7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

James

I t was just as I had suspected: Miss Scott's poem could not be found in any of the numerous poetry books I had borrowed from Gregory's library. It certainly could have been penned by someone lesser known, but I highly doubted that was the case. The way she had delivered those words—the pure conviction in her tone…

No. Miss Scott had written those lines herself; I was sure of it.

I stacked the books on the writing desk in the corner of my bedchamber. I'd spent three days scouring their pages, which was not such a terrible thing since I enjoyed poetry even when I wasn't on a mission of sorts. They had provided me with something to do since I had finished reading Miss Scott's copy of Waverly .

That gesture of kindness had saved my sanity over the last week. Sabrina's attempts to monopolize my attention had worsened with each passing day, and I found myself locked away in my bedchamber a great portion of the time.

Dinner had become a chore—each evening spent warding off her obvious attempts to win my affection. Perhaps smiling at her after her poem recitation had been a grave mistake, as the problem had grown since then, but smiling had been the only thing I could do to keep myself from laughing. Despite the pain Sabrina had caused me, I would not be cruel. Not like she had been.

Nor did I wish for Sabrina to punish Miss Scott for what she had done. Friend or not, the duchess would not hesitate to reciprocate in some manner should she learn what had occurred. Just as I had no doubt that Miss Scott had written her own poem, I also knew with certainty she had taught Sabrina incorrect lines. The prank had been harmless and had gone, largely, unnoticed by anyone but myself. Mrs. Davis had seemed confused by the wording, but the woman had pressed on without apparent consideration of the matter.

Perhaps I should not admire Miss Scott's gumption, but I could not help myself. My infatuation might have blinded me from the truth at the time, but I had spent endless hours rifling through my memories of Sabrina. At first, I'd searched for my own failings, believing I must have done something to drive her away—to make her choose the duke. But close analysis opened my mind to the truth. There had been signs aplenty that Sabrina's affection—if I could call it that—ran surface deep.

As did her kindness and honesty.

What bothered me more was that I hadn't noticed any of it. Not at the time, anyway. Did that mark my character as poorly as hers?

I liked to think that was not true, but then, I had judged Miss Scott improperly, too, ranking her character with Sabrina's simply because of their association. It had only required a few days of observation to realize how wrong I had been in my assumptions, that my prejudice had blinded me to her character.

I scooped up the stack of books and tucked them against me, Waverly resting on the very top. I would return the poetry volumes to Gregory's library and perhaps meet Miss Scott along the way. I still owed her my gratitude for hiding me in the closet.

As had been the case in London, Miss Scott was rarely seen without Sabrina, making my progress in puzzling her out difficult, but the poem had been yet another clue. Another glimpse of Miss Scott's secrets.

And there were secrets. That much I could gather by the way she corrected herself anytime she spoke ill of Sabrina. By the fear and discomfort I often saw in her eyes. I wanted to understand why a woman like Miss Scott would ever become friends with someone as conniving and selfish as the duchess, and the more I watched and listened, the more I wondered if it had never been friendship that tied them together.

The words from Miss Scott's poem echoed through my mind as I cracked open the door of my bedchamber and peeked outside. Captured. Caged. What had she meant? If she felt trapped, could it be that Sabrina was her captor ?

The thought twisted my stomach. Sabrina was certainly capable of something so egregious as forcing Miss Scott to do her bidding. Like her father, she would go to great lengths to get what she wanted. She'd proven as much by marrying a duke more than twice her age, even after accepting a proposal from me.

And she'd proven it again by coercing Gregory into tricking me to come to Fallborn when her mourning period had ended not more than a few weeks ago. I was not oblivious to her designs. She believed a few charming words and the flutter of her lashes would lure me back to her.

But I would not be fooled again. My blindfold had been removed with the receipt of her letter, and while it had stung worse than any injury I'd ever received, I thanked the heavens for it. I had been saved from a life of misery.

I crept quietly down the corridor and then the stairs. It was exhausting to act as though I were a mouse, scampering about and hoping not to be caught. That made Sabrina the cat. A devilish, evil cat that wanted to sink her claws into me.

The imagery made me shudder.

I saw no one on my trek to the library save for a maid who busied herself with dusting the sconces. Fortune favored me, but fortune had a way of changing its mind with little notice. Holding my breath, I opened the door to the library with a silent plea I would find the room vacant.

My desire was granted. Fortune favored me, indeed.

I entered the library and closed the door softly behind me. Gregory's estate was not as sizable as my own in Suffolk, and the room reflected that fact, capable of holding perhaps but a quarter of my own collection. Shelves lined two of the four walls while the back housed a fireplace now glowing with a well-stoked fire. This early, the warmth provided by the flames was needed to stave off the chilly spring air.

