Читать книгу Regency Christmas Vows - Anne Herries - Страница 11

‘Seems to me you’ve made a dashed mess of things, Guy,’ Greville Baynham said frankly, helping himself to a large plate of devilled kidneys. ‘Didn’t even give the poor girl a chance to explain!’

Guy stared gloomily out of the breakfast-room window. He had spent the best part of the night playing high and drinking deep, and this morning was left with a vicious headache and a feeling of sick disgust. At the back of his mind was the thought that Greville was very probably correct.

In his salad days he had tumbled into love several times with females who were either unsuitable or ineligible or both. It had not mattered then; his suffering was usually of short duration and there were plenty of ladies willing to help him recover and move on to the next conquest. As he had grown older he had seen that love rarely had much to do with these transactions and was quite content for this to be the case. The fact that his father wished him to settle down and provide an heir for Woodallan he viewed as a completely separate issue. Or, he had viewed it as such until he had met Miss Sarah Sheridan.

Guy shifted in his chair. He had told Greville about the rumours that were circulating about Sarah and a little of the scene between them, though, naturally enough, he had not imparted the whole tale. Greville had been frankly incredulous.

‘Sounds all a hum to me,’ he said judiciously. ‘The Bath tabbies usually prefer fiction to fact! They find it so much more scandalous. Ten to one the whole thing is nothing more than a Banbury tale!’

Guy pulled a face. ‘I would like to agree with you, Grev, but Miss Sheridan practically confirmed it! When I asked her if it was true she was visiting Blanchland, she did not give a convincing denial! What was I to think?’

Greville waved his fork about descriptively. ‘That she was visiting her old nurse? That Ralph Covell wanted to hand over some of her father’s paintings? I don’t know—anything except what you clearly did think, old chap!’

Guy did not deny it. Now he said, ‘I suppose…I may have been a little hasty—’

‘Seems to me you should think about why you reacted as you did,’ Greville said drily, demonstrating his disconcerting habit of hitting the nail on the head. ‘I believe you must owe Miss Sheridan an apology, Guy. Do you care to accompany me to Brock Street this morning? I was intending to call on Lady Amelia anyway.’

Guy hesitated. He sincerely doubted that Sarah would either offer an explanation or give him the chance to apologise. It seemed most likely, in fact, that she would never speak to him again. He thought again of the previous night, of how Sarah’s initial resistance to him had melted into response and how he had taken ruthless advantage of it. Much as he would have preferred to deny it, her willingness had raised an echo of genuine passion in him that had transcended the blind fury that had first prompted him to punish her. He had been as shaken as she was—or as she had appeared to be.

Guy paused. Supposing—just supposing—Sarah had been the innocent he had always thought her to be? How must she have felt to have her inexperienced reactions construed as calculated passion? How would she be feeling that morning, confronted with the discovery of her own desires and the memory of his contempt? There were no excuses. He had taken disgraceful advantage of her.

Guy gave a groan and buried his head in his hands. Looking at matters in the cold light of day, he was both stunned and disconcerted by his violent reaction to the gossip he had heard. As Greville had said, he needed to analyse why he had responded so furiously and the answer was not far to seek. Although he had not previously acknowledged it, his feelings for Sarah Sheridan ran very deep indeed. The knowledge was a shock on one level, but on another he was obliged to admit that he had known it from the first. The fact that he had known her such a short time was irrelevant to his feelings. And now he had made the most godforsaken mess of the whole business…He groaned again.

Greville was eyeing him with concern. ‘I’ll ring for an ice bag,’ he said, getting up. ‘And, Guy, have a shave before you go out. It won’t help your cause to arrive in Brock Street looking half cut!’

The house in Brock Street was shuttered and it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time before Chisholm answered the bell. Nor was his demeanour particularly encouraging when he did so, for there was a look in his eye that seemed to imply that they should be using the tradesmen’s entrance.

‘Good day, Lord Renshaw. Good day, Sir Greville. May I be of service?’

Guy and Greville waited to be allowed over the threshold, but Chisholm remained obdurately in the way. Greville raised his eyebrows.

‘Good day, Chisholm. Is Lady Amelia receiving visitors? Pray tell her that we have called!’

Chisholm folded his lips into a thin line. His stance seemed to suggest that such good humour was sorely misplaced.

‘I regret to inform you, sir, that Lady Amelia has left town.’

There was a pause. Guy stepped forward. ‘And Miss Sheridan? Is she at home?’

