by Dorothy Mack
It might have been fear at the thought of losing her that sharpened Sir Hector’s tones as he declared, “There are plenty of challenges right here. It’s no sinecure to run a house this size and manage a discordant group of relatives.”
“Goodness, you are not suggesting that I could manage this family in any sense, are you, Grandfather?” Alarm rang in her voice.
This time it was he who patted her hand. “No, no, of course not, though your grandmother could do it.”
“But that was long ago, before my … before there were grandchildren; at least, they were only babies,” she finished lamely in an attempt to cover up what would have been an ill-advised mention of her father’s banishment.
“Yes, yes, now it is I who am becoming fanciful. It must be your resemblance to your grandmother. Even your voice has the same soft cadence as Sarah’s. I sometimes forget you are a mere slip of a girl.”
“Arabella is a girl, Grandfather. I am six-and-twenty and have lived a varied existence on two continents, sometimes even a precarious existence. My girlhood seems lost in the distant past.”
“Then it’s more than time you had some enjoyment in your life. The boy will be going off to school shortly — you know that?” he probed, testing her reaction.
“Yes. It is what I have wished for him,” Sarah said with composure, “though I shall greatly miss his bright presence. Of necessity I have been more a mother than a sister to Richard.”
“It’s high time you were thinking of children of your own. And you need not treat me to that patronizing little smile, girl. No female with your looks and my money behind her will languish long on the shelf. As soon as the word gets out, you will have your pick of the eligibles in the area. I haven’t had time to work it all out yet, but I am persuaded Lady Eversley will take you about. She’s got a good heart and she was fond of your grandmother.”
“I would say you have been powerfully busy inside your head, Grandfather,” Sarah said dryly as she rose to her feet. “I must run or I’ll be late for breakfast. I’ll come back later.”
Sarah made her escape with as much dignity as she could call to her aid, conscious of her grandfather’s eyes on her straight back. She was battling an urgent desire to protest that she had no intention of being bartered on the marriage mart, but there was no point in upsetting him at this stage of his machinations. They existed only in his imagination at present, and it was up to her to see that they stayed there. Perhaps, she concluded optimistically, he would be so content with her company that these grandiose designs for her future would fade from his mind. For one thing, he should learn that Lord Eversley was not the only person available who could give him a game of chess or piquet.
After the active and emotionally wrenching period just passed, Sarah’s first full day as an official member of the Ridgemont family was quiet and relatively serene. Neither of her aunts having evinced any interest in the housekeeping arrangements now that Mrs. Glamorgan was installed, Sarah was left by default to deal with that lady, which she did in an amicable fashion, thanks to the thorough understanding she had gained of the inner workings of the household during her stint as housekeeper. Mrs. Glamorgan was an efficient individual who preferred to deal with persons of equal competence.
The large sunny day nursery with its exciting array of books and games was being readied for Richard. Sarah had initially intended to put her brother in the servant’s room in her own apartment until he should become accustomed to the immensity of Beech Hill, but her grandfather had vetoed this plan as “coddling.” Knowing that Lottie would not be far away in any case, she had not disputed the general’s arguments that the boy needed to “harden up” before going off to school. In consequence, two adjoining bedchambers near the nursery were prepared for Richard and Lottie.
It occurred to Sarah that her grandfather harboured some fears that a boy reared primarily by women would be too soft, but she did not raise the issue with the old soldier. He would soon discover that two years of attending day school and negotiating the streets of London on his own had contributed to developing an independence and a quiet competence in his youngest grandson. Buoyed up by her intimate knowledge of her brother’s sturdy nature, Sarah went about the house with a light heart in happy anticipation of an imminent reunion with the two persons she loved best in the world. There was a spring in her step and a glow in her eyes that was not even dimmed by her Aunt Townsend’s disparaging glance at her simple gown when she passed her on the staircase midway through the morning.