Two highback cream and navy armchairs faced the fire, an inviting spot that I had made use of several times since arriving. From the doorway, I could not see over them, but there were no shoes touching the floor or heads of hair peeking over the top, either.

Relieved to find myself alone, I walked toward one set of shelves on the eastern wall and returned the poetry books to their proper place. I had been at Fallborn for just over a week. With three to go, and given the amount of time I spent hiding in my bedchamber, I might very well read through Gregory's entire library.

"Have you gone through that stack already?"

I startled at the sound of a woman's voice, dropping Waverly onto the floor with the thud. My attention swept over the room, searching and hoping. I could not be alone in the library with Sabrina. The ramifications would be disastrous.

Movement on one of the armchairs grabbed my attention, and my muscles relaxed considerably at the sight of Miss Scott. Alone.

She tilted her head, an apologetic grimace pinching her expression. "Forgive me. I hadn't meant to scare you so thoroughly."

I bent over and picked up the book—Miss Scott's book—with a chuckle. "Thoroughly? So you had meant to startle me, then?"

Her lips pressed together as she tried and failed to hide a smile. Even in the darkened room, I could see it. "Perhaps a little. I thought it best to announce my presence."

I approached the chair and waved her off when she began to uncurl her legs, which had not been touching the floor, I might add. My observation skills were not lacking. "You needn't stand on my account. I won't disturb you for long. I hoped I would see you so I could return this."

I handed her the book, and she smiled down at it fondly. "You have finished it?"

"Yes. I think I might see if the Davis library possesses the second before I return to my room."

She looked up at me, and my breath caught at the intense color of her eyes. And why had my heart not calmed? Once I might have been leery of being alone with Miss Scott, but I no longer feared anything malicious from her. At least not in Sabrina's absence. There was no need for the continued hammering within my chest as though I had run the length of the estate.

"I am sorry you must spend so much time trapped in your room," she said, almost as a whisper.

"It is not your doing. I chose to stay, and I can leave if I wish."

She glanced away and hesitated for a moment before asking, "Why did you decide to stay? I admit it surprised me. No one would have blamed you for leaving straight away. "

Revealing Gregory's financial situation was not my place, but Miss Scott was likely already aware of it. If Sabrina truly kept her as a confidante, would she not have told her the plan? By discovering the answer, I might be closer to solving the riddle-of-a-woman before me. "I stayed as support for Mr. Davis and his mother. The tactics used to get me here included him, as you must be aware."

Her brows furrowed. "I suspected Mr. Davis invited you at Sabrina's request. What I don't understand is why he would do it if the two of you are friends. He seems genuine in his regard for you."

So, she was not aware. Interesting.

I walked past her and took the vacant armchair. Unwise, perhaps, given the library door was closed and anyone could find us here. I should have grabbed a book and retreated to my bedchamber, but the idea of sitting there in front of the fire, conversing with Miss Scott, appealed to me enough to override my sensibilities. I was rarely given the opportunity of a private word with her.

Besides, I grew tired of being relegated to the same four walls day after day.

Then again, Miss Scott's presence could draw Sabrina here too.

I glanced at the door, suddenly uneasy. Was a conversation worth the risk of being caught by the cat?

Miss Scott's light chuckle drew my attention away from the door. "You needn't worry about Sabrina. She has gone into Cheltenham with her maid to visit the spa. She will not return until this evening, especially if she is to visit the shops. Her trips are rarely short."

That much I knew. Sabrina reveled in the excessive, a trait she had inherited from her father.

I settled back into the chair, relaxing again. "Sabrina coerced Mr. Davis into inviting me here. He owes her father a large sum, and the man offered to wipe the debt clean if I remained at a house party for a full month. This was done, of course, at Sabrina's request."

Anger flashed in Miss Scott's eyes, and the reaction confirmed she truly hadn't known. "I wish I could be surprised by this, but I am not."

"By Gregory's debts or by Sabrina's lack of character?"

"Mr. Davis's gambling habits are not precisely a secret among Society. "

"And Sabrina?" I was fishing for more, and Miss Scott knew it. She studied me, uncertainty filling her features. It pricked at my frustration that she felt she could not trust me with an honest opinion.

"No one can lack character itself," she said slowly. "There can be an excess of bad, or even good at times, to the point it is detrimental."

She was dancing around my question, and my voice rose in response. "Does Sabrina fall into the first category? An excess of bad?"

Miss Scott shifted away from me, and I immediately regretted pushing her for a direct answer. My determination to make sense of her actions had driven me to rush things, and that would not help my cause. It would not bring answers to my persistent questions. I wished to understand why she was so set on protecting the duchess. I had been blinded by a lovesick heart. Did friendship make Miss Scott blind in the same way?

No, that could not be. A friend would not have fed Sabrina embarrassing lines of poetry to memorize. "You will not speak ill of her now, yet you have openly mocked her?"