Chisholm’s gaze seemed to turn even more glacial. ‘I fear not, my lord. However, her ladyship asked me to give Sir Greville the following message.’ He cleared his throat and avoided looking directly at either of them. ‘Her ladyship wishes it to be known that she has gone to the country with her cousin. Further, whilst you are still welcome to visit here, Sir Greville, the same invitation does not extend to your friends. Good day, sir.’

Chisholm bowed neatly, stepped back and closed the door firmly.

Both Guy and Greville stared at the wooden panels in stupefaction, then Greville took a hasty step forward and reached for the bell again. Guy laid a hand on his arm.

‘Grev! Wait!’

Guy did not think he had ever seen his friend so angry. Greville’s grey eyes were burning with fury. ‘How dare he say such things! The confounded impertinence of the man! Why, I’ll—’

‘He is only doing as he was instructed,’ Guy pointed out quietly. ‘Come away, Grev. There are people watching.’

It was true. Several curious passers-by, including the ubiquitous Mrs Clarke, were occupying the pavement at the bottom of the steps.

‘Oh, Sir Greville!’ that lady trilled, stepping forward to block their way. ‘Lord Renshaw! Have you heard the news? Lady Amelia has gone to Blanchland with her cousin! I can scarce believe it, but it must be true for Mrs Bunton heard it from Lady Trippeny, who—’

Greville set his shoulders. He gave the gossip a look of comprehensive dislike. ‘It is perfectly true, Mrs Clarke, but of no great import! Miss Sheridan has been called to Blanchland on an urgent family matter and her cousin has gone with her as chaperon! That is all! And I do beg you to remember that, before you indulge in idle speculation about the lady who is shortly to become my wife! Why, I shall be joining her at Blanchland shortly myself!’

Mrs Clarke’s mouth rounded in astonishment. ‘Oh, Sir Greville! And, Lord Renshaw—’ she swung round on Guy accusingly ‘—were you aware of this?’

Guy tried not to laugh. ‘Which part, Mrs Clarke? The bit about Lady Amelia chaperoning her cousin to Blanchland, or the part about Sir Greville being betrothed to Lady Amelia and joining her at Blanchland tomorrow? Or even…’ his smile broadened ‘…the fact that I am shortly to announce my own engagement to Miss Sheridan? Yes, I am aware of all of it!’

Mrs Clarke backed away from them, almost tripping over the kerb in her haste to escape and acquaint Mrs Bunton with her news. The two men nodded amiably to the rest of the crowd and strolled off down Brock Street with every appearance of nonchalance.

‘I cannot believe we just did that,’ Guy said under his breath, as they turned into The Circus and paused for a moment. ‘The story will be all over Bath in less than a half hour! Did you mean what you said?’

‘Of course!’ Greville looked grim. ‘You know I’ve been meaning to marry Amelia this past age! This ridiculous jaunt to Blanchland has simply precipitated matters!’

‘Hope she sees it in the same light as you, old fellow,’ Guy said feelingly. ‘Do you mean to go there to offer her your protection?’

‘Well, I hadn’t thought of it until five minutes ago,’ Greville admitted, ‘but now I see I need to talk some sense into the foolish woman!’

Guy repressed a grin. ‘Well, in that case you’d better travel with me! I’m for Woodallan, and you can break your journey there before travelling to Blanchland on the morrow.’

‘Thank you!’ Greville seemed to be recovering his good humour. The tense lines on his face eased a little. ‘And what of your own plans, Guy? Thought you were touched in the attic when you said that about marrying Miss Sheridan!’

Guy shifted a little. ‘Couldn’t leave Miss Sheridan as the only one with a stain on her reputation, could I, Grev? That odious woman would rip her to shreds!’

‘But will you keep your word?’ Greville pressed. ‘If not, Miss Sheridan will be thrown to the wolves anyway!’

‘I suppose I’m honour bound to try to persuade her…’ Guy gave his friend a lopsided grin. ‘You may count this as your fault, for telling me to examine my feelings! Truth is, I’d offer for Sarah like a shot if I thought she’d have me, but I doubt she’ll even consider it. Too much to forgive, I suppose! Devil take it, how have I managed to make such a confounded mess of things in such a short space of time?’

Greville laughed. ‘Cupid’s arrow, old chap! Strikes when and where, at will! And it seems to me that, of the two of us, you have the harder task!’

‘Amelia, you know this will not serve! Instead of saving my reputation, you are only ruining your own! Why, both of us will be tarred with the same brush!’

