Sweet Awakening

by Marjorie Farrell

  Perhaps she could receive Sabrina again. Her old friend had been faithful and so good that night of Justin’s death. But she was Giles’s twin. They were so close.

  It was all too much. She had saved her own life, but to what purpose? What kind of life could she now look forward to? She could go back and live with her parents, she supposed. She was sure that they would ask her. Or she could return to Devon. But how could she live at Rainsborough Hall? Every room would hold a memory. Some would be good, but that would make it even worse. Of course she could stay in town, as Andrew had suggested. If she stayed in town, then at least she wouldn’t lose her contact with him. He had heard her story first, and he hadn’t despised her or condemned her: he had listened and comforted her and saved her life. She owed him at least the waltz he had requested.

  * * * *

  Clare’s meeting with her parents was bittersweet. At last, she thought, she was receiving their full attention. And their genuine love and concern. How could she not appreciate it and receive it. Yet letting it in at long last only made her remember how she had longed for it as a child. Perhaps if she had felt more loved then, her life would have been very different.

  As she had expected, they were ready to leave London and take her with them, and were clearly disappointed when she refused. Andrew, who had arrived after her mother and father, supported her in her decision, saying that the only way to deal with scandalmongers and gossips was to brazen it out.

  “But she will be expected to observe a mourning period, Andrew,” protested Clare’s mother.

  “I think wearing black and not receiving visitors when one has oneself caused a husband’s demise, might cause as much gossip, don’t you think, Lady Howland?”

  “I think he is right, my dear,” commented the marquess. “Why on earth should Clare mourn the death of such a monster.”

  “I will come to Howland when the Season is over,” Clare promised, and her parents had to accept that.

  After the marquess and marchioness had gone, Sabrina was announced. Clare, who had been anxiously expecting both the Whittons was relieved and gave her a welcoming smile.

  “I won’t stay long,” she promised. “Giles wanted to come again, but I convinced him that too many visitors today would exhaust you. He will likely call tomorrow.”

  “I am glad you called, Sabrina, for I wanted to thank you for your willingness to testify if you were needed.”

  “There is no need to thank me, Clare. It was the least I could have done. I still feel terrible that you had to suffer those two years alone.”

  Andrew, who had been watching Clare carefully, saw the look of anxiety that flitted across her face and broke in: “I think that Lady Rainsborough, I mean Clare, blames no one for those years and is ready to leave them behind?”

  Clare nodded gratefully, and Sabrina felt shut out as her friend and Andrew shared a quick intimate glance. Andrew More had never offered her such a quick and ready sympathy. Andrew More had never done anything to demonstrate any special interest in Lady Sabrina Whitton. But it was understandable, she supposed, that his position as legal defender of Lady Clare Rainsborough might lead him to consider himself her friend. Perhaps with the potential for more?

  “What are your plans for the rest of the Season, Clare? If you are not going home to Howland, Giles and I wanted you to know that we very much wish to bring you to Whitton.”

  “And interrupt your own Season? No, thank you, Sabrina, although I appreciate your kindness. Andrew has convinced me that staying on and doing a modest amount of socializing will make the scandal go away quicker. And I have promised him a waltz,” Clare added, trying to be humorous.

  Indeed, thought Sabrina, and then was appalled by her reaction. Andrew was right. The ton was drawn to weakness the way a wolf was drawn to a lamb: try to run, and they were down on you at once. But turn and face them, and they eventually lost interest and sought out other victims. Clare did not have to resume a full social life, but staying in London and attending a few functions would, in the long run, serve her well. And why shouldn’t she give a waltz to Andrew More, the man who had saved her life?

  Sabrina only stayed a short while and left with Andrew, who asked if he could call her a hackney.

  “No, thank you, Andrew. It is a lovely day, so I will walk home.”

  “Surely you should not do so unescorted. May I offer you my company?”

  “It is a short walk, as you know. There is no need for you to go out of your way,” Sabrina responded calmly.

  “But it is a lovely day, and I would enjoy the walk.”

