The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  Firmly putting the girl from his thoughts, he headed toward Grosvenor Street and Marcus's townhouse. He had more pressing matters to consider just now— such as which cravat would best complement the ensemble he meant to wear to Lady Driscoll's ridotto tonight.

  * * *

  Sarah gazed around Berkley Square with barely-concealed awe. Never, during her youthful years in London, had she ventured into Mayfair, instead making her living, such as it was, selling flowers and trinkets to the theater-goers in and about Covent Garden and Drury Lane. That, and picking the occasional pocket when opportunity presented.

  Nor had eight years at Miss Pritchard's prepared her for the opulence she now saw about her. The school had been utilitarian and drab —and so had the teachers, come to think of it. But there was nothing either utilitarian or drab about Berkley Square. Tall, gracious houses surrounded a central garden dominated by graceful plane trees and a sort of miniature Chinese pagoda.

  The houses themselves were more elegant than anything Sarah had ever seen, with their beautiful brickwork, immaculately painted facades and imposing portals. The thought of actually living in one of them, even temporarily, seemed almost laughable —like a pig taking up residence in a royal palace.

  And the people! Resplendant ladies walked here and there, holding delicate parasols and accompanied by distinguished-looking gentlemen in black, or by smartly-dressed maids.

  Sarah glanced down at her new brown frock, the prettiest she'd ever owned, and realized that even the maids were more modishly dressed than she. No wonder that handsome gentleman who'd aided poor Maggie had looked at her so strangely. How foolish she'd been to imagine admiration in his expression.

  Mrs. Hounslow seemed to share none of her reservations, however, for she walked right up the front steps of the third house on the right and boldly plied the door knocker. Determinedly gathering her courage, Sarah hurried to stand beside her.

  The impeccably imposing front door opened to reveal an even more impeccably imposing butler, clad in black. "Yes?" he asked in icy tones.

  "Good afternoon," Mrs. Hounslow said briskly. "Might I know your name?"

  If anything, the butler's expression became even more supercilious. "I am Hodge, madam. Your name and business?"

  "I am Mrs. Hounslow, Hodge, and this is Miss Sarah Killian. We should like to speak with Lady Mountheath."

  Hodge actually curled his lip, in a manner Sarah had heretofore only read about in novels. "I think not. Perhaps, if you go to the rear entrance, the housekeeper might be able to assist you."

  Sarah took a half step back, prepared to comply, but Mrs. Hounslow was not so easily deterred. "I assure you, Hodge, that we are not tradespeople, nor back-door people at all. In fact, Miss Killian is a relation of Lady Mountheath's —the daughter of her cousin Mary. Pray inform her that we are here."

  Though he looked profoundly skeptical, the butler bowed —then closed the door in their faces. Sarah blinked, then glanced questioningly at her companion, who was now scowling.

  "Odious man! No, Sarah, don't retreat. I don't believe Lady Mountheath will dare to let us leave without first investigating my claim."

  Apparently she was correct, for a minute or two later the door reopened and the butler, as starchy as ever, motioned them into the marble-floored front hall. Sarah gazed, wide-eyed, at the gilt tables, richly upholstered chairs and numerous objects of art scattered about, illumined by an extravagant number of candles.

  "Wait here," the butler said, showing them into an anteroom near the back of the house. In contrast to the ostentatious ornamentation of the main hall, this room was simply and sparsely furnished, no doubt for the reception of "back-door people."

  "Do you think—?" Sarah began, but Mrs. Hounslow shushed her, nodding her head toward the open doorway. An instant later, a large, turbaned woman in yellow satin swept through it, her expression every bit as disdainful as the butler's had been.

  "So. You are Miss Sarah Killian?" Her voice was both strident and haughty.

  Painfully aware of her outmoded gown and worn valise, Sarah nodded. "I am . . . my lady?"

  The woman bobbed her turban. "Yes, I am Lady Mountheath. Now, what is this wild story about your being some sort of relation?" Her glance slid to Mrs. Hounslow, who stepped forward eagerly.