Sarah and her cousin had been arguing all the way from Brock Street to Combe Hay. The beauty of the winter countryside had been ignored and the discomfort of the twisting road scarcely noticed as Sarah desperately tried to persuade Amelia to change her mind. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Amelia had spent considerable time and effort in trying to persuade her to abandon the trip to Blanchland, yet here she was sitting in Amelia’s carriage with Amelia’s servants in attendance and Amelia herself beside her. And her cousin was adamant.

‘I am a respectable widow whose good reputation can only help to protect you, dearest Sarah. Since it seems you are determined to go through with this mad plan, I feel it my duty to accompany you and save you from yourself!’

‘You are very noble,’ Sarah said, uncertain whether to laugh or cry, ‘but pray do not make this sacrifice on my account! You have told me yourself that Blanchland is the most licentious house in the kingdom—you must know that even your good name will not be able to withstand the scandal! Oh, Amelia, pray do not go through with this!’

Amelia turned her dark gaze on her cousin. ‘You have not told me why this visit is so important to you, Sarah, but I have to believe that it is of great consequence. If it matters so much to you that you are prepared to risk your reputation on it, I am prepared to do the same to help you. There! We shall have no more arguments!’ She turned her shoulder and looked out of the window.

Sarah gave a sigh of exasperation. She could not deny that it was pleasant to have company on the journey and it was infinitely more comfortable to travel privately than on the public stage. But those were small benefits in comparison to the damage that this escapade would cause. No doubt the whole of Bath society would already have heard what had happened, and how could either of them ever show their faces there again? It was melancholy to think of Amelia being ostracised for an act of misplaced kindness.

Sarah looked at Amelia’s determined profile. She felt a strong sense of guilt that she had not confided her quest in her cousin, but something made her hesitate. Time enough for that when Miss Meredith had been found and the mystery solved. At least arguing with Amelia had distracted her from melancholy thoughts about Guy.

They stopped for luncheon and to change the horses at the inn at Clandown, and Amelia confidently predicted that they would reach Blanchland by late afternoon, for the roads were good for the time of year. Sarah started to feel very nervous. How would she find her home after all these years? And how would Ralph react to their unexpected arrival? She barely knew her father’s cousin; though she bore him no ill will for inheriting her home after Frank’s death, she could hardly bear to think what he had done to it.

The journey progressed uneventfully until they neared the Old Down crossroads, where a sudden downpour took them by surprise and set the road awash. Within moments the horses had lost their footing and the carriage lurched off the road and into the ditch.

‘No harm done, ma’am,’ the coachman reported cheerfully as he helped Amelia and Sarah down on to the road, ‘but it might be better if you took shelter in the inn whilst we haul it out. A nice dish of tea should help you over the shock!’

The Old Down Inn was accustomed to passing trade and soon put a private parlour at the disposal of its unexpected guests. Amelia regarded her dripping figure with deep displeasure, whilst outside the rain splattered against the window and emphasised the sudden decline in the good weather.

‘Oh, I look hideous,’ Amelia declared, wringing water from her cloak into a bucket helpfully provided by the landlady. ‘This bonnet is quite ruined, and I have only worn it twice! A fine pair of figures we will cut, arriving at Blanchland in such a state!’

She glanced critically over Sarah, whose hair was drying in corkscrew curls about her face. ‘Humph! Well, at least you look the part, Sarah, with your wild hair and soaking dress! Oh, this is too bad!’

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said drily. ‘It is comforting to know that I already look like a demi-rep and I have not even set foot in the house yet! Do you care for tea and cakes, Milly? It might improve your temper!’

Amelia looked rueful. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah, I know I am like a bear with a sore head! Truth to tell, I was feeling nervous before, but now I just feel downright unpresentable! Oh, to arrive in so undignified a state when we do not even know what we will find…’ She took a cup of tea and moved over to the window. ‘I had better not sit down or I shall cause a puddle! I wonder when this storm will cease—’ She broke off with an exclamation and Sarah looked up from the fire, which she had been trying to coax into reluctant life with the poker.

‘Whatever is the matter, Milly? You look as though you have seen a ghost!’

‘It is Greville!’ Amelia whispered, looking as though she was about to rush from the room. ‘Greville and Lord Renshaw! Sarah, they are here!’

Sarah felt her heart leap into her throat. ‘Oh, no, it cannot be! You must be mistaken, Milly!’

‘I tell you, they were right outside the window—’

Amelia broke off at the sound of voices in the passageway outside. The parlour door opened.

‘Good afternoon!’ Greville Baynham said affably, as though he were meeting them in Milsom Street. ‘An inclement day! I am glad to see that you appear to have suffered no injury when your coach left the road!’

