by Cheryl Holt
“Clayton is anxious about it too.”
“I don’t care, and honestly, Winston, if you’re here simply to irritate me and to sing Clayton’s praises, why bother visiting me at all? You should have remained in town.”
They glared, and he quickly relented—as usual. “I’m being an ass. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.” She held out her glass. “Now pour me some more wine and tell me how your sisters are faring.”
* * * *
“I have news.”
“Is it good or bad?”
“It’s both.”
Catherine Henley Wakefield-Stanton stared at her sister, Abigail, and rolled her eyes. “I hate the bad. I only want to hear the good.”
“Well, the good news is that we’ve learned the name of the person for whom Sarah is working.”
“Marvelous. Who is it?”
“She’s companion to a spinster. Mildred Farnsworth.”
“Are they still in London?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“That’s the bad news,” Abigail said. “I don’t know.”
Catherine plopped down on a sofa and grumbled with frustration.
They were in the front parlor at her husband Christopher’s home of Stanton Manor. It was a beautiful old house, but through neglect and lack of funds it was in an embarrassing state of disrepair.
From the first time Catherine had seen it, she’d recognized that it could be grand again with some cosmetic improvements and elbow grease. A bout of dusting, polishing, and airing out of the rooms would do wonders.
As a wedding gift, Abigail’s husband, Alex, had bought them paint, and he’d purchased drapes, rugs, and some necessary items of furniture. At least he’d claimed it was a gift, but Catherine suspected it was more of an apology to Christopher.
When she’d been employed in London, he’d behaved horridly toward her. He’d been engaged to his cousin, and he’d left Catherine forlorn and in the family way. Alex had tracked him down and dragged him to his estate of Wallace Downs where he’d forced them to marry.
During the journey, he’d delivered a thorough pummeling as punishment for Christopher’s conduct toward Catherine. His black eye had been very painful, and the bruising hadn’t healed for weeks.
Ultimately, Christopher had wed Catherine without hesitation or complaint. They were deliriously happy so it had all worked out for the best, but she laughed whenever she remembered how thrilled she’d been at having Alex act as her champion.
Along with the paint and other supplies, Alex had provided servants and craftsmen to get the main areas of the residence cleaned and habitable so Catherine and Christopher could begin their married life in a stable condition. Abigail had come to help too and so had their nieces, Mary and Millie.
So far, it had been a splendid adventure and was a bit like camping out, but in a day or two Catherine would have a real home.
Her only regret was that Abigail would leave shortly, and she’d take the twins with her. Catherine had just been united with all of them, and she wished they could tarry forever. But their circumstances were stable now, and they’d be able to visit back and forth. Plus, Abigail would return and stay when Catherine’s birthing time approached.
“Have you any idea where Sarah might be?” she asked.
“Miss Farnsworth owns a small property outside London. Alex’s man went there to inquire, but the house is shuttered. He spoke to the neighbors, and they said she travels constantly and is rarely there.”
“She and Sarah could be anywhere.”
“Apparently, she divides her summer trips between Bath and Brighton. Occasionally, she goes to Scotland too.”
Catherine sighed. “How will we find her? What should we do?”
“Alex is considering sending someone to Bath to search. If he has no luck, he would proceed on to Brighton.”
“Is there a newspaper in either town?”
“I’m not certain, but if there is we can run an advertisement to notify people we’re hunting for her. And we still have the notice in the London paper. We’ll locate her—eventually.”
“I’m sure we will. I’d simply like it to be sooner rather than later.”
She and Sarah were intimately connected. When they were girls, they’d been so mentally attuned that they’d read each other’s minds. Much of that acute perception had faded with age, but she could still sense Sarah’s emotions. Especially if she was distressed.
Sarah was reaching out and anxious to talk, and Catherine assumed she was having problems. With her own ordeal being so recently concluded, she realized how fast a situation could spin out of control. She couldn’t bear to suppose Sarah might suffer for a single second as she, Catherine, had suffered in London.
Then too, Abigail was marrying at the end of September. She and Alex had had a quick wedding with a Special License, but they were following up with a church wedding and a huge celebration afterward. She and Catherine were determined Sarah attend and participate and that she cease working as a companion.
Between their husbands and their large homes, Sarah didn’t have to work anymore. She could live with one of them for as long as she liked.
Also, she hadn’t yet learned that they had two nieces, Mary and Millie Henley Wallace. They were her brother Hayden’s children, sired in a scandalous affair before he’d died. They were a little piece of himself he’d left behind for his sisters to watch over and cherish.
“Mrs. Ford has been so churlish with us,” Catherine said. “How did Alex convince her to confide in him about Miss Farnsworth?”
“I’m embarrassed to tell you how he accomplished it. You’re aware that Mrs. Ford wouldn’t meet with him.”
“According to her, you and I are Jezebels,” Catherine sarcastically said.
“Yes, but we wed the cads who seduced us,” Abigail pointed out. “You’d think that would count toward our redemption.”
