A Lady in Love (13 page)

"Is he a scholar?” Mrs. East asked.

"No, a merchant. He retired, more or less, last year, but I'm afraid he is still susceptible to the lure of business.” Sarah noticed that Miss Canfield's easy posture became the tiniest bit rigid when she explained, though her smile was as gracious as before.

When Mrs. East said, “I understand that soldiers often have the same difficulty adjusting to civilian life,” Sarah saw Miss Canfield relax. Sarah herself was too unhappy to attach any meaning to the other's behavior. Her interest only awakened when Miss Canfield used Mrs. East's comment to discuss Lord Reyne.

"He actually resisted his doctor's suggestion to visit the seaside because he'd be unable to keep regular hours away from his home. He has the most completely correct manservant, who quite terrifies me. Barton used to be his orderly and raises military precision to an art."

"I was surprised to learn Lord Reyne traveled without some staff. His father was very particular about that, as I recall."

"Mother! You knew Lord Reyne's father?"

"I had my Season, my dear. He was married then, of course, but I remember vividly how proud he was of his rank. If any hostess made an error about who went into dinner first. Lord Reyne would leave at once, never to return."

"So I have heard also, Mrs. East. I'm happy to say Alaric isn't like that in the least. Barton usually accompanies him everywhere, though. Now he is in London, preparing Lord Reyne's new house for next Season. It was not kept in the best repair by the former owners, and there is much work to be done."

Their conversation then passed into a discussion of fabrics, styles, and the necessity for good flues in all the rooms. Though Sarah barely listened, she came to understand that Miss Canfield had recently decorated her father's house with as liberal a license as his great fortune allowed.

When the gentlemen, fragrant with cigar smoke, emerged from the dining salon. Lord Reyne came directly to the settee. He bowed to Mrs. East and to Sarah, but raised his fiancee's hand to his lips. Sarah, awake to his every action, observed that he made no contact with the fine kid glove. “I have been praising your playing to the skies, my dear. Won't you honor us?"

"And I have been longing to touch the splendid instrument I see in the corner. Lady Phelps,” she said, raising her voice a trifle, “may I weary the company with an air or two?"

"By all means, though I'm sure you play charmingly,” her hostess replied, nodding her turban.

The unevenness of the numbers had forced Lady Phelps to seat her guests promiscuously at table. Lord Reyne had been placed beside Miss Canfield, naturally enough. Sarah, near the twins as always, had been unable to keep her gaze long away from the handsome couple. She had wished fervently that it might be she who kept him so attentive. Now, however, when he took the seat his fiancee had left vacant, she could think of nothing to say.

He looked up and said, “Have I stolen your place, madam?''

"Not at all,” said Mrs. East, still standing behind her daughter. “I shall sit closer to the pianoforte so that I lose none of the notes.” Yet, she half-twisted in her seat when she reached it, to keep close watch upon Sarah, very much annoying Mrs. Dealford who sat beside her.

"Do you play, Miss East?” Alaric asked.

"No, I have never learned.” There was wine on his breath, and smoke, mingling with his own woodsy fragrance that she'd noticed from the first. The combination made her dizzy, yet she inclined closer to him to more fully absorb it. Then she remembered the words she'd overheard and leaned away.

"Now Lillian is a most accomplished musician. She not only plays each note with precision, but there is such a depth of feeling in her playing. It brings out the composer's true meaning. Don't you think so?"

"I know nothing about it.” She hated to expose her ignorance to him, but she did not even know enough about music to pretend an interest. She sat there, her shoulders once more slumping, as the music, conjured up by Miss Canfield's delicate fingers, floated like a genie across the room.

Sarah's own thoughts shouted so loudly in condemnation of her foolishness that she did not regard the frantic
pssts
coming from behind her. Only two things could have roused her. One—a cannon fired immediately beside her. The other—a single word from Lord Reyne. “Miss East,” he whispered. “I believe Miss Phelps is attempting to capture your attention."

Turning, she saw Harmonia summon her with an imperious wave. “I'm sorry,” she said. Standing, she drifted forlornly out of the room, noticing only that Miss Canfield smiled and nodded graciously on catching her eye.

"I wanted you to be the first to know,” Harmonia said, encircling her friend's waist with her arm. “After Mother and Father, of course."

