The General's Granddaughter

by Dorothy Mack

  “Of course you will, Lottie!”

  “No, Sarah. I am not a member of your family and I won’t be eating with them.”

  “You are my … my companion, and companions dine with the family.” Sarah’s gentle countenance had assumed its rare mulish look.

  Lottie said patiently, “Look, my dear, I know your concern is all for my feelings, but I am not of the gentry and that’s all there is to it. Believe me, I would feel awkward and unhappy to be pushed in among my betters —”

  “They’re not your betters!”

  “Not in heaven’s eyes,” Lottie agreed with a tart smile, “but genteel society and heaven are two different places, and genteel society is not for the likes of Lottie Miller. I would not like it one bit, not for a minute.”

  Sarah still seemed disposed to argue as they reached the west staircase, but Lottie changed the subject with an admiring comment on the sweeping wrought-iron railing. Lord Eversley answered her and continued to point out features of the staircase as they ascended, depriving Sarah of any chance to reopen the discussion.

  All family members were present in the drawing room when they entered. Fortunately, boyish curiosity about his unknown relatives provided a shield that protected Richard from subtle evidence that his presence was not greeted with unanimous goodwill. Sarah was prepared for Aunt Adelaide’s patent disinterest. In the excitement of meeting so many people at once, Richard didn’t even notice. He was most interested in his splendid male cousins, although when he was presented to Arabella, he blinked and said, “Sarah was right. You are very pretty, Cousin Arabella.”

  Arabella laughed out spontaneously. “I think I am going to like you, Cousin Richard,” she replied, twinkling an impish smile at him and looking more appealing, Sarah thought privately, than she ever did when concentrating all her efforts to charm.

  “And what did Sarah have to say about the rest of us, Cousin Richard?” Vincent asked, wearing the smile of an amiable tiger.

  Sarah’s nails bit into her palms as she sucked in a breath, but Richard had not been fooled by Lord Townsend’s assumed innocence.

  “She just said we had three male cousins and a very pretty girl cousin,” he replied, gazing at his oldest cousin with candid dark eyes, adding parenthetically, “I already knew about Aunt Adelaide and Uncle Horace from my father.”

  Sarah expelled a relieved breath and waited for the next hurdle, but all went smoothly from that point.

  When Lottie had been presented to all the Ridgemonts, she glanced significantly at Sarah, who hesitated as the tea tray was brought in. Lottie made a tiny negative movement of her head, and sighing, Sarah excused herself to take her old friend up to the room that had been prepared for her, after ascertaining that Richard was happy enough for the moment answering William’s questions about his journey.

  It was fully twenty minutes before Sarah returned to the drawing room. She and Lottie had had much to catch up on and she had stayed to introduce her to Clara, who would be waiting on the nursery suite. Promising to return with Richard after tea, she left her old nurse directing the willing Clara in the unpacking of the most essential baggage before she would take any refreshment herself.

  A slight shadow of anxiety for Richard’s fate at the hands of his new relatives faded as she re-entered the drawing room to see him happily munching on cake and listening to a discussion between William and Cecil. Aunt Adelaide was seated behind the tea table talking to Vincent. When she did not appear to notice that her niece was once more in their midst, Sarah squared her shoulders and abandoned her recent posture of self-effacement in her aunt’s presence.

  “May I have some tea, Aunt?”

  Lady Townsend filled a cup without even glancing up.

  Lord Eversley, who had been seated beside Arabella, sauntered over to the tea table and took the cup from Sarah’s hand when it was prepared. “I’ll carry this for you, Sarah,” he said, indicating the chair he had been occupying.

  Presented with a Hobson’s choice of calling attention to herself with a refusal or obeying Lord Eversley’s direction, Sarah took the chair beside her cousin with a murmur of thanks. Arabella promptly turned her shoulder on her, but her attempts to ignore Sarah’s presence were foiled by Lord Eversley, who saw to it that Sarah was included in the limping conversation that followed.

