The Sum Of All Kisses Part 32

And Hugh's. Because if anyone in this world deserved a happy ending, it was he.

"But not right away," Sarah said. "I need to tidy up. I don't want to go to him looking as if I've been crying."

"He should know he made you cry."

"Why, Honoria Smythe-Smith, that might be the most hard-hearted thing I have ever heard you say."

"It's Honoria Holroyd now," Honoria said pertly, "and it's true. The only thing worse than a man who makes a woman cry is a man who makes a woman cry and then doesn't feel guilty about it."

Sarah looked at her with a new sort of respect. "Married life agrees with you."

Honoria's smile was a touch smug. "It does, doesn't it?"

Sarah scooted herself to the edge of the bed and slid off. Her legs were stiff, and she stretched each one in turn, bending and straightening at the knee. "He already knows he made me cry."

"Good."

Sarah leaned against the side of the bed and looked down at her hands. Her fingers were swollen. How did that happen? Who got sausage fingers from crying?

"Is something wrong?" Honoria asked.

Sarah gave her a rueful look. "I believe I would rather Lord Hugh think I'm the sort of woman who looks gorgeous while she cries, eyes all glistening and such."

"As opposed to red-rimmed and puffy?"

"Is that your way of telling me I look a mess?"

"You'll want to redo your hair," Honoria said, ever the epitome of tact.

Sarah nodded. "Do you know where Harriet is? We're sharing a room, and I don't want her seeing me like this."

"She would never judge," Honoria a.s.sured her.

"I know. But I'm not up to her questions. And you know she'll have questions."

Honoria bit back a grin. She knew Harriet. "I'll tell you what," she said, "I will make sure that Harriet is distracted, and you can go to your room to . . ." She fluttered her hands near her face, the universal signal for fixing one's appearance.

Sarah gave a nod. "Thank you. And Honoria . . ." Sarah waited until her cousin had turned back around to face her. "I love you."

Honoria gave a wobbly smile. "I love you, too, Sarah." She brushed a nonexistent tear from her eye, then asked, "Would you like me to send word to Lord Hugh, asking him to meet with you in thirty minutes?"

"Perhaps an hour?" Sarah was brave, but not that brave. She needed more time to bolster her confidence.

"In the conservatory?" Honoria suggested, walking toward the door. "You'll have privacy. I don't think anyone's used the room all week. I imagine they're all afraid they might stumble upon us practicing for a musicale."

Sarah smiled despite herself. "All right. The conservatory in an hour. I shall-"

She was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

"That's odd," Honoria said. "Daniel knows we-" She shrugged, not bothering to finish her statement. "Enter!"

The door opened, and one of the footmen stepped in. "My lady," he said to Honoria, blinking with surprise. "I was looking for his lordship."

"He very kindly allowed us the use of his room," Honoria said. "Is there a problem?"

"No, but I have a message from the stables."

"From the stables?" Honoria echoed. "That's very strange." She looked over at Sarah, who had been waiting patiently through the exchange. "Whatever could be so important that they told George to come find Daniel in his bedchamber?"

Sarah shrugged, figuring George was the footman. Honoria had grown up at Whipple Hill; of course she'd know his name.

"Very well," Honoria said, turning back to the footman. She held out her hand. "If you give the message to me, I will make sure that Lord Winstead receives it."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am. It's not written down. I was asked just to tell him."

"I will relay it," Honoria said.

The footman looked undecided, but only for a moment. "Thank you, ma'am. I was asked to tell his lordship that Lord Hugh took one of the carriages to Thatcham."

Sarah snapped to attention. "Lord Hugh?"

"Er, yes," George confirmed. "He's the gentleman who limps, isn't he?"

"Why would he go to Thatcham?"

"Sarah," Honoria said, "I'm sure George doesn't know-"

"No," George interrupted. "That is, I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to cut in."

"Please, go ahead," Sarah said urgently.

"I was told that he went to the White Hart to see his father."

"His father?"

George didn't quite flinch, but it was close.

"Why would he go see his father?" Sarah demanded.

"I-I-I don't know, my lady." He threw a rather desperate glance over at Honoria.

"I don't like this," Sarah said.

George looked pained.

"You may go, George," Honoria said. He gave a quick bow and fled.

"Why is his father in Thatcham?" Sarah asked the moment they were alone again.

"I don't know," Honoria replied, sounding as baffled as Sarah felt. "He certainly wasn't invited to the wedding."

"This can't be good." Sarah turned to the window. The rain was still coming down in sheets. "I need to go to the village."

"You can't go in this weather."

"Hugh did."

"That's entirely different. He was going to his father."

"Who wants to kill Daniel!"

"Oh, dear G.o.d," Honoria said, giving her head a shake. "This is all such madness."

Sarah ignored her, instead dashing out into the hall and yelling for George, who thankfully had not yet headed downstairs. "I need a carriage brought 'round," she said. "Immediately."

