She frowned at him. “Dyspeptic? I shall have Klemp make you a posset.” She heaved her tall, thin form up from her chair and almost careened into the approaching footman, who was bearing a tray with several dishes she’d requested.
“You are too late. I have finished my meal, young man.” She dismissed him with an irritable wave while several of her hounds nipped his ankles. She shot Martín a narrow look, as if he were somehow responsible for the deplorable liver shortage, and then sailed from the room.
The silence was broken only by the sound of Ramsay’s choking and snorting. Martín glared at the red-faced baron and shook his head.
Ramsay saw Martín’s disgusted expression, and the room shook with his laughter.
* * *
They retired to the library after dinner, where Sarah proceeded to thrash both Graaf and Ramsay at chess. Martín enjoyed watching her deliver the setdown to the arrogant baron.
“It seems you have learned a new lesson tonight, my lord.”
The one-eyed man grinned at Martín’s taunting. “Judging by your refusal to play Miss Fisher, you’ve learned the same lesson already.” His green eye slid from Martín to Sarah, who was blushing, but smiling.
“I must be off,” Martín said.
“But Lady Ramsay has readied a room for you here, Martín.”
Martín shook his head at his mischievous former employer. “I have business on the Scythe.” He bowed to the baroness. “But I thank you for the kind offer.”
The truth was that Martín wasn’t comfortable staying in a house in which he had once been little more than a servant. Besides, several of the maids he’d bedded were still employed at Lessing Hall. He’d encountered one of the women, Susan, just before dinner. She was now married to a groom by the name of Caswell, a man Martín had once pummeled when he’d objected to Martín’s association with Susan.
Susan had obviously been lingering and hoping to have a word with Martín. She was as fetching as ever, her green eyes sparkling and her lush figure enhanced by marriage and a couple of brats.
“Hello, Captain.” She had the same welcoming smile.
“Hello, Mrs. Caswell.” He’d hoped the use of her married name would dampen her ardor. But Susan had ignored his hint, and he’d only been able to escape unmolested due to the appearance of the wooden-faced butler, Gates, a man who hated Martín with a passion.
“Susan, Mrs. Porter is looking for you.” The dour butler’s eyes had been on Martín when he spoke, his expression as haughty as a lord’s.
No, it was much better for Martín to remain on his ship.
He encountered Beauville just outside his cabin.
“Ah, Captain, do you have a moment to spare?”
“Of course, come in.” Once inside, Martín poured them both brandies. “So, what is it, Mr. Beauville?”
“I wanted to tell you this past journey was my last.”
Martín froze in the act of raising his drink. He lowered it, untouched. “What? Why?”
Beauville flushed and looked down at his own glass. “I am going to be married.”
“Married?” Martín repeated, sounding like a startled parrot.
“Yes, married.”
“To whom?”
Beauville’s bemused expression shifted into something hard. “To the young lady at the Pig and Whistle.”
Why did he look so accusing? “What woman?”
“The innkeeper’s daughter, Mary.”
Martín blinked. “The serving wench at the Pig and Whistle?”
Beauville’s eyes narrowed at the word “wench.” “Her name is Mary Simpson. She has agreed to marry me on the condition I give up sailing. Her brother died at sea, and she says she could never be happy always worrying about her husband.” Beauville looked pleased with the idea that a woman cared enough to want to keep him safe.
“Congratulations, Beauville. She is a lovely woman and will make you very happy,” Martín said, still unable to recall the woman in question. He doubted it would be prudent to admit that to the obviously besotted man across from him.
Beauville glowed.
“Will you be marrying immediately or will you accompany me to London to assist with the Blue Bird claim—although I doubt it is worth our time to pursue the matter given Graaf’s connections?”
“We will not marry until after the banns have been read. I would be glad to assist with any other matters just so long as they are on land.”
“So, what will you do? Become an innkeeper?”
Beauville laughed. “No, I do not have the temperament for it. I was hoping you might guide me in purchasing a small farm. I recall you own several properties of your own.”
