Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series)

by Rainy Kirkland

  * * *

  Sarah stared down at the folded invitation in confusion. Her afternoon with Agatha was slowly turning into a nightmare. First, the woman had gone on for ages about Nick and his virtues until Sarah thought she might go crazy from the images that sprang to mind, and now there was an invitation from people she had never met. “But, Mrs. Beaumont, why should the Bellinghams want me to dine with them?”

  “Because they are important friends of mine,” Agatha stated calmly. She took in Sarah’s confused look and continued. “And since you are the granddaughter of my oldest friend from the North, 'tis only proper that they should invite us to dine. But I am incapacitated, so the invitation is for you and Nicholas.”

  “Mrs. Beaumont, I’m nobody’s granddaughter. My grandparents died before I was born.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she noted the contented smile on Agatha’s pale face. “Do you even have a friend in the North?”

  Agatha’s grin grew wider still. “Not that I’d lay claim to.”

  “Then they are inviting me under false pretenses.”

  Agatha shrugged. “It matters not. They want to meet you.”

  Sarah shook her head and set the folded note back on the bed within Agatha’s reach. “It matters to me,” she said quietly. “You want me to lie, and I cannot do that.”

  Agatha’s smile faded as she snatched back the invitation. “No one is asking you to lie, dear.” She struggled to keep the impatience from her words. “Just be a little creative with the truth.”

  Again Sarah shook her head. “I can’t do that.” Her voice held disappointment. “You spoke a falsehood to say that you knew my family, and I can’t allow it to continue.”

  “You mean to tell me that you wouldn’t enjoy spending a social evening in the company of my grandson? Why, you’d be treated like visiting royalty – a queen. You’d have a romantic carriage ride, the finest food, and company I can guarantee will amuse you.” Agatha’s sense of anxiety set her stomach to churning again. She had never thought of Sarah as being anything but agreeable. “I’m sure you’ll have a glamorous evening,” she said, giving an exaggerated wink. “Especially in the company of Nick. He’s so handsome. Don’t you agree?”

  Sarah felt her bracelet caress the sensitive skin of her wrist, and her resolve frayed even more. “Mr. Beaumont is indeed a most handsome man,” she stammered, “as you well know.” Sarah took a deep breath to strengthen her convictions. “But to lie for the sake of gaining an evening’s entertainment would be a travesty.”

  “Then perhaps it is time for you to leave, since you won’t do this simple favor for me.” Agatha shifted on her bed, suddenly uncomfortable with the situation.

  Sarah gathered the unfinished embroidery. “I would do most anything for you,” she said quietly. “But you ask too much when you ask me to lie and deceive for your pleasure.”

  “Just take the wool and go then.” Agatha scowled, looking pointedly toward the door. “I don’t need friends who can’t be depended on.”

  Sarah left the room with a heavy heart. Declining Luther’s offer to fetch a carriage, she chose to walk home. The afternoon was clear and breezy, and the fresh air felt cool against the warmth of her face.

  You really know how to tempt me, don’t you, Lord? she thought as she slowly made her way alongside the road. She had only to close her eyes to feel Nick’s arms about her. He had held her so tenderly when she had cried for her family. But tenderness gave way to passion as Sarah relived their kiss in the garden. “What am I going to do?” she cried to the gathering clouds. “In just another few weeks I shall be on my way back home.”

  “Hey, Miss Sarah, you lost or something?”

  Startled from her thoughts, Sarah looked up to find young Jimmy Richardson, hoop in hand, directly before her. Her eyes darted about only to realize that she must have walked well past the road to Nick’s house.

  “Well, if it isn’t Master Richardson.”

  Jimmy scuffed the dirt with his bare foot and peeked up at her through the sun-streaked hair that hung in his face. “Aww, you can just call me Jimmy. What’s you doing out this way? You didn’t change your mind and decide to tell my ma that I knocked you down, did you?”

  Sarah smiled, and shook her head. “I was taking a walk and I guess I just wasn’t watching where I was going. Pretty silly, don’t you think?”

