Lady Disdain

by Michelle Morrison

  They smiled at each other again.

  “You go first,” Sam said.

  “Oh it’s—“ Sarah began but at that moment the butler entered and announced dinner. She laughed softly and they shared a glance that expressed both relief and frustration.

  Sam offered his arm to Sarah. “Shall we?”

  She smiled and linked her arm through his. As they made their way to the dining room, Caroline caught his eye and raised her brows expectantly.

  He frowned and shook his head slightly, telling her to stop interfering.

  Once in the dining room, Sam found himself seated next to Sarah which, while not unusual and for which he was grateful, he found a bit suspicious. He glanced at Lady Chalcroft and found her again looking at him pointedly. Good heavens, was everyone in collusion to see that he carried out his mission? And were they all intent in communicating solely through speaking glances and raised eyebrows?

  He wished he could have contrived a way to see Sarah completely alone. Why hadn’t he thought to call on her earlier and take her for a walk in the park or a carriage ride? Granted, Lady Chalcroft had made very clear what she had expected to happen, but Sarah was certainly of age and her own woman…Ah well, he thought. Nothing to be done about it now. Still, if an opportunity did not present itself to speak privately with Sarah—not simply on the other side of a crowded room—he would at least arrange an outing for the next day.

  The dinner guests had just been served the first course when Lady Chalcroft decided he’d had his chance.

  “What brings you back to London so soon after your return to America, Mr. James? One would think one ocean crossing a year would be more than enough.”

  “Ship travel has grown much faster and more comfortable in recent years, my lady, though it does have its inconveniences. Still, Caroline is my only living relative and once I received word of her happy news, I knew I wished to be at hand should she need me.”

  He wasn’t sure of the protocol for mentioning Caroline’s pregnancy; the English were rather particular about speaking of any type of bodily function, and indeed, Lady Chalcroft frowned slightly at his words. But then a calculating gleam entered her eyes and she said, “I suppose since we are all family, or very nearly, it is not too gauche to congratulate Lady Trowbridge. But indeed, Mr. James, surely you might have waited a few more months. You’ll be cooling your heels for quite a while at this point.”

  Damn but the countess was ruthless, Sam decided. He cast a glance at her husband whom he’d not talked to beyond a brief introduction. The man seemed amused at his wife’s interrogation and Sam wondered uncharitably if he was simply glad Lady Chalcroft was picking on someone other than himself. Turning back to the woman in question, Sam said, “I have some business interests that required I return sooner rather than later.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Chalcroft said and Sam realized with a smile that though the countess might bend protocol to acknowledge an expectant child, she would never lower herself to discuss something so crass as a trade or business at a dinner party.

  “Oh yes, I’ve meetings with printers and distributors in the next weeks. I’ll need to talk to any number of delivery boys as well, I’m sure.” This last was completely preposterous, but Sam couldn’t squelch the immature desire to make her as uncomfortable as she was trying to make him.

  Beside him, Sarah choked back a laugh and pretended to be dabbing at her mouth with her serviette. He glanced sideways at her and saw the mirth in her eyes. It was all the encouragement he needed and cast about for another inappropriate topic.

  Lady Chalcroft was far too quick for him, however, for she said, “And were your meetings in Southwark, Mr. James? Is that how you came to be outside Miss Draper’s home the morning of the fire?”

  Sam decided right there and then that if the countess had been in charge of things, Napoleon would never had risen to power, much less returned to it from exile. With a nod to the countess to acknowledge her well-aimed riposte, he replied, “Not at all my lady. I had promised Miss Draper and Lady Reading a donation to their inestimable cause when last I was here and with all the plans necessary to depart England, I quite forgot to deliver it.”

  “And so you thought to deliver it before sunrise?”

  “Elizabeth,” Lord Chalcroft said gently, and though he still seemed to be amused at Sam’s discomfort, he clearly thought it was time to change the subject.

  “I’m simply curious,” Lady Chalcroft said. “I don’t recall the last time I was up before dawn.”