Neither Sarah nor her cousin were up to answering him in kind. Sarah met Guy Renshaw’s quizzical gaze, blushed crimson and looked hastily away. As he came towards her, she backed away from the fire, still holding the poker, and took refuge behind the parlour table. Amelia, obviously viewing attack as the best form of defence, burst into speech.

‘You!’ she said, in tones of ringing outrage. ‘Whatever are you doing here, Sir Greville?’

‘Came to find you,’ Greville said imperturbably. He crossed to the fire and kicked it into a blaze, warming his hands. ‘Heard you’d gone off on some mad start and thought that you might need some help—’

Amelia drew herself up to her full—tiny—height. ‘Well, we do not, sir! Not from you, at any rate! We can manage perfectly well on our own!’

‘I doubt that,’ Greville said coolly. ‘You have only been on the road for a few hours and already you are in a scrape! And as for your destination—well, that proves you have not the least notion of how to carry on! Good God, two gently bred ladies visiting a house of ill fame! Fit for Bedlam, both of you!’

Amelia’s stormy gaze swept from Greville to Guy Renshaw and rested there for a moment. ‘Do not preach to me, sir, when you keep such poor company!’

Sarah winced. Amelia seldom lost her temper properly, but when she did so the results could be spectacular. This promised to be one of those occasions. She caught Guy Renshaw’s eye and saw that he was looking rather amused. A slow smile was curling the corners of his mouth and Sarah felt an answering gleam and stifled it at once. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to experience any kind of kindred feeling for Guy. He had humiliated her and insulted her, she reminded herself severely, and his charm was of the most superficial kind.

‘It ill becomes you to speak of bad company when you are planning so rash an escapade, madam!’ Greville said to Amelia, more coldly than Sarah had ever heard him. ‘Do you forget that this will ruin your reputation forever? And yet you disparage those who seek to offer you their aid—’

‘Offer their aid!’ Two spots of colour were burning on Amelia’s cheeks now. ‘Forgive me, sir, but it seems to me that you came to censure rather than to support! My cousin and I can do very well without such dubious assistance!’

‘You may claim so, but you have as much idea of how to go on as a pair of schoolgirls! Less! At least a schoolroom miss knows her manners!’

Sarah caught her breath sharply as Amelia made a noise like an enraged kitten. The combatants faced each other fiercely across the table, Amelia with her fists clenched and Greville with a singularly unyielding look on his face.

Sarah could feel Guy watching her across the room and she found herself looking around for a means of escape. Guy was between her and the door, the window was too small and she could scarcely scramble up the chimney. A strange panic took hold of her as he came towards her.

As Amelia drew breath for another salvo, Guy reached Sarah’s side and took her arm.

‘I believe that we may safely leave these two to settle their differences, Miss Sheridan. May I beg a word in private?’

‘Certainly not!’ Amelia snapped, before Sarah could speak. She flashed Guy a look of contempt. ‘Stand aside from my cousin, Lord Renshaw! You have done her enough harm!’

Guy looked from Amelia to Greville. ‘My dear Lady Amelia, pray confine your quarrel to Sir Greville and leave Miss Sheridan to deal with me!’ He removed the poker from Sarah’s hand. ‘I should feel safer if you were without this!’

Sarah had forgotten that she had been stirring the fire when they had arrived. She relinquished her weapon and edged away from Guy towards the door.

‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy had turned back to her with exquisite courtesy. ‘Pray do not leave just yet! It is still raining and your carriage is not fit for use! Will you grant my request of a private interview?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘My cousin is in the right of it, sir. I do not care to have my business discussed in a wayside inn!’

Guy inclined his head. ‘Then come back with us to Woodallan and discuss it there!’

‘Impossible!’ Amelia retorted, her colour still high. ‘We must reach Blanchland before nightfall—’

‘Must you?’ Guy strolled into the middle of the room and turned back to smile at Sarah. ‘Had you thought what might happen if you arrive at dinner time?’ he asked conversationally, looking from her to Amelia. ‘Why, Sir Ralph may well be indulging in one of his famous orgies and you would walk right into the middle of it! Time enough for that once you have been there a little while! But if you leave it to the morning, you will find them all still abed. Not ideal, of course, but less…active, perhaps, than the night before!’

‘Outrageous!’ Amelia declared.

‘But true,’ Greville said coolly.

‘I fear Lord Renshaw may be right, Milly,’ Sarah said after a moment. ‘Perhaps we should bespeak rooms here for the night—’

‘Out of the question,’ Guy said briskly. ‘You could not so offend my parents’ hospitality, Miss Sheridan, as to take rooms within two miles of their house!’

