“I know.” Alistair grinned at her. Then, in a complete about-face, he grew suddenly serious. “I do beg your pardon. I have been teasing you. You flew so fiercely to Burdetts defense that I could not help myself. In truth it is people like Burdett and like you, people with wealth and conscience who take their social responsibilities seriously that ensure that we do not have a revolution such as the one that brought Napoleon to power in the first place. Burdett was right in defending the Napoleon who began with republican principles, but he does not understand that the Emperor’s victories all over Europe have given the man such enormous power that his judgment has become clouded. Now he subjects peoples to the sort of tyranny that is rampant in Spain and Portugal, not to mention the misery that war in general has brought to the populace.”
Sarah regarded the earl with astonishment. Sitting there on his superb horse, flawlessly attired in jacket of dark blue Bath superfine, snug breeches, and boots so highly polished one could see one’s face in them, he looked the picture of a fashionable Corinthian who knew nothing and cared less about the state of the world. Yet here he was making passionate observations about it.
“Whew.” Alistair chuckled. “I had not meant to go on like a regular jaw-me-dead, but the situation in the Peninsula seems to me to be extraordinarily grave and so few people here pay the least attention to it.”
“Perhaps,” Sarah replied thoughtfully, “but I did read in The Times just the other day that Canning is planning an examination of the campaign in Parliament.” In spite of herself Sarah could not help being drawn into the discussion. It was entirely possible that he was flattering her as much as he flattered Rosalind, catering to her pride in her intelligence very much the same way he catered to Rosalind’s pride in her beauty. But it did not seem as though he was dissembling. Furthermore, Sarah never had been one to resist a good conversation no matter who was involved in it. Ruthlessly ignoring her doubts and suspicions, she allowed herself to become totally immersed in a thorough analysis of the situation in the Peninsula.
Chapter Twelve
Meanwhile, the Peninsular Campaign was also under discussion among other members of the party, though not with quite the same patriotic fervor. Responding to the subtlest of glances from Rosalind, the chevalier had approached her carriage the minute the earl had left it. The marchioness had not been best pleased at the casual manner with which Lord Farringdon had abandoned her, but it would never have done to reveal her annoyance in front of the Edgecumbe girls, who had been keeping a close watch on Rosalind and the Earl of Burnleigh. Unsophisticated though they were, Lucinda and Cordelia had spent enough time in the ton to gloat over such patent desertion on the part of an admirer. Observing the meaningful glances the sisters had exchanged at Lord Farringdon’s departure, Rosalind thought that she almost preferred the company of her sister-in-law, eccentric rustic that she was, to that of Cordelia and Lucinda. Sarah for all her oddities was not unkind, nor was she someone who competed for attention and admiration in the way women of the fashionable world did.
Turning around, Rosalind spied another potential admirer, and, wishing to inspire envy in the jealous breasts of the Edgecumbe sisters, the marchioness smiled ever so slightly at the chevalier. He responded with flattering alacrity, but his first words sent a disquieting chill down her spine that Rosalind did her best to ignore. “I see that your husband and Lord Edgecumbe do not join us. Can it be that they are back at Cranleigh, discussing political affairs?”
Rosalind shrugged and replied airily, “Oh, Lord Melford is not one for these outings.” But there was no mistaking the tenor of his question nor the meaningful expression in his dark eyes, which flickered briefly but significantly toward her brother riding directly behind the other carriage and then back to the marchioness.
Rosalind’s heart sank. She had hoped, however vainly, that the chevalier would forget all about the little proposition he had made in the garden the other day. Actually, it had been more of a threat than a proposition, and Rosalind had no more idea what to do about it now than she had had at the time. She had intended to enlist Alistair’s aid, but somehow she had not had the opportunity to bring it up. She had meant to beg his assistance during the evening stroll on the terrace, but the moment had slipped away before she had been able to broach the subject—a subject that required the utmost delicacy in its presentation, for she was not at all certain what his reaction would be.
The Earl of Burnleigh, for all his reckless ways and devil-may-care attitude, was not an easy man to know. He had hidden depths that could quite take one by surprise. Rosalind had had occasion to discover this one evening some time ago when she had made an offhand remark about the French emperor’s being the merest adventurer and upstart and thus not a serious cause for concern. It had been the wrong thing to say. The gray eyes that had been warmly admiring the moment before had become as hard and cold as slate, and the smiling lips had compressed into an unyielding line. “You and all the rest of the world are fools for underestimating him,” Alistair had snapped. That was all he had said, but it was enough for Rosalind to see very clearly indeed. Nor would he discuss these issues further with her. Her inopportune remark had been made before Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, and Marengo. When these stunning victories had proven Lord Farringdon correct, she had tried to bring up the topic again, but he had neatly sidestepped the discussion with flirtatious banter and flattering remarks about her appearance.
No, Alistair could not be approached for assistance without careful preparation. In the meantime, there was no denying the purposeful expression on the chevalier’s handsome countenance. Perhaps, Rosalind hoped optimistically, she could avoid being alone with him and thus forestall future demands, but his next words put an end to such wishful thinking.
