Page 68 of Allured By a Lord's Touch

“Until your father eliminates your title.”

Sarah felt tears well in her eyes. Didn’t they understand that she didn’t care about her title? Let it be passed on to Lisbeth; in fact, nothing would please Sarah more.

“I never cared for my title. I anticipated the income, merely so that I wouldn’t have to marry.”

The duke angrily pulled his hand through his hair. “So you wouldn’t have to marry someone the likes of me. Oh, Sarah, you have no idea what you’re saying.”

Sarah turned crestfallen. What if she had lost her mind and was making a mistake? The prospect was entirely possible. But Sarah couldn’t deny her heart—she couldn’t deny the aching longing that she felt for Patrick. Sarah couldn’t escape it, nor did she wish to; her love for him was so delicious in every way.

“Your Grace, I wish to retire to my room if you’re amenable to that.”

“I’m not finished with this conversation.”

“Then, at the very least, allow me to sit, for I fear that I might swoon.”

It was the truth. Sarah stood on shaking legs, and the room seemed to spin. These were not feigned emotions to prove to Lord Edward Guilford that she was penitent for her decision. These were real sensations that made it feel as though the ground had been removed from under her feet.

The duke pulled out a chair, and Sarah sat, leaning her elbow upon the table and placing her head in the palm of her hand. The duke continued to stand over her.

“Do you see the distress that you’re causing yourself? This could all be amended quite easily.”

“I beg of you to believe what I’ve already said and let the matter go.”

The duke summoned for a footman at once. “Bring her a glass of water,” he commanded.

“Yes, Your Grace,” the footman replied.

The duke sighed to himself, paced about the dining room, then was seated. He leaned back in his chair and said, “Please consider, Lady Sarah. There’s still time to refuse the man’s offer and allow me to take care of you.”

Sarah looked up through heavy-lidded eyes. “I … I will consider.”

“Good. That’s all that your father and I ask. Take the time to pause, consider your future, and the future of the Crawford family name, for it will surely go down in disgrace if you marry a labourer.”

The water was quickly presented to Sarah, and she took a grateful sip. It had been a long and tiresome evening, and there were still so many questions that lingered in Sarah’s mind. How was it that Patrick looked so much like Lord Kelly? Where had Patrick come from, and where was he going? Lastly, how did Patrick know so many details about the real Lord Reginald Simmons?

Sarah decided to allow these questions to fade away. “I shall retire to my room now, Your Grace.”

“If you wish,” the duke replied wearily.

Feeling her legs steadier, Sarah got up from the table and exited the dining room, feeling utterly at a loss. No one would accept her decision. But just as soon as she thought of Patrick again, her heart and body flooded with hope and love. Surely, those sensations should rule her decisions.

Entering her room, Sarah discovered the lady-in-waiting seated in a chair, and Lisbeth curled upon the bed.

“Has my sister been here long?” Sarah asked her lady.

“Yes, m’am. She’s been here for some time.”

Sarah walked over to the bed and seated herself beside Lisbeth, stroking her hair. Lisbeth finally opened her eyes and gazed up at her sister.

“What is happening, Sarah?”

“Patrick has asked for my hand in marriage, and I’ve said yes.”

“That’s so exciting.”

“It is, and it isn’t. Father is not pleased, and perhaps never will be.”

“Does this mean you’re moving to Wales?”

---