Kane, Samantha - Brothers in arms 7 (2 page)

Miss Whitley sat there, still as a stone. Gideon looked over at Charles, who was standing quietly just inside the study door. Charles gave a small, confused shrug in response to his look. Clearly he did not know what to make of Miss Whitley either.

Perhaps she had not wished to come. Or, more likely, regretted her decision at her first sight of Gideon’s face. The burn scars covered the left side from his cheekbone to his neck, and he kept his hair short, not bothering to try to conceal the disfigurement. It would have done no good, and he saw no reason to pretend to be something he wasn’t.

She hadn’t even seen his leg yet. Or what was left of it, anyway.

He deliberately motioned with his scarred left hand for Anders to step forward, watching Miss Whitley. But she wasn’t looking at him, of course. She was staring at her lap. Suddenly she rose and turned her back to him. He thought she was going to leave, but instead she started to remove her coat. Her father stood and solicitously helped her.

He seemed to care for her, and that allayed Gideon’s fears that she had been forced to come.

Anders reached out to take her coat from her father just as Miss Whitley untied and removed that damned bonnet. He gasped and nearly dropped the garment, which was so out of character for the staid butler that Gideon half rose from his chair. He glanced over at Charles and saw a look of shock on his face. Charles took a step toward Miss Whitley just as she turned to Gideon.

9

Samantha Kane

Gideon slowly sat back down. Damn. Damn it all to hell.

“We would be happy to stay for tea, Mr. North,” she told him in a clear, strong voice, almost challenging him. But who was he to say anything? The dark, strawberry pink birthmark covering most of her right cheek was far less unsightly than his scars.

Gideon cleared his throat. “Very good,” he answered. He reached for his crutches and stood, then slowly made his way around the desk. He stopped next to her. “I believe Mrs. Brown has our tea in the drawing room.” With a raised brow he indicated she precede him. She smiled wryly and in a swish of skirts and lavender, she did just that.

* * * * *

Charles was shaken by this Miss Whitley. She was not what they’d expected. She just might work. And what if she did? What if Gideon married her? Charles had been working toward that goal for over a year now. And yet, now that it might become a reality, he was plagued by doubts. And fears. He couldn’t forget the fear. Fear that Gideon would no longer need him. Fear that the next time Gideon dismissed him he’d really mean it, and Charles would have nowhere to go. No life without Gideon.

He took a deep breath and followed them all as they headed for the drawing room.

Miss Whitley walked sedately next to Gideon, matching her pace to his effortlessly. She was terribly graceful. And attractive, even with the birthmark. He had been shaken to the core by the birthmark. She understood Gideon right now, after only a brief introduction, better than Charles ever could. She knew. She knew what Gideon went through every day, every time he looked in the mirror. It was a connection Charles could never make with Gideon.

They passed the windows in the foyer and the sunlight glinted off her hair. It was an odd combination of light blonde and deep honey gold strands, as if it couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. She had it pulled back rather tightly, exposing her mark for all to see. Another similarity to Gideon. But it looked as if it would be long and thick when it was free. Charles absently ran a hand through his curly blond hair. He’d noticed his forehead getting noticeably larger lately. He smiled ruefully at the thought.

As if he was in competition with the lovely Miss Whitley. No matter how Charles felt, Gideon did not think of him that way. It was best he remember that. Best that he think about how good it would be for Gideon to have a wife like her, pretty and strong and seemingly unconcerned with his scars. It was what Charles had been hoping for, after all.

* * * * *

Well, at least he hadn’t recoiled in horror.
Although truly, that was the best Sarah could say about Mr. North’s reaction to her face. She’d thought she could be braver about the whole business, brazen out the fact that they’d withheld something so important from him. She’d known about his scars. The duchess had written to her and her father and 10

Love’s Fortress

described Mr. North’s injuries. She had imagined an infirm veteran, grateful that any woman would consider his suit.

Instead she had been met by a man who carried himself as if he commanded the world. He had stood unsteadily behind his desk when they arrived but sat down immediately. From behind his desk he had glowered at them, broad-shouldered and lean. His scars pulled down the corner of his left eye and the corner of his mouth. She had almost convinced herself that was why he appeared so displeased at their arrival.

