by Anne O'Brien
‘I have left Thea at Aymestry, Nicholas,’ she informed him before he could change his mind and be tempted to show her the door. And that nugget of information, she was delighted to note, forced him to focus on her and to concentrate on her words. The expression of supercilious boredom had vanished entirely. She took immediate advantage, embroidering the truth a little. ‘The poor girl is waiting there, quaking in her kid slippers.’
At Aymestry. Theodora was at Aymestry. His pulse took a fast leap in response. She was at Aymestry, his own home. So close that he could be with her within the hour, could hold her in his arms and claim those smiling lips with his own. His heart would urge him to take a horse and ride through the growing dusk, to throw himself at her feet and ask forgiveness for any false accusation. He took a deep breath against that impulse. For there would lie disaster. His mind, proud and hurt, questioned why she had come, refused any spirit of compromise and so forbade it. But his willpower was severely tested. Nicholas turned his mind back to Sarah, who patiently awaited his response, no sympathy at all in her expression.
‘Theodora is not a poor girl. Neither does she quake.’ His words were brusque, voice cynical, eyes cold. ‘She is the most headstrong female I have ever had the misfortune to meet. There is nothing between us.’
‘Nevertheless, she is afraid. Of you primarily, although she would find it difficult to admit to such a weakness. Your possible reactions to her if she had accompanied me here to Burford. Of the depth of emotion that has taken over her life and will give her no peace. But she forced herself to come here because she believes that she wronged you. I cannot think why.’ Sarah frowned at Lord Nicholas. ‘It seems to me that you were far more to blame in all this.’
The document crumpled as his hand clenched. ‘Your confidence in me and my judgement of a situation where you were not yourself present is most flattering. Thank you, Sarah!’
She ignored the bitter irony and pushed on, aware only of the controlled emotion in his face and the bleak grey of his eyes, a symptom of unhappiness if she knew anything about it. ‘You should have believed her, Nicholas. Her integrity is beyond question. I have known her less than a week, but that is clear to me. She is no more Edward’s tool against you than … than …’ Suddenly Sarah could not find the words as the horror of the past and her own part in it rolled back to swamp her with regret and shame.
Nicholas sighed, the taut muscles in his face relaxing. ‘Than you are now, dear Sarah.’ He replaced the manuscript back on the desk, carefully, smoothing it with his hand. The softening of his expression and the deliberate kindness in his words were almost her undoing.
‘Yes. That is what I would say.’ She took a breath to steady herself again. ‘Theodora is innocent, Nicholas. There was no plot between her and Edward. No deceit. The rift in the family a mere month after her birth was final, all connections between the Wooton-Devereux and the Baxendales cut. Even I had almost forgotten my sister’s existence until Mrs Stamford wrote to Eleanor about your interest in the lady.’
‘Eleanor’s mama! I should have guessed.’ Nicholas snorted in grim amusement at Mrs Stamford’s involvement.
Sarah clenched her still-gloved hands before her, willing Nicholas to listen and believe. ‘Thea did not know of her birth until after you had met in London. She was not aware until Lady Drusilla told her of it. Lady Drusilla did not know much of the old scandal, but warned Thea that nothing good would ever come of a relationship between Baxendale and Faringdon—and suggested that it would be best if it were ended before it could become a matter for pain and heartache between you.’
‘Ah. Now I understand.’ A faint line touched his brow. ‘So that is why she tried to end it.’
‘I know nothing of that—but it certainly explains why Thea decided no good would come of telling you that Edward Baxendale was her brother. Her mother—Lady Drusilla—had warned her well. You should have talked to her, Nicholas. Indeed you should.’
As Sarah’s impassioned words bit, forcing his mind to reconsider, Nicholas prowled to the fireplace. Kicked a smouldering log into life. Returned again to face her, running fingers through his hair, an impatient gesture that almost made her smile. How often had she seen Henry do exactly that when assailed by frustrations and doubts.
