her in his arms. Her disgusting hair ended up his face, but he pushed it away without gagging. He was sure he smelled equally as delightful and was not going to hold it against her. He let the silence fill the berth, simply enjoying the feel of Sarah.

  "Alec?" Sarah whispered after a while.

  "Mmm?" he said, watching the lantern swing shadows over the ceiling of the bunk.

  "It matters to other people."

  Alec's resolve faltered slightly, unsure of what she was speaking. It was true there were often whispers about the previous life of the now Countess of Stryden, but Alec had simply ignored them. What society thought of his wife meant little to him. He only cared how he felt about his wife, and he was certain from the day he met her that he loved her.

  "I don't care," he finally said, hoping that would end the conversation.

  But something tickled at the back of his brain. For four years he had tried to get his wife to love him. He had felt her loathing for him at a deep level, an instinctual level. The same primal unease he had felt as a boy after his mother had died giving birth to him. That struggle to justify his existence because he had killed his own mother, and he had tried everything to ensure his father loved him. He was certain his father did love him now, but a part of Alec was also certain that it all depended on Alec's ability to make his father laugh. He had tried the same tactic with Sarah, but it only seemed to make her angrier, leaving him unable to talk to his own wife.