The Reluctant Heiress

by Evelyn Richardson

  “There.” Sarah tied one last knot and stood back, appearing to admire her handiwork when in truth all she could see was powerful square shoulders and a broad chest tapering to slim hips. Sitting there in the dappled sunlight, half dressed, the Earl of Burnleigh appeared to be some vigorous pagan creature of the forest, a Hercules rather than a man whose conquests were legendary in the ballrooms and drawing rooms of the metropolis. “It appears to be healing quite nicely. I do not think there is cause to worry about infection and, I daresay, in no short time you will be able to dress it yourself.”

  Sarah bent down quickly to gather up her supplies so that she was able to avoid looking at her patient, which was most fortunate. Alistair was regarding her intently, a curious arrested expression in his eyes. There was something in her manner, the speed with which she worked, the abruptness, almost curtness of her speech that was so in contrast with the gentleness of the first time she had ministered to him that he was at first nonplussed. Then observing her closely, he saw that the capable hands trembled ever so slightly when they touched him, and her breathing as she bent over her work was oddly ragged.

  Lord Farringdon suppressed a smile. So Lady Sarah Melford was human after all. What an enormous relief it was. The earl rarely felt toward anyone what he was now feeling toward Sarah, and when he did, he never liked the vulnerability that came with it. He had never before been uncertain as to whether these feelings were returned. Now he was, and he liked that feeling even less. The pang of disappointment he had experienced when Sarah had told him that he could soon take care of himself had served only to show him just how much he enjoyed the enforced companionship. How pleasant it was to have her take care of him, to worry about him, and how heavenly it was to be touched by those gentle hands. The long, delicate fingers moving soothingly, her stroking the salve into his wound had been more comforting, more relaxing than anything he could ever remember. Surely, she could not be unaffected by it all? However, she had been so very businesslike that he had begun to doubt himself in a way he had not since childhood, until he had observed her more closely and then he guessed.

  Instead of satisfaction or the heady sense of conquest that usually came with this recognition of attraction, there was now an astonishing sense of humility in the face of the powerful sensations she evoked, a sense of gratitude that a person such as Sarah, who was so much more than any other woman he had ever known, could be drawn to him as he was drawn to her.

  These were the revelations of a minute and so unnerving that the earl thrust them hastily aside as he pulled on his shirt and turned his thoughts to the more obvious problems confronting them at the moment.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “I have spoken to Ro ... er, your sister-in-law,” Alistair declared, thrusting one arm into his jacket, ‘“and she admitted, though not without a great deal of prevarication, to having given information to the chevalier. I have no idea whether it is possible to undo the damage she has done, but I should at least pass that word along to Whitehall. As I know of no reliable messengers around here, it seems I must go to London myself to inform them of the latest developments.”

  Sarah, who had at last gotten herself well in hand, was thinking furiously while trying desperately to ignore the part of her that did not wish to say good-bye. Fortunately, there was another part of her that did, the rational part that longed for the peace of her former rather dull, but exceedingly comfortable routine. “I quite understand, but will not the chevalier suspect something if you leave so unexpectedly?”

  “Suspect? Suspect what?”

  “Well,” she began reasonably, “he and his men are interrupted in the midst of clandestine activities one night, the observer eludes pursuit, but may possibly be hurt; then, practically the next day, you, who presumably had been planning to remain at Cranleigh for some time, suddenly depart for London.”

  For a minute the earl was silent, staring so fixedly at a tree trunk that Sarah was not sure he had heard her; then a singularly attractive smile dawned. “What ever did I do without you, Lady Sarah? It is a wonder I did not get myself killed long before this. You must think me very green indeed.”

  Feeling a rush of pleasure at these words, Sarah was thinking no such thing. Rather she was taking note of what a wonderful effect simple words of recognition and appreciation could have on a person. “Why, no. I had actually been wondering how you had been able to do it all on your own, but I expect if you have been conducting this sort of business mostly in the metropolis you would not have had to be so careful what with so many people about. Things are so much more confined at Cranleigh. It is rather like living in a zoo.” The depth of feeling in her voice suggested that this was no idle remark meant to reassure him, and that she had often suffered from the stifling atmosphere of a small community where everyone’s actions constituted much of the news of the day.

  “It is true that one can disappear in a crowd much more easily in London than around here,” Alistair admitted. He did not add that her presence was providing more distraction than he was accustomed to. While Lady Sarah had provided invaluable assistance both in helping him recover from his wound and acting as another pair of eyes, she was also beginning to intrude into his thoughts with dangerous frequency, and Alistair found himself devoting a good deal of time and energy observing her and thinking about her that he would otherwise have spent keeping one step ahead of the chevalier.

  “I shall have to enlist the aid of someone to impersonate a messenger from my man of business in London. Do you know of anyone who is not well known in these parts?”

  Sarah thought for a moment. “I believe that Thad ... er, the vicar, has a brother who is also in the church. His parish is in Newington. He is a good deal younger than the Reverend Mr. Witson, and from what I hear from his brother, a rather lively young man. Perhaps he could be persuaded to help.”