  Lord Chalcroft seemed about to say something else, but Sam interjected, “I know Miss Draper goes to the charity kitchen and makes house calls very early. I simply didn’t wish to miss her.”

  “It’s true, mother,” Eleanor Fitzhugh put in. “I’d never arisen that early before joining Sarah, but we really needed to get an early start to each day if we wanted to be of any assistance to the people of Southwark. They are a very hard-working lot, despite the unflattering descriptions you read in the papers.”

  Sam smiled at being defended by the diminutive blond, but it did seem to bring to a close Lady Chalcroft’s examination. The formidable countess pressed her lips together as if she wished to say more, but she let the matter drop, nodding to the footmen to serve the second course.

  Lords Reading and Trowbridge gamely launched into an animated discussion about horses that led to questions about riding in the American wilderness.

  “Don’t ask me about Pennsylvania trails,” Sam said. “I’m a city boy, myself. Much more comfortable in the streets than the forests.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” his sister protested. “He is an adequate horseman and was always willing to accompany me as I rode through the most beautiful territory.”

  Sam decided to ignore the “adequate” comment as Caroline’s animated storytelling style had everyone at the table fully engaged. Under the guise of asking for the salt, Sam murmured to Sarah, “I suspect we shall be duly chaperoned all evening, but there is something I wish to discuss with you. Will you meet with me tomorrow?”

  She took a sip of wine and though she didn’t meet his gaze, behind the cover of her wineglass, said, “Yes. Where?”

  “I can send a carriage for you. Will nine o’clock be convenient?”

  “Oh, no. I must visit the kitchen in the morning. But I will have use of Eleanor’s carriage tomorrow. May I meet you perhaps closer to eleven?”

  “Of course,” he said, giving her the address. She frowned, not recognizing it. She’d perhaps been expecting the park or another public place, but she nodded gamely.

  “I will see you there,” she whispered, then turned to answer a question Lord Trowbridge asked from her other side.

  The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough once Sam decided to avoid the speculative glances from Lady Chalcroft and the questioning ones from his sister. Though he was engaged in the conversation with his brother-in-law and Alex Fitzhugh, he was intensely aware of Sarah beside him. His ears were attuned to the timbre of her voice as she spoke or laughed. He could detect her scent even over the myriad aromas from the meal. Every once in a while, his sleeve would brush her arm and he could have sworn he felt a charge like a static bolt in dry winter rooms from the contact. At one point he knocked his napkin to the floor. Without thinking, he leaned over to fetch it before the footman could. Sarah must have felt his presence closer and turned to see what he was doing. So it was that as he straightened from his awkward bend, he came face-to-face with her bosom. His mouth went dry and he glanced up at her face. Her pupils visibly widened with desire as she stared at him and it was all he could do not to grab her and kiss her right there in front of everyone. In fact, he might have done so even still—he was an uncouth American, after all—but then she frowned slightly and turned her head away.

  He murmured an apology and returned his attention to his meal, wondering what the hell was going on in her mind. In the drawing room when they’d been bantering and even flirting a bit, he’d been s
ure they would be able to reconcile their differences. But suddenly he was questioning that certainty. As a man who rarely questioned his skills of deduction, it was an unsettling feeling.

  Snap out of it, man, he told himself. She had agreed to meet him tomorrow. One step at a time, he reminded himself. And with forced joviality, he threw himself back into the conversation.

  It was just as well he’d made his plans with her at the table for the post dinner activities allowed for no clandestine conversations and it was entirely too cold and rainy to suggest a stroll on the verandah. Then too, the strange unease that had hit him at dinner lingered and he was unsure what he’d have said to her if they had had a moment alone.

  Then it was time to leave and as he bent over Sarah’s hand, he felt her squeeze his encouragingly. He glanced up and saw her tentative—could it be shy? —smile.