  Jimmy gave her an appraising look. “It sure is, but then you’re a funny lady. You want me to take you back?”

  Sarah looked at the shanty that stood off to the side of the road. Smaller than the cookhouse behind Nick’s mansion, the door of the shack hung ajar and the boards were in desperate need of paint. A thriving garden filled the side yard. Sarah turned back to Jimmy. “Is that your garden?” she asked, walking toward the rickety fence.

  Jimmy climbed on the gate and let his weight swing it open. “Yep, I keep the weeds out myself.” A wide-eyed young child with a rag doll hesitantly made her way through the well-tended rows. “Jessie, you get out of those beans.”

  Before Sarah even registered the mishap, Jimmy Richardson flew from his perch on the gate to rescue the beans from the child.

  “This here’s Jessie,” he said, holding the squirming child for Sarah’s approval. “She's almost two years old.”

  Sarah held out her hand. “How do you do, Miss Jessie?” At the sound of Sarah’s voice, Jessie stopped her struggles to get down and allowed her brother to hold her.

  “Hey, she likes you,” Jimmy declared. “Jessie don’t stand still for no one, not even Ma.”

  Sarah took in the dirt-covered clothing worn by both children and wondered if either child had ever been bathed. Jessie had her brother’s bright eyes, but her hair, like her brother’s, was grimy with dirt.

  “Jimmy, is your mother home?” Sarah asked softly, offering her finger for Jessie to grab.

  Jimmy’s brow pulled into a frown. “I thought you said you wasn’t going to tell her.”

  “Oh, but I’m not,” Sarah said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s just that it would be terribly rude of me to stand at your gate and talk with you and your sister and then completely ignore your mother.”

  “Well, I don’t know . . ."

  Jimmy’s decision was made for him midstride when Mrs. Richardson stepped from the house. “Jimmy, who’s that at the gate? I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”

  Sarah watched a woman not much older than herself walk wearily from the house. Her hair hung in limp strands about her pale face, her gray eyes were flat and lifeless, and her shoulders hunched as if she bore the weight of the world.

  “I’m sorry, miss, for whatever he’s done. He’s a good boy, but sometimes he’s just a little too full of life.”

  Sarah smiled and extended her hand. “No, no,” she reassured the woman. “Jimmy hasn’t done anything. We met yesterday in town and he was most polite.”

  Jimmy beamed with relief and turned an innocent smile to his mother.

  Mrs. Richardson’s look clearly showed she didn’t believe a word Sarah said, but she was grateful there was no trouble. “You must be from the North,” she said slowly, taking the baby from her son.

  Sarah’s eyes widened with surprise. “How ever did you guess?”

  “‘Cause you talk funny,” Jimmy answered.

  “James!” Mrs. Richardson shifted the baby to her other hip and glared at her son. “Sometimes he says things before he thinks.”

  Jimmy looked at this mother with confusion. He knew he was in trouble from the tone of her voice, but he wasn’t sure why. “But she does, Ma, just listen to her. Go on, Miss Sarah, say something.”

  “Actually, Jimmy,” Sarah gave him a wink.” 'Tis not I who speaks strangely but you.” This sent Jimmy into gales of laughter. “My name is Sarah Townsend,” she introduced herself, smiling at the woman, “and I think you most fortunate to have two such beautiful children.”

  Gracie Richardson’s eyes grew wide and heat filled her face. No one had ever complimen
ted her before. She wiped her hand on her dirty apron before hesitantly extending it toward her guest. “I’m Gracie,” she stammered. “This here’s Jessie. She’s my youngest.”

  Sarah let her finger trace down the child’s round cheek and wished for a damp rag to wash it clean. “She’s going to be quite a beauty when she grows up.”

  Gracie studied her daughter thoughtfully. “She’ll do fine. But Catherine – now she’s the real beauty in the family.”

