The Reluctant Heiress

by Evelyn Richardson

  The faintest hint of a smile lightened Ned’s weather-beaten countenance. “Very good, my lady.” He touched his forelock and was gone before she could add anything more. Sarah rang for the butler to give him instructions as to the payment of Ned and his confederates and then settled down to write a note to the Earl of Burnleigh.

  Deliberately ignoring the sense of happy expectation that kept intruding at the prospect of seeing him again, or, at the very least, hearing from him, she penned the briefest of missives, struggling to let him know what was transpiring without making it clear to anyone else who might happen to see her letter. She and Lord Farringdon had agreed upon all sorts of things before he had left, but not upon this particular case. At last she settled on, “My dear sir, thank you for all you have done to seek out the volumes of Spanish history for me; however, a local man I have charged with the same search has identified and located a set down here that he believes he can procure for me. He is an excellent fellow and, knowing your own interest in ancient and obscure volumes of history, I urge you to come make his acquaintance at your earliest possible convenience.” There, Sarah nodded as she sealed it. That should do it. Even if it was not entirely clear to the earl what had occurred, it was sufficiently provocative to ensure his return to Kent. And what then? How was she to greet him after their last encounter? What was she to say to someone she had thought about entirely too much since she had last seen him?

  Stop it, you ninnyhammer, Sarah scolded herself. He has forgotten it all completely, and you would do well to do the same. But oh, it was delicious to close her eyes and feel once again his lips on hers and sense the strength of the arms that held her. At least, she comforted herself, at least she had experienced what she had dreamed of so often—without realizing it of course—when she had pictured Rosalind and the earl together. At least once in her life her pulse had raced and she had felt entirely alive and completely at one with someone, however brief the moment. Be happy that you have had that which you never expected to have, my girl, she told herself severely. And do not wish for more; it is an impossibly silly dream. But she did wish for more all the same.

  Contrary to her belief, the earl had forgotten nothing about their last meeting, nor did he wish to. The missives he received every other day from Ferdie, via a most circuitous route, only served to make him wish all the more that he was back at Cranleigh, enjoying Sarah’s company and keeping an eye on her. Ferdie, by dint of his winning smile, a quick appreciation of the finer points of a prime bit of blood, and an uncanny ability to lose at whatever game of chance Lord Tredington chose, had turned a seemingly chance encounter with his lordship in the taproom at the George and Dragon into an invitation to Tredington Park. In fact, Richard had taken to him so much that he had invited Ferdie to stay as long as he liked or until he had lost all his blunt. Keeping in character with the role he had selected for himself of an aimless young man in pursuit of any sort of sport, Ferdie had accepted Lord Tredington’s invitation with alacrity and had thus provided himself with ample opportunity to observe Lady Sarah Melford.

  He liked what he saw. While it was true that he had been ordered to keep an eye on her solely in regard to her safety and particularly in regard to the machinations of the Chevalier d’Evron, he had also taken it upon himself to discover just what sort of a person this young lady was who had aroused such interest and concern on the part of a man accustomed to looking to women for amusement and gratification only and nothing more, never anything more.

  What Ferdie discovered had surprised him. At first glance. Lady Sarah seemed a quiet, retiring thing, almost mousy in her appearance, but that impression changed upon closer observation. The more he looked, the more he was charmed by the alert expression and the depth of understanding in her eyes, the genuine interest with which she regarded everything. However, it was not until he had witnessed her on horseback that Ferdie had truly begun to understand the earl’s interest in her.

  One fine day when Ferdie and Richard had been on their way to sample some more of the George and Dragon’s finest ale, he had happened to catch sight of her galloping at breakneck speed across the fields on the back of an animal that would have even challenged his skills as a horseman, and it had all fallen into place. On horseback she was a different person—wild almost and free—riding with a fluidity and grace that made her seem one with her mount.