But his eyes, so unusually light blue they seemed to shine from his face like a beacon, were hard and assessing. He had already found her wanting and he hadn’t even seen the birthmark yet.

She knew an overwhelming sense of defeat sitting across from him. This man could pick and choose his wife. He need not take a disfigured girl such as her He’d been her last hope for a home and family of her own unless she considered marrying beneath her, which she was reluctant to do. Marriages like that rarely worked in Sarah’s experience. She wanted her own life but had no desire to be unhappy in it. When he had insisted she remove her coat and bonnet, Sarah had actually flinched in fear. But she was made of sterner stuff than that. She’d had the mark her whole life, had dealt with a wide range of reactions to it, and she knew in that moment she could deal with Mr. North’s as well.

But she had cheated, just a little. She’d turned to that nice Mr. Borden, who had escorted them from Ashton Park, riding beside their carriage on his horse. She had been in the carriage with her father so hadn’t spoken to Mr. Borden, but the duchess was quite fond of him and he was so congenial to everyone they met on the road. So she let his reaction be the first she saw. It had not soothed her fears. The shock on his face was like a douse of cold water to her bravado. The pity that followed was no better. But she’d turned to Mr. North and she had been so proud of her calm and steady demeanor.

Mr. North had surprised her by not showing much of a reaction at all. He’d fallen back on tea, which amused Sarah to no end. Tea had certainly solved a great many English dilemmas, had it not? And so here they were, making polite conversation in the drawing room.

She was a little surprised that Mr. Borden was still here. As the estate manager he was a retainer, but he was treated as family. From what little the duchess had told her, he had been with Mr. North since the war. Perhaps that explained his esteemed position in the household.

“You are very quiet, Miss Whitley,” Mr. North said suddenly, with the sharpness of impatience. She was surprised and fumbled her teacup, nearly dropping it. She sighed with disgust and forced herself to put the cup down calmly. She accepted the handkerchief Mr. Borden held out to her with a firm “Thank you” and matter-of-factly dabbed the spot of tea on her gown before answering.

“And what would you have me discuss, Mr. North?” she responded with a smile. “I have exhausted tea and the weather.”

11

Samantha Kane

Mr. North’s eyes widened in surprise and then the unscarred side of his mouth quirked with amusement. “Have you? I thought ladies were taught to discuss those topics at length with great animation.”

“North,” Mr. Borden said with ill-disguised warning.

“Sarah has been raised as a lady, sir,” her father said calmly. She was quite proud of how well he was handling himself here. This was the first time he’d had to negotiate a marriage for a daughter, and Mr. North was intimidating.

“I did not doubt it,” Mr. North said with a slight inclination of his head to her. “I apologize if I indicated otherwise.”

“Accepted,” Sarah murmured with a polite nod of her own. She secretly found Mr.

North’s gruff manner amusing. She was tired of people who tried too hard to say the right thing at all times.

“Well then,” Mr. North began, setting his cup down on the table, “let us get to the heart of the matter.”

Sarah could hardly wait to hear what he was going to say next. “Oh yes, let us do exactly that,” she agreed with conviction. Both Mr. North and Mr. Borden looked at her as if they’d never seen anything like her before. Well, that was certainly not a first for Sarah.

“Tell me why you wish to marry me, Miss Whitley,” Mr. North demanded, and Sarah almost clapped in appreciation of his forthrightness.

“Now see here, North,” her father protested. “We have not established that Sarah wishes to marry you at all. We are here to determine if an alliance between you is acceptable.”

Mr. North nodded. “You are correct, Reverend.” He looked at Sarah with those eyes that seemed to see everything. “And is it, Miss Whitley?”

It took Sarah a moment to realize he meant did she wish to marry him. “Yes,” she answered, perhaps a little too fervently, at least based on her father’s frown.

“Why?” Mr. North sat back in his seat and calmly waited for her answer.

Sarah smoothed her skirts and glanced at Mr. Borden out of the corner of her eye.

He seemed quite pleased by the turn in the conversation. She licked her lips and looked back at Mr. North, who was still intently watching her.