  If he were intuitive enough to sense that all was not well between Arabella and herself, then he should have been intuitive enough to know that his intervention would only annoy both women, Sarah concluded, hardening her heart and refusing to put up more than a minimal show of civility as she racked her brain for an acceptable way to disengage herself. She had not been visited with an inspiration when William came to the rescue once again.

  “Sarah, do you ride?” he asked, leaning across his brother to attract her attention. “Cecil and I are going to teach Richard to ride starting tomorrow. Will you come with us?”

  Sarah shook her head, smiling at the excitement on Richard’s face. “I’m afraid I do not ride, nor do I possess a habit, but I am persuaded Richard will be thrilled to have you take him out. Thank you both so much.”

  “Bella, you and Sarah are about the same size. Do you have something you can lend her for riding?” William asked with a regrettable lapse from the exquisite tact that generally characterized his behaviour.

  Arabella stiffened and glared at her cousin. “I have only one habit with me,” she replied shortly.

  “In any case, I should prefer to postpone any riding lessons until I have acquired the proper clothes,” Sarah said, looking directly at William.

  “I would estimate that my mother is near your size, Sarah,” Lord Eversley said, unexpectedly entering the lists. “She will be more than happy to lend you a habit until you can have one made.”

  “I would not dream of asking Lady Eversley to lend me her clothes.” Sarah was scandalized.

  “You would not be asking, she’ll be offering,” he pointed out.

  “Absolutely not. It is unthinkable.”

  The decision in Sarah’s tones finally silenced Lord Eversley, who pulled in the corners of his mouth as he eyed her expressionlessly. This had the effect of making her feel gauche and ungrateful at the same time. Goaded, she plunged into an ill-advised attempt to soften this impression that had her talking in circles until his eyes began to dance wickedly. She stumbled to a stop, reddening at a sudden conviction that he must find her both childish and amusing, but any incipient resentment was rendered stillborn by the endearingly boyish smile he sent her suddenly, a smile that took years from his age and hinted at the existence of another side to this enigmatic and compellingly attractive man. The smile Sarah gave him in response was, all unknowingly, an expression of complete capitulation to the strange attraction he had always exerted over her.

  Afterward, Sarah could not have said with truth whether she was relieved or disappointed that Arabella reasserted her claim to Lord Eversley’s attention at that moment. There were no more private looks exchanged between the viscount and Sarah, at least partially because she was careful to avoid looking directly at this gentleman during the discussion of the availability in the neighbourhood of suitable mounts for novice riders that reigned until Lord Eversley took his leave a half-hour later.

  With the advent of her brother and Lottie, life at Beech Hill became much more tolerable for Sarah. Nothing of a positive nature had occurred to alter the personal feelings of the rest of the Ridgemonts toward the existence of their brother’s children, but with her family present, she no longer felt exposed and isolated in an alien environment. Also, she was so busy showing Richard and Lottie over the house and grounds and planning her new wardrobe that she spent far less time in the uncongenial company of the Ridgemont females. Actually, it was only Aunt Adelaide’s society that she found invariably unpalatable. The mercurial Arabella could be quite good company when not under her mother’s quelling eye, and Aunt Ridgemont, though inclined to dwell inexhaustibly on the multiple virtues of her son Wil
liam, was never actively unkind to Sarah or Richard.

  Richard blossomed under the excitement of country life. He had a happy child’s ability to adapt to changing situations and had accustomed himself to the cramped living quarters and dirty streets of London, but he flourished at Beech Hill like a plant long starved of sunshine. Not only did he have spacious grounds, woods, and a village all within exploring distance, but his new cousins were introducing him to the previously arcane secrets of horsemanship. For a boy whose entire acquaintance with these wondrously beautiful creatures had consisted of surreptitious pats on city streets when the opportunity offered, heaven could promise no sweeter joy. His progress in riding was measured in gigantic strides, and his glowing happiness settled forever the self-doubts about the rightness of her decision to come to Beech Hill and the niggling sense of disloyalty to their father that had pricked Sarah’s conscience since her arrival. For the joy of witnessing Richard’s contentment, she would serenely endure a thousand snubs from her relatives.

