“Are you certain these stories are true? People are often unkind about heiresses, especially when they are also good-looking!”
“I can assure you that I had it from a most impeccable source,” the Dowager answered. “In fact, if you are curious, it was the Chancellor of the Exchequer who told me!”
There could be no argument about that and, as the Marquis did not wish to discuss Sarah, he moved away from the Dowager.
Then, when one or two other friends said almost the same thing to him, he knew that it was the truth.
He did not pretend, however, that he did not find Sarah amusing and attractive.
He was too clever not to be aware that she was deliberately restraining herself when he was with her.
She did not flaunt her money, as she was inclined to do in front of other people.
He found the luxury of the way she lived almost overwhelming.
The flowers, the fruit, the wine, the food were only part of it. In his opinion there were too many footmen wearing an ostentatious livery.
There were too many embroidered and lace-edged sheets and pillowcases made of fine linen.
What was more, he thought, the carpets were unnecessarily soft, and he could say the same about the beds.
He appreciated, because she was so rich, that Sarah wanted the best and yet, like all people without a long line of ancestors behind them, she continually overstepped the mark.
One thing he was not prepared to criticise was her horses.
Her stable was at least the equal of his and he was not certain that one or two of her racehorses were not better and, because she had made herself so knowledgeable on the ‘Sport of Kings’, he enjoyed talking to her.
He had come to stay at Ridgeley Towers quite simply because he could not resist seeing Sarah’s racing stable.
He also wanted to inspect the mares that she had told him so much about.
But marriage.
That was a very different thing!
He thought that he could understand, however, the way she had reasoned it out that their combined stables could be a sensation.
Because she was a woman, it seemed logical to her that they too should be joined together.
However that Sarah should be the Marchioness of Wyndonbury was unthinkable.
He found her passionately very satisfying, but he thought of her in the same way as he did of an exceedingly alluring actress who had been his mistress last year.
That also applied to a lovely little ballet dancer from Covent Garden whom he had enticed away from Harry Grantham, much to his annoyance. She had been French and had a fascination and a joie de vivre that he had never found in an Englishwoman.
She had been under his protection for nearly nine months and he had then said goodbye, giving her a very expensive present that added to her jewellery, which was the envy of the whole cast, and they had parted amicably.
At least that was what the Marquis wanted to believe.
Sometimes, however, his conscience pricked him, because, when he left a woman to whom he had made love, he was aware that she had not only given him her body but also her heart.
It was something he always regretted because he himself had never been in love.
He had been told often enough how painful it could be.
But he often wondered why he had to suffer tears, recriminations and undoubted misery when he ended an affaire de coeur.
He hoped apprehensively he would not have to go through the same dramatics where Sarah was concerned.
‘I will leave the day after tomorrow,’ he told himself.
He knew that Sarah was expecting him to stay for another two days’ hunting, but he decided that he would leave early after breakfast, which would enable him to reach London in plenty of time for dinner.
This was possible because on his way to The Towers he had arranged for four changes of his own horses to be ready on his way back.
He wondered if Sarah would repeat her proposal of marriage and then he told himself that he had made it abundantly clear that he would not marry her.
She was too intelligent to labour the point.
Nevertheless he felt slightly anxious when he reached The Towers.
Only, as the carriage drew up, did he realise that he had not seen Sarah since early in the morning.
He thought it rather strange.
As he walked into the ornate hall, he saw Harry Grantham coming down the curved, carved and gilt staircase.
“Did you have a good day?” Harry asked genially.
“What happened to you?” the Marquis enquired.
He realised that besides not seeing Sarah he had not seen Harry or his boon companion, Cyril Fane.
“Sarah had a fall,” Harry explained.
“A fall?” the Marquis repeated. “Good Lord! Is she all right?”
“She has injured her arm a little and is resting, but you will see her at dinner.”
“What bad luck!” the Marquis said. “She missed an excellent day’s sport and so did you.”
“I know,” Harry said regretfully, “and I cannot help feeling envious, but that is something you have made me feel before.”
The Marquis laughed lightly.
“You will have a chance to even with me tomorrow,” he said. “They are betting it will be either you or me who will win the steeplechase.”
“I will certainly do my damndest to beat you,” Harry replied.
The Marquis laughed again and walked up the stairs to his bedroom.
He had no idea that Harry was not joking, but actively hating him.
He had never forgiven the Marquis for taking away Yvonne and he had sworn to himself that one day he would get even with him.
Now he had the chance and he was determined not to miss it.
*
Lying in her glittering silver and pearl bed, Sarah asked her lady’s maid, who was taking away her tea tray,
“Is Miss Chester all right?”
“She’s asleep, my Lady,” the maid replied. “I peeps in about ten minutes ago to ask her if she’d like some tea, but she were sleepin’ like a child and I thinks it better to leave her alone.”
