The Whispering Rocks (16 page)

After all, Melissa was dead and with her died the necessity for Sarah’s marriage to Edward. She paused to consider this, for strangely the thought had not occurred to her before. She lowered her glass thoughtfully, a coldness in the pit of her stomach. Why had she not heard from her father? Did he intend to leave her on Paul’s hands and conveniently forget all about her now that she was no longer of any use to him?

Embarrassment colored her face hotly and she glanced at Paul. Surely the same thought must have crossed his mind.

He felt her eyes on him and looked up, seeing the change in her. “What is it?”

“I—I was wondering why I’ve heard nothing from my father.”

“He no doubt has his reasons—most probably devious ones at that.”

“Yes, but, Paul, there’s no reason for my marriage with Edward now that, now that ...” She could not mention Melissa. “I’ve no illusions about my father and fear that he no longer wants me.”

He sat up. “That’s nonsense, Sarah, and you mustn’t think such things. Of course he wants you. Anyway,” he smiled—”there’s always a place for you at Mannerby.”

She returned the smile. “I don’t think that that would be seemly, Paul. I’ve been thinking about it. The situation is rather, er, lacking in propriety.”

He leaned back again. “I’d already thought of that and so have written to Aunt Mathilda in London. She’s a veritable termagant and led my poor uncle a merry dance during his lifetime, but she will make an excellent chaperone for you. She replied to my letter, saying that she will come, but I must say that her tone was curt in the extreme. I have a feeling that she is displeased with me for some reason. Still, that matters nothing, for I vow that no one would dare to believe any ill of our conduct while we’re under her eagle eye. I still find it hard to believe that Melissa managed to conduct her affair with Edward while living under my aunt’s roof.”

Sarah felt a little apprehensive about being put in the charge of the formidable Aunt Mathilda. She took a slice of the cook’s excellent cake and ate it slowly, staring dreamily over the scene before her. This moment could go on forever, she decided.

Paul sat up and looked at his fob-watch. “We must go shortly, for my work cannot wait any longer. Oh, I almost forgot—we’re invited to the Blue Fox tomorrow, for dinner. A victory feast, James called it, to celebrate Waterloo! Would you like to go?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Then that’s settled. Come on now. We must go back.”

“You’re a fearful taskmaster, Paul, but just this once I’ll forgive you.” She smiled at him.

He paused as he put the glasses back into the hamper, watching her as she gathered her irises. Perhaps it was just as well that Aunt Mathilda was coming, he thought, for Sarah was tantalizingly lovely and he found himself enjoying her company far too much.

The whip cracked as the pony and trap rattled back toward Mannerby. The pony’s ears pricked as it neared home, and its legs seemed to fly through the air. They clattered through the open ironwork gates into the courtyard, Sarah laughing and holding her bonnet tightly onto her head.

The pony shied at the bright yellow phaeton with its scarlet wheels. Sarah stared at it, and Paul cursed as he brought the dancing pony under control again.

And then she saw him. He stood in the doorway, his copper hair as unruly as ever, his elegant body clothed to sartorial perfection.

As Jack Holland smiled at her, the air seemed to sing.

She could feel a sudden breathlessness as she looked at him. He was just as her memory painted him, from the lazy way he walked down the steps toward her, to the roguish light in his gray eyes as he reached up to lift her down from the trap.

The irises spilled from her lap as she slid down, her blue-and-white skirts hissing.

“You’re as lovely as ever, sweet Sarah.” Even his voice, each slight inflection, seemed a soothing balm to her. This was what she had longed for, what she had forced out of her mind, until now.... How could she have thought she was over her love for him? How could she have even thought it was possible to forget him, when every sense swam so giddily at his being so near and her lips could not help their foolish smiling. He was all that mattered, all that had ever mattered ... and now he was here.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, knowing that the words sounded lame.

The harness of the pony and trap jingled as Paul climbed down, handing the reins to Martin. “What brings you to Mannerby, Holland?” There was a definite coolness in his voice and Sarah was instantly aware of it.

