Читать книгу Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow - Anne O'Brien, Anne O'Brien - Страница 11

Lord Nicholas Faringdon and his wife Theodora travelled without delay from Aymestry Manor in Herefordshire when the news of the impending nuptials reached them via Judith’s astonished and information-laden letter. Theodora hardly stayed to set foot within the imposing portals of Faringdon House in Grosvenor Square before descending on the other Faringdon residence in Hanover Square and demanding from the overawed Millington that she wished to see Mrs Russell immediately. ‘Sarah! Why did you not tell me? I had no idea.’ ‘Well! Neither did I.’ Sarah served tea in her own sitting room to this dearest of sisters who, brought up as their own child by Sir Hector and Lady Drusilla Wooton-Devereux, had come into her life less than a year ago. They would not immediately be recognised as sisters, she thought as she cast an eye over the stylish creation that Theodora wore with such panache. Their fair colouring was the same, but Sarah knew that she must appear a pale imitation indeed beside this glowing and burnished beauty. Not to mention the confident sophistication with which Thea conducted herself, having been raised and introduced to the beau monde in the courts of Europe. Yet however much she might envy her sister her self-assurance and ability to take hold of life, Sarah loved her dearly and valued her advice. She smiled, her body relaxed for the first time in days as she lifted her tea cup to her lips. ‘I am so very pleased to see you, Thea. I have felt in need of some support.’

‘Well, of course. Dearest Sarah.’ The deep sapphire of Thea’s eyes shone with love and concern. ‘I have never met Joshua Faringdon. He was still in Paris when Nicholas and I were wed, of course. All I know is that he is a widower with a young child. But I have heard Judith speak of him. And Lady Beatrice refuses to do so. I have to say, he does not sound quite the thing, Sarah. I think he has a…an unfortunate reputation. As Judith put it. And Nicholas is being particularly close-lipped.’

‘I know,’ Sarah replied with remarkable complacence. ‘But…I do not think his reputation can be quite accurate. He has never behaved in a less than principled manner towards me.’

‘You only met him a matter of weeks ago! You do not know him.’ Thea could not understand how her careful sister could be so untroubled by the rumours of her intended husband’s libertine propensities.

‘True. Or not very well, at any event. And yet I cannot believe he is as lacking in good ton as the gossips make out. I know that Judith loves him dearly, in spite of everything. And he… Lord Faringdon…is very caring of his daughter. And to me he has been very kind.’

‘Kind? Sarah… I cannot like it,’ Thea persisted. ‘I would not wish you to be hurt. If it is simply a matter of finding a home for yourself and John, you could live with us. John would love to be at Aymestry. You know that you would always be welcome.’

‘No.’ Sarah blinked at the force of her own denial. ‘Forgive me, Thea. How rude that sounded! You see, I am perfectly capable of earning my own living. And…I find that I wish to marry Lord Joshua.’

‘Of course you are capable. I would not imply… Sarah—are you sure? Of marriage?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you like him?’

For the length of a heartbeat Sarah was silent. Then: ‘I love him,’ she replied with pure and shining simplicity. ‘I barely know him, yet I know that I shall love him until the day I die. From the first moment that I set eyes on him when he entered the hallway here in this house. It is as uncomplicated as that.’

‘Oh.’ Thea frowned her concern. ‘Does he know?’

‘Of course not.’ Sarah’s eyes held her sister’s in sudden distress. ‘And you must not say. He must never know.’

‘Do I then understand that his emotions are not similarly engaged?’ Thea’s frown deepened.

‘No, I think not. Indeed, I am sure that they are not.’ Relaxing again with a little smile, she took Thea’s offered hand, accepting the warmth and not a little sympathy. ‘He is, I think, driven by an affection. Beyond kindness, I think—but not love. I would never expect that. And he has, I think, a well-developed sense of chivalry to rescue me from invisible dragons!’

‘Sarah—are you quite certain that this is the path which you wish to take?’

‘I am.’ There was conviction in her soft voice and a wry acceptance. ‘But I am not sure that Lord Faringdon is. I cannot think why he would want to marry me when he could have his pick of the beautiful débutantes of the Season!’

Neither could Thea, given his lordship’s reputation for escorting stunning and expensive females to the opera, as Judith had informed her in glorious detail. But she could hardly say that to Sarah, could she?

Nicholas ran his cousin to ground at Brooks’s and sat with him over a decanter of port.

‘Nick. I did not know you were in town so soon. I wonder why! Will you join me in a hand of whist?’

Lord Nicholas laughed as he poured the ruby liquid into two glasses and picked up the cards. ‘You know very well why! Thea insisted. We had a letter from Judith, of course. She waxed eloquent of your doings, Sher.’ They sat at ease, choosing and discarding the cards, the family likeness very evident in their height and build and striking Faringdon features, although, unlike his cousin, Nicholas’s hair was dark as a crow’s wing without any hint of silver.

‘Ah.’ Joshua’s brows rose. ‘Then all is clear.’

‘Indeed. And will be even clearer when you have met my wife.’

Joshua grinned. A strong-willed lady, I am led to understand.’

‘She can be.’ Nicholas drank, fully satisfied with his domestic situation after his fraught courtship and marriage with the outrageous but entirely intoxicating débutante, Theodora Wooton-Devereux. ‘So. Marriage, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can recommend it.’ Nicholas angled a sharp glance at Joshua’s impassive face.

‘I have tried it before,’ Joshua reminded him gently.

‘I know.’ Nicholas hid his concerns. ‘I hope that this is a more propitious marriage.’ Then, unconsciously mimicking his wife: ‘Sher—are you sure?’

‘Yes. But I am not sure that the bride is.’ Lord Joshua abandoned his cards face down on the table, eyed the dark intensity of his port with a crease between his brows.

‘You know, Sher…’ Nicholas leaned forward to make his point, although unsure of his true intentions ‘… I have come to know Sarah very well. On the surface there is little similarity between Sarah and Theodora, as you will see for yourself. But beneath her gentle exterior Sarah has a spine of such strength, you could never imagine it. She can be truly intimidating, with a strong sense of justice, as I found to my cost when I was caught up in a web of intrigue and deceit with Theodora. I am not sure what I wish to say here—except that she is not as fragile as she might seem.’

‘Oh?’

Nick shook his head. ‘No.’ He remembered Sarah taking him to task over his heartless treatment of Theodora when he had unjustly, cruelly, accused her of a harsh betrayal. ‘All I mean to say is that it does not do to underestimate her. But perhaps you know that already.’