  Sabrina nodded, and they walked along in silence for a few minutes.

  “You were truly impressive at the inquest, Andrew,” said Sabrina, breaking the silence.

  “Thank you, Sabrina. I was not sure that I could pull it off. And I knew if Clare’s case were brought to trial, she would be more at risk. I had to be very strong at the inquest. And I, too, admire your willingness to take the stand, had I needed you.”

  “Oh, I think it took no courage at all compared to Clare telling her story. And she would not have done that for anyone else, Andrew, I am convinced. You were right to push her, even though I did not think so at the time.”

  Andrew looked over at Sabrina and lifted his eyebrows. “So I have your approval at last, Sabrina,” he said teasingly. He gave her one of his quirky grins and suddenly she felt much better than she had all afternoon. He was not looking at her in that protective way he had Clare ... but then, did she really want that from him? She enjoyed it when they spoke as equals, even if it was in disagreement. And she knew that she wanted something more from him, much more.

  * * * *

  Giles was at his club when Sabrina reached Grosvenor Square, and she had no opportunity to talk to him. They were both to be at the Kendall ball, but had planned to arrive separately. Sabrina got there first and found herself surrounded by friends and acquaintances who wanted to know just what had occurred at the inquest.

  “I heard that you were willing to testify for Clare, Sabrina,” said Lucy Kirkman. “That must have been terrifying to contemplate.”

  “It wouldn’t have been difficult for me, Lucy, since I wasn’t the one in danger,” Sabrina responded quietly. “It was Clare’s story that convinced the jury.”

  “Imagine little Clare Dysart having the spirit to defend herself! Why, I remember when I dumped fish bait on her, and she only stood there, waiting for Giles to rescue her.”

  “Some of us change as we grow up, Lucy.” Sabrina’s comment, although uttered in dulcet tones, was still insulting enough to make even Lucy Kirkman shut her mouth, and when Lord Avery asked her for a dance, Lucy was quite eager to give it to him.

  Sabrina was praying that Giles would arrive soon and come to her rescue when she saw Andrew approaching her. She gave him the warmest and most spontaneous welcome of their acquaintance, and he thought to himself that perhaps he was being foolish to rein in his feelings for his friend’s sister. Then he took in the crowd and realized that she would probably have looked at anyone like that who could get her away from such a group.

  “They are striking a waltz, Sabrina,” he observed with a smile.

  “Yes, they are, Andrew. And if you do not ask me for this dance, I will never speak to you again,” Sabrina said, sotto voce.

  “May I have this waltz, Sabrina?" Andrew asked with mock formality.

  “Why, I would be delighted, Andrew.”

  “I am very surprised at your unladylike boldness,” Andrew said with a twinkle in his eye as they moved out onto the floor,

  “Had you not asked me, Andrew, I would have just grabbed you and led you out myself. That would have distracted them from Clare for a while.”

  “I thought it would be good to show my face tonight to see if I could deflect a little attention,” Andrew said, expertly guiding Sabrina past an older couple with slight pressure on her waist. His hand felt warm and strong, and she was sorry when his touch became lighter aga
in.

  “I see my brother is dancing with Lucy Kirkman.”

  “Yes, well, I was mildly insulting to her, and she was looking for any port in a storm,” smiled Sabrina. “Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have suggested that your brother ...”

  “Is a rather stiff, formal fellow, full of his own consequence? Lucy is so outrageously frank that it will be good for him.” Andrew was silent for a while, and Sabrina, who had been studiously focusing on his cravat, lifted her eyes to him for a moment and then lowered them quickly.

  “Do you think Lucy will manage to hook Giles after all, Sabrina? I remember her as quite an angler those summers I would visit Whitton.”

  “I might have said yes just a week ago,” Sabrina replied. “But now ...”

  “Now that Clare is free, do you mean?”

  “But is she free, Andrew?” asked Sabrina as the music stopped and they began to walk off the floor. “Free to love, I mean. I suppose she is free to marry. She can hardly be expected to go into deep mourning for a husband who tried to kill her.”

