“Guy, oh Guy,” she breathed his name in a whisper of thankfulness and laid her head against his chest. His arms were about her, his lips against her dark hair.
“Let’s escape from them,” he murmured.
Hand in hand they slipped through the shadows, amongst the trees to where Guy had tethered his horse.
“Tonight, you are mine and mine alone,” he told her as he lifted her on to the horse and swung himself up behind her. In the moonlight they trotted out of the wood away from Abbeyford.
“Guy, where are you taking me?” Sarah gasped. “ I must get back soon, or else I’ll be missed. Henry …”
Guy only laughed aloud and spurred his horse to a canter, his arm tightly around Sarah’s waist.
“Oh lovely Sarah—we should run away, you and I, and never come back.”
Some distance away from Abbeyford, high on a hillside near a derelict shepherd’s hut, Guy pulled up and dismounted. He held up his arms to Sarah and she slid into them. Then, without warning, he picked her up in his arms and carried her towards the hut.
Inside it was surprisingly warm. Once more she made one feeble effort for reason, but his lips were upon hers silencing her protest. “Sarah, oh Sarah. Be mine, Sarah, be mine!”
His hands caressed her until, shivering with delight, she allowed him to unfasten her dress.
Reverently his eyes roamed over her nakedness bathed in soft moonlight.
“Oh you’re lovely, lovely Sarah! I knew you would be.”
Her own hands ran through his hair, pulling his head down towards her and together they lay down. The tumbledown shack became their palace, the rough, makeshift bed their bower of love.
Softly she moaned his name like a prayer. “ Guy, oh Guy, my love.”
Willingly, lovingly, foolishly careless of the consequences, Sarah gave herself to him.
As the dawn crept palely into the shack, Sarah stirred and then sat bolt upright, terror-stricken. Beside her Guy lay sprawled in sleep, his arm flung carelessly across her.
“Guy—wake up!” She shook him and then fumbled to dress herself, to cover her nakedness—in the stark light of early morning sanity—her shame!
She began to sob and her fingers shook so that she could scarcely fasten the buttons of her dress.
“Oh what will they say? What will I do? Pa’ll kill me!”
“Sarah?” Guy sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Guy—Guy, take me back. No—you mustn’t. Oh—I don’t know what to do …” Her teeth were chattering with cold and fear.
“Sarah, Sarah, my love.” His hands held hers, warming her. “Don’t be afraid. I love you, Sarah.”
Still weeping, she shook her head muttering, “I shouldn’t have, oh I shouldn’t have …”
“Sarah, look at me.” He cupped her chin and turned her face towards his. Her eyes, brimming with tears, met his steady gaze. “I love you. I’ll not let them harm you. I’ll take you back to the Grange.”
“But I’m supposed to be at home—for Mayday.”
Guy sighed. “Oh,” he said heavily. He thought for a moment. “Couldn’t you say you got separated from the others and—and went back to the Grange?”
Miserably she shook her head. “ From where we were—in the woods—it’s further to the Grange than—than home.”
“But do your parents know exactly where you were?”
“Henry did.”
“Well—I still think you’d better say you’ve been at the Grange all night.”
“They’ll not believe me,” she whispered.
They did not believe her. Later that afternoon, her knees trembling and her mouth dry, Sarah lifted the latch and let herself into the cottage.
Already the green was buzzing with the village folk on their days’ freedom from work. The bright ribbons on the maypole fluttered gaily in the breeze. Laughter and jollity filled the air.
But in the tiny cottage Joseph Miller, home for the day’s holiday, and his wife waited, grim-faced, for their daughter.
“Where were you last night?” Joseph demanded.
Sarah squared her shoulders and stuck to the story she had planned. “At the Grange.” And added with an outward show of defiant haughtiness, “Where else should I be?”
Joseph Miller and his wife exchanged a glance. “ How did you get back there? And why? I thought you were comin’ home for the night?”
