by Jo Beverley
Some, like Charlotte Paget, married their lovers. The Pagets still weren't accepted in the best circles, but they had some sort of life. Perhaps she could marry her lover and brazen it out.
She discarded that. Lord Paget had risen rapidly in the army to become a Lieutenant General, but ever since his scandal he'd been left out of all meaningful action, despite the need in the Peninsular. Adultery was not forgotten or forgiven. Just would be cited in the divorce action and dragged through the mud.
She lay there listening to the tick of the bedroom clock. It didn't sound the quarters or the hours, but others in the house did, so she could tell the passing of time by their distant notes. The fire burned low. She heard, she was sure she heard, other men come upstairs and go to various rooms. Then, at last, she heard noises in the next room.
But Edward didn't come.
And didn't come.
And didn't come.
At last she heard a noise. She calmed her pattering heart and made herself ready, resolving not to do or say anything to create disaster, but the door didn't open. She leaned up to look at it and saw that a slip of paper had been pushed under the door.
She climbed out of bed, picked it up, unfolded it and read,
I regret I find myself unwell, Sarah. Please excuse me.
She stood staring at the few word, growing cold with horror.
He knew!
That could be the only reason. Someone had seen her dancing at the revels, and then going into the woods with a man. It had probably been Miranda, who'd then carelessly chattered to her husband, who had felt obliged to share the knowledge with Edward.
She leant against the door jamb, weak at the knees, vomit threatening. Why hadn't Edward stormed in to confront her? Perhaps, being Edward, he was taking time to calm and decide exactly what to do. He'd speak to her tomorrow.
What should she do then?
Lie? Deny it and hold to her denial?
She could. He could have no absolute proof.
She must. It was the only way to survive. The only way to save her lover.
She staggered to the fire and threw the note on it as if that could burn away her folly and put her back in her safe world, but that could never be. Even if she convinced Edward, he might always wonder, and if she had to confess to carrying a child he'd know then.
Please, Titania. Put this right!
Chapter Six
Sarah hardly slept, and when the clocks struck nine in the morning she rang for her washing water simply to end the tormenting night. Once dressed she wanted to hide in her room, but the problem wouldn't go away. The custom here was for a breakfast to be laid out in the morning room for those who didn't want to take breakfast in their rooms. Being in public seemed safer, so she gathered her composure and went down.
She met Miranda in the corridor and detected nothing amiss with Miranda's bright smile. As they went downstairs together, the young woman chattered about plans for the day without any hint of strain. Not Miranda, then. She was incapable of hiding her thoughts and feelings.
Amanda Stoneycroft? Sarah would be surprised if Sarah tattled about a thing like that, and there'd been nothing in her manner yesterday to suggest she saw a scandalous woman.
There could have been other people from the house at the revels, especially servants. Why hadn't she realized that? Not just the local people, either. Some of the visiting maids and valets might have gone to the revels with the house servants.
A maid or valet had told their employer, and the employer had told Edward that his wife, not-quite-decently-dressed and with her hair flowing, had danced with a handsome young man around the fire and then gone off into the woods with him on Lady's Day Eve.
She desperately wanted to run away, but her only hope was firm denial so she must appear as normal. She couldn't stop her heart racing as she entered the morning room, and when she saw Edward there, her mouth turned dry as dust. She only just made it to a chair and was sure she couldn't eat, but she did her best to smile at everyone -- Sir Jacob, Sir Launceston, Lord and Lady Barmouth, and Edward.
An expression flittered across his face, but she couldn't interpret it. Not anger. She'd say it was uncertainty, perhaps even uneasiness. Would he feel that way about adultery? Perhaps he would -- uncertain about how to deal with the situation.
She asked the hovering footman for coffee. There was bread on the table and she took a wigg bun and buttered it generously. Perhaps that way it would slide down.
Miranda chattered and her husband indulged her, but everyone else ate in silence.
Then Miranda said, "I hope we'll visit the village today. I'm told it's very old."
"I wish I had time to go with you, my dear," Sir Launceston said. "I'm told parts are pre-conquest. But this afternoon is the races."
"Then come this morning," Miranda said. "You've been inside too much, my dear sir."
He beamed his besotted smile. "Why not, why not? What do you say, Sir Jacob?"
"That it's an excellent idea," Sir Jacob said. "We've all got cobwebs in our heads. Will you come, Lord and Lady Jardine?"
Edward agreed, without any apparent emotion. Sarah saw no choice but to agree as well. He'd confront her when the time suited him and she'd rather be doing things than sitting and waiting. It was a few minutes before she realized she might see Just in the village. She shouldn't want to, and it would be dangerous folly, for how could she pretend indifference? All the same, she'd never seen him in daylight and that seemed bitter tragedy.
At eleven most of the house party set out to walk to the village, where the parson had been forewarned to tell them about the history of the church. The Belmonts stayed behind, along with Amanda, who claimed household tasks needing her attention.
When Edward came to walk at Sarah's side, she prepared herself. Not an ideal time and place for a sensitive discussion, but perhaps he felt that with others around she wouldn't create a scene.