She turned back to me sharply. "I would never."

"Is that not what you did the other night? Taking delight in her incorrect phrasing—incorrect phrasing you taught her." Delight may have been pushing my point. I had seen the amusement in Miss Scott's expression, yes, but it had quickly faded, replaced by what I was certain was regret.

Miss Scott's shoulders slumped, and she traced a finger along the binding of her book. "I never should have done that. It was terribly unkind of me to ruin her recitation in such a way."

"Perhaps, but not necessarily undeserved." I scooted to the edge of the cushion and leaned sideways to catch her gaze. "You may refuse to say it aloud, but I cannot think you are unintelligent enough not to have noticed her shortcomings."

"We all have shortcomings," she whispered. "If lacking them is the standard by which kindness should be bestowed, then there are none of us deserving of it."

"But she does not treat you with respect. Not as a friend. Not with any sort of cordiality or dignity." My decision to stay at Fallborn had initially revolved around freeing Gregory from Sabrina's machinations, but now? Now I believed someone else was just as trapped as him. Just as trapped as I once was. "I never knew how shackled I felt until my engagement to her dissolved. I will not say it did not cause me pain, but I have since realized how trapped I'd been. With Sabrina, I had not once been myself, too desperate to please her and earn her affection. We all may have shortcomings, but it does not follow that we must subject ourselves to the worst of others. Nor forgive them when they put forth no effort to change."

"Are we not taught each Sunday to look past faults and forgive?" she asked. "I admit I am not perfect in such instruction, but I do my best to understand those around me. To understand their struggles."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You would have me forgive her then?"

She met my gaze, and the unwavering blue depths of her eyes stole my breath. "I would have you be happy."

Her response drained my irritation. The sincerity in her eyes left me without words. She meant it. She did want me to be happy, and that stirred something in my chest, a deep sense that I had been seen and a longing to keep the sensation as it faded. But did I not already have happiness? My heart had shattered. I'd slowly pieced it back together, but it would never be the same. Marriage no longer appealed to me the way it once had. I certainly had no desire for a love match. Convenience and the freedom it offered is all I would ever consider.

Still, none of that meant I was unhappy. Did it?

"What Sabrina did to you was wrong, and she may never show remorse for it," said Miss Scott gently. "But your anger only burdens you . I understand the desire to hold onto it, more than you know, but you can be free of her completely if you let it go. You have the choice to leave the past behind. Not all of us are so fortunate."

I had the choice to be free. She was correct. After this house party, I could choose to never associate with Sabrina again, but Miss Scott spoke as though she did not have that same privilege.

"What of you?" My tone had softened, the anger building within doused to nothing more than embers. "Are you not free to do the same?"

Miss Scott turned away, nibbling on her lower lip. "You presume I wish to sever my ties with her."

"Yes, I do. You are far too kind to prefer her company. I do not understand it. "

She rose from the chair, refusing to look at me. "Then you are wrong. Sabrina is my friend."

The words were forced, almost choked. I could hear the lie in them. Miss Scott was not friends with Sabrina, and her refusal to acknowledge it concerned me. What would drive her to fudge the truth, all for a woman who did not return the loyalty or respect?

"I bid you a pleasant afternoon, my lord." She started for the door, Waverly clutched tightly in her hands, and I scrambled to follow her.

My fingers wrapped around her wrist and tugged her to a stop. She didn't resist, but I heard her quiet gasp. I coaxed her to face me, hoping she would see in my expression I meant her no harm, and when her blue eyes found mine, that same uncertainty I'd seen before had filled them. Not fear, at least not of me.

"Your poem," I said. "You wrote it."

My tone left no room for denial, and Miss Scott seemed to sense I could not be persuaded otherwise. She shifted on her feet. "Yes."

The confession heightened her shyness, filling her cheeks with an endearing shade of red. I'd known she had penned those words, but having that suspicion confirmed? It awakened something within me. Admiration, worry, and…an indescribable need to understand her. To speak to her of all the poetry I'd read over the years. To know her thoughts and share a piece of myself—my soul—as she had done that night in the drawing room.

Because I knew Miss Scott would understand. She would not trample on the vulnerability or choose to ignore it as Sabrina had. No, in her I would find a friend who understood the depth and feeling words could convey, and that notion held an appeal I could not ignore.

I stepped closer, my grip on her wrist loose enough she could easily pull away.

But she didn't, and that expression of trust, small as it was, changed everything. My heart raced, and I fought a desire to sweep the strands of blonde curls away from her face, to feel the softness of her cheek against my palm. Sabrina was the only woman I had ever wanted to touch so intimately, and yet, this feeling was foreign. Different. Heady, as though someone had thrown me into the hearth.

And it simultaneously thrilled and terrified me.