A Lady in Love (27 page)

"Run about and shake away the fidgets. Don't come back for hours. You can work on these tonight, if I leave you any to do,” he said, falling to work, apparently taking no notice of the feather-light kiss Sarah dropped on his permanently wrinkled brow. Under his breath, as he finished the first line, he said, “Pish-tosh, what a driveling way to put it ... ‘honor is mine to tell you'. How like an M.P.... no wonder they sent him down...."

Finding her hat, she left the house by the front door to walk to her home. Molly wanted to refit the dress Sarah was to wear to the wedding, as it hung loosely on the girl's figure. Though making every effort to think only of the upcoming festivities, Sarah found her thoughts dropping into a well-worn groove. What if, she thought, watching her feet kick out the front of her dress, what if things were different?

What if it were Alaric on the horse I can hear approaching? What if the animal came to a sliding stop only feet away from me and I could look up and there he'd be smiling down at me? What if he vaulted down from the saddle and grasped me in his arms, begging me in broken tones to marry him?

"Yes, yes, I will,” Sarah murmured.

Harcourt kissed her cheek. “I knew if I made it back here before Harold you'd accept me,” he said, exulting.

"What? I...what?"

"I gave him the slip at the wine merchants. He thinks I've gone to buy Harmonia's wedding present.” Harcourt chuckled at his own cleverness and the lunk-headedness of his twin. “It's the first chance I've had to be alone with you, and by the Great Harry, I'm glad I took it. Harold will be blue-green with envy. He'll bite his pen in half when I tell him."

Sarah blinked and refocused her eyes. Thick dark hair, a strong smell of horses, stronger arms, and a long, narrow face wearing a grin that seemed to split it in half. Yes, it was Harcourt holding her at the side of this dusty road, his horse breathing heavily just behind them. This is what came of dreaming incautiously. “Harcourt, I don't know what to say."

"Why say anything?” He kissed her again, noisily, still on the cheek. “You've just left the house? Come, ride with me, and we'll go tell them the news. They'll all be so happy, especially Mother. She's been hinting around for days, now Harmonia's marrying your brother, that one of us ought to get cracking to marry you. We tried to tell her that this was no new thought, but you know what Mother's like."

"Yes.” She contrived to put a little distance between them, if for no other reason than fear he'd might break one of her ribs in his enthusiasm.

"Now, I've always thought your mother likes Harold better."

"That's not true."

"Good! Then you don't think there'll be any objections to me as son-in-law? ‘Course, I don't understand your father, but I'm willing to love him for your sake.” He had taken one of her hands and led her toward his horse. Unthinkingly, Sarah followed along. “I don't care for double weddings, though Mother's a fiend for ‘em. On the other hand, I hate to wait too long."

"No,” Sarah said, catching up to his side. “Let's not wait too long."

All Harcourt's talk about their families decided Sarah. Even if she'd not overheard the regrets of her mother and Lady Phelps, she still would have been aware of their strong desire to see their families inextricably linked, by more than one couple. She'd marry Harcourt, making everyone happy.

"I don't know if we should tell them now,” she said. “I'd hate to take any of the attention away from Harmonia."

"Why not? You always do."

"That's why not. Let Harmonia have her day."

"All right, but dash it—can I tell Harold at least? I want to see his face when he hears the news."

"Yes, you may tell him, but warn him to keep it all a secret, for Harmonia's sake."

Harcourt turned and put his hands on Sarah's waist. “I'll lift you up."

Had he been Alaric, Sarah would have yielded to his touch. This thought made her step back out of Harcourt's reach. “No, I'm going home. Molly's waiting."

"You can ride with me and be there in half the time."

"I prefer to walk, Harcourt. I've been shut up in the morning room all day. You run home and decide how you're going to tell Harold."

"Yes!” The boy grinned. “He'll gnash his teeth down to nubbins! We'll have to feed him gruel.” With athletic grace, Harcourt bounded into the saddle. “Shall you come to dinner?"

"I don't know. We'll see what Mother has to say."

"I hope you can. It'll be such a pleasure to see Harold glowering at you. Stand back now.” Sarah stood away and he clapped his heels against the horse's sides. With a snort, the animal took off. Harcourt stood up in the saddle and waved his hand above his head, whooping like a Red Indian.