  "Yes indeed, my lady. Sarah here is the daughter of your own cousin Mary, who was daughter to Lord Wragby, your uncle. She only arrived in Town today, and as you are now her nearest living relation, it seemed fitting that I bring her to you."

  Lady Mountheath raised an eyebrow. "And how do you come into the business, Mrs.—?"

  "Hounslow, my lady. Esther Hounslow, of the Bettering Society. I make it my business to see to the welfare of poor orphans like Miss Killian here. It was I who, ah, suggested to your uncle that he subsidize her schooling at Miss Pritchard's Seminary for Young Ladies. And indeed, she proved both an exemplary student and teacher there."

  Sarah felt it was time she entered the conversation. "I have come to London to seek employment, my lady, not charity," she said, forcing an authority she did not feel into her voice, just as she'd had to do when teaching her first class of unruly girls.

  Lady Mountheath raked her with a critical gaze. "And what has that to do with me? My daughters are long past the age of needing a governess."

  Mrs. Hounslow spoke up again. "She will need to live somewhere until she obtains a position, my lady. Your, ah, charity is quite famous —I read of it in the Political Register only a few weeks since. Once it is known Sarah is your cousin, you must agree it would look rather odd if she were not under your protection."

  To Sarah's surprise, Lady Mountheath flushed an unattractive shade of puce. "Very well," she snapped, glaring at Mrs. Hounslow before turning to Sarah. "I do remember your mother —and how she disgraced the family. See you do not make me regret my generosity."

  "I doubt I will have to impose upon you for long," Sarah said, stung. "I am well qualified for a governess post and have brought references from Miss Pritchard and two of the teachers."

  Lady Mountheath sniffed. "You may find a post more difficult to obtain than you expect, young woman. For honest employment, it is no asset to be so—that is—"

  She seemed to falter for a moment, but recovered at once. "I will have the housekeeper find you a room and inform you of your duties while you make your home with us. Charitable I may be, but I'll not keep you in idleness."

  "Well, that's settled then," exclaimed Mrs. Hounslow delightedly. "You see, Sarah? I told you it would all work out. And never fear, my lady. Even if she cannot obtain a position as governess somewhere, she may well make a match, which will take her off your hands just as effectively."

  An odd grimace twisted Lady Mountheath's mouth. "As her mother did? This way, Miss Killian."

  After returning Mrs. Hounslow's parting kiss, Sarah obediently followed her new benefactress from the room, marveling at the abrupt change in her physical circumstances even as she braced herself for whatever verbal barbs might come her way.

  It afforded her no satisfaction to realize that Lady Mountheath had likely been referring to her looks earlier. Hadn't Miss Pritchard also warned that her pale gold curls and wide blue eyes would hinder rather than help her on her chosen path?

  "A governess in a noble household is a nobody," she'd said. "The men of the household will take liberties and the women will turn you out for it. You'd be advised to stay here, safe from the depravity so prevalent among our so-called upper classes."

  At the time Sarah had assumed that venerable woman's misgivings stemmed largely from her unwillingness to lose her best —and lowest paid— teacher. Surely, that gentleman who had helped poor Maggie proved that some members of the ton were decent, compassionate people.

  "Grimble, this is Miss Killian, a kinswoman of sorts," Lady Mountheath informed the large, black-clad woman supervising two ill-favored maids as they polished plate in the dining room. "She will be with us for a week or two— perhaps longer."
Her tone made it clear she hoped that would not be the case. "I leave it to you to find a place for her in the household." Without another word to Sarah, she left them.

  Mrs. Grimble, a plain woman well past middle age, swept Sarah with as critical an eye as her mistress had done. "Not been much used to work, have you?" she asked after a moment.

  Sarah blinked. "Indeed I have, ma'am. For the past two years I have taught four classes a day, six days a week, to two dozen girls of various ages."

  "Educated, are you?" The housekeeper seemed to regard this as a drawback rather than a benefit. "I'd advise you not to put on airs, Missie. Her ladyship won't abide it. Maisie," she said to one of the maids, "see you and Betsy finish quickly —it's near time for the table to be set."

