A Duke’s Overlooked Spinster (The Courting Season #1)

Chapter 6

“Sarah? Sarah! There you are. A moment, if it pleases you?” Caroline’s voice was a loud whisper in the upstairs hallway.

Sarah whipped round in surprise. She had been standing in the doorway of the drawing room, the light from the fire and the lamps casting a dancing orange glow over the soft muted dark of the corridor. She had left the dinner early, hurrying upstairs to escape Lady Clairwood and her condemnatory stares across the table. She shivered as she recalled the dinner.

The Duke of Clairwood had been seated opposite her, and that would have been difficult enough to manage as it was—the occasional intense stares that he leveled at her, the uncomfortable but exhilarating feeling of his gaze—was confusing. But added to that was the dowager duchess beside him, constantly making reference to the family’s elevated status and their London circles that included the Prince Regent’s own brother. And that was unbearably hard.

She turned to face Caroline, who gestured towards the drawing room.

“If you do not mind, Sarah, I wished to speak with you a moment.”

“Of course, Caroline,” Sarah said at once. Her brow creased in a frown. “But your guests...they will miss you.”

“Not really,” Caroline said with a grin. “They are still too busy trying to get out of the dining room. There is an order of precedence that must be observed—there always is—and they are still trying to decide who should exit ahead of whom. I had the advantage of knowing where the other exit is.” Her smile was bright in the firelight.

Sarah giggled. She could imagine the press of people in the doorway—trying, politely but forcibly, to exit ahead of one another. She vividly recalled the duchess and her constant attempts to best the other guests socially. She winced.

“They’ll still be a few minutes, but we should hurry,” Caroline continued, gesturing towards the chairs by the fire. “As the hostesses, we have to come in last.” She made a wry face.

Sarah smiled. She shook her head. “They do set such store by these rules,” she murmured.

Caroline raised a brow. “They would live and die by them. I’ve no idea why,” she added with a giggle. Caroline’s mother was the sister of Sarah’s father, and her father was a viscount. Neither she nor Sarah were ignorant of the countless rules of etiquette that structured the lives of the ton , but both came from families who had placed more value on mutual respect and kindness than on custom.

“It would seem so,” Sarah murmured, again recalling the duchess and her harsh words when the small boy, Henry, had been helping her. The memory of being callously overlooked made her flush with shame.

“Anyhow,” Caroline murmured. “While we have a minute or two, I wished to tell you that the Duke of Clairwood wanted to thank you for your kindness to his son yesterday. He asked me to convey his apologies to you.”

“He did convey them,” Sarah whispered, her cheeks flushing again as she recalled the duke’s conversation with her.

“Oh! Grand,” Caroline replied, smiling. She did not sound in the least surprised that the duke had talked with Sarah. It was like balm on the sting of the duchess’ cruel dismissal. “I am glad. It pleases me a great deal to see him smile and talk with someone.”

“Does he not always do so?” Sarah gaped. He seemed so affable, so comfortable in conversation. Like his sister, Lady Egerton, he had an easy, friendly manner.

Except when he is staring so intensely, she thought with a small smile. Then, he was uncomfortable to talk to. Deliciously uncomfortable .

“Well, he has been withdrawn for many years. Victoria, his sister, was concerned about him last year. As was Edward. Victoria said that she had not seen him smile in months.”

“Oh?” Sarah’s heart twisted. “Why? What was amiss?” She could not imagine the duke without his friendly smile.

“He has never been the same after his wife, Elizabeth, passed away,” Caroline confided.

“She was the mother of young Henry?” Sarah asked.

“Quite so. Henry is seven years old now. His mother passed away when he was two.”

“Five years ago,” Sarah breathed. “The poor duke. Poor little Henry.” Her heart ached with sympathy for the little boy. She knew the pain—the surprising, unexpected pain—of losing a parent, even one with whom one had never felt particularly close. How much worse must that be for a child, who could not even truly understand the notion of death? And what of the duke? Losing a beloved partner was something she had never experienced herself, but she had seen all too well what that loss had done to her own father.

“Quite so,” Caroline replied, interrupting her thoughts. “He has not been himself since. Edward has been very worried about him.”

“Is Edward well acquainted with the duke?” Sarah asked.

“Yes. They attended Cambridge for a year together. They became good friends and have remained so ever since.”

“I see,” Sarah replied. “And that is why you invited them?” she asked. She had hoped that neither Caroline nor Edward was well-acquainted with the dowager duchess since she seemed an overbearing and unpleasant sort of person.

“Exactly so,” Caroline replied with a smile, leaning closer to Sarah. “I must confide in you that this house party was planned mainly for Robert’s sake—the Duke of Clairwood, I mean. Edward hoped that he would come, and that being around people might prove healing to him.”

“I hope that it does so,” Sarah said quickly. The sound of people in the hallway made them both tense. Caroline gestured to the door.

“We should hurry. Lady Clairwood will doubtless enter first, and she will be most upset if propriety is not observed.” She made a face. Sarah giggled.

They dashed out into the corridor, the sound of the guests echoing in the stairwell. Caroline, her lips compressed with the effort not to giggle, gestured Sarah towards an anteroom, and they swiftly stepped in, hiding in the darkened space while the row of guests filled the upper hallway, the sound of voices mixed with the scent of perfume and the bright sound of laughter.

“I trust that I apologised for Lady Clairwood earlier,” Caroline whispered. “So rude of her!” she huffed.

Sarah inclined her head. She could not see Caroline in the darkened room, but she was aware of Caroline’s hand resting on her shoulder, the touch reassuring. “You did,” Sarah reminded her. “But you did not have to. I think you can take no responsibility for the rudeness of Lady Clairwood.”

