At the time of writing, Miss Meredith is fifteen years old and attending a seminary in Oxford. She is a pretty, behaved girl who has never caused either myself or her adoptive parents any concern. I have no reason to suppose that she will not progress from her school to make a suitable and entirely respectable marriage in the fullness of time. I only wish I had the means to ensure it. Unhappily I cannot. I am dying and I am aware that that will leave Miss Meredith and her parents without the security that my family has been able to provide, albeit at a distance, for all of her life.
I could think of only one plan. I have instructed Dr Meredith and his wife that if ever their daughter is in great need, they should contact Julius Churchward. They are good people and I am persuaded would only resort to this if the need was genuine and severe. Once Churchward receives any communication from them, he is to contact Sarah and acquaint her with the problem.
I have thought much about asking my sister to go to the aid of my natural daughter. It is most irregular. I should, of course, have made the request to you directly, sir, but the truth is that I did not dare. You made your feelings for me quite plain all those years ago and even now I know that you cannot forgive me.
But now I am beseeching you, for the sake of the love you bear Sarah as her godfather, to stand her friend. Her innate goodness will prompt her to do what is right, but she may be in need of protection. And I commend Miss Meredith to you as an innocent child who does not deserve to suffer for her father’s faults. Forgive me for my presumption. I can only add that if you see fit to answer my request I will be forever thanking you for your kindness.
Francis Sheridan.
Guy put down the pages of closely written words and reached for the brandy decanter again.
‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Miss Sheridan goes to Blanchland at her brother’s request to aid his natural daughter.’ He met his father’s sardonic gaze. ‘What do you wish to tell me about the detail of this letter, sir?’
The Earl gave a rueful shrug. ‘How do you read it?’
Guy’s gaze narrowed. ‘That you have a grandchild whom, for reasons of which I am unaware, you have chosen not to acknowledge. To say that I am astounded would be to understate the case. And if Frank Sheridan was her father, then who—?’
‘You have—you had—three sisters, Guy.’
‘Yes, but—’ Guy was aware that he sounded incredulous ‘—you imply that Catherine had Frank Sheridan’s child? But she was only sixteen when she died…She died of a fever—’
‘Childbirth fever,’ the Earl said heavily. Suddenly he looked old and tired. ‘You had no idea, Guy?’
‘Not the least in the world!’ Guy put his glass down. His head was spinning. He had only been twelve when his elder sister had died and had never questioned that the family tragedy had hidden a catastrophe of even greater proportions. It seemed incredible.
‘I can scarce believe it,’ he said slowly. ‘But surely…I mean…could they not have married? Sheridan was wild, but he was not an unsuitable match. Surely he would not have abandoned her!’
The Earl shook his head slowly. ‘That is at the root of the whole tragedy, Guy. Catherine did not tell anyone until near the end and none of us even guessed. Looking back I cannot believe that we were so blind, but it was so. Oh, we knew that she had a tendre for him—Frank Sheridan could charm the birds from the trees—but we had no notion that it had gone any further! Why, she was only sixteen and the sweetest child—’ He broke off. ‘And by the time we found out, Sheridan had set off on one of his harebrained trips abroad. The babe was born and Catherine died whilst he was away.’
Guy stared into the glowing heart of the fire. ‘What happened when Frank Sheridan returned?’
The Earl’s face was in shadow. ‘There was the most appalling scene, as you might imagine. He stood over there—’ the Earl nodded towards the fireplace ‘—paper-white and shaking, and swore that he had not known, that he would have married her. But, of course, it was all too late. I called him a blackguard and a cad, and threatened to have him horsewhipped from the house. I never spoke to him again, to the day he died.’
‘And the child?’
The Earl looked away. ‘I am ashamed to say that I allowed Jack Sheridan to take her away and to make all the arrangements. I could not forgive her, innocent as she was, for robbing us of our daughter’s life. I knew she was well provided for—Jack made sure of it, but to my shame I never wanted to know more.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I believe that your mother would have acted differently, had I permitted it, but I was bitter and sick with anger. Even now, when this arrived—’ he tapped the letter ‘—I was in two minds about how to act. I was tempted to burn it and forget about it for another seventeen years!’
