The Reluctant Heiress

by Evelyn Richardson

  In years gone by, both the vicar and Lady Willoughby had racked their brains trying to think of ways for Sarah to widen her circle of acquaintances so that she might encounter just such a person as Lord Farringdon. For his part, Thaddeus would have chosen a man a little less dashing than the earl, but the vicar was a man of faith, and he was not one to quibble with his Maker if He chose to provide Sarah with something slightly less than the vicar had requested.

  To be sure, Thaddeus had encouraged Sarah to broaden her horizons as much as it was possible. It was he who had convinced her that she had as much right to be heard as the next person and enough wit to make her opinions worthy of consideration. To this end he had been tireless in his attempts to encourage her writing for such respected mediums of expression as The Edinburgh Review. Half believing that he was hoaxing her, or that his fondness for her was severely impairing his judgment, Sarah had nevertheless submitted an article under the name of William Redmond with most gratifying results. The correspondence it had engendered had led to lively debates conducted through the post, and Sarah, without being forced to attend a single assembly or endure a London Season, had gained several new acquaintances who could appreciate much more of what she had to offer than any partner of a quadrille could have.

  The writing had been a start at enlivening her existence and making her feel valued as she deserved to be, but it was not enough, and now without the aid and influence of Lady Willoughby the vicar had despaired of anything occurring to improve the state of affairs. Certainly, he had never dreamed that help would come from the direction of Cranleigh, but the marchioness’s craving for excitement and admiration had been responsible for the presence of Lord Farringdon. Of course, Sarah had grumbled to Thaddeus at the necessity of her participating in the activities planned by her sister-in-law, but, whether or not she scorned the company, it had certainly enlivened her existence.

  The vicar sympathized entirely with Sarah’s impatience at the pretense and emptiness that characterized so much of the life of Rosalind’s coterie, but more than Sarah, he could see the benefits that could be derived from the time she was forced to spend at Cranleigh. The conversations, while they were not perhaps of such a high moral or intellectual tone as Sarah would choose, were conversations, nevertheless, and more than she usually enjoyed in her daily round of existence. Then there was the Earl of Burnleigh.

  The moment Lord Farringdon had appeared, he had infused the gathering with energy and excitement. True, some of this arose naturally from the efforts of most of the women present to outdo each other in their bids for his attention, but it was more than that. The Earl of Burnleigh possessed a vitality and charm that lent itself to any situation, and no one could remain unaffected by it. Even Sarah, ordinarily oblivious to such things, had been unable to ignore him that first evening at dinner, and her preoccupied air had not been lost on her partner. Thaddeus had been amused at how she had bridled at Lord Farringdon’s easy domination of his end of the table, and intrigued by her inability to keep her eyes from wandering occasionally toward that end of the table.

  No less satisfying was the earl’s interest in Lady Sarah. Thaddeus had felt the man’s eyes upon them as he and Sarah had launched into their discussion of Sir Francis Burdett at the dinner table. The vicar had watched him make his way over to her when they rejoined the ladies in the drawing room. From then on he had kept track of the number of times the earl had sought out Sarah. When Lord Farringdon spoke to her, his customary expression of boredom vanished, and the languid air he cultivated dropped from him immediately. He became intent and animated in a way that he never was with anyone else, even the enchanting Marchioness of Cranleigh.

  The Reverend Mr. Witson had ministered to the joys and sorrows of his parishioners for many years, and there was very little in human existence with which he was not conversant. He had been aware of the flirtation between Rosalind and Lord Farringdon and had hazarded a shrewd guess as to the motives of both of them. He was also well acquainted with the Earl of Burnleigh’s reputation. At university Thaddeus had had ample opportunity to witness the machinations of youthful rakes, and he knew that the earl’s attraction to Sarah was something more than his customary pursuit of females, though Thaddeus suspected that in the earl’s case, much of the pursuing had been done by the females. No, Lord Farringdon did not appear to wish to add Sarah to his list of conquests as much as he wished to add her to his list of friends, a sign that gave the vicar hope for the relationship between the two of them.

