“Let us start again,” she said gently.
“Would that we could,” he mused.
“Barrymore said you were asking for me to join you. How can I be of service, Your Grace?”
“Sarah, a great many things have become clear to me in the past few weeks,” he said, pacing a few steps closer. “My father’s death focused a great many facts for me. As did your brush with death. Things I hadn’t let myself see. Let myself believe. And now they are right in front of me and I know what I must do.”
She blinked. “I…see? No, I don’t see. To what are you referring?”
“Your father was Mr. Seth Carlton. Third son of a second son to the Viscount Carlton.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Though my father had very little relationship with the Lord Carlton. They had a falling out before I was born. And of course my father had his troubles, so that is probably why the proper part of our family cut us away.”
He nodded. “You had a chance at a good match thanks to those family ties, severed or not. I realize it was circumstances out of your control that kept you from that match.”
She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, I’m confused as to what you are trying to say to me. My past means little now, my connections mean nothing. I am your sister’s governess. That is the path to my future and I see no other, if you are worried I would somehow seek a union.”
“You would be happy if you never wed?” he asked, and there was a sadness that entered his eyes.
“I have not the privilege to make a decision on that score. It is what it is, Kit.” She tried to keep her affect flat, so he wouldn’t see how painful it was to discuss this subject and most especially with him.
He moved closer, and now he reached out to take her hand. “I didn’t have Barrymore send you here to have you be of some service to me. It’s because I wanted to speak to you about…about…I wanted to ask you…to tell you…”
He shook his head in frustration and she had no idea how to help, but before she could try there was a knock on the door. Kit released her hand and shoved his fingers through his hair, mussing that image of perfection he had presented when she first entered the room.
“Yes, what is it?” he snapped.
Barrymore entered, his face red and his hands unsteady. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I know what you asked, what you required, but…but there has been a development.”
Kit threw up his hands. “A development. Is my sister well?”
“I assume so—she is still out with the Willowby party.”
“Then this could not have waited?” Kit asked. “I was in the middle of something.”
Sarah stared at his upset, his anger, which he so rarely showed. She wasn’t exactly certain what he had been in the middle of in his mind. She was still confused as to why he’d called her. Their entire exchange had been…odd.
“Miss Hannah Beckett is here, Your Grace,” Barrymore said.
Kit froze and his gaze became focused entirely on the butler. “What?”
Sarah stared between the men. It was clear the woman’s name meant something to them both, though she didn’t recognize it. Still, she was seized with an irrational fear. Was this a former lover of Kit’s? Someone he loved? Was that what he was trying to tell her when he babbled about her future, that he already had his set in stone?
“Where is she?” Kit growled. Sarah shook her head. He didn’t sound happy, that was certain. Not like he had heard that someone he cared about had come to call.
“In the blue parlor, Your Grace,” Barrymore said. He lifted his chin in defiance. “And there is a guard standing by with the door open to be sure she doesn’t take anything of value.”
“Is she alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Kit said. “Good. Don’t let her leave and don’t let her near Phoebe, do you understand? If God forbid their group returns before this is dealt with, tell Lucas to take Phoebe somewhere else.”
“I shall, Your Grace.”
“I’ll be there in a moment to…” His face pinched in disgust. “Tohandleher.”
Barrymore nodded and backed out, leaving Kit and Sarah alone again. She moved forward now that they had some privacy. “Kit?”
