by Dorothy Mack
Sarah was very glad to be seated after the awkward few minutes in the drawing room. At least at table there was something to do with her hands and a natural place upon which to fix her gaze when the conversation took an embarrassing or difficult turn. Not that conversation was general except for a few sporadic bursts. Horace Ridgemont addressed himself wholeheartedly to the food on his plate. Between mouthfuls he spoke mainly to his sons and, more rarely, to his wife. For most of the time Sarah parried Lord Townsend’s practiced gallantry with determined affability, all too aware that he kept it up mainly to annoy the two elder ladies. Not a particularly sweet nature Vincent’s, she decided, wondering if he ever did or said anything that was not studied, not for effect. A little of Vincent’s company would go a long way, but Sarah’s attempts to engage Cecil in conversation in the intervals when her aunt had commanded her son’s attention were not entirely successful. He seemed shy of her, and recalling the almost-insulting male appraisal yesterday when he had thought her a housekeeper, she wondered if it was embarrassment or if he was uncomfortable around females of his own class — at least those older than he, she amended, intercepting a teasing glance flung at him by Arabella.
Noting that she was being observed by the newcomer, Arabella tossed her dark curls and asked with assumed artlessness, “Tell me, Cousin Sarah, what is it like to run a hat shop?”
Sarah smiled nicely. “Like the rest of life, I would imagine: sometimes interesting, often dull and tedious.”
“Was it a successful business?”
“That will do, Arabella,” said Lady Townsend. “The less said about a business, the better. It is too utterly appalling to contemplate the name of Ridgemont being splashed across a shop window.” She shuddered feelingly.
“But the name of Ridgemont was never mentioned, ma’am,” explained Sarah. “The shop is called simply Sarah of Boston.”
“Aha,” cried Arabella, with the air of one solving a mystery. “So that is the origin of the Boston alias.”
Sarah bit her lip but remained silent, determined not to be drawn into any arguments or explanations with any of these people. She was again grateful to William, who rescued the situation with an innocuous question to Arabella.
The uncomfortable meal dragged on with Sarah forcing herself to eat enough to avoid drawing attention to herself. It was not the fault of the food, which was of a uniformly high quality, the newly developed housekeeper side of Sarah was pleased to note, despite the occasional disparaging comment from Lady Townsend. She found it a bit unnerving to dine with the family under Millbank’s eye after sharing a table with him for the previous days, but she would just have to accustom herself to doing so. She would also, she thought with a sinking heart, have to get used to what seemed to be a family habit of sniping at one another, trying to draw fire as it were — that is, she would have to get used to it unless the family reverted to its former pattern of short, widely spaced and noncoinciding visits.
Sarah, speaking only when directly addressed, was well-placed to note that it was William Ridgemont who unobtrusively smoothed over a number of bristling pauses before the individual under attack at the moment could retaliate in kind. By the time dinner was finally over, she had discovered he was indeed a rarity among those of Ridgemont blood, a person who did not derive enjoyment by pricking the sensitive places of others with barbed comments.
The day’s events had left Sarah emotionally exhausted, an increasingly familiar condition she could only hope was not to become her permanent reaction to her relatives’ proximity. She longed for privacy but had not the courage to beg to be excused from the after-dinner gathering of the females in the main drawing room upstairs.
The elder ladies exchanged forced small talk, mainly, Sarah felt, because her Aunt Townsend wished to make her dislike of the interloper plain. It was left to the younger element to entertain one another. Sarah eyed her female cousin warily, but Arabella, bored without male society, abandoned her affected manner in favour of satisfying a natural curiosity about this odd specimen in their midst.
“You never did say, Cousin Sarah, whether your hat shop was successful. Was it?”
“That depends upon one’s definition of success. Our hats enjoyed a mild vogue that was personally gratifying, but we were not very successful in the more mundane business skills, such as getting people to pay their accounts.”
Arabella digested this. “So you were an artistic but not a financial success,” she summed up with devastating accuracy.