  Now, why was the earl departing in such a precipitate manner and what did Sarah’s involvement in this departure mean? The vicar had begun to hope that more might come of their friendship, though he knew that it was expecting a great deal for a man of the world to forget the scores of sophisticated women in favor of a quiet country miss no matter how clever and unique she might be. Still, Thaddeus was a man who placed great faith in Providence.

  “It is a pity that it has become so, er, difficult for his lordship. I was beginning to enjoy his company, were not you?” The vicar glanced curiously at Sarah and was delighted to observe just the faintest bit of color suffusing her cheeks.

  “Yes,” she replied as casually as possible. “Certainly, he is more interesting than Lord Edgecumbe, who speaks most eloquently on political matters, but knows very little else, or Lady Edgecumbe, who does not converse so much as she pronounces on her limited range of subjects with such authority that it would be foolhardy for one to differ with her, or even venture a reply. The Duke and Duchess of Coltishall are certainly unexceptionable enough, but they have very little to contribute beyond a civilized discussion of the weather at any given moment or the possibility of its changing in the near future.”

  Thaddeus could not help chuckling, “Faced with such a choice, you would be hard put not to enjoy the man’s company, for from the little I have seen, he can speak to a great deal of purpose on a variety of subjects.”

  “Which is more than can be said for the rest,” Sarah concluded with a darkling look at the Edgecumbe girls, who were laughing excessively while Lord Farringdon looked unmistakably bored.

  The party had reached the ruins by now, and to Sarah’s infinite relief all discussion of such a dangerous topic was dropped, as they dismounted and prepared to view the ruins. But Thaddeus was more than satisfied. He had seen enough to encourage him in his theory that Lady Sarah Melford and the Earl of Burnleigh enjoyed one another’s company to the extent that Sarah at least did not relish anyone’s observing it or remarking on it. “Just let me know how and when you wish Horace to proceed, and I shall send word to him at Newington,” the vicar murmured as they joined the others where Rosalind was already claiming Lord Farringdon’s arm as she floated down from the barouche.

  “Ah, vicar,” the marchioness greeted Thaddeus with eagerness. “I am glad you have come. Cordelia and Lucinda were just inquiring about the castle, and I knew you would be able to inform them about it as you are so well acquainted with the history of the area. I find that I am rather faint from the carriage ride and must walk a little in the sunshine to clear the dizziness in my head.”

  Cordelia and Lucinda, who had been inquiring about the object of their journey in only the most general way in order to capture the earl’s complete attention, hesitated, unwilling to let the marchioness steal a march on them with the most eligible man they had come close to in quite some time, but they were no match for Rosalind, who smiled sweetly. “Do not concern yourself with my welfare; Lord Farringdon will look after me excellently, will you not, sir?” And, clasping the earl’s arm more closely to her, she turned to lead him toward the other side of the hill and away from the Norman tower of the church.

  However, the marchioness had reckoned without Lord Farringdon, who took great exception to having his choices made for him by anyone, especially the Marchioness of Cranleigh. Loath to be lured away and thus cast in a role of apparent intimacy, he surveyed the surrounding countryside, announcing, “Yes, it is just as I had tho
ught, this is where the Roman road came from Canterbury, and, if I am not mistaken, we are also in the midst of Porteus Lemanis.” He turned to Thaddeus. “Perhaps we had better explore this place in correct chronological order. Can you tell us anything further about the site? If I remember my history, it was the Roman general Carausius who was responsible for these fortifications.”

  “You are precisely correct, my lord.” Thaddeus smiled appreciatively as he strolled over to join the earl and his fair companions. “Maximian gave Carausius the task of protecting Gaul from the attacks of Saxon raiders, and Carausius, anticipating that he might be accused of complicity with these same raiders, fled to Britain, where he protected himself by constructing such forts as these. He was entirely justified in his fears, for in 289 Maximian attacked him and was defeated.”

  “But eventually Carausius was murdered, was he not?” Alistair inquired, poking at a fallen slab with one booted foot.

  By now the others had drifted over to listen to the discussion, and Sarah was able once again to admire the adroitness with which Lord Farringdon was able to turn a situation or a conversation to his advantage.

