by Dorothy Mack
There was no way, short of a last-minute indisposition, as a few fruitless hours of cogitation told her. A few more hours devoted to the subject convinced her that she would merely be delaying the inevitable confrontation between them. Lord Eversley was clearly not a man to let a few social conventions deter him from pursuing an objective. Her outraged sensibilities weren’t going to count for much against that determination. Actually, the longer she considered the subject, the closer she came to agreeing with him. Embarrassment aside, only frankness would serve in such a vital matter as her future happiness.
It was with a fatalistic calm therefore that Sarah entered the Eversley house on the night of the dinner party. She knew she was looking her best. Madame Bouchard had created a deceptively simple gown of a champagne-coloured gossamer silk that floated and drifted when she moved; it sparkled at each shift of light, thanks to hundreds of beads, ranging from gold through amber and several shades of brown, that had been sewed onto the abbreviated bodice that revealed more of her supple body than she would have deemed quite proper before she had returned to England.
Maria had been ecstatic over the gown, begging to be allowed to try a more elaborate style of coiffure to do justice to its elegance. The result was a high top knot from which long curls descended in a frivolous and utterly charming cascade that made her look not a day older than Arabella. A feathered fan dyed shades of amber, which she displayed with the consummate grace imparted to her years before by her mother, earned strong approval from her grandfather, who was forcibly reminded of his wife’s alluring use of these lovely adjuncts to a woman’s toilette. As for Lottie’s reaction, her old nurse had blinked back tears of regret that Alice Ridgemont had not lived to see her daughter so finely decked out in a manner worthy of the full flush of her beauty.
Sarah would have been less than human to remain ungratified by the compliments on her appearance elicited from her Uncle Horace and her male cousins. For once the admiration expressed by Vincent seemed genuine, and he had the grace to look slightly rueful as he met her cool, measuring glance. Her Aunt Ridgemont, managing to appear dowdy even in a relatively attractive gown of deep sapphire-blue satin by virtue of an inappropriate shawl of a predominantly bilious green print and an ugly pale-blue turban that she had perched precariously on crimped locks, approved her niece’s new coiffure with a vague smile. Her expression sharpened as she intercepted William’s reaction to Sarah’s enhanced loveliness, and her blue eyes flashed to Sarah’s face in time to witness a slight rise in colour before long lashes descended in protection as William continued to regard his cousin with silent but speaking devotion.
As on the previous occasion when the Beech Hill residents had gone together to Eversley, Sarah travelled in the carriage with William and his parents. She and her uncle carried on a desultory conversation during the drive. William was uncharacteristically absent in spirit, and Mrs. Ridgemont did not once open her lips until they were in sight of their destination.
Despite her best intentions to remain cool and uninterested in Lord Eversley’s reaction, a feminine urge born with Eve lifted Sarah’s eyes to his face, and she derived immense satisfaction from the excitement that flared up for an instant before he became the perfect host, greeting her as if they had not parted on a quarrel at their last meeting.
Lady Eversley, looking ten years younger than her age in a gown of cerulean blue that deepened her eyes and flattered her colouring, welcomed her guests in a more formal drawing room in another wing on this occasion. Sarah could see Aunt Adelaide’s avid eyes evaluating the superb diamond necklace her hostess wore. She herself was wearing a small fortune in rubies and diamonds that flashed about her strong neck and in the raven locks that as yet contained very few grey strands. Arabella was entrancingly pretty in an all-white costume and her pearls. For once Sarah did not feel at a disadvantage in her relatives’ company, though the only jewellery she wore was a pair of long earrings studded with pieces of amber in an intricate gold filigree setting. They were attractive rather than valuable, but she had kept them when the rest of her mother’s jewellery had been sold because her father insisted they must have been designed to complement her eyes. She’d not had occasion to wear them for more years than she cared to recall, and she could not help moving her head occasionally just for the pleasure of feeling them swing away from her neck. Arabella had admired them enviously, then conceded with rare generosity that they would not have become her half so well as her cousin.
