by Anne O'Brien
‘Did Edward have proof of his accusation?’ Thea had listened in silent astonishment at this version of events. How outrageous the plot had been!
‘Oh, yes. He had all the necessary legal documents. They certainly fooled Mr Hoskins, the Faringdon lawyer. Octavia’s brother, a clergyman of dubious habits, was easily bribed into producing the appropriate papers for the marriage and the birth.’
‘I see. Octavia’s baby—it died, did it not?’ Thea still felt a sharp tug of sympathy for the frail figure in the garden at Whitchurch. She held on to it amongst all the turmoil in her brain as her preconceived ideas were destroyed one by one.
‘No. It did not.’ Sarah’s voice had acquired an edge that made Thea note the faint lines of tension around her mouth. ‘Octavia never had a child.’
‘Then how? How did she claim to be the mother of Thomas’s child?’ Now she saw a stricken look on Sarah’s face.
‘Edward used me. And my son. He presented John—my little boy—as Octavia’s son. And I … I played the role of nursemaid. As you see, I am not innocent in all this.’
‘Oh, Sarah.’
Tears gathered in Sarah’s eyes, to roll helplessly down her cheeks. ‘I have no excuses. My husband had recently died … I was widowed and without resources. Edward offered me money and a home for my compliance. And, God forgive me, in a moment of despair and weakness, I agreed to go along with his nefarious plan.’
‘And Edward could do that?’
‘Oh, yes. He had the perfect scheme to feather his own nest from the Faringdon coffers. It was a very clever scheme. It almost succeeded.’
‘So how was it foiled?’ Thea found herself caught up in the incredible drama.
‘Hal and Nick discovered the truth of Octavia’s brother. And I … I turned evidence. I spoke out against Edward and told the truth. My conscience would not allow me to do other.’
‘And you went to New York.’
‘Yes.’
‘With Henry and Eleanor.’ There was the faintest question in Thea’s voice that Sarah could not ignore. A smile lit her countenance as she replied.
‘They understood and forgave me, you see. And gave me a home. Hal and Nell gave me a life and hope, with no recriminations or blame for the damage that I helped to bring them.’ She held Thea’s gaze with her own. ‘I love them both. So I must repay them. I must not allow you to be used by Edward to hurt Nicholas.’
‘No, Edward did nothing to hurt Nicholas.’ Thea sighed. ‘I think I have done that on my own without any assistance! I have done a dreadful thing, Sarah—because I did not fully understand. I accused Nicholas of overbearing arrogance and cruelty. Of putting too little value on our love. Of destroying it for a hatred that I could not accept. Now I understand why he detested Edward—the very name of Baxendale. And so he should.’
‘Perhaps. But don’t exonerate Nicholas too lightly. He should not have been so quick to judge—he should have listened to you.’
‘I know. But I should have been honest with him. I did not tell him that I knew of my birth, so, when Eleanor’s letter arrived … my denials did not carry much weight. Sarah—how I wish that we had met before.’
‘And I. Do you believe me, Thea?’
‘Yes. I do.’ Thea realised that she had not one doubt that Sarah’s heart-wrenching tale of ruthless and vindictive plotting by their brother was the truth, because, in so doing, she had heaped blame on her own head. On impulse she put her arms around Sarah’s slight shoulders and hugged her. ‘It must have brought you great pain to relive it all again.’
‘I hoped never to have to refer to it again. But sins have a habit of returning to haunt. Now we must try to heal the wounds.’
‘Dear Sarah. I think there is nothing to be done and your journey has been in vain. Nicholas will not talk to me—or I with him, I have to confess. Our lives will take different paths. We had our chance at love—and it was not to be. I fear that any hope of love between us is at an end. Can love survive such anguish? I do not know.’ Her fingers curled into claws. ‘Is it right to hate one’s brother? I certainly hate Edward for all the lives he has touched.’
‘You are not alone.’
‘What will you do, Sarah?’
‘Speak honestly to me. Do you love Nicholas still, after everything that has been between you?’
‘Yes. For we were both at fault. He fills my sleeping and all my waking moments. Yes, I love him.’
‘Then this is what I shall do. I shall go to Aymestry. Tell Nicholas what I know—of your innocence and of Edward’s continuing lies.’