"To know what?” She hoped that some new epidemic, preferably fatal, had struck, so that she might be the sole victim. A dreadful certainty had struck her in the drawing room. Not only did Lord Reyne think of her as a foolish child, but she was afraid Miss Canfield knew that Sarah loved him. Something about the other woman had been so sympathetic in a loathsome mature way that Sarah shuddered at the shame of it all.

"Did you hear what I said?” Harmonia repeated. “Harlow and I are to be married."

"Married?"

"Not so loud! Father's going to announce it in a few minutes. He's conferring with Smithers on which champagne to serve out. But I wanted you to know first. Aren't you happy for me?"

Something sharp in Harmonia's voice penetrated Sarah's gloom. Dredging up a smile, Sarah embraced her friend. “But when did this happen?"

"Yesterday. As soon as he was recovered, he said he knew I was the wife for him by the way I nursed him. Of course, he was a very easy patient, so docile and gentle. I'm so very happy!"

"And I'm so happy for you!"

The rest of the company echoed her sentiment when Sir Arthur made his announcement. Harlow Atwood, looking thin and pale beside his strapping future brothers-in-law, wrung his hands and said how much at home he felt in the bosom of his new family, and that he truly regretted leaving the comfort of home life so soon.

"What did he mean, Harmonia?” Sarah asked when the engaged girl came to her for her official congratulations.

"Harlow is to be a secretary to some lord in Scotland. He must take up his position within two weeks. His illness has delayed him already. He'll be there for at least a year before we can be married. I wanted to marry at once, but he thought it wisest to wait so that he will be able to support me in our own home.” For a moment, disappointment overlaid her radiance.

"Never mind,” Sarah said. “A year is nothing. Think of all we must do. I'll even help you with your sewing, if you like."

Mrs. Dealford, who stood near, said, “I personally think a quick marriage often leads to disastrous results. Mr. Atwood is quite correct. You are indeed wise to wait."

Though Harmonia had overcome her dislike of Emma, upon noticing her decided preference for Harvey, she went wary of Mrs. Dealford, suspecting her of still wanting Harlow for her daughter. She now dragged Sarah out of earshot and said fiercely, “I'm sure she'd marry in haste enough if anybody asked her!"

Someone proposed dancing in honor of the engagement. Servants rolled back the carpet, exposing the gleaming parquet in light and dark wood. Harcourt and Harold were seen to flip a coin. Harvey and Emma stood together. After some cajolery, Lady Phelps agreed to honor Sir Francis and astounded the company by the lightness of her dancing. Mrs. East, seeing Mr. Posthwaite gazing enviously at the others, invited him to squire her.

Sir Arthur, Mr. East, Mr. Randolph and Mrs. Dealford were all adamant that a round of whist would be preferable to dancing. Though Harriet looked with longing eyes at her husband, she, in the end, agreed to play so that Miss Canfield could have the pleasure of dancing with her betrothed. Harold went to turn pages for his sister. They chose a shortened cotillion in which, as at dinner, the men and women stood mixed, side by side.

Sarah's feet were heavy with unhappiness, but Harcourt had won the toss. Besides, if she refused there would be but five couples, which made for awkward figures. As Harriet began to play, peering nearsightedly at the page, Sarah followed Harcourt through the round. She kept her gaze on him or on the floor, for the sight of her neighbor. Lord Reyne, laughing into his beloved's eyes was more than she could quite stomach. Even when she passed down the row, though she knew his touch at once, she did not glance up at him. Only when she returned to Harcourt did she raise her eyes and smile.

"I say,” he said, “are you all right?"

"Perfectly well.” It was Miss Canfield's turn to pass down the row. She called out something to Sarah as she passed, waving her free hand for an instant before giving it to Sir Francis. When Miss Canfield returned to her place opposite Lord Reyne, the gentlemen stepped in front of their ladies to bow profoundly.

Harcourt's nose and mouth twisted in the effort to contain a sneeze. He failed. As he grabbed furiously for his handkerchief, Sarah started back to avoid the spray. Her heel slipped on the shiny floor and her feet went out from beneath her. Her arms flailed as she strove to regain her balance. She felt as though she were once more falling into the lake, but winced in advance, knowing the floor would hurt her.