  Sarah’s use of the vicar’s first name caught the attention of Lord Farringdon. He looked up, regarding her intently, but other than stammering, she did not act at all self-conscious. Still, Alistair could not help wondering. The vicar was an old family friend; that would explain it. Surely, she could not think of him in any other way, not Sarah. He was far too dull for her. Of course, the vicar was her intellectual peer, but beyond that, there was no comparison. She could run rings around him. She needed someone who was passionate and adventurous, not a man who was content to spend the rest of his days sitting cozily in front of the fire, reading scholarly treatises. Enough of such ridiculous speculation. Sarah was looking expectantly at him, waiting for a reply. “That is certainly a possibility.” Inexplicably, the earl found himself loath to be indebted to Thaddeus Witson or his brother, however trustworthy they might be.

  “I shall ask the vicar to speak to his brother if you like, and perhaps you could meet with him some day soon at the vicarage. That will give you some time to heal, which is all to the good because, strong as you are, it would do you no harm to be looked after for a little while longer.”

  Alistair grinned. “You are a very stern nurse, Lady Sarah. In this instance, though not in many others, you will find me a reasonable man. I need to be strong enough for whatever is to come.”

  Sarah did not particularly relish the sound of those words, but she gave no sign of it, moving on instead to other areas of concern. “I shall have to keep watch over the chevalier then while you are gone.”

  “What!” The earl sat bolt upright, too astonished even to notice the pain in his side. “You will do no such thing, my girl!”

  “And whyever not?” Sarah’s voice was ominously quiet.

  Alistair could see the danger signals—the narrowed eyes, the firm little chin thrust forward, the mutinous line of the mouth—and knew it behooved him to tread most cautiously. “Do not fly up in the boughs. It is not that I doubt in the least your ability to carry out such a program. I have utmost faith that you would do excellently, certainly better than I have done thus far, but we are dealing with a very ugly customer here, and
I should never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. “No. I simply cannot allow you to risk life and limb when I am not around to protect and look after you.”

  Sarah was so struck with the idea of anyone’s wishing to look after her and protect her that she could think of nothing to say in reply. For a good deal of her life, especially in her impressionable years, she had been nothing but a burden to people who tried to escape the responsibility of looking after her rather than welcoming it. Now someone was offering to do just that, and that he was one of the most intriguing people she had ever met only made it all the more incredible.

  Alistair took advantage of this silence to press his point. “I shall send someone in my absence who will contrive to get in touch with you when he arrives. Naturally, any observations you have made of the chevalier’s movements while you are in the company of the rest of the party at Cranleigh would be most invaluable. In the meantime, I shall confer with them at Whitehall and, with your permission of course, shall send you a letter instructing you what information to give Rosalind so that she may pass it along. It will necessarily be in code, so do not be surprised if I write to you of volumes of Spanish history instead of numbers of battalions. I suspect that we plan to send more troops to the Peninsula, and that it would thus be to our advantage to let the chevalier and his masters think that we are sending none, but I must confirm all this. It is a rather big favor to ask of someone who is an unwilling member of the party at Cranleigh in the first place, but I should be most grateful if you could do this.”

  There was no need for Sarah to answer. Alistair could read the response in her sparkling eyes and the eager look on her face. He chuckled. “I can see from your expression that I may count myself very fortunate that you have promised to give up all thoughts of following the chevalier, for you look more than ready to take on adventure of any sort.” He reached out to tilt up her chin with one hand and look deep into her eyes. “You have promised, have you not?”

  The gray eyes boring into hers were uncompromising and as hard as flint. There was no arguing with him. The earl was a man of infinite charm, but at the moment it was difficult to believe that this dangerous-looking stranger was the person whose disarming and captivating wit had attracted her to him much against her will. Sarah nodded. “I had not exactly promised, but I will now.”

  A gleam of humor lit his eyes. “It is a lucky thing I made you give your word, else, knowing you, you would have gone against my advice safe in the knowledge that you had led me to believe you had promised when, in fact, you had not.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to protest.

  “No, do not bother to deny it. I know you are a woman of honor, a woman of your word, but you are also clever enough to equivocate when it is to your advantage, and you would do so in this case if I were not to ensure that you do not. I have seen how you court danger and excitement, given the least opportunity. I will not encourage you in this. Until now the excitement and adventure you have enjoyed have come from living your life differently from those around you and, yes, from thwarting the expectations of the hidebound and the respectable—your pompous brother in particular. This situation, however, is vastly different. It does not involve a threat merely to your reputation, but to your person as well, and that is something I cannot bear to contemplate.”

  “What makes you think all this?” Sarah demanded suspiciously. In truth, the man seemed capable of reading her mind, for she had intended to do precisely what he had just described—lull him into complacency by allowing him to believe that she was content to follow his orders when she planned to go ahead on her own keeping an eye on the chevalier. There was no denying it; unfortunately, the earl was awake on all suits and thus able to forestall her.

  He was chuckling at her. “How do I know? Because I would have done the very same thing myself, gone ahead and conducted my own investigation unless I had given my word to someone, and then of course, I would not. We are not so un-alike after all, you and I.”

