“It’s not silly at all. You’ve had a great fright, escaping a fire like that. It’s perfectly natural that you should be a bit emotional,” Eleanor said matter-of-factly.
Once in the kitchen, they organized several boxes of food and set out with a small cart to deliver the supplies their neighbors most needed.
They returned to Eleanor’s parents’ house long after the sun had set, having found everyone from their building and distributed the food, linens, and medical supplies.
“I shall ask Alex about rebuilding. He will have no end of good ideas, I’m sure, though we may be hard-pressed to get a penny out of that horrible landlord,” Eleanor said. Sarah smiled at her cousin’s absolute confidence in her husband and allowed her own thoughts to flick briefly to Sam, wondering where he was at that moment.
“Eleanor!” Lady Chalcroft exclaimed as they made their way up the stairs. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I left word that Sarah and I had gone to The Mint to check on our neighbors.”
“Yes, but it is nearly seven o’clock. Surely you didn’t need to be gone quite so long.”
Sarah felt her lips twitch with a smile and quickly pressed them together to stifle it. She glanced at Eleanor who either was not as successful at hiding her grin or, more likely, didn’t bother pretending not to laugh at her mother’s comments.
“Mother, we weren’t making social calls, you know. It wasn’t a case of arriving, eating a cucumber sandwich, and departing precisely twenty minutes later.”
“Well I know that,” Lady Chalcroft said, a trifle defensively.
“We had to track everyone down and make sure they had a place to stay until permanent accommodations can be found. Some people required medical attention. Poor Doctor Kendall is only one man, after all.”
“Who is Doctor Kendall?” Lady Chalcroft asked, duly distracted from the lateness of the hour.
“He is the most brilliant doctor! I’ve yet to see a medical case he couldn’t help, have you Sarah?”
“Has he a practice in the city? Perhaps we should consult with him about your father’s gout. I’ve not been pleased with the treatment Dr. Finswith has provided of late.”
“Oh, he’s much too busy with his practice in Southwark, mother, but I do commend your willingness to consider him as a practitioner.”
“Despite what you may think, Eleanor, I am considered to be rather open-minded.”
Eleanor smiled as she kissed her mother’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ll come up after all,” she announced. “I’m sure Alex is home by now and wondering where I am.” She turned to hug Sarah.
“It is customary to refer to your husband by his title, dear. Especially now that he has one.”
Eleanor laughed. “I loved him as Alex long before he was Reading, mother.” At her mother’s pursed lips, Eleanor relented. “I shall promise, however to call him Reading in public.”
“I suppose that’s the most I can hope for at this point,” Lady Chalcroft said dryly. As Eleanor turned to leave, she called out, “Oh Eleanor, Please check your calendar. I’ve invited Mr. James and Lord and Lady Trowbridge to join us for dinner on Thursday. I should like both you and Reading here.”
Eleanor glanced mischievously at Sarah. “We shouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Sarah wondered if she could find a new flat in Southwark and move into it before Thursday. She was desperate to see Sam and learn why he’d been in Southwark this morning—was it only this morning? —but she was also slightly terrified of the answer. Not to mention still ashamed of how she’d acted months ago. Yes, a new flat seemed just the escape she—
“Don’t even consider it,” Lady Chalcroft said firmly, jolting Sarah out of her admittedly far-fetched musings. She tried to pretend she didn’t know what Lady Chalcroft was about.
“Consider what, Cousin Elizabeth?”
“You and Eleanor continue to suffer under the delusion that I was not once a young woman who thought she knew everything and who considered her parents to be lack-wits at best.”
Sarah gasped. “Cousin Elizabeth, I—“
Lady Chalcroft waved a hand dismissively. “You will not make other arrangements for Thursday night. You will be here, nicely dressed—for a dinner in Mayfair, not Southwark, mind you—and you will speak to Mr. James. Extensively.”