  Jessie had discovered Sarah’s bracelet and contented herself with trying to untie the links. “And how old is Catherine?” Sarah asked.

  “She just turned ten and three.” Grace Richardson again shifted the hefty toddler. “Would you like to come in for a cup of cider?” she asked in a hesitant tone. “It’s fresh; we just drew it this morning.”

  Pleased at the invitation, Sarah allowed Jimmy to swing the gate wide so she might enter. She followed Gracie Richardson and her children through the yard and into the house. The inside of the shanty was in the same disrepair as the outside, but obvious attempts had been made there to keep what little the family owned neat and tidy. One large bed filled the corner of the room and, even from a distance, Sarah could see that the coverlets were threadbare. A young girl sat patiently working a butter churn.

  “Catherine, this is Miss Townsend.” Gracie looked about the room with embarrassment and wondered what she had been thinking of to invite someone inside. “Will you fetch us some fresh cider?” The girl nodded and Grace turned back to her guest. “Here, you take the chair,” she stammered. “I’m used to the stool.” She set the baby down and Jimmy plopped on the floor between them.

  Sarah placed her bag behind the offered chair and took a seat. “That’s quite a garden you have outside,” she said, smiling at Gracie. “Jimmy tells me that he helps with the weeding.”

  Gracie nodded nervously. What was she supposed to say? As long as she could remember, she’d never had anyone in the house except the kids and their father. Was she supposed to offer something from the garden?

  “Jimmy’s a good boy,” she said finally, “when he’s not getting himself into trouble.”

  Sarah accepted the wooden cup the young girl offered and took a deep drink of the tart cider. “This is delicious. Thank you, Catherine.” The girl blushed and immediately returned to her churning. “Do you make this yourself?” Sarah asked, taking another drink.

  Gracie nodded her head and her hands began to twist in her lap. “We have our own trees down in the far pasture.”

  “They’re not really ours,” Jimmy piped in. “Mr. Blanchard really owns them, but we like to pretend they’re ours.”

  “We rent this place and the land from Mr. Blanchard,” Gracie added quickly, lest the woman think they were not better than common thieves who stole apples from other folks.

  “Well, I think your recipe is delicious,” Sarah said firmly, setting her cup on the rickety table that stood to her left.

  “Jessie, no!” Jimmy screamed. Both women turned to find the baby sitting at their feet completely tangled in yarn.

  “Oh, my God,” Gracie gasped, falling to her knees and trying to save the threads from the destructive hands of her daughter.

  Sarah, too, went to her knees. “I don’t think she’s hurt.” She lifted the child, who immediately wailed at being separated from her new colorful toy.

  “Jessie’s fine,” Gracie gulped, close to tears. “But look, the yarn is so tangled.”

  Sarah exchanged the screaming child for the tangled skeins of yarn. “I’m sure they can be salvaged. Besides, 'twas my fault for setting my bag on the floor where she could get at it.”

  “May I help?”

  Sarah turned at the soft-spoken words to find Catherine standing just behind her. The girl stared at the tangled yarns as if Sarah held a mound of jewels in her hands. “Are you handy with a needle, Catherine?” she asked.

  Gracie handed Jessie to her son. “Jimmy, take her outside for a few minutes so we can hear ourselves think.” She prayed desperately that Sarah would not demand restitution for the damage.

  Catherine took the threads from Sarah and returned to her churning stool. Placing the strands on her lap, she carefully began to untangle Jessie’s creation.

  “I’m sure Catherine will be able to put them to rights again,” Gracie stammered, cursing herself for inviting Sarah inside. “And if some are damaged,” she took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her stomach, “I’ll pay for them somehow.”

  Sarah shook her head. “They look fine. And if Catherine does not mind the chore of untangling them, then I shall be forever grateful. But now I’m afraid I must leave you.”

  Anxiously, Catherine looked up from her task. “It will take me more than a few minutes.”

  “Take whatever time you need,” Sarah smiled. “Would you bring them to me at Mr. Beaumont’s house when you’re finished?”