  After that, Ferdie, watching her more closely, was able to catch a glimpse of passion under the calm exterior, a passion that was greatly at variance with the serene smile and the quiet self-possessed air she adopted in company. No wonder Farringdon was intrigued. Ferdie was himself, especially when he compared her to the mindlessly flirtatious Edgecumbe girls or the deliberate seductiveness of the Marchioness of Cranleigh.

  In fact, speculating about the earl’s interest in Lady Sarah and the nature of his relationship with the fair Rosalind was more absorbing than keeping an eye on the chevalier. Lieutenant Summers was able to report that a dispatch had arrived for the marquess, that the chevalier had subsequently sought out the marchioness and had succeeded in luring her away to a tête-à-tête that appeared to have brought little satisfaction to the lady in question. Beyond that, all was calm.

  This information both relieved and disturbed Lord Farringdon. On the one hand, he was glad to hear that Sarah was in no immediate danger and that she seemed to be behaving herself; on the other, there was no pressing reason for him to return to Kent, something he was becoming more anxious to do with each passing day. He loathed the restless limbo he found himself in, full of so many questions, not knowing any of the answers. Did Sarah think of him at all? Did she relive their kiss as often as he did, or was she doing her best to wipe it from her mind? Alistair had felt the response in her at the time—he was experienced enough to sense her attraction to him—but now he was beset by doubts. Was it only the reaction of a moment, unthinking and purely physical, or did he mean something more to her than that? And how was he to determine all this or convince her of his own feelings for her if he was forced to remain cooped up in London. It was a damnable state of affairs and one that went very much against the grain of a man accustomed to going after, and getting, what he wanted.

  At the same time, however, he was rather glad of the necessity of his being elsewhere, because he was entirely unsure as to how to proceed or what the lady’s reaction would be if he did. Even worse, he was not entirely sure of what he wanted precisely, except to be with her, to watch the green eyes light up with excitement at some new idea that caught her fancy, or to see the little frown that wrinkled her forehead when she was concentrating on some question.

  Alistair liked the warmth of her smile when she recognized their mutual agreement upon some topic or their mutual appreciation of a certain situation. He liked it when he sensed her eyes upon him across the room and knew she was thinking of him and wondering what his reactions were. Mostly he liked it that she was there, that he knew she could be counted on for friendship, for advice, for assistance, for anything when he truly needed it. Alistair had never felt that with anyone ever in his life, and it was a wonderful, powerful feeling that drew him to her. Sarah was his escape and his refuge. She was his home. That was it! When he was with her, he felt as comfortable and at ease with himself and the world as if he were at home—not that he had ever truly had a home, but now he knew what it would have felt like if he had.

  It was at this exact moment, as that realization dawned upon him, that Sarah’s note arrived. “Aha!” He laughed exultantly before shouting for Rogers.

  “Yes, sir?” His man was there in an instant, for it was quite unlike his lordship to express himself in such a vociferous manner. Why, he sounded positively exuberant.

  “News, Rogers. Our presence is required again at Cranleigh. We must pack at once.”

  “Very good, sir.” There was not a flicker of interest on Rogers’s wooden countenance to suggest that this new state of affairs was almost as exciting to him as it was to his master. “Catched
at last,” the loyal servant muttered to himself. “And it ain’t the marchioness who has caught him.” Rogers allowed himself a congratulatory tankard of ale before beginning preparations.

  He had guessed how the land lay, and now he knew for certain he was right. Let all those high-flyers and marriage-mad young ladies chase his lordship though they would, he, Rogers, had known that they were nothing to the Earl of Burnleigh and never had been. But this Lady Sarah was a very different situation altogether. She did not appear to try to attract much attention to herself, nor did she appear to be worth looking at, not at first anyway, but by the same token, once one had observed her, one kept being drawn back to her. She had a quiet beauty that was nonetheless real for its being less noticeable than the more flamboyant attractions of, say, a Marchioness of Cranleigh.