Sarah shrugged, but inwardly her stomach churned. “Lady Caroline needed me first thing this morning. I prepared her bath as usual and laid out her clothes. Ask her—if you don’t believe me.”
Joseph made a sudden movement towards her as if to strike her but his wife’s restraining hand was upon his arm.
“Wait. Sarah—is that the truth now? Were you at Abbeyford Grange last night?”
“I told you—I had to go back to help Lady Caroline.”
It was the truth—but not the whole truth. She had indeed returned to the Grange. Guy had taken her there, leaving her behind the stables. A fresh shiver of fear ran through her as she remembered how she had hidden there, waiting her moment to slip into the house, hiding again in the wash-house and then running stealthily through the main kitchen when the cook went into the pantry and the kitchen-maid bent over the range. Up the back stairs she had raced to the sanctuary of her own room, her heart thumping, her knees trembling. After a few moments to calm herself, she had changed her dress, splashed her face with cold water, tidied her hair and emerged as if she had spent the night in her room. She was fortunate none of the numerous servants had seen her return and lucky too to be back in time to appear at the usual hour to attend her mistress.
Now, holding her breath, she watched her parents look at each other. Joseph sighed and raised his shoulders in a weary shrug. Mrs Miller’s eyes were upon her daughter. “ Well then, we’ll say
na’ more about it. You’d better go ’n join Henry. He’s waitin’. He was worried to death last night. You’d better apologise to ’ im.”
Sarah tossed her head, her confidence returning now that her story seemed to be believed. “Huh! It’s him that needs to apologise. His behaviour last night wasn’t exactly perfect!”
Joseph started up again, “What d’you mean …?”
But Sarah had gone, flinging open the cottage door and crashing it to behind her.
Ellen Miller sighed. “What’s to become of her I don’t know.”
“I’m beginning to think perhaps Henry’s right. She’d be better married to him—and soon!” Joseph growled.
Henry was sullen and Mayday quite spoilt for them both.
“Why did you run off, Sarah?” he asked.
“You know why, Henry Smithson,” she said scornfully. “We’re not promised. You’d no right …”
He grasped her wrist. “I’ve every right!”
“Let go—you’re hurting me!”
“It’s time you came to your senses. You can’t have ’ im, you know. He’ll not marry you.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Henry nodded grimly. “ I reckon you do. He’s just amusing hissel’.”
Angrily Sarah twisted herself free. “You dun’t know anything about it, Henry Smithson, so hold your tongue!”
Sourly Henry watched her go.
Chapter Eight
Although there was no one amongst the village labourers who would dare tell Lord Royston of his daughter’s secret meetings with Thomas Cole—and they had all known for some time—there was one person who was not afraid, indeed was gleeful to have the opportunity for personal spite against her envied cousin.
Word of Caroline’s affair had come to the ears of Martha Langley!
Two days after Mayday, Martha Langley walked up the lane towards Abbeyford Grange, determination in every stride.
She stood before Lord Royston in his book-lined library, her hands folded in front of her, her lips pursed to their customary thinness.
“I thought you should know, my lord, I thought it my d
uty to tell you—for her own sake—that Caroline is meeting frequently with the Trents’ bailiff, Thomas Cole. Far too often for it to be a mere casual acquaintanceship.”
Lord Royston glared at her, but, not in the least deterred, Martha stared back at him.
Lord Royston prided himself on being a good judge of character. He had never liked Martha Langley or her mother, his late wife’s sister. Early on in their marriage he had detected the jealousy in Martha’s mother, who had been unable to make as good a marriage as her sister. That jealousy had been bred into Martha and she directed it at her wealthier, more beautiful cousin, Caroline. Nevertheless her malicious gossip was disturbing. He was also uncomfortably aware of the wilful nature, the strength of character, of his own daughter and had known that when she grew to womanhood he would have to find the right suitor for her quickly lest she choose for herself someone entirely unsuitable. Without his wife to guide him he had failed to realise that at nineteen his daughter was already a woman grown.