‘I do.’ The lines on Joshua’s face smoothed out. ‘Although I do not yet know her well, the lady has surprised me on more than one occasion.’

Nicholas nodded his satisfaction. ‘So let us drink to your future happiness.’

They raised their glasses and did so.

Meanwhile Thea and Judith took Sarah under their combined elegant and sophisticated wing and carried her off to one of the most fashionable modistes in Bond Street.

‘I need you to tell me what to wear for the occasion.’ Sarah could not quench the very feminine ripple of pleasurable anticipation at the prospect as Judith’s barouche collected her from Hanover Square. She had never in her life worn stylish clothing, having neither the money nor the opportunity. And now she was faced with a necessity! As she informed her interested audience of two, ‘My lord—Joshua—insists that I be fashionable and stylish. That I spend a considerable amount of his money—and enjoy it. And I must accept gifts from him without argument. And I agreed.’

Which the ladies thought a strange statement for the bride to make but, beyond a quick glance between them, declined to comment.

‘We shall be delighted to help.’ Judith could think of no better manner in which to spend a morning. ‘It is to be so soon.’

‘And I am so nervous,’ Sarah admitted. ‘I am not sure why. It is not as though I have never been married before.’

Judith hugged her in quick understanding. ‘Sher will never neglect or hurt you, you know,’ she advised. ‘He was always the kindest of brothers when I was growing up and a considerable nuisance.’

‘I know, but I suddenly think I should never have agreed to it.’ Apprehension washed over her again in a chilling wave, as it seemed to do with unnerving frequency as the day of her wedding grew ever closer.

‘You deserve your good fortune.’

‘Well—as to that…’ She took a deep breath, her fingers clasping in white-knuckled tension. ‘What if Lord Faringdon begins to have second thoughts when he remembers—’

‘Sarah!’ stated Judith sternly. ‘You have long paid your debts to this family. Accept what Sher is prepared to give you. He never does anything that he does not wish to do, you can be very sure of that. Enjoy it.’

‘Very well.’ She visibly forced her pre-wedding nerves to settle, relieved beyond words that his lordship had found a need to visit Richmond for a few days and so would be away from home until the day before the wedding.

‘Have you written to tell Eleanor and Hal?’ Thea asked to distract the bride’s mind from any further fears for her future marriage.

‘Yes, indeed. I wrote this week.’ It seemed to have the desired effect as Sarah’s face brightened. ‘I think they will be surprised. They do not even know that I have met Joshua, thinking he would still be in Paris.’

‘But they will be delighted, I am sure.’

Sarah nodded. ‘They have always wished me well.’

‘We had a letter—last month, I think it was,’ Judith informed her companions. ‘One of Nell’s lengthy epistles. Has Nicholas heard anything more since then, Thea?’

‘No. Tell me that they are very happy.’

Judith laughed. ‘Ecstatically—according to Nell. The baby is growing—Nell says that he has a will of iron exactly like his father when he is thwarted. But he is a delight—the baby and Hal, I suppose.’ Judith chuckled. ‘Hal is making money and a name for himself in local politics. Tom is more like a Faringdon every day. He will be a year or two older than John, I expect.’ She turned to look at Sarah, only to see a flicker of unease in those quiet blue eyes.

‘Yes. He will be eight years old now. I envy Hal and Eleanor—their love and commitment and happiness together.’ Which caused Judith and Thea to realise that they had not distracted Sarah’s mind from her problems at all.

‘Here is Madame Stephanie’s,’ Judith said with some relief as the carriage pulled up.

Sarah smiled and set her mind to please her friends and solve the vexed question of clothing. ‘So what do I wear? Nothing of your choosing, Thea! You would have me decked out in emerald and cream stripes, which would swamp me entirely. You can carry it off, but I could not.’

‘Of course not.’ Thea laughed as she smoothed the skirts of the stunning gown that she wore to magnificent effect. ‘Not you at all. Now, let us think…’

The result of their lengthy visit to Madame Stephanie’s was highly satisfying and in the way of a transformation. Sarah finally paraded before them in a high-waisted gown of delicate eau de nil with slender fitted sleeves and discreet ruffles around hem and low neckline. The watered silk shimmered in the light as she moved, as insubstantial as shadows under water. A velvet spencer was added in case the important day, so late in the year, was inclement. Gloves, kid sandals, and the ladies pronounced themselves delighted with the new bride. Finally a lace parasol, faintly ridiculous in November, but entirely necessary to a lady’s wardrobe, which Judith insisted on buying for her as an impromptu wedding present, along with a matching silk reticule and a satin straw bonnet with silk ribbons and flowers in the same hue. It was supremely elegant. Youthful but with a touch of maturity, exactly suited to a young widow. Festive enough for a quiet wedding and an informal wedding breakfast.

Perfect in every sense, Thea decided as she watched her sister, delighted for her happiness, but not without a hint foreboding. And hoped that Lord Joshua Faringdon might be more than a little surprised when he set eyes on the lady whom he had known only in the plain and formal garb of his housekeeper, solemn and withdrawn, rather than the laughing lady who posed before her reflection with grace and charm, her eyes shining with innocent pleasure in her new gown. There was so much in the way of love and generosity about Sarah for him to discover. Theodora smiled with perhaps a gentle malice towards the absent gentleman and silently wished her sister well.

Madame Stephanie nodded her approval with gushing compliments, seeing the future opportunities for dressing the new Lady Joshua Faringdon.

Judith clapped her hands in delight. ‘Poor Sher. He has taken on a beauty and does not realise it. It will do him good!’

Sarah simply shook her head and blushed. But glanced at herself in the mirror with something like shock.

‘The neckline of the dress sits well on you,’ Thea observed as they prepared to depart. ‘I think I will give you a string of pearls to wear with it.’

‘I had some,’ Sarah admitted, a trifle wistfully. ‘From our mother—the only jewellery she had left for me to inherit. But I had to sell them. I needed the money, you see, when John, my husband, died…’ She turned her face away to hide the flush of embarrassment. ‘I did not mean to tell you that.’

‘Oh, Sarah. I don’t think I ever realised how difficult things must have been for you. I am so sorry.’

‘On occasion they were.’ Sarah turned back with the sweetest of smiles. ‘But not today. Today I have forgotten the dark times.’ Her quick smile illuminated her whole face as she squeezed Thea’s hand, and Thea prayed silently that the tranquillity and happiness, so absent from Sarah’s life, would now enfold her for eternity.