  There was an indefinable, but distinctive air of quality about Lady Sarah that made all the other females gathered at Cranleigh seem vulgar by comparison. Rogers smiled to himself as he drained the last drop of ale. He had known, or at least he hoped he had known how it would be. He had never seen the master so happy. Now if only the lady were the same. Well, time and fate would tell, though if Rogers knew his master, the earl would have no small say in it. Rogers, for one, could not remember a woman who had not succumbed to the earl’s charms. As far as the valet could see, both the lady and the gentleman in question deserved all the happiness it appeared they would have.

  It was with a light heart that Rogers set about packing for the earl’s removal to Cranleigh.

  Chapter Thirty

  And it was with an extremely light heart that the Marchioness of Cranleigh read the hastily scrawled note informing her of the Earl of Burnleigh’s imminent return. I knew it, she exulted to herself. He could not stay away! With a vigorous pull of the bell she summoned Framling to confer with her mistress on her wardrobe for the ensuing days. Rosalind was to be nothing less than dazzling for the duration of the house party. From the bonnets that were to cover her carefully arranged coiffures to the slippers that encased her dainty feet, she was to be arrayed in a style designed to take the observer’s breath away.

  “Yes, my lady. Very good, my lady,” Framling murmured as she mentally catalogued the contents of the marchioness’s wardrobe. So his lordship was returning was he, and along with him her ladyship’s good humor. Framling devoutly hoped so, for life since the Earl of Burnleigh’s departure had been very difficult indeed for all those in service to her ladyship.

  There remained one more task to be accomplished before Lord Farringdon arrived, and for that Rosalind needed the unwitting assistance of the Reverend Mr. Witson. The marchioness had decided that Sarah, despite her unprepossessing exterior, had attracted entirely too much attention from the Earl of Burnleigh. While she was grateful to her sister-in-law for her surprising offer of support and her understanding in such a difficult time, Rosalind was not about to allow her gratitude to extend to sharing his lordship’s company.

  To that end, Rosalind had hatched a plan, a plan that would free her of the worry and responsibility of being connected to a young woman who insisted on living her life in the most unbecomingly independent fashion, and it would ensure that any interest the earl had in Sarah’s company would be effectively dampened. The plan was simple in its conception—to marry Sarah to her old mentor and friend, the vicar—though delicate in its execution. Rosalind was forced to exert the greatest imagination and tax her considerable thespian skills to create a picture of charming sympathy as she delicately broached the subject to the vicar himself the next day.

  Wearing a delightfully ruffled high-necked morning dress of black-and-white striped muslin, the marchioness was the image of sisterly concern when the vicar, responding to her request for an audience, was ushered into the morning room at Cranleigh. “I cannot thank you enough for coming so quickly.” Rosalind smiled at him blindingly and indicated a chair with the graceful wave of one white hand. “It may seem all very sudden to you, but I assure you I have agonized over it for quite some time, and I can no longer contain my anxiety concerning Lady Sarah.”

  “Lady Sarah?” Thaddeus responded with some surprise. As far as he knew, the marchioness had never wasted so much as a passing thought on the welfare of her sister-in-law.

  “Yes. I know that she has her books and her music to occupy her time, but she is dreadfully alone, now that her grandmother is gone. In fact, her spirits have been affected so powerfully, I fear one could almost say that she has gone into a decline.” And with the greatest dramatic skill she could bring to bear, Rosalind proceeded to paint such a vivid picture of loneliness and despair that the vicar, no mean observer of human nature himself, had begun to question his own impressions.

  Seeing that she was gaining ascendancy over his judgment, Rosalind clasped one hand to her bosom, laying the other imploringly on her visitor’s arm, and begged him for his help.

  Thaddeus was only a man after all, and as such, found himself to be no proof against such desperation. In a very short while he found himself agreeing to consider what only hours before he would have written off as the most ludicrous flight of fancy. But looking into the large brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, he could almost believe that offering to marry Lady Sarah Melford was the noblest thing he could do for a woman whom he had long admired. As he bid adieu to his hostess, he found himself promising to do just that in the very near future.