‘What made you change your mind, sir?’
‘Two things,’ the Earl said bleakly. ‘Firstly, your mother told me plain that it was my bounden duty to help my goddaughter. And then, of course, Sarah arrived here.’ He met his son’s eyes. ‘When I realised that she was prepared to do what I was not, for the sake of her brother’s child, I felt ashamed. And also…’ a smile warmed his voice for the first time ‘…she is all the things that Frank Sheridan was not. She is good and true and brave, and I do not believe we should let her go to Blanchland alone!’
Guy got up to put another log on the fire. He stirred it to a blaze before he replied. ‘How much of this story do you think Miss Sheridan knows, sir?’
‘Very little, I imagine,’ the Earl said. ‘Jack Sheridan swore that neither he nor his son would ever burden Sarah with the tale, nor do I think they would bring shame on Catherine’s name in such a way. And that is why—’ he leaned forward, suddenly urgent ‘—you must find Miss Meredith before Sarah ever sets eyes on her!’
Guy frowned. ‘I collect that you do not wish Sarah to be aware of my sister’s part in this?’
‘Absolutely not! No one must ever know! It must remain a secret!’
Guy shook his head slowly. ‘I do not like the sound of this, sir. You must be more plain. What is it that you wish me to do?’
The Earl brought his fist down hard. ‘Find the girl! Buy her off! Persuade her to go away! The difficulties she finds herself in may well be pecuniary and she may be open to persuasion! Do whatever you have to, to keep the matter a secret!’
Guy looked at his father in bafflement. ‘You set me a strange task, sir,’ he said wryly. ‘I have never seen you act in such a way before. Are you sure that this is what you truly want? And as for deceiving the woman I wish to marry before the knot is even tied—it does not augur well for my future happiness!’
‘And yet I must ask it of you, Guy,’ his father said, fixing him with his fierce, dark gaze. ‘It must be done. Catherine’s memory must not be despoiled.’
They talked long into the night but Guy was unable to persuade his father to change his mind.
It was impossible to travel on to Blanchland the following morning. The rain of the previous day had frozen in deep ruts overnight, making the roads impassable.
‘Another day and the frost will be hard enough for you to travel,’ the Countess said cheerfully as she came to Sarah’s room to acquaint her with the news. ‘Or else it will thaw again and you can be on your way! But for the meantime, Sarah dear, I am very happy for you to prolong your stay!’
Sarah herself had mixed feelings. Having got so close to her destination, the waiting was hard to bear. Then there was the prospect of another day in Guy’s company when she would far rather put some distance between them. And then there was the fact, which she would admit only to herself, that although half of her wanted to run away from him, the other half found him all too attractive.
She was spared Guy’s company in the morning, however, for the gentlemen had gone out for an early ride and were not expected back before luncheon. Lady Woodallan, recognising a kindred spirit in Amelia, bore her off to inspect the still room, so Sarah was left to her own devices. This did not trouble her. She spent a happy hour reacquainting herself wit
h Lord Woodallan’s extensive library collection, then turned her attention to the glass cases containing an assortment of semiprecious stones that he had collected on his travels abroad. Here was the brilliant deep blue of the lapis lazuli that had so fascinated her as a child, the pale green of the peridot and the deep amber of the tiger’s eye, flecked with gold.
The walls of the library were furnished with family portraits and Sarah paused on her way out to consider the large family grouping over the fireplace. Here was a younger Earl and Countess of Woodallan, smiling proudly as their four children played about their feet. Guy looked stiff and self-conscious in his child’s velvet suit and Sarah smiled a little. His younger sisters Emma and Clara, the latter barely more than a baby, sat on the floor at their feet, but the eldest girl stood shyly by her mother’s chair. She must have been a couple of years older than Guy, Sarah thought, and she looked grave but with a smile breaking through. Sarah frowned, trying to remember her name. Catherine. She had died when Sarah was only seven and Sarah had no clear memory of her.