“Admirably put,” Sarah observed dryly.
Miss Townsend had barely started on what Sarah was convinced would be a minute investigation into the details of daily life of a handy specimen of a class of persons her own privileged rank barred her from encountering when the gentlemen returned from drinking their port. Cecil headed for his young cousin with the light of retaliation in his eyes, and William beat Lord Townsend to the seat beside Sarah on the pink settee.
The next hour was not the ordeal Sarah had feared. For the first time that evening, she was able to relax in William’s undemanding company. He told her something of his life, alternating between the small country estate in Hampshire that his mother preferred, as it had been her childhood home, and the Ridgemont town house in London that belonged to his grandfather. She was content to listen to these light renderings without much need to comment, but she was sincerely touched when he turned sympathetic blue eyes to hold her glance and said simply, “I am most sorry about your father’s death, Sarah. I never knew my uncle, of course, but I do know it must be a great sadness to find oneself alone in the world without any family. I am glad that you and Richard are no longer in that position.”
The ready tears that had plagued Sarah all week crowded behind her eyelids once more, but she held them back determinedly as she essayed a trembling little smile eloquent of gratitude for this one truly kind member of her family.
“Thank you, William. You are the only person who has spoken of my father at all, and I am grateful. He may not have been a satisfactory son or brother, but he loved his family, and we miss him very much.”
“I am sure you do.”
William and Sarah, forging tentative bonds of friendship in an emotionally charged moment, were unaware that at least two pairs of eyes were avidly following the progress of their quiet conversation. Horace Ridgemont’s expression was thoughtful as he studied the pair, and his wife’s characteristic attitude of polite uninvolvement had been jolted into sudden defensive alertness.
CHAPTER 9
It took a moment or two for Sarah to orientate herself after her slowly opening eyes lighted on a curly maned beast, fortunately more fanciful than ferocious. She blinked, and other strange objects in a stranger forest alive with flowers and vines came into focus. The underside of the canopy over the huge tester bed was lined with a gloriously printed fabric that could provide hours of visual enchantment. Her eyes moved with languid fascination from tawny beasts to riotously coloured flowers of outlandish proportions nestling among the jungle vines, barely aware that the even grey light coming in the windows she had not covered the previous evening meant the end of the pleasant succession of sunlit days they had been enjoying in Gloucestershire.
Conscious of that precious rarity in her busy life, a day with no pressing demands on her time and energy, Sarah stretched her arms in lazy contentment while her eyes made a slow tour of the appointments of the most luxurious setting she had ever called her own, even temporarily. Yesterday she had been too distracted by anticipatory fears of her first social meeting with her father’s family to appreciate the lovely old mahogany furnishings, which included a beautifully grained wardrobe on the wall to the left of the bed. Except for her amusing beast-and-floral canopy fabric, which was repeated in the overdrapes of the three windows, this was actually one of the plainest rooms in Beech Hill, with its light-green walls and ceiling adorned with a fairly simple plasterwork trim that was painted ivory. To her admittedly inexpert eye, all the furnishings s
eemed to date from the early seventeenth century and had been lovingly cared for over the years, judging by the beautiful sheen on the polished wood surfaces.
Sliding out of the bed, Sarah padded over to the wardrobe, her bare toes caressing the soft wool of the pale Aubusson carpet. Her few clothes looked lost in the wardrobe’s vast interior, and she chewed on her bottom lip, some of her former contentment evaporating as she contemplated the one daytime dress she had brought with her other than the unspeakable black gown that she silently vowed never to put on her back again. Though not in the latest style, the plain long-sleeved cotton dress was a pretty peach colour that lifted her spirits after a year of unrelieved black.
A knock on the hall door caught her with her hand on the peach cotton, which she instantly dropped, taking herself in her skimpy light night rail back to the safety of the bed on a dead run. Hands on the bedclothes pulled up to her chin, she called permission to enter.
