Isabel shook her head. “It’s such an odd thing to hear, for Kit is normally so good-natured and kind. That he has focused so much on one moment from years ago seems so out of character.”
Sarah wasn’t certain about that assessment. “I suppose I might offend him in some other way.”
“He is difficult to read,” Isabel said. “You might only be seeing the effect of the strains of the last few years. He’s had so much on his mind since his father began to slip away day by day.”
Sarah bent her head. Yes, that she could grant him. And she respected the way he had been with the old duke. Kit had hardly left his side, trying to tend to his comfort. He had been a marvelous son. She thought of her own mother. Of stroking her hair as she struggled. Of the day the struggle ended.
“Losing a parent is…” She trailed off, for she could not finish the sentence.
Isabel caught her hand. “Oh, Sarah.”
Sarah straightened her shoulders and gently drew her hand away. Once again, she forced herself to remember her position in the world. The one that could not allow her to collapse in front of the Duchess of Tyndale. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“It’s fine,” she lied. “I am fine. Even if I weren’t, you have other things to attend to.” She looked across the crowd to where Isabel’s husband was standing. He was watching the pair. “Including your family. The Duke of Tyndale seems to need you. I shall leave you to him.”
She bobbed out a tiny curtsey and turned. She felt Isabel watching her as she slipped away. Felt the pain of rejection radiating from her friend. Felt the same pain squeezing her heart. But what could she do? They could not truly pretend that nothing had changed. Everything had.
And if she didn’t find some comfort in her place, she could lose it. The new Duke of Kingsacre would surely be looking for any excuse to sack her.
She moved to the back of the room, where she could stand ready to be of service to Phoebe if she were needed but would no longer draw the attention of the invited guests. But before she could vanish into the wall, Kit said something to his friends and moved toward her.
She caught her breath as he crossed the room in a few long strides. He was coming for her. Oh God, would he dismiss her right here in front of all his friends? In front of Isabel? Was this the end at last?
She smoothed the front of her gown as he reached her, looking down at her for a long moment that felt charged with electric energy. At last the silence stretched too long and she hustled to fill it.
“Hello, Your Grace,” she said.
He flinched at the address, and for a moment the mask slipped. She saw intense pain on his handsome features. Loss and grief and torment that she knew all too well.
In that second, she wanted to comfort him. Take his hands and whisper to him that she knew. That when everyone said it would be all right, it was a lie. She wanted to run away with him, run until neither could feel the pain anymore.
And then the mask returned and she blushed at her inappropriate response to it.
“Miss Carlton,” he said, brusque and formal as he glanced back over his shoulder toward the group. “I realize I have been remiss in speaking to you since my father’s…my father’s passing. I think we should talk.”
She blinked up at him, her heart racing so fast and so hard that she feared he could hear every beat of it. “Oh,” she squeaked. “Right now?”
“Yes,” he said. “There is no time like the present, especially since my sister seems to be busy with Emma and Adelaide at present.”
Sarah swallowed hard and nodded, for there wasn’t a way to refuse him. He was her employer, after all. He had all the power.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Very good,” he said. “Then please come with me.”
Kit motioned Sarah into a smaller parlor just down the hall from where his friends were gathered, and watched her walk inside. She turned in the middle of the room to face him, her hands clenched in front of her.
She was trying to be strong. He could see that in the twitch of her cheek, the way her fingers fluttered against each other in their gripped position and how her gaze darted to him and away. Like a little bird flitting back and forth.
She was nervous. She was also very pretty. Her blonde hair was bound simply at the base of her neck, but there were a few honey strands that framed her face, highlighting the angles of her cheekbones. She had full lips that were a warm pink color.
He blinked as those facts rolled through his mind. None were surprising. He wasn’t certain of the first time he’d noticed the young woman standing before him. Certainly they had shared many a ballroom or parlor in the years since she first came into Society. His attention had focused fully on her that night of the ball when she’d spoken harshly to Meg, though.
After that, he’d watched her. Noticed when she entered rooms, felt when she left them. When her hairstyle changed. When she had a new gown.
“How is Phoebe?” he choked out, trying to clear his mind of the riot of thoughts clattering around in his head. Jumbled by grief, certainly.
Her eyes widened a fraction, like she was surprised by the question. She cleared her throat. “As well as can be expected, Your Grace.” She hesitated a moment and then her expression shifted. Softened. “Despite her tender years, she is a very bright little girl. She seems to be a bit easier since you told her she would not be sent away.”
