Lady Sarah's Redemption (29 page)

Caro wore a cream dress with a red velvet sash and three rows of red
roses around the hem. It was a small victory but a victory, nevertheless.

She stared at her reflection in amazement. Even Aunt Cecily had
marvelled over her transformation. The old termagant didn’t need to know that
the brightness of her eyes and complexion had enjoyed a little help from
Tincture of Roses and Olympian Dew.

Long-ago gifts from Sarah, and unappreciated at the time, they had
come into their own, now. Nearly a year older, and a century wiser, Caro was
determined to shine. It wasn’t that she yearned for romance. In fact, right now
she was decidedly wary of it although Mr Hollingsworth and Sir Richard were
rooted firmly in her past. Having survived the ordeal she had been made
stronger. She would never be a victim again.

She also intended to have her independence and follow her
intellectual leanings – interests which hadn’t been dampened by recent
experiences. She remembered Lady Sarah’s words: ‘Marriage gives a woman status
and independence the unmarried woman might never attain. A girl must just
choose the right husband’.

Covering her face with her hands she reflected on the night at the
Hollingsworths. She had forced herself to do so only through long training, yet
she knew she had come through virtually unscathed compared with Lady Sarah. As
if it weren’t enough that Lady Sarah had suffered the indignities forced upon
her by Sir Richard, she’d been recognised when visiting Caro’s father at the
inn where he’d stayed. She’d tried to learn more, but gossipy matrons did not
readily divulge such details to innocents like Caro. Whatever was being said,
Caro knew facts were unimportant compared with appearances. To be tainted by
scandal was a crime in itself.

Twisting her hands together as she sat at her dressing table, while
Mavis, her dresser arranged her hair, she reflected on her poor unhappy papa.
He must have been distraught when Lady Sarah had accepted Captain Fleming.

“Do you approve, Miss Caro?” Mavis pushed in a final pin and Caro
surveyed the elaborate but becoming hairstyle, smiling. Rose buds had been
tucked throughout her shiny black curls. The effect was charming.

“It’s lovely, thank you. That’ll be all, Mavis. I need” - she
hesitated, feeling such mixed feelings of excitement, anticipation and sorrow -
“I need a moment or two to gather myself and then I’ll be down.”

It had been more than a month since her father’s abortive trip to
London to propose to Lady Sarah. His behaviour had been erratic in the interim.
Sometimes he had seemed distant and morose. At others it was as if the old
fires burned within and he spoke to her like an adult, almost a friend.

Now here he was smiling in the doorway, telling her she looked
exquisite as he offered his arm to escort her to her coming-out ball.

“You do me credit,” he said, as his eye swept from the curls that
cascaded from her high crown, to the pearl-encrusted cream silk slippers that
peeped from beneath the flounce of her evening dress. “Your mother would have
been so proud of you.”

“And Lady Sarah?”

He flinched but made a quick recover, saying smoothly, “She was a
good mentor. Come,” he added as if he didn’t want to be drawn on the subject.
“The carriage is waiting.”

During a rare moment of quiet later that evening, Caro surveyed the
well-dressed crowd. How wonderful it would have been for Caro and her father if
Lady Sarah had accepted his marriage proposal. Her rejection had had far more
significant consequences for her father’s state of mind than mere
disappointment. She bit her lip, pondering.

Only since she had recovered her old spirit following her ordeal had
she understood the extent of her father’s suffering.

Within the first hour her dance card was nearly full. None of her
fears of six months ago had been founded. She had not been the ugly duckling,
forced to sit out dance after dance. The sallow complexion, once marred by
spots, had become white and translucent, her dark hair had not needed coaxing
with sugar and tongs to achieve the fashionable look of the day. It had just
the right amount of curl and bounce. And her gangly, awkward figure, once rail
thin, had blossomed into a woman’s body.

So it was easy to smile, to feel confident and almost happy this
evening. Her father had told her in as many words how proud of her he was.

Still, something was missing.

She closed her eyes a second as she fluttered her fan in the midst
of a conversation with a group of young ladies discussing the merits of
feathers over artificial fruit as headwear embellishments.

Justice.

Although she and Lady Sarah and her father had survived their ordeal
relatively unscathed, natural justice had been denied.

For the first time, Caro glimpsed the impulses which had driven her
father his entire life. He could not bear injustice.

Philly Miniver pressed against her to compare dance cards. It seemed
she, too, could not get over Caro’s transformation yet she was not mean
spirited. “What magic potion have you been taking, Caro? Or was it all those
months in the Swiss Alps? Your dance card is almost full. Much fuller than
mine. Perhaps Sir Richard will ask me to dance.”

She simpered at a figure across the room.

“Sir Richard?” Caro’s throat went dry.

“He’s Papa’s friend and ever so obliging. Mama simply dotes on him
and he’s always so attentive to me. I’ll get his attention. Perhaps he’ll ask
us both to dance –
if
you have
room! Caro, where are you going?”

“I’ve lost a pearl button. Excuse me!” Caro whipped around, just as
Philly signalled across the room.

Escape! She had to get out of here before she fainted. Before she
embarrassed them all. Her mind was racing. She had to think clearly; had to be
calm.

There was a knot of people gathered in the doorway. It would be
impossible to simply barge past them out of the room. She veered to the left,
walking fast but as gracefully as she could before she sank against the wall
near a luxuriant and partially concealing flower display. A green curtain
served as a partition separating the saloon from a small alcove, affording her
the opportunity to nestle partially into its velvet folds and gaze at the
milling guests. Taking deep breaths, she fanned herself energetically,
terrified she might succumb to that most feminine of maladies: the vapours.
Never, however, had any female had more cause.