Sarah glanced at her cousin now and saw a radiance come over her face. She did not have to turn her head to know that Doctor Rydell must have entered the room at that moment. She had not been so immersed in her own dilemma these past two days that she had forgotten Arabella’s blissful state as they had walked home from the village after the accidental meeting with the handsome young doctor. At the time, the painful contrast between the results of the two accidental meetings that had occurred during their errand of mercy had occupied her mind almost exclusively, but she had gradually come to a realization that Arabella’s plight was more to be pitied than her own. Her decision about Lord Eversley was hers alone to make. She also knew her grandfather would be delighted to see her married to his dear friend.
Arabella, on the contrary, was under the thumb of a parent who intended her to make a brilliant match. Though a gentleman, Doctor Rydell was far removed from her in birth and fortune, and his devotion to his profession would render him completely ineligible in Lady Townsend’s eyes. Arabella’s present radiance as she gave her hand to the doctor and gazed up into his eyes was destined to be the brief precursor of deep unhappiness if her heart was involved. That this affair was more than her cousin’s usual flirtation, Sarah knew beyond doubt. Arabella didn’t flirt with Simon Rydell. She had tried ignoring him, perhaps out of a sense of self-preservation at their first meetings, but this defence had failed her in Grace’s cottage. As for the doctor, he had no defences where Arabella was concerned, and Sarah feared for both when Lady Townsend became aware of the situation.
A touch on her arm brought Sarah back to a sense of her surroundings and she smiled in mute apology at her hostess, who was about to present her to the squire and his lady. Sir Randolph and Lady Mortimer were kind-seeming people, perhaps a few years younger than her uncle, who welcomed her affably. Only the eldest of their numerous progeny, a pretty girl of seventeen or so with a mop of sandy curls, was with them this evening.
Lord and Lady Calderby, whose estate was on the outskirts of Marshfield, were a bit more reserved than the Mortimers but quite affable. Their son looked to be about Cecil’s age and appeared all but tongue-tied when presented to Sarah and Arabella. His sister, copper-haired and green-eyed, whom Sarah shrewdly surmised to be the reigning belle in the area, did not suffer from the same shyness. She eyed the Ridgemont young ladies in the assessing manner of an athlete rating the field of competition, smiled prettily, murmured politely, and glided off purposefully toward the corner where Lord Townsend and William Ridgemont were speaking with their host.
Sarah, smiling at such blatant tactics as she patiently answered the squire’s concerned queries about her grandfather, ceased smiling when she noticed that Arabella, far from having her competitive spirit aroused by Miss Calderby, had failed to mark the latter’s departure from her position by Doctor Rydell’s side. She was only partially reassured on locating Lady Townsend with her back to her daughter while she answered the same questions about Sir Hector put by the Reverend and Mrs. Henry Tallant, who completed the dinner party. If Arabella were to continue to demonstrate her marked preference for Simon Rydell’s company, her mother would not long remain in the dark.
Sarah, seated between the vicar and her Cousin Vincent, enjoyed a very good dinner. She could handle Vincent’s nonsense with ease by now, and she made the happy discovery that Mr. Tallant had lived in America for several years before his marriage. He proved a most entertaining dinner partner as they compared their experiences in the former colonies. From time to time
she was conscious of Lord Eversley’s brooding eye on her, but she was careful not to meet his glance directly. Her survival instincts were still intact. She could not know that the flickering candles in branched silver candelabra deployed down the length of the table set alight a myriad of gold and copper glints in her rich bronze tresses, that her eyes gleamed with light that rivalled the amber pieces winking in their gold settings depending from her ears, but she could sense the intensification of that brooding regard as the meal progressed. She was not released from its grip until the ladies adjourned to the large drawing room, leaving the men to their politics and port. There would come a reckoning between them soon, but a dinner party where he had a host’s responsibilities was not the occasion.