Sarah walked on. Except for the dust still hanging in the air, the entire episode might have been a dream. Inhaling deeply, Sarah revised that opinion. Such sore ribs never resulted solely from imagination. She'd accepted his proposal and was now the future Mrs. Harcourt Phelps. Someday there'd be a procession of little Phelpses. Harcourt, while not witty, not blue-eyed, and the possessor of footsteps that resounded rather than whispered, could be called handsome in a boyish, outdoors fashion. She'd get over Alaric Naughton, Earl of Reyne. One day, no doubt, she'd be unable to remember even his voice. It would be drowned out by the clamor of young Harcourts.

The quiet woods along the road beckoned. She'd be alone and peaceful there, with no great horses and loud boys to disturb her daydreams. Sarah turned and entered the green coolness. This had always been her shelter.

The six months between October and March had not served to rid her of his image, and their meeting during the Season had reinforced her love. Perhaps it would take six years before her heart healed, though it was not fair to ask Harcourt to wait so long. There must be a way, she thought, to pretend to be in love with her childhood friend. She tried to invent a daydream of happiness with Harcourt at the center. But her thoughts danced away, like so many butterflies, to hover about Alaric. Chasing after them only exhausted her. In the end, she let them drift where they would.

When she came home, she fell asleep in the morning room. Her mother and her maid found her there when the supper bell had rung twice. Drawing up the blanket over Sarah's motionless body, Mrs. East said, “Let her sleep as long as she likes tomorrow. She's been working too hard."

"Lovin’ too hard's more like it,” Molly said.

"You know about that?"

"Find me a single soul in the county as doesn't. If I had him here, he'd soon regret playing fast and loose with my girl."

"You'd have to stand in line behind me,” Mrs. East said with a fierce look. “What can the man be thinking of? Why doesn't he do something about it?” she asked, closing the door.

It was late in the morning of the next day, the day before the wedding, when Sarah woke up. Wandering downstairs, she begged Molly for a cup of tea. “You'll be having something more than that, it's to be hoped,” Molly said, her hands on her hips.

"No, thank you,” Sarah answered with a slow smile.

"That wasn't a question. Sit down and I'll make you some nice toast, with my special damson plum preserve."

"You only give me that when I'm ill.” Obediently, Sarah sat down at the kitchen table.

"It's the end of the pot, and you may as well have it as the next person. When you're through, put on that dress and I'll start fitting it to you. I'm ashamed to see you in my kitchen in your dressing gown. Is this the fine way you learned in London?” The maid's heart dropped another notch when Sarah did not answer back in her familiar hasty way. Stabbing the bread with a toasting fork, she held it to the flame as if it were the body of a certain earl.

Two hours later, Molly stepped back a last time, squinting above a mouthful of pins. “That's as straight as mortal hands can make it,” she said indistinctly.

"I beg your pardon?'’ Sarah said from the dizzying height of a straight-backed chair.

After spitting out the pins, Molly said, “That's as good as I can do. But don't you dare lose another ounce before that wedding, or this dress will fall off halfway through the vows. Let me help you down.” Reaching up a worn hand, she grasped Sarah's smooth fingers and steadied the girl. “Now slip out of that and put on your pretty blue silk, so I can see if it still fits you."

"What for?"

"Dinner at the Phelpses. Never say you've forgotten tonight is their pledging dinner."

"I thought that was the night we came home."

"No, that was the-night-you-came-home dinner. Tonight is when Master Mortimer lifts his glass to his lady. You must be there. It's oh so romantical.” Her white-swathed bosom rose and fell while she gave a misty-eyed sigh.

"I don't know, Molly. I'm tired. Maybe I'll take a quiet supper here, by myself."

"By yourself? It's bad luck to eat alone, as you well know."

"Then set a place for yourself."

Folding the girl's dress over her arm, Molly wheedled, “Put on your blue silk, Miss Sarah. You'll feel ever so much more like yourself in a pretty gown. And if you're ready early, you can spend some time with the twins. Master Harcourt stopped by while you were still sleeping."

"He did?” Sarah blushed guiltily.

Molly misinterpreted the rise of color. “Put on your blue silk, and I'll bind your hair up with that shaded ribbon you brought home."