“That was sensible,” Sarah approved. “Sir Harold said that she must have a glass of milk as soon as she is awake and anything else she wants.”
“I’ve put one by her bed, my Lady.”
Harry had been so explicit with his orders that Sarah had let him have his own way.
When they had arrived back at The Towers, on Harry’s instructions they had immediately had luncheon.
There had been just the five of them and they had eaten in a small dining room that was exquisitely decorated but at the same time cosy.
Valessa therefore did not feel as embarrassed by her appearance as she would have otherwise.
The three men certainly went out of their way to put her at ease and by the time she had eaten a little, although it seemed to her to be an enormous amount, she was laughing.
She did not know it, but she was looking extremely attractive as she did so.
Then Harry sent her upstairs to bed.
Sarah had gone with her and she was shown into the most beautiful room she had ever seen. It had a painted ceiling, a bed draped with satin curtains, several pieces of French furniture and an Aubusson carpet on the floor.
“Now you are not to worry about anything,” Sarah said. “Just leave Harry to produce you as a star to amuse and intrigue our party.”
“I wish you would – tell me what I – have to do,” Valessa asked tentatively.
“That would spoil the surprise,” Sarah said. “When I have rung for the maid to help you into bed, I want you to let my seamstress take your measurements so that she can alter the gowns I have for you and I know that you will look very pretty in them.”
Valessa thought that this would be impossible, as she was so thin and weak.
At the same time, although she had not managed to eat much of the delicious dishes at luncheon,
she felt better than she had for a long time.
Sarah had summoned the seamstress.
When they were alone before she arrived, she gave Valessa an envelope.
“There is no need to open it,” she said. “You know what it contains.”
Valessa blushed.
“I-I feel I should not – take so – much.”
“You will find that you have earned it when you do as Harry wants,” Sarah said enigmatically. “And I have promised you some very beautiful clothes.”
The seamstress took Valessa’s measurements and when she had gone the maid helped Valessa to undress.
Wearing a diaphanous nightgown, which she supposed belonged to Sarah, Valessa climbed into the bed.
It was more comfortable than anything she had ever slept in and she was very aware of the lace that trimmed the sheets and pillowcases.
The eiderdown, which was also of lace was, she was sure, very valuable and ought to be behind glass.
There was so much she wanted to explore in the room.
She had already seen, in a small mahogany bookcase, books bound in red leather and embossed with gold.
But when her head was on the pillow, she realised how tired she was.
Even before the maid had finished tidying the room she was asleep.
*
Valessa was woken by the sound of someone moving about.
She realised when she opened her eyes that the curtains were drawn, the candles lit and two maids were arranging her bath in front of the fire.
Valessa watched them for a moment and the maid who had helped her before came to the bedside to say,
“There be a glass of milk here for you, miss, which I were told you were to drink as soon as you woke.”
Valessa was sure that it was one of Harry’s instructions and she obediently sat up and drank the milk.
She thought there was something else in the glass, which she suspected was a touch of brandy.
It made her feel better.
Then, when the bath was ready, the maids poured in hot and cold water from large brass cans, which she knew were placed outside the room by a footman and she had heard his voice when she got out of bed.
The bath was scented with a delicious perfume that she could not identify and the warm water seemed to wash away her sleepiness and much her apprehension as to what she was expected to do.
She dried herself with a bath towel that had been warmed in front of the fire and then the maid brought her a chemise of the finest silk trimmed with real lace.
There was a long slip also of silk to go under her gown.
To her surprise, it fitted her exactly.
She decided that the seamstress must be very experienced to be so precise after simply taking her measurements.
The gown that went over the slip was of white gauze and was trimmed round the hem and on the sleeves with rows of lace and bunches of rosebuds.
Tiny diamanté drops nestled in each flower as if they were drops of dew and the lace round her neck was sprinkled with them.
And the sash that encircled her tiny waist was of pink with a large bow at the back.
Valessa thought that it was the most beautiful gown she had ever seen.
An elderly maid who she learned waited on Sarah came to arrange her hair. It was swept away from her forehead and fell into curls at the back of her head.
The elderly maid patted a little powder on her face, a touch of rouge to her cheeks and a little salve to her lips.
Valessa was aware that ladies in London used cosmetics, but her mother had left her face untouched and she had never expected to be powdered and painted.
For a moment she wanted to protest and then she remembered the cheque that was in the top drawer of her dressing table.
Unless she was to give the money back she must do exactly as she was told.
She had to admit that by the time the maids had finished with her the result was fabulous.
She wondered if she was expected to go downstairs and was just about to ask when there was a knock on the door.
When the maid opened it, she heard Harry’s voice say,
“I want to speak to Miss Chester. Ask her to go into the boudoir next door.”
