Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Father insisted no decisions be made in haste, so when Mrs. White reported my behavior to him—and though she was supposedly responsible for my comportment, she blamed the entire matter on me—he sent me to bed with instructions to get a good night's sleep, with a promise we would discuss the situation in the morning.

How could he expect me to rest? My mind whirled. Another scandal. I had shamed my father and myself, not to mention suffering the self-satisfied smirk on Mrs. White's face.

I had no idea why she appeared so happy. If we returned to America, she would be out of a job. However, since she lingered in the library with Father after my departure, perhaps she had designs on accompanying us to America as my new stepmother.

A shudder tripped through my body while a bit of bile rose in my throat. I would do anything to get away from her, including give myself to the Duke of Amherst.

Yes, upon consideration of the options, binding myself to the vexatious duke was far preferable to living in a household with that woman as my stepmother.

Of course, there was no reason to think my father would be so foolish.

The variety of thoughts crashing through my brain made sleep elusive.

Summoned to the library the next morning, I expected a stern lecture followed by orders to pack for a departure to America. Instead, the Duke of Amherst stood next to my father.

My breath caught in my throat, and I took a step back. I scanned the visitor's face for a hint as to his intentions. Of course, he must have been angry with me for embarrassing him, though my statement contained nothing but the truth. Regardless, it was scandalous for me to shout about it in the middle of a dance. My face heated with mortification.

Father indicated an upholstered chair next to the one where our imposing guest had settled himself, while Father sat on the other side of the desk and studied the two of us.

"Sarah." He rubbed his forehead. "I have spoken with his grace, who indicates what you said last night, though highly shocking, was actually true."

I regarded the man next to me with surprise. Why did he not deny the whole thing? Call me a crazy gold digger? It was not as though there were any witnesses. Plus, the word of a man of his lineage and reputation would carry much more weight than that of an upstart American girl like me.

Father spoke again. "Based upon his admission, I could demand satisfaction and force a marriage between the two of you."

The maids—undoubtedly listening outside the closed door—could have heard my sudden inhalation of breath.

"Marriage? To him?" I turned and stared at the duke, who met my gaze, seeming completely nonplussed.

"Is the thought of it so abhorrent to you?" he said, calm as you please.

"I-I had not considered it," I lied.

"The other option," Father interjected, "would be for us to return to America and allow his grace to tell whatever version of events he cares to. I would not ordinarily offer a choice, but seeing that you both contributed to this mess, it seems the fair thing to do."

I slumped in my seat. Allow this man, or anyone, to tell tales about me? No! Despite my lack of decorum, I still possessed some pride.

An opportunity for freedom from England, this exasperating man, as well as all the other pomp and circumstance presented itself. Why did I not take it?

"Of course, that would be the duke's preference." I stared at the floor, expecting his agreement.

"Not necessarily." The gentleman turned to address my father. "Sir, would you mind allowing Miss Hancock and me a moment to speak privately?"

My father sat up straighter in his seat. "That would be highly improper."

"I believe we are past the point of what is proper or not, sir."

To my knowledge, no one, man or woman, had ever stood up to my father, particularly in such a firm but polite manner. A tiny bit of admiration formed in my heart.

Without responding, Father rose and vacated the room, though he did not close the door completely when he left.

Bewildered, I scrutinized the Duke of Amherst. Did he plan to spank me again for getting him into such a bind? Instead, he turned in his seat, gazing at me full in the face.

"What will happen to you if you go back to America?" His warm voice floated over me and I almost wanted to crawl into his lap.

I considered lying, but the situation required honesty. I took a deep breath and confessed. "Father says he wishes to have a daughter married to a titled English gentleman. While it is his desire, the whole truth is I have rebuffed or offended all of the eligible suitors in America." There. I said it. I grasped the arms of the chair, preparing myself for his ridicule.

Instead, he laughed heartily. "All of them? Surely you exaggerate."

"Father took me to Boston so my aunt could introduce me to eligible gentlemen. That went fairly well until..." I braced for my admission. "One young man attempted to steal a kiss. I had no idea of his intention, so when he startled me, my reaction was instinctive."

I peeped up at the Duke of Amherst, who wore a singularly delighted expression on his face. "Go on."

"I blackened his eye. Shortly afterward, we left for England. So now you know." I slumped in my seat. All the starch had left me.

His look of enchantment persisted.

"It must please you to know I have shamed myself in two countries." I tilted my chin in defiance.

"As a matter of fact it does, but not for the reason you might think." He grinned at me. "It means I am your last, best hope for marriage, is that not correct?"

"Why should such a thing make you glad? Surely you have many prospects for a wife." My voice barely above a whisper, I curled into myself, trying to disappear. "Better prospects than me."

"Would not a wife who is grateful to be saved from a life of spinsterhood be a good choice? She would always be thankful to have a husband such as me."

"What?" My malaise disappeared. "If you expect me to spend the rest of my life kowtowing after you in gratitude for the grand honor of being your wife, you are sorely mistaken." I stood, intending to go to the door to call my father back into the room, but before I could get past the duke, he took hold of my hand and drew me down to sit on his lap.

"Your spirit is precisely the reason you will be an ideal wife for me. I am well past prime marriage age, but I have refused to bind myself to a woman who simpers after me in a ‘yes, your grace' sort of way."

I did not fully comprehend his meaning because the flecks of gold in his dark eyes mesmerized me—burnished speckles which were only apparent when one was in close proximity, such as sitting on the gentleman's lap.

The next thing I knew, his mouth settled over mine in a gentle kiss that made my toes wiggle.

When the kiss ended, he whispered against my lips, "Stay here, Sarah. Be my wife."