  He was a fool, he thought with an internal laugh as he helped his sister into the carriage. Nervous one moment, jubilant the next, despairing right after that. Ah well, he thought, better a fool for love than a fool at cards.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sarah woke up extra early the next morning. She had to return to Southwark to check on Mrs. Bidwell who was not recovering as she should from the smoke inhalation and she wanted to make sure the kitchen’s newest employee showed up. Mr. Thackery, whom she’d last seen holding a knife on his wife and Dr. Kendall, had approached her the day before wanting to make a fresh start to his life. Sarah was dubious, fearing he simply wanted to earn money for his next bottle, but when he said his wife had left him for her sister’s house and wouldn’t be back until he straightened out, Sara decided to give him a chance. Still, it was best if she made sure he knew he would have to earn her trust as well.

  As she was brushing out her long hair, she startled the sleepy maid who came to light the grate for her. The housemaids knew to start with her room first as she generally rose when they did, but Sarah had already lit the fire and was nearly ready to leave when the young woman, Martha, entered the room.

  “I’m sorry, miss! I didn’t think I was late.”

  “You’re not,” Sarah rushed to assure her; the housekeeper did not tolerate tardy service from the maids. “I have a particularly early appointment this morning and I’m used to seeing to my own needs. Would you do me a favor, however, and have a coach brought round?”

  “Right away, miss,” the maid said and turned to leave.

  “The plain one,” Sarah called after her, and then turned to finish her toilette.

  She was going to have to go directly from Southwark to the address Sam had given her last night, and while none of the new gowns she’d acquired were shabby, she was feeling ridiculously self-conscious this morning and wanted to look her best when she met with Sam. The man was too good looking by half and it was only the roughness around his edges that kept him from being unbearably perfect. She had noticed from time to time that his shave was not always the closest, golden hints of stubble softening his strong jaw. Though his clothes were of the finest quality and well cared for, he always wore them with a haphazard grace that left him slightly rumpled. Deliciously so, she thought with a shiver. And then there was his slightly-too-long mane of hair, full of gold and amber and tawny streaks, always mussed as if a lover’s hands had tugged on it.

  She lifted cold fingers to her flushed cheeks, trying to cool the heat there. Of course she had tugged on his hair. She’d run her fingers ceaselessly through it as she’d cradled his head while he’d kissed her down to her soul.

  Shaking her head to clear it of its distracting images, she moved to the dressing table to pin her hair up. Last night, however, Sam had been immaculately turned out, his hair trimmed and pomaded in place, his shave expertly close, his clothes pressed within an inch of their life. When she walked into the drawing room last night and saw him standing there with Eleanor, she’d suddenly been glad she’d allowed Lady Chalcroft’s maid to fuss over the fit of her gown and the curl of her hair.

  She almost wished she could employ Martha again this morning to dress her stick-straight hair again, but besides it being so early, she didn’t want to go into Southwark with an elaborate coiffure. She ruthlessly twisted her hair into a tight knot at her nape. She had to remember her priorities, she scolded herself. For all she knew, Sam really did just intend to deliver his promised donation. To expect anything more would be to set herself up for further heartbreak and it had only been in the last weeks that she’d finally let go of the hurts, the what-ifs, and the whys that had plagued her since she and Sam had their falling out. The last thing she needed was to begin daydreaming again, for such visions inevitably crumbled beneath the weight of reality.

  And with that no-nonsense mindset, she rose from the dressing table without a backward glance. She gathered her gloves, hat, and cloak and made her way down to the carriage. She rode in a state of determined concentration, thinking of the tasks she needed to accomplish before her meeting later this morning. Meeting, she thought with a nod of approval. That was how she needed to think of her appointment with Sam. To her disgust, however, just the thought of his name made her fickle heart skip along rapidly.

  Once at the kitchen, she asked the driver to return for her in two hours and rushed inside to find her staff had nearly finished preparing the morning’s meal for those who needed it. She threaded her way through the busy women, thinking that it was growing harder to remember the days it had been just her trying to feed a hundred people. She made her way to the scullery area where a bleary-eyed Mr. Thackery was scrubbing pots.

  “How are you today, Mr. Thackery?” Sarah asked.