  As the door closed behind the vicar, Rosalind could not conceal the smile of satisfaction that lighted her face. The chevalier was deceived about the true state of affairs in Portugal, Alistair was on his way to her side, and her sister-in-law was about to contract a marriage that would keep her in the country away from the Earl of Burnleigh and force respectability on her all at the same time. Though it was true that Lady Willoughby’s fortune was still lost to her, the marchioness could not help but feel that life was looking up indeed.

  Life was looking up for the Earl of Burnleigh as well. Tooling his curricle along the country lanes among flowering hedgerows, he felt at peace with the world on this lovely sunny day. On the brink of exposing the chevalier once and for all—he trusted that Sarah would have summoned him for nothing less—he looked forward to vindicating himself in the eyes of the doubters at Whitehall. But more important, he looked forward to seeing Sarah herself. His joy and relief at being recalled to Cranleigh had ended all the doubts and confusion he had suffered over Lady Sarah Melford. The feelings that her note had evoked in him had proven, as no amount of reflection could, that he wanted to be with her for the rest of his days. All of a sudden so much about life that had eluded him for the longest time seemed perfectly clear, and so much of the perplexity, frustration, and lack of fulfillment was completely washed away by the prospect of sharing it all with her.

  So full was he with all these promising thoughts that the earl was even able to face the idea of Rosalind with equanimity, though he knew very well what interpretation she would put on his return to Cranleigh. Lord Farringdon swept up the gravel drive in such a mood of eager anticipation that he barely noticed the man and the woman strolling along one of the paths among the trees that lined the drive. They were so deep in conversation that he did not pay much attention to them until he was well past them. Then he realized that it was Sarah and the vicar.

  Trying not to appear as though he was doing so, he glanced back, only to discover that they were so engrossed in their conversation they had not even looked up. That was extremely unlike Sarah at least, for she was always supremely aware of what was going on around her. However, Alistair had no further opportunity to consider the question, for the stately portico of Cranleigh had come into view, and he could see from the flurry of activity in the direction of the stables that his arrival had been noted.

  Lord Farringdon was forced to muster what patience he could until a good deal later that evening when he at last seized the opportunity to speak with Sarah as she took her place at the pianoforte. She had seemed glad to see him, smiling at h
im with a warmth he felt sure she reserved only for him as they assembled for dinner. However, she had not gone to any special lengths to speak to him, allowing Rosalind to pair her up with the vicar and disappearing to the other end of the table without even so much as glancing up to watch her sister-in-law laughing and smiling coquettishly under her lashes at the earl. Afterward, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, she had spent so much time conversing with the Duchess of Coltishall and then Lady Edgecumbe that he almost began to suspect her of avoiding him. Had she put him out of her mind so easily then, once he was gone?

  In fact, Sarah was doing her very best to stay away from the earl, certain that the breathlessness that came over her every time she so much as looked at him was highly visible to one and all. Surely, anyone could hear the pounding of her heart when he smiled at her. Why, it had been so deafening she had hardly been able to make out a word that Lady Edgecumbe had said to her.

  Now, though, she was caught—trapped at the pianoforte with those gray eyes smiling down into hers in a way that made her stomach feel as though it were twirling around inside of her. Surely, it was not natural to be so affected by the mere presence of someone? Such agitation could not be good for one’s health.

  Sarah took a deep breath and forced her shaking hands to stumble through one gay country air after another until she had mastered herself enough to breathe regularly at least. Then, choosing an exercise she could have played in her sleep, she said, “I am glad you have come so promptly. I...” She made the mistake of looking up to find him smiling at her in such a way as to make her lose all thought of her next words. “I... yes, well, I was worried you might not quite understand that there is going to be another landing.” There, now she had herself well in hand. “They were waiting for a full moon, you see, which should be tomorrow night. I was rather worried that you might not come, or that you might not come in time and...”