“But I—“
“Will need to go shopping. You are correct. We should have gone today, but first thing tomorrow morning will suffice. I shall take you myself. That way we will be assured of having something presentable ready in time. You may,” she said when Sarah opened her mouth to protest, “See to your duties in Southwark after we’ve ordered you new clothes.”
Sarah knew when she’d been outmaneuvered and meekly said, “Yes, Cousin Elizabeth.”
“You may kiss my cheek,” Lady Chalcroft said, and Sarah hastened to obey. Lady Chalcroft clung to Sarah’s arms unexpectedly and looked her in the eye. “I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. I would see you happy, my dear. I have a feeling about you and Mr. James, but if it proves to be incorrect, then at least we will know and we can move on.”
Sarah smiled at Lady Chalcroft’s use of “we” and impulsively hugged her.
“Thank you, Cousin Elizabeth,” she said, and pretended not to notice when Lady Chalcroft dabbed at her eyes.
“Now run along, dear. I’m sure you shall wish to bathe and change before dinner. There is an…aura of—“
“Onions. Yes, I know. The Bidwells are staying with Mrs. Tilney and she has a penchant for frying everything with onions. Everything in her house bears the distinctive aroma,” Sarah explained. “Even when she’s not cooking.”
Lady Chalcroft shuddered delicately. “Yes, well, I’m sure the, ah, Bidwells are grateful to have a place to stay.”
“Indeed they are. If you’ll excuse me, Cousin.”
Lady Chalcroft nodded regally, but as Sarah continued to her room, she heard the distinguished woman mutter, “Onions!”
Chapter Fourteen
Sam had employed the services of his brother-in-law’s valet to ensure that he was immaculately turned out for his dinner at the Chalcrofts. He was grateful his sister Caroline refrained from making any younger-sister-like comments, especially as he had, over the years, repeatedly disdained the idea of having a servant help him dress.
Still, he had to admit the valet did know what he was about and Sam’s appearance, from his immaculately close shave to his intricately knotted cravat, did seem to be a notch above how he looked when he saw to such things himself.
The valet peered over his shoulder at Sam’s reflection in the full-length mirror.
“Will that do, Mr. James?”
Sam turned and clapped the surprised man on the back. “I doubt my sister will recognize me, you’ve made me look so dandy.”
The poor valet seemed unsure if that was a compliment or not, so Sam clarified, “I’ve never been turned out so nicely. Thank you, Evers.”
At that, the servant bowed correctly and took his leave, while Sam wandered downstairs to await Caroline and Trowbridge, grateful to have a few minutes to himself to prepare for the evening. He wasn’t nervous, per se, but it was going to be difficult to talk to Sarah alone this evening and he didn’t relish laying his heart out in front of his sister and brother-in-law, much less the Earl and Countess of Chalcroft. He shuddered at the thought. He had little notion of how to go about presenting his idea to Sarah alone, much less with an audience.
His original plan had been to catch Sarah before she left for work two mornings past. He had arrived before dawn because he knew she was an early riser and he had no idea where her kitchen was. He’d had no notion what exactly to say to her; he simply hoped the words would come when he saw her. He’d waited in the coach, feeling bad for the driver as he himself shivered from the cold, but still Sarah did not appear. He glanced up and down the street, making sure of his location, but he knew he was in the right place. The sky had ligh
tened to a dull grey and so it was amazing that Sam had been able to see the smoke against the opaque haze of the clouds. At first he assumed it was coming from a cook fire chimney, though there seemed to be a prodigious amount of it. But then he saw the telltale flicker of orange flames in one of the top windows.
“Fire!” Sam bellowed, though surely even the driver would have had a hard time hearing him. Sam burst out of the carriage and yelled again, then shouted at the coachman, “See if you can find help!”
He bolted across the street and entered the dark hallway of the ground floor, taking the stairs two and three at a time. His first thought was to get Sarah to safety—nothing else mattered to him. Yet as he reached her floor and realized there was no smoke, that the fire hadn’t reached this floor, he bolted up the remaining staircase and began pounding on the doors, shouting, “Get up! Get out! There’s a fire!”