  As if he could feel her thoughts, Alistair twisted his head slightly and winked at her before returning to the conversation, which had wandered from the Romans to the lords of the Cinque Ports and the former glories of the Kentish coast.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The rest of the day passed without event, though Sarah, avoiding anything that might appear to be more than the most casual contact with the earl, had ample opportunity to observe him. He certainly did have the most enlivening effect on females. Cordelia and Lucinda vied constantly with one another for his attention, and Rosalind, though disdaining to indulge in such obvious ploys as tittering endlessly at every other word Lord Farringdon uttered, witty or not, was never far from him, darting provocative glances from under slyly lowered lashes. Even Lady Amelia’s eyes followed him wherever he went, though she rarely left her parents’ side.

  At long last they returned to Cranleigh, and Sarah was able to break away with the excuse that she must return to Ashworth to dress for dinner and give Ajax some well-deserved rest. She made her escape with a sigh of relief. After a day spent in company, her senses attuned to each and every move of each and every person present, she found it extraordinarily soothing to ride along the country lanes, listening to nothing more taxing than the sweet song of the thrush and relishing the rich and varied greens of the hedgerows.

  A sense of peace and tranquility descended upon her, though it was soon broken by the sound of pounding hooves that slowed as they approached her. Without having to turn in the saddle, Sarah knew it was Lord Farringdon; no one else would have ridden at quite that speed.

  “Had enough idle chatter for one day, have you?” he inquired cheerfully. “So have I, though you got the best of the bargain, being able to spend most of your time with the Reverend Mr. Witson.” Alistair shot a penetrating glance at her, but there was no reaction. Why he expected one or why he even cared that she enjoyed the vicar’s company, he could not say, but he found himself feeling relieved that Sarah exhibited not the slightest bit of self-consciousness when she replied.

  “Yes, I suppose I did; however, we were speaking mostly of you, so I leave it to you to decide how idle our chatter was.” She smiled impishly and continued, “He volunteered his brother’s services to you and awaits your instructions.”

  “Thank you for acting on my behalf. I would appreciate his delivering the urgent message as soon as possible, and if that could be arranged, I should be most grateful.”

  “Very well then, it shall be done. I shall send word to Thaddeus, and you shall have your summons. Until this evening then.” Sarah gathered up Ajax’s reins, dug her heels in, and was off before the earl could thank her.

  Now why had she been in such a thundering hurry to leave him, and when had she begun calling the Reverend Mr. Witson Thaddeus! Alistair turned and made his way back to Cranleigh in a speculative mood. He was not accustomed to being dismissed so easily by a woman, especially a woman whose company he enjoyed as much as he enjoyed Lady Sarah Melford’s, and he found the dismissal rather unpleasantly disconcerting.

  After some moments he shrugged and urged Brutus to a gallop. It was no use conjecturing. He would be rid of them all and back in London soon, where he would be free to concentrate on the task he had set for himself—unmasking the Chevalier d’Evron. Somehow the prospect was not as exciting as it once would have been.

  All went according to plan, and the very next day Horace Witson, breathless, his horse in a lather, appeared at Cranleigh, looking for all the world as though he were a junior clerk from a banking firm in the City. Claiming urgent business with the Earl of Burnleigh, he was led to the ornamental water where his lordship had at last been coerced by Cordelia and Lucinda into rowing them gently around the perimeter while they exclaimed continuously at the smoothness of his stroke, the breadth of his shoulders, and the strength in his arms.

  For his part, Alistair had never known he could experience such relief as he did when he caught sight of Horace waiting expectantly by the water’s edge, clutching a most important-looking document. Gratefully, he rowed toward the shore and allowed the more than willing messenger to hand out the boat’s fair cargo, much to the dismay of Lucinda and Cordelia, who considered the earnest-looking young man a poor substitute for the dashing earl.

  Hurriedly, Alistair scanned the note from his supposed man of affairs, and then, bestowing a dazzling smile on the two young ladies, he excused himself. “I must beg your forgiveness at having to cut short such a delightful interlude, but I am called to London on rather urgent business. Perhaps young Mr. ...” he directed an inquiring glance at the vicar’s younger brother, who was enjoying himself hugely.