Sarah popped in to see her grandfather again before lunch and met Doctor Rydell, who had just finished examining his patient. She smiled at him warmly as he stood up at her entrance into the general’s bedchamber.
“I trust you find my grandfather much improved from yesterday, Doctor?”
“I do indeed, Miss Ridgemont,” he replied, returning her smile with interest. “In fact, I was about to suggest to Sir Hector that I would have no objection to his joining the family for lunch tomorrow if he feels up to making the effort.”
“Don’t talk about me as if I were absent or senile,” growled his ungrateful patient.
“I’m sorry, Grandfather,” Sarah said soothingly. “Somers is on his way in with your luncheon tray now. Do you think it might be a good idea for Doctor Rydell to meet the rest of the family?”
“Now, there’s a high treat for him,” Sir Hector replied with a snide twist of his lips. He waved his hand dismissively. “Why bother to ask my permission? Females always do whatever they like no matter what a mere male thinks.”
Sarah glanced at him in consternation. “Of course I shall not if you do not wish it, Grandfather, but I believe Aunt Townsend would be relieved to hear of your improvement from the doctor himself.”
“Oh, do whatever you wish, girl.” Sir Hector’s permission was grudging, but Sarah took immediate advantage of the valet’s appearance in the doorway to usher the doctor out, promising to look in on her grandfather again after his rest.
The Ridgemont ladies were ensconced in the drawing room along with William, who still could not get a boot on his injured foot though he had dispensed with the cane and was walking with more ease. The other men had not yet returned from their morning ride, apparently.
Sarah performed the necessary introductions in her quiet manner, observing as she did so that Mrs. Ridgemont responded with absentminded civility and William with his customary friendliness. Lady Townsend took over the conversation instantly, directing Doctor Rydell to a chair near hers while she embarked on an intensive interrogation into her father’s condition.
Sarah took a chair and became, like the others, redundant to the interview being carried on by her aunt and the doctor. He had answered a bit hesitantly at first, but Sarah, who had been observing the scene closely, was not fooled into believing him intimidated by his noble inquisitor’s peremptory manner. The young doctor dealt competently with his even more intimidating patient, and he had appeared quite at ease with Horace Ridgemont the previous day. Having noted the stunned expression on his face just now when he had been presented to Arabella, rather like a man who has nearly stepped off a cliff, Sarah would have ventured a more intriguing explanation for his initial inability to satisfy Lady Townsend’s demand for coherent information. Fortunately, he regained his composure within seconds, and she was able to release the breath she had been holding.
Sarah glanced at Arabella to see if her cousin was preening herself on this latest conquest, but that young lady was sitting uncharacteristically still, her eyes demurely fixed on the work in her lap. In Sarah’s limited observance of her coquettish cousin, this was unusual behaviour indeed in the presence of a personable young man. She might have been led into the error of accepting that a mere doctor was outside Arabella’s sphere of interest, had she not made the additional discovery that the younger girl’s hands were utterly motionless on her embroidery and her bent head was angled just enough to permit a covert study of Simon Rydell from the corner of her eye
. Sarah’s own features grew still as she reflected that it was a mercy Lady Townsend was too engrossed in her interrogation to suspect her daughter’s interest in a man she would undoubtedly consider ineligible as a suitor. They could do without that complication at Beech Hill. She took some comfort in the knowledge that the two young people would have almost no opportunity to meet again in the ordinary course of events.
Doctor Rydell was dismissed with conscious graciousness by Lady Townsend after she had extracted all available information from him. While waiting for Joseph to appear to show the doctor out, William engaged him in easy conversation. No words were exchanged between Arabella and Doctor Rydell, though Sarah was on tenterhooks that one or the other would betray the mutual attraction she was now convinced existed between them. She did not really relax until she saw the doctor’s back disappearing through the door.
