“I would not say that in front of Isabel,” James said. “She and Sarah are old friends from her wallflower days—she might have words with you if she thinks you might do Sarah a wrong.”
Kit harrumphed as an answer. It was true that Isabel would likely defend Sarah if he moved to end her position here. That was not something he wanted to manage at present. He needed peace. Quiet. Support, not a fight. Right now he was too overwhelmed for a fight of any kind.
“I’ve got so much to do,” he muttered, happy to change the subject. “My father was so hands-on in every aspect of his duties. He talked about the dukedom to me for years, and yet I know I will still miss something.”
“You won’t. My father didn’t give me any direction and I haven’t harmed my position one bit. The idea of it is more overwhelming than the reality. Besides, you have nine dukes here at your side, any one of them ready to help at the slightest flick of your hand.”
Kit smiled at the idea, but he couldn’t help but still be troubled. “And yet you won’t be here forever. At some point, I’ll have to face it all alone. Kingsacre is the largest holding of any of our friends. It has the most tenants, the most tangled duties.”
James turned toward him with a frown. “Kit, for God’s sake, take a break. Your father arranged everything. I know Baldwin and Ewan were looking over his accounts no more than a few days ago. Everything is in perfect order. You need time to grieve before you jump headlong into your duties.”
Kit shook his head, watching as the other mourners began to trail off toward the house. He stepped forward to follow them, forcing James to fall into step beside him if he wanted to continue the conversation. Which, of course, he did. James was King of the Dukes. Right now Kit was the subject he thought needed him most.
And yet there was nothing his friend could do.
“I don’t want to take time,” Kit said, hardening himself to the pain in his chest. “I just want to do him proud. That’s all I can do now. Starting today.”
Sarah stood at the sideboard in the East Parlor. It was one of the biggest gathering places on the estate, save for the ballroom, and it was filled to capacity by dukes and duchesses. But it was still as the grave they’d all left not an hour before.
The only child in attendance was Phoebe, as the others had been put to their naps before the funeral. Now Sarah’s little charge sat on the Duchess of Abernathe’s lap, speaking solemnly to her as the pretty, sweet woman nodded with great interest. Sarah sighed with relief, for she knew having so many kind and attentive adults was good for the fragile little girl.
“I so love seeing you.”
Sarah jolted back to her companion. Her old friend Isabel, now the Duchess of Tyndale, smiled at her. Sarah forced the same. “I do too,” she said.
She meant it. She desperately missed her best friend—she had for a year. But Isabel was not her equal anymore. She was elevated far past Sarah, so no matter how much she wanted to link arms with her and whisper all her fears and troubles, she resisted the urge.
“I do wish it were under better circumstances.” Isabel pursed her lips and glanced across the room at the new Duke of Kingsacre.
Kit was standing with the dukes of Donburrow and Northfield presently. Donburrow had a muscular arm slung across his shoulders and the men were not talking, but just…standing together.
Sarah couldn’t help but be happy he had such support in this moment. She knew it all too well and had wished for the same when she’d felt it.
“Sarah?”
She shook her head and drew her attention back for a second time. “Yes, it is a terrible shame about the previous duke,” she said. “He was the best of men. Never anything but kind to me in the short time I was in his employ. Thank you for helping me obtain this position.”
Isabel wrinkled her brow. “You have thanked me a dozen times already. I think that quite covers your obligation. I am your friend, Sarah. I only wish you would have let me help you more.”
Sarah flinched. When her mother had died nine months before, Isabel had suggested Sarah simply come and live with her and her husband, Matthew. It had been an enticing suggestion, of course. But unfair. Sarah knew her future. She’d known it for a very long time.
It was service for her. And so she had come out of her mourning swiftly, pushing aside her grief for her dead mother, and searched for months for a position. Ultimately, Isabel had introduced her to the previous Kingsacre, and here she was.
For as long as it would last. The new duke suddenly glanced up and his dark gaze slipped to her. His face grew more serious, more closed off, just as it had in Phoebe’s nursery a few days before, and her heart skipped a beat.
“You may have a chance to help me again,” she said as she darted her eyes away. “I’m not sure I will be governess here for much longer.”
Isabel cocked her head. “You don’t think Kit will keep you on, despite the bond you’ve formed with Phoebe?”
Sarah tried not to feel the sting that gripped her every time she pictured walking away from the sweet little girl in her care. “He doesn’t like me. You know that.”
She looked across the room to where the Duke and Duchess of Crestwood stood together. Meg reached up and smoothed an errant curl from her husband’s forehead, and he smiled at her. Of course, Sarah felt no jealousy when she saw the exchange. In the three years since that ill-fated ball when she’d confronted the duchess, the deep love the couple felt for each other had become not a scandal but a story of triumph in Society.
They clearly adored each other. Sarah knew enough now that time had passed to see what a great loss it would have been if circumstance had turned her way. She begrudged them nothing. How the duchess felt about her, of course, was a subject up for debate.
“You think he still holds that silly moment from ages ago against you?” Isabel asked.
Sarah shrugged. “Who knows? In the time I’ve been here, the man has avoided me to the point it could be considered funny. I once watched him walk all the way around the outside of the garden to avoid encountering me. He doesn’t even look at me most of the time.” She sighed. “There was only one time when his façade cracked and that was the night the duke died. And it was only because he needed my help when he told Phoebe what had happened. I suppose he mostly treats me like a servant, which of course I am.”