“He is a busy man, is my Lord Melford. I saw the dispatch rider arrive this morning from London. It is a great shame my lord has no time to enjoy such a lovely day with his beautiful wife, non? I am a poor second as a companion, but I would greatly enjoy a further tour of the gardens of Cranleigh given by its mistress.”
This time there was no denying the menace in his tone. Rosalind shuddered ever so slightly, and then, summoning up a smile that could have hardly have been less enthusiastic, she responded mechanically. “Of course, I shall be happy to show them to you, Chevalier.” She was trapped, and there was nothing she could do. If she refused, Richard would be ruined, and his sister could not help but be tainted by the ensuing humiliation. However, the alternative of giving the information to the Frenchman was not particularly attractive either.
It was not so much that Rosalind was concerned about betraying her country as much as she abhorred scandal. If it was ever discovered that she had passed along secrets to the chevalier, she would never be able to hold up her head in the ton again, and to the Marchioness of Cranleigh, society and her position as one of its leaders were the breath of life. Nothing else gave her such a sense of satisfaction or pride as the envious glances of the women and the admiring ones of the men. Without these, she would be nothing, no one.
Now all of this, so carefully sought, so bitterly won, would be destroyed by her foolish brother and her dull-witted husband. Life was hard. It was all because of Richard in the first place that she had been forced into marriage with the uninspiring Harold, which was, Lord knows, trial enough for a clever, beautiful woman. If Richard were not so very improvident or if Harold were not such a self-important fool that he insisted upon attaching himself to rising politicians instead of being satisfied with enjoying his role as the husband of one of the ton’s most brilliant young matrons, she would not be in this fix. In her agony of self-pity Rosalind forgot entirely that it was she who had pushed Harold to seek out more lofty political circles than those in which he had been moving before marrying her. It was enough to make one’s head ache. Certainly Rosalind’s was throbbing now, and the bright sunshine was only making it worse in spite of the fetching parasol she held tilted at such a becoming angle.
“The
n let us agree to take a stroll in the gardens later on, as I am sure we shall have a great deal to discuss, which would only bore your lovely companions.” The chevalier turned to include the Duchess of Coltishall and Lady Amelia in a brilliant smile. “But come, we have arrived, and we must ask our fair guide to point out the noteworthy landmarks in the distance. It is a splendid vista, non?”
For the remainder of the outing the marchioness’s mind was in a whirl. Whatever was she going to do? However was she supposed to find out anything of use from Harold, and what was it that she was supposed to find out? What if she could not discover anything? Would she be ruined anyway? Surely, the chevalier would not be so cruel. That was it! She would tell him that she had been unable to discover anything, that her husband had refused to discuss such things with her; after all, she was only a woman. Men did not discuss affairs of state with women.
However, at that very moment, another man was discovering, much to his surprise, that a man could discuss such things with a woman, and that furthermore, the experience could be just as enlightening and certainly far more charming than debating such topics with men. Pursuing her own comment concerning Canning’s activities in Parliament, Sarah had turned toward the earl to remark, “From your expression it appears that you do not look for much from the parliamentary inquiry into the situation in the Peninsula.”
Alistair grimaced. “I very much fear that the Whigs will soon come into power, and undoubtedly one of their first actions will be to demand the withdrawal of our troops from Portugal.”
“But surely, since Napoleon has made it clear that he himself plans to lead an attack on Lisbon, they would not dare do such a thing,” she suggested.
“Perhaps,” the earl acknowledged, “but there are strong sentiments for peace, what with the poor harvest last year and the closing of the European market to British goods.”
“However, now that Spain has turned against France, there must be a need for British manufacturers that did not exist before.”
It was a telling point, and Lord Farringdon, much struck by it, was thoughtful for a moment. He so rarely had the opportunity to thrash out such complicated ideas with anyone, especially someone who could broaden his thinking, that he found himself having to stop and consider very hard indeed before his next reply. “Yes, but it is all a question of the final result, you see. If we lose, we have spent a great deal of money and many lives for nothing—worse than nothing, because a victorious Napoleon is sure to exact harsh penalties from the losers. He has been so invincible up to this point that such an outcome is within the realm of possibility, and now that he has allied himself with Austria, it is even more so.” Alistair paused for a moment, looking out over the expanse of green that ended in the shimmering sea, his expression speculative. “If, however, we can form the Portuguese into an efficient fighting force, incorporate them into our army, and inspire the Spanish, why then we may just win.”
“I can see that is the approach you favor,” Sarah commented.
He grinned. “Is it so obvious, then?”
She could not help smiling in response. “There is no mistaking the vigor in your tone, my lord. It is a grave risk, however, and ...”
“But I feel certain that in time, other nations, inspired by the Spanish revolt, may follow suit and try to throw off the yoke of the Continental System, leaving us free to trade with anyone. Then our victory would be complete. I do beg your pardon; I did not mean to interrupt...”