  With a jerk of her head, she indicated that Sarah was to follow her, but as they were crossing the front hall, a top-hatted gentlemen entered the house. Mrs. Grimble bobbed a curtsey, verifying Sarah's guess that this must be Lord Mountheath.

  He nodded absently at the housekeeper, then glanced at Sarah. Then lifted his quizzing glass for a better look. "Well, well. And who might this be?"

  "Sarah Killian, milord," Sarah replied, dropping a curtsey. "My mother was cousin to Lady Mountheath's mother, and she has agreed to let me stay here for the present."

  "Indeed!" Lord Mountheath continued to gaze at Sarah in a way she didn't entirely care for. "As a member of the family, you will dine with us tonight, will you not?"

  Sarah glanced at the housekeeper, who quickly smoothed a frown and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

  "Of . . . of course, my lord, if you wish it."

  He smiled broadly, large teeth showing through thick lips. "Excellent. I'll see you again soon, then." Finally taking his eyes from her face, he turned and headed up the stairs.

  "If you're dining with the family, you'll need to freshen up." Mrs. Grimble's voice dripped disapproval. She led Sarah, still carrying her valise, up three flights of stairs to a tiny room under the eaves.

  "I'll have the extra bed moved out before nightfall so you can have this room to yourself," Mrs. Grimble said grudgingly. "You can change without help?" Her tone implied she didn't have much choice.

  "Of course. Thank you." Sarah saw no point in telling the housekeeper that she was already wearing her best dress, her only others being a pair of school uniforms. She owned nothing remotely suitable for dinner with a peer and his family.

  Once alone, she took stock of her surroundings. The deep-set dormered window let in a dusty shaft of sunlight, revealing two narrow beds, a single chair, a wash stand, and a few hooks on the wall in lieu of a clothespress.

  At school she'd shared a dormitory with eleven other girls, and even as a teacher she'd had to room with another woman in a chamber not much larger than this one. To have this room to herself was unexpected luxury. And she was in London again, surely that much closer to William! She was determined to find him as quickly as possible.

  With that settled in her mind, she gave some thought to her own situation, which was far from hopeless. True, she had no money, but employment would soon change that. She'd left London eight years ago a frightened, ignorant girl with street smarts and little else. Now she was a well-educated woman with skills that should allow her to move on the fringes, at least, of Society.

  She allowed her imagination a brief ramble, spurred by something Mrs. Hounslow had said. For years, her dream had been to provide a home, perhaps a three-room flat, for William and herself. In her more optimistic moments, she'd even imagined a small cottage in the country, complete with chickens and a milk cow. Now, however, she flirted with a grander idea.

  Though governesses rarely interacted with their employers, surely there was a remote chance that some tradesman —or even a gentleman!—might catch sight of her, might fall instantly in love with her, marry her, and provide handsomely for her. It happened in her favorite novels.

  Her thoughts strayed again to the handsome gentleman who had hailed the hackney. To be loved by someone like that— She fingered a curl that had escaped its confining bun. Her appearance, which some seemed to think beyond the ordinary, might not help her find respectable employment, but if Mrs. Hounslow was to be believed, it might help her to find a husband —and marriage would be more secure than any hired position.

  A maid entered then with an ewer of water, dispelling such fanciful musings —for that was all they were. With a fleeting wish for a bit of looking glass, Sarah tried to make herself presentable for dinner.

  CHAPTER 2

  Four elegantly dressed people turned to regard Sarah when she entered the dining room— Lord and Lady Mountheath, whom she'd already met, and two young women perhaps a few years older than herself. Only Lord Mountheath smiled.

  "I apologize for my tardiness," Sarah said. "I, ah, neglected to ask what time you would be dining."

  The younger ladies only stared, but Lady Mountheath's brows rose into her turban. "And why, pray, should it matter to you when we dine, Miss Killian?"

  Sarah opened and closed her mouth, looking to Lord Mountheath for support. In response, he rose and extended a hand to her.

  "I invited her to dine with us," he informed his wife. "As she is a cousin, it seemed appropriate. No doubt Fanny and Lucy will enjoy her company, as well. Welcome to the family, Miss Killian."