Instead of grievously injuring her posterior, Sarah found herself safely caught in the arms of the one man, above all others, she'd rather not be saved by. She knew she gaped and felt his forearms tighten beneath her fingers.

As Alaric set her upright, he said, “Bless you, Harcourt."

"You must be the fastest man on two legs,” Sir Francis said in amazement, “I've never seen anyone move so quickly, and I've been out with the Revenuers."

"Pray continue, Mrs. Randolph. You play very well indeed,” Alaric said, ignoring this comment. “All ready now, Sarah?"

"I'd rather sit down now, Harcourt,” she said, knowing she was red as a hunter's coat.

"Do you need me, dearest?"

"No, Mother. Go on. You have so little opportunity to dance.” Leaning on Harcourt's arm in a weak and womanly manner, Sarah left the set, leaving the rest to carry on despite the resulting uneven number of couples.

Mrs. East and Lady Phelps exchanged glances and nods of strange significance. Only after the evening was done, and the Easts ready to depart, did they share a word in private.

"What are we going to do, Marissa? When Miss Canfield arrived, I had hopes of Sarah turning to Harvey, but his attentions to the Dealford girl have been most marked."

"I think it's best if I send Sarah back to my aunt. I was planning to do it after Christmas, but an earlier trip will help her forget. If she stays at home, she will only pine."

"Yes, new scenes are what she needs. And when she comes back, there will still be Harcourt and Harold. Perhaps at last...” The two ladies embraced.

Miss Canfield came for her visit, but Sarah had warning of it and was not to be found. Her mother had not heart to scold the girl for her rudeness, especially when she had news for her that she feared Sarah would not eagerly countenance. Lord Reyne and his fiancee were leaving Hollytrees the next day. Mrs. East held extra handkerchiefs ready, but Sarah did not cry. Her face became a trifle paler as she nodded to indicate she'd heard. This seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject of a return to Leamington Spa.

"I know Aunt Whitsun will be so pleased to have you with her again. She complained your last visit was too brief."

What the old lady had actually said was, “How can you expect me to teach that child to be a lady in six short weeks? It shouldn't take any time at all. It should already have been taught her, but as it stands I shall require months!"

"And then you can go directly from Leamington to London for your Season. I still hope to come to see you during it."

"Thank you. Mother. That will be splendid.” But her eyes still turned toward the window as though her vision were miraculous and she could see clear to Hollytrees to witness the bustle of packing and the harnessing of the horses to Miss Canfield's elegant equipage.

"I have spoken to your father, and it seems there will be more money than we thought. His speculations on the Exchange have been quite successful lately. Aunt Whitsun will be able to take you to the finest dressmakers and the best dancing masters."

Sarah sighed. “I look forward to it."

"And Lady Phelps has offered you the loan of her coach, so your journey will be much more comfortable than last time."

"Lady Phelps is always so kind to me."

"She loves you nearly as much as I do."

Outside of Hollytrees, Alaric gathered his caped cloak more tightly against the whipping breeze. In his mind, he ticked off a list. Each servant had received his due vail, more heavy remuneration lying in the hands of Mr. Smithers and young Fred. He'd promised to introduce Harvey at his club when Mr. Phelps returned to London, and tendered an invitation to the elder Phelpses to visit him in Essex whenever they would. A note had been dispatched to Mrs. East and Sarah, thanking them for their tender care. He shook his head. That seemed to be all, and yet ...

Lillian appeared on the stairs. Alaric smiled and offered his hand to assist her in entering the coach. Inwardly, he rejoiced that the movement caused him no pain. When he stepped up himself, there was no stabbing agony in the repaired muscles of his back. This country stay, for all its unconscionable length, had done him good. He felt as well as ever he had in his life, save for this single nagging doubt.

The door slammed behind him. The coach creaked and rocked as the footman pulled himself up. Lillian's two maids sat on the seat opposite, the younger glancing up under her lashes at him, the other maintaining a precise distance between his knees and her own. Alaric heard the coachman's whistle as the coach started forward. He felt like calling out to the man to stop, but kept himself tightly under control. This was nonsense, yet once more he went over his mental list, tapping his hand on his knee to an unheard rhythm.