Anthony watched the familiar crested carriage roll out of their driveway and on to the street. He knew why Lord Holt had come calling, and if he wasn't quick enough, Lord Holt would ask Sarah Jane to marry him, and his mother would have it in "all of their best interests" to force them together. It wouldn't matter how much he or Sarah Jane disagrees, when the old peer decides, that will be the end of that.
With gritted teeth, he pounded his fist on the desk as he tried to convince himself that Creston's advice to marry the girl and be done with it is still not the right way to proceed.
If Sarah Jane refuses, he could very well force her to marry him anyway as they were already considered betrothed by law, if one were to take the signed letters of their fathers into weighty consideration.
The dark had settled in, and a fire warmly lit his office. Even as his house was comfortably resigning, his mind was still busy at work. Forcing Sarah Jane into a marriage with him didn't seem the ideal solution at all. It was no less than a marriage with Lord Holt.
Just the mere thought of it caused his stomach to clench. Oh, it's not with pleasurable anxiety for finally answering his desire, but with a revulsion of his own imaginings of a writhing wild woman scathingly objecting to a union with him. If Sarah Jane did not want to marry him, he would definitely be made known of this fact in no less than a scream and a mouthful of very foul words.
There was a sudden rap on the door, and a footman arrived carrying three missives that had just been delivered from an express messenger.
"Where is it from?" Killsworth asked upon collecting the missives.
One letter was addressed to him, another to Sarah Jane, and the last one to Mathilda. He held up a hand to dismiss the footman, his eyes reading the name of the solicitor he's been waiting for in ages.
"Shall I deliver the other missives?" The footman paused at the door to inquire.
Anthony looked up and shook his head, "No, I'll deliver them personally. You may leave."
He flipped the letter addressed to him, breaking its hardened wax and walked towards the grate to read the letter clearly. It was indeed from Mr. Collins.
---
Your lordship, Lord Killsworth,
I am to inform you of the discovery I had found in Yorkshire. A Scottish lady in her own right who had married the 10th Earl Rosenberg had been undeniably pregnant when his lordship passed away. My father, Rosenberg's proper solicitor, had heard rumors of the child to have been a boy, but he wished not to speculate as the title was already dutifully passed on to the next bearer including all properties and monies entailed.
I have investigated the matter, and I am presently leaving Yorkshire as you read this letter. The child was indeed a boy, and he is the rightful heir to the Rosenberg title. The former Countess Rosenberg has remarried and is now titled Lady Martin. She sired another son as Lord Martin's heir.
I am to inform you that the title shall not be relinquished to the crown as it belongs to the 10th Earl's son.
You are relieved of your duty to marry your ward, Lady Sarah Jane, as the signed contract has been voided by virtue of finding the true Rosenberg heir. I am to collect her off your hands as soon as am able.
Two missives accompany this, informing both Lady Sarah Jane and her proper guardian of the next steps. We shall transport back to Yorkshire, and I shall accompany them.
I apologize for inconveniencing you with such matters, and I hope you can forgive my father and his disorganized ways.
With gratitude, Mr. Collins.
---
Anthony reread the letter twice, then thrice, as his eyes focused on the words that caused tiny cracks at his soul.
You are relieved of your duty to marry your ward...
I am to collect her off your hands...
His hands started shaking, his fingers taking their own mind and crushed the thick offending paper beneath his palms.
She's leaving, and there's nothing he could do to about it.
Anthony felt his limbs stiffen, finally numbing as he sank to a nearby chair. He allowed the deafening silence of his room to engulf him, and for what seemed like an eternity, he watched the furnace glow of spitting embers as it turned itself into blackened smoke.
The letter laid still in his hands, its edges folded, its center unforgivably distorted, and its weight growing heavier by the second.
His mind worked, a vein convulsing on his temple as he struggled to decide on what could be best for him, and best for Sarah Jane given this situation.
Having never met Mr. Collins, he had no idea if he was to be trusted. Everyone knew of the elder Mr. Collins, the capable and aging solicitor of most of the ton in East of England, but no one knew his children—he spoke so rarely of them that Anthony could not even gather the correct information regarding the number of his offspring.
How much can you trust a man in letters?
Mr. Collins, as he claims to be, might not even be a true son of the elder Mr. Collins and could be a blackguard who aspired to make something of himself by robbing another man's possessions and identity.
Or, he thought with a grim smile, Mr. Collins could have been a lonesome man who had his own designs on Lady Sarah Jane. He might take the relinquishment of the Rosenberg title as his opportunity to be able to corner the woman for himself.
There were so many possibilities of deceit, and Killsworth cannot fathom how much of it may cause Sarah Jane irreversible harm.
The letter found itself in a tight ball. Even if someone were to pry it open, the creases had already damaged its readability.