Jack looked away from her. “I come on Stratford’s business, Ransome. It’s a small matter concerning the stud.” He was smiling, but his eyes were half closed, as if to conceal their true feelings, and there was a thinly disguised contempt in his bearing which Paul could not help but notice.

Sarah glanced from one to the other in surprise. What had these two to dislike in each other?

Paul inclined his head stiffly. “Then no doubt you’ll seek me out directly.” Nodding briefly at Sarah he turned on his heel and went toward the stable block.

There was an expression of challenge in Jack’s eyes as he watched the other man walk away, for all the world as if some unseen gauntlet had been thrown down. He looked at Sarah again, his eyes softening and his smile becoming as warm as the spring day itself. He took her hands and pulled her to face him properly. “My sweet, sweet Sarah, I have missed you.”

The directness of his approach covered her with confusion. It was what she so wished to hear him say, and yet when he did so she was thrown completely off balance. She became uncomfortably aware of the curious glances of the groom who was leading Jack’s yellow phaeton toward the stables, and of Marks who stood inside the doorway waiting for her.

“If you’ve missed me, why did you not come to see me sooner?” She was angry with herself immediately the words had passed her lips. Why could she not be satisfied that he had come at all instead of carping at the delay? After all, she had no right to expect anything of him, anything at all.

His thumbs caressed her palms. “I came at the first suitable moment, Sarah. I had to have a good reason for calling here at Mannerby or the gossipmongers would begin their chattering again.”

She raised her eyes to his face, trying to hide her longing but not succeeding. “And now you have a good reason?”

He released her hands and walked slowly toward the lilac tree. She walked at his side. The lilac filled the air with its sweetness as he ducked his head beneath a low branch. “Yes, I have a perfectly legitimate reason for coming, and I have the Duke of Wellington to thank.”

“The Duke?”

“Yes. Had he lost Waterloo then I would still be casting around for my reason. Napoleon’s defeat meant that your father could realize a cherished ambition. There is a stud in France, a very fine one, on which your father has cast his covetous eyes this longtime. Now it is his. He paid a goodly sum for it, I might add, and I was instrumental in achieving all this for him. Your father has a great admiration for French horseflesh, whereas Ransome holds a poor view of both the French and their horses. I am here to, er, pave the way, you might say, because Ransome has to be informed that the French horses will be replacing some of his stock here. He will not take it kindly.”

“You? You are doing all this for my father? That will surely cause no small ripple in London’s best circles.”

He smiled lazily. “I’m a law unto myself, Sarah. Had you not realized that yet?”

She thought of Ralph Jameson. Yes, Jack was indeed a law unto himself. “But what of Paul? There’s nothing wrong at all with the way he conducts Mannerby.” She knew she was defending Paul.

Jack’s eyes were opaque. “You rush to protect him.” He spoke quietly.

“Why yes, and why should I not? The results of his hard work and care are there for all to see. Mannerby horses are the finest in England. There can be little justification for what my father seeks to do.”

“Your father owns Mannerby and is perfectly entitled to do as he pleases. Besides, I was not and am not concerned with the rights and wrongs of what is proposed.... It’s merely a means to an end for me.”

“I wish there was some other way.” She glanced toward the stables.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I begin to envy Ransome having such a spitfire to defend him. Perhaps I’ve left it too late to come here.”

She was startled. “Oh no, it’s nothing like that, please believe me.”

“I find it a little disconcerting that you should strive so in his defense, Sarah. Perhaps these weeks here without a chaperone to watch over you have not been wasted by the redoubtable Mr. Ransome.”

She colored. “That was not necessary, Jack.”

“He was lacking in common sense, Sarah, for he should have seen to it that you were not alone in the house after his sister’s death.”

“Oh, you know about Melissa then?”

“It was in the London papers. She was of some interest, being the sister of Paul Ransome. As you say, the Mannerby stud has an enviable reputation.” He reached up and snapped off a twig of lilac, twisting it between his fingers until the blossoms spun.

“Jack, Paul was not lacking in common sense. He has sent for a relative to come here, and, besides, what else could I do but remain here? I have nowhere else to go and my father has ignored me since I left Rook House. Perhaps he is too occupied with Liza.” It was unfair to drag Liza’s name in, but Sarah could not help it. She felt unhappy and insecure, more insecure than her father’s unloved little mistress.

