by Amanda Scott
“Minister arrives about half past ten, m’dear. That gives you an hour and a half. Would you like a bath?”
Her eyes lit. “Oh, yes! But it is not enough time to wash and dry my hair.”
“Never mind your hair. Looks fine, and you’ll have plenty of time later to wash it. But, if you want a bath I’ll have Tom and Beck bring up a tub.” He left soon after that, and it was not long before Beck and Tom, carrying a huge tub between them, entered the room. Several trips later, the tub was filled with steaming water and she was alone again.
In less than a twinkling, she was soaking in the tub, lathering herself with French scented soap. It was deliciously relaxing. She stayed until the water began to turn cold and then, regretfully, stepped out and dried herself. It was but a few moments work after that to slip on a clean chemise and her white muslin evening gown. It had been washed and pressed since the evening before, and she supposed Beck must have done it. The notion struck her as being an odd one, but she could not imagine either Matty or old Tom doing an acceptable job of it. She adjusted her sash and slipped her feet into the pair of matching satin slippers before turning her attention to her hair.
She had pinned it up in a straggly knot on top of her head for her bath. Now she took out the pins and let the heavy mass fall over her shoulders and down her back. Definitely, her hair missed Lizzie’s attention even more than she did herself.
Lizzie loved Sarah’s hair and cared for it lovingly. At a time when most young ladies cropped and crimped at least their foremost tresses, Lizzie totally approved of her mistress’s luxuriously long, thick mane. She brushed it nightly and washed it with scented water every six days without fail. Her nimble fingers coaxed it into intricate and fascinating styles that were always much admired. Miss Lennox-Matthews’ lovely, honey-bronze hair was nearly her hallmark, but Miss Lennox-Matthews was confounded by the task of managing it herself. She stared now at her reflection in the mirror. Steam from her bath had left becoming little curly wisps around her face, but the rest was dull and tangled. With a sigh, she picked up her brush and dragged it through the thick tresses. It took nearly half an hour to brush it into sufficient order to please Sarah. She wished she could do something with it, however, to keep it away from her face. She was tired of continually having to confine it behind her ears with a ribbon and was still glaring at her reflection when Darcy, after a perfunctory knock, entered to inform her of the parson’s arrival.
“Why such a face, m’dear? You look wonderful.”
“I was wishing my fingers were as clever as Lizzie’s with my hair,” she admitted. “I can’t do anything with it.”
“Suits me to a cow’s thumb,” he said firmly. “Don’t go messing about with it. Told you that before. Come along now. Parson’s waiting.” He gave her a straight look as she moved toward him, and she stopped, puzzled by the expression on his face. Not taking his eyes from hers, he placed both hands on her shoulders. “Look here, Sarah,” he said evenly, “you haven’t got any notions of last-minute rebellion, have you?”
She shook her head. “Have no fear, my lord,” she said quietly. “I have no intention of enacting a Cheltenham tragedy for Mr. Stanley’s benefit. You have quite succeeded in making this ceremony nearly as important to me as it is to yourself.”
Satisfied, he offered her his arm, and they went downstairs. Half an hour afterward, Miss Sarah Lennox-Matthews had become the Countess of Moreland. Darcy insisted upon cracking a bottle to celebrate, and Mrs. Stanley, a small and dapper little white-haired gentleman, was nothing loath, having accepted a handsome recompense for his journey and eyeing with favor the bottle of champagne presented by Beck for his master’s approval.
Beck, too, was invited to join in the toast as were Tom and Matty, who had also stood witness to the ceremony. Sarah could not think Matty really needed the drink and hoped she would not pass out somewhere and forget about their luncheon. Darcy also poured out a small glass for his bride. Sarah really didn’t enjoy the taste of wines and spirits, but it did seem a bit surly to refuse to toast her own wedding. The two gentlemen finished off the bottle, and Darcy invited Mr. Stanley to stay to luncheon. That gentleman accepting with beaming pleasure, they adjourned to the dining parlor, and if the little minister was any the less pleased with his decision after he had partaken of the tasteless meal, he hid his feelings well. Of course, he and Darcy had imbibed a good deal of the grape by then, so Sarah thought it possible that he did not really notice that the food lacked flavor. By half past one, he weaved his way to the front door, bidding the married couple fond best wishes and farewell.
