Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “No. But I believe most peers would have called for someone to assist rather than offer assistance themselves.” Lowering his voice, he said, “In case you were wondering, I quite liked how domestic you looked just now. More importantly, you’ve proven yourself most charitable—­a trait I happen to admire a great deal.”

  “Thank you, my lord, but—­”

  “Lady Sarah,” he said, expelling a very exasperated sigh. “Are you not aware that a gentleman ought to be allowed the courtesy of complimenting a lady without too much resistance?”

  Biting her lip, Sarah chastised herself for her stubbornness. “Please forgive me, my lord. Your words of praise are most appreciated, I assure you.”

  He frowned slightly but said nothing further, nodding his approval instead.

  With heightened spirits, Sarah allowed Lord Spencer to lead her through to the dining room, where an elaborate buffet, complete with sausages, bacon, kippers, eggs, toast and a variety of preserves had been prepared. Six footmen stood ready to assist, and since Sarah and Lord Spencer were the first to arrive, Sarah had no doubt that their requirements would swiftly be met.

  Now that she was aware of Lord Spencer’s propensity for threes, it didn’t escape her notice that he added three pieces of bacon to his plate alongside his eggs, or that he stirred his coffee three times in a clockwise motion after adding a splash of milk and three spoons of sugar. Smiling quietly to herself, Sarah was busily buttering her toast when Lord Spencer rose to his feet in an unexpected hurry and said, “Good morning, my lady.”

  Raising her head with a jerk, Sarah drew a sharp breath at seeing her hostess staring down at her with a distinct air of curiosity. “Good morning, Lady Duncaster,” Sarah said with immediate haste, hoping she didn’t sound too dim-­witted, considering the slight pitch of her voice. “I hope you don’t mind us getting a head start on the food, but we were both up at an unreasonably early hour and couldn’t resist the temptation of such a wonderful assortment of dishes.” Inhaling deeply, she tried to slow the pace of her tongue, which was practically tripping over itself. “We’d be honored if you would care to join us.”

  “My dear Lady Sarah,” the countess said as she looked from Sarah to Lord Spencer and then back again. “There is very little need for you to concern yourself or for you to be so wary of me, for that matter. In fact, I am really quite ordinary, in spite of my eccentricities, which I daresay are numerous. That aside, however, your family and Lord Spencer’s are paying good money for a luxurious getaway. If it is your wish to venture down into the kitchen and rummage through the cupboards in search of a midnight snack, then by all means, don’t let me stop you. This may be my home, but after turning it into a guesthouse, I have relinquished all expectation of receiving the same considerations that would have been my due had I not done so.” Her lips drew into a wide smile. “That said, I’d be delighted to join the two of you for breakfast if I may. I simply love becoming better acquainted with my guests. I’ve had little opportunity to speak with you, Lady Sarah, and although your grandparents were dear friends of mine, Spencer, I’m embarrassed to say that I know next to nothing about you.” She then took a seat across from Sarah and beckoned for a footman to pour her some tea.

  Lord Spencer resumed his seat and Sarah took a bite of her toast, pausing only for a moment in stunned surprise as a generous slice of cake topped with a thick layer of whipped cream was placed before Lady Duncaster. The countess must have realized how unusual this seemed, for she did not hesitate in explaining that this was her preferred food in the morning. “If it were up to me, I’d eat nothing else throughout the day, but my physician has cautioned me that it’s not the best for my health and that I ought to eat the occasional meat, fruit and vegetable, though the mere thought of doing so makes me shudder. I’ve agreed to a compromise though, requiring that all such meals are accompanied by jam or preserves—­something with which to sweeten each bite.”

  “I can’t say I’d enjoy that myself,” Lord Spencer remarked as he carefully cut his bacon to pieces, “but I do admire you for sticking to your preferences.”

  “Why? Because of what others might think or say?” Lady Duncaster asked as she scooped up a large spoonful of cake and popped it into her mouth.

  Lord Spencer stilled, and Sarah turned toward him, keen to hear his reply.

  “Precisely,” he said.