Sarah flushed. ‘If you were not to tell them we were here—’

‘Alas, I would find it quite impossible to keep the truth from them! Their own goddaughter preferring the dubious comforts of an alehouse to Woodallan! I am sure my mother would be quite distraught!’

Sarah reached for her cloak. Somehow they had been outmanoeuvred. ‘Very well, my lord. Since I do not trust you to spare your mother’s feelings, we will come with you. However—’ she glared at him ‘—do not think to dissuade us from our errand, nor to enlist the support of your parents in such an enterprise!’

Guy’s dark gaze mocked her. ‘Miss Sheridan! I could not possibly tell my parents that you intended to visit Blanchland! The shock might kill them!’

He held the door open for her. ‘You look very pretty, Miss Sheridan,’ he added, in tones low enough that only Sarah could hear. ‘To see you with your hair like that gives me ideas—’

‘I thank you,’ Sarah snapped. ‘I heard enough of your ideas last night, sir! I wonder that you dare to speak to me of them again!’

Guy detained her with a hand on her arm. ‘In point of fact, Miss Sheridan, that is what I wished to discuss with you. I wished to apologise, but I will save it until we have gained the privacy of Woodallan!’

Sarah’s lips tightened angrily. ‘It may be that I do not wish to hear any of your excuses, Lord Renshaw!’

‘You will hear me out, however,’ Guy said, with what seemed to Sarah to be breathtaking arrogance. He offered her his arm, and laughed when she swept past him, ignoring it. Behind her, Sarah could hear Greville and Amelia starting to bicker again as they all went out into the yard.

‘You realise that you will have to marry me now!’ Greville was saying, in an exasperated undertone, to which Amelia retorted,

‘I would rather walk across hot coals, sir!’

They journeyed to Woodallan in bad-tempered silence.

Woodallan lay two miles from the turnpike road, in a hollow beside a stream, sheltered by the hills behind and with a glorious vista of rolling country before it. The rain had cleared as quickly as it had come, and the house’s golden Bath stone gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. Next to Blanchland, it had always been one of Sarah’s favourite places, and now she felt a lump in her throat as the years rolled back. She remembered walking up the long lime avenue as a child, clutching her father’s hand, remembered playing hide-and-seek in the topiary garden, remembered tickling trout in the stream during the hot summers…

The Blanchland and Woodallan estates had marched together and the families been friends since the first Baron Woodallan and Sir Edmund Sheridan had sailed the seas together as privateers under Queen Elizabeth. It had always been a family joke that Frank Sheridan had inherited his wanderlust from his ancestors.

The carriage drew up in front of the main door and Guy jumped down to help her descend.

‘Welcome back,’ he said, and for a moment it seemed that he had invested the words with a greater significance.

Sarah shrugged the thought aside. It was too dangerous for her to start to feel at home in her childhood haunts, for in a week’s time—two at the most—she would have to return to Bath and the life she was accustomed to. Time spent at Blanchland and Woodallan could only be a passing phase, but when she had planned her journey she had not spared a thought for the way in which old memories would be stirred up. She looked at Guy, who was looking up at the house with a half-smile on his lips.

‘It must be a great pleasure for you to be home again, my lord, after so long abroad,’ she said spontaneously, and he smiled down at her, and for a split second Sarah was happy.

‘Oh, it is, Miss Sheridan, for here I have all the things I most care for.’

Again, Sarah tried not to read too much significance into his words. She turned aside and followed Amelia and Greville up the steps, reminding herself that she was vulnerable to him and must be always on her guard.

The Countess of Woodallan was in the hall to welcome her son home, and, as word of Guy’s arrival spread, it seemed that the house was full of beaming servants all wishing to greet him. Sarah and the others hung back until the crush had lessened a little, when the Countess turned and caught sight of her.

‘Sarah! Good gracious, what a wonderful surprise! Forgive me for not welcoming you sooner, my dear!’ She enveloped Sarah in a warm hug. ‘And Greville! Guy…’ she swung round accusingly on her son ‘…you should have told us you were bringing a party!’

Guy, who had been conversing quietly with his father’s steward, came forward. ‘I’m sorry for giving you no warning, Mama, but it was a spur-of-the-minute decision. Miss Sheridan and her cousin are travelling on in the morning, but I persuaded them to break their journey here tonight.’

The Countess swallowed her disappointment well. ‘I am sorry to hear you will be leaving so soon. But perhaps—’ she smiled at Sarah ‘—you will consider visiting us again on your journey back? You could stay for Christmas! That would be most pleasant, for we have so much news to catch up on!’

