by Joan Vincent
Nor did Hadleigh dare open the question of self-doubt. He feared he should not respect himself and that he no longer deserved the respect of those he loved.
The dark words of Milton’s Paradise Lost that mirrored his emotions came unbidden.
Far off from these a slow and silent stream, Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks forthwith his former state and being forgets—forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.
Hadleigh clenched his fists. Why did I not just die? What use is all this fear, this pain?
No fear nor pain, then no love, some indomitable part of him answered. Nor choice.
Furious, he thrust away the fearful lure of Lethe. The urge to scream filled him. Hadleigh grabbed the glass from the bedside table and raised it to throw it against the window.
Then he envisioned Sarah hearing of it and could not bear acting the infant. The urge evaporated, but not the need to be in control. Hadleigh rubbed a hand across his beard. In midstroke he paused and then clanged the bedside bell. When the butler appeared he demanded Cauley.
“You took a bloody long time,” Hadleigh told the valet cantankerously. “Do you know where a mirror can be found?”
Cauley furrowed his brow. “Mirror?”
“Find one.”
The valet returned with a gilt mirror three feet square. Grinning, he propped it on the footboard. “Will this do?”
Stunned by the image that stared back at him, Hadleigh did not hear Cauley. He put a hand to his chin. The stranger in the mirror did likewise. Hadleigh shook his head at the bearded caricature.
“‘Tis yourself, sir,” Cauley assured him. “But a beard does not suit you as it does me. I’ve the size for it.”
Hadleigh did not hear the jest. Who is this person? he wondered as he lowered his hand. Lud, what a dammed scarecrow I have become, so haggard and worn. No wonder Sarah sees nothing to interest her.
Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Hadleigh snapped, “Take that mirror back where it belongs and get your razor. I will be clean-shaven before the hour is out or I shall have your beard.”
“Oh, aye, my beard,” Cauley quipped.
* * *
“You may leave as soon as you finish,” Sarah told Molly who was hanging freshly pressed gowns in the bedchamber wardrobe. “I have the headache and wish to rest.”
“Can I bring you something, my lady?”
“No, I have already taken a tincture of wood betony. I will be fine in a bit.”
“If you are certain, my lady,” Molly said. She was certain the gentleman in the morning salon was responsible for the unusual fits and starts in her ladyship of late. Lady Edgerton had never looked at Sir Rufus in that way or at Mr. Hale.
“Did things go ill with Mr. Tarr?” she asked. The entire household was aware that he meant to try to walk today.
Sarah looked up. “Pardon me?”
“Nothing, my lady,” Molly answered. She paused outside the closed door. T’will be good riddance when the pair of them leave. The sooner the better. Molly stamped her foot. She pictured the bear, sighed heavily, and walked away.
Sarah stared at the floral pattern in the silk paper Sir Rufus had insisted be hung after they married. The pink rose was her favourite flower. It had touched her. Now it taunted.
A cat with one kitten? Her heart sank. He thinks of me as a mother only. At least Rupert Hale does not.
Sarah stood and paced back and forth and then sank down on the bed. After a moment she fell back, closing her eyes. She pressed fingers to her lips and savoured the memory of his.
What is the matter? Sarah worried. It is perfectly natural he sees me in such a light. He has scarce been able to do more for himself than a babe. The proof he was not one flashed in her mind’s eye.
Why do I have such thoughts? Why have I become this creature I do not know? What happens every time we touch?
Hadleigh needs my touch for assurance that he was safe, she rationalized. It had become natural to hold hands whenever he was troubled by pain or memories of his torture.
Today Sarah had realized the meaning of those silver glints in his darkening eyes. To her shame, her heart had leapt, had welcomed it, had almost dared respond.
I cannot take advantage of him, Sarah thought. She denied what the kiss had meant, what it had told her. Hadleigh is grateful. He will leave at the month’s end, she reprimanded herself. He is young, a male animal regaining his strength, his vigour—his animal appetites.