Although Sarah might have been entirely caught up in preparations for her marriage, she was determined not to neglect her responsibilities as housekeeper and governess since she had not as yet been replaced in either role. It was not in her nature to do so—nor to sit at ease; since Joshua was still absent in Richmond, it gave her thoughts something to occupy them. But not enough. At any time during the day—or night—she found herself thinking of what he might be doing and when he might return. Was he missing her, even a little, or did he never give her a passing thought beyond that of an obligation to which he was now tied through some quixotic impulse and which he was coming to regret? She hissed her frustrations and looked round for something else to do. So, the next day, after a particularly tedious lesson—even to her mind—in the use of globes with John and Beth, she decide to investigate the attics. The top floor of the house in Hanover Square was a place, like all attics as far as Sarah was concerned, of dust and cobwebs and stored treasures that had long outlived their usefulness.

‘Just look at all this!’ She stood with her hands on her hips, daunted by the extent of abandoned relics of a past life in the house.

‘It’s exciting.’ Eyes round, John could hardly restrain his joy. ‘Like Aladdin’s cave in the stories. Or buried treasure.’

Beth twitched her skirts from the dust with superior distaste, but was secretly enthralled. ‘Can we look in the boxes?’

John was already opening and closing them, declaring it better than lessons. ‘It’s just like exploring an unknown country, as Captain Cook did. As I will do when I am old enough to have my own ship. I shall discover a new country. Perhaps more than one.’ He pulled out an elderly stuffed bird, probably an owl, its feathers moulting on the floor. ‘Which country did this come from?’

‘England, I think. Nothing too exciting.’ His mama smiled. Today it was ships and exploration rather than horses.

She regarded the jumbled piles of unwanted items with a sudden decision not to embark on such a project until she really had nothing better to do. Pieces of furniture, some heavy and carved, some spindly and gilded, but all long out of fashion. A box of unframed water colours of pastoral scenes by some eighteenth-century Faringdon lady—no talent here, Sarah judged, so no wonder they had been allowed to moulder in the attic. There were boxes of clothes, dry and dusty and lavender scented, with a hint of moth, which allowed Beth, to her delight, to dress up and parade in some outmoded creation in heavy damask with whalebone stays and a heavy train.

‘Look at me!’ Beth swept the floor, sending up clouds of dust. ‘Am I not a lady?’

Sarah chuckled. ‘You are indeed a fine lady.’

Beth fastened a spray of egret feathers in her hair, albeit lopsided. ‘I think I am like Grandmama Beatrice. She often wears feathers and is very grand.’

‘So she does. Take care with those backless slippers.’

‘I can walk perfectly well in them.’ Laughing, she swept an ungainly curtsy.

John entertained himself with cries of glee in a chest of discarded toys, lining up a row of broken long-faded lead soldiers. ‘Perhaps I will be a soldier instead. Or a pirate. Can I be a pirate, Mama?’

‘We’ll see.’ Now was not the moment to discuss so lawless an occupation. Meanwhile, Sarah inspected the rest. A firescreen, a birdcage with a broken door, frayed and worn bed-hangings, packets of letters and old documents—all the detritus of life over the years—no, she certainly did not have the energy to clear it all out. Besides, as Lady Faringdon, she would have every excuse not to roll up her sleeves and tackle it herself.

Stacked against the far wall were paintings, some of them of houses and parkland. One was of the estate in Richmond, from the name inscribed in the frame, one might have been the Faringdon country house at Burford under its discoloured varnish, the rest she did not recognise. And portraits. One of Lady Beatrice, probably in the early days of her marriage, which brought a glint of amusement to Sarah’s eyes. She understood exactly why that lady had banished it to the dust and darkness. The artist had no flair and had captured no flattering features in the sitter. One pair of matching portraits showed Joshua and Judith as children. Very attractive, with Judith looking positively angelic and Joshua vastly superior. The rest, as far as she could tell, were old, of people she did not recognise, with Faringdon colouring and features, but with the stiff formality and dress of the past two centuries.

Finally, a group of smaller portraits came to hand, which she turned over with little interest. Family again. Until coming upon a small portrait, life size, but head and shoulders only, which caught her attention. From the neckline of the gown, low across the generous bosom, and the styling of the hair into high-crowned ringlets, it would seem to be of recent origin. Perhaps even in the last decade. A striking lady, young, but not a girl, and not a Faringdon. A dark brunette with distinctly slanted brows and high cheekbones, not a classic beauty, but arresting. And with a tantalising smile on her full mouth and a flirtatious sparkle in her dark eyes, as if she would beckon and beguile. A charming representation. Sarah gained the impression that the artist had caught the lady’s expression to perfection.

So who was this?

Beth had staggered dangerously to her shoulder in a pair of high-heeled damask slippers, to investigate what she was doing.

‘Do you recognise any of these portraits, Beth?’ Sarah spread them on the floor and against the wall. ‘Or this lady?’ She held up the portrait to the branch of candles that they had brought with them.

‘That is Grandmama.’ Beth pointed at the disapproving image of Lady Beatrice as it leaned against the wall. Then shook her head, showing no interest in the rest, before returning to her less-than-stately pursuits.

Leaving Sarah to collect them together again and re-stack them against the wall. Was this lady perhaps Joshua’s wife, Marianne? Beth’s French mother. Sarah regarded the painted face with narrowed eyes, searching for any similarity. Beth might be too young to remember and recognise her. She would have been barely five years old when the lady died, and if she had rarely seen her… But if so, why would her portrait have been discarded here? Unless Joshua had indeed been heartbroken over her death as Judith had suggested, not able to bear the sight of her beloved features. Understandable, yet Sarah felt a tug of jealously that he should have been able to feel such affection for the enchanting Marianne. Certainly he never spoke of her, which might indicate a blighted passion and a damaged heart, and Sarah knew that she did not have the courage to initiate a conversation on the subject of Marianne Faringdon. She prepared to tuck the portrait away. If only Joshua might one day feel such overwhelming emotion toward her. But Sarah shook her head at her foolishness. How could she ever compare with this attractive lady in her husband’s affections?

Or—another thought suddenly struck, a painful dart to her heart—perhaps it was not Marianne at all, but the portrait of a mistress, discarded here when the affair ended. Again, not a thought she wished to pursue.

Or more likely, Sarah decided with a firm determination to reclaim her common sense, it was a lady with no close connection whatsoever to the family. In which case there was no reason for Sarah to feel such a lowering of her spirits. She sighed, rose from her knees, to brush her cobwebbed hands down her skirts in resignation. Whatever the possibilities, it was not her concern.