  Gracie’s hand flew to her heart. “You’re a guest of Mr. Beaumont?”

  Sarah gathered the linen squares back into her bag. “I work for Mr. Beaumont,” she said gently. “Do you know him?”

  Color flared in Gracie’s pale face. “Everyone in Middle Plantation knows Mr. Beaumont and his grandmother.”

  “Why, those threads were Mrs. Beaumont’s,” Sarah said brightly.

  Gracie paled even more. “Then Mrs. Beaumont will be the one to collect for the damages.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, Mrs. Beaumont gave the threads to me to do with what I wished. And I seek no damages. You gave me a delicious cup of cider, and for that I am grateful. But now I must be off.”

  “I’ll have these untangled by sunup tomorrow,” Catherine called softly.

  Sarah waved from the doorway. “That will be lovely. And Grace, may I call again?”

  Before her better judgment could take over, Grace found herself nodding yes, and then Sarah was out the door. Grace turned to her daughter on shaking legs. “Are many damaged?”

  Catherine looked up her mother with concern. “I can probably save most of them, but look at these.” She held up a clump, hopelessly knotted.

  Gracie reached for the vivid threads and shook her head. “No wonder Jessie went right to these. I’ve never seen such pretty colors before, not even in Mr. Jacobs’s shop.”

  Catherine let her fingers run lovingly through the bright strands. “Ma,” she said with sudden excitement, “what if I was to take some of the pieces that are too knotted to use and make a gift for Miss Townsend? She could hardly be mad if we gave her a present.”

  Gracie felt a ray of hope. “I don’t know, Catherine. She might not like you using her threads no matter what.”

  Catherine shook her head, the pattern already forming in her mind. “I don’t think she was mad when she left, and she doesn’t seem like the others.” Her fingers deftly untangled several more strands. “I’m going to do it, Ma,” she said with growing excitement. “I’m going to take these ruined threads and make her a gift.”

  Gracie pressed her hands against the back rungs of their only chair. “Oh, Catherine, what will your father say if he finds out what happened?”

  “Ma,” Catherine said, looking up from her work. “Pa hasn’t been home in more than two months. You don’t know where he is or even if he’s coming home this time.”

  Gracie flopped down on the chair and tried to keep the tears of hopelessness from her eyes. “He’s got to come home, Catherine. I don’t know what will become of us if he don’t.”

  “You did what?”

  Agatha cringed from the anger in Nick’s voice, but held her ground. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man,” she snapped. “Disagree with me if you must, but I will be respected in my own home or you’ll be out searching for a hickory switch.”

  “Gran, what were you thinking of?” Nick sat at the foot of her bed and leaned back against the tester.

  Agatha folded her arms across her chest. My grandchild, she thought. “Sarah’s reputation,” she answered. “N
icky, have you given one minute of thought as to what people will say when they learn that Sarah, a young, beautiful, unmarried woman is living as a guest in your home?”

  Nick folded his arms and stared back at her, unwilling to admit his grandmother’s scheme had once been his own. “She’s my housekeeper,” he said defiantly.

  “And pigs can fly,” Agatha snorted. “She’s your mistress.”

  Nick jerked to his feet and began to pace. “She’s as pure as new-fallen snow, Gran, and I’d challenge any man or woman who said differently.”

  Agatha gave her grandson a patient smile. “And how long before you wear down her virtue, Nick?” she asked quietly.

  “Whom I bed is not your concern, Gran.” He scowled. “It never has been and it never will be.”

  “It is when it concerns Sarah. Nick, that girl has been gently raised. For the sake of her reputation alone, you must allow her to come and live here.” Agatha watched Nick’s frown grow deeper and pressed her advantage. “What good is it to return her to her home if you’ve taken her virtue? No man would take her to wife knowing she’d been used and discarded. And how can you, a ripe-blooded man, look at a creature as beautiful as Sarah and not want to bed her?”