‘I know,’ Nicholas admitted at last. ‘I know it. I wish that she had told me. It made me think that … that she had a motive for her lack of openness. Then afterwards, when I had accused her of baiting a trap to lure me into marriage—then it was too late for explanations, for either of us.’
‘So I understand.’ At last. A hint of regret. Sarah felt for the first time a relaxing of the tense muscles in her shoulders, but still she did not cease her attack. ‘You did not explain to her why you should hold the name of Baxendale in such hatred, which left her thinking you to be capricious and unreasonable.’
‘No.’ He raised his eyes to Sarah’s. ‘Neither of us was very wise, I think.’ His lips curved in a bitter parody of a smile. ‘The past casts a long shadow, Sarah, whether we wish it or not?’
‘Yes. I too remember the torment Eleanor had to live through.’ Sarah at last dropped her eyes from his fierce gaze.
‘Forgive me, Sarah. I would not have resurrected all this for the world. I can see that it brings you pain.’
‘Yes, it does. I hate the need to remember. I still feel the shame. But the legacy is here before us and we must deal with it.’ She could no longer prevent a tear escaping to track down her cheek.
At which Nicholas abandoned his entrenched and distant position to stride round the desk, and took her in his arms as any brother might and kissed her damp cheeks. ‘Don’t think of it, Sarah. There is no blame attached to you. You have proved your loyalty to this family time and again. You know that you are loved and respected here.’
‘Yes.’
He led her to a chair and sat beside her. Leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped loosely before him, and set himself to bare his soul.
‘What should I say to you? I think—if I am honest—that the portrait you have painted of Thea’s innocence is no stranger to me.’ For a long moment he dropped his head into his hands. Tempting Sarah to reach out to touch his dark hair in compassion. But now was not the time to weaken. She must push the message home. As if picking up her thought pattern, he raised his head to look at Sarah. The longing in his eyes struck at her heart, even before he spoke. ‘I have made such a mess of things, Sarah. You would not believe … When I received Eleanor’s letter—it brought it all back. And then everything went wrong, layer upon agonising layer. We said things that would deliberately hurt and tear. Neither of us would step back and reconsider.’
‘Headstrong! I knew it!’ But there was a smile now in Sarah’s voice and a sigh of relief. ‘You are both the same.’
‘Yes. I fear so. And pride. And the legacy of Baxendale is still too close to ignore. The name is still an anathema,’ he admitted, ‘however much I might wish to bury it.’
Sarah remained silent for a long moment. She knew exactly how to destroy these chains that still bound Nicholas to the past. And set herself to do it.
‘Nicholas—do you love Theodora?’
‘Yes. I cannot get her out of my mind. But is it now too late? I fear that I have killed her love for me.’
‘Of course you have! That is why, foolish girl that she is, she was prepared to travel all the way across the country, simply to make her peace with you! Have a little sense!’ She curbed her impatience at the blindness of men, and hid a triumphant little smile. ‘She has so much courage Nicholas. It astounds me.’
‘I know. I see the same courage in you.’
‘Never! But Theodora … What are you going to do about her?’
‘I think it is all beyond remedy.’
‘You say the name stands between you. Think about this. Do you have any friendship for me?’
‘Of course.’ He looked puzzled. ‘Do you need to ask?’
‘No. Do
you trust me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then what is the problem?’
‘I fear that you have left me wallowing in unrequited love!’ At last she saw a glint of appreciation. ‘You will have to explain.’
‘It is very simple, Nicholas. How you have failed to work it out for yourself is beyond belief. You rejected Theodora, the love of your life by all accounts, because her name was Baxendale.’
‘I …’ A hint of colour flared along his cheek bones at the realisation of how empty and futile and ridiculous it sounded in Sarah’s words.
‘Of course you did. But I, too, am a Baxendale—or have you forgotten?’ She slanted a surprisingly mischievous glance at him. ‘If you can trust me and care for me a little, why is loving Thea any different? And you adore her! Her name should not stand between you. It cannot. As a man of logic, you must realise it.’