“Mayhap you are right,” Caroline whispered. “If I could, I would certainly teach her some proper manners.”

They were both laughing as they stepped out into the hallway.

The corridor was empty, but they could hear the sound of the male guests on the stairs. The ladies exited first, being led to the drawing room by the most senior-ranking lady among the guests. The hostess would enter last. Then the gentlemen were escorted to the billiard room by the most senior-ranking man, the host at the back of the line. Sarah wondered briefly if the duke had led the men up to the billiard room.

Stop it, she told herself with a small grin. The duke’s business is no business of yours.

All the same, when she recalled his smile and the way that he had looked at her when they conversed, a strange feeling shimmered through her body, like the way the sunlight played on leaves. Her skin flushed hot, and her heart thudded.

Someone laughed in the corridor—one of the men, walking past the door on the way to the billiard room, and her cheeks flared with warmth. She was absolutely certain that it was the duke. She could recognize the pitch of his voice even after the few times they had conversed together. She turned swiftly, looking to the door, but if he had been there, then he was no longer, the row of men in dark tailcoats and breeches moving past the door at a good pace towards the billiard room. She was surprised at a twist of disappointment in her heart.

“Sarah, dear! Would you like some tea?” Caroline asked, gesturing towards a table. Sarah shook her head.

“I shan’t sleep if I drink tea now,” she said with a wry smile. “But if you have some lemonade, I would welcome the refreshment.” She sat down in the seat that Caroline had indicated, relieved to see that the dowager duchess was at another table by the window. At their table was Lady Egerton, and another young lady with a gentle face and a mass of pale curls. Caroline gestured to the young woman.

“Sarah, may I have the honour of presenting you to Lady Philipa Claremont? She is the wife of Lord Charles Claremont, brother to the duke of Clairwood. My lady, I present my cousin, the honourable Miss Sarah Brooke.”

“I am pleased to meet you,” Sarah said shyly.

“Delighted,” Lady Philipa Claremont said at once. “I am very pleased Lady Averhill thought to invite us to her home. It is so beautiful here, is it not?”

“Very beautiful,” Sarah said at once, smiling warmly at the friendly young woman. Lady Egerton, the duke’s sister, was smiling at them both, including Sarah in the group with ease. Sarah could see a resemblance to the duke, if she looked—both were tall, both had long, oval-shaped faces. Lady Egerton had a softened jawline and an altogether softer appearance, though she had the same long, slender nose and a bright look. Her eyes, however, were so dark that they were almost black, her hair likewise black. Charles, the duke’s brother, also had a resemblance to him, and was likewise blond and blue-eyed, though his face was slimmer and softer, more like Lady Egerton’s than like the duke.

“I cannot wait to go to Bath itself,” Lady Philipa continued. “There is so much to see.”

“And to do,” Lady Egerton said with a grin.

“It is a beautiful town,” Sarah agreed. She hoped that Caroline might allow her to slip into town and sketch some of the buildings—her fingers ached with the urge to sketch the magnificent architecture.

“Quite exquisite,” Lady Egerton agreed.

Sarah leaned back on her chair, feeling comfortable with the two women. Caroline was almost never seated; circulating among the guests or quietly directing the staff who hovered about the edges of the room. However, even without her cousin there, it felt easy to talk to the two women, who already felt like friends.

As the evening wore on, the ladies slowly excusing themselves from the drawing room and making their way to their chambers in the vast manor, Sarah found that she was weary and exhausted, but happy.

“Thank you, Caroline,” she murmured as their guests departed and they found themselves the only two people in the room. “It has been a lovely evening.”

“It was not altogether so bad, was it?” Caroline said with a grin. “Thank you, Sarah. It was lovely to have you here with us.”

Sarah squeezed her cousin’s hand, too overcome to speak. Having spent so many years isolated with Papa in the manor, seeing only their nearest neighbors, Sarah had forgotten how warm and pleasant—and necessary —human company could be. Speaking with diverting new people, being among friendly presences, hearing laughter and chatter—it was uplifting in ways that she had forgotten. She smiled at Caroline, trying to convey her gratitude.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I’m quite exhausted,” Caroline said with a grin, lifting her hand to her lips. “Goodnight, dear cousin. I will see you in the morning. Even the staff should go to bed now,” she added, gesturing to Mr. Edgehill, who was standing near the door. “You should go to bed,” Caroline told him. “You can clear this up tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Sarah smiled to herself; her heart filled with warmth towards her cousin. She wandered up the corridor to her chamber, almost too tired to walk. The fire was low in the grate, the room in almost darkness when she entered. She had asked Abigail to retire to bed rather than wait to help her to undress, and she collapsed onto the bed, grateful for the space and peace and time alone in the silent, darkened room.

“Whew,” she murmured as she sat up, reaching up to unpin her hair from the confining chignon. Her temples hurt with having her hair bound tightly back all night, her body aching with staying awake so long after a night of poor sleep. It had been exhausting, but it was also diverting and uplifting.

“How strange he is,” she murmured, tugging on a clean nightdress and slipping into bed. It was the duke who occupied her thoughts. She recalled repeatedly the way he had stared at her across the table, that gaze sending a shiver down her spine. She remembered the conversation that they had, how easy and comfortable it was, how enjoyable it was to talk to him and how he—and she—had laughed. Each word they had said played through her mind, and she smiled as she remembered it.

“It is so strange,” she murmured to herself in the darkness, and rolled over, tucking the covers up over her shoulder. The duke filled her with so many feelings—confusion, bemusement, and even discomfort; a strange, wonderful discomfort. But talking to him was the most enjoyable, diverting thing that she could remember doing.

It was very strange, and she wished that somebody could explain to her what these odd new feelings meant and what it was all about.