“I am the eldest of eleven children, Mr. North.” His eyes grew wide with astonishment as he turned his gaze to her plump, balding, mild-mannered father, who calmly sat there drinking his tea. “My mother died in childbirth and I have raised my younger siblings and run my father’s house for the last seven years. My father has recently remarried and my stepmother is expecting, and as I am twenty-four years old I felt it was time I married and set up my own home.”

Mr. North made no response for a time, as if waiting for her to go on. When she didn’t he leaned forward. “That is all very well, Miss Whitley. But why do you wish to marry
me
?”

12

Love’s Fortress

So, he wanted all of it, did he? Very well. “Because, Mr. North, to be quite frank, you are the only man I’ve met who might be able to accept me with the mark on my face.”

Mr. North smiled, rather gruesomely actually, because of his scars. But Sarah didn’t mind. The unscarred half of his face was handsome, and she knew a smile when she saw one.

“And now I must ask you, Mr. North. Why do you wish to marry
me
?”

“Sarah,” her father said chidingly.

Mr. North waved him off. “It is only fair,” he said. He looked at Sarah, assessing her from head to foot. She felt the heat of a blush spread from her chest to her cheeks, one of the awkward traits that came with pale skin and blonde hair. “Quite frankly, Miss Whitley, you are one of the few women I have met who does not seem to mind my disfigurement.”

Sarah smiled grimly. It wasn’t much of a compliment, but she was willing to accept it as his reason.

“And,” he surprised her by continuing, “you meet almost all of my requirements in a wife.”

Sarah blinked, not sure what to make of that. “And those requirements are, sir?”

He waved his scarred hand in the air dismissively. Two of the fingers had been injured so badly he could not straighten them completely. “Immaterial, Miss Whitley.

What matters is that I think we shall get along quite well together. If you agree, then we shall sign the papers and our betrothal will be announced at once.”

Sarah found herself slightly breathless. This was it. It was up to her. If she said yes, she would marry this hard, scarred man, live here in his house, bear and raise his children. This—he—would be her life. He waited patiently, as if understanding what was going through her mind. She examined him closely. His close-cropped hair showed signs of silver. His eyes were beautiful. Physically he was in his prime. She made herself look at his scars. They were white against his tanned face. But she was already used to them. They didn’t detract from his appeal, which lay more in his commanding manner and forthright speech than in his physical attributes. This was a man who would protect and care for her as his wife and who clearly admired her independent streak. Marriages had been built on less.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, Mr. North, I would be honored to be your wife.”

He smiled again. “Good. In three weeks time, then.”

And just like that, Sarah’s life changed forever.

13

Samantha Kane

“Sarah?”

Sarah turned and leaned around the tree at her back. “Here, Papa. I’m over here.”

She was sitting on a comfortable bench by the fence surrounding the pasture, watching the horses. Did Mr. North sit here, she wondered? It was a beautiful view, enchanting in its quiet simplicity. The pasture lay before her looking bright green in the sunlight, the horses dotting the landscape. She couldn’t believe this was to be her home. After today she would be Mrs. Gideon North. She felt a shiver race down her back. It was excitement, anticipation.

Today. Today her life would start. Today was her wedding day.
Please let this be a
good day,
she silently asked. When her mother had been dying after Winnie was born, she had lingered for several weeks. Each morning Sarah had asked the same thing. She had asked every day since. She had compromised on what was and was not a good day over the years. She didn’t want to compromise anymore.

Her father sat down next to her with a sigh. They had traveled all day yesterday.

He had wanted to get here earlier this week, but he’d been needed in the parish. He had been so upset, worried that he’d ruined her wedding. They had arrived at Ashton Park late last night and the duke had sent a message to Blakely House.

The duke. Sarah couldn’t believe she knew one, much less had stayed in his home.

She had almost convinced herself in the last three weeks that her trip to Ashton on the Green had been a dream, that Mr. North had been a dream. But he’d sent her Papa some money so she could buy new clothes and a wedding dress. Her stepmother had been beside herself trying to get Sarah ready, and jealous that she hadn’t gone with them and wouldn’t be going this time either. The younger children simply couldn’t be left alone with their one servant.