Two young maids, goggle-eyed with curiosity despite their correctly prim demeanour, came in carrying hot water and hot chocolate.
“Good morning, Miss Ridgemont,” they chorused.
“Good morning, Clara. Oh, thank you, Maria, that smells heavenly. You may put it here.” Sarah made room for the chocolate on the bedside table and hoisted herself up into a sitting position against the pillows. She sipped the chocolate, trying not to appear self-conscious in the face of shy darting looks from the maids as they went about their early-morning routine.
“Mrs. Glamorgan presents her compliments and wishes to know if you’d like one of the maids to act as your dresser, Miss Ridgemont,” Clara, the bolder of the pair, put in eagerly.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Sarah began, then seeing the deflated expressions of the two girls, she went on to soften the blow with a smile and a cheerful explanation. “As you can see,” indicating the open armoire with a wave of her hand as Maria bent to pick up the fallen dress, “I have almost no clothing to take care of at present, and when my young brother arrives with our … my companion, I am persuaded she will expect to do all that I require. But you will thank Mrs. Glamorgan for me, will you not?”
“Yes, miss,” they responded dutifully, but disappointment still hung heavily and Sarah was seized with an inspiration.
“Are either of you skilled at dressing hair?”
“Maria is,” Clara spoke up boldly and generously.
Sarah smiled. “Then perhaps you would be kind enough to do my hair for me tonight before dinner, Maria?”
Maria nodded, too shy to speak, her round face alight with pleasure, while her partner tried gamely to mask her own disappointment.
“We shall be needing someone to wait upon the nursery suite when my brother arrives, though he is not a little boy to require a nursemaid.” Sarah casually tossed another ball into the air and was rewarded by the straightening of Clara’s drooping figure.
“I have four younger brothers, miss,” she volunteered eagerly, “and my mother says I keep them in line better than she does.”
“Well, that is a splendid recommendation. If Mrs. Glamorgan agrees, you shall be in charge of the nursery, Clara. Tell her I shall be down presently to discuss the arrangements for my brother and Miss Miller.”
Sarah smiled dismissal, and the two girls departed, bursting with new importance.
Left alone once more, Sarah finished the chocolate and completed her modest toilette, debating whether or not to wear the lace cap during the day. She finally decided against the spinsterish addition and found justification in her grandfather’s approval when she slipped down the back stairs to seek news of him from Somers before going in to breakfast with those members of the family who came to the table in the morning.
“Go right in, Miss Sarah,” the valet invited in response to her inquiry into her grandfather’s condition. “Sir Hector’s feeling more comfortable this morning, though he’s fretting himself to flinders over how you’re getting on with the family. He’ll be pleased to see you looking so bonny,” he added to Sarah’s astonishment, but this departure from his usual severity was negated by an immediate warning to her not to encourage the invalid in any ridiculous notions about joining the family for lunch or dinner.
Sarah promised faithfully and went into the bedchamber.
Sir Hector was sitting up in bed this morning, freshly brushed and shaved and wearing a fine wool shawl over his shoulders, though a fire burned in the fireplace. Despite his alert manner, there were lines of fatigue in his gaunt face that had not been apparent the previous day. The doctor was correct: any unusual exertion or upset took its toll on his remaining strength.
Sarah banished gloomy thoughts and came forward with a smile that grew a little quizzical under his measuring gaze.
“Well, I am relieved to see the end of that black gown. My mother wore nothing but black the last thirty years of her life. I never could abide the idea of women running around dressed all in black like a bunch of noisy crows. I won’t have it on my account.”
Sarah let this speech pass without comment, contenting herself with giving her grandfather’s hand a brief squeeze before seating herself in the chair by the bedside. “How are you feeling this morning, Grandfather?”
“Can’t anyone around here come up with another topic of conversation than my health? Personally, I find the subject a dead bore.”
Sarah smiled into his irascible countenance and asked, “Is there a topic of conversation you would prefer, then?”
