Nate was awakened in the middle of the afternoon by the sound of his father, shouting. “Get him up now and tell him Lord Lechton demands he come out here immediately.” Nate’s manservant’s voice was softer—Nate couldn’t hear his words, but assumed he was trying to put the old man off. Nate had instructed he was not to be awakened until it was time to dress for whatever Libby had in store for them tonight.
“It’s fine, Jackson,” he called. “I am awake. Bring my father a glass of brandy and come and help me dress.”
“Be quick about it,” Lechton shouted. “You have some explaining to do, Bentham.”
Lechton was pacing back and forth across Nate’s small sitting room when Nate emerged from his bedchamber less than five minutes later. “You need a shave, and you shouldn’t appear before me half dressed,” Lechton greeted him.
Nate finished buttoning his waistcoat. “You said to be quick,” he reminded the man.
“Now, you obey me?” Lechton stamped one foot, looking for all the world like a choleric bull. “I told you to give up this doctoring rubbish. I told you to stay away from the Winderfield woman. I am your father! You owe me your obedience!”
As far as Nate was concerned, Lechton had ceased to have any rights as his father when he betrayed Nate to the Earl of Sutton and signed the papers to have Nate consigned to the navy.
Lechton took Nate’s silence in bad part. “You cannot deny it. I saw you leaving that clinic place. I asked questions. You had spent the night there pretending to be a doctor, and you were on your way to the Winderfield mansion with a patient.”
The old man was spying on him now? Presumably he had been visiting one of the houses of entertainment in the area. Nate should ask him the name of the brothel he’d been at. No. No point in getting into a shouting match to edify all the neighbours. “I will continue to serve at the Ashbury Clinic, my lord, and I intend to reconcile with my wife as soon as possible.”
Lechton gaped, then gobbled like a turkey, unable to form intelligible words in his anger.
“Sit down, my lord,” Nate advised, “and take a sip of brandy.”
His father plopped into a seat. Just as well only a small portion remained in the glass, or he would be wearing it. Nate picked up the bottle and poured a little more, and Lechton took a gulp.
“I’ll bring you to heel,” he threatened. “I will cut you off without a penny. No more allowance.”
“The threat would be more effective if you had ever paid me an allowance,” Nate drawled, which prompted another gobble and another gulp.
“The marriage was invalid. You were both minors,” Lechton insisted, next.
Nate shrugged. “The banns were read. Neither guardian objected. We were legally wed.” He wasn’t nearly as confident of that as he tried to sound. His seventeen-year-old self had read a case in the papers about a young couple who settled far from where they were known and married that way. The courts had held that the banns had been read in public, allowing the guardians to object, and since they had not done so (even though the reason for their forbearance was that they weren’t there and weren’t told), the marriage was legal.
Nate had discussed a similar plan with his cousin, doing his best to reproduce the conditions in the newspaper account. Cousin Arthur agreed it sounded reasonable. He knew even more than Nate about the Earl of Sutton’s proposed suitors for his daughters, and was prepared to do anything he could to help keep Lady Sarah from such a cruel fate.
But neither of the people in the article had a wealthy duke for a grandfather. Winshire might have been able to have the marriage annulled. No matter. If they were no longer married, they could always wed again. If Sarah would agree. If affection between them was reignited as easily as the physical attraction.
“I have her father’s word. The marriage was invalid,” Lechton repeated. His voice turned pleading. “Forget Sarah Winderfield. There are plenty of younger, prettier girls on the market.”
“Lady Bentham,” Nate corrected. “She has been my wife these seven years, even though you conspired with her father and brother to part us.” Which was unfair. Lechton had been Winshire’s lackey, not his ally. He was a weak and foolish old man, but not a monster.
Lechton drew himself up to his full height, still some inches short of Nate’s near six feet. “You are not married. But I shall see about rectifying that immediately. I can see you have no intention of seeking a bride, so I shall arrange a marriage for you, and you can put all this nonsense behind you.”
“Don’t do it, my lord. I shall not sign any papers. I shall not agree to any marriage you arrange.”
“You will if you want to see my wife and your sisters ever again.” Lechton sneered, clearly thinking he had a winning hand.
Nate heaved a sigh. “I would regret such a split, and I hope you will not carry out a threat that would hurt them as much as me. But if that is the price I must pay to keep my promises, then so be it. My man will show you out, my lord.”
Lechton managed a few more indignant splutters and some other toothless threats before he finally left. The Ashbury Clinic was sponsored by a ducal family, and wouldn’t dismiss him as a result of the bullying of an earl with limited social connections. And the new Duke of Winshire, by what Nate had heard, was a very different man to his predecessor. One, furthermore, who allowed his own daughter to be a doctor.
