Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,39
his club.”
Pursing her lips, Sarah lowered her teacup to its saucer. “I am not referring to the nature of his trade, but to his philandering. Mr. Wilder is a notorious rake. He carries on with actresses and ladybirds.”
“That is nothing more than mean-spirited gossip,” Alicia said glibly, her smile fixed, the lies tasting sour on her tongue. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“My dear, you’ve been tucked away at home with your mother. I am more experienced in the ways of the world. For your own good, you must realize such men hold women in the lowest regard.”
“Perhaps so, but my husband is a gentleman. He has the utmost respect for me.”
“So it seems now. But once the honeymoon is over, he’ll return to his doxies. I’ve seen it happen in many aristocratic marriages.” Her movements coldly precise, Sarah lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. “And for you, with a husband of low birth, the shame will be all the worse.”
That superior tone grated on Alicia. She gritted her teeth and counted to ten, reminding herself that Drake’s position would be secured if the ton saw him in the company of the Duchess of Featherstone. “Why don’t you judge his character for yourself?” she said with a brilliant smile. “We could all go for a drive tomorrow afternoon in the park.”
“Quite impossible.”
“Then another day?” Alicia said doggedly. “I would like for us to be friends again, as we once were.”
Sarah gave her that frigid, unfathomable stare. “I’m sorry, but those days are long gone. And might I add, back then, you’d never have married so far beneath yourself.”
That final jab infuriated Alicia. Her cup rattled in its saucer as she rose to her feet. “Not all of us have the leisure to marry for love. You might show a little kindness toward those less fortunate than yourself.”
Sarah turned her head away as if to pretend Alicia wasn’t there. Her beautiful face might have been carved from the purest alabaster, her hair dark and gleaming in the light from the window.
Alicia would not be ignored. She had to speak, to rid herself of the old hurt and the new resentment. “I once envied you your happiness, Sarah, and I’m truly sorry for your loss. But I don’t envy the smug and condescending person you’ve become.”
She set down the teacup. Her throat burned, but at least she could leave with her self-respect intact. She cast one last look at the duchess, and the icy farewell melted on her tongue.
A tear sparkled down that perfect cheek. Then another. Those firmly pressed lips trembled ever so slightly. Sarah made no other move, and an impression of something so private, so unhappy about her reached past Alicia’s anger.
“Sarah? Are you all right?”
Without taking her gaze from the blue brocaded draperies, the duchess spoke in a thready whisper. “Just … go.”
Had she been wrong to think Sarah frigid and unfeeling? Alicia stepped closer. Hesitantly, she touched Sarah’s arm, the black silk sleeve warm beneath her fingertips. “You must still be grieving for the duke. It was wrong of me to remind you.”
With surprising suddenness, Sarah turned on Alicia, the tears flowing freely now. “Yes, I do grieve. But not for Timothy … never for him.”
The angry agony in those watery violet eyes stunned Alicia. She sank down on the chaise and drew a handkerchief from her pocket, pressing it into that cold hand. “There, now. You needn’t hold back your tears. I’m here for you.”
While Sarah sobbed into the scrap of embroidered linen, Alicia wondered at the source of her pain. Had she endured a troubled marriage? Surely she and the duke had been a fairy-tale couple, young and handsome and blissful. Or had Alicia been mistaken all these years?
At last Sarah’s weeping slowed, and she dashed at her wet cheeks. “I never meant to bawl like a silly child. I haven’t done so in a long, long time.”
“There is nothing childish about sadness. I’ve wept, too, about my mother … and other sorrows.”
“Oh, Ali, how can you bear to sit here with me? I’ve behaved like a shrew. I despise what I’ve become—sour and angry at the world.” Sarah gripped Alicia’s hand. “The truth is, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed confiding in you. So many times I’ve wanted the courage to tell you—to tell someone.…”
“To tell me what?”
“That I grieve … for the happiness I knew before Timothy came into my life.”
Confused, Alicia fumbled for words. “I—I thought yours was a