"I will, to please you, Molly. But I don't think I'll go to Hollytrees for dinner. They won't miss me. I'll send a note so they'll know not to expect me."

As the maid opened her mouth to further discuss the matter, a jangling bell sent her to one of the windows to look out. “It's Mr. Smithers! And at the front door! My, if some people don't think they come down from Heaven in a golden chair... . Never catch him at the servants’ door, you won't. I wonder what he wants.

"Go and ask him. When he leaves, he can carry a message back."

"If he don't think himself too good to take it
He'll
turn up his nose and send a footman down here to take it, just you wait and see!” She bustled from the room.

Sarah opened the clothespress and shook out her simple silk gown. As if it had occurred in another lifetime, she recalled with what excitement the material had been purchased, and the endless dithering, fascinating in itself, over the cut and make. Aunt Whitsun and she had tromped through a dozen stores, searching for the exactly right braided ribbon to outline the corsage and sleeves. Now, instead of the trophy of a successful adventure, it was merely a more or less adequate covering.

Sarah, dressed, wandered downstairs a second time. A vague surprise stirred when she realized she could still hear Mr. Smithers’ voice. She entered the kitchen. Molly turned to her at once. “He's come to raid us,” she said, her fingers shaking as she passed Sarah a list.

"Lady Phelps regrets the necessity. Miss Sarah, but these are items of great importance, which Shepherd's does not carry, nor is it likely they will obtain them prior to the great day."

"Let him take what he wants, Molly. Mother sent you, Mr. Smithers?"

"As I attempted to explain.” That the butler was offended by Molly's ungraciousness could be told at once from the stiffness of his bow. The doorbell jangled again as Mr. Smithers straightened. “If your maid will begin to assemble these items, I shall be happy to answer for you. Miss Sarah."

"Thank you, Smithers. I don't care to see anyone, but I leave it to your judgment. Molly, I'll be in the garden."

"Humph! Coriander, elderflower vinegar, best preserved peaches ... goodness, have they nothing of their own?"

A sad smile came to Sarah's face. “We ate all their peaches when everyone had the chicken pox."

The sun warmed the mellow vine-covered stone walls as Sarah followed the brick path around a corner, out of sight of the house. Blue hyacinths bloomed in scented masses beneath the tall elms shading the path. A chaffinch sang above her. As she strayed, sun and shadow now brightened, now darkened her splendid hair. She remembered seeing her mother working in this very spot and pointing her out to Lord Reyne, newly met, who stood beside her on the hill, looking down.

She felt hands on her shoulders, gently turning her about. Alaric was there, gazing down on her with a strangely tender smile. He did not speak but with his eyes. When he took his hands away, Sarah protested, leaning nearer to him, determined that this vision would not vanish into nothingness like all the others.

Alaric, his smile growing more loving still, wrapped his arm about her waist and brought her close, off balance. Then his lips touched hers gently, with a pledge Sarah acknowledged at once. Her hands clutched his lapels as she sought to deepen their embrace. Her dreams had never before taken her beyond the point of meeting Alaric once again. Had she but known how satisfying it was to be kissed this way, she would have imagined it much sooner!

"My darling,” he murmured.

That was right; he always said that. But he did not usually press his face against her hair as though he would breathe in all the scent of her. And she did not usually feel so light that a single breeze would waft her away. Sarah held on to him for safety. His kiss became stronger, more impatient, and she clung the tighter.

Alaric drew away, just to arm's length, yet even that was too far to please her. He said, “If I'd known what a homecoming this would be, I'd have left London an hour sooner. As it was, I came down as quickly as I could, once I'd known you'd gone. Do you forgive me for the delay?"

Sarah nodded. If this was illusion, why did he talk so much? He must know that to waste a moment now, when they could be kissing again, was to tempt whatever power had control over such things. Molly might call to her and break her concentration. Sarah stepped forward, lifting her face for another taste of Eden. Alaric stroked her face and complied.

"I say, Sarah! What's that fellow doing?"

Shuddering, Sarah opened her eyes and came abruptly down to earth. Approaching from the house, crushing fragrant herbs beneath his shiny boots, Harcourt came, dressed in his best blue coat and carrying a silver-handled riding crop.