  Though Richard spent most of his time outdoors, the unpredictable early spring weather provided enough inclement periods to confine him to the house occasionally. After exploring all the possibilities the nursery offered for entertainment, he discovered the rich resources of the library, which his grandfather had put at his disposal. He was content to spend hours surveying the contents of the shelves, and this was the first place Sarah looked if her brother’s whereabouts were in question.

  She had wondered a little uneasily if the presence of a lively child in the house would adversely affect her grandfather, but she need not have worried on that score. Fortunately, Richard showed no timidity in the presence of his irascible grandsire, a reaction that would have annoyed the general excessively despite the characteristic bullying designed, one would have thought, to produce just such a condition in his victims. From the second day of his stay when Richard had wandered into his grandfather’s bedchamber with a book detailing Julius Caesar’s experiences in Gaul and questions on his lips about this campaign, the oldest and youngest members of the family had apparently forged a bond of common interest in military history that no one could have predicted. Without ever defining a policy or intention, the boy slipped into a pattern of spending some time with his grandfather each day.

  In the sennight following Richard’s arrival at Beech Hill, Sarah was happier than she had been since the golden days of her betrothal, so many years ago that she had difficulty summoning that halcyon period to mind. Though strangely reluctant to dwell on it, she was too honest to deny the similarities to that period of her life in the present situation. Certainly the sense of anticipation with which she greeted each day on arising was in large measure connected with the possibility of a visit from Lord Eversley. The pounding of her heart and her moist palms were immediately familiar despite the years that had elapsed since she had last experienced these signs of insecurity in the presence of one particular man.

  Lord Eversley dropped in nearly every day. He generally began his call with a brief visit to Sir Hector unless the latter felt up to a session of chess or piquet. If not pressed for time, he would end up in the drawing room exchanging civilities with whichever members of the family were present. On the first two occasions these had not included Sarah, who was generally busy in some other part of the house. Recognizing after the second visit that Sarah’s relatives had no intention of apprising her of the presence of a guest, Lord Eversley had then removed the element of chance by instructing Joseph on his arrival each day to inform Miss Sarah of his presence in the house.

  Sarah was thus in no doubt that he intended to see her when he called at Beech Hill, but her confidence in her powers of attraction was not of such a high order that she dared hope he came primarily to see her, perhaps even to court her. They were never alone for a moment, nor did they ever indulge in a conversation that could not have been heard by all and sundry. Sarah had too lately been living from hand to mouth, weighed down by fears of the future, to cavil at a period of delicious uncertainty. There was no hurry to bring matters into the open.

  Her relatives’ visit would not continue too much longer with the imminence of the London season to draw them away from Beech Hill. Meanwhile, there was a warm look in Lord Eversley’s dark eyes when they settled on her that filled her with secret excitement.

  To Sarah’s relief, nothing more had been said by her grandfather on the subject of acquiring a fashionable wardrobe under Aunt Adelaide’s guidance. She suspected that his pleasure in getting to know his youngest grandson had driven the matter out of his head, and she was duly grateful. Before leaving London, Lottie had had the foresight, when informed of their radical change of circumstances, to dip into their small capital to purchase several lengths of fabric and some accessories that Sarah would need in refurbishing her wardrobe. Before closing the shop, she had also packed up the prettiest of the hats in stock along with the rest of Sarah’s wardrobe. Within a day of settling into Beech Hill, Lottie had cut out two dresses to Sarah’s designs, using the nursery as a workroom. The two women had stitched steadily to finish the first one, a pale-green muslin sprigged with a pattern of darker green leaves, made up in a simple style but featuring a triple flounce piped in dark-green satin.

  She knew the gown was a success by the silence that greeted her entrance into the drawing room, where the ladies were entertaining Lord Eversley late one morning. He rose with a smile and complimented her on her blooming looks, at which point Aunt Ridgemont had remarked, “Yes, that is a very pretty dress, my dear. William has always liked green.”