Lunch was an uneventful meal. Arabella was somewhat more subdued than usual, Vincent persevered with his gallantry toward Sarah when he remembered that it provoked his female relatives, and Cecil unbent enough to address one or two innocuous remarks to his new cousin. Sarah came away with the hopeful feeling that some minor progress had been made in the process of gaining acceptance within her family.
The women retired to their private quarters after lunch, though Sarah accepted a diffidently expressed invitation to go around the picture gallery with William in an hour’s time so that she might become acquainted with some of her ancestors.
True to his word, William proved to be a competent guide to the modest collection of paintings assembled over the years. They were mostly portraits, she saw at once, with a smattering of military scenes and paintings of battles. After an hour’s tour, she had gained a much better understanding of the strong military tradition in her family.
“Poor Father,” she said on a sigh, gazing up at a portrait of her grandfather in young middle age, strong and erect in the uniform of a colonel of hussars. “He was not at all suited to a military career, but it must have been nearly impossible to go against generations of family tradition. Was your father ever in the army?”
William shook his head. “No. It was generally the eldest son who went into the military, and my father was already married and settled by the time Uncle Gerald left the army. Had he been younger, my grandfather might have insisted on buying him a commission, though he was even less suited to the life than your father, I would imagine.”
“Neither you nor Cecil…?” Sarah hesitated, fearing to intrude.
“Not so far. I was considered too sickly after a bout of rheumatic fever in my boyhood. Cecil has toyed with the idea at times and may yet ask Grandfather to buy him a pair of colours.”
Sarah enjoyed her tour of the gallery until she learned, on entering the drawing room, where tea was being served, that Lord Eversley had called during the interval she had spent looking at pictures with William. Though she was determined not to acknowledge any disappointment at this piece of news, her earlier pleasure dissipated to the point that it required a real effort to produce the enthusiasm she owed William when Mrs. Ridgemont inquired how she enjoyed the tour. She must have been convincing because her aunt settled back in her corner of the settee with an air of satisfaction.
Arabella was in high spirits again, and the cause became clear when she announced that Lord Eversley had been the bearer of a note from Lady Eversley inviting everyone at Beech Hill to drink tea at Eversley the following afternoon.
Sarah experienced a confusing rush of contradictory emotions as pleasure at the thought of seeing Lord Eversley again was instantly swamped by a riptide of reluctance to meet his wife. She was shaken by the unexpected violence of her feelings on the subject and sat unmoving until her heart slowed its pounding and she could finally trust her voice to sound only mildly interested.
“Are you acquainted with Lady Eversley, cousin? What is she like?”
Arabella shrugged. “Pleasant enough, and she is still quite good-looking for her age. How old would you say Lady Eversley is, Mama?”
“She is five-and-fifty if she’s a day,” Lady Townsend replied, “but she has always taken very good care of that complexion of hers. Expense is no object with Marguerite Trebeque.”
“Five-and-fifty? Is Lady Eversley not Lord Eversley’s wife, then?” Sarah was looking at her aunt, but it was Arabella who answered casually.
“Lady Eversley is his mother. He doesn’t have a wife any longer.”
“But he did have once? What happened to her?” Sarah persisted, hoping she had succeeded in keeping her tones tepid.
“She died a long time ago,” Lady Townsend said, “five or six years, at least.”
“It was a terrible scandal,” Arabella put in with relish.
“Arabella!”
The dark-haired girl ignored her mother’s warning and continued with a rush, “His wife ran away with another man while he was fighting with the army in Portugal.”
Sarah’s eyes widened and she glanced at her aunt for confirmation, but Lady Townsend was glaring at her daughter. “That will do, Arabella,” she said repressively. “It is most unbecoming in a young girl to repeat scandal, especially when Eversley has paid you conspicuous attention and you are about to accept his hospitality.”
“But it is nothing to do with Lord Eversley really, Mama. No one could hold him to blame for his wife’s indiscretions.”
“How did she die?” Sarah made no attempt to disguise her interest at this point.