“However your convictions are very strong,” Sarah finished for him. “I do not mind in the least. Your opinions do you credit, but can they be supported by the men and supplies to see it all through?”
“I believe so,” he began carefully, glancing around as he did so. The chevalier was deep in conversation with Rosalind, and everyone else, with the exception of the inoffensive Thaddeus, was out of earshot. “Napoleon has succeeded thus far because he has been highly organized and efficient, throwing thousands of men into pitched battles before the enemy has a chance to collect itself. He is a superb leader and has devoted and well-trained forces, but his methods of supplying those forces by living off the countryside work against any lengthy campaigns, especially in such unforgiving terrain as there is to be found in the Peninsula. The army rapidly exhausts the resources of an area, inspiring the animosity of its inhabitants, and then is forced to move often. The world thus far is reeling under his onslaught, but I do believe it is now beginning to collect itself, and the tide will eventually turn.”
Sarah regarded the earl with new respect. Either he was a complete dreamer or he was very deep indeed. Given the assurance with which he spoke, it seemed as though the latter were the case. She had only the briefest of moments to wonder how he came by his information before Thaddeus broke in.
“That may be all very well, but as the emperor has just allied himself with Austria, there is certainly little likelihood of that country’s allying itself with anyone but France.”
Lord Farringdon looked grim. “That is true, for the moment at least, but it will also very likely push the Russians into a more antagonistic stance toward Napoleon. Even now it appears as though Alexander looks upon Tilsit as more of a truce than a true alliance between Russia and France.”
“And I suppose that ultimately any country, at the slightest show of weakness on Napoleon’s part, is bound to turn against him. Although he is a brilliant general and perhaps even a brilliant leader, he is still an upstart in the eyes of the monarchs of Europe, and his republican origins are bound to make them uneasy.” Sarah spoke meditatively, almost as though she were thinking aloud rather that addressing her two companions.
The earl smiled approvingly. It was a provocative idea and certainly one worthy of discussion. He had not been wrong in his first impression at the dinner table—conversation with Lady Sarah Melford was indeed stimulating. But at the moment she did not look like someone who had scored a telling point. If anything, she looked to be seriously annoyed with a frown on her face that spoke considerable displeasure. Alistair regarded her curiously.
The earl was entirely correct in his reading of her expression; Sarah was miffed. There had been something so patronizing in Lord Farringdon’s attitude, as if she were a clever child who had suddenly, and most unexpectedly come up with the correct answer. Why should it be so surprising that she had contributed a sound theory? She was as intelligent as most people after all, and she read the newspapers and reviews as much as anyone. It was more than Sarah could stand. “I fail to see why you are so taken aback at my opinion, my lord. It seems a most obvious conclusion for a well-informed mind to reach,” she muttered stiffly before clamping her mouth firmly shut.
Now he would certainly laugh at her if he were not laughing inside already. Any other woman, say Rosalind for instance, would never have gotten into such a deep discussion in the first place. If she had, she would have gracefully laughed off the earl’s air of superiority. All that Sarah had done by being so prickly was to make herself open to derision from the sort of man who was accustomed to delicious flirtations with women instead of political debate. She stole a glance at Lord Farringdon, who, oddly enough, was not laughing at her at all; in fact, he looked rather grave.
“I stand corrected. Lady Sarah,” Alistair apologized. “I was a coxcomb. While it is true that I never have had the pleasure of conversing with a truly intelligent and educated woman before, that should not give me the right to make assumptions about a particular woman from my general experience.”
Sarah studied him carefully, but there was not a hint of mockery in his expression. He was serious to the point of being contrite, and she found herself warming to him in spite of her annoyance. There was something rather disarming about a gentleman who was willing to admit his faults.
A teasing smile tugged at the corners of the earl’s mouth. “But you will allow me to say in my defense that you are most unusual. I have never encountered a woman such as you, and I must say that I am finding it to be a most deligh
tful and illuminating experience.”
The rogue. Undoubtedly he was just saying that, but Sarah flushed with pleasure all the same. “Why, why, thank you,” she stammered.
Alistair cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “Well, you are welcome, but I had nothing to do with it. You are a rare creature. Lady Sarah.”
For a moment she could do nothing but stare at him, mesmerized by the half-teasing, half-admiring glint in his eyes. It was, for a brief second, as though they were the only two people in the world. The rest of the party, even Thaddeus, ceased to exist as they sat there gazing at one another. For an instant they both sensed a depth of communication that went beyond words—a mutual recognition and understanding that had nothing in common with the ordinary social interchanges of the rest of the world. Then Lord Tredington came riding up, and just as quickly as it had appeared, the moment was broken—so quickly in fact that Sarah was not entirely sure that it had happened at all except that Lord Farringdon seemed to be something more than he had been before. He was not just a man of fashion whose only interests were wine, women, and song, but someone who hid graver interests and concerns under a careless exterior. Furthermore, she wanted to think that the same sort of revelations had occurred to him about her, and he, too, had come to a deeper understanding of her.
The Reluctant Heiress Page 10