He had left it too late!
With a growl of anger, directed not only against himself for his tardiness but against Martha Langley for being the bearer of such ill news, he said grudgingly, “Yes—I should be told.” But he could not bring himself to express words of thanks to her!
Lord Royston decided his best approach was not to confront his daughter about her meetings with Thomas Cole, not even to let her know that he knew of them. Instead he would whisk her away to London, give her a generous allowance to spend freely on all the things women loved: new clothes, jewellery—anything she wanted.
The season did not end until the beginning of June—time enough left for a busy round of routs, balls and parties to obliterate all fanciful thoughts of Thomas Cole. Indeed there might even be some eligible viscount ready to offer his hand, if Lord Royston let it be known in society circles that Caroline was the sole heiress to his estate.
He would prise her away from Thomas Cole without her realising what was happening.
But Lord Royston had misjudged the strength of his daughter’s will and miscalculated the extent to which the affair had already gone. By pretending no knowledge of it, he allowed Caroline to believe herself undiscovered.
She agreed quite readily to go to London, even though being parted from Thomas for even a short while caused her pain. She anticipated a few weeks in society happily, ignorant of the scheming which lay behind the proposal. She did not even suspect when she found herself accompanied wherever she went, either by her father himself or by one of his servants appointed to accompany her, so that clandestine meetings with Thomas became impossible. She thought it coincidence and her only worry was that she was obliged to leave for London without having seen him, without having had chance to explain the reasons why she had not met him recently.
In desperation she had taken Sarah into her confidence. Her maid had listened wide-eyed whilst Caroline had pressed a letter into her hand.
“Now listen carefully, Sarah. This afternoon is your half-day off, is it not?”
The girl had nodded.
“Good. Then I want you to deliver this note to Thomas Cole, who lives in the cottage next to the wheelwright. You know where I mean, don’t you?”
Again Sarah had nodded, dumb with amazement that Lady Caroline should be sending letters to an estate worker. Perhaps, she thought, her mind clinging to any excuse, it is a letter about estate matters, but Caroline herself dispelled this illusion with her next words.
“You must not let this letter fall into anyone else’s hands. You understand? No one must even know about it, let alone see it.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
But Caroline’s plans were thwarted, not, this time, by her own father, but by Sarah’s father who met her from the Grange and accompanied her back there the same evening. Sarah dared not deliver the letter in her father’s presence. In his present ever-suspicious mood he would be sure to question her closely.
Sarah was almost in tears the following morning as, with trembling fingers, she held out the letter to her mistress.
“I couldna take it, m’lady. Me pa was with me all the time.”
Caroline snatched the letter from her and snapped, “Oh you useless girl! Get out of my sight! Can you not even deliver a letter for me? I’ve a good mind not to take you to London with me!”
Sarah crept from the room. It was the first time Lady Caroline had spoken so sharply to her.
So Caroline had to leave Abbeyford without having been able to send Thomas any explanation, but she was sure he would be there, still waiting for her when she returned to Abbeyford.
Thomas Cole, when he heard of her departure, sadly thought she had grown tired of him, as he had believed she would eventually. Though he had warned himself to expect it, her sudden seeming rejection of him cut deeply, wounded him and tore away his happiness.
Thomas Cole began to think of leaving Abbeyford, of seeking a new life in America, as far away from Caroline as he could get!
Caroline did not carry out her threat to leave her maid behind, though Sarah almost wished she had. Once she would have been excited by the visit to the big city, but now, now she had met Guy and she could not bear to leave him. Miserably she imagined that as soon as she was away from him Guy would swiftly forget her and amuse himself with another village girl. Or worse, he would marry one of his own kind and be lost to her for ever!
It was quite an entourage that set out for London, for Lord Royston, whilst accompanying his daughter himself, felt the need of advice and help from his dear friend, Lady Lynwood, and he had prevailed upon her to go with them.