Sarah smiled a little stiffly. In the warmth of her welcome she had almost forgotten the reason for her visit, and the fact that she would be travelling on to Blanchland almost immediately. The Countess, suddenly aware of an air of constraint about her guests, turned her warm smile on Amelia. Greville stepped forward to make the introductions.

‘Lady Woodallan, may I present my fiancée, Lady Amelia Fenton. Lady Amelia is Miss Sheridan’s cousin.’

‘I am not!’ Amelia said hotly, then catching the look of amazement on her hostess’ face, stammered, ‘That is, I am Sarah’s cousin, but I am not Sir Greville’s fiancée!’

There was an awkward silence.

‘I am afraid that Lady Amelia has not quite become accustomed to the idea yet, ma’am,’ Greville said easily, ignoring Amelia’s fearsome glare. ‘I must apologise for imposing on your hospitality like this, particularly when you must be wishing to have Guy to yourselves!’

‘You are very welcome for as long as you wish to stay,’ the Countess murmured, trying not to stare at Amelia as though she had a lunatic in the house. ‘But you look as though you were caught in the storm, my dears! I will show you to your rooms so that you may change, and send word to Cook to increase the covers for dinner. Guy, your father should have returned by then. He has driven over to Home Farm to talk to Benton about the milk yield, but I expect him back at any time!’

‘Before you carry Miss Sheridan away, Mama, I should like to speak with her in private,’ Guy said firmly. ‘There is a matter to be settled between us that cannot wait.’

Sarah blushed scarlet and the Countess frowned. ‘But, Guy, Miss Sheridan will be tired from her journey, and is drenched by the rain besides! Surely it can wait a little—’

‘Oh, yes, indeed, ma’am,’ Sarah added hurriedly, ‘there is no urgency!’

‘I am desolate to contradict you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said smoothly, ‘but it is imperative that we speak now. I do not wish there to be any further misunderstandings!’

‘It seems to me that we have two ardent suitors here and two reluctant ladies!’ a voice said, from behind them, and Sarah swung round to see her godfather in the doorway.

The Earl of Woodallan was leaning heavily on his stout ash stick and looked a lot older than Sarah remembered, but the expressive dark eyes, so like his son’s, were as sharp as ever. ‘Lady Amelia…’ he gave as courtly a bow as ever his son could achieve ‘…and Sarah, my dear! What a delightful surprise! And Sir Greville, too! Well, Guy—’ he turned to his son, the sardonic gleam in his eye belied by a smile ‘—good to see you back again, boy!’

‘Sir!’ Guy hurried forward to shake his father’s hand, and Sarah took advantage of the moment to step back, throwing her godmother a pleading glance.

‘If we could be permitted to change our clothes, ma’am—’

‘Of course, my love.’ The Countess swept up her goddaughter and Amelia, and shepherded them towards the stairs. ‘Come along with me! The gentlemen are quite preoccupied and will not notice—’

The Earl’s voice stayed them as they reached the half-landing.

‘Charlotte, be sure to deliver Miss Sheridan to the blue drawing-room just as soon as she is ready! Guy will be waiting for her!’

‘Like father, like son,’ the Countess murmured under her breath. ‘I fear that an autocratic nature is in the Woodallan blood!’

It was three-quarters of an hour later that Sarah descended the stairs again. She was clean and dry, dressed in a becoming russet gown belonging to the younger of Lady Woodallan’s daughters and with her hair neatly braided into a bun on the top of her head.

‘Too austere, Miss Sheridan,’ was Guy’s comment as he ushered her into the blue drawing-room. ‘You are too soft and sweet to pretend to such severity!’

He, too, had changed into clean buckskins, polished boots and an olive green jacket that fitted his broad shoulders to perfection. Sarah, experiencing a traitorous rush of feeling on seeing him, immediately went on the attack.

‘By what right do you criticise my appearance, sir? Kindly refrain from becoming too personal!’

Guy grinned, unabashed, and gestured her to a chair before the fire. ‘That was precisely the matter I wished to discuss with you, Miss Sheridan—Sarah. May I call you Sarah?’

‘I am surprised you trouble to ask, sir!’ Sarah said hotly. ‘No, you may not!’

‘Very well then, Miss Sheridan, I will not provoke you!’ Guy sat down opposite her. Sarah, who was feeling quite on edge, resented his assumption of ease. ‘I am grateful to you for granting me a hearing. I feared you would not. My behaviour in Bath—’ He stopped, and started again. ‘After the things I said, I could not blame you if you choose to deny me the chance to apologise.’

‘I have promised to hear you out, my lord,’ Sarah said coldly. ‘Beyond that, I promise nothing.’