Sarah moved on to pictures of Lady Emma and Lady Clara as debutantes, both fair-haired, brown-eyed and heartbreakingly lovely. The Woodallan looks were very distinctive, Sarah thought. She remembered them both with fondness as having a great sense of fun and thought with regret that it would have been very pleasant to accept Lady Woodallan’s invitation and return for Christmas, when both daughters and their respective families were expected.
That, of course, was not the only proposal that had been made to her. And there to remind her was a portrait of Guy in his early twenties. The artist had captured brilliantly the wicked twinkle in those brown eyes and the unconsciously arrogant tilt to his chin. He looked strikingly handsome and Sarah’s heart contracted a little.
She went out into the hall, closing the library door quietly behind her. The sun had come out and Sarah decided that she would take a walk before luncheon. She picked up her cloak, donned her boots and went out into the morning air.
A quick tour of the gardens took her through the parterre and downhill towards the fields that bordered the trout stream. Sarah leant over and dabbled her fingers in the crystal clear water, finding it icy. There was no danger of lingering outdoors today, for an easterly wind made Lady Woodallan’s predictions of a hard frost seem very likely.
‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan.’ Sarah turned to see Guy leaning on a five-bar gate a few yards away. He must have moved very quietly; she had not heard his approach. ‘Did you fancy sledging down the hill as we did as children?’
Sarah laughed. ‘I do not believe there is sufficient snow, my lord! The last time we tried that there were drifts five foot deep!’
‘I remember!’ Guy pushed the gate open and strode through to join her. ‘I borrowed a tray from the kitchen and found it ran faster than the proper sledge!’
‘And you finished head down in a drift and Clara screamed and screamed because she thought you were dead!’
They laughed together.
‘Perhaps we might try again when you return to Woodallan for Christmas,’ Guy said, as they turned back towards the house. ‘There is bound to be further snowfall before then. Indeed, I believe we are in for quite a cold snap!’
‘So your mother was saying.’ Sarah pushed her hands into the fur muff and shivered a little. ‘I would not wish you to forget, however, that I have made no commitment to return for Christmas!’
‘Of course.’ Guy’s smile was rueful. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sheridan! It was my own hopes that were speaking! I do most ardently wish that you will stay a little at Woodallan after your quest to Blanchland is completed.’
‘I shall see,’ Sarah said cautiously. ‘Shall we walk back, sir? It is too cold to tarry here!’
‘By all means.’ Guy fell into step beside her as they turned back up the hill. ‘What are your impressions of Woodallan after all these years, Miss Sheridan? Does it bring back happy memories for you?’
Sarah paused. They were skirting a huge oak that stood alone in the middle of the meadow. In the summers long ago she had scrambled up into its spreading branches and sat feeling the sway of the tree in the breeze. Clara and Emma had been too scared to climb so high and Lady Sheridan had scolded her daughter for being a tomboy.
‘Sometimes it is a mistake to go back, my lord.’
Guy’s hand was on her arm. ‘But if the past could also be the future, Miss Sheridan…?’
Sarah felt terribly tempted. To regain so much, to return to a place that held such happy memories…But the one thing that she really wanted—Guy’s love—was not part of the bargain. His charm and kindness to her were dangerous, drawing her in again, stirring up feelings she wanted to forget, making her vulnerable. Many, more practical than she, would settle for such an advantageous marriage of convenience. Perhaps, Sarah thought, she might have done so herself were her feelings not engaged. But the thought of Guy with another woman in his arms made her feel quite sick. If she bore his name, she could not bear to lose him.
Sarah turned away abruptly and walked on.
‘There is something I need to tell you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said, after a moment. ‘It concerns your trip to Blanchland. Would you care to discuss it here, or wait until we are back in the house?’
‘Perhaps it would be better to talk as we walk back, my lord.’
‘To avoid another uncomfortable tête-à-tête?’ Guy gave her an ironic smile. ‘Have no fear, Miss Sheridan! Even I am not so lost to all sense of propriety as to try to seduce you in my parents’ house! However, if you wish, we shall talk of it now. The cold air is death to strong passion, after all!’
