by Cheryl Holt
None of it had happened, and she glanced away from Mr. Swift, hating how he seemed to know more about her than he should. She was positive it was a practiced affectation that he used on women so they’d think he was insightful and sympathetic. But it wouldn’t work on her.
He slithered very close again, and it occurred to her that he was like a dangerous predator who was constantly sizing up his prey, and she had to be cautious around him. He was very dashing, very magnetic, his alluring traits tempting her to linger by his side. It would be difficult to keep him at bay.
How had he managed to escape the marital noose? His past had to be littered with weeping maidens who were bereft over his departure. Why wasn’t there a line of angry fathers at the door, determined to drag him to the altar?
“You’re a lady’s companion?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How long have you been at it?”
“Too long.”
“Is your life awful? Do you ever wish you could change it?”
It could be awful, and she frequently yearned to change it, but she would never admit it to him. “It’s enjoyable when I’m employed by someone like Mildred Farnsworth.”
“She’s a character, isn’t she?”
“Yes. I like her.”
“I like her too, and I can’t understand how she could possibly be related to a dullard like Clayton.”
Sarah tamped down her opinion of Mr. Farnsworth. “Shall I share a secret?”
“Most definitely.”
“When I bumped into you out at the lake, I hadn’t met Mr. Farnsworth yet. I thought you were her nephew.”
“Why?”
“You look just like her.”
“I hadn’t noticed any resemblance.”
“Trust me, you could be her son.”
“Fascinating. From now on, perhaps I’ll claim to be her kin. There has to be a way to earn money from such a connection.”
“Earn…earn…money off it?” She was sputtering with affront. “That’s a hideous idea.”
“I’m a confidence artist, Miss Barrington. I thrive on deceit and trickery. It’s how I support myself.”
As he voiced the comment, he was staring blandly, but then a corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. She decided he was teasing her, that he was jesting. After all, what man would willingly confess to having such a corrupt disposition?
“You’re probably a wastrel”—her tone was scolding—“but you’re not a confidence artist.”
“I’m not?”
“No. I’d say you’re exactly who you appear to be. There’s no mystery here.”
“What is it I appear to be?”
“You’re a libertine and gambler. You have dishonest friends, and you’ve engaged in immoral activity for so long that you can’t remember how to carry on in an ethical fashion.”
He considered her statement, then nodded. “You’ve correctly pegged my true nature. You’re very astute.”
“So there’s no need to pretend with me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And don’t be sarcastic. I don’t like it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have to mind my manners around you.”
“You should mind your manners around everyone.”
“Yes, but if I did that, I’d miss out on so much fun. I’d certainly never swim in a pond with naked women.”
She scoffed. “I can’t believe you mentioned that sordid escapade. Are you trying to embarrass me again?”
“Yes. I told you I like how pretty you are when your cheeks flush. Actually, you’re beautiful whether you’re flushed or not.”
“Stop flirting!”
“I can’t. You tempt me beyond measure.”
He stunned her by brazenly laying a palm on her waist. His intense focus made her feel exotic and special, and she was rattled by the ridiculous thought that it would be thrilling to have a brief romance during her stay with Mr. Farnsworth.
She caught herself asking, Why not?
The query was so preposterous that she had to physically shake herself back to her senses. This type of encounter was the first step down the road to perdition with him. No doubt he gazed at every female just as he was gazing at her. If she wasn’t careful, he’d be inviting her out to the lake, and she’d be desperate to join him.
“There will be dancing later,” he murmured. “Will you partner with me? You have to agree. I won’t let you refuse.”
She’d meant to say absolutely not, but the words that emerged were, “One dance, Mr. Swift.”
“One set?”
He seemed so hopeful she couldn’t disappoint him. “Yes, one set and that’s it. You’re much too sophisticated for me, and I have to watch myself.”
“I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
She clucked her tongue. “It’s a sin to tell a lie.”
“All right, I’ll try to be a perfect gentleman. I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed, but I’ll try.”
She bubbled with laughter. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“It might be refreshing to behave for a change.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t like it.”
“For you, the attempt would be worth it.”
His flattery was rolling over her, and it had been an eternity since a handsome man had peered at her in an enticing way. It was easy to see how she could land herself in a boatload of trouble with him.
“I should go inside,” she said.
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Mildred will be looking for me.”
“She’s playing cards. She hasn’t missed you.”
“Perhaps I have missed her.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Are you in the habit of deciding what a woman should think? If so, you must consort with some very silly girls.”
“They’re always silly. It’s why they end up as trollops.”
“I’m certain that’s true.”
“It’s why I find you so captivating. It’s a rare occasion when I run across such an elegant female.”
“If you keep showering me with compliments, I’ll get a big head.”
“Heaven forbid.”
He smiled a smile she felt clear down to her toes, but wasn’t she too smart to succumb to a crass flirtation? Wasn’t she too rational? What if she wasn’t? What if she was really very gullible?
The notion was terrifying.