Sarah rolled over, rose and went to her desk. She took up the last letter from Rupert Hale. The affection it contained bolstered her spirits. Sarah measured Rupert’s stocky figure, his round face against Hadleigh’s handsome angular features and lean muscular body.
Sarah saw the last missive from her stepdaughter. Amabelle will be home on Wednesday. Once Hadleigh sees her beauty ... An unfamiliar jealousy surged.
Sarah clenched her hands. This will not do, she scolded. Consider what is best for everyone. Please, God, what is best?
Chapter Nine
Edgerton Manor May 10 Wednesday
“Let him down carefully,” Sarah instructed Cauley as she stood beside the chaise lounge under the shade of an old oak behind the manor. One of her favourite spots, it had a view of her herb garden to one side and the flower garden to the other. In the distance bright sunshine danced on a large circular lake.
“Take care not to bump—”
“Sarah, leave the poor fellow be,” Hadleigh cajoled. His delight to be outdoors overrode any embarrassment.
“Never ye mind, m’lady, we’ll have him right and tight in a wink.” Cauley deposited his burden with deceptive ease.
Behind the party stood Darton who held a pair of crutches with an aggrieved air.
The valet turned and took both with one huge hand and laid them on the ground close to the chaise. Straightening, he eyed the blanket in Lady Edgerton’s hands. “Mr. Tarr don’t need thet. ‘Tis fair warm. There’s nary a breeze.”
“He is right, Sarah,” Hadleigh agreed. “Find some other use for the blanket.”
“Good day for a picnique,” Cauley offered.
“Darton, can our nuncheon be served here?” asked Hadleigh.
“O’course, sir,” Cauley interjected. “No trouble.”
“But I—” Sarah objected, afraid she would betray herself if left alone with Hadleigh.
The valet interrupted. “T’will be nothing at all.” He put a hand against the butler’s back and hurried him away.
Hadleigh’s gaze lingered on Sarah as she stared after the retreating servants with a hint of alarm. “I promise to do nothing that will distress you,” he assured her. He touched Sarah’s arm.
“Put the blanket aside, and draw a chair close.” When she stared blankly at him, a teasing glint came into his eyes. “Come, there are four chairs. Surely one of them will suit?”
Sarah loosed a nervous laugh. She tossed the blanket on the table and sat in the chair farthest from the chaise. His hurt puzzlement tweaked her. Sarah strengthened her resolve. The danger did not lie in him.
“My father used to fish there with Sir Rufus,” Sarah said with a wave at the lake. “He said it was a cheat the good Lord would understand.”
“Cheat?” Hadleigh asked, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
Sarah thought again how absurdly young he looked without his beard. Far younger than she.
Though his eyes were less turbulent in the light-heartedness of the moment, she saw the shadows that never left them. His weeks of pain had imprinted his features with severity. She stifled the urge to reach out and smooth those lines away.
“Sarah?”
Caught daydreaming, she twittered. “What?”
“What were you thinking? Surely you do not practice Latin names?” he half-scolded.
“Of course not.” She looked to the safer view of the lake.
Hadleigh studied her. He longed to put her at ease. “What did your father mean about a cheat?”<
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“He thought fishing should be done beside a stream after he tramped through fields and woods. When my brother and I were young, he often took us to his favourite stream.”
Hadleigh leaned back in the chaise lounge and crossed his arms. “You have a brother?”
Sarah looked at him as he had intended. Realizing this, a rueful smile curved her lips. “Do you also have one?”
“No, but André is like one. This brother of yours must be a younger brother. His name?”
“He is younger. But why are you so certain?” Her eyes lit with a sudden thought. “Perhaps you know him. Michael Leonard. He is an underclerk for Undersecretary Brimsley at the War Office.”
“Michael Leonard,” Hadleigh repeated. “I have never been to the War Office.” He stiffened. “Have you—”
“Written him about you? No.” Sarah’s gaze turned quizzical. “Why did you say he must be a younger brother?”
Hadleigh chuckled. A low cough followed. He grimaced annoyance. “How else could you have gotten so abominably out-of-hand? An older brother would not have let that happen.”