She turned the lady’s demanding and flirtatious gaze to the wall, to set about persuading a pair of extremely dusty children to leave so miraculous a source of unexpected delights.

Pictures in attics proved to be only one cause of disquiet for Sarah. And not the most unsettling. During her continuing overseeing of the house, she found herself in the rooms occupied until late by the Countess of Wexford. They had been thoroughly cleaned and set to rights on that lady’s departure. Sarah, critically, looked around. The maids, she was forced to acknowledge, had done an excellent job, probably rejoicing in being able to sweep all remnants of that demanding lady from their existence. But then she saw that there on the bed lay a pair of gloves, in the softest of pale grey kid, undoubtedly of French manufacture. Overlooked and forgotten probably, in a drawer, when Hortense packed her mistress’s belongings so rapidly. Perhaps the maid who had cleaned the rooms had found them and forgotten to bring them downstairs.

Sarah picked them up. Smoothed her fingers over their fine surface, lifted them to take in the scent that clung to them. The perfume immediately assailed her senses, heavy and sultry, highly reminiscent of the Countess’s presence. For Sarah it brought the image of the Countess forcefully into her mind—beautiful, stylish, sophisticated—as if she had just polished a magic lamp and a genie had emerged to stand before her. Sarah frowned.

‘I do not need you to continue to haunt this house! You are not welcome here!’ Then, realising that she was speaking to empty air, she laughed softly. But she replaced the gloves and left them where she had found them. She did not wish to think about the Countess of Wexford, or her previous status in this house with regard to Lord Joshua Faringdon. It left her feeling edgy and not a little unhappy. What on earth was Lord Joshua doing, to offer marriage to Sarah Russell when he could have Olivia Wexford as his mistress?

So that by the time Joshua returned from Richmond, it was to discover that his intended bride was in a difficult and skittish mood. After greeting him formally, as his housekeeper, she made herself scarce below stairs, and then was impossible to pin down. Lord Joshua had no intention of treading on Mrs Beddows’s preserve in the kitchen to find her. What a ridiculous situation this was when he could not separate his wife from the housekeeper, when she had found a bare two minutes to welcome him home as if she were still in his employ and then taken herself off to God knows where! He felt his temper building. He had spent his time at Richmond between the tedium of necessary estate business and contemplating his forthcoming nuptials with some bemusement. He was not sure how he had got himself to this point of asking Sarah Russell to marry him. Surely marriage was not the only way to solve the lady’s problems. But he had, for better or worse. His lordship gritted his teeth. And now he wanted to see her and speak with her again. If he could just find her.

He ran her to ground in the formal dining room overlooking the Square where she was in process of replacing the ornate branched silver candlesticks. They had been newly polished and Sarah was engaged in repositioning them on the dining table and the sideboards. For a moment she was unaware of his standing in the doorway, giving him the opportunity to simply look at her. This woman, still little more than a stranger, to whom he had offered marriage. The first impression to deal him a flat-handed blow was that she looked different. Charmingly different. And being well versed in the niceties of female fashion, Lord Joshua immediately knew why. This was the influence of Judith and Thea, if he were not much mistaken. His lips curved in an indulgent smile. They had obviously taken his bride in hand with splendid results. Nothing outrageous or overstated for her delicate role between housekeeper and Lady Faringdon, but an elegant high-waisted gown in a clear summer blue, which he knew immediately would match and enhance her eyes. The sleeves were long and sleek to draw attention to her slender hands. The hem was ruffled and ribbon-trimmed, deliciously feminine. And her hair. It was caught up in frivolous ringlets that fell to her shoulder in the palest of gleaming gold silk, little curls fanning onto her cheeks. He had never thought of Sarah as being frivolous and found himself outrageously moved by the cool, calm elegance of the lady, the quiet dignity with which she completed so menial a task. With the sun angling through the window to gild her with its warm radiance, she was quite lovely. What had he expected from the lady who would be Lady Joshua Faringdon? Just this, he decided, but it still took him by surprise.

He stepped forward and she looked up, then swiftly back down to her task of placing the candlesticks with a nicety of judgement. What he had seen fleetingly in her eyes worried him. She was not at ease. But then, why did that not surprise him either?

‘Sarah.’ He walked toward her, a little hum of anger in his blood, replacing the sudden pleasure, whether at her or himself he had no very clear idea. But his nearness had the desired effect of forcing her to look up.

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Joshua.’ They were making no progress here. He stifled a sigh and kept a firm hand on any further sharp comment.

‘Yes. Of course.’ She looked at him, eyes wide, assessing, for some female reason that would doubtless be impossible for a mere male to determine.

‘What is it? What is wrong?’ He felt the frown begin between his brows, but could not prevent it.

Sarah saw it too. ‘Nothing is wrong—exactly.’

‘Then if it is nothing exactly, perhaps you could abandon my silver and give your attention to me for a moment. I think I am more important.’ Nor could he prevent the edge in his voice.

It raised the faintest of smiles from his bride as she recognised the arrogant response, which ruffled him still further. So he leaned forward, took the candlestick from her fingers, placed it on the table with less care than might be expected for the highly polished rosewood surface and kept a grip of her hands when she automatically stepped back.

‘Don’t step away.’

‘I didn’t… I wasn’t…’ She was watching him, he realised, as a mouse would watch the approach of a large and hungry cat, wondering if she was about to become a tasty meal or could make a bolt for safety. The humour of it struck home at last and his face relaxed into a smile. The strange ill temper drained away to leave a sensation of lightness and relief.

‘I have missed you. Sarah.’ He kept his voice steady, willing her to respond.

‘I have been busy.’

‘So I see. You no longer look like the housekeeper I left behind.’

Her face was instantly flushed with deepest rose. ‘I have only—that is, I bought some clothes.’

‘Again, as I see. Definitely not my severe housekeeper!’

‘I did not think that you would mind if I spent some money—’

‘As I do not. Did I not tell you to be extravagant?’ There was still no warmth here, no acceptance of their new relationship. He would try again. Perhaps he should not have left her alone at this critical time before their marriage.

‘The colour is most becoming. And your hair—very elegant.’ He lifted a hand to stroke one finger round an errant curl. Her light perfume touched his senses. ‘All in all, my dear Sarah, I believe you are quite the thing.’

Sarah merely shook her head, misery clouding her eyes.

‘What is it, Sarah? Whatever it is cannot be so bad that you flinch from telling me. I am not an ogre.’

‘I know. I would never suggest… ‘ Well, she would say it. ‘I cannot think why you would wish to marry me.’ Sarah found herself speaking her fears against every intention.