‘Will he listen?’ She looked doubtful.
‘I think so. I think I have one argument that he would find impossible to refute. There is one thing I would ask.’
‘Of course.’
‘Will you come with me? To Aymestry.’
‘Yes.’ With typical courage Thea thrust aside all her doubts and grasped the one positive opportunity to salve her own conscience and perhaps bring some peace to Nicholas’s troubled mind. Her love for him insisted on it. ‘I will come with you. I think I must. Whether Nicholas wishes to see me or not, I have my own apologies to make, for I think I cannot live with myself or my lineage until I do. I will not allow Edward to continue to influence my life in any manner. I will come with you to Aymestry. I will ask Nicholas’s forgiveness—and if it is his will that we part, then so be it.’
Thea walked slowly back to Upper Brook Street from Grosvenor Square, preparing to inform Lady Drusilla and Sir Hector that she had spent the past two hours in the company of her sister, learning unbelievable horrors about Edward, things no sister should ever have to learn about her brother. Sarah, with her years of knowledge, had recounted the events with calm acceptance of his culpability. For Thea it was all too shockingly new and painful.
Now she knew. All the secrets and tensions that had worked so effectively to destroy her relationship with Nicholas. The perfidy of her brother. The Faringdon pride in their family name and the protective instinct of Nicholas towards Eleanor and her child, the security of the estate in the absence of the Marquis. After a mere two hours in Sarah’s company, all was clear.
Thea entertained no doubts concerning Sarah’s revelations. On her return from the nursery with Sarah’s little boy in tow, Judith had confirmed every word when she knew that Sarah had told Thea everything that was to be told. The Faringdon scandal was thus in Thea’s domain. And with it came recognition, explaining Nicholas’s intransigence and suspicion. Thea, her Baxendale birth disguised, was most probably implicated, a matter of terrible and inescapable logic. And because she had deliberately hidden the truth of her birth from him, it had provided the final bitter conviction for him.
Oh, Nicholas!
And now Thea found herself committed to going to Aymestry Manor with Sarah. What on earth would that achieve between her and Nicholas? Forgiveness, perhaps. Understanding, of course. Some sense of closure for the whole affair. But love? For a fleeting moment Thea wished that she had not made the impulsive promise to Sarah. Almost retraced her footsteps to tell her sister that she could not go. Really, she could not.
Did love not need deep and fertile soil in which to grow and flourish? All that lay between her and Nicholas was surely hard and stony ground. No sooner had they discovered each other, acknowledged the bright passion that stirred their blood and demanded that they be together, than they had been torn apart by the legacy of Edward’s stirring of a deep, dangerous pot of envy and greed, indiscriminately selecting the Faringdons as his quarry. Would this provide sufficient soil for even the most robust shoot to survive?
No. Thea did not relish the prospect of this visit. But as she had told Sarah, she needed to make her peace with Nicholas. Only then could she look forward. And perhaps there could be a contented future for her with the Earl of Moreton—if she were able to banish Nicholas from her mind and her heart.
She really must not dwell on that.
Miss Wooton-Devereux arrived back in Upper Brook
Street with no recollection of her journey, thoroughly damp from a persistent drizzle that had begun as she left Grosvenor Square. She winced in discomfort, realising that her little satin slippers were definitely the worse for wear, and untied the ribbons of her bonnet with clammy fingers. A vivid memory caused her to halt on the first step of the staircase, of that previous glorious occasion when she and Nicholas had been caught in the storm. Soaked to the skin, it had not seemed a matter for depression at all. She flushed a little at the intimate pictures in her mind. But now? Why, even the clouds wept in unity with her, she decided, as she surveyed the limp ostrich plumes of her bonnet with dismay.
Chapter Thirteen
Four days later Sarah and Theodora and also Agnes Drew, whom Lady Drusilla had insisted accompany them to stand guard against all unforeseen dangers on the journey, stood in the familiar entrance hall at Aymestry Manor before a surprised Mrs Grant. The housekeeper’s face broke into an instant smile.