He reached the door where he thought the fire had started just as it swung open. An elderly man stood backlit by an inferno.
“I don’t know—I didn’t,” he began, but Sam simply grabbed his arm, pulled him into the hallway, and slammed the door shut behind him.
“You must get outside!” Sam shouted.
By this time a few more people had come out of their flats and Sam pushed the old man into their care, racing to make sure everyone else was out before leaping down the stairs to Sarah’s floor. The fire was licking at his heels, the smoke billowing around him as he pushed his way through the fleeing residents to pound on Sarah’s door. It felt like forever while he waited for her to answer and he ended up kicking it in and pulling her from bed. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and hold her, never letting go. Instead, he swung her up into his arms and carried her through the searing heat and choking smoke that surrounded them.
He remembered Sarah had pulled the hem of her voluminous nightgown up and held it over his mouth and nose to try and protect him from the smoke as the stairs seemed to go on forever. Even now that descent felt like a blur of smoke and one jarring step after another. His only thought had been to get Sarah to safety. He felt embers singe his hair and sting his exposed skin, and he’d hunkered protectively over her, willing himself to push on even though he had to feel for each step, so thick was the smoke.
Other than those stairs, Sam didn’t remember much else beyond getting her into his carriage and finally pulling her to him. He had an indistinct memory of returning to the burning building at Sarah’s concern for the other residents, searching through plumes of smoke for any stragglers, his throat and lungs and eyes burning. What he was sure about was the feeling of Sarah back in his arms, her body draped trustingly along his as the driver took them into the city. It was the most natural and comforting feeling in the world, and any concerns he’d had about returning to England to try and mend things with Sarah melted away.
He cradled her as she dozed, fighting the urge to cough the smoke from his lungs lest he disturb her. Her hair smelled of smoke of course, but beneath that he could detect the warm sweetness that was distinctly her, a scent that had haunted his dreams for the last few months...
Caroline and her husband made their way downstairs, pulling him from his memories. Once in the carriage they made small talk during the short drive and Sam assumed he answered appropriately, though he had no idea what he said as he was playing out different scenarios for the evening in his head. He considered and dismissed half a dozen ways to broach his subject, but they all seemed so contrived. Then, too, he had no idea if he would be able to get Sarah alone, on a balcony, perhaps, or a private salon. He didn’t fancy make his grand proposition in front of an audience. Finally, as the coach drew to a stop, he decided to rely on his wits in the moment. His wits and his heart.
Once inside the tastefully lavish drawing room, he looked about for Sarah. Not seeing her, he followed his sister and paid his due respects to Lord and Lady Chalcroft. A sound at the drawing room door had his heart pounding, but it was Sarah’s cousin Eleanor and her husband, Lord Reading, or Alex Fitzhugh as the man had instructed him to call him months ago. They were joined by Lord and Lady Worthing, who were friends of Eleanor.
He chatted idly with them, his eyes repeatedly darting to the doorway every few seconds. Finally, when Fitzhugh was engaged in conversation with Trowbridge, Eleanor leaned closer and murmured, “She’ll be down soon. The new dress she bought needed more altering than she realized. I believe the maid is sewing her into it.
Sam had an image of using his knife as a seam ripper to carefully pop those stitches, revealing one golden inch of skin after another. He felt a flush heat his body, sweat suddenly beading his brow.
“Mr. James?” Eleanor’s voice held a note of concern, but the corners of her mouth belied her amusement at his distraction.
“How has she been?” he blurted out before he could think better of it.
Her smile froze and she studied him intently for several long moments, making Sam wish he’d remained silent.
Finally, however, she spoke. “Sarah is very strong and she’s a very private person. I am perhaps her closest friend and confidante and yet even I know almost nothing about whatever falling out you two had. That being said,” she paused another moment. “I believe she has missed you greatly. I hope I am not wrong in believing you are in London to mend Sarah’s heart as well as yours.”