‘Why should I not?’

‘I am not beautiful or elegant or sophisticated—or any of the things you would look for in your wife.’

‘Why do you say that? I find you to be everything I wish for. At this moment you look perfectly lovely. Why should you deny yourself?’

‘How can I believe you?’ The memory of the gloves returned in bright focus. ‘I know that I cannot possibly measure up to the glamour of the Countess of Wexford.’

‘I do not wish to marry the Countess of Wexford.’ Here was dangerous ground.

‘No. But I still do not understand why you should wish to marry me.’ All Sarah’s self-doubts and insecurities rolled back to swamp her.

‘Then I will show you.’ He drew her closer, releasing her hands to run his hands the length of her arms, smooth and slow, to her shoulders. ‘Look up.’ What he saw in her face, trepidation, nerves, a little fear, persuaded him of the need to be considerate with her, but he would kiss her. So he did. The first intimate demand he had ever made on her. A kiss that began as a simple touch of mouth against mouth. Until his response to her astounded him. Taken aback by the utter sweetness of her, hunger lunged as a wild beast and gripped him. And heat struck him as a fist to the gut when her mouth opened under the demand of his. Her light perfume filled his head and his loins, seductively sweet. Instinctively he tightened his hold and deepened the kiss, changing the angle of his head to take her lips as he wished. His body would not allow him to refuse the gift she offered so innocently as she moved closer within his arms and let him mould her soft curves to his firmly muscled frame.

Joshua lifted his head and took a breath. Well. He had not expected so basic a response to her. Sarah might claim to have no skills to attract, but her effect on him was undoubtable. Eyes wide, her lips parted, she looked up at him, as much shocked as he. He had, of course, to kiss her again. Thoroughly, needily, absorbing the warmth and softness of her body against his.

Sarah could not recognise, could not accept, the sheer glory of it. Every nerve in her body jumped in immediate answer to his demand, the thrill of his mouth on hers. Every inch of her skin so sensitive from that one kiss, so that when he claimed her mouth again she had no qualms about surrender. Her lips parted to accept the imperious invasion of his tongue, her arms crept around his neck, her fingers locking against and through his soft, dense hair. Had she not desired exactly this? When he pressed her closer yet so that she might be aware of his need, she did not resist but exulted in it. She could feel the hunger in him and allowed it to dissipate her own insecurity.

Did he truly want her in that way?

Joshua released her, held her a distance away from him, knowing his own vulnerability. His dining room was no place to satisfy so raw a hunger with his housekeeper, no matter how great the temptation. He took a step back, but not before he smoothed his thumb along her lips—so tempting to take them again—in a tender caress.

‘As I said, I had missed you, dear Sarah.’ He bit down on the urgency that swam in his blood. ‘I just did not realise how much.’

The marriage of Lord Joshua Faringdon and Mrs Sarah Russell, celebrated by special licence in St George’s Church, Hanover Square, followed by a breakfast at the home of the happy couple, was an occasion for a positive fusillade of good wishes and advice and warnings from all sides. It was, the groom decided, since most of the barbed comments were fired in his direction, a most exhausting occasion. The bride was composed and charmingly pretty in pale silk. The groom austerely dramatic in a deep blue superfine coat, highly polished Hessians, his cravat superbly tied by the hand of a master. The bride was suitably fragile and slender, the groom stood straight and tall at her side. He would not limp to his own marriage.

‘Be happy,’ Theodora whispered to her sister with a congratulatory kiss. ‘The Faringdon men are magnificent.’

‘I know it,’ Sarah replied with a quick hug, unable to believe that this splendid man, head bent in serious and probably unwelcome conversation with Lady Beatrice, was now her husband.

* * *

Since Nicholas had already expressed his concerns to Joshua, he said no more than, ‘I wish you well. We have a habit of marrying Baxendale women, do we not? You have a lovely bride, Sher.’

‘So I have.’ Joshua turned to watch her, the obvious pride in his face causing Nicholas to smile.

Theodora found much more to say to Lord Joshua. She pinned him with her direct regard, but was not unfriendly. Joshua seized the opportunity.

‘Theodora. Rumours, may I say, were not false.’

‘Rumours?’ She eyed him suspiciously.

‘That Nick has found himself a prize. A jewel of great price.’

‘Are you trying to charm me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Ha!’ But, allowing herself to be charmed by this extremely handsome man—only second to her own darling Nicholas—she touched a hand to his wrist as her lips curved and her eyes twinkled. ‘Be kind to Sarah.’

‘Well—it was my intention to beat her soundly every night until she obeyed my every whim!’

‘That is not what I meant, as you very well know!’ She had the grace to laugh and ask forgiveness. ‘Can I tell you? Perhaps I should not, but Sarah… Well, she carries a—’

Joshua put out a hand to stop her. ‘You are a good friend, Thea, but there is no need. Judith has told me of Sarah’s life and the… the difficulties she encountered.’ Thea could not but admire his sensitive discretion. ‘I know the truth of it. I hope that I can win my lady’s trust.’

Thea decided to take a risk. ‘And her love?’

He thought for a moment, eyeing his cousin’s beautiful wife. And with a steady gaze, chose not to dissemble. ‘It would be my wish.’ If his answer surprised him, he hid it well.

The reply was certainly one that robbed Thea of any light-hearted repartee. Before she could think of a suitable answer, Nicholas stepped up to take her arm. ‘Thea. Don’t harass the poor man. Come and talk to Aunt Beatrice, who is most concerned about your state of health! As ever. Try to be tactful.’

Which gave Judith the opportunity to descend on her brother.

‘I am delighted,’ she announced with a kiss to his cheek. ‘But don’t break her heart. I will never forgive you if you do. She is my dear friend. And there is John to consider.’ ‘I shall, my dear Judith, do all that is necessary.’ By which time Lord Joshua Faringdon was feeling besieged and in need of a fortifying brandy.

Lady Beatrice, still unbending but at least present for the occasion in deep purple satin, had nothing but smiles and good wishes for Sarah.

‘I presume that you know what you are about, my dear. It pleases me to have you as one of the family, now that all the past unpleasantness is over.’

Which surprised the bride, who had always regarded the imposing Dowager with not a little trepidation.

To Joshua she was less complimentary but, as he admitted to himself, at least in communication again. Perhaps he had discovered a way to redeem himself in her eyes.