Sarah went quite unsuspecting to her fate. She did wonder briefly why Lady Eversley had brought her into the intriguing glass conservatory at one end of the long room to see an exotic flower called an orchid before the men returned from table, but she followed her hostess willingly and profusely admired the brightly coloured blossoms she’d been shown. She was still bent over the plant in fascination when Lady Eversley excused herself a trifle breathlessly, “Mark will bring you back, my dear. I must return to my guests now.”
Caught off guard, Sarah whirled to find a scant foot of space between herself and the fiery-eyed man who filled her thoughts, as a drift of cerulean blue vanished into the dim reaches of the sparsely lighted conservatory.
“As you may recall, our last conversation was interrupted at a most interesting point. We are going to finish it now.”
Sarah was astonished at her own calm. She experienced no return of the dismayed embarrassment that had gripped her in the village. She even produced a small smile as she observed, “You have a very devoted mother.”
She had succeeded in surprising him. She saw his jaw relax as she became aware of piano music coming from the drawing room. All her senses were alerted suddenly. The musky odour of vegetation and moist earth assailed her nostrils; she felt the coolness of damp air on her skin and the heat coming from Mark’s body as he closed the gap between them to inches. Instinctively she retreated, but he caught her by the shoulders.
“Mama knew I had something urgent to say to you. Sarah, whoever told you I kept a mistress in Marshfield was correct except in one vital particular — the tense. It should have been the past tense. I did keep a mistress; I do not any longer.”
She was shaking her head, refusing to look at him.
“Dammit, Sarah, you are not a child. You know men aren’t saints. Until you came into my life, I was determined not to remarry. I didn’t think a woman like you existed except in my imagination. You cannot deny us this chance at happiness simply because I haven’t been celibate for the past five years.”
“It’s no use, Mark,” she said sadly. “No one told me anything about a mistress. I saw you with my own eyes. And it was very much the present.”
“You saw me?” His voice was mystified. “You saw me what? When?”
“Please, Mark, let’s not prolong the agony with more lies. We must return to the party before we’re missed.”
“What did you see?”
The grip on her half-bare shoulders tightened, and she wondered fleetingly if she’d be trapped out here for hours with tell-tale red marks on her skin. She lifted her chin and said steadily, “I saw you taking leave of her earlier this week in Marshfield. You were embracing in the open doorway for the whole world to see.” She could not prevent a trace of bitterness from becoming evident in her voice.
To her surprise, he did not look abashed but annoyed as he administered a small shake to the shapely shoulders in his slackened hold. “That’s exactly what I was doing, taking leave of her permanently. And if you saw that much, you should have seen also that the so-called embrace was more or less forced on me —”
“Less!”
The indignant cry had barely left her lips when they were ruthlessly covered by Mark’s mouth. His arms had gone around her shoulders, one hand pinioning the back of her head to keep her mouth in position, but thoughts of escape, indeed thoughts of any nature, were beyond Sarah at that point. After the first moment of shock, the desperate passion in his kiss had awakened long-dormant feelings in her, and then, as the embrace lengthened and his lips began to move coaxingly over hers, quite new and insistent feelings. She flamed into response, whimpering softly in her effort to enclose as much of him in her own embrace as her tightening arms could encompass.
Mark was trembling slightly as his lips ceased their thrilling depredations long enough to whisper on an unsteady breath, “Sarah, my darling love, after this you cannot deny —”
A loud hiss of surprise jerked both heads around in alarm, but the only lights in the conservatory were in their vicinity. Neither could distinguish anything as they heard footsteps hastily leaving the other end of the conservatory.
“Someone saw us,” Sarah said, jumping out of his arms in alarm.
“It doesn’t signify.” Mark was reaching for her again, but she eluded his grasp as she frantically pulled the small puffed sleeves of the champagne silk farther up on her exposed shoulders to cover the faint marks made by his fingers.