She was suffering from the distinct impression that—if they’d been in a more private spot—he might have kissed her. Would she have let him? While she liked to presume she’d have been aghast, that she’d have pushed him away and delivered a stern admonishment, it was slowly dawning on her that she wouldn’t have had any complaint.
She’d like very much to be kissed by him. It would be very exciting, and she’d recall and reflect on it forever. The fact that she’d be amenable only reminded her that she had to be careful.
He was very loose, very fast, and Mildred wasn’t the type to concern herself over where Sarah was every second. Mr. Swift could wag a finger in her direction, and she’d traipse after him like a trained puppy.
She didn’t know what might have happened, but from behind them a woman cooed, “Nicholas, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere.”
He winked at Sarah as if they were conspirators, then he spun to whoever had joined them. Sarah spun too, and when she and the other woman saw each other they both gasped and said, “What are you doing here?”
Sarah was staring at her cousin, Desdemona Henley, Lady Middlebury, who was wed to her cousin, Jasper. He was her distant cousin, the operative word being distant, and his existence blatantly indicated that the world was a very unfair place.
When Sarah’s parents had died, her brother, Hayden, had died with them. Jasper had been the next male in line, and the earldom—with all its wealth and property—had fallen onto his undeserving
shoulders.
Her sister, Abigail, had been the next oldest Henley child, and it was absurd that she couldn’t have inherited instead. She’d have been an excellent steward, but because she was a female it had all gone to Jasper who was a pompous idiot.
He and Desdemona had been plucked from obscurity and raised up to become one of the most prominent couples in the kingdom. They’d jumped into their roles as Lord and Lady Middlebury and viewed themselves as being very grand and significant, but they didn’t realize that a title couldn’t bestow esteem or respect.
They’d dragged the Henley name through the mud, and the estate was gradually being ruined under their inattentive thumbs.
After her parents’ funeral, Desdemona had been particularly cruel to Sarah and her sisters. If Jasper had been a bachelor, or if he’d had a kinder wife, he might have allowed them to stay at Middlebury, but Desdemona had been adamant that he cut all ties and force them to fend for themselves.
Sarah hadn’t seen her in three years, and she’d never previously bumped into her in a social situation. It was awkward and infuriating. She would gloat and preen so Sarah would remember how quickly and effortlessly she’d stepped into Sarah’s life and yanked away every little piece of it.
She was a decade older than Sarah, and Sarah was delighted to note that time was passing for her and not in a good way. She was about Sarah’s same height of five-foot-five, but she was very fat, her rich diet adding on too much weight so her clothes were bulging at the seams.
With her blond hair and blue eyes, she looked like a Henley—even though Jasper was actually the cousin—but her hair was limp, the shade dull, and her eyes weren’t the brilliant blue Sarah and her sisters possessed. She’d never been a happy person. She was devious and mean, proud of her status and always calculating the odds.
Sarah was already wondering if she could convince Mildred to leave early for Bath. Would they have to tarry the entire week? Could they depart sooner? How about first thing in the morning?
To Sarah’s disgust, Desdemona took Mr. Swift’s arm and snuggled herself to him as if they were intimately acquainted. Had she been one of the nude swimmers? Sarah hadn’t studied the women closely enough to notice.
She’d heard Jasper was a philanderer. Was Desdemona as well? Was she carrying on with Mr. Swift? The whole idea was nauseating.
He was still grinning at Sarah, his expression not changing, his eyes still twinkling with merriment. Did he find Desdemona ridiculous? Did he find the moment humorous?
“I’d introduce you,” he said, “but it appears you know each other.”
“Yes, we know each other,” Sarah muttered.
Desdemona demanded, “Why are you here, Sarah? I asked, but you haven’t answered me.”
“You’re not the Queen, Des. Don’t put on airs with me. I can’t stand it, and I’ll simply ignore you.”
Desdemona smirked, her face pinched with her own self-importance. “I assume you’re…working.”
“Yes, I am. What exactly is your purpose at this party?” Sarah’s caustic glare flitted to Mr. Swift. “I could swear you’re flirting with a man who isn’t your husband. Where is Jasper?”
Desdemona’s focus narrowed, and Sarah was vividly reminded of how vicious Des could be. Yet what could she do to Sarah that she hadn’t already done?
“Watch your mouth, Sarah.” Desdemona’s tone was deadly.
“Watch yours,” Sarah retorted like a spoiled toddler, and she glanced up at Mr. Swift. “Would you excuse me, Mr. Swift? I don’t like the company on this verandah.”
“Of course, Miss Barrington,” he graciously responded, “but the dancing will begin in a few minutes. You promised to partner with me for a set.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m positive I won’t like the company in the dancing parlor either. It’s been a long day for me. I’ll probably just go up to my bedchamber.”
“You little snot,” Desdemona fumed. “How dare you disparage me!”
“How dare I?” Sarah batted her lashes sarcastically. “It’s so easy, Des. You’re totally obnoxious, and I can’t ever forget that you are.”
Sarah waltzed off, and Desdemona bit down a squeal of affront as Mr. Swift said, “You two don’t seem very friendly.”