  With a low chuckle, Lady Duncaster dabbed her lips with her napkin and took a sip of her tea. “Look at me, my lord. I am dressed no differently than I was forty years ago, though my hair has thinned dramatically since then, which is why I have taken to wearing wigs that were au courant before I was even born.”

  “You’re not fond of the modern ones?” Sarah asked, taking the chance she’d been given to pry a little.

  Lady Duncaster snorted. “They’re so horribly plain, whereas this one, for instance . . .” Raising her hand, she gave the pile of cigar-­shaped curls on top of her head a little pat. “What can I say? I consider this an intricate work of art. Don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose so,” Sarah hedged. “Either way, I think it suits you splendidly.”

  Lady Duncaster smiled. “I know it’s unusual—­that most ­people view me as something of an oddity because of it—­but it’s what I like, so I see no reason to change it.”

  “Have you always disregarded other ­people’s opinions?” Lord Spencer asked.

  Lady Duncaster turned her eyes toward the ceiling in contemplation. “No. Not always. There was a time when I adhered to protocol and never veered from what was expected of me. But then one day it occurred to me how miserable I was and how desperately I longed for a bit of excitement in my life.” Lowering her gaze, she looked to Sarah and Lord Spencer in turn. “When Lord Duncaster was alive, God rest his soul, we took great pleasure in traveling together to faraway destinations. In fact, it was a long sea voyage from India to England that initially brought us together.” She sighed deeply as if lost in a distant time, but then she blinked and her gaze sharpened. “Really, if you ever have the opportunity to leave England and see other places, I highly recommend the adventure such a journey offers. Thankfully, my husband and I brought so many wonderful memories of our travels back home with us, which is part of the reason why I could never see myself leaving Thorncliff.

  “Here, amidst the many mementos, I can recall with fondness the greatest love of my life—­a man without whom I scarcely know what to do with myself.” Her hazel eyes shimmered a little with momentary bleakness, but then her entire demeanor turned challenging as she raised her chin and said, “What others may think of me is inconsequential—­particularly now that I am in my dotage. Besides, they’re certainly willing to forgive my eccentricities in exchange for coming here.”

  “Well, I have to say I like you all the better for it,” Lord Spencer told her.

  Sarah smiled, as did Lady Duncaster. “There’s nothing wrong with having a bit of personality,” the countess added, “though I do believe the ton frowns upon those of us who dare to put it on open display. Too bad, I say.” And with that, she raised her teacup in salute.

  Half an hour later, the threesome had finished their meal, while the din within the room had risen significantly due to the arrival of many more guests. “If you’ll please excuse me,” Lord Spencer said as he, Sarah and Lady Duncaster strode out into the hallway, “there’s a matter I’d like to attend to, though I do hope to see you both later.”

  “We shall depend upon it. Shall we not, Lady Sarah?” Lady Duncaster asked.

  “Indeed we shall,” Sarah agreed, reluctant to let him go, since it brought an end to a pleasant morning and reminded her that she was to spend time with Mr. Denison. Perhaps she could avoid her future husband for just a bit longer?

  Hope bloomed as Lady Duncaster took her firmly by the arm and guided her through to the stairs, where Sarah’s parents were presently descending along with her sist
ers and Hester. “We were wondering what happened to you, Sarah,” Lady Andover said with a fleeting glance in her daughter’s direction before looking toward Lady Duncaster. “May I compliment you once again on your beautiful home, Lady Duncaster? It is a remarkable work of architecture.”

  “Thank you, Lady Andover. You are most kind,” Lady Duncaster said. “I trust you are comfortable in your rooms?”

  “Oh, indeed we are,” Lord Andover said. “There is nothing with which we can find the slightest displeasure.”

  “I’m happy to hear it,” Lady Duncaster said. “As for your query regarding Lady Sarah—­it appears she and I are both early risers, for which I’m most grateful. She kept me company during breakfast, and in return I have promised her a tour of the gallery.”