“Out-of-hand,” Sarah blustered, annoyed at the warmth that rose to her cheeks. “André has not done well by you, sir.”
“But he is younger than I by four years.” Hadleigh grinned. “Though at one and twenty he thinks he knows much more than I,” he added with brotherly candour.
“Then I doubt he has ever seen your white beard. Perhaps you should not have had Cauley shave it off,” she replied tartly to hide her dismay. Eight impossible years stood between them.
Hadleigh wondered at her sudden change of mood. “Are there reprehensible Leonards in the family tree?”
She shook her head and looked back to the lake. After several moments Sarah returned to his first question. “My father oft chided Sir Rufus about the lake being a cheat but it was a jest between them. Father found it painful to walk. He limped rather badly the last year of his life.
“Late one March night,” she explained, “a barking dog caused his horse to shy when he went to return from a birth. His leg broke near the knee. It was a very cold night, but the leg was so swollen by the time he was found it was difficult to set. It did not heal well. Gil unfairly blamed himself.”
“Gil?” A twinge of jealousy sharpened his tone. “Do you mean Crandall?”
“Oh, I have been remiss,” Sarah said archly. “It is Gilmar Crandall. Do not call him Gilmar though. He dislikes it.”
“You know each other well,” Hadleigh said flatly. “Has he always lived here?”
“He came to Lewes ten years ago. A friend of father’s in London knew he wanted someone to take over his practice and suggested Gil.” She hesitated, then continued, “Father died just a little over two years after he took Gil as partner.”
Sarah’s nervous fingering of her wedding band drew Hadleigh’s gaze. “You married Sir Rufus shortly after your father’s death?”
Rising, Sarah took a few steps towards the lake so that her back was to Hadleigh. “Yes, he knew I had nowhere to go and only a small inheritance. My brother was still at Oxford and—and Amabelle needed a mother. It was a kindness on his part.”
Sharp steps rapped across the flagstone path that led from the house. Sarah broke off, relieved. Then she saw a belligerent Elminda bearing down on them.
“I did not believe Darton. You out here with that person,” Elminda motioned at Hadleigh, “and Molly not with you. Lady Edgerton, I have warned you oft about local gossip.”
Sarah stepped protectively towards Hadleigh. “It is kind of you to call, Elminda. May I present Hadleigh Tarr?
“Mr. Tarr, my sister-in-law, Miss Elminda Edgerton.”
Hadleigh saw the stern disapproval and flashed a tight smile. “Good day, Miss Edgerton. I apologize for being unable to stand. I hope you will forgive me for that solecism.”
The Oxford accent and the gaunt face, which told of his suffering, gave Elminda pause. Then she recalled a past suiter, Mr. Harrowood. He, too, had been well spoken and had proven a penniless inheritance-seeking schoolmaster.
She turned to Sarah. “The vicar sends greetings and the wish that you will attend Sunday services.”
Sarah motioned to a chair and sat. “Darton and Cauley will bring a light nuncheon soon, Elminda. Would you join us?”
“Yes, please do,” Hadleigh added. “Lady Edgerton lacks company other than mine.”
A haughty assessing stare travelled from Sarah to Hadleigh and back. Elminda arched a brow and spoke as if only her sister-in-law were present. “Surprisingly shrewd of you to invite me, Sarah. But I refuse to give cachet to so irregular an arrangement. You should have removed this person from Sir Rufus’ home weeks ago.”
Warming to her subject she added, “Squire Buckley said all along that the fellow should have been held at Lewes until it could be discovered just who and what he is. Neither the squire nor I believe this fustian that he does not recall what occurred or who he is. I, for one, am tired of defending you.”
Her sharp demeaning tone angered Hadleigh. Her words alarmed him. What had Sarah dealt with these weeks past besides his care? He saw Sarah gaze at her sister-in-law with her usual calm and bit his tongue to still a retort.
“Elminda, I have apologized. Please take nuncheon with us,” Sarah placated.
“I will not partake of any meal while he is in this house. You do no honour to my brother’s memory, Sarah. I am most distressed. This man is just another money-grasping Harrowood.” She speared Hadleigh with a glare. “You will not have a single penny of my brother’s fortune.”