‘Congratulations, Joshua.’ She raised the lorgnette, bringing back to his lordship uncomfortable memories of the misdemeanours of his childhood. But the Dowager was inclined to be generous. ‘The best decision you have made for years. A far more suitable bride than that French person whom we rarely met. Not that I would have wished Marianne’s death, of course, but Sarah is English. A perfect outcome, I must tell you, for that poor neglected motherless child of yours.’

And that, Joshua decided with a non-committal reply, was the best that he could expect.

* * *

The motherless child, anything but neglected, eyes sparkling with excitement over her new dress with its pink ribbons, was present with John’s hand clasped in hers to ensure his good behaviour. John was completely overawed by the whole proceedings and the sudden inexplicable smartness of his mama.

Olivia Wexford was not invited.

One shadowy figure, unknown to any of those present in the church, watched and noted and wrote a concise but highly specific report of the marriage of Lord Joshua Faringdon to Mrs Sarah Russell, late of Whitchurch and New York, and had it hand-delivered to an unobtrusive address in the City.

At last Joshua managed a private conversation with his bride.

‘Well, my lady? Are you satisfied?’

‘Oh, yes.’ For once the new Lady Faringdon answered without hesitation, straight from the heart, without thought or pretence. ‘I think it must be the happiest day of my life.’

Joshua was entranced.

‘Then it is my wish to give you many more such days. Why do you suppose that my family presume that I will bring you nothing but pain and heartbreak?’

Sarah tried to hide her amusement, having seen Lady Beatrice’s censorious expression when in conversation with her son, but failed. ‘I cannot understand where they got that idea!’

He laughed. ‘You are very loyal. I think we shall deal well together.’

‘As do I.’

‘And if I do not, you can wave the contract under my nose at the breakfast table.’

‘As I will, my lord, without doubt.’

‘Joshua.’

Sarah laughed in response, unable to repress the bubbles that positively glittered through her veins as if she had drunk more than a single glass of champagne at her wedding breakfast. ‘Yes, Joshua.’

‘Why did I not realise that my housekeeper was so beautiful?’

‘It is the dress.’ Suddenly sober again, as if she would deny the evidence of his own eyes. ‘It is all Thea’s and Judith’s doing.’

‘No. It is definitely you.’ Because today you are happy. It made his heart turn over. ‘Thea is a remarkable woman. But so, I believe, are you.’

Sarah flushed under his gaze, a comforting warmth stealing around her heart. She had never been called remarkable in her life.

Joshua bent his head to kiss her hand and then her cheek, where the skin was satin-smooth, and then her lips. They were warm and soft and trembled a little under the easy pressure of his own. But she did not pull away. And when he lifted his head she smiled up into his face with unclouded joy.

It stopped his breath. If the occasion had not been so public, he would have claimed her lips again, in a sudden heat of desire that no longer took him completely by surprise. It was so easy to be seduced by her sweetness.

Whilst for Sarah, his kiss painted a gloss of crystal-bright happiness over her whole world. She loved him. And perhaps he did not find her totally unattractive.

And those who saw them together wished them well and noticed his care of her.

The deed was done. She had married him. Sarah sat at her dressing table. Her maid—she had a maid now and a sumptuous bedchamber—had left her after folding away her wedding finery. Now she sat in a dream of cream silk and lace, more delicate than any garment she had ever owned.

She sat quietly, her hands clasped loosely on her lap, and thought back to her first wedding night. A long time ago now. And tried to call to mind the first time that she had stepped into the arms of her husband John as his wife. How sad, she thought, a little melancholy that she could remember so little. It was difficult to bring his precise features to mind now beyond a fair complexion and eyes of a deeper blue than her own, although there were echoes of his face in their son, in the angle of his jaw, the line of his nose, the flat planes becoming clearer as he lost the chubby contours of babyhood.

As for intimate relations, they were even more hazy and indistinct. There had been so few. A short time together after the wedding—of necessity, dependent on shore leave and the prosecution of the war. Then war and John’s untimely death had robbed her of his comforting presence. She remembered more than anything that he had been kind to her. Understanding and careful of her shyness and innocence. He had never hurt her. But, if honest, she could recall little pleasure of a physical nature except for the warmth of curling into his arms. The safety and comfort. Had that been love? Sarah supposed it had.

Then her fingers entwined in her lap with a fierce grip. If it was love, it was nothing in comparison with her feelings for this man whose name she now bore and whose ring encircled her finger as a mark of his possession. A ripple of heat shot down her spine to centre in her loins and her mouth was suddenly dry. She had no previous experience of this emotion. Or the sensations that overwhelmed her when his mouth claimed hers.

Sarah looked at her reflection in the glass and began to take the pins from her hair. The soft waves and curls, released in a cloud of perfume, drifted to her shoulders. She suddenly looked so much younger, so unsophisticated without her fashionable garments. What would her lord expect from her? If he hoped for the experience and knowledge of the Countess of Wexford, he would be severely disappointed. She had little experience and no knowledge of how to bring pleasure to a man. Nerves shivered in her belly. What if he did not like her? What if he did not desire her physically? A flush stained her cheeks and she turned her eyes from her reflection. There was nothing in her contract—or his—to cover that embarrassing eventuality.

What did she have to offer to an experienced man of the world compared with Olivia? Her eyes flew once again to her image before her, eyes wide, lips a little tremulous. Or an opera dancer. She had neither the face nor the figure to entice a man. Insipid was the word that came to mind. And perhaps the cream lace did nothing for her colouring. How lowering it was. Her confidence, built up through the day through the power of good wishes and kind words, drained away along with her finery. What had she done?

Joshua opened the door quietly from his dressing room to see her sitting there.

As a doe facing the hunters, was his first thought. Apprehension was winding her nerves into tight coils, although he could see that she tried to hide it. The gentle blue of her eyes, the pale fragility of her skin, both were enhanced by the flattering candlelight, giving her a glow comparable with his pearls, which banded her finger. Not the hard glitter of a diamond or an emerald, to be sure, but definitely the deep glimmer of a pearl or an opal. She had unpinned her hair, was his second thought. He had never seen her with her hair down. It curled around her face in little drifts of pale gold, lay on her breast in a shimmer of softness. It increased her vulnerability, as if she had handed over control of her life with her ordered and restrained ringlets. The thought moved him, but cast him into a quandary of indecision. How much did she remember of her previous wedding night, her previous marriage? What had been her experience there, and what would she expect from him? He could, of course, simply consummate the legality of their marriage, take her physically as his wife and get it over with. A bleak prospect indeed. Perhaps that is all she required from him. But, as he watched her, he thought not, felt that she deserved more consideration at his hands. There should be pleasure in this relationship for her. And for himself.