  Lady Townsend introduced a new topic at that point, but Sarah noted Lord Eversley’s thoughtful glance at Mrs. Ridgemont before he replied to Lady Townsend.

  The second dress was a heavy cream-coloured silk suitable for evening, cut with a low bodice that showed off Sarah’s smooth shoulders and lovely long throat. Sir Hector, dining with them that evening, had gazed on her for a long moment before saying gruffly, “Now that you have more colour in your face, you are growing more like your grandmother every day. We must get you some pearls. Adelaide has all her mother’s jewels.”

  Sarah had murmured appropriately, avoiding her aunt’s resentful glance. She knew Lady Townsend considered that any gift to Sarah, even a compliment, was made at Arabella’s expense, but she had concluded there was nothing she would say or do to mollify such irrationality.

  The next morning when she went in to see her grandfather, he presented her with an invitation he had just received for the household to dine at Eversley the following week.

  “A sennight should be long enough to have a superb gown made in Marshfield. I’m well-known there. Just have the account sent here.”

  “You don’t think the cream —” Sarah began.

  “No. It’s quite good enough in the ordinary way, and so I told Miss Miller. She’s an accomplished seamstress, but this dinner at Eversley will more or less mark your bow to local society and I want you dressed to turn heads. Get something trimmed with crystals or beads or lace — Miss Miller knows the style I’m after. She has a sound head on her shoulders and a good eye for what becomes you. She’ll see that you’re well-turned-out.”

  Sarah was so flabbergasted to hear this second reference to Lottie, whom she had not suspected of being on familiar terms with Sir Hector, that she did not immediately perceive the tacit retraction by omission of her aunt as her fashion mentor, a point Lottie did not neglect to call to her attention when she demanded an explanation from her old friend a few moments later.

  Thus it was that a still-bemused Sarah found herself accompanying Lottie into Marshfield the next morning in her grandfather’s old-fashioned but solidly luxurious carriage. Since neither Arabella nor her mother ever came down to breakfast before seven, there had been no one to question or impede the expedition. Sarah quite looked forward to exploring Marshfield. She had liked what she had seen of the bustling town on her arrival despite her headache and preoccupation with the ordeal ahead of her. W
atching the countryside roll past on the day that featured a fitful sun dodging in and out of bunchy clouds, Sarah had trouble convincing herself that less than three weeks had actually passed since she had come to Gloucestershire to seek help. It was nearly inconceivable that their lives could have altered so radically in that short span of time, but here she was, the pampered granddaughter of a wealthy man, living in a mansion and driving in her own carriage to commission an expensive gown in which to meet the local gentry. Small wonder she still felt a bit dazed and doubtful of her good fortune.

  Marshfield was as prosperous-looking and active as she remembered. Her grandfather’s coachman set them down at a hostelry favoured by Sir Hector where they could get a good luncheon after their business had been completed. Sarah’s spirits were on tiptoe with excitement as she and Lottie stepped into a nearby draper’s shop to ask for the name of the best modiste. The middle-aged man, whom she took to be the proprietor, cast a knowledgeable eye over the bronze-green bonnet that had not come from a provincial town, pricing it within a guinea, Sarah guessed, and gave them directions to the establishment run by Madame Bouchard.

  Madame Bouchard was located on a street parallel to the main thoroughfare. They headed down a pleasant side street lined with attractive small houses and shops. They had nearly reached the intersection they sought when Sarah glanced idly at the pretty stone house with a bow window that they were passing. The front door stood open, its opening filled by a broad-shouldered man in a dark-green coat. As he raised his hand to place a brown beaver atop crisp black hair, something about the set of those shoulders and the way he carried his head riveted Sarah’s eyes. She saw two white hands sparkling with rings creep over his shoulders. The smooth-fingered hands clasped each other below delicate wrists at the back of the man’s neck and brought his head down. The arm that had placed the hat on his head went around the unseen woman’s body a second later as he acquiesced to the embrace.