“Not with her, the old witch.”
Mrs. Ford was a pretentious matron who owned the agency that had helped them find their jobs. They’d been represented by her for most of a decade, and none of them had ever caused her a speck of trouble. Then Catherine and Abigail had tumbled into their salacious liaisons with Christopher and Alex, and Mrs. Ford had cut them loose.
Alex had been trying for weeks to force her to admit where Sarah was employed, but the woman was always conveniently out when Alex stopped by.
“What did he do?” Catherine inquired. “From how you’re blushing, it must have been shocking.”
“He had a man spying on her office, and when she locked up for the evening he kicked in her door and snooped through her files.”
“My goodness.”
Abigail fanned her face. “Alex has a few issues with his temper.”
“So you’ve said.”
“He wasn’t about to permit Mrs. Ford to be rude to him. He has some issues with that sort of behavior too.”
“He’s an interesting character, Abigail.”
“He told me he might resort to burglary, but I didn’t believe him.”
“Well, at least we have some information now.”
Catherine wasn’t concerned about Alex’s temper. His penchant for lashing out had guaranteed she received everything she’d ever dreamed about having. Who could fault him? He’d given her her heart’s desire—that being Christopher.
“Are you thinking you and I should travel to Bath?” Catherine asked. “I’m not certain we have time. Not with your wedding winging toward us.”
“Let’s let Alex search for a bit, then we can decide. In the interim, I have an idea I’ve been eager to raise with you.”
“What is it?”
“You and Christopher were married with a Special License. I hate that you didn’t have a wedding.”
“I’ll survive, Abigail. I’m happy to have my home and my husband. I don’t require more than that.”
<
br /> “Yes, but every girl should have a wedding if she can manage it.”
Catherine glanced around at the decrepit manor. Alex’s housemaids were in every room, dusting and polishing like fiends. Catherine herself had a kerchief wrapped over her hair, and her clothes were smudged with dirt.
While Alex had donated supplies to fix up the place, she and Christopher didn’t have a penny for any frivolities. Until Christopher could get the farm operating at a profit again, there would be no funds for any pleasurable activity.
A fancy wedding was far down on the list of what they could afford.
“I’m fine, Abigail,” she told her sister. “I have what I need.”
“I realize that, but why don’t you and Christopher marry with Alex and me? We could have a double ceremony.”
“Can a vicar do that? Can he wed two couples at once?”
“I don’t see why not, and it wouldn’t cost any extra for you to join in. We’re spending the money no matter what. The vicar would simply have to read the vows twice.”
Catherine hadn’t considered the possibility, but with Abigail suggesting it she suddenly craved it desperately. Evidently, she was no different than the silliest debutante. She craved a grand wedding.
“I’d like it very, very much,” she said.
“I thought you might. What about Christopher?”
“He’ll probably loathe the notion because he doesn’t like anyone to fuss over him. But at the same time, he wants me to be happy.”
“A church wedding would make you very happy.”
“Yes, it would,” Catherine agreed. “You’d have to loan me a dress.”
“My husband is rich, Catherine, and he’s bought me dozens of gorgeous gowns. You can take your pick.”
* * * *
Sarah and Nicholas tiptoed into Mildred’s house. The dancing had gone on until midnight, and they’d stayed to the end. It had been a beautiful evening of fun and revelry that capped off their picnic and supper with Mildred and Mr. Winthrop.
She was suffering all kinds of strange emotions. It seemed as if she was once again a cherished member of a family. Mildred could have been her mother and Nicholas her husband. She was being bowled over by sentiments that were foolish and ridiculous, but she couldn’t ignore them. She was content in a manner she couldn’t recall being since before her parents had passed away.
The vestibule was dark, a lamp burning to light their way as they returned. Mildred had mentioned that she wouldn’t wait up so they were alone. There was no one to interrupt or notice what they were doing. She felt scandalously free as she’d never previously been.
This was the very sort of situation that required a person to make moral choices, but just then she couldn’t see the benefit of ethical conduct.
“Goodnight,” she whispered.
“Goodnight,” he whispered too.
He blew out the lamp, then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was an embrace full of longing and promise. They’d been in such close proximity all day, and they’d barely held hands. It had been a lesson in restraint, and she couldn’t force herself to separate from him.
He drew away and pushed her toward the kitchen and her bedchamber that was located behind it. She peered at him over her shoulder, and he motioned that she should walk to her room.
For an eternity, she gazed at him, her pulse thundering with exhilaration. It was clear he intended to follow her, which was incredibly reckless, but she nodded her agreement. They crept on like phantoms, creating no noise, leaving no trail. They entered her bedchamber, and he shut the door and spun the key in the lock.
Her window was open, the moon shining in, the smell of roses in the air. She thought—for the remainder of her life—whenever she smelled a rose she would remember this moment and smile.