No. Anthony could never trust Sarah Jane into any man's hands. He cannot turn her over and allow her to be under a stranger's power and devices without as much as sending an entire fleet to investigate the man's past, present, and future embodiments.
After all, Sarah Jane is unmarried, and is a lady of the ton. She cannot just go off scampering and traversing with another unmarried gentleman, even with Mathilda as a servant and guardian, all the way to Yorkshire!
Suddenly, his chest tightened painfully. Anthony could feel his heart slamming into his ribs, his mind reeling from the revelation and his lungs squeezing the oxygen out of him.
It has been the strangest and most powerful emotion to ever assault his body. For all the power of his mental faculties, his bones up to the tips of his hair felt entirely useless.
He used to think that seeing Sarah Jane married to another will cause him a bit of anxiety. But the m image of her imprisoned to a passionless marriage to an elderly Lord Holt, had him reconsider his feelings towards her. And after allowing himself to accept that she had never been a mere ward to him, the news of her departure for Yorkshire to be in the mercy of a Lady Martin—who she never had even spoken of—could not be, in the longest stretch known to man, the best solution to this madness.
This was the very definition of what hell felt like.
He was going to go mad.
One minute his veins were hot with anger and the next his blood ran ice cold as beads of sweat peppered his forehead.
With a quick motion, his fingers purchased the paper ball and tossed it into the fire. He removed the seal from the other letters and perused its contents, steely eyes darting from left to right. Ultimately, with a promptness of decision, he threw both letters in disgust, joining the first missive in the fiery grate.
No one was going to take her away from him.
He shall take her away from everyone.
He promised her, hadn't he?
He was going to ask her to marry him, there was no other way around it. He needed her in his life and only death would persuade him to do otherwise.
She shall be happy, he mused. He will give her everything she needed—companionship, a home, stability, security, and unlimited supplies of fruit to make her jam. He would allow her to make her own life as much as he made his. He grinned foolishly, yes, and he would bed her thoroughly, making her scream until the neighbors couldn't look them in the eye. He will take her away from London, back to Kinsmen Place, and they will make half a dozen children.
It seemed like a good plan, all in only about 5 minutes.
Anthony struggled to look for the letter containing the deal that Killsworth and Rosenberg had arranged for a marriage between their children if and when the Rosenberg title gets relinquished. He had to dispose of it lest Sarah Jane finds it. She might decline to marry him just because of her pride getting pinched due to a silly document.
Sure, Sarah Jane liked him well enough to kiss him, but once they near the actual union, she might change her mind. Anything as little consequence as this letter could change her mind. He can't be certain of anything when it comes to women, but he was fairly certain of their fickleness.
He froze, seeing the correspondences he had made to the maintenance men and managers of the Rosenberg's entailed lands.
But would she refuse him?
Sarah Jane seemed to enjoy his attentions, his kisses, and dare he say it, she also seems to crave his company as much as he did hers.
But what did Sarah Jane know of him?
She thought Killsworth was to inherit Rosenberg. She still believed that her father had given away an earldom, and by marrying him, she would be Lady Rosenberg, a wealthy lady of many entailed lands and properties, including Killsworth's measly Kinsmen Place and small London townhouse.
Would she only agree because of the Rosenberg title and then beg off after learning that it was not to be his?
His ghosts appeared in his mind as his fingers dropped the estate letters and pushed them securely inside a locked drawer.
He strode to the door of the study as he thought of the wretchedly beautiful Mariah Borough who had enchanted his trained senses, twirled him around her finger until he panted like an untried boy. She kept him at bay, wanting his attentions for her vanity. And when she deemed that his estate and London townhome were a crushing disappointment for all her beauty, talent, and grace could have achieved and accomplished, she discarded him like yesterday's rubbish.
His eyes hardened at the thought, he had to be careful. He wasn't as stupid to fall for a woman's wiles year after year.
His feet moved him to the hall in a trance.
Sarah Jane invoked far greater feelings than Mariah Borough could have ever hoped for. Anthony had more time to discern, evaluate, and fretfully obsess over Sarah Jane, and his wound for her festered like a bloodthirsty infection—
"My lord?"
He blinked, seeing a plush figure of a woman standing before him, hands clasped in between her front skirts. Sarah Jane looked twice as lovely in the candlelight, but his eyes held its suspicions even as his heart yearned for the creature before him.
"You look terribly distraught." She mentioned as her eyes darted from left to right, asserting that no one was there. "What is the matter?" She asked so softly that he had felt like he was being embraced.
He knew this voice. That sweet voice that called to him, warmed his heart and enveloped his soul. He knew this feeling all too much, and he feared that she knew of her power and was consciously using it as a weapon.
Her brows creased with worry, she moved closer and he took a step back.
"Are you well?" She grabbed his hands tightly, again looking towards the hallway for people that might observe them.