Lechton was unlikely to get a hearing from the duke, and what would he say if he did? Nate was no longer the near penniless son of a humble vicar. He had been adding to his investments from his prize money for many years, and could well afford a wife. And the heir of an earl might aspire to the hand of a duke’s daughter, even if he hadn’t already married her years ago.
Really, Lechton, you are being ridiculous. Nate knew quite well what bee Lechton had in his bonnet. He was convinced a girl fresh out of the schoolroom was more likely to give him grandsons. As if a woman of three and twenty was past childbearing!
Nate sent his manservant out to buy them both something to eat, and sat down to write a letter to his father’s cousin, the one who had helped him arrange his wedding. Not that he expected a reply. Previous letters had gone unanswered. He’d have to find someone to make enquiries, but meanwhile it couldn’t hurt to write again—perhaps someone had been intercepting his letters to Arthur, as they must have done with those to Sarah.
The letter done and addressed, ready to be sent as soon as his manservant had time, he leant back in his chair to daydream about Sarah having his child.
Sarah stayed in her rooms when Nate came in the late afternoon to check on the boy Tony. Charlotte could attend the medical examination. Sarah was determined not to see Nate before the next day, as promised. Which meant a disturbed night, full of restless wondering, with steadily more unlikely scenarios floating in and out of her imagination and even more preposterous dreams when she managed to drift into a few minutes’ sleep.
As a result, she slept in, then ate her breakfast with her sister in their private sitting room. By ten minutes before the hour of her meeting with Nate, she was downstairs. She had chosen to wait, with Charlotte for company and as chaperone, in one of the reception rooms near the front door, the better to keep this meeting on a formal basis.
This part of the house was strangely quiet. Apart from a footman in the entrance hall, she and Charlotte seemed to be alone, and Charlotte was lost in her own thoughts. Given all her sister had had to say about the Marquis of Aldridge last night—some praise and quite a bit of criticism—Sarah was guessing the man was still very much on Charlotte’s mind.
Sarah’s thoughts wouldn’t settle. What could Nate—Lord Bentham—possibly have to say in his defence? Eleven o’clock came and went, with no Lord Bentham. He had let her down again. “He isn’t coming,” she said to Charlotte, after half an hour, then a commotion at the front door had her rising to her feet.
The door opened, and she braced herself to see him, but it was Drew who entered the room, and behind him she could see the entrance hall full of footmen and guards.
“What happened?” Charlotte asked. A good question. Drew, and the men behind him, looked as if they had been in a fight, or rolling in the mud, or... the reek of smoke gave her a clue... fighting a fire.
Sarah put her conclusion into words. “Where was the fire?”
“The Ashbury Clinic,” Drew replied. “Sarah, Bentham sends his apologies. He is helping Ruth and the resident doctor to settle the patients they had to move to the Ashbury townhouse, and is then going home to change and wash.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Charlotte asked.
Drew shook his head. “A few mild burns, some scratches. We got everyone out ahead of the fire. Put the fire out, too, though there’s extensive damage, especially in the ward upstairs. We still have a building, though.” He chuckled. “Aldridge caught some embers with his hair, and says his valet is probably going to resign.”
Charlotte paled. “But not... Just his hair, Drew? He is not otherwise hurt?”
Drew shrugged. “Nothing serious.”
“What were they all doing there?” Charlotte wondered. “Bentham and Ruth, I can understand, I suppose, though it seems an astonishing coincidence that they were available just when a fire started. But Aldridge?”
Drew shrugged. “Ruth was visiting, of course, as she does several times a week when she is in town. Just as well, too, for her guard were with her, and thought to send someone here for help. Ruth sent for Val, and Aldridge happened to be with him. Bentham turned up about the same time as I did. To check on a patient, he said.”
Val was the Earl of Ashbury, Ruth’s husband.
“I’m going to wash and change, cousins, if you will excuse me. There is more to the message from Bentham, Sarah. He apologises for missing his appointment. He says he will be here as soon as he can, and if you are not available this afternoon, he asks for a dance at the Farmington Ball this evening.”
“I have a meeting with the Theodora Foundation,” Sarah said. She checked the room’s clock. “And will need to leave here in an hour or so. I will send him a message.”
Drew rubbed a hand through his hair, looked at his hand, and shook his head. “My apologies, ladies, for coming to you in my dirt.” He bowed himself out, then put his head back around the door. “Take a double guard, Sarah. We think the clinic fire was arson.”
“My school!” Charlotte protested. “Excuse me, Sarah. I need to see if we can set a guard.”