Her room was very small, just a bed, dresser, desk, and chair. With one step, he was at the bed. He lay down and stretched out. He was clutching her wrist, and he tugged on it, urging her to join him. She hesitated, frozen by the wickedness of the episode, but also by the excitement of it.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “Don’t be afraid.”
That was all the encouragement she needed. He tugged again, and she practically fell onto him. Where he was concerned, she simply couldn’t act as was appropriate. This was how young ladies landed themselves in trouble. It was why they were chaperoned and cautioned so avidly. Other women—more mature women— understood what Sarah did not.
Passion was like a dangerous drug. The more she sampled, the more she craved. And with a man like Nicholas, how could she be expected to resist? It was beyond her to exercise such willpower.
She was on top of him, her torso crushed to his all the way down. It ignited such a commotion in her mind and body that she felt almost unhinged.
“You’re mad,” she mouthed.
“We’re both mad,” he replied. “I’ve been behaving myself all day, and it’s driven me insane with wanting to be with you like this.”
“If Mildred finds out, I’ll probably be fired.”
“She won’t find out.”
“Spoken like a libertine who has nothing to lose.” She sighed with gladness. “Today was wonderful.”
“Yes, and tomorrow will be even better.”
At the comment, he frowned, as if the realization was disturbing, and she laughed softly. “Don’t look so bewildered. You can be besotted. I am absolutely bowled over by you.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, and I’m willing to confess it aloud. How about you? Are you as brave as I am?”
“I believe I’ll keep my opinions about all of this to myself.”
“What should we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told my cousin, Desdemona, that you’d see her in London in two weeks.”
He shrugged. “I might return that soon.”
“Is two weeks all I have with you?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Might it be a shorter time than that?”
“I haven’t decided that either.”
“Oh, you poor roué. Is this flirtation so terrifying? Enjoy it for once. It won’t kill you.”
“It might.”
“It won’t.”
“Where is this relationship going?” he asked.
“Does it have to go somewhere?” It was a bizarre question for a female to pose. She was the one who should have been dragging him toward a church and a vicar.
“You’re much too respectable to traipse along with me unless I’m envisioning a future with you.”
“I used to think that about myself, but since I’ve jumped into this amour I’m not sure what sort of woman I am.”
“You’re not shameless, I can tell you that. I’ve been acquainted with many trollops, and you aren’t a trollop.”
She grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Swift. I’m delighted you hold me in such high esteem.”
“I was able to slink in here because Mildred has lax rules and isn’t overly nosy.”
“I agree.”
“I feel as if she’s hoping an irreversible incident will happen.”
So am I…
Sarah nearly blurted out the remark, but she managed to swallow it down. She didn’t want to be ruined. She didn’t want to create a huge scandal where Mildred would have to demand they wed.
When Sarah married, it would be because the man was eager for it to occur. She didn’t intend to ever proceed down a decadent road where he would have to do right by her. In her view, the right thing was marrying for love. Nicholas would never arrive at that point, so why was she in a bed with him?
“I won’t let anything bad transpire,” she told him. “I’m a sensible person, and I’m aware of what I can allow and what I can’t.”
“Unfortunately for you, I am not a sensible person, and I don’t care about what’s allowed.”
“It’s why you’re a cad, but may
be I’ll mold you into a better man.”
“Then you’re a woman who likes a challenge.”
“Yes, I am.”
She studied him, liking how the moonlight shone in his eyes. He was staring at her with such affection. It seemed as if any fantastic conclusion might be possible.
He started kissing her, and the embrace was more desperate than the ones they’d shared in the past. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands on her bottom so their loins were pressed together. He was flexing his hips in a stirring rhythm that shocked and tantalized her. It sent jolts of arousal shooting out to her limbs.
He rolled them so she was beneath him, and their bodies might have been constructed to fit perfectly. She pulled him close, caressing his shoulders and back as she learned his size and shape.
He broke off and nibbled a trail down her neck to her bosom. Through the fabric of her gown, he clasped her breasts and massaged the soft mounds. Her anatomy was perched on a ledge of excitement, as if an explosion was imminent, and just as she figured she couldn’t bear anymore he halted and froze. He appeared tormented, as if he was in pain.
A lock of his hair had fallen across his forehead, and she pushed it away. It was a lover’s gesture, a wife’s gesture. He raised up and smiled at her.
“Why did we stop?” she asked.
“I should go to my room.”
“Must you?”
“Yes, I must. You drive me wild, Sarah. If I continue to tarry, I can’t guess what acts I might perpetrate.”
“I understand.”
But she didn’t really. She’d like to have someone with whom to discuss the particulars of what would happen if they carried on. Supposedly, it involved nudity and some touching that was even more intimate than what they’d already attempted.
“I have to remember that you’re a maiden,” he said.
“Yes, I am, but I’m suddenly wishing I wasn’t so morally inclined.”
“I’m too used to dallying with strumpets. I forget there are limits with a female like you.”
The comment made her yearn to have no limits, to be a bit of a trollop after all, and wasn’t that a frightening realization?
“I have to leave,” he said. “Now.”