Nicholas searched Sarah’s face as he absorbed her undoubted logic. Then he laughed, as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. ‘Sarah … What have I been doing all these weeks? Perhaps I needed you to put it so simply that even a child would see it.’
‘Or beat you over the head with it! I wager no one has had the temerity to do so, unless it be Lady Beatrice.’ She watched him shrewdly, rewarded by Nicholas wincing in reluctant agreement. ‘It is simple. You love her and she, for some reason which I cannot fathom, loves you. Her name is irrelevant. Besides, she is my sister and I love her and want her happiness. She has decided that she can find it only with you. Now if I were in need of a husband—’ there was a distinct twinkle in her eye ‘—I would have given the Earl of Moreton more of a chance. He is so much easier to deal with. The Faringdons are never easy!’
She was relieved to see humour creeping back into the stern lines of Nicholas’s face to dispel the bleak misery. ‘You are a managing female, Sarah. I did not realise it. Moreton does not know of his lucky escape. So I must go to Aymestry, it seems.’ He rubbed his hands over his face as if he had just awoken from a dire nightmare.
‘Of course you must. What is taking you so long? You should have saddled a horse at least half an hour ago.’
‘Will you come?’
‘No. I have travelled enough in recent days. And I should most decidedly be in the way.’
‘Perhaps.’ He kissed Sarah’s fingers, then her cheek. ‘My thanks are beyond expression. It may be that you have just given me back my life.’
As she accompanied him to the door, Sarah gave him some parting advice. ‘If you love her, Nick, don’t lose this chance.’ She touched his arm lightly, amazed at the courage she had shown this night in speaking so candidly to this most complex of Faringdon men. ‘You know how it is between Henry and Nell. You have seen it for yourself. It is beyond magnificent. The affection and the caring—and the blazing passion that only grows with time. If you and Theodora achieve only half of the love that they have, it would be enough for a lifetime. Don’t throw it away, Nicholas. You would regret it for the rest of your life.’
Nicholas bent his head, kissed her cheek again in heartfelt gratitude.
As he strode from the house toward the stables, Sarah’s words echoed in his mind, clear and strong. So much advice, confirming what he had known all along and been too blind and proud, too bent on revenge, to accept. It was time that he faced the truth and old hatreds were buried. His future happiness depended on it.
At Aymestry Manor, whilst Sarah was taking Nicholas to task at Burford Hall and advising him, much as Lady Beatrice might, on the only course of action open to a man of common sense, Theodora brooded and awaited the outcome. The day gradually drew on into late afternoon as she watched the road with anxious eyes. She could not possibly expect him before dusk. Nevertheless she watched and waited impatiently. Clouds heralding oncoming rain began to gather on the horizon to the west. Time hung heavily. Thea’s patience became thinly stretched.
She visited the stables where she became reacquainted with The Zephyr. The beautiful mare bloomed with health, her coat gleaming in the late sun, and seemed perfectly sound as she trotted across the paddock at Thea’s voice. Furness was encouraging, already lamenting the loss of the little mare when she returned to Thea’s possession. Thea admired the new foals. Played with an enthusiastic litter of spaniel puppies who at least made her laugh and forget her woes.
Still he did not come.
She strolled in the gardens with Agnes, mentally stocking them with her favourite flowers. Aquilegia and hearts’ ease, honeysuckle and … and … But what was the purpose in such wishful thinking? She would like to grow herbs and…. No. She must not think of it. It would never come to that if Nicholas decided that her Baxendale connection created too great an obstacle.
And still no sound of hooves on the road or on the track that dropped down through the woods.
Of course he might reject everything that Sarah could lay before him in her sister’s defence. Theodora cursed the name of Edward Baxendale in language that would have drawn her mama’s deep disapproval.
She took herself to the kitchens out of interest to see Mrs Grant’s kingdom. And spoke with the lady, who readily conversed about the running of such a household and the particular likes and dislikes of his lordship, whom she had known since a young boy. So Lord Nicholas disliked sweetbreads, did he? Well, so did she! Thea would have enjoyed the experience if nerves had not begun to flutter with persistent wings in her stomach.