‘Miss Thea. And Mistress Drew. What a pleasure.’ She peered closely at the third lady. ‘It’s Mrs Russell, isn’t it? Well, now. We were not expecting you. But come in, come in. How is your little boy, madam?’ She remembered Sarah from her living at Burford Hall with Henry and Eleanor, when she had on occasion visited Aymestry Manor.
‘John is well and growing. I have left him with the Countess of Painscastle in London since I anticipate this visit being very brief. He still talks of you, Mrs Grant.’
‘Does he enjoy gingerbread pigs as he used to?’
‘He does.’ Sarah laughed. ‘I will tell him that you remembered him.’
‘Of course. Now, was it Lord Nicholas you wished to see?’
‘Yes.’
Mrs Grant shook her head. ‘His lordship must not have known. He’s over at Burford. Been there all week. But come into the parlour where there is a fire and I will bring tea.’
They did, grateful for the warmth and comfort. It had been a relatively easy journey made in style, thanks to Sir Hector’s post chaise, but for Thea fraught with anxieties. She had worked hard to keep her spirits and her confidence high. Soon all would be put to rights, with Sarah standing as her friend. And then … Well, she would wait and see. Her heart beat rapidly at the prospect of seeing Nicholas again, but her palms were damp with nerves. She pressed them surreptitiously against her muslin skirts, ashamed of her lack of composure as the end of the road—and Nicholas’s presence—grew closer.
And now he was not here. Her spirits plummeted to the level of her little kid boots.
‘Do you expect his lordship to return?’ Sarah asked Mrs Grant when the housekeeper returned to usher in a maid carrying a large tray.
‘Why, no, madam.’ She busied herself with the china and tea caddy, selecting a key from the chain around her waist. ‘Probably not until next week. There are horse sales in Hereford, I believe. And the assizes in Leominster in two days.’
The tea was made and the ladies left to drink it, Mrs Grant assuring them that his lordship would wish them to remain at Aymestry for as long as they desired.
‘What do we do now?’ Thea turned to her sister. She felt very much an interloper in this house where she had not been invited, where it was very possible that she would not be made welcome. Sarah had no such qualms about their taking up occupation.
‘We follow Nicholas to Burford, of course.’ Sarah’s decisiveness sometimes sat at odds with her apparent but deceptive fragility. ‘We cannot sit here and wait.’
‘No.’ In a moment of chicken-hearted weakness, as Thea castigated herself, the lady thought that she would rather do just that. And found herself forced to admit it with a deep sigh. ‘Sarah—I fear the outcome. I have ridden across the deserts of Syria and explored the ruins of more ancient cities than you could imagine—but I fear a meeting with Nicholas. How can that be?’ Her eyes flashed with something like annoyance or even anger at her shameful weakness. ‘It is so frustrating and not a little humiliating. That one man should reduce me to such cowardice. I would rather face a whole band of desert robbers. Or even the Maidens—and they were frightening enough. As if the blame is all mine—which it certainly is not! Nicholas was overbearing and insensitive—and I have no idea why I should care what he thinks or says! Or even if he wishes to see me. Indeed, I think I should go home now!’
‘I think it has something to do with the nature of love!’ Sarah smiled, acknowledging her sister’s dilemma with deep compassion. ‘So here is my plan. Stay here with Agnes. I will take the coach, go on to Burford and attempt to talk some sense into his lordship! Tell him that you are waiting here with the best of intentions. How he could believe that you could be in league with Edward I will never understand! Then, when he is in possession of all the true facts, it will be up to him to make the grand gesture. You have come all the way from London to acknowledge your guilt, as you see it, although I cannot agree with you. The least he can do is travel the few miles from Burford to Aymestry. But do not yield too quickly, Theodora. In my opinion, it is good for a man who is used to wielding authority with ease and a high degree of success to be put under some pressure and be unsure of the outcome. And Nicholas is certainly more authoritarian than many!’
‘How devious you are, dear Sarah.’ Theodora chuckled, her perspective somewhat restored by her astute sister. ‘I think you understand Nicholas very well.’