  “I never knew Lady Rainsborough very well, Lady Sabrina. And I never did think she was what Giles needed. But I have come to admire her very much. She has more courage and spirit than I ever gave her credit for. But she has also gone through an ordeal that would leave the strongest person in shock. I doubt she will feel ready to love or marry for a while.”

  * * * *

  Giles was announced just as Andrew and Sabrina joined a small group of friends. Andrew said: “I’ll bring him over to you, Sabrina. He’ll never find us in this crush.” Sabrina gave him a grateful smile.

  When Andrew returned with her brother in tow, Sabrina could tell that Giles was in no mood for socializing. And when Lucy Kirkman joined their group, Sabrina almost felt sorry for her. Giles was everything that was polite, but the slight current of energy that had flowed between them was no longer alive. Giles asked Lucy for the next cotillion, which was also a supper dance, but Sabrina knew, with her twin’s sixth sense, that things had changed.

  * * * *

  Giles himself was only half-present. He had spent the last few days in a state of frustration. After a year or so of convincing himself that his feelings for Clare had died back down to pure friendship, he had been taken by surprise. He desperately wanted to be by Clare’s side, and it was agony to keep himself away.

  But he had known Andrew was right: any move on his part would have put her in jeopardy. As he had listened to her testimony, he had been torn between fury and love. Had she not killed Justin Rainsborough, he would have done it himself, cheerfully and without regret. Clare deserved to be cherished and loved, and instead she had been brutalized. She looked so small and helpless sitting there revealing the horror that was her marriage. She needed his care, and he was determined to give it to her as soon as the nightmare of the inquest had passed.

  * * * *

  It was almost two weeks before Clare accepted an invitation. To her surprise, there had been no lack of them; indeed, she believed there might have been more than she usually received.

  She chose the Duchess of Ross’s ball in hopes that she would be lost in the crush. The thought of arriving alone terrified her, however. Giles had made his promised visit, but it had been a short one, and she had been terribly uncomfortable with him. All she could think of was Justin’s accusation and her own false admission of guilt. She feared their friendship was hopelessly contaminated, and although she knew that Giles and Sabrina would happily have included her in their party, she couldn’t ask them. She sent a short note to Andrew More asking him to call on her and very timidly asked if he would be willing to escort her to the Ross’s ball.

  “I did promise you a waltz, Andrew,” she said, trying to make the atmosphere lighter.

  “I would be delighted to support you in this, Clare,” said Andrew. So when Lady Rainsborough was announced, Andrew More, Esquire was right beside her.

  It seemed to Clare that the sea of faces below her turned to the door at the same time, their eyes eager and curious. For a moment she was afraid that the faces and voices had blended into a real sea, one which threatened to engulf her should she step down into it. But Andrew placed his arm under her hand and led her down, and the sea parted before them as though he were Moses.

  Giles, who was hurrying over, did not miss the grateful look Clare gave his old friend and was seized by an awful jealousy. Damn it, he should have been the one Clare was leaning on. Yet what could be more natural than that after her ordeal, a woman would depend upon such an able defender.

  Giles helped them push through the crowd and reach the corner of the room where Sabrina was waiting with Clare’s parents. It felt to Clare that she walked a very long distance, though it was, in truth, not a particularly large ballroom. Her father’s smile and mother’s embrace welcomed her, and Sabrina squeezed her hand.

  “Good for you, daughter,” said the marquess.

  “This is almost worse than the inquest,” whispered Clare.

  “Tonight will feel very hard, I am sure, Clare,” said Giles reassuringly. “But the curiosity will die down soon enough. May I get you a glass of champagne?”

  “I don’t think I dare drink anything stronger than lemonade,” said Clare in a stronger voice.

  “Then I will bring you a glass,” said Giles.

  A few friends of Clare’s parents came over and greeted Clare politely. Of course, no mention was made of her late husband then or at any time during the evening. “It is as if Justin never existed,” remarked Clare to Andrew when he came to claim his waltz.