"Anthony?" She whispered as she tugged on him to force a response.
He couldn't speak. His throat working violently, his mouth dry. He has lost the game, he knew he was already developing a remarkable attachment to her. He will not bear it as well (or unwell) as he did Mariah Borough's rejection. Anthony was sure that he will not survive it.
It was too much, too painful, to even think about the possibilities of rejection, or of knowing if Sarah Jane was only attracted to him because of the Rosenberg title and its entailments.
Sarah Jane chose this opportune moment to cup his face. Her eyes searching his as she stood on her toes to reach his cheek, kissing both with ease and tenderly trying to ease his worry away. Sarah Jane was aware and accepted that Anthony is a troubled man who is still bedeviled by his past, and she was now being privy to see just how much it affected him.
His eyes closed from the skin contact, relishing the way her lips caressed his cheek, allowing the tenderness to submerge him further under her spell.
Sarah Jane kissed him lightly on the lips, her eyes lingering for an answer.
What had him so upset? He hasn't said a word since she arrived. "It's all right." She whispered, "If it's not, then it shall be." She rubbed his shoulder as her head nestled on his chest.
Lord Killsworth treated the women in his life with respect, and even when he was wronged, he still could not bring himself to step on other people's feelings or plot a revenge to besmirch them in any way. He cared. He might have cared too deeply, so much so that he made himself vulnerable to get hurt as deeply as well.
Anthony is her hero, and although he prefers to be annoyingly charming with all the teasing and devil-may-care attitude, she knew deep in her heart that this was all just a ruse for self-preservation.
"You simply cannot understand." He finally said, resigned, his voice low and cold. "You cannot know of my pain. You cannot know of pain you're too innocent."
She stared at Anthony's soulful blue eyes levelly. "I accept that I might not know of your pain, my lord. But I will have to defend myself against your belittling." She smiled at him weakly, "I am not an innocent to pain. And in pain I have been all my life to face it alone." She had given him her best effort at sounding light, but it only came out tightly and left them both morose.
Why couldn't he trust her?
When he did not respond, Sarah Jane made a move to leave, releasing him from her embrace and turning her heels.
Anthony snatched the edge of her dress, stopping her before she escaped him.
"Wait, I'm sorry."
She whirled in front of his face so quickly that he almost lost his balance, her eyes beseeching him to trust her with his worries.
"What is it, then?"
Her hands came up to his shoulders, gripping tightly, ready to give him a shove or an embrace if need be. "I've chosen to be this way even if life had left me alone. I chose not to allow it to eat me. I am constantly choosing to live." Her cheeks flushed from her fierce declaration, and it neared his face so dangerously that he stopped breathing altogether. "Have a little faith, my lord."
One whiff of her scent would break him.
"You should have told me to go to hell."
"And yet I want you to hold me."
He inhaled her, his resolve collapsing, willing himself to risk everything for the woman holding him. She would never hurt him. Anthony believed her to be the most open and honest woman in his acquaintance. How he could doubt her affections for him was entirely his fault.
Sarah Jane is not Mariah Borough and he would do well to remember that.
"You can tell me. Is it Lady Edward?" She sighed, rubbing circles against the smooth linen of his shirt-clad back.
He shook his head, finally resolved at completely removing Mariah Borough from his mind. No, my love, it is never her. Anthony dipped his head, inching closer for a kiss.
"What is it, then? Is it Mr. Collins? Is it about the Rosenberg title?"
He stopped immediately, her words waking him up from his lovesick stupor. It is as he feared, Sarah Jane was only interested in the Rosenberg title.
He couldn't bear to remain in her presence.
His eyes shot open, accusing glares piercing her as he roughly removed her arms from his person. "It is late. You must retire."
Disappointment and disgust flooded through him, and he immediately wanted the offensive woman out of his sight.
He moved, a quick sidestep that made Sarah Jane lose her footing. "Good night, my lady."
And he left, like the coward that he was.
Sarah Jane stood there, watching him walk away with a grim expression. She will never ever claim to understand men. One moment he was so tender, so loving that she had allowed herself to think that maybe he did care for her even a little bit. And now, as she stared at the empty hallways following his retreating form, he acted as if she was the very devil coming to collect his soul.
"But I love you." She whispered but he wasn't there to hear her.
————
A/N: hello!!! I'm updating twice this week because the last chapter was quite short. This chapter hopefully gives some insight to our hero. I tried to explore emotional trauma in this chapter and how one would cope in spite of it.
Do you have any traumas that interfere with daily decisions? It could be as simple as double-checking glass doors because of previously being hit by one, or as deep as being betrayed by a lover. Let me know in the comments!
If you enjoyed the chapter, please consider giving it a vote! I'm still trying to increase the readership. If you know of some ways, remember, sharing is caring! Haha