“In childbirth, a twelvemonth after Lord Eversley — though he was only Major Trebeque then because his father was still alive — left for the war.”
Mrs. Ridgemont clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“How came you by that piece of information?” demanded Lady Townsend angrily.
“Vincent told me.” Arabella was the picture of injured innocence.
“Well, Vincent had no right to sully his sister’s ears with such stuff, and so I shall tell him.”
Mrs. Ridgemont made some remark about the licence permitted to young people these days, but Sarah allowed the ensuing discussion to wash over her head unheeded as she stared into her cooling cup of tea. Compassion for Lord Eversley had ousted any other emotion for the moment.
How he must have suffered at the hands of an unprincipled woman. Even though he was abroad when the actual elopement and subsequent death took place, the ripples from the scandal would certainly have reached him, and he must have been a prey to searing doubts about the contribution that his own enforced absence might have made to the tragic situation. The blow to his pride would have been sufficient to scar him without even taking into account the probable heartbreak if he had loved his wife deeply and believed in her love for him. It must be a degrading experience to lavish love on a worthless individual, an experience that would tend to warp the soul.
Sarah sat lost in her melancholy reflections, only dimly aware of the talk swirling around her, but that awareness included gratitude to William, who gently led the conversation into amusing trivialities that called for no more than an occasional smile or nod from the newest member of the family.
CHAPTER 10
Sarah’s eagerness to meet Lord Eversley again, this time on his home ground, was somewhat tempered by a natural feminine disinclination to appear at a disadvantage in the company of other females. Of course, she would always be at a disadvantage in her cousin’s company, she allowed, staring gloomily at the peach dress in the long glass in her room, by virtue of Arabella’s youthful sparkle and dramatic colouring. How could any other female not appear washed out and insipid by comparison? Be that as it may, there was no denying it would have given her own flagging confidence a fillip to enter Eversley attired in a modish gown fashioned of some soft luxuriant fabric and featuring no fewer than three flounces on its skirt.
She was caught up in an adolescent but eminently satisfying daydream in which Lord Eversley, oblivious to Arabella’s provocative lures, had eyes only for herself, clad in a shimmering cloth-of-
gold creation that wrung cries of envy from her cousin, when a knock on the door announced Maria’s arrival to dress her hair. Like an iridescent soap bubble, Sarah’s mental vision vanished without a trace, and flags of guilty colour flew into her cheeks at the folly of indulging in such nonsense.
“My, don’t you look pretty in that gown,” Maria observed innocently. “It gives you a lovely colour.”
Sarah smiled her thanks and pointed to the bronze-green bonnet lying on her bed. “I’ll be wearing this hat today, Maria, so we’ll need to keep my hair pinned a bit lower at the back than I normally wear it.”
Maria was captivated by the bonnet and proceeded to place it on her mistress’ head to gauge the effect before she removed the pins anchoring the heavy knot and started brushing Sarah’s long hair.
Maria really did possess clever fingers and a good eye for design, Sarah decided some fifteen minutes later as she surveyed the results of the young girl’s enthusiastic labour in a hand mirror. She was warm in her praise of the skilfully twisted coil positioned at the nape of the neck below the extravagant bonnet. Maria’s eyes shone with pride and pleasure as she blushingly accepted her mistress’s compliments, and she exclaimed in genuine admiration as Sarah donned the matching spencer Lottie had made.
“You do look a picture, miss. Isn’t it lucky today is sunny and warm enough to do without a pelisse?”
Encouraged by the maid’s generous approval, Sarah ran down the backstairs to say goodbye to her grandfather before the Beech Hill party left for Eversley.
Sir Hector, who planned to spend a quiet day in his room in hopes of joining his family for dinner, was reading in the chair by the fireplace, wearing his blue dressing gown, as he had two days before. His face looked more rested today and there was no sign of shakiness in the hands that lowered the book to his lap on his granddaughter’s entrance.