  Though Lady Mountheath looked outraged and her daughters tittered, he led Sarah to the empty chair next to his own and motioned for a footman to serve her.

  "So, my dear, tell us about yourself," he said solicitously, filling a wine glass for her. "What are your plans?"

  Sarah smiled at his kindness, hoping that was all it was. "I intend to find a position as a governess. Mrs. Hounslow has promised to help me do so. I hope not to impose on your hospitality for more than a few days."

  "Very commendable," Lady Mountheath said coldly before her husband could respond, then turned pointedly to her daughters. "Surely you do not intend to wear that to Lady Driscoll's ridotto tonight, Lucy? You wore it only last week to the Stanhope ball."

  Lucy, a tall, pallid young woman with small blue eyes and flyaway brown hair, shrugged. "Mr. Galloway said I looked well in it—that the color matched my eyes. It's a perfectly nice gown, unlike—" Her eyes strayed to Sarah with a barely concealed sneer.

  Her mother frowned. "I told you to keep your distance from that young man, did I not? Everyone knows he is naught but a fortune hunter. My lord, you will need to warn him off, should he approach Lucy tonight," she told her husband.

  But Lord Mountheath was still looking at Sarah, with an intensity that made her more than a bit uncomfortable. "I thought I'd stay home tonight," he said. "Seems impolite to leave our new addition all on her own, her first night in Town." Sarah could not misunderstand the suggestiveness of his smile now.

  Nor could his wife, it seemed. "You'll do no such thing," she said sharply, and to Sarah's relief. If all the family went out tonight, she would be able to begin her search for William.

  But Lord Mountheath did not give up so easily. "I'll do as I please," he retorted. "I don't care for such entertainments anyway —not likely to be a smoking room, knowing the Driscolls."

  "Very well. Stay home if you like," Lady Mountheath responded with a slight shrug. "However, I have decided to bring Miss Killian with us to the ridotto."

  It would have been difficult to say who at the table was more startled at this declaration. Fanny and Lucy stared open-mouthed, Lord Mountheath's eyes widened with surprise, and Sarah was aware that she herself was gaping.

  "I—ah— I fear I have nothing suitable to wear, my lady," she finally confessed, though with a pang, for she would dearly have loved, just once, to attend a grand Society function.

  "Of course not," agreed Lord Mountheath. "No matter. You can stay home and tell me all about yourself."

  Lady Mountheath glared at her husband —and at Sarah. "Fanny, your old rose and white gown should fit Miss Killian well enough —you're much of a height. As soon
as we finish eating, have your maid pin her into it. And you, miss, mind you say nothing about your parents to anyone. Leave all explanations to me."

  An hour and a half later, Sarah regarded herself in Fanny's looking glass with something like awe. She scarcely noticed the mended tear under the left arm, nor the stain near the hem in front. This was far and away the finest gown she had ever worn, and it made her look almost a different person.

  "It seems to suit you," said Fanny peevishly before turning back to her dressing table, where her maid was attempting to style her thin brown hair into ringlets.

  "Aye, miss, it does indeed," agreed the rotund maid with an enthusiasm that earned her a glare from her mistress. She quickly turned back to the business at hand.

  Sarah smiled into the mirror, for they were right. The pink of the bodice flattered her pale skin and hair, and the high waist showed off her ample bosom to advantage. It was a far cry from the black-and-gray high-necked uniform she'd worn for the past eight years, or even the brown-checked frock she'd thought so fine when she'd left for London.

  "Thank you so much for lending this to me," she said to Fanny, who shrugged.

  "Libby here is too fat to wear my cast-offs, so you may as well have it," replied the other girl ungraciously.

  Sarah glanced anxiously at the maid, feeling sorry for her after such an ill-natured outburst, but Libby, struggling with Fanny's string-straight tresses, appeared not to have noticed.

  Though she knew she wasn't nearly so well turned out as the Mountheath ladies, and though they completely ignored her, Sarah couldn't help feeling a bit like a princess as they all set off in the elegant carriage.