Hadleigh’s features turned cold. “You are most presumptuous, madam. Indeed, what reason would I have to wish for any of it?”
Blinking at this unexpected reproof, Elminda fixed her gaze on Sarah. “If you have no consideration for your consequence or reputation, think of your stepdaughter’s.”
“Elminda,” Sarah objected and stood.
“Come to your senses before Amabelle returns home. Rufus would not appreciate your having so little care for his daughter’s reputation.”
“There is no reason to be concerned about Amabelle.”
“I warned Rufus how it would be,” Elminda retorted. “I have done my Christian duty by you too many times. Do not come to me when it plays out just as I have warned you it will.”
Lifting her chin, Miss Edgerton cut Tarrant and sailed back the way she had come, skirts billowing behind her.
“Good God,” Hadleigh exclaimed. “How long have you had to suffer that dragon? How can you be so—so calm at such an affront?”
Sarah sighed unhappily. “With my sainted patience.”
“Sainted patience?” Hadleigh gaped at her sombre nod, then saw her sheepish look. He let loose a bark of laughter.
Sainted patience, her husband’s words. She could only wish it were the truth and not at times pretence. Sarah turned toward the house. “I should go after her.”
“Why? To tell her I am not in the house at the moment?”
An unladylike gurgle of laughter bubbled up.
“Cauley manhandling that harridan must have been quite astonishing.” Hadleigh assumed an aggrieved expression. “And I missed it. Of course, I would not feel its loss if I, ah, had the patience of a—what was it? A saint?”
Sarah burst out laughing.
Hadleigh joined her. He revelled in the warmth that flowed through him. Then he coughed. With a shake of his head he set aside a frisson of anger. “Do not apologize to that ... to Miss Edgerton. She owes you one for her insufferable behaviour.” He turned and eased his left leg off the chaise.
“What do you mean to do?” Sarah asked.
Hadleigh lowered his thickly bandaged right foot to the ground and looked up at Sarah. Her sensuous jasmine fragrance almost undid him. “What gossip was she referring to, Sarah?” he asked. He watched a blush rise.
“It is nothing.” Sarah shook her head. “Please—”
Hadleigh held out his hand. After a lo
ng moment Sarah laid hers in it. He drew her closer, looked up at her contritely, and then kissed her hand. “I am sorry to be the cause of such abuse. But, Sarah, do not ever let her speak to you like that again.” Her gentle, sad smile rebuked him.
“You will leave in a short time but I must remain here until Amabelle marries. Elminda lives very near. It would be too awkward for us to be on bad terms.”
“Then I shall apologize—or make her.”
Sarah stepped closer and laid her free hand on Hadleigh’s cheek. “That is—is a very kind thought, Hadleigh. I thank you for it.”
“It is not kindness, Sarah,” he answered curtly. He put his hands on her waist and pulled himself upright. “Let me speak with her.”
Sarah put an arm about Hadleigh to steady him and for a few seconds leaned her head against his shoulder, one hand over his heart. She breathed in the starched crispness of his lawn shirt that mingled with his sandalwood aftershave. At the rapid beat of his heart beneath her hand, her own leapt. Warmth began to rise deep inside her.
Hadleigh looked down at the crown of autumn brown. All his good intentions fled before the warmth that flowed through the thin fabric of her day gown beneath his fingers. An intense awareness of her scent, a mixture of the exotic and the herbal, gripped him.
His breath caught, his body’s reaction was instantaneous. Hadleigh heard Sarah catch her breath. His hand left her waist of its own volition and went to her chin. He tilted her face up. The desire he saw in the depths of her eyes spurred his.
We both want this. I need this, he thought, and captured her lips.
For a moment Sarah stood very still, tightly in check. His lips moved across hers gentle as a butterfly. She lost herself in the heat their movement aroused. When his tongue traced her lower lip, she opened her mouth eager to taste him.
A door slammed.
Hadleigh pulled back. He sank down on the chaise, but captured Sarah’s hands. “I did not—” he began.