  Nick moved to the dresser and poured himself a brandy. The liquid burned a path down his throat but did little to melt the knot that was forming in his stomach. Gran was right, as usual. It was only a matter of time before someone realized Sarah lived beneath his roof. And once that fact was out, the damage would be done.

  Reluctantly, he turned back to his grandmother. “What makes you think that Sarah has a reputation worth saving?” he challenged stubbornly.

  Agatha held back her smile. She was winning but it would be best not to take any changes. “Nick,” she said patiently. “Can you really believe that her story is false?” She shook her head. “If Sarah Townsend is not a puritan from Massachusetts, then I’ll give my best kid slippers to the first person I meet on the street.”

  Nick settled back on the foot of the bed. “You’re probably right,” he said with resignation. “I’ll tell Sarah when I get home and we’ll have her move over in the morning.”

  “Why not tonight?” Agatha tried to contain her excitement. “I’ve already had a room made ready so it would be no trouble.”

  Nick stood and looked own at the slight form of his grandmother. “In the morning. Now, what about this invitation?”

  “I just thought that Sarah’s reputation would be better protected if I was to say that she was the granddaughter of a dear friend from the North.”

  Nick shook his head and rubbed at his jaw. “Gran, you don’t even know where the North is, let alone have a friend there.”

  Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get fresh with me, young man. Every fool knows that north is up there somewhere.” Her arm gestured widely. “And for the sake of little Sarah’s reputation, I don’t mind claiming a distant friend. It seems the least I can do under the circumstances.”

  “And Sarah agreed to this?”

  Agatha shifted uncomfortably on her pillows. “I don’t think that I quite explained everything . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It would probably be best for you to tell her the plan.”

  “In other words, you started to tell her and she got upset?”

  Agatha rolled her eyes. “Well, Nicky, you know how puritanical those Puritans are.”

  Nick took a deep breath. After spending the afternoon with Captain Jenkins, he had all too clear an idea. “Damn boring, those Puritans,” the man had declared. “Don’t believe in a friendly game of cards, never even heard of bowling. Hell, those people think that a harpsichord is an instrument of the devil.” But what bothered Nick most was that, despite knowing what he did, he still wanted her. He had only to think of her violet eyes sparkling up at him and his pulse began to race.

  “Why not take her for a nice stroll in the garden and explain the situation to her?” Agatha offered.

  “I know what needs to be done, Gran.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’ll bring Sarah tomorrow after we break the fast.”

  As Agatha watched Nick leave, she clapped her gnarled fingers together. “Thank you, God,” she breathed a prayer. “I’m one step closer to my grandson.”

  Nick waited until Wadsworth had served the first course of their supper before broaching the subject. As he watched Sarah’s violet eyes fill with confusion he knew he had not done well with it.

  “How have I displeased you?” she questioned anxiously. Sarah’s mind scattered in all directions searching for a clue. But it couldn’t have been Agatha she had wronged, she thought, for it was to Agatha that he wanted to give her. What have I done wrong? She screamed silently. Tell me so I might right it.

  You please me too well, Nick thought as his grandmother’s warning played through his mind. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Sarah,” he stated firmly. “But I think you would fare better at my grandmother’s house until my agent has returned from Salem.”

  “But why?” She watched his dark eyes grow stormy and knew this wasn’t a man used to explaining himself. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I should not question your decisions. You’ve been nothing but kind.”

  Nick tried to be patient. “Trust me when I say that this decision does not come lightly, Sarah. I simply feel you would fare better at Gran’s.”

  Sarah stared at her hands, folded primly in her lap. His words might declare her innocent, but she had not missed the irritation in his voice or the anger that glittered in his dark eyes. He has no use for me, she thought miserably. He knows I spent my time idly, visiting with his grandmother. Her stomach clenched tighter and her own eyes felt hot and prickly. “I would do whatever you wish.”

  Nick watched her chin start to tremble and his anger grew. He didn’t want her to leave; their parting would come soon enough. But as he watched her bowed head, the thoughts of scandal being heaped on her delicate shoulders was more than he could bear. “Then it’s settled. I’ll take you to Agatha’s in the morning.”