  “It is Horace, sir,”

  “Yes, er, perhaps Horace can escort you to the house in a more proper and leisurely fashion.”

  And without further ado Lord Farringdon made his escape, stopping only to ask Nettlebed to inform his mistress of the earl’s imminent departure and to send word to the stables to ready his curricle. He then sought out Rogers to confer about the packing and preparations to be made for the return to London.

  In no short order Rosalind appeared at the door of his bedchamber, her dark eyes wide with reproach. “What is this I hear about your leaving, Alistair?” In her dismay, the marchioness dispensed with formalities, addressing him in the most intimate of manners and clutching at his arm. “It is too bad of you. Whatever am I to do for amusement now? And”— she dropped her voice to a desperate whisper—“how shall I face the chevalier? What am I to do? You cannot desert me!”

  Alistair laid a comforting hand on hers. “Relax, Rosalind. I have thought it all out, and directly I arrive in London I shall send word as to the next information you are to pass along to the chevalier.” Seeing the words of protest hovering on her lips, he raised a hand to forestall her. “Never fear, I shall make sure you have something by the time your husband receives the next dispatch.”

  “But how am I... what am I... really, Alistair, it is too unkind in you. How am I to go on with no one to help me?”

  “There is someone to help you.” The earl spoke soothingly. “I shall send everything to Lady Sarah at Ashworth, and that way there is not the slightest chance of any suspicion falling on you.”

  “Sarah?” Rosalind’s whisper rose to a muffled shriek. “Sarah? What has she to do to any purpose? She is no match for the chevalier. I need you, Alistair.” The full red lips pouted prettily, and the beautifully rounded shoulders shook slightly under the lace that covered the neck of her gray sarcenet walking dress.

  “You must not underestimate your sister-in-law,” the earl replied not unsympathetically. “She understands a great deal more than you give her credit for. I should not be ashamed to accept her assistance. In fact, she has been a great help to me.”

  “Sarah?” There was no mistaking the surprise in the marchiones
s’s voice, nor was she best pleased to discover the excellent terms on which Sarah and the ear! appeared to be. The cunning jade! She had weaseled her way into Lord Farringdon’s good graces without anyone’s being the wiser. The deviousness of her behavior was appalling. Really, what right had she to steal the attention of one of Rosalind’s most ardent admirers? If the idea of Sarah’s attracting the notice of anyone, much less a gentleman of the earl’s sophisticated tastes, were not so utterly absurd, Rosalind would have been furious; as it was, she was merely mildly annoyed.

  Accurately assessing the emotions raging in her ladyship’s lovely bosom, Alistair hastened to add, “She may not possess anything like your beauty and charm, Rosalind, but she does have a good head on her shoulders, and she does want to stop the chevalier from succeeding in his endeavors.”

  Rosalind was beaten, and she knew it. The earl would not be persuaded to change his mind. “Very well. If you say so ...” Her voice trailed off. She might give up the struggle to keep him at her side, but she was not going to admit that she had any use for Sarah.

  It was not fair. There was her sister-in-law inheriting an enormous fortune, which at best she would never use and at worst fritter away on charitable works, and now, to add insult to injury, she seemed to have cozened her way into Lord Farringdon’s good graces. Why, she was not even passable-looking, being unfashionably blond with a nose that was straight instead of the currently popular retroussé. Her eyes were an uncomfortably intelligent green instead of celestial blue or melting brown, and her figure was so slim it lacked the enticing curves that drove men to distraction. Truly, it was too maddening that such a poor little thing was even noticed when the ravishing Marchioness of Cranleigh was present for everyone to admire.

  “You will see.” Alistair smiled encouragingly while inwardly he thanked his lucky stars that Sarah’s presence allowed him to leave Cranleigh in good hands while he went to London. The marchioness was growing dangerously dependent upon his presence, and a re-establishment of their relationship, in any form, was something he most definitely hoped to avoid. “Now you must excuse me while I see to the packing.” And after bowing low over her hand, he turned and entered his chamber, closing the door firmly behind him and leaving his hostess to seethe with frustration.