‘Sarah.’

Her nerves jumped a little. She dropped her comb onto the floor. It almost made him smile, except that she pushed herself to her feet and took a nervous step back. It determined his next move.

‘Talk to me.’ He held out his hand.

‘Talk?’ She was horrified to hear the uncontrolled squeak in her voice. Any remaining confidence evaporated entirely as she became aware of the man standing before her. The man to whom she now belonged. Impossibly handsome, clad in a rich satin dressing gown. She swallowed as her heart tripped and she found herself frozen to the spot.

‘Yes, Sarah. Talk.’ He smiled. ‘Did you expect me to pull you to the floor and ravish you?’

‘I do not know.’ Still she could not move.

‘I will not do that. I promise you.’ She continued to ignore his outstretched hand.

‘No. It is a marriage of convenience, after all.’

‘You think I do not find you attractive.’

‘I do not know that either. But there is no reason that you should. I have looked in my mirror and I am not blind.’

This would go nowhere. Nothing he could say would persuade her otherwise. So he must show her. But first he must overcome her reserve.

‘Come and sit.’ He reached to take hold of her wrist and led her to a chair beside the fireplace where the fire still burned with comforting warmth and pushed her to sit. He took a chair opposite. Far enough away not to intimidate, near enough to get her used to the idea of intimacy. ‘Tell me about your first marriage. Your husband. Your life before I knew you.’ A safe topic, he thought, that would allow her to select and discard at her own discretion, and speak without self-consciousness.

So Sarah found herself doing exactly as he intended, her nerves gradually dissipating, her voice becoming soft and relaxed. Her hands rested easily against the cream lace of her lap. She was able to smile and meet his eyes as her memories unfolded.

And he listened. To a picture of youth, inexperience, an escape from a troubled home, a brief but affectionate relationship with a man who was kind and loving. Joshua felt the sharp spur of jealousy as she spoke wistfully of Captain Russell, but this drained away when she told of her sad loss and then loneliness with a child and no security. She told him of her journey to New York, her life with Eleanor and Henry, her return and her first meeting with Theodora and the deep friendship that had grown between her and Judith. But all in a broad sweep. She filled in little detail, made light of much that must have caused her concern and unhappiness, and, most telling of all, made no mention of her brother Edward. As if she had cut him out of her life, out of her very existence, which was by all accounts true. But also out of her mind, which Joshua knew was not so.

He experienced a surge of pity for the young woman who sat before him, but he would never tell her that. His instinct to protect her and give her all the contentment she had lacked in her life grew stronger than ever.

‘Were you happy here as my housekeeper?’ he eventually asked with a smile as her ramblings came to a halt.

‘Why, yes.’ She found herself amused by his question and allowed it to show. ‘Except for my employer, a difficult gentleman, who sometimes was arbitrary in his decisions.’

He laughed. ‘Only sometimes?’ Delicate colour had returned to her cheeks, animation to her face. It pleased him that she could smile without reserve. And made the decision at last.

‘Come to bed, my wife. You have talked enough for one night.’ He rose to his feet.

Sarah mirrored his actions. ‘You have told me nothing of yourself. Whilst I have so little to tell, but have burdened you with all my past history. I feel like Scheherazade and her stories to fill a thousand and one nights.’

‘Fortunately you do not have to tell a new tale every night and your life is not at stake, dependent on my enjoyment. Besides, the beautiful Scheherazade enchanted her royal master, did she not?’ He touched her cheek with light fingers, savouring the silken texture of her skin. ‘I shall enjoy you, my own Scheherazade. And I swear that I will do all in my life to make you happy.’ Easy words to say, he realised, easy vows to make, but it was suddenly important that he keep that promise.

He led her to the bed. Blew out the candles, knowing instinctively that she would want the reassurance of the dark. Ever practical, Sarah drew back the fragrant linen and removed her own lace négligé. A prosaic little action, he thought, a calm acceptance of the situation as she turned to face him. Without a word he stooped to lift her, to place her against the soft pillows. Cushioned by the near dark, illuminated only be the warm glow from the dying fire, he could sense nothing but a composed acquiescence. She had married him and so would come to his bed. No fear, no denial, but neither was there any anticipation. She would give her body to him because it was a legal necessity and therefore he would require it.

It became for him a matter of some urgency to change that.

He slid out of his heavy robe and joined her, to do nothing more than put an arm around her and pull her close until her head rested against his shoulder, her body against his side. She did so, willingly enough, turning into him, allowing her hand to rest against the hard expanse of his chest. Of course she was not innocent of intimate relationships between man and woman. Not ignorant of the physical act or the pleasure to be experienced in a marriage bed. Yet Joshua Faringdon was aware of a distinct unease. His lips curled in a gentle self-mockery in the anonymity of the darkness because, for once in his life, he was uncertain how to proceed with this reserved but compliant woman whom he had made his wife. He let the problem drift and unravel in his mind as Sarah softened against him, her hair curling against his skin, the lingering perfume filling his senses.

They did not know each other well. That was the problem. They had not come together out of love or even lust, but from the binding of a legal document. But why should he feel this sense of disquiet? It was her fragility of spirit, he decided, her willingness to take herself to task when she believed her actions to be wanting, her inability to believe that he should need to possess her, to desire her for herself. So he must persuade her of her desirability, that she was capable of giving him pleasure, just as she was deserving of accepting it from him. So he would give her gentleness. Kindness. A soft awakening to what he could bring her.

So this was the task he set himself when he turned to her at last, angled his body so that he might look down at her. His kisses were whisper soft, his touch light and undemanding as he began his progress over the contours of her face with his lips. The delicate line of forehead and jaw, the softness of temple and the little hollow beneath her ear. The flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. And he explored her lips. There had been few kisses between them in their brief association. Now he had the time to claim and explore, his tongue brushing along the edge of her lips, increasing the pressure of his mouth just a little so that hers would part to allow him to seek and enjoy. She sighed, complied, her breath fragrant against his face.

‘Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, that you do not wish for,’ he murmured against the delectable curve of her throat where the pulse had begun to beat more strongly. He did not think he had ever said that to any woman, presuming that he could seduce through skill and finesse. But Sarah was different. ‘You have to accept nothing at my hands that does not bring you pleasure.’

‘I like your kisses,’ she whispered against his chest. ‘They make me feel warm. As if I had drunk two glasses of champagne.’

‘Good.’ A soft laugh against her hair at her artless admission.