  Sarah felt her words of protest choke in her throat. I’ll try harder to find some useful task, she cried silently. But to Nick she only nodded her head in compliance.

  The note arrived before they had finished the evening meal, and for Sarah it was a godsend. After Nick made his declaration, her food had tasted like sawdust, and each swallow had become a major chore. Nick read the ivory-colored paper, then tossed it onto the table face up. Sarah immediately recognized the scratchy hand as Agatha’s.

  “Your grandmother?”

  Nick nodded as he closed his eyes in frustration and rubbed a hand across his face.

  Sarah was out of her chair in an instant. “Just let me fetch my shawl and I’ll be ready.”

  Nick braced his hands on the table’s edge and gave her a searching look. “Luther told me that when you left Gran this afternoon, you were upset. What did she say to you?”

  Sarah shrugged. “ 'Twas of no importance. We had a small disagreement.”

  “Enough of a disagreement for you to walk home, even though I specifically told you I wanted you to use the carriage?”

  “It was a beautiful day,” she defended.

  Nick’s look said he didn’t believe her for a minute. “And after all she put you through today, you would still wish to drop everything and rush to her side?”

  Sarah nodded, surprised that Nick felt there was a choice to be made.

  “You know she’s not truly ill,” he continued. “She just wants the company.”

  Sarah stood awkwardly behind her chair. “But what if she isn’t looking for attention? What if she really is ill this time?”

  Nick rose and flipped his linen napkin down beside his plate. “She isn’t. But if you’re determined, we’ll go.”

  Sarah tapped gently and opened the door. Dozens of candles flickered about the room creating a false illusion of daylight, but Agatha was not to be seen. Sarah entered quietly and approached the grand tester bed. At first she th
ought the bed lay empty and then she realized that Agatha’s reed-thin body appeared as only a slight wrinkle in the coverlet. The woman’s eyes were closed and her skin was as pale as the linens on which she rested.

  “Mrs. Beaumont,” Sarah whispered gently, not wanting to wake her if she slept.

  Agatha’s eyes fluttered open. “Sarah, is that you?”

  From the foot of the bed, Nick rolled his eyes at the scene before him. No wonder she wants Sarah to stay with her, he thought. She’s found a completely gullible listener. He watched Sarah competently help his grandmother to sit, propping her with the dozen pillows that cluttered the bed. He noted the gentle way she handled the woman, and was suddenly, darkly envious of Sarah’s devotion.

  "Nick . . .” Agatha’s call was feeble. “Would you come closer so I might see you, too?”

  Nick heaved an impatient sigh but moved to the side of the bed. “Gran, you can see me just fine. Why, there’s a month’s supply of candles being burned at this very minute. In fact, with all these candles, I’m surprised that those eagle eyes of yours missed that large dust ball that Emily left under the dresser.”

  “Where?” Sarah turned.

  “Where?” Agatha sat straighter in her bed and cranked her neck for a better look. “That child is so lazy that it’s a miracle that this house hasn’t fallen over from the dirt she’s ignored.”

  Pleased to note that his grandmother’s voice was back to full strength and as tart as ever, Nick smiled and perched on the edge of her bed. Gently, he took one of her gnarled hands within his own. “Why did you send for us?”

  Agatha smiled up at him. “I need to speak with Sarah, and I didn’t want to wait until the morrow. Did you tell her?” she asked expectantly.

  Nick looked at Sarah and realized the joy had again left her face. “Sarah has agreed with me that it would be best for all concerned if she was to move in with you tomorrow morning.”

  “But why not just let her stay now?” Agatha asked, her steel-gray eyes widening innocently.

  Nick set her hand back on the coverlet and stood. “Because I said she will come tomorrow. Now, if you are settled for the evening, we’ll make our departure.”

  “Might I have a private word with Sarah before you go, Nick?” Agatha called to his retreating back. “It will only take a moment.”