As soon as he was gone, she turned back to Honoria, who was standing in the doorway. "I will meet you in the drive," Honoria said. "I'm going with you."

"No, you can't," Sarah said immediately. "Marcus would never forgive me."

"Then we'll bring him, too. And Daniel."

"No!" Sarah grabbed Honoria's hand and yanked her back even though she hadn't taken more than a step. "Under no circ.u.mstances may Daniel go see Lord Ramsgate."

"You cannot leave him out of this," Honoria insisted. "He is as deeply involved as-"

"Fine," Sarah said, just to cut her off. "Get Daniel. I don't care."

But she did care. And the moment Honoria dashed off to fetch the two gentlemen, Sarah yanked on her coat and raced to the stables. She could ride to the village faster than any carriage could be driven, even in-no, especially in this rain.

Daniel, Marcus, and Honoria would follow her to the White Hart; Sarah knew that they would. But if she got there far enough ahead of them, she could- Well, to be quite honest, she wasn't sure what she could do, just that she could do something. She would find a way to placate Lord Ramsgate before Daniel showed up, irate and itching for a fight.

She might not be able to engineer a happy ending for all; in fact, she was fairly certain she could not do so. More than three years of hatred and bitterness could not be swept away in a single day. But if Sarah could somehow keep tempers from rising, and fists from flying, and-good heavens-anyone from getting killed . . .

It might not be a happy ending, but by G.o.d, it would have to be happy enough.

Chapter Eighteen.

An hour prior Whipple Hill A different room If Hugh eventually did become the Marquess of Ramsgate, the first thing he was going to do was change the family motto. He could do that, couldn't he? Because With Pride Comes Valor made no sense in the context of the current generations of Prentice men. No, if Hugh had any say in the matter, he was changing the whole b.l.o.o.d.y thing to Things Can Always Get Worse.

Case in point: the short missive that had been delivered to his room at Whipple Hill while he was off in the little drawing room, breaking Sarah's heart, making her cry, and apparently being a terrible person.

The card was from his father.

His father.

It had been bad enough to have to look upon his familiar sharp handwriting. Then he read the words and realized that Lord Ramsgate was here. In Berkshire, practically down the road from Whipple Hill at the White Hart, the most fashionable of the local inns.

How the marquess had got a room when all of the inns were full of wedding guests, Hugh could not imagine. But his father had always had a way of bludgeoning through life. If he wanted a room, he'd get one, and Hugh could only pity the cascade of guests who would be moved to the next-nicest room until some poor bloke found himself out in the barn.

What his father's note had not indicated, however, was why he'd traveled to Berkshire. Hugh was not particularly surprised by this omission; his father had never believed in explaining himself. He was at the White Hart, he wanted to speak to Hugh, and he wanted to do so immediately.

That was all he wrote.

Hugh generally went out of his way to avoid interaction with his father, but he was not so stupid as to ignore a direct summons. He told his valet to pack up his things and await further instructions, and then he set off for the village. He wasn't sure that Daniel would look kindly upon his using one of the Winstead carriages, but as the rain was still beating mercilessly against the earth, and Hugh was a man with a cane . . . He really didn't see how he had much choice in the matter.

Not to mention that this was his father he'd been forced to go see. No matter how furious Daniel was with Hugh-and Hugh suspected he was irreversibly furious-he would understand the necessity of meeting with the marquess.

"G.o.d, I hate this," Hugh said to himself as he climbed awkwardly into the carriage. And then he wondered if some of Sarah's propensity toward drama was rubbing off on him, because all he could think was- I'm off to meet my doom.

The White Hart Inn Thatcham Berkshire "What are you doing here?" Hugh demanded, the words spitting from his mouth before he had taken more than two steps into one of the White Hart's private dining rooms.

"No greeting?" his father said, not bothering to rise from his seat. "No 'Father, what brings you to Berkshire this fine day?' "

"It's raining."

"And the earth is renewed," Lord Ramsgate said in a jolly voice.

Hugh gave him a cold stare. He hated when his father pretended to be paternal.

His father motioned to the chair across the table. "Sit."

Hugh might have preferred to stand, if only to countermand him, but his leg ached, and his desire to thwart his father was not great enough for him to sacrifice his own comfort. He sat.

"Wine?" his father asked.

"No."

"It's not very good, anyway," his father said, tossing back the remains of his gla.s.s. "I really ought to bring my own when I travel."

Hugh sat in stony silence, waiting for his father to get to the point.

"The cheese is tolerable," the marquess said. He reached out for a slice of bread from the cheeseboard on the table. "Bread? They can't really muck up a loaf of-"

"What the devil is this about?" Hugh finally exploded.

His father had been clearly waiting for this moment. His face stretched into a smug smile, and he leaned back in his chair. "You can't guess?"

"I wouldn't dare try."

"I'm here to congratulate you."

Hugh stared at him with unconcealed suspicion. "On what?"