“Of course it signifies! Please don’t follow me out this entrance. Wait a moment and go out the other door.” Sarah was heading for the closest exit as she spoke, re-pinning a couple of curls that had become disarranged. She was stepping through the doorway on the action, leaving him glowering in frustration.
Sarah’s entrance went unremarked through a stroke of luck she knew she didn’t deserve. The doorway at the end of the wall that backed the conservatory was partly concealed by an artistic display of potted trees and plants placed in the corner of the room. Sarah had the good fortune to be gliding through this miniature forest at the moment when a song had just ended and there was much milling about the pianoforte as the two young ladies who had been performing smilingly made way for the vicar and his wife, who were about to sing a duet. Sarah sank onto a chair amid applause and movement, being careful to choose one near where Mr. Tallant had been sitting, in the hope that the removal of his comfortable girth would account for her sudden visibility to curious eyes. She did not possess the requisite nerve to look around the room to seek out the eyes of the one person who knew she had just reappeared — the inadvertent witness to that impassioned embrace in the conservatory.
She was tinglingly cognizant a moment later of Lord Eversley’s quiet entrance from the more exposed door as she willed him not to sit in her vicinity. Truth to tell, now that her racing pulses were coming back to a normal rate, Sarah’s primary reaction was total shock at her own wanton behaviour. She had been kissed by her former fiancé on any number of occasions, and she had mildly enjoyed the contact, but she had never imagined anything remotely resembling the assault on her senses that Mark’s marauding mouth had provoked. As her heartbeat slowed, the memory of her recent abandonment to needs and pleasures of whose existence she had been entirely ignorant brought a suffusing heat to her cheek and she could meet no one’s eyes.
Sarah was unnaturally quiet for the remainder of the evening, too busy avoiding Mark to be capable of any but the simplest responses to conversational overtures. How could she concentrate on producing witty repartee when her appalled intellect was trying to figure out what magic arts he had employed to elicit such wantonness from someone of her cool temperament?
She was no closer to a conclusion when Lady Eversley bade her goodnight with a twinkling look that covered her with confusion again. She was not sure whether she was thrilled or afraid when Mark whispered that he would see her tomorrow as he handed her up into her uncle’s carriage. She was so preoccupied with her own chaotic thoughts that she never noticed that the conversation on the ride home consisted entirely of general observations by her uncle and quiet brief replies from William.
CHAPTER 13
Breakfast was Sarah’s favourite meal at Beech Hill because Lottie and Richard invariably shared it with her, th
e other ladies never did, and the men’s participation depended upon the weather and their morning plans.
On the morning after the Eversley dinner party, the sole occupants of the dining saloon when Sarah entered were Lottie, Richard, and Cecil, who gulped a final cup of coffee, wished her a hasty good morning, and departed — to meet some friends in Marshfield, Richard informed her before he and Lottie began firing questions at her about the party. Sarah tried to satisfy them; Richard was mainly interested in the menu while Lottie was preoccupied with the persons in attendance, Sarah’s reaction to them and theirs to her. Lottie had never gone in much for subtlety when she wished to know something, though she had always possessed an intuitive sensitivity for the sore spots to avoid during Sarah’s painful adolescent years when the family fortunes had fluctuated so rapidly that all sense of security was endangered. Sarah smiled at her with deep affection as she did her best to recall the friendly or flattering things that had been said to her during the course of the evening.
A lifetime’s intimate acquaintance with her old nurse left Sarah in no doubt that Lottie’s primary concern was Lord Eversley’s reaction, and she did her best to satisfy this while still hugging her precious secret to herself. At this stage, she was too unsure of what would be for the best in the future to share her feelings, even with Lottie. She knew what she wanted — a few glorious moments in Mark’s arms had shown her that — but this might not be the best thing for all concerned in the long run.
In order to distract Lottie from her friendly inquisition when Richard had gone off to visit his grandfather and the two women had accepted second cups of coffee, Sarah told her about Arabella and Doctor Rydell, starting with her earliest observations and going into the details of the meeting in the village and their subsequent behaviour at the dinner party.