So with this tacit permission, his deft fingers unfastened the ribbons to push the cream confection from her shoulders, absorbing as he did so, his hands brushing over her skin, the fact that she was warm beneath his touch and not as unrelaxed as he had feared. So far so good. Then with hands and lips he set himself to discover more fully this woman whom he had so wilfully taken as his wife, to lure her unquiet mind into tranquil pathways, allowing her to enjoy all that he could bring to her. Delighted by the feminine curves beneath his fingers, he was enticed to touch and caress, following the delicate swell and hollow of breast and waist and thigh, from soft skin to softer yet. Until she shivered against him, and turned in his arms to offer what he might wish to take.

Of course she knew what would be required of her. He wanted her, was hard and ready for her. What man would not respond so strongly with so deliciously feminine a partner? He pulled her close, holding her firmly so that she might know the strength of his hunger.

He lifted himself above her, yet careful to take his weight on his forearms to hold back from crushing her. Her response was immediate as her thighs parted quite naturally to hold him, to allow him access. It was no difficulty at all for him to enter her, slowly, pushing gently as she opened for him. Keeping a firm hold on the instinctive desire to drive on and possess her, to fill her completely, even though there was no pain of virginity to overcome. Although Sarah stiffened at first, the smallest resistance to his invasion in so intimate a fashion, she sighed and arched a little against him, lifting her hips in the timeless feminine response. A gesture of acceptance and invitation that he was quick to recognise, and she lifted her arms to close around him, to hold him fast. A supremely innocent gesture that effectively destroyed all his self-control. So he thrust deep. Again and again, conscious of the slick heat of her, her body more than willing to receive him, even if her mind remained aloof and watchful. When his urge to complete the matter could not be withstood, she moved with him, arching her hips against him, all soft compliance and acceptance. Until he climaxed, chest heaving, muscles taut with strain.

A perfectly satisfactory completion of their new relationship.

And yet… And yet what? As he held himself still, deep within the impossibly soft heat of her, he knew that Sarah had not come to her own fulfilment. Suspected that she had never been close, hedged round by reserve and restraint, afraid to abandon her self-control, which, in her eyes, would make her vulnerable to him. So he felt a wave of disappointment coat his own satisfaction. She had not been unwilling—indeed, she had been wonderfully soft and pliant—but neither had she shown any true enjoyment, giving him no intimation of whether she had experienced any pleasure in their intimacy or not. She had not told him that she didn’t, but neither had he gained any sense of her complete involvement in the act. He had taken her body, but she had been a passive onlooker, willing but uncommitted, with no indication of her own thoughts or feelings But then, as he turned his face against her throat to breathe in her perfume, he was left to wonder if Sarah ever would.

Withdrawing from her, he moved to lie beside her and pulled her close beside him again.

‘Well?’ he murmured the word against her hair when she still made no sign, no comment. What the hell should he say to a woman who was so quiescent?

Sarah promptly stiffened in his arms, as if to be asked her opinion of so momentous an event would frighten her to death.

Joshua sighed. Could his pride and his masculinity take it, he thought, on a touch of humour? ‘Was it too bad?’ he asked, the humour clear in his voice, hoping to lull her into a warm response.

Sarah did not notice, but answered the question rather than the intent. ‘Not at all.’ Her voice was tight and strained. As if he had asked her opinion of a visit to the theatre to watch a particularly bad play and she did not wish to hurt his feelings. ‘I enjoyed it. You were very kind. I hope you found me satisfactory.’ It was so bleak a statement it touched his heart. He could think of nothing to say that would make any sense. It had been a long day and it was clear that the lady was not receptive of reasoned thought, only strained emotions. With time, he hoped, it would improve between them. So he resorted to kissing her again, a long and lingering kiss, full of tenderness that would make no further demands on her. Had she not admitted that she enjoyed his kisses?

‘You gave me great pleasure, lady. Can you sleep now?’

‘Yes.’

He positioned her head more comfortably in the curve of his shoulder and kept his arms firmly around her. Why did he get the strongest feeling that she would escape if given the chance?

‘Joshua?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Will you stay with me?’ There was the faintest suggestion of surprise here as if she expected him to retire to his own room. Perhaps she did. Indeed, if she were honest, perhaps she wished it. Again he was conscious of a ripple of disillusion, but if she would not be completely honest, he would.

‘It is my intention. But only if you wish me to do so. If you wish for time alone, I will give you that seclusion.’

There was a silence. She was thinking about it and he had no idea what she would say.

‘Sarah?’

‘I would like you to stay with me.’

‘Then it will be my pleasure.’ The relief in his heart seemed to him totally out of keeping with her simply stated desire. He tucked the covers around her, around both of them. ‘Go to sleep, my dear girl. There is nothing to worry you now.’

But Sarah did not sleep. Without doubt she was weary, but her mind could not rest. It played over and over the events of the past hour. Causing her to flinch at her naïveté and lack of confidence. At her lack of suitable words to say to him, when he had been so tender, so considerate of her. What could she possibly say to him? That he had awakened emotions and sensations of which she had never been aware, wonderful sensations that drove a flush to her cheeks? She could not tell him that, could not admit to such lack of knowledge. So why had she not been able to give as freely as he had given her? She did not know the answer to that. And yet Joshua had made her feel cherished, wanted, desired. How skilled he had been. Just the thought of the power of his clever hands roused shivers along her flesh. All she could do was hope that he had been satisfied with her poor efforts. The dread spectre of the Countess of Wexford returned once more to the edge of her mind, to stand beside the bed with a disdainful lift to her perfect brows. She could never be like the Countess—confident, experienced, knowing—no matter how long she lived, no matter how tolerant her lord could continue to be. Sarah sighed against his chest. He had been honourable enough to pretend that she had been everything he had wanted. She must try harder to achieve that so that he would not turn from her in dissatisfaction.

Because if she had known before that she had loved him, it was now engraved in her heart, for all time, in letters of pure gold.

Lord Joshua held her, aware of her wakefulness, guessing at the swirling pattern of thoughts that refused to permit her mind to sink into sleep. But he said nothing, allowing her the pretence, conscious only of her softness against him. It seemed that for tonight he must be satisfied with her willingness to rest in his arms and was relieved when at last exhaustion claimed her and her breathing settled. She slid into sleep with a little sigh. It would not be an easy marriage, he realised. She was too tense, too nervous, too much embattled by fears and past influences. But they had made a start and it would improve. He smiled at the direction of his thoughts. He would like nothing better than that she could find it in her to come to him with joy and pleasure, with confidence, to find fulfilment in his arms.

The thought remained with him, one of hope, as he, too, drifted into unconsciousness.