Dusk shrouded the house and candles were lit. Still no Nicholas.
Thea and Agnes shared a meal, neither having much appetite. Then Agnes was sent off to her bed, leaving Thea to pace the library, without even a pretence at finding solace in one of the many volumes that hemmed her in. He would not come. Not now.
Then, at last, noises outside. Muted but just discernible. Hooves and voices. Thea stopped her pacing, gripped the back of a chair with her hands and watched the door.
But no Nicholas. On a hiss of frustration at what could possibly be detaining the man—probably a mare in foal!—she went to the window to peer out. It was dark with the now-heavy cloud covering the moon so she could see nothing. But that was not right! There were figures, black on black, on the carriage drive to the left. And there! A flash of light—and another from torches. And in the light from those torches, Thea was able to see the truth. Figures clad in skirts and shawls. The Maidens. Torches. Now they moved quietly as one led away a horse. Voices deliberately kept low, but there was no doubt in Thea’s mind that their presence was a threat and their intent evil. As they disappeared from view towards the stables, Thea fled. First to the kitchens, where by chance Furness was lifting a jug of ale and enjoying a pipe as he exchanged opinions with Mrs Grant.
‘Miss Thea?’ Mrs Grant immediately rose to her feet. ‘Is there a problem …?’
‘Master Furness …’
He put down his ale in concern at the lady’s wide eyes and breathless state.
‘The Maidens are paying us a visit,’ Thea gasped. ‘I have seen them. Heading to the stables, I would say … with torches—’ Before she had finished, Furness was on his feet with the agility of youth and out of the room at a run.
Without thought, Thea followed.
Nick rode to Aymestry, his mind full of Sarah’s forthright words. And hope surged through his veins with every mile as he took the track through the woods, despite the falling light. Every instinct persuaded him to reach his manor with all speed. He knew Sarah well enough, had enough experience of the innate honesty that had troubled her conscience and driven her to expose the deceit of her brother. And so he had believed her every word. Thea would be waiting for him. She was entirely innocent, as he must assuredly have known. The shame of his lack of trust crawled beneath his skin, yet the prospect of his loved one quaking made him smile again. What a delight it would be to hold her and kiss her and calm any fears she might have. But he would have to ask forgiveness first, for indeed it was his fault that he had judged her without cause. Surely she would not reject him. If
she had come all this way she could not be cold to his advances. He winced under Sarah’s biting criticisms. But he could put it right.
Joy leapt in his blood as he rode out of the trees where the track began its descent to the manor. It was late, but not too late. She would be awake, watching for him. A light rain began to spatter on his shoulders, but he would soon be home. He kicked his horse into a controlled canter, making use of his intimate knowledge of the track. But then with an oath reined in, staring forward to where the house nestled in the shallow depression.
Lights. Too many lights. Indeed, they were flickering torches. And shouts. Some crisis had occurred. The possibilities jostled in his mind as the unease grew. And then the truth was clear, for the first tongues of fire climbed into the sky from the corner of the stables, the wing where the mares and foals were kept for their safety at night. The unease blossomed into desperate and fully-fledged panic.
Fire!
The stallions and mares would die if the alarm was not raised. And if the flames got a hold on the stables, they would spread to the house with its plaster and dry beams before anything could be done to save it. His home, where Theodora awaited him.
Nicholas applied his heels to his horse and galloped heedlessly towards the looming disaster.
The scene in the stableyard rushed towards her, swamping Thea with terror, every sensation in her body under instant attack, every instinct to freeze in abject fear or to run for her safety. It was a scene straight from the torments of hell. Flames were already licking along one side of the three wings of wood-timbered buildings, stonework already blackened. Within the enclosed space, illuminated by torches and fire, chaos reigned. Figures loomed and dispersed through the billowing smoke. Shouts and cries of anger and encouragement filled the air. There appeared to be few skirted figures—certainly not as many as when Thea had met them on the road—but in their midst, urging them on with wild, triumphant gestures, was Samuel Dyer.