“I have to take you into my confidence, my dear Elizabeth. Caroline is consorting with my estate’s bailiff!” Lord Royston marched the length of Lady Lynwood’s morning-room whilst she watched him from her sofa. As he turned to walk back towards her, she nodded and said, “I didn’t know, but I cannot say that I am surprised. I noticed on the day of the hunt that her eyes continually sought out a young man who was unknown to me. I wondered then—partly because of my own son’s reactions. He is excessively fond of Caroline, you know.”
Lord Royston agreed. “ ’Tis a great pity he is not a little older—I would have willingly arranged a marriage between them. Of course,” he shrugged, “four years is no age difference to speak of, once Francis reaches maturity. But, Elizabeth, I dare not wait that long. Caroline is a wilful, headstrong girl and I—I fear the consequences of further delay. Already it seems I have waited too long.”
“So what do you propose to do?”
“Take her to London. There are still some six weeks of the season left.”
“And you hope that in that time she will forget this bailiff?”
“I’m convinced she will. Once amongst her own kind, she will see her own folly. Here she has no company of her own class of her own age. Elizabeth—will you come with us? Please? I ask you as an old and valued friend. Now Adeline is gone—I …” He passed his hand wearily across his forehead. “ I hardly know what to do for the best.”
Lady Lynwood smiled. “Think no more of it, Robert. We shall leave for London as soon as we can be ready. And Francis shall come too. Although he is still a trifle young for society life, he looks older than his years and perhaps if he were to have the chance to see other delectable young ladies in society, maybe it would help him to overcome his obsession with Caroline. Perhaps we can help both our children at the same time.”
Lord Royston looked at her in surprise. “I had realised he was extremely fond of Caroline, but is it really so deep?”
Soberly Lady Lynwood nodded. “ I fear so, Robert. I am afraid his feelings for her are much too deep for his own good.” A wistfulness came into her eyes. “And, if he is anything like his father, then those emotions will be difficult to change. It will take an exceptional girl to make him forget Caroline!”
Lord Royston turned away, a little embarrassed. He knew a little of his old friend’s romantic love-affair with Elizabeth—how he had married he
r against his parents’ wishes, who had objected to her birth and background. Yet their marriage had been superbly happy and Elizabeth had proved herself to be far more of a ‘lady’ than many born to that position. He had pondered on the wisdom of confiding in her—knowing of her own story—and yet there was no one else to whom he could turn.
So they set out for London in three carriages—Lady Lynwood, Lord Royston, Caroline and Francis in one, their servants in a second and the third was piled high with their trunks and boxes.
Sarah Miller found the city life totally different from anything she could have imagined.
The roads, as they neared London, were thronged with coaches and carriages and riders on horseback. The country girl who had never even visited a large town, let alone a city, was appalled by the narrow crowded streets, the bustle and noise, the cries of the street-merchants, the dirty ragged urchins begging for money, or picking pockets when they could.
She shuddered and longed for the tranquillity of the country. She grew pale and wan and was physically sick, with longing to return to the familiar surroundings—and people—of Abbeyford valley.
She was afraid of the servants at Lord Royston’s town house in London. They ridiculed her strange way of talking—though to Sarah their speech was just as peculiar. They laughed at her coarse dress and heavy clogs.
But Lady Caroline blossomed in the different environment, though she too, in her innermost heart, longed to return to Abbeyford and to Thomas—and she was determined that before very long she would do so!
It took Sarah some time to become accustomed to the new and strange routine. Lady Caroline now rose very late in the morning. After a light breakfast she would make social calls with Lady Lynwood or visit the dressmakers and milliners. Dinner was in the early evening and then she would dance until the early hours of the following day.
The weeks passed during which, young though he was, Lynwood accompanied his mother and Lady Caroline to many of the functions and he was obliged to stand and watch with envious eyes whilst Caroline danced and flirted with every dandy in sight. One Viscount Grosmore paid her particular attention and soon he was Caroline’s constant escort.
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