"You look a little under the weather, my dear," he said.
Was that a tentative probe for guilt?
"I didn't sleep very well last night."
"Ah. Yes. I apologize for that."
He thought she'd lain awake because he'd failed to come to her bed? In fact, she had, but not as he meant. He didn't sound like a betrayed husband.
"The fresh air will do me good," she said.
"Yes, yes." It was as if he wanted to say something else but couldn't. It was unlike him to be so uncertain, but then, this was a very delicate situation. Whatever his intentions, they walked on to the village in silence.
As they entered Mayfield she was alert for Just, both in hope of seeing him and to be sure she didn't betray herself with any reaction. Was that what Edward was doing? Waiting and watching to see who she showed warmth to?
She could only hope none of the villagers would recognize her. They shouldn't, for now she was in a substantial dusky pink pelisse that was pin-tucked and frilled, gloves on her hands, and hair pinned up tight beneath cap and bonnet.
The elderly parson greeted them and took them through the low door into the old stone church. The inside was simple, but mellow with age and Reverend Pallott knew a great deal of its history. Sarah however was captured by the many memorials to Maberleys. Stones set into the floor recorded Maberleys from the middle ages, and ones on the wall remembered more recent ones.
The name Justinian Maberley startled her, but it was for a death in 1798 of the Viscount Maberley who must have been Just's grandfather.
"That interests you, my dear?" Edward asked, coming beside her. Did she hear any suspicion?
"I was reflecting on such an ancient family coming to nothing."
"A great shame, but sadly not uncommon. And not nothing. I understand the current viscount is rebuilding his fortunes in Canada. That reflects well on him."
Surely he couldn't speak in that way about a man he thought had seduced his wife. Therefore, he didn't know who.
"It does," she said. "Amanda Stoneycroft told me he's in the area
at the moment, revisiting his old family home."
"Is he? I hope he doesn't resent the present situation."
"I shouldn't think so." That sounded too definite, so she added, "He's communicated with the Stoneycrofts and from what Sarah said, it was amicable."
"Good, good.... Did you see the tomb in the far wall? A crusader, and quite fine."
She went with him to inspect it, not knowing what to think.
Then, as they left the church she saw Just across the graveyard. He was talking to a sinewy old man, perhaps the sexton. The old man looked past him toward the church and Just turned as well. For a moment he was still.
Don't. Don't come to me. Don't!
He turned back to the man, spoke briefly and left.
Thank heavens! But Sarah could wail for loss of a few moments with him in daylight. He'd been fully dressed, even to hat and gloves, and she wondered if he was about to leave. It was better so, but it seemed hearts could crumble to dust but still give excruciating pain. She turned aside and studied the words on a headstone, hoping they would explain any grief on her face.
The stone gave no excuse for tears. It remembered Caleb Fletcher who'd died aged eighty and his wife Maudie, who'd died at eighty five. Long lives. Had they been good ones? When young, had they gone into the woods to conceive their first child?
She followed the party out of the churchyard to stroll around the village and then return to the house. Edward made no attempt to speak to her. After a lunch they all went to the race meeting that was the excuse for the gathering. By the time the ladies retired to the drawing room after dinner Sarah was worn down by keyed-up waiting. She excused herself and went early to bed. Perhaps Edward hadn't come to her last night for some other reason. Perhaps he truly had felt unwell.
If so, would he come to her tonight and break the precious pattern?
Or had he decided suspicions of adultery were best dealt with at home. She was too exhausted in mind and body to care. She fell asleep and woke the next morning undisturbed.
Chapter Seven
The next day Sarah took a fond farewell of Amanda, with promises to meet in Town, though the future seemed completely unpredictable. She entered the coach with Edward and his valet trying to read her husband's mood. He wasn't his normal self -- that was sure. He tried to act normally, but he was restless. He opened a book, but she didn't think he read steadily, as was his norm.
He knew, she decided. He might not know with whom, but he knew. He'd decided to put off the confrontation until they were in their own home. That's was exactly what sensible Edward Jardine would do.
Then what?
Would he make her leave the house immediately? Where would she go? She had friends in Town, but did she have the sort of friends who'd take in an adulteress? Surely he'd let her take some money. She could stay in a hotel for a day or two.
Then what?
Flee to her sister, Jane? She'd have to be truly desperate to do that. Her brother? Even worse. She had a few relatives around the country, but they'd all kept their distance from her disreputable family. There had to be somewhere! No, she would not run after Just and ruin his life.
She arrived back in their Grosvenor Square house almost shivering with expectation of the worst, but Edward left immediately to pick up the threads of his political life.
Sarah was forced to attend to the tasks that gathered after even a short absence, but her mind could hardly grasp them. Ellis was recovered, which meant she tutted over the mud on the hem of the blue gown. Jilly had brushed it off, but there was still a stain. There should be stains all over, but it seemed faery moss didn't soil.
Everything was so ridiculously normal. Sarah achieved a kind of numb calm, and from that she realized that no matter what Edward did, and even if he did nothing, she could not resume her old life. The house felt like a prison, and her tasks like the treadmill on which prisoners pointlessly labored in jail.