  “How terribly kind of you,” Lord Andover said while his wife beamed with pleasure. Undoubtedly, they would have been less pleased to discover that Sarah had been sharing Lord Spencer’s company. Lord Andover looked at Sarah. “Just don’t forget about Mr. Denison. I understand you’re supposed to be meeting him in an hour for a tour of the library and that he’s also taking you rowing this afternoon? That ought to be fun.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” Sarah said tightly. “In fact, I can hardly wait.”

  Her father must have registered the sarcasm, judging from his immediate frown. Before he could comment, however, Lady Duncaster said, “Since you have an appointment, Lady Sarah, we’d best be on our way if you’re to see the gallery first.” To Sarah’s parents she added, “Please excuse us, but we’d hate to leave Mr. Denison waiting. Just go on through to the dining room and you’ll find your breakfast there.”

  She and Sarah waited until Sarah’s family had continued on their way, then they started up the stairs. It wasn’t until they reached the landing that Lady Duncaster said, “I know it’s none of my affair, Lady Sarah, but I cannot understand why a young woman of noble birth, such as yourself, would pay any attention to a man like Mr. Denison. Forgive me for being outspoken, but I’ve always had a tendency to attack an issue with directness, so if there’s anything you’d like to share—­a burden weighing heavily upon your shoulders—­I will keep your confidence. Have no fear of that.”

  The comment caught Sarah off guard. She was not accustomed to having her problems addressed so plainly by others and had in fact hoped they would go unnoticed. “It is kind of you to concern yourself about me, my lady—­”

  “Oh, kindness has nothing to do with it, my dear,” Lady Duncaster said as she guided Sarah along a corridor. “I am an old woman with little to occupy my mind. It is why I chose to fill Thorncliff Manor with ­people.

  “Have you any idea how empty this place is when it’s just me and the servants? It’s frightfully depressing really. No, my inquiry is entirely based on pure curiosity and the hope that your story will distract me from the fact that I have lived my last adventure long ago and have only the end looming before me.”

  “You speak as though you’re well into your eighties,” Sarah said, feeling quite distressed on behalf of her hostess, “when you appear to be not a day over fifty-­five.”

  “Ha! You are sweet to say so. Why, I feel younger already.”

  They soon arrived in a long, sunny room with tall ceilings embellished by stucco cherubs, flower garlands and flowing ribbons cast in gilded plaster. Displayed along the length of the left wall were paintings—­the usual ancestral portraits—­though they appeared more vibrant here, aided by the bright light spilling through the windows opposite. “Please forgive me, my lady,” Sarah said as they went to stand before a painting of a man wearing a breastplate, his chin adorned by a pointy beard, “but I would prefer not to speak of my troubles. It would serve no purpose but to tarnish your opinion of me.”

  “I doubt that very much, considering my own colorful past, but I respect your wish and will press you no further. However, I do suggest you keep in mind that our transgressions are always far worse in our own minds than they are in actuality.”

  “I must disagree with you there. The ton—­”

  “Disapproves of most things that fall outside a particular set of rules. That is not to say your actions, whatever they may have been, are not to be frowned upon. But you are still young, and it would be a shame for you to let past errors deprive you of a happy future. Especially if you regret what you did and are unlikely to repeat the mistake.”

  If only it were that simple, Sarah thought as they moved on to the next painting. It was of a lady with hard eyes and a sharp chin, her lips set in a petulant pout, as if she could think of a dozen things she’d rather be doing than posing for a portrait. Set outdoors, she wore a heavy leather glove on one hand, upon which was perched a falcon. “Some things are beyond repair,” Sarah said, aware of the pain that laced her words.

  “Certainly,” Lady Duncaster agreed, “but instinct tells me you’re a good person, Lady Sarah, and that you don’t deserve to be punished forever.”

  “Perhaps,” Sarah said, wishing the conversation would draw to a speedy end.

  “Lord Spencer seems to enjoy your company,” Lady Duncaster pointed out as she drifted onward. The manner in which she spoke suggested that she suspected a blooming romance between them.

  “We are friends,” Sarah said, following her, “scarcely more than acquaintances, really, considering we did not know each other prior to coming here.”