  The man stifled a yawn as he glanced over his shoulder. “It’s a mite earlier than I’m used to getting up, missus, but I’ll do. Thank ye.”

  Sarah sent a questioning glance to Ida and the woman nodded reassurance that so far, Mr. Thackery had fulfilled his duties admirably. Patting Mr. Thackery on the shoulder, Sarah turned to inspect the pantry and make sure there were enough supplies to put another round of boxes together for the displaced residents of her building.

  When the Chalcroft carriage returned for her, she was surprised to realize two hours had passed.

  “Drat,” she said, as her heavy hair slipped from the pins.

  “Do ye need some help, miss?” one of the younger women asked.

  Sarah pulled out all the pins and began rewinding her hair. “It’s grown so long, it won’t stay in place. I really must trim it.”

  “That style won’t hold, miss, if ye’ll excuse me fer sayin’. Mam and me sisters say I’ve a fair hand at hair. I’m happy to help.”

  “If you can keep it in place, Edith, you’re a better woman than I,” Sarah said with a laugh.

  The girl got to work. Sarah had assumed she would simply put it in a more secure bun, but as she felt her tugging and twisting, she realized the girl had more intricate plans in mind. Hoping she would not regret her acceptance of help—there would be no way of knowing what she looked like as mirrors were a luxury not often found in The Mint—she tried to keep her fingers from creeping up to investigate what was going on.

  “There. Ye look a right queen now, don’t she?” Sally asked the room at large.

  “That suits ye, miss,” Ida said. “It’s a shame to pull your back like you usually do. Most women would love to have hair as lovely and thick as ye’ve got.”

  Feeling reassured, Sarah bade the women goodbye and quickly climbed into the carriage. She pulled out the small watch Eleanor had given her yesterday to replace the one lost in the fire. Allowing Sally to arrange her hair had meant she would be hard pressed to be on time.

  “What is going on?” she said to herself fifteen minutes later when the coach stopped. She lowered the window and stuck her head out. They were on the middle of the bridge in a quagmire of carts, carriages, cattle, and people.

  The driver was standing up on his perch, craning his neck to see. When he hopped back down, she asked him what was wrong.

  �
��A cart has overturned up there. Maybe two. It shouldn’t take too long to clear it.”

  She nodded her thanks and closed the window, glancing again at her watch. She hoped Sam didn’t have other meetings this morning. Despite her determination not to speculate, she wondered again at his reasons for meeting this morning.

  When the carriage finally arrived at their destination, Sarah was surprised to find they were just off Fleet Street. Another glance at her watch showed she was forty-five minutes late. She hoped Sam was still here, though she saw no other carriages on the small street.

  “Are you sure this is correct?” she asked the driver.

  “Yes, miss. I’m sure.”

  With a nod, she entered the empty building. The first floor had several dark and empty rooms, but the staircase was lit from above so she made her cautions way upstairs. The entire upper floor was one huge open room, and a row of windows provided the brilliant illumination. She thought this floor, too, was empty and was about to climb the stairs again when she spotted Sam standing alone, staring out one of the windows.

  He appeared lost in thought and though she felt silly for thinking it, it seemed that his posture held an air of dejection. Could he think she wasn’t coming? Would such an idea upset him? She bit her lip to squelch the fanciful notion.

  She removed her bonnet and crossed the empty room to him, but he was so lost in thought, he did not notice the rustle of her skirts. She stopped a few paces from him.

  “Sam?” she called softly.

  He turned immediately and as they’d done so often before, their gazes locked and they seemed frozen in time. Sarah’s heart pounded. She wanted to throw herself into his arms at the same time she wanted to run screaming from the room. She was terrified of baring her soul, terrified of having to admit that she’d acted rashly, foolishly, stupidly. She was terrified that she might overcome those fears and lay her heart out in front of him only to have him reject her.

  She tried to read his emotions, but all she saw in the multifaceted crystal of his blue eyes was a reflection of her trepidation and she didn’t know if it were her own or his. And so she remained where she was, within arm’s reach of him and yet as far as if he were across the room.