Sir Richard had moved gracefully over to speak to Philly. Her friend
was looking coquettishly at him from over the top of her fan points.

Surely Philly couldn’t find him attractive? Caro wondered as her
stomach rose up in disgust.

He must be at least twenty years older than her. Tall, thin with an
insinuating smile, he had confidence but the charm of a death adder. He was a
slug, a leech sustaining himself on the spoils from the underbelly of society,
sucking out goodness where he could while he paraded himself as a gentleman,
ruining the lives of people like herself, like Lady Sarah, like her father.
People who had no recourse.

Helpless…

She closed her eyes, her breathing rapid. Then with one final,
sustaining breath, her backbone stiffened; slowly she straightened up against the
wall.

Helpless?

She took another breath. This time she felt almost calm. She blinked
a few times, slowly scanning the richly garbed guests until her gaze alighted
once more upon Sir Richard.

He towered over Philly. His body was bent slightly over her in a
stance which, to Caro in that moment, suggested an attitude of brutal
vanquishment of the female sex as a whole. Anger and revulsion swept over her
and, at the same time, an all-encompassing feeling of empowerment.

It was too easy to assume that because she was a young girl she was
helpless.

No, there were ways, other ways than the law – or breaking the
law - whereby justice could be served.

She sucked in a short, sharp breath and her heart gave a nervous
flutter.

Helpless?

Only if she lacked courage. And if she hadn’t learned courage from
her father, she certainly had from Lady Sarah.

Justice for herself. Justice for Lady Sarah.

She closed her eyes and thought of her darling, devoted father.

Most importantly, she wanted justice for her father.

“Hawthorne!”

Roland, striding down the passageway in the direction of the music,
stopped as the red-haired giant, James Fleming, advanced towards him across the
crimson Aubusson carpet. A deep flush burned the captain’s throat and cheeks
which, had Roland not been such a keen observer, he might have assumed was
embarrassment. However the hardening of Fleming’s eyes and the clenching of his
jaw quickly disabused him of that notion.

Whatever Fleming’s reasons for speaking to him, Roland had not the
slightest desire to pursue a conversation with Lady Sarah’s intended, yet the
fact that it suggested Sarah was here made his heart beat faster. He marshalled
a smile. “Congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials. Lady Sarah is a
remarkable woman,” he managed with admirable fortitude.

“She is.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I formed the greatest admiration for her character when she was a
member of my household.”

“An irony, then, that the stain upon her reputation was, indirectly,
on your account.”

“What?” Shocked, Roland could think of nothing else to say. He’d
heard Sarah had been seen unaccompanied at a late hour and that some
interfering matron had embellished this by suggesting all manner of outlandish
hypotheses. Each time he’d enquired as to the exact nature of Lady Sarah’s sins
he’d received a different account. Certainly, he’d heard nothing which
connected his name with hers.

“So you did not know, Hawthorne. I am glad to hear it, for your
sake.” Fleming’s look was slightly less condemning. “Don’t like your politics but
didn’t want to think too badly of you, if you weren’t in the know. Lady Sarah’s
a mighty proud woman.”

When he’d gathered his wits, Roland asked, “Why did Lady Sarah not
tell me if my name were connected with hers, in the public domain?”

James grunted. “Seems she didn’t want to exert undue pressure since
you’d already sent her a letter outlining your thoughts on matrimony. And
that’s fair enough, Hawthorne. Only I wasn’t going to see such a diamond of the
first water end up an ape leader through no fault of her own.” He sent Roland a
challenging look. “Well, Hawthorne, I must return to Lady Sarah.” He bowed.
“I’m looking forward to rusticating in the country. London is a cruel place.”

Still reeling, Roland returned his bow. “I wish you well, Captain,” he
managed. “You are a lucky man.”

Captain Fleming turned on his heel with and shot him a look not
without reproach. “Always been fond of the gel, and it didn’t look as if anyone
else was coming to her rescue,” he said, pointedly.

Another trembling peacock feather.

Sarah watched it atop the emerald green toque as the feather
responded to the haughty toss of its wearer’s head. Plucked eyebrows arched
heavenward, Sarah’s erstwhile acquaintance passed by without a greeting.

The cut direct. Stock standard treatment for those who had fallen
from grace.

Except that Sarah was not a fallen woman. She had been painted as
one but thanks to James’s loyalty her disgrace would be relatively short-lived,
although there were those who would never receive her.

Like the peacock feather a moment ago, Sarah could feel her mouth
begin to tremble.

She must find James. This propensity to tears that plagued her
lately was out of character and she despised herself for it.

She wished she had not begged James to escort her to tonight’s ball.
He’d been right when he told her she was positively courting such reactions as
the trembling peacock feather, and that she ought to stay where she was, in the
country, with her father. She wanted, though, so desperately to encounter
Roland one last time before she married James next week. Even if she knew
seeing Roland was courting even greater heartache.

The card room was to her left, the supper room at the far end. She
hesitated, scanning the crowd. James had said he would procure her a glass of
champagne.

Her heart gave a nervous flutter as she surveyed the crowd. In all
her life she had never felt so alone.

With her head held high she began her regal progress down the length
of the room. She could just spy James, semi obscured by a knot of gentleman.

She craned her head over a tiny voluble woman offering advice to a
couple of gawkish girls, her staccato words like a volley of gunfire. Sarah
almost smiled to hear her … until amidst a group near James she saw him.

The bourgeoning smile vanished and her heart rate sped into
dangerous territory.

“I beg your pardon.” She vaguely registered spilling champagne upon
a gentleman’s sleeve but paid him no further heed as she negotiated the knots
of chattering guests, all the while holding Roland in her sights.