The Incomparable Miss Compton (16 page)

Sarah felt her smile fading. Years? Was that her future if she refused to marry Malcolm, to be forced to trudge in her cousin’s wake through one Season after another? Even if Aunt Belle took over the task, would Sarah feel comfortable going to Wenworth with Norrie if her cousin was not well settled? The prospect of returning to the country looked more dismal every second.

Even Norrie was perplexed. “You must do as you see fit, of course,” she had said when Sarah had told her of Persephone’s intentions. “I admire your loyalty to the girl, especially when she does not appear very loyal to you.”

“Persy is young,” Sarah replied. “She doesn’t understand how she hurts people.”

“Will she learn if we keep shielding her?” Norrie asked with a frown. “Not that I would wish any ill on the girl, but sometimes I think a broken heart would do her good.”

Sarah shook her head. “I cannot wish for that either. Let us hope instead that she meets her true love soon, if such a person exists.”

“You sound like you doubt that,” Norrie chided. “Is it for Persephone or Sarah that you fear?”

Sarah sighed. “Both, I suspect. Tell me again, Norrie. When you fell in love with your Justinian, how did it feel?”

“Amazing, frightening?” Norrie cocked her head, gazing off into the distance, deep blue eyes unfocused. “Wanting to love, wanting to be loved, wanting to be certain.” She blinked and refocused on Sarah. “But don’t pattern your hopes on mine, love. You know Justinian and I very nearly didn’t make a match of it and wouldn’t have if not for the interference of a small black kitten and a determined dowager. What does your heart tell you?”

“I wish I knew,” Sarah returned with another sigh. “I fear it has been too long since I listened to it. I don’t know what it’s saying anymore.”

Norrie squeezed her hands where they were folded in the lap of her dress. “Keep trying, Sarah. I know you have the capacity for great love. You show it in your devotion to Persephone, in your loyalty to your aunt and uncle, in the very fact that you’ve answered my tedious letters all these years.”

“Hardly tedious,” Sarah protested with a smile.

“Not for the last three years anyway,” Norrie agreed, answering her smile with one of her own. “Now, try to cheer up. The Season is nearly over. With any luck, you will be coming home with me.”

The thought would once have been enough to cheer her. Now she could not look at the future without cringing. She was nearly as blue-deviled as Persephone when Lady Anne Prestwick came to call one afternoon near the first of August. Still, she roused herself to welcome the young countess.

“Persephone will be so sorry to have missed you,” she told Anne as she sat beside her on the sofa in the sitting room.

“She’s out with one of her suitors, I suppose,” Lady Prestwick murmured with an indulgent smile. “Did she tell you we met the other day on New Bond Street?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. Was this Tuesday? She and her maid went shopping.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Anne replied. “You might ask her about the occasion. I was under the impression she was rather upset.”

Upset? What had Persephone been up to? Sarah couldn’t remember noticing anything out of the ordinary when the girl had returned. Indeed, she had seemed inordinately pleased with her purchases. “Perhaps she was tired,” Sarah ventured. “She does have a tendency to overdo it when shopping.”

“A singular habit,“ the countess remarked as if she did not share it. Eying the fine silk of her lavender-striped walking dress, Sarah somehow thought she was more familiar with the shops on New Bond Street than she intimated. “But I suppose common among the young ladies on their Season. And she is so very popular. Every time I see her she is on the arm of another beau. Has anyone risen above the others?”

“Not that I can notice,” Sarah admitted with a sigh.

Anne grimaced. “Ah, well, she is young. Time enough for her to find the right man for her. And you, Miss Compton? Have you made any decisions?”

Sarah regarded her, suddenly remembering the connection between this innocent-looking woman and Malcolm. Lady Prestwick had been the one to contrive the ball at which Sarah and Malcolm had met. Lady Prestwick was rumored to be his confidante. Did she know that Sarah had already refused him once?”

“Nothing definite,” Sarah hedged, picking at the folds of her spruce poplin gown. “But, as you say, there is time.”

“Less than you might think,” Lady Prestwick assured her. “I believe Lord Breckonridge is at that point in his life where he believes he must marry. You must know he is determined that you be that bride, Miss Compton.”

“I am not ready to discuss my relationship with Lord Breckonridge,” Sarah replied stiffly.