The maid curtseyed and then showed Valessa what she had not noticed was another door near the window.
When it was opened, she found herself in a boudoir that was as luxurious as her bedroom and was filled with the fragrance of flowers.
Harry was waiting for her and, as she walked towards him hoping for his approval, she thought that he looked very impressive in his evening clothes.
He was not wearing knee-breeches but long drainpipe trousers.
They had been introduced, her father had told her, by the late King George IV when he was Prince Regent.
Valessa walked nervously until she reached Harry and then she looked up at him pleadingly.
He smiled and said,
“I would never have recognised you as the same girl I found sitting so despondently at the kitchen table!”
Valessa laughed, because it was not what she had expected him to say.
“Do I look – all right?”
“You look lovely, as you must have seen for yourself in the mirror,” he answered.
He glanced over his shoulder to see if the communicating door was shut.
Then he said,
“Now listen, Valessa, the charade in which you are acting will take place tomorrow evening. Tonight I want you to enjoy yourself just as one of the guests. But go to bed early, for I feel sure that you will want to watch the steeplechase.”
Valessa’s eyes lit up.
“Can I do that?”
“Of course,” he said, “and I hope you will be willing me to win.”
“Of course I shall!” Valessa said fervently.
“Now, don’t be nervous,” Harry said. “Just make yourself charming to whoever is sitting next to you at dinner and be very evasive if anyone asks you where you have come from.”
“What shall I say?” Valessa enquired.
“That you live in the country, seldom go to London and are very fond of horses!”
“That is true.”
“Then talk about them,” Harry said, “or rather let everybody else talk while you listen.”
“I will – try to do what you – tell me.”
“Stop looking worried,” Harry commanded. “Act as if you are enjoying yourself!”
“I am sure – I shall,” Valessa replied.
Then she gave a little laugh.
“How could I do anything else when I am here in this magnificent house and wearing a gown that could only have come from my dreams?”
“That is exactly what I want you to feel,” Harry said. “Now, come along, Sarah is waiting for you.”
He took Valessa along the passage.
At the top of the stairs Sarah was standing looking lovely, Valessa thought. She wore a gown of emerald green that seemed to be almost transparent and there was a necklace of emeralds around her neck and a tiara on her golden head.
As they joined her, Valessa was aware that Sarah was looking her over almost as if she was trying to find fault.
Finally she said with a smile,
“Perfect! That gown might have been designed for you.”
She looked at Harry as she spoke who said,
“That is just what I thought!”
They went down the stairs, Sarah leading the way.
Two footmen hurried to fling open the doors to what Valessa learned later was called ‘the French Salon’.
Sarah swept into the room.
For a moment all Valessa could see were the chandeliers lit with hundreds of candles and a kaleidoscope of people, some of the men in pink evening coats.
The women were as exquisite as stars in silks and satins, all glittering with jewels from their heads to their feet.
To Valessa’s surprise Sarah put her arm around her and drew her towards them saying,
&
nbsp; “I want to introduce you to an old friend of mine, Valessa Chester, who is as knowledgeable about horses as any of you and she will cheer on my team tomorrow and make sure that we are the winners!”
There was laughter at this.
Then Lord Cyril Fane and Lord Freeman came up to shake Valessa by the hand.
She felt sure that they had been told to do so by Harry and then she was introduced to quite a number of other men.
They went into the banqueting hall and she realised that there were forty people sitting down at the table, which was laden with gold ornaments.
For the first time in her life, and Valessa was sure that it would be the last, she ate off gold plate.
Although the food was delicious, she was intent on what was happening around her, feeling it could not be real and was just a part of her imagination.
She obeyed Harry’s instructions and talked about horses.
“Have you any horses of your own, Miss Chester?” one of her dinner partners asked.
“My father had many and I rode almost before I could walk!”
He laughed.
Then he was telling her how old he was when he first rode, after which they talked about the competition tomorrow.
“Wyndonbury will be the winner!” he said. “He invariably gets everything he wants in life!”
“I should have thought that was bad for him,” Valessa suggested and her partner laughed.
Then, because he had mentioned the Marquis, she looked for him down the table.
She had been too nervous before dinner to look around, merely concentrating on anybody who was speaking to her.
Then she saw him, seated on Sarah’s right.
He was, she thought, exactly as she had expected and thought that she could have picked him out in any crowd as being the most prestigious man present.
There was something very authoritative about him.
It was even more obvious than the fact that he was exceedingly handsome.
His features, she told herself, were aristocratic and, if she had not known that he was a Marquis, she might even have thought that he was a King.
She smiled and the man on the other side of her asked,
“What do you find amusing?”
“My own thoughts,” Valessa replied.
“Now you are making me curious,” her partner said. “And who is the lucky man you are thinking about?”
Revenge Is Sweet Page 5