“I would be glad to help in any way I can.” Martín was flattered Beauville would look to him in such an important matter.
They discussed a few pressing matters that always arose when a ship came into port, and Beauville left a short time later. Martín poured himself another brandy.
Graaf had been very interested in the information that Sarah’s father was Dutch. As if that somehow made a bond between them. Martín snorted at the snobbishness of the man. He realized he was squeezing his coat jacket tightly, as if it were the Dutchman’s neck. As if the fact that Sarah might have Dutch relatives somehow brought Graaf and Sarah closer together and maybe meant she would be more inclined to accept his attentions.
Ridiculous!
Wasn’t it?
Not that any of that mattered. Martín would hardly be moving in the same circles as Sarah, the Dutchman, and Ramsay once they got to London. Lady Ramsay would see to it Sarah was accepted wherever she went. Hugh and his wife might be unconventional, but the baron was connected to just about every powerful house in England. However, even the baron would not be able to shoehorn an ex-slave into the exalted company of the ton. Not that Martín wanted such a thing, of course.
He tossed back his drink, and poured another. He would have to find his own level in London.
Chapter Twenty-One
The three days at Lessing Hall passed too quickly for Sarah. Although she spent no time alone with Martín, she saw him most days and every evening at dinner. She loved those evenings, the wonderful conversation around the dinner table, and the after-dinner chess and cards. Lord Ramsay took it upon himself to teach her whist, and the games among the four of them—Lady Ramsay did not care for cards—were loud, raucous events filled with much arguing.
Sarah was a fast learner and felt pleased the evening she and the baron beat the two captains for the first time. It was amusing to see Martín repress his irritation at losing and even more humorous to watch the two men wrangle and try to pin the blame for their loss on each other.
By the morning of their departure Sarah felt more at home at Lessing Hall than she had anywhere since leaving her village.
Mies, Daphne, Sarah, and Rowena occupied the coach, while the baron and Martín rode beside it. Sarah was not surprised to see Martín was an excellent rider and looked as if he were one with his horse.
They stopped for lunch and a change of horses at a charming posting inn, making a very merry party, well acquainted and comfortable with one another by now. Even Martín resisted the urge to bait Mies, instead treating him with the same tolerant contempt he showed everyone except Ramsay.
The carriage reached the outskirts of London just as darkness was falling, and Sarah gawked in wonder as the coach rolled through street after street of the massive city. The buildings and the people seemed to get more attractive and well-tended looking the farther away they got from the river.
Davenport House—the family home of Lord Ramsay—was considerably smaller than Lessing Hall, but infinitely more elegant, something Sarah would not have believed possible.
When Sarah entered her sumptuous suite, she found an enormous tub of hot water and a maid already waiting for her. She left her clothing and hair decisions to the maid and was soon dressed and ready. Although Daphne had not said as much, Sarah assumed they would al
l meet in the library.
Sarah encountered Mies on the stairs.
“You look divine, Sarah.”
She recoiled at his words and warm look. “Thank you, Mies. You look very nice, too,” she replied coolly, hoping to halt the flow of fulsome compliments. The young Dutchman, with his limited wardrobe, was always the first down to dinner. Martín, by contrast, was generally the last, his time-consuming toilette requiring more time than either of the women’s.
Daphne was still in her traveling clothes and leaning over a mass of books and papers when they entered the library.
“Oh, is it time for dinner?” Daphne frowned at the half dozen books that lay open. “I suppose I should leave this until later.” She looked down at one of the open books and turned a page, as if she were considering sitting down.
“If you make haste I shall tell Lord Ramsay you will be down shortly,” Sarah said, realizing only after she’d spoken how presumptuous it sounded to order the baroness about in her own house.
Daphne bit her lower lip. “Yes, I believe you’re correct. Thank you, Sarah.” She gave the books one last yearning glance before hurrying from the room.