Anne sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. It is simply obvious to me that you would make him an excellent wife. I know he shares that belief. Yet I sense you doubt it. Is it being a viscountess that disturbs you? I know I would have feared it, had I known Chas was an earl when I accepted him.”

“How could you not know?” Sarah asked with a frown.

“I did not know his brother had died,” Anne explained. “When I accepted him, I thought I would be marrying an impecunious second son. Imagine my chagrin to find myself a countess.”

Sarah smiled. “Somehow I doubt you would have refused him had you known.”

“Oh, no,” she replied with a firm shake of her head and a smile of her own. “I adored Chas, from nearly the first moment we met. My only hesitation in marrying him was that I feared he did not love me.”

Sarah could not have changed the topic if she had tried. “Why were you in doubt? Was he too cool?”

“Cool? Chas?” Lady Prestwick laughed. “My dear, I thought his exploits were legendary. My husband had a tendency to enact the most charming escapades. He is an avid racer. At one time he held the record for curricle and pair to every spot within a fifty-mile radius of London. He once recited a scandalous love poem to me in front of two hundred of London’s finest. Oh, no, Chas is most assuredly not cool, Miss Compton. That wasn’t what I feared. No, I was afraid he married me out of honor. You see, we caused a bit of scandal.”

“Really?” Sarah breathed, trying to imagine this elegant little woman doing anything as wild as her husband.

“Really,” she replied with a fond smile. “But he was able to convince me to my satisfaction that he loved me.” She cocked her head to eye Sarah. “I take it Lord Breckonridge has not been so satisfactory?”

“Not nearly so,” Sarah admitted. “In fact, he has never claimed to love me, and he has only once stolen a kiss.”

Anne shook her head. “The cad. I had no idea he was being so lukewarm. Perhaps you should kiss him first next time.”

Sarah stared at her, feeling her color rise. “How can you suggest anything so forward?”

“So, you are just as unwilling to show your feelings,” she surmised before calmly shaking her head. “What am I to do with the pair of you? I think I must invite you and your cousin to Prestwick Park for a fortnight.”

Sarah put a hand to her head. “I’m sorry, Lady Prestwick, but I’m having a difficult time following your line of reasoning. You berate me for not being forward and then invite me to visit?”

She smiled. “Precisely. London moves too quickly, and Parliament is a persuasive mistress for men like Lord Breckonridge. A few weeks in the country will allow you both some time to reflect. Please say you’ll come.”

Was it that simple? She gazed at the little countess, who sat contentedly smiling at her. Could she just whisk Malcolm away from the bustle of London to get him to declare he loved her? Would her heart unbend away from the town where it had permanently stiffened? Wasn’t it worth the chance to find out?

“I would have to ask my aunt and uncle,” she realized out loud. As soon as she said it, she knew they would not approve. While Lady Prestwick was becoming a renowned hostess, it did not sound as if there would be any eligibles at the estate. It would be a waste of Persephone’s time. Surely her aunt and uncle would forbid the visit.

“Let me write them,” Lady Prestwick begged, rising. “They are in Suffolk, are they not? I’ll send a note this afternoon. I’m sure I can persuade them to let you come.”

Looking at her, Sarah somehow thought she could. She nodded her agreement, rising as well.

Anne Prestwick reached out to give her a quick hug. “Wonderful. This will all work out beautifully, you’ll see. Now, I must go. I need to tell Chas we’ll have company.”

“He doesn’t know?” Sarah asked in surprise as they separated.

She laughed. “Of course not. I only just thought of the idea. Don’t look so worried. I told you, Chas thrives on excitement. He’ll be delighted to have company, particularly when he hears who. We generally keep any entertaining to a minimum at Prestwick Park; it upsets the dowager countess. Luckily, Lady Prestwick is visiting my aunt Millicent for the summer. So, we’ll have the place all to ourselves. I promise you, everyone will be pleased with the arrangement.”

 Sarah wasn’t so sure that would be the case. However, Persephone was delighted with the idea.

“It’s like extending the Season,” she declared. “How very clever of you to achieve it, Sarah!”

Sarah hardly felt clever, but Norrie was nearly as effusive in her praise of the idea as Persephone had been.