  Sarah could not help being much struck by this observation. In the oddest way it was true. For all their differences—he was a rake and a libertine; she was more often categorized as being a prim bluestocking—they were similar in their independent turn of mind, their refusal to abide blindly by the dictates of society, their wish to discover things for themselves and live on their own terms.

  Before encountering the Earl of Burnleigh, Sarah would have denied any taste for adventure. After all, she preferred the quiet of the country to the bustle of town, but having participated in something that was not only truly exciting, but also worthwhile, she was forced to admit to herself that she did enjoy this sort of intrigue and, if she was not mistaken, she had something of a talent for it.

  The earl’s words, besides forcing her to stop and reflect on these things, were also strongly reassuring. There had never been anyone else besides Lady Willoughby who had viewed life from a perspective even remotely similar to Sarah’s, and Lady Willoughby was a blood relative. Here was a perfect stranger who seemed to understand things in much the same way she did. It was rather comforting not to be alone anymore. Sarah smiled and held out her hand. “Perhaps you are right, but we must continue to seem what we first appear, the very antithesis of one another. I must return to my duties at Ashworth and you to yours at Cranleigh.”

  Alistair clasped the hand that was held out to him, thinking what a difference a smile could make. It transformed Lady Sarah from a rather serious young lady into a beautiful woman. Now, why had he not noticed that before, or had he been afraid to?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  In the ensuing days Lord Farringdon and Lady Sarah were careful not to appear to spend any time in one another’s company. During an excursion to Lympne where the party from Cranleigh spent a day viewing the medieval castle and the few remaining ruins of the third-century Roman fort that had supported Carausius in his bid for imperial power and had later become a defense against Saxon pirates, Sarah and the earl had no other contact than the briefest of greetings as the little cavalcade set forth on the journey.

  This was not to say that each one was not intensely aware of the other’s presence. To all intents and purposes Alistair paid far more attention to Sarah’s discussion with Thaddeus Witson than he did to his own mindless exchange with the Edgecumbe girls.

  A brief flirtatious interlude with Rosalind, who cared more that he was escorting her carriage and casting admiring glances in her direction with proper frequency than that he actually shared any worthwhile conversation, allowed him to position himself so as to keep Lady Sarah and the vicar in view for almost the entire journey. As he smiled mechanically at the Marchioness of Cranleigh and made sure to look deep into her eyes every ten minutes or so, the earl wondered endlessly what Sarah and her partner were talking about that could be so absorbing to both of them. What caused that half smile at the corner of her mouth? What inspired that vigorous nod of her head? And what had she said to amuse the ordinarily serious Thaddeus?

  Had he known the topic of their conversation, Alistair would have been reassured, for it had to do with Sarah’s enlisting the aid of Thaddeus’s younger brother to deliver a message to the Earl of Burnleigh, urgently requesting his presence in London. The vicar readily agreed to this proposal with no more than a curious glance, but that was enough to elicit a stumbling explanation from Sarah.

  “You see. Lord Farringdon is beginning to find it rather awkward here, what with the determined pursuit of the Edgecumbe girls and ...” her voice trailed off as she directed a meaningful look toward the carriage where Rosalind was practically glowering at Lucinda and Cordelia, who were leaning forward so eagerly and chattering with such animation to the earl as to give abundant proof to Sarah’s hastily concocted interpretation of his need for escape from Cranleigh.

  “Ah.” The vicar nodded thoughtfully. “Though it is rather unlike you, Lady Sarah, to concern yourself with the welfare of a fribble su
ch as the Earl of Burnleigh, especially when his entire behavior positively invites such attentions.”

  “He is not a useless fribble.” Sarah came hastily to the earl’s defense. Then, appalled at the vehemence of her response, she carefully amended it. “Well, rather, there is more to his character than I had at first supposed. He is quite well informed on the current state of affairs both here and abroad. In fact, he is surprisingly knowledgeable about a number of things.”

  “I am gratified to hear that,” her companion replied in a deceptively mild tone, glancing covertly at her. The vicar was no fool, and he had known Lady Sarah Melford for the better part of her life. Acting on his suspicions, Thaddeus had called Lord Farringdon a fribble with the precise intention of eliciting a response. And he had gotten one. So that is where the land lies, he congratulated himself. I had thought as much. Indeed, Providence did have a way of looking after things, and the vicar found that despite his best intentions, he could not entirely repress the smile of satisfaction that rose to his lips.

  The Reverend Mr. Witson had been far quicker to see beneath Lord Farringdon’s wild reputation and devil-may-care airs than anyone else. More at liberty to observe the earl, and less likely to compete with him than Sarah, he had recognized a clever, well-instructed mind under the irreverent exterior and had come to the conclusion that he was just what Sarah needed to encourage the lighter side of a character that tended toward gravity. Sarah deserved more of a life than the quiet round of charitable works and overseeing of affairs at Ash-worth. She needed gaiety, though not necessarily the vapid frivolity of a London Season. The vicar had finally begun to believe that far-fetched as it might sound, the Earl of Burnleigh could just possibly introduce a more lively note into her otherwise rather dull existence.