When she'd fulfilled her meaningless duties she sat in her boudoir reading a book. Or turning the pages at least. After a while she abandoned the pretence and sat at her desk to write a letter. She wrote to Just.
She told him how much she loved him and how she valued their time together, but that distance would change everything. In Canada the faery madness would leave him and he would forget her. It was embarrassing gibberish and she burnt it, but it helped clear her head.
Where was he now? Had he left Mayfield? Had he taken ship? Was he already on his way back to Canada? Surely it would take more than a few days for that, and he'd have to wait for the sundial. As they'd left Maberley Hall she'd seen men digging it loose, and a cart standing by to receive it and take it away. That could take days to trundle to London -- assuming his ship left from London. He could depart from Portsmouth or some other Channel port.
What would he do with the sundial in Halifax?
Did he have a house there with a garden ready to receive it?
How little she knew of him. If she was ever weak enough to try to send a letter she had no address.
Edward sent a message to say he was dining with the Foreign Secretary and others. Sarah should have been relieved and yet she felt oddly out of sorts, but then she realized her monthly courses were due. Very likely she would bleed tomorrow, exactly on time. For years her monthly visitor had been a sign of failure, but now it was a giddy relief. She'd avoided the worst. She wasn't carrying a child!
As usual, she put a message in Edward's dressing room to inform him that she was indisposed. He would expect it. He knew the dates as well as she did. Would it make him doubt his suspicions? Would it incline him to forgive?
She should want that, but she truly couldn't bear to continue this life.
She woke the next morning to the expected bleeding, a dull ache, and another unbearable day. She sat in her boudoir going through neglected invitations, trying to decide which she might accept. She began plans for a rout and a musical evening, as if she would still be a fashionable hostess in a month's time. She never wanted to host such an event again.
Edward returned to the house in the afternoon and came to courteously ask how she was. He was behaving as always, except for that odd strain that had become part of him. She was tempted to raise the dreadful subject herself to free him of his misery.
He went away, but then returned a little later with a letter in his hand. "The most peculiar thing, Sarah."
She looked a question.
"From Viscount Maberley.
She felt frozen by shock. Her smile must be grotesque. Had Just decided to force the calamity? But Edward merely looked put out.
She found her voice. "Of the family who used to own Maberley Hall?"
"You might well find it odd. Yes, indeed, and he has our address from Lady Stoneycroft. I'm not sure I approve of her giving it."
"What does he say?"
"Apparently he's persuaded the Stoneycrofts to give him an old sundial that was in the garden."
"Oh, yes. I saw it. Very old. Medieval, I'd think."
"Be that as may be, they're sending it to London by cart, but he's to sail today and he worries that it won't arrive in time. He asks if I will oblige by taking receipt of it if necessary and seeing to its dispatch to Nova Scotia. Damned impudence, if you ask me."
"It does sound bold," Sarah said, but she was having to fight a smile at the very boldness of it.
"Life in the colonies hasn't improved him," Edward said, scowling in the way he did when put out whilst Sarah was threatened by giggles. In the midst of sin and scandal, he was indulging in a tantrum over a mild imposition?
"I'm sure things are different there," she said. "Does he say where it should be sent?"
"Care of a friend in Halifax. He doesn't say what ship he sails on so I have no way to refuse."
"And no need to. It's an imposition, but a minor inconvenience." Striving to sound normal, she said, "Give me the letter and if anything comes of it I'll take care of it."
His frown melted into a smile. "You're a
good wife, Sarah."
But then his face crumpled again. He thrust the letter into her hands and left.
She simply held it -- a letter that Just Maberley had held so recently. She could almost imagine it warm from his hand, but if there was warmth there, it was from Edward.
Just could be in London now, perhaps hurrying about last minute matters, or already on board a ship in the Thames, waiting for the right tide to sail out to sea and far away. If she left the house now she might be able to find him and....
No. That hadn't changed. She was too timid to run away with a lover, and she would not ruin him.
She unfolded the letter. His handwriting was dark and legible, but not entirely even, which seemed exactly right for him. She read the words. Edward was asked to send the sundial to Halifax, where an Ethan and Lizzie Thurgood would take receipt of it, for he was not always in the town. Edward was to let him know any costs incurred, which would be dispatched immediately. There was a street address, but also a house name -- Moss Bank.
Surely that was made up, the wicked man.
But the wickedly clever man had provided a means of correspondence and she knew why. In case she had need of him. In case she was with child. She smiled at the honor behind that, and the deft way of doing it without risking scandal. She raised the sheet of paper and kissed it. He hadn't entirely forgotten her. She had to hope he would, but for now the faery magic still held.
She wasn't surprised when a messenger arrived later to say their assistance wasn't needed. The message was addressed to Edward, but when she heard it had come from a ship she opened it. It simply said that the sundial had arrived and he need not trouble them.
She couldn't see the river from her house, but she went to a window that looked in that direction wishing him well. She sincerely wished that with distance the madness would fade. She longed to wish that she could one day follow him, but she saw no way that could happen without dragging him down with her into ruin.