  “Society will go on the way it has begun: ignoring the brutal husband in death as well as in life. I suspect that more than a few families have the same sort of skeletons rattling in their closets, Clare. To speak of your ordeal would strike too close to home for some.”

  The waltz with Andrew was very comfortable. He had been the first to hear the truth of her marriage. He had received it, but had not judged her. He was very good at taking the lead, this Andrew More, while at the same time not overlooking his partner, she thought, as they danced.

  Her waltz with Giles later in the evening was not so comfortable. She accepted his invitation, although she was reluctant, for how could she refuse an old friend. But she was convinced that all eyes were on them, wondering if she had really lied about their relationship. She was sure that at least some of those present had decided that Lord Justin Rainsborough had been correct in his suspicions. She had saved Giles from scandal and probable fatal injury in a duel, but she suspected that a ripple of gossip would always follow them. So how could she smile naturally or respond to the affectionate squeeze he gave her hand when he led her off the floor? It was better for him that she not encourage a return to their old easy camaraderie.

  Giles was very aware of Clare’s attempt to keep him at a distance. His call earlier in the week had been unsatisfactory. And she had been “indisposed” the second time he had called. And she held herself stiffly in his arms as though they had only been introduced that evening.

  All the feeling for her that he had thought was dead was alive again, even stronger than before. When he had danced with Lucy Kirkman earlier in the evening, he had looked down at her as though she were a stranger, not a woman whom he had seriously considered marrying. She was very attractive, Lucy, with her dark hair and sparkling dark eyes. He had wanted her once and no doubt would have enjoyed her companionship through life. But that was nothing compared to what he felt for Clare.

  * * * *

  Surely the shock of her husband’s death (Giles could not really imagine Clare killing Justin. She had defended herself. He had died.) would wear off soon, given the fact that the marriage had been a mistake. He and Clare had years of friendship behind them. Once it was clear that Lucy meant nothing to him, he would convince Clare that the best thing for her to do was to marry him. And soon.

  * * * *

  Clare was shaking with fatigue and nerves when she returned home that night. Mart
ha sat her down in front of her bedroom fire with a cup of warm milk and honey.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  Clare’s teeth had begun to chatter, so she could only nod.

  “No one was insulting you, was they?” asked Martha fiercely. Clare looked at her abigail’s hands, which had unconsciously clenched into fists, and smiled. The warm milk, the fire, and the wool shawl Martha had laced over her shoulders were beginning to warm her.

  “I am sure some things were being said behind my back, Martha,” she replied as her shivering subsided. “But for the most part, it was not as bad as I had feared.”

  “That nice Mr. More stayed by you, I hope?”

  “Yes, Andrew was very kind.”

  “And Lord Whitton?” Martha asked, with studied casualness.

  “Giles was, as usual, my good friend.”

  Her mistress’s face had been clear when speaking of Andrew More, but a slight frown had creased it when she mentioned Lord Whitton. Martha, who believed her mistress needed and deserved a good man to love and take care of her, was pleased. Andrew More was very charming, there was no doubt about that. But he was not the man for Lady Rainsborough, Martha was convinced. Tension was a good sign, she decided. Lady Rainsborough was not indifferent to Lord Whitton, that was obvious. She hoped his lordship was smart enough not to let any grass grow under his feet.

  She took the empty cup from her mistress’s hands and said, “Come, my lady, let me get you to bed.”

  Clare let herself be guided and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

  * * * *

  “She sleeps like the dead,” whispered Clare, the waking dreamer, looking down at the woman on the bed. The woman looked just like her. The woman was her, it seemed. And next to her lay the woman’s husband. His hands were folded gently over his chest, but blood was seeping between his fingers, as though someone had dropped crimson rose petals on his white hands. His eyes were closed, thank God, but blood was also seeping out of a hole in his left temple. How can she sleep in the same bed with him, wondered Clare. A voice behind her in the dream, the voice of the coroner, said: “She made her bed. Now she must lie in it. But it would be a shame for such a young and beautiful woman to lie alone. So her husband will be there with her.”