They watched his departure from the doorway, and once he was out of sight, Darcy turned to his bride with an unmistakable air of anticipation. “I shall be leaving at once, my lady, for time is short. Must present the marriage lines to your grandfather’s Mr. Smithers.” He wasted little time, and less than a quarter hour later, he was gone.
No longer confined to her room, Sarah thought at first that it would be fun to explore the old house, but she soon gave it up as a lonely, dreary prospect. Upstairs, several of the rooms had beds and one or two even possessed a chest or a chair, but everything was under Holland covers, and many of the rooms were entirely devoid of furnishings. The only one besides Sarah’s own that could be considered truly habitable was Darcy’s.
This chamber, down the corridor from Sarah’s, was furnished with a masculine flavor, and she entered quietly, feeling almost as though she were invading his privacy. But she suppressed the feeling. After all, this place was going to be her home for the rest of her life. She had a right to look it over. Besides, she meant to make changes. There was no reason that it should continue to look so uncared-for. Even though this bedchamber was furnished, it still carried the same shabby, neglected air as the other rooms she had seen. Frayed, peacock-blue velvet curtains hung at tall windows overlooking the expanse of woods on the south side of the house. Off in the distance, one could catch a view of the common, and sunshine splashed across the floor. The windows flanked a large fireplace in which, at the moment, the ashes were cold. Sarah crossed an ancient Axminster carpet in muted shades of blue, dark gold, and green, to inspect shabby bed hangings that reflected the same colors in a tapestry pattern worked long ago by undoubtedly loving fingers.
Abstractedly, she smoothed the fluffy feather comforter encased in faded blue watered silk that covered the great carved bed, and cast a disinterested eye over two worn leather armchairs, similar to the pair in the library, that faced one another across the hearthstones. A low chest stood under one window, while a large, ornate wardrobe filled the east wall, but the only article of furniture that truly caught her fancy was a dressing table with a mirror that folded down cunningly to make a writing surface. A tapestry-covered stool was drawn up before it. But once she had figured out how the dressing table worked, she glanced around again with an appraising eye. If nothing else, there was certainly scope for change here. She would have no excuse for remaining idle once Darcy arranged for the transfer of funds to his own name.
She left the bedchamber and wandered back to the gallery, where faded spaces indicated that a number of paintings had once hung. They were gone now, and she was not particularly interested in architectural details, so the once-beautiful wainscoting and frieze work in the rooms she visited made little impact. She soon returned to Pilgrim’s Progress with near relief.
Darcy was away for several days, but Sarah scarcely had any opportunity to feel lonely, for midway through the morning after his departure, a farmer’s well-worn gig rattled up to the front door, and a tall, rather lanky lady in dove-gray merino descended from the seat with as much dignity as if she were royalty descending from the state coach. Sarah, watching from her bedchamber window with Erebus curled companionably at her feet, threw up her hands with an unladylike shriek of joy, leaped up, and tore down the stairs, followed by the excited dog, to land breathlessly at the front door, throwing it open before the driver of the gig had a chance to knock.
“Penny!” Erebus loudly echoed the welcome, emphasizing his pleasure with a wildly flailing tail.
“Sarah, love, what manner of conduct is this?” the visitor inquired gently. “Remember … poise, posture, and propriety!”
Sarah grabbed Erebus by the scruff of his thick neck and sharply commanded his silence. “Oh, Penny, Penny, do come in!”
“One moment, love.” Miss Penistone turned to the young man beside her and handed him some money. “Thank you very much for bringing me, Mr. Henderson. If you will just put my trunk on the steps there, I shall do nicely.” He hastened to do her bidding, and she turned back to Sarah, eyeing her serenely from tip to toe. “Who on earth has been doing your hair, my dear?”