Mies grimaced at the pile of books. “She has trapped me twice to discuss Spinoza. I have no clue what she is talking about. She is a brilliant woman—almost frightening.” He shivered.
The library was not as large as that at Lessing Hall, but it seemed to have more novels. Sarah pulled down a new-looking volume titled Pride and Prejudice. She’d only read a couple of pages when the baron entered.
He glanced at the cluttered desk and smiled. “Did you have to chase her from the room at gunpoint?”
“Yes, but she will still be down before Captain Bouchard.”
Ramsay chuckled. “How about a glass of something to tide us over?” he asked them. “We could be here for hours.”
In fact, they’d only been chatting a few minutes when Martín joined them.
“Good Lord, Martín, how many men participated in the construction of that cravat?” Ramsay demanded. “Where in God’s name did you come upon that design?”
“This is something I picked up from my French tailor in Cairo.”
“I suppose it’s a good deal better than some of the things you could have picked up in Cairo.”
Ramsay and even Mies snickered.
Martín gave them a look of haughty contempt. “No doubt you will be seeing more of such stylish fashions now that France can again influence this benighted country.”
“Gad, I hope not.” Ramsay gave Sarah a sly wink.
“I daresay you wouldn’t, Ramsay. Fashion is for the young, after all.”
The baron laughed, delighted by the insult.
Martín turned his attention to Sarah. “This is a new gown, no?”
“Yes, Lady Ramsay had it made up for me out of one of hers.”
Martín circled her in a way that disconcerted her.
“What are your plans tomorrow, Martín?” Ramsay’s question diverted Martín’s attention away from her, much to Sarah’s relief.
“A lot of that depends on Captain Graaf,” Martín drawled. He took the glass of wine Ramsay handed him. “What is our plan, Captain Graaf?”
Mies, who’d been peering out the library window onto the street below, turned at the sound of his name. “Tomorrow I will see Lord Bathurst.”
Ramsay addressed himself to Sarah. “As for you, my dear, I believe you will not find it difficult to locate your uncles. They are Septimus and Barnabus Fisher.”
Sarah stared.
“No, I am not a wizard. I sent a letter to my man of business the day you arrived at Lessing Hall. There was a message waiting for me here. Your uncles are very well-established bankers.”
Sarah blinked, her mind spinning. “I’d thought they were merely wool brokers.”
“They have—I believe the term is—diversified.”
Sarah was still marveling at this shocking information when Lady Ramsay rushed into the library, and they all repaired to the dining room.
* * *
After breakfast the following morning, Sarah wrote her uncles and told them about the death of her father, her arrival in England, and her current residence with Lord and Lady Ramsay. She ended the short missive by expressing an interest in meeting such members of her family as were in town.
When she’d given the letter to Lord Ramsay to frank, she fetched her cloak and bonnet and went to meet Lady Ramsay, who’d invited her to go shopping.
“I must visit Hatchards. I have a long list of books I wish to order.” She held up a piece of paper filled with writing as they took their seats in the stylish town carriage. “I am also in need of new clothing, as it seems I will be increasing soon.”
“Oh, congratulations, Daphne!”
Her friend’s ivory skin tinted. “Thank you. Ramsay and I are quite pleased. I could have worn the same garments I did four years ago, but apparently my husband instructed Rowena to throw them all out.” She glared at her maid, who sat across from them. The older woman resolutely ignored Daphne, clutching her own long list of requirements.
“Rowena has my dimensions and will take care of my purchases, but we must get something for you, Sarah. You will need much more than what I have given you.” Daphne held up a staying hand when Sarah opened her mouth. “No, I will not dispute the matter. I will become vexed if you insist on arguing about money. There is nothing I find more tedious. Well, except shopping for clothing.” Her blue eyes, usually so vague and introspective, settled on Sarah and sharpened. “I shall buy you the clothing that is necessary for your first few weeks. If you argue with me, I shall buy you more.”
Sarah laughed. “I will be delighted to accept your kind offer.”