“Liza? Oh yes, my late wife’s maid and now your father’s, er, companion. No, I don’t think poor Liza fills his thoughts very much. And you’re wrong about your father, Sarah. He has not ignored you. He’s one of those men who doesn’t put pen to paper unless he has something specific to say. He will write to you when he wishes you to return to him, not a moment before. The only news I can give you is that the preparations are apparently going ahead for your marriage to Edward, and that your father has at last succeeded in engaging the services of a lady to instruct you. You see, I made it my business to find out all I could.”

Her heart sank. So there was to be no change in her father’s plans then. Melissa’s death made no difference. “Oh. I had thought—’

“What?” He saw the despondency steal over her face.

“I had hoped that the marriage would be dropped now that Melissa is dead.”

“Melissa? What has the late lamented Melissa Ransome to do with it?”

“She was the woman Edward had fallen in love with.”

“Ah.” He handed her the sprig of lilac. “She was very beautiful by all accounts—I didn’t know her, but have heard it said.” He leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “It cannot have pleased her to have you here.”

Sarah remembered the hate which had filled Paul’s sister and she shivered. “No, it didn’t please her at all.”

“Well, I’m afraid that the idea of you marrying Edward still appears to rather appeal to your father. He wants to keep his family fortune intact. Melissa makes no difference; you are doomed to make an unhappy marriage.” The gray eyes wavered away from her face and she found herself wondering about his marriage—about his wife. What had really happened to her?

He held out his hands. “Come here, Sarah.” She went to him and he kissed her. That kiss left her still deeper in his spell. She returned the embrace, forgetting all else but her great love for him.

He untied her bonnet and hung it on a branch of the ash tree. It swung there in the breeze like an immense flower, its long pale pink ribbons streaming and flapping. He rested his cheek against the softness of her hair. “Well, at least we may look forward to a week or so together.”

Somehow she felt a vague, barely tangible disappointment. He made no protestations of love. He did not speak of persuading her father to change his mind. He did not mention wanting her himself. She swallowed. “You will be here for that long, then?”

“Until the French horses arrive. Ransome will have to put up with my company, I fear.”

“Why don’t you like him?”

“For the same reason he doesn’t like me.”

“And what reason is that?” She looked up into his eyes.

He smiled slowly. “I rather fancy we both desire the same woman.”

Desire? But that was not the same thing as love. She looked away, knowing that she was blushing. “I think you are wrong. Paul regards me merely as a friend, no more.”

“You don’t do yourself justice, Sarah. I saw the look on his face when you first drove into the courtyard.... He regards you as something more than a friend.”

Desperately she turned away, biting her lip. “And how do you feel about me, Jack?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Do you need to ask?”

“Yes—yes I do. What do you feel?”

“Oh, Sarah, I thought you could see it written on my face. I love you. Of course I love you. I’ve had a wife; I’ve had mistresses, but you are the one I have fallen in love with. I hardly know you and yet I feel that you’ve always been there.”

She closed her eyes weakly. He loved her; he said that he loved her.

Someone coughed apologetically and she turned, covered with confusion, to see Marks standing there. “I’m sorry to interrupt, madam, but it’s about the meal. The cook is threatening all manner of things if it’s not eaten soon, for it will spoil. Mr. Ransome says that he will not be eating, and so I was wondering if you and ...” He glanced at Jack.

Sarah cleared her throat, her head still spinning a little. “Of course, Marks, we’ll dine now. Please present my apologies to the cook.”

As Jack took her hand to walk into the house she could have danced. She could have laughed and sung, so great was her joy. He loved her. Jack loved her….

It soon became apparent that the changes Sir Peter intended at Mannerby were swinging. In the morning after Jack’s arrival, the two men were closeted together in Paul’s study for two hours, and Sarah, sitting in the drawing room next door, could not help but overhear some of what was said. She sat quietly with a book upon her knee, and the same unread page faced her for a long time. She gleaned from the fragments of conversation which drifted to her that her father was going to change most of the stock, and then put in another man, of his own choosing, to run the stud with Paul.