Guy grimaced. ‘You are not making this easy for me, Miss Sheridan! I wished to apologise to you, both for my actions and my words last night—’

Sarah got to her feet, her face suffused with colour. Her instinct was to flee the room immediately out of sheer embarrassment. Despite herself, she could not prevent a scorching memory of the events of the previous night from invading her thoughts.

Anticipating her retreat, Guy moved swiftly to stand between her and the door.

‘Please, Miss Sheridan—you promised me a hearing—’

‘I have done so, sir,’ Sarah said, as steadily as she could. ‘You wished to apologise and I have heard you.’

‘And?’

‘And, sir?’

Guy gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘And do you forgive me? I do not seek to justify myself in any way. What I did was inexcusable.’

Sarah paused. It did seem churlish to reject his apology when he seemed sincere, particularly as he had made no attempt to excuse his actions. She could feel a tiny corner of her heart unfreezing towards him and ruthlessly sought to conquer her weakness. It would never do to allow the spark of that earlier attraction to be rekindled into life. She had burned herself badly enough on that already.

‘Very well, sir. I accept your apology.’

‘That was not precisely what I asked.’ Guy was frowning. ‘I wished to know if you forgive me.’

‘And the answer is no.’ Sarah met his eyes very straight. ‘I do not forgive you for speaking to me as you did, nor for believing me a…a woman of easy virtue. That I cannot pardon.’

Guy inclined his head. ‘You are very frank and I accept what you say, Miss Sheridan. But there were mitigating factors—’

‘Which you said you would not raise to justify yourself!’

Guy gave her a wry smile. ‘That’s true, but may we not sit down and talk a little more?’

Sarah looked at him for a moment, then reluctantly returned to her seat in front of the fire. Despite the uncomfortable situation, she had to admit that the atmosphere of Woodallan was very restful. The drawing-room, decorated in pale blue and gold, and with the small fire adding a heart of warmth, was most peaceful. The charm of Woodallan went beyond mere wealth or good taste—it was so tempting to relax into it, but Sarah knew she could not afford to do so. She did not belong here.

‘You seem unaccountably determined to prolong my discomfiture, my lord,’ she observed, knowing that the colour still burned in her cheeks. ‘Generosity might prompt you to let the matter go now.’

‘Forgive me, there is a reason that I shall come to shortly.’ Guy sat forward, resting his chin on his hand. ‘I am sorry for listening to groundless gossip and still more sorry for acting on it, as I have said, but I confess I am puzzled as to the truth, Miss Sheridan. What can have prompted you to decide to travel to Blanchland, when you knew that to do so would cause such speculation?’

Sarah hesitated. She was terribly tempted to tell him the truth, but realised that this was only because she wanted him to think well of her again. Such a motive was hardly a good enough reason to give away the secret. If Guy could not trust her without proof, then she would not oblige him.

‘It is a family matter,’ she said evasively. ‘I am fulfilling a request from my late brother.’

Guy frowned a little. ‘Can you not be more specific, Miss Sheridan? I am trying to understand—’

Sarah shook her head. ‘I appreciate your concern, my lord, but it is a private matter. I have told no one, not even Amelia.’ She looked up and met his eyes. ‘She does not know the reason for my quest, but she is prepared to trust my judgement and accompany me, even so.’

‘Point taken, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy murmured. He got to his feet again and strolled over to the window. ‘But you must also take my point. Whilst your motives for travelling to Blanchland may be of the purest, the interpretation put on them will not be. It is inevitable that the world will make its own judgements. Miss Sheridan, if I could only prevail upon you to reconsider your visit? Could not your man of business undertake the commission to Blanchland? You could then stay here at Woodallan for a while and there would be no grounds for scandal…’

Sarah was tempted. The Blanchland visit had already caused so much trouble, and she had not even arrived. And to be able to stay at Woodallan would be blissful. She shook her head slowly. ‘Do not press me, sir. There is much appeal in your suggestion, but I cannot. My brother has asked me to undertake this quest personally and I shall do as he wished.’

Guy looked at her for a moment, but she did not retract her statement. He sighed. ‘Then you must also take the consequences, Miss Sheridan. Greville may not have put it most delicately when he told Lady Amelia she would be ruined, but he is in the right of it. Without the protection of his name, she will be reviled. And the same must apply to you.’

Sarah frowned. ‘I do not dispute the truth of your words, sir, but I am not surprised that Amelia quarrelled with Sir Greville over it! He was insufferably righteous, and to make an offer in such a manner is to beg a refusal! As for my own situation, I feel it is not as acute as Lady Amelia’s. I have no position in society to support—as a poor relation I have no prospects to ruin!’