Daphne moved to another topic. “Ramsay tells me your uncles are quite important bankers. Indeed, Septimus was recently made Baron Danestoke. I understand they were involved in the sale of Napoleon’s American holdings some years ago. I daresay they have many interesting stories. I shall give a dinner and invite them.” She made a tsking sound. “I’m afraid we shall soon be flooded with invitations, many of them tedious, but necessary to properly launch you.”
“Launch me—?” Sarah began, aghast.
Daphne ignored the interruption. “No doubt we shall be invited to whatever Mia Exley—that is Lady Exley—has organized. The Exleys mix with the most interesting people. I think you will enjoy their friends more than the stuffy people we shall be forced to invite. Ramsay’s aunt, Lady Thornehill, is a terrifying woman and very much an ape leader. It is because of her that Hugh and I have not been entirely cast off by society.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve been told I should be grateful for that.”
Lady Ramsay’s town carriage dropped them at the famous bookseller and took Rowena on to Daphne’s dressmaker, where she would begin the dreaded shopping. Rowena reminded her mistress sharply that the carriage would call back for them in an hour.
It was a good thing the carriage came for them, otherwise Sarah believed they would have spent the entire day—and perhaps evening—in the bookseller’s. As it was, they left with several packages and the promise of more to be delivered.
Daphne held an enormous volume in her lap as the carriage rolled slowly toward the dressmaker. It appeared to be written in German. “I cannot abide translations. One is so much at the mercy of the intellect of the translator. Even if the translators are adequate to the task, they frequently cannot keep their own opinions from coloring the translation. It is quite vexing,” she murmured, pushing her glasses further up her nose.
Sarah smiled at her distracted hostess and took advantage of the lull in conversation to enjoy the view out the window. She did not believe she would ever take for granted the din and activity of London.
When the carriage stopped, Daphne looked up from her book, confused. She frowned when she saw the dressmaker’s shop. “Drat, I suppose we’d better go in. I shan’t have any peace until Rowena gets what she wants.”
Sara
h enjoyed the next couple of hours greatly, even if her hostess did not. She was thrilled by the variety of fabrics and dress styles available. The women on Tenerife had said their shop was pitifully small and their designs outmoded, and now Sarah could see they’d spoken the truth.
Madam Saint Claire was a terrifying older woman who bullied Daphne and Sarah, but met her match in Rowena. The two women bickered endlessly over fabrics and styles. Sarah found their interaction amusing, but Daphne merely retired to a comfortable sofa and immersed herself in her book. As a result, Sarah became the battleground for the two women, her own preferences about color or style going completely unheeded.
After three-quarters of an hour of open warfare, Sarah found herself standing before a mirror in one of Madam’s “ready-made” creations while the tiny Frenchwoman pinned and tucked the gown for alterations. Apparently the dress had been part of a trousseau for a young woman who’d subsequently eloped with someone other than her fiancé. As a result, Madam had been left with dozens of dresses and undergarments she was most eager to sell. It was Sarah’s luck that the young woman had been almost as tall as she but somewhat larger. Sarah was speechless at the beauty of the garment.
The dress consisted of a crimson slip that was overlaid with beige lace. The effect was stunning. The red by itself would have been too garish, but the mere glimpse of it below the lace was subtle and elegant. The colors made Sarah’s skin glow and her hair look more golden than she’d believed possible.
There was a lovely full train that gathered at the middle of her back. The only embellishment was a broad beige velvet ribbon that ran beneath her bust and was caught up in the front by a lovely piece of jewelry that looked just like a cabochon-cut ruby set in antique gold.
“This can be ready tonight, mademoiselle,” Madam said, scrutinizing the gown in the mirror.
Sarah turned to Daphne, who was not paying attention. “My lady, will I need this tonight?”
Daphne’s eyes gradually focused on Sarah. “Oh, how lovely! Yes, that is perfect on you.”
Sarah flushed. “When do you think I will need this?”
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