“No one,” Sarah chuckled. “Oh, Penny, it’s been awful! But do come in, do!” Tom chose that moment to shamble in through the green baize door at the rear of the hall, and entrusting the reluctant Erebus to his charge, she asked him to see to Penny’s trunk and to ask Matty to prepare tea for them. “For I know you will want some refreshment after your journey, Penny,” she said, drawing that lady into the little saloon under the stair, and adding apologetically, once the door had shut behind them, “Not that it will amount to much, for the servants here are a disgrace. Oh, Penny, I have missed you dreadfully! How did you find me?”
“Your Lizzie told me,” Miss Penistone replied placidly. “My sister was ill, you know, but she is quite well now and anxious to have her cottage to herself again, so I had planned to look about London for another position. But you know how it is when there is a gap in one’s references—at least, you don’t, but I assure you that it can make matters most difficult for one in my position. I went straight to Berkeley Square, however, where Lady Hartley very kindly provided what was needed. Lizzie was waiting for me in the street when I left Hartley House, and she explained things. Really, Sarah, you have not behaved at all well.”
“Oh, I know, I know! But you cannot have heard the whole of it. Truly, Penny, it is not as you must have been led to believe!”
“No, I am quite certain of it.” Miss Penistone removed her cloak and prim little hat and disposed them carefully over the back of a chair before taking her seat. Theft, she folded her hands in her lap and bent an inquiring, birdlike gaze upon her erstwhile charge. “I am likewise certain that you will wish to explain.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sarah agreed. She began at the beginning and made a clean breast of the whole, feeling much as she had felt upon previous occasions when confessing some childish peccadillo to Penny, knowing now as then that she would feel much better afterward. As she had always done in such cases, Penny maintained a calm expression throughout the tale. If Sarah’s behavior shocked her, there was no sign of it. She merely sat quietly, hands folded restfully in her lap, making no comment whatsoever until Sarah had quite finished speaking.
Miss Emily Penistone had been an answer to a prayer when Lady Hartley hired her to take charge of ten-year-old Sarah. With her mouse-brown hair swept severely back and confined at the nape of her neck, thus throwing rather harsh features into unnecessary prominence, and a keen sensitivity that allowed her to give the proper responses in a rather prim voice to shrewd questions about her notions of child-raising, she had played the part of strict governess to a nicety.
Quickly dubbed Penny by her charge, the quiet-spoken young woman had dutifully drummed learning and manners into Sarah, since that was the purpose for which she had been engaged, but the same sensitivity that had enabled her to give the desired responses to Lady Hartley also enabled her to guide her charge without stifling natural high spirits and to provide friendship and love as well as academic instruction. While Lord Hartley spent his days and most of his evenings occupied with important matters at one or another of his clubs and Lady Hartley kept busy with her extensive social obligations, Penny was Sarah’s own and brought order and peace into her life.
It was gentle Miss Penistone who saw to it that Sarah had dancing lessons when she was old enough for them and who notified Sarah’s aunt and uncle when the time had come to let down her dresses and put up her hair. Indeed, she did such a fine job that it was rarely necessary for Lord or Lady Hartley to take any notice whatever of Sarah until it was time to present her to Society. At that time, Lady Hartley promptly dismissed Miss Penistone, since a governess was no longer required, and replaced her with Lizzie, who was much less expensive and a very accomplished lady’s maid besides. But Lizzie had never become her young mistress’s confidante, and Sarah had missed Penny’s gentle guidance upon more than one occasion.
Even now, as she made her careful explanations, Sarah was conscious of the calming influence of Penny’s presence. She felt perfectly safe again and more confident of her ability to handle the difficulties of her position. When she had concluded her tale, she gazed expectantly at the serene lady in the opposite chair, scarcely knowing what she expected her to say.
“Dear me,” Miss Penistone mused sadly, “what a pity it is that your aunt dismissed me when she did, because this could all have been avoided so easily. I quite see, love, that you need me now as much as you ever did.”