‘Not devious. Determined.’ Sarah raised her fair brows. The family resemblance was suddenly clear. ‘And don’t forget that I lived in the same house as Nicholas for a little time. He was younger then, but he has always had what might be described as a strong character and a flair for getting his own way. As do all the Faringdon men. But I have a strong affection for him. He was very kind to me when life was difficult and my self-esteem was at its lowest ebb, and he never once blamed me for—’ She caught herself up on the unhappy thoughts. ‘But that is long ago now. I want the best for both of you. I am of the opinion that it would be better if I see Nicholas when you are not present. Then I need not mince my words.’ She took Thea’s hand in both of hers and pressed it warmly. ‘Don’t worry so. Mrs Grant will look after you very well. I think you will not have long to wait.’
‘Well!’ As Sarah left the room to continue her journey, Agnes rose to her feet to enquire about a room for her mistress, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘A forceful lady—crafty, even—in spite of appearances to the contrary. I can well believe that she is your sister, miss!’ She turned her head as she reached the door, a little smile deepening the lines on her face. ‘I don’t give much hope for Lord Nicholas if that one has her way. With both of you hunting him down, the man does not stand a chance.’
‘Indeed, dear Agnes, I hope not.’
‘I think there is no need for you to lose any more sleep over it, Miss Thea. It would not be good for it to affect you looks, now would it? I think we should expect Lord Nicholas before the night is much advanced. And then perhaps at last we can all get back to a more placid lifestyle!’
Ignoring the dark mutterings, but none the less accepting the sense of them, Theodora followed Agnes from the room, praying for the success of her sister in persuading Nicholas to see the light.
‘I have come here, Nicholas, to illuminate a few basic misconceptions concerning my sister Theodora.’ No sooner had she alighted from the coach than Sarah had stalked into the library at Burford Hall, not even waiting to remove her bonnet and gloves. She now stood defiantly in the centre of the room, the light of battle in her eye. The clear gaze that she fixed on Nicholas held a severity, a conviction, of which he had no recollection. New York, it seemed, had allowed the somewhat reticent and self-conscious Mrs Sarah Russell to blossom into a lady with a core of steel. He admired it.
Yet, on this matter he was not to be intimidated.
‘Then I am afraid that you are doomed to be disappointed and your journey a wasted one. Sister or no, she is the last person of whom I wish to speak.’
‘Nevertheless, I have travelled from New York for thi
s sole purpose. Because I felt that I owed a debt to your family and to my sister. And unless you forbid me the house, I shall say what I feel I must.’
Nicholas discovered with not a little surprise that he had taken a stance behind his desk, as if to put the expanse of polished wood between himself and the lady who had arrived a mere few minutes ago, her impressive post chaise and escort pulling up on the gravel sweep with considerable dash. The last person he had expected to see was Sarah Russell, believing her to be comfortably established on the far side of the Atlantic, probably in domestic harmony with some worthy American gentleman. Yet here she was breathing fire, and, it appeared, hell-bent on taking him to task.
As he watched her with a degree of caution, his thoughts fell into the painful and familiar pattern that he had signally failed to banish. He did not want this … this interview. He had persuaded himself that the death of his liaison with Theodora with all its attendant suspicions was a matter for rejoicing. Almost persuaded! He felt his jaw clench. It continued to amaze and infuriate him, as every day passed, that his existence without Thea’s warm smile and infectious laughter, the slide of her silken skin beneath his fingers, was disagreeable in the extreme. He could not stop thinking about her. Could not stop wanting her. A disease that had got a hold and would not let go! Would it be a lifelong ailment?
Oh, God!
And here was Sarah Russell to stir and reignite the banked sensations even further. From the beginning he set his mind and his will against her.
‘Very well. Say what you must—and that can be the end of it. It is of little consequence.’ He picked up a sealed document from the desk, one which he had been working on when Sarah arrived, as if this conversation was a mere interruption to his daily routine.
And it would not be an easy conversation, Sarah realised, as she took in the discouraging set of his jaw and his shuttered expression. She assessed him with some interest. Here was a power. Not dormant as in his youth, but tightly leashed. Here in the high-bridged nose, the elegantly carved cheekbones, the decided chin, was not the careless, smiling boy whom she remembered. Nor in the cold hauteur as he regarded her across the desk, brows raised, disapproval in every inch of him. Thea was right. Matters had become dangerously difficult between the two of them.