  Nick looked from one to the other. “Ill be down in the carriage, Sarah.” His voice was hard and clipped. “Don’t be long. Gran, I’ll see you in the morning.” Then, contrary to his harsh tone, Nick crossed the room and placed a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek before leaving.

  “Sarah,” Agatha called, “come and sit.” She patted the edge of the bed. Feeling numb from Nick’s rejection, Sarah approached the bed. There was nothing Agatha could say that would make her feel worse, she thought. She was wrong.

  “Sarah . . .” Agatha began sternly. “It distressed me greatly that you are acting so selfishly in this matter.”

  Her eyes flew to Agatha’s face. “What have I done?”

  “Can’t you see how difficult this is for Nick? Why, any other man wouldn’t care a wit about your feelings, but not my Nicky. And it distresses me to no end that you are not the least bit sensitive to his situation.”

  “But what have I done?” Sarah asked again. “I asked Mr. Beaumont, but he would tell me nothing.”

  “Well, of course not,” Agatha admonished, “he’s a gentleman through and through. And what gentleman is going to speak to a lady about his reputation.” Agatha watched Sarah try to absorb the story and her excitement grew. Her scheme was going to work after all. “You are a beautiful, but unmarried lady, Sarah,” she continued gently. “If you continue to live under my grandson’s roof and word got about town, Nick’s reputation would be ruined.”

  Sarah’s eyes grew wide in horror. “That’s terrible,” she gasped. “But surely people would be reassured once they found out that I was just the housekeeper.”

  Agatha slowly shook her head. “Sarah, no one would believe that of one as pretty as you.” Agatha waited for Sarah’s understanding, but none came. Suddenly for Agatha, the truth dawned. Sarah had no idea of what a striking beauty she was. “Sarah,” she continued, even more pleased with her choice, “haven’t you ever seen yourself in the mirror?”

  Sarah blushed. “Actually I have. There is one almost as big as myself in the room Mr. Beaumont has lent me.”

  “And do you like what you see?” Agatha prompted.

  “Mirrors make me uncomfortable,” she said, not sure what Agatha was hinting at. “It’s like watching a person who’s watching me.”

  “Then you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that you are beautiful. Now, I ask you, what decent father is going to let Nick come to call when he finds that Nick has a beautiful, unmarried woman living under his roof? I know that there is nothing between you and my grandson, and you know that there is nothing there, but how are you going to make a caring father believe what already strains the imagination?”

  Sarah felt the lump again settle in her stomach. “Why didn’t Mr. Beaumont tell me that my presence was causing such a problem?” she whispered in anguish.

  Agatha hushed her and patted her hand. “He’s too much of a gentleman to speak of his own feelings about the matter,” she said softly. “And I know that you’ll agree with me when I say that since he won’t put himself first, the task is up to us even if it means doing things that we find uncomfortable.”

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of things?”

  “I’d never ask you to tell a lie for my grandson,” Agatha said firmly. “But if Nick should tell the story that you are related to a friend of the Beaumont family, in order to protect his good name, I would hope that you would not embarrass him by demanding to share the truth.”

  Completely taken aback that she had caused Nick such hardship, Sarah struggled to find a way to make amends.

  “And it might become necessary for you to accompany Nick to social functions,” Agatha continued. “As a friend of the family and living under my roof, society would think less of my Nicholas if he wasn’t to provide you with proper escort. It wouldn’t have to be often,” Agatha hastened to add. “Only enough to reassure those who would wish to question.”

  For a long moment Sarah sat in silence, trying to find a way around Agatha’s words. But the more she thought, the more the soundness of the woman’s reasoning rang out. Nick Beaumont’s reputation rested in her hands, and if it meant turning a blind eye to the truth, then she’d do it. The man had saved her life, she owed him at least that much.

  “So you now understand my concern?" Agatha prompted.

  Sarah stood and straightened her shoulders to settle her new burden. “You may depend on me,” she said firmly.