“Oh, yes,” Sarah agreed, “though in all fairness, Penny, I am not certain that even you could have stopped me being so silly.” Miss Penistone’s placid smile was her only response, but it was clear that she had no doubt that wiser counsel would have prevailed. At any rate, Sarah knew better than to pursue the topic. Instead, she demanded to know if Penny meant to stay.
“Why, yes,” Miss Penistone replied, “if you want me and, in the circumstances, if his lordship will permit it.”
“Well, I certainly want you,” Sarah declared, “and in the circumstances, as you say, Darcy will simply have to agree to it. I shall not allow him to do otherwise.”
She promptly installed Penny in the room next to her own, and within a matter of a few days, that lady had made herself quite at home. Luckily for the success of their plan, Darcy returned from London in high spirits. There had been no problem about transferring the funds to his name. Mr. Smithers had been most cordial, even to the point of relaying Sir Malcolm’s hope for the speedy arrival of a lusty son to inherit the fortune and many others to secure the line. Darcy laughed rather self-consciously when he told Sarah about it over dinner. Miss Penistone had dined earlier in her own chamber, having insisted that it would be wisest for Sarah to approach her husband privately first. But Sarah had been a little wary of simply plunging into the matter.
“Could scarcely tell the old gentleman of our agreement, my lady,” Darcy said now. “Doubt he would understand, and I didn’t much care for the notion of explaining how matters stand. Besides, perhaps one day your sentiments on the issue might alter. A proper heir would certainly be one in the eye for old Nick.”
“I collect that you refer to your cousin, Sir Nicholas,” observed Sarah, deciding that a change of subject was in order, though not perhaps such a drastic one as the mention of Miss Penistone’s presence at Ash Park.
“Not cousin. Nick’s my uncle, if you can believe it, though he’s not but four years older than I am. He’s also my heir at the moment and has undoubtedly damned my existence ever since he was old enough to understand what it meant to him. If you think your grandfather was a loose screw, you should have known mine.” He sipped Malaga with a reminiscent gleam in his eye. “Grandmama died in ’eighty-four and he barely waited a decent year before he married a chit scarce out of the schoolroom, just seventeen, the exact same age as my father! Naturally, Papa didn’t marry until a good time later, by which time she had already presented Grandfather with the Lady Honoria and dear Nick. We grew up together in this house. I am certain my father would have preferred to remove at least as far as Dower House once he married, but being a great one for having his family all under one roof, Grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. At least they sent Nick and me to different schools,” he added. “Would have been a bore always having to explain the relationship.”
“How did he become
Sir Nicholas?”
“Knighted because of action in the Peninsula,” he responded shortly. His mood had changed again, and Sarah realized he was jealous of Sir Nicholas, but she was interested and didn’t want to drop the subject.
“We missed seeing him the last week or so that I was in Town,” she said now. “Where is he?”
“God knows. Lady Honoria is traveling on the Continent with Bessling—her husband, you know. They barely waited for the dust to settle after Waterloo before they were off, but they’ve got a brat at Harrow, so I expect Nick is keeping a weather eye peeled in that direction, wherever he is. He’s damn soft on the lad. Could be in Yorkshire with his mother, I suppose.”
“Oh, then she is still living?”
“Lord, yes! She’s only forty-six after all! If my parents hadn’t both caught the influenza, they’d still be living, wouldn’t they? If yours—”
“All right, my lord, you’ve made your point,” she said with a small sigh. Darcy shrugged apologetically and proceeded to detail his visit to Town. He had discovered that their scandal was still in high flight and had, as a result, avoided most of the fashionable meeting places, preferring to let things die down a bit first. Sarah was in whole-hearted agreement with that sentiment, but she soon realized that he had managed to entertain himself despite such abstention. Mr. Smithers having arranged for him to draw immediately and substantially upon the funds, Darcy had decided to see if his luck was in, and his conversation was full of the cards he had held and the fickleness of the bones he had tossed. He rather thought he had lost more than he had won, but nevertheless, he had come home with a good deal of money in his pocket. Sarah was astonished that he had dared bring so much across Finchley Common, where highwaymen were known to lie in wait for the unwary, but he laughed at her fears, teasing her that she should so betray her concern for his safety.