“Several. First, tell me how dinner went last night. I can see by your sunny look that that bunch of backbiters didn’t cow you, though I’ll be bound that they tried.”
“Everyone was most civil, Grandfather. They cannot really be expected to like having a complete stranger thrust into intimate contact with them of a sudden, with the promise of another yet to come.”
“You have as much right to be here as they have.”
“In a sense, of course, but there are also the claims of long acquaintance and the ties of affection that Richard and I cannot have.”
“You all have just whatever claims I choose to allow you, no more, nor less,” snapped the general.
Sarah did not reply to this piece of arrogance, but her troubled gaze did not waver under his, and in a moment Sir Hector continued in a challenging vein.
“Do you mean to try to gammon me that you noticed any so-called ties of affection in that group of sharks?”
“Not so much between families, perhaps, but within the families, certainly,” Sarah replied, selecting her words with care.
“Hah, so much for your powers of observation, young woman,” her grandfather scoffed. “Adelaide don’t give a tinker’s damn for any soul on this earth. All she cares about is her social position. Insofar as the girl’s looks and Vincent’s modish air and athletic feats add to her consequence, she is proud of them. Let either fail to form an advantageous connection, however, and you’ll soon see how much real affection exists in that ménage.”
“That is a harsh judgment,” Sarah said, then added hastily, “not that I am in any position to dispute it or agree with you. Uncle Horace’s family seems a united group, however.”
“I don’t deny Horace is fond enough of his sons, but he totally dominates that nonentity he married. For her part, any affection she feels is poured all over William indiscriminately. It’s a wonder the fool hasn’t been the ruination of that boy.”
“I find William an exceptionally kind and agreeable person,” Sarah said, and withstood the sharpening of her grandfather’s gaze in the short silence that followed this positive statement.
“He’s the best of the lot. Got a good head on his shoulders. Vincent’s a worthless fribble, and Cecil —”
“Cecil is very young yet. I daresay they will all improve on acquaintance.”
“You are to be commended more on your optimism than on your perception,” was her grandfather’s dry rejoinder.
Sarah was determined to refrain from adding to the dissension in t
he family. “As you can see, Grandfather, I survived my introduction nicely.”
“I see you buried the cap with the black dress,” the general said unexpectedly. “Good. It’s a crime to cover hair like yours. My wife’s hair was just like that, all colours blended.” He cleared his throat noisily and went on in a stiffer voice, “What is the boy like?”
Sarah laughed, though she was feeling much heartened by her grandfather’s implied approval. “Now that I have met the whole family, I can say with confidence that Richard is a typical Ridgemont. His hair and eyes are dark, and he already has the beginnings of the nose. William and I seem to be the only ones who don’t favour you at all, sir.”
“You need not look so smug about it,” grumbled Sir Hector. “You could do worse, nose and all.”
Sarah burst out laughing, her pearly teeth gleaming between parted lips. “I should not minister to your vanity by telling you that I find the Ridgemont look quite intriguing and attractive.”
“Do not try to mollify me, girl,” her grandfather warned, elevating one eyebrow in a devil-may-care expression that inadvertently dealt Sarah a blow. Her father had exhibited that same mannerism on a number of occasions. For a second, her grandfather’s features slipped out of focus as she struggled against a rush of sentimental tears, but he restored her equilibrium with a timely change of subject.
“I wanted to tell you that Eversley is arranging transportation for the boy and your old nurse through his agent in London. They should be here in a day or two.”
“That is very kind of Lord Eversley.”
“I told him to close down that shop too,” Sir Hector added, sending her a sideways glance that managed to be both arrogant and unsure at the same time.
Sarah said nothing for a moment, her face reflecting her uncertainty, then honest, gold-flecked eyes met piercing dark ones. “The insecurity of our existence in London was very worrisome because of Richard, but there was often a sense of accomplishment too in conducting a business enterprise that was very satisfying personally. I shall miss that.” There was a faraway look in the lovely eyes as her faintly mournful voice trailed off.