“The annoying tart!” Desdemona replied. “She’s thinks she’s so smart, but I’ll have Clayton send her packing. She needs to recollect where that snooty attitude always takes her.”
Then Sarah was inside the house, and thankfully she didn’t hear anything else.
No doubt Mr. Swift would pepper Des with questions about Sarah and why their relationship was so horrid. She could imagine the falsehoods Des would spew, and it ignited her temper. She yearned to shout, Don’t believe a word that witch says about me!
But she couldn’t bear to observe as Mr. Swift nestled with Desdemona so she kept her gaze straight ahead and proceeded through the various salons until she found Mildred playing cards.
Mildred was gambling—there were coins in the center of the table, not a huge pile, but a few—and Sarah paid no attention to what was happening. Mildred wasn’t like other women, and Sarah was determined to disregard her more outrageous traits. The good ones definitely outweighed the bad.
Sarah walked over and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to bed. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” Mildred assessed her and scowled. “Are you all right? You look distraught.”
Sarah peeked over toward the door as Mr. Swift and Desdemona followed her in. Sarah could never hold her tongue around Des, and she refused to make a scene.
“I’m not distraught,” she claimed. “I’m just tired.”
Mildred waved her away. “I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll do something fun.”
“I can’t wait.”
Sarah started out, and luckily Mr. Swift and Des had moved so they weren’t blocking her way. She was able to sneak out without having to speak to them.
At the last second though, she peered over at Mr. Swift. He grinned as if life was a big joke. Desdemona was still clutching his arm, her interest clear and irritating. He shrugged, as if telling Sarah there was no explanation for his behavior with Des, as if he was so marvelous Des couldn’t resist.
Sarah didn’t care if he was having an affair with her despicable cousin. The two of them could jump in the lake—and drown together—for all it mattered to her. She rolled her eyes at his idiocy, then continued on to the stairs.
CHAPTER THREE
Mildred slipped into her bedroom suite and quietly shut the door. Sarah wasn’t in bed, but was dressed in her nightclothes and pacing in front of the hearth. It was a cool evening, but she hadn’t lit a fire.
Of course Sarah had just been with her for a week. Whenever Mildred hired a new companion, it usually took a bit of time for her to feel at home. Sarah wouldn’t have assumed she had the right to start a fire, but Mildred didn’t like to act as if she had a servant in the house. She wanted it to seem as if she had a niece or a daughter.
But she didn’t have a niece or a daughter, which was why she hired women to live with her. She was only fifty and hardly needed to pay a nursemaid to toddle after her. She wasn’t lonely or frail or growing senile. She simply liked being around young people, and she was a romantic at heart.
She always had Mrs. Ford send someone who was fetching, and it pleased her to watch a girl make friends and meet potential beaux. She enjoyed encouraging amour to blossom. In fact, she’d helped a prior companion marry once their year together was finished.
Her impulses drove her nephew, Clayton, to distraction. He was her heir so he had a fiscal connection to her money, but he was constantly vexed over how she spent it, and he complained over each little expense. He pretended to be concerned about her welfare, but in reality he couldn’t bear for her to squander a farthing of what would eventually be his own.
She had no idea why she left him in her Will, but she wasn’t spiteful, and their fam
ily was very small. There were no other kin to whom she could give her fortune, and she wasn’t about to offer it to a church or charity. She also firmly believed she owed it to her deceased father and brother to bequeath it all to Clayton.
But if he continued to nag and scold as if she was five and eating too much candy, she’d flit off to Italy and stay there. That would really annoy him. He wasn’t a traveler so he’d never follow her, and thus he would never be able to pop in unexpectedly to check on her.
Sarah saw her and frowned. “I hope you didn’t leave the party because of me.”
“I did.”
Sarah sighed with exasperation. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m aware of that, but the house is filled with handsome men, and the dancing is about to begin. It’s ridiculous for you to run upstairs and hide.”
“I know.”
“So…you’ll explain why you’re upset, and I’ll fix it.”
Sarah sighed again. “You’re so kind to me, and you have our relationship backward. I should be the one keeping you happy and trying to fit in. It’s not up to you to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Sit down.”
Mildred pointed to a chair, and Sarah obeyed without hesitation. There was a sideboard, another change she’d forced Clayton to implement after her last visit. She liked to drink a glass of wine before retiring, and she wasn’t about to bother a servant to haul it upstairs. She now had numerous bottles of her own, and she chose brandy and poured two glasses.
She went over to Sarah, and Sarah took the liquor, wrinkling her nose at the strong aroma. As she sampled it, her hands were shaking.
What on earth could have occurred? No doubt a guest had been rude to her, and Mildred wouldn’t stand for it. They would treat Sarah respectfully or Mildred would head on to Bath.
“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t worry,” she said as she plopped into the chair across. “Clayton’s birthday isn’t until Saturday, but if someone was awful to you we won’t make it to Saturday.”
“No one was awful.”
“Sarah! I’m not a fool or a dunce. Who was it?”