‘You may choose to see yourself in that light, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said quietly, ‘but others will think differently. I myself…’ he hesitated ‘…I believe that you should consider…In short, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would do me the honour of marrying me.’

Sarah stared at him in total disbelief. ‘Are you mad, sir, or is this some ill-timed jest?’

Guy’s lips tightened angrily, though he was clearly trying to keep control of his temper. ‘Neither, madam! I saw it as a way out of your present difficulties—’

‘Thank you!’ Sarah was on her feet as well now, facing him across the room. ‘Despite my lack of prospects, I had not viewed marriage as a solution to my problems!’ She was astounded at the strength of her own anger. ‘Yesterday you told me that my behaviour suggested that I was some sort of trollop and you treated me as such! Scarcely the conduct of a man prepared for matrimony! Then today you suggest I marry you to provide a way out of an unfortunate predicament! Forgive me, my lord, if I do not fall into your arms with tears of gratitude!’

Guy winced. ‘I realise that this is not the way you might have wished it—’

‘Very true! I do not wish to hear this at all!’

‘Yet you should know that I have already given people to understand that we are shortly to become betrothed in order to protect your good name!’

Sarah looked at him in infuriated silence for a moment before bursting out, ‘You take too much upon yourself, my lord! Upon my word, of all the high-handed, arrogant, ill-conceived ideas—’

Guy closed the distance between them in two strides. He seemed amused rather than angered by Sarah’s outrage. ‘I am aware of your opinion of me, Miss Sheridan, but I believe you are being less than honest. Confess that you like me a little!’

Sarah glared up at him. ‘I shall not! Conceited, overbearing…’

She was incensed to see that Guy was actually grinning. He took her hands. ‘Come, come, Miss Sheridan, we could be here for some time at this rate! Say you will consider my proposal, at the least!’

Sarah’s treacherous heart did a little somersault. The warm touch of his fingers was distracting. ‘Certainly not, my lord!’

‘Then you force me to be less than chivalrous!’ He was drawing her closer. Sarah resisted, feeling her heart start to race.

‘It would be more surprising to find you behaving in a gentlemanly fashion, sir!’ The words came out more huskily than she intended. His proximity was having a disastrous effect. Sarah was suddenly aware of the intimate heat of the room, the sweet scent of lilies by the fireplace, the sensitivity of her skin beneath his touch…

‘Unfair, Miss Sheridan!’ Guy murmured in her ear. ‘Have I not just behaved in the most gallant manner possible? Alas that you force me to a point of clarification on our discussion earlier.’ His lips brushed her hair, causing Sarah to shiver. She desperately tried to step back but found that her limbs would not obey her.

‘Clarification, sir?’ Her words came out as a whisper.

‘Indeed. I wish you to know,’ Guy continued, ‘that when I apologised for my behaviour that night it was in relation to our argument and the unfounded accusations I made against you.’ He looked directly into her eyes. ‘I do not intend to apologise for…what came after.’

He was very close now. Sarah’s gaze moved involuntarily to the hard line of his jaw, his mouth…She felt herself turn hot all over and wrenched her gaze away, fixing it sternly on a potted palm in a corner of the room.

‘And yet I believe, my lord, that you were acting under a misapprehension…’

‘In a sense…I’ll allow I thought myself deceived and believed you…experienced. Yet my behaviour was very much in accordance with what I had wanted ever since I first saw you, Miss Sheridan…’

Sarah felt smothered by the heated atmosphere and her own emotions. Her heart was beating light and fast in her throat and she knew she had to put some distance between them, but she could not seem to break away from him. She could not be so weak as to fall under his spell again so soon, not when he had traduced her character and shown his lack of faith in her, then compounded his sins by a high-handed proposal that she could only refuse…

Guy let go of her hand, but only to draw her closer still, until their bodies were almost touching.

‘Deny that you felt the same way, too, Miss Sheridan. Deny it if you dare!’

‘I do deny it!’ Sarah wrenched herself free of him and backed away. She was utterly confused by the emotions he could stir up in her. ‘Tomorrow I shall leave here for Blanchland and you need not concern yourself with my affairs any further, my lord. It will no longer be any of your business!’

Guy’s expression was inscrutable. He made no move to touch her again, but his voice held her still when she would have run away. ‘You have made your feelings plain, Miss Sheridan. I must disappoint you, however. I have made this my business and I do not intend to disengage now. You may have as much time as you wish to get used to the idea, but the fact remains—you will marry me!’