  “Hmm . . . there is no chance you will choose to share your secret with him then?”

  The question brought Sarah to an abrupt halt. “Absolutely not!” Good heavens. The very idea of doing so was preposterous, not to mention that she could scarcely believe Lady Duncaster, whom she had only recently met, was being unbelievably forward, both in her suppositions and in her suggestions.

  To her dismay, Lady Duncaster responded to Sarah’s indignation with a light chuckle, the creases about her eyes deepening with the effort as she turned to face her. “Are you aware that George and I were not supposed to marry? In fact, I had been promised to his best friend.”

  “That must have been terribly difficult.”

  Lady Duncaster raised an eyebrow. “Duty-­bound to marry one while your heart belongs to the other.” She studied Sarah closely. “The passion with which you responded before suggests that you will consider confiding in Lord Spencer sooner than you think, my dear. Indeed, I do believe that you will find yourself without much choice in the matter.” Her smile was secretive as she moved on, leaving Sarah stunned and feeling uncomfortably uncertain about her life as she knew it.

  “Come along, my dear,” Lady Duncaster beckoned, drawing Sarah out of her reverie. “I hope you will excuse my frankness, but I rarely have the opportunity to speak openly, since most of my peers think I’m playing with half a deck of cards for the most part. I hope you’re not too offended by everything I’ve said to you this morning.”

  “No,” Sarah said. “Indeed, I find your candor refreshing, though perhaps a bit surprising. You’re different than how I’d imagined.” An older version of herself, Sarah decided.

  Lady Duncaster nodded thoughtfully, then turned to regard the painting of a handsome man, perhaps in his midforties, with dark hair curling softly about his brow and a pair of chestnut-­colored eyes. His jaw, though angular, wasn’t cut in hard lines, and the edge of his mouth was drawn upward, as though he was about to laugh. “This is my George,” the countess said, “forever youthful in the artist’s portrayal of him, while I am condemned to wither with age. If everyone in the world were fortunate enough to know the kind of love we shared for each other, then they would be truly blessed.”

  Gazing up at the painting while Lady Duncaster spoke of her husband, Sarah felt her heart ache for the countess. “It is so unfair that you must go on without him,” she said.

  “I used to think so, but he was a great deal older when he died than he was in this painting, and truthfully, nothing lasts fo
rever. We all know it—­we are aware that our days are numbered—­yet we are still surprised when they draw to an end. Now that I am standing at the end of mine, though I may still have a good ten years ahead, I will tell you this: life is much shorter than you can possibly imagine, Lady Sarah. Eventually, all that matters is how you chose to live it, and I daresay that once you get that far, nobody will care one way or another, except for you.” She hesitated a moment before saying, “His father died at sea, you know.”

  “How?” Sarah asked, realizing belatedly that the answer was not only obvious but that she was asking Lady Duncaster to volunteer more information than she might be willing to share. “Forgive me,” she added hastily, “I did not mean to pry.”

  “Whyever not? There’s nothing wrong with being curious, you know.” With a final glance in Lord Duncaster’s direction, Lady Duncaster moved on, her arm linked with Sarah’s. “He was on his way to France in . . . 1797, if I recall. George and I were spending the Season in London, while George’s father had decided to remain at Thorncliff, which had been his preference since his wife’s death. Unbeknownst to us, he decided to go on a sea voyage. We never knew exactly what happened, but the ship sank, taking everyone with it, including Lord Spencer’s grandfather.”

  “How tragic,” Sarah said, astonished to discover such a connection between the two families.

  “George blamed himself for his father’s death, which is probably why he became so obsessed with finding that silly treasure.”

  “Treasure?”

  Lady Duncaster sighed. “There is no substance to it of course, other than a grieving man’s desire to uncover his father’s secrets—­secrets which have no basis in reality.”

  “You’re sure of this?” Sarah asked, curious to know more about this new, intriguing subject.

  “Of course I’m sure, though I was careful in keeping that opinion to myself. George needed a purpose, you see, and hunting for imaginary treasure seemed as good as any.”