“You are not wrong,” he replied quietly.
“Very good,” she said with a regal nod of her head. “Ah, here she is.”
Sam glanced at the doorway and the breath left his body. Sarah was dressed in a gown of pale green with darker green velvet trimmings. Long white gloves encased her arms and her hair was dressed elaborately in intricate coils and curls. But it was none of these things that had caused his breath to catch and his heart to pound painfully. It was simply her presence. Her silky dark hair, her equally dark eyes, the creamy golden skin of her complexion, the straight slash of her brows and her lush, full lips—god, those lips. It was the tilt of her head which some might consider haughty but which he knew was a defensive gesture, one that hid her unease in formal social settings. It was why he’d jokingly called her Lady Disdain. The delicate swell of breast along the neckline of her gown made his mouth go dry and he unthinkingly lifted his empty glass to drain the last drops.
“You should go to her now, Mr. James,” Eleanor said, taking the empty glass from his hand.
“Me? Now?” Surely there was some protocol to this situation that he would be breaching.
Beside him, Eleanor laughed. “You. Now. The whole reason for this dinner is to bring the two of you together. I’d advise you not to let my mother down.”
Sam glanced over at Lady Chalcroft and found her staring at him with delicately raised brows.
“Right,” he said, and he moved to intercept Sarah who was skirting the edge of the room, carefully avoiding looking in his direction.
“Sarah,” he called and then remembering his surroundings, “Miss Draper. Good evening.”
“Mr. James,” she replied without meeting his gaze directly. “Good evening.”
He saw the tiny pulse in her neck beating frantically and realized she was breathing rather quickly too. She’s as nervous as I am, he thought. How sad that they should be so unsure in each other’s company after having been as close as two people could get.
Striving to put her at ease, he said, “You look beautiful this evening. I trust you suffered no lingering effects from the fire?”
At that, the nervous rigidity began to leave her features. “I am quite well, thanks to you. You surely saved my life as I was uncharacteristically sound asleep until you arrived. Oh, and you look beautiful as well.”
“Beautiful?” he said, wrinkling his nose.
She laughed. “Very well, handsome.”
“That’s better.”
“Men can be beautiful too. It’s not only a descriptor of women.”
“True, but I think it is a quantitative descriptor.”
S
he frowned. “A what?”
“Quantitative. To be beautiful implies a far greater level of attractiveness than merely being handsome. You, Miss Draper, qualify as beautiful. I flatter myself that I may be considered handsome at best.”
She stared at him with a small furrow between her brows as if trying to decipher his convoluted sentence. After a moment, she burst out laughing, covering her mouth with a gloved hand as everyone else in the room looked at her.
After a moment she lowered her hand and leaned in as if about to impart a great secret.
“Bollocks,” she whispered.
If he’d been in the process of taking a drink, Sam was quite sure he’d have snorted it through his nose. As it was, he choked on nothing more substantial than air.
“I beg your pardon?” he finally managed.
Sarah pretended to study the finger of her glove, but a telltale tug at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement at his reaction.
She lifted her gaze to his and her smile won out as she said, “I’m sure that you’ve been called everything from beautiful to gorgeous to Adonis-like.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Adonis-like?”
“Do you deny it?
“Well I can’t say that Adonis was the actual god that I—“
He trailed off as she burst into laughter again and he thought suddenly, It’s going to be okay. Perhaps it was a prayer rather than a conviction, but the notion brought him a sense of peace as well as purpose. He smiled, delighted to have made her laugh. Their gazes caught and the rest of the room fell away. They were lost in that timeless space they had first experienced that night in the pub when all they could see was the other’s gaze.
Not wanting to break that connection and yet knowing he needed to tell her why he was here while they were still alone (how was it that they were still alone?) he opened his mouth to speak.
“About the other day—“ he began at the same moment she spoke.
“I never asked you—“
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