Sarah blushed angrily. ‘Did you have some material point to make, my lord?’
‘Indeed!’ Guy stretched lazily, then drove his hands into his coat pockets. Sarah hastily averted her eyes. Such blatant masculinity at such close quarters was decidedly unsettling.
‘I have to tell you that I am to accompany you to Blanchland,’ Guy continued. He smiled at Sarah’s evident annoyance. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sheridan, but my father wills it so and I am sure you would not wish to disappoint him!’
‘I thought that you said you would not tell your parents of my destination,’ Sarah said crossly. She regarded him with suspicion. ‘There is something very strange about this, my lord! Do you care to explain?’
‘Very well,’ Guy said obligingly. ‘I believe that you received a letter from your late brother asking you to offer your aid to a certain young lady. The request necessitated you travelling to Blanchland. My father received a similar letter asking that he offer you all support in your search. Unfortunately he is too ill to undertake the obligation, so he has asked me to do so in his place. So I will be journeying to Blanchland with you, Miss Sheridan!’ He held the gate open for her to walk through into the gardens. ‘I am sure you cannot be pleased—’
‘No, indeed! It is most unfortunate!’
Guy’s ironic smile deepened. ‘Thank you, Miss Sheridan!’
‘Oh!’ Sarah caught herself. ‘Indeed, I am very grateful to Lord Woodallan for offering me assistance, but truly there is no need—’
‘You waste your breath if you seek to dissuade me, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said drily. ‘My father is adamant and I must do as he wishes.’
They walked on a little in silence. The winter wind was chill with an edge of sleet to it now.
‘If you were to consult your own inclination rather than your duty—’ Sarah began.
‘Then the answer would still be the same. I am at your disposal!’
Sarah gave an angry sigh. ‘Frank should not have burdened Lord Woodallan with such a commission!’
‘I agree with you,’ Guy said readily. ‘I also believe that your brother must have felt he had placed you in an invidious position, not to say an irregular one! He was appealing to Lord Woodallan as your godfather and the person who could offer you protection. Had he known that Blanchland had become a house of ill fame I am persuaded he would never have laid such a charg
e on you!’ He shrugged. ‘As it is, I am astonished you accepted the obligation!’
Sarah pulled the brim of her bonnet closer about her face to protect her from the sting of the wind. ‘I know it must seem most singular,’ she admitted, ‘and, to own the truth, I did not wish to do so! But Frank has asked it and the girl is my niece whether I like it or not, so…’ Her voice trailed away. She was not sure whether she was glad or otherwise of Guy’s support in the matter. Had it been Lord Woodallan, as Frank had intended, she would have accepted his help unequivocally. But Guy was a different matter and now Frank’s actions had made it impossible for her to keep him at a distance.
‘How do you intend to present your case to Sir Ralph?’ Guy asked, watching lazily as doubt and worry chased each other swiftly across Sarah’s expressive face. They were approaching the door of the house now. ‘Do you intend to reveal the whole to him?’
Sarah bit her lip. Guy seemed to have a talent for hitting on precisely the matters that concerned her. She still had not decided how to tackle that problem, uncertain whether to take Sir Ralph into her confidence or not. Sarah’s heart sank as she realised how ill prepared she was for the whole venture. What thoughts she had had since leaving Bath had been all to do with Guy himself and nothing to do with Olivia Meredith at all!
‘I have not really decided…’ She knew she sounded vague. ‘I confess I need more time to fashion a tale…Oh, dear,’ she finished, despairing, ‘was there ever such an ill-thought-out enterprise!’
Guy’s lips twitched. ‘My dear Miss Sheridan, can I not persuade you to change your mind, even at this eleventh hour? Despite my reluctance, I am willing to stand your friend and go to Blanchland on your behalf!’
For a moment, Sarah was tempted. To wash her hands of the whole matter was very appealing, but she had not persisted this far in order to turn back now.
Blanchland Secret Page 10