“How wonderful!” her friend had proclaimed. “You will have Lord Breckonridge all to yourself, and you can come visit me every day if you wish.” She handily ignored the fact that Sarah could hardly do both at the same time. “I shall have to send a card round to Lady Prestwick thanking her for her kindness.”

Even Sarah’s uncle and aunt acquiesced. Aunt Belle went so far as to praise Lady Prestwick’s condescension. Sarah wasn’t sure what to make of it.

But, like it or not, she was on her way back to Somerset.

And maybe into Malcolm’s heart.

Chapter Fourteen

Rupert could not imagine how Persephone Compton had inveigled her way into Breckonridge’s heart. He crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for her in the shadow of the mews behind the house on Curzon Street. The spinster had wanted to go shopping, and Persephone had promised to plead a headache so that she might meet with him instead. Yet the carriage and grooms had been gone for over a quarter hour, and still he waited. Really, the chit was becoming tiresome.

He stiffened as he heard the kitchen door of the townhouse open. But the whisper of fine silk told him who approached. In a moment she was at his side, rosebud lips parted breathlessly. He swept her into his embrace, crushing her mouth beneath his own. He had found she preferred his caresses just the least bit impetuous. He suspected it made their little game seem more dangerous to her, showing the desperate nature of what she called their forbidden love. Even now she trembled in his arms. How much more would she tremble if she knew how very little she meant to him?

He raised his head at last, and she snuggled against his chest with a satisfied sigh.

“How I shall miss you while we’re in Somerset,” she murmured.

Rupert frowned. “Somerset? When are you going to Somerset?”

“At the end of the week,” she replied. “Lady Prestwick invited Sarah, so of course I must go along.”

They were removing her? Did they conspire against him? Had he given himself away so badly? No, he thought, his grip on the girl tightening involuntarily. More likely
she
had given him away.

She obviously mistook the pressure. “Do not fear, my darling baron,” she murmured, tilting back her head to gaze up at him. “I will not forget you. I promise.”

“Is that what they intend?” he demanded, jaw tightening. “Have we been discovered?”

“No, no,” she protested. Her violet eyes were clear, her expression fervent, and he had no choice but to believe her. “I told no one, as I promised you. Only my maid knows of our trysts, and I am convinced she would not betray us.”

“You pay her well then,” he mused, relaxing.

She giggled. “I have no doubt my father pays her adequately. But Lucy serves me well for another reason. There is great prestige in serving a titled lady.”

“And you think to be one soon?” he probed.

She had the good sense to drop her gaze to his waistcoat, toying with the top silver button. “Perhaps. But the gentleman has yet to ask me.”

She could have meant Breckonridge, or she could have been angling for a proposal from him. He knew enough to take the bait without being hooked. Besides, marriage was not in his plans. She had caused him enough trouble that he had decided she must be ruined along with Breckonridge. At least that added a little spice to the deception. He could certainly follow her to Somerset and finish his seduction -- it would be so much easier to get her alone in the country. But Breckonridge might never know of it. The man covered his interest in the girl behind this ridiculous courtship with her cousin. Why else invite the girl along at every opportunity? Yet she could not bring him to heel in the country.

“One day out of my sight is too much,” he avowed, and she rested her head against his chest again. “You cannot go. If you will not think of me, think of your other devoted followers -- Barrington, Cotell, Breckonridge.”

She gave another of her gossamer giggles. The sound grated on his nerves.

“I
will
leave a hole in Society, won’t I?” she said, complacent in her overblown self-worth. “But I am convinced you will survive somehow until my return. Besides, I understand Lord Breckonridge is coming with us.”

Despite himself he stiffened. “Breckonridge plans to rusticate? When?”

“He leaves when Parliament recesses,” she replied smugly. “So, you see, I shall have him all to myself. Who knows what can happen in the country?”

Who knew indeed? Rupert’s thoughts tumbled over each other like a troop of gypsy acrobats. If Breckonridge meant to rusticate in Somerset, it could only mean one thing. He was indeed serious in his pursuit of the girl and intended to spirit her away somewhere quiet to tell her so. Rupert had to time his seduction perfectly -- after the engagement but before the wedding. And the girl had to be willing; a rape would merely prove Rupert the scoundrel. Yet Somerset was so very rural. There’d be no audience to Persephone’s tearful betrayal. (He knew she’d cry -- he’d imagined it too many times.) He narrowed his eyes.