When Sarah felt she could endure no more waiting, her mother straightened her shoulders. “Look, Sarah, it’s Lady Hughes and her sister, Penelope. Remember, they came with Lord Hughes to visit last spring.”
“Yes, Mama.” Only a year younger than Sarah, Penelope had provided good company during her visit. Her appearance gave Sarah hope.
Before her mother acknowledged them, the woman sent her a friendly wave and hurried to their table. “Hello, Mrs. Hampton. Sarah. Isn’t this glorious?”
“It is, Lady Hughes. Would you and Penelope care to join us?”
“That would be so kind,” the woman said. “Will we inconvenience you?”
“No, Lady Hughes, please accept my chair.” Sarah rose, taking advantage of the opportunity. With her plan in motion, she touched her mother’s shoulder. “Perhaps, Penelope and I could view the displays nearby. Do you mind, Mama?” Would her mother refuse with Lady Hughes in her presence?
“Two young ladies without an escort?” her mother responded. “I think not.”
Eyeing Lady Hughes, Sarah was unable to read her thoughts. “Please, Mama. We’ll stay nearby, I promise.”
Her mother’s arched brow silenced her pleading.
Chapter 5
Disappointed, Sarah conversed quietly with Penelope about the displays, while her mother and Lady Hughes prattled about something called McCormick’s reaper and the giant cannon; eventually, her mother turned the discourse to Sarah’s coming out.
When the tea had vanished and only crumbs lay on their plates, Lady Hughes and Penelope made their good-byes and wended their way through the crowd.
“Before we had tea, I noticed the most amazing spinning machine, Mama.” She beckoned her mother to follow and led the way back.
Pausing to view the automated spinning machine, Sarah scanned the crowd, praying that John had not vanished. Her heart lifted when she saw him. He stood deep in the assemblage, his height jutting above the others.
“I see Mr. Banning, Mama. May I move forward? I’m unable to see well.” Without waiting for an answer, she shouldered her way between two patrons, leaving her mother behind.
“Mr. Banning,” Sarah said, breathless with excitement.
His gaze darted in every direction. “Where is your mother?”
“In the crowd,” Sarah said, motioning behind her.
“You should not leave her alone.”
“I longed for a moment with you, Mr. Banning.” She grasped his forearm, and he brushed his fingers against hers for a heartbeat before moving his hand.
Sarah’s heart fluttered beneath her bodice. Frightened of her emotion, she focused on the exhibit. “What displays have you enjoyed?”
“The new machinery. My mind flies from one idea to the next.” Excitement rose in his voice.
“Sarah.”
She jumped at her mother’s voice. “Here, Mama.”
Her mother’s eyebrow arched. “I see. Please don’t force your way through a crowd, Sarah. You must mind your manners.”
“I’m sorry, but I find the displays exciting. See there.” She pointed to an unfamiliar apparatus. “What is the strange device, Mr. Banning?”
“It’s a press.”
She raised on tiptoe, unable to see over the tall man blocking her view. “I can’t see well. Can you see, Mama?”
“Let me assist you,” he said, shifting to the side and allowing Sarah and her mother to have a clearer view. He stepped behind them. “It’s called a hydraulic press.”
Sarah’s concentration blurred. Standing so close, she could almost feel the beating of his heart. He smelled of peppermint and body-warmed wool, and she longed to turn to face him and feel the prickle of whiskers beginning to show after the lengthy day.
“What is it called again, Mr. Banning?” her mother asked.
“A hydraulic press,” he said, hunching over to lean closer so her mother could hear. “It’s an amazing invention. Wonderful prospects.”
His breath brushed against Sarah’s ear and ruffled wisps of curls around her face. She tried to ignore the lovely feeling and ask a sensible question. “What is its purpose?”
His voice animated, John explained the use in simple terms. A flush of excitement rose on his face as he described how running water could be halted by a valve so the flow was forced upward, making a press function with little effort. Sarah made little sense of it, but she knew from his demeanor that this invention would be something important.
He had piqued her mother’s interest. She listened intently to his explanation.
“We will be able to press apples with less manual labor,” he said. “Less labor with greater speed, less monetary investment with more efficiency. It will work exceedingly well for your family’s cyder business.”
“An interesting concept, Mr. Banning. I’m sure Mr. Hampton will be most interested in your thoughts.”
“The press will help your own family, also,” Sarah added.
“The cost is too great for a farmer.” He turned to her mother. “But for a man of Mr. Hampton’s stature, it will make all the difference.”
“Thank you, Mr. Banning,” her mother said. “Sarah, let’s move along. We’ll leave you to enjoy the exhibit on your own.”
He bowed to her mother and Sarah. “Mrs. Hampton. Miss Hampton.”
Capturing Sarah’s arm, her mother moved her through the crowd, while Sarah struggled for composure. She expected her mother’s rancor for her improper behavior. But when she saw John she’d been stirred to forget propriety and station. In time, her mother would forgive her. Yet Sarah realized she treaded on unsafe ground. Not only could her disobedience bring retribution to herself, but her actions could cause untold distress for John.
Tonight in the quiet of her bed, she would ask God to give her wisdom to amend her improper behavior and guide her in the Lord’s direction.
“The exhibit was amazing, sir,” John said, sitting in Edward Hampton’s study. “You must go to London before the closing and see the hydraulic press. The invention will do wonders for the cyder business, and you could be one of the first to use it.”
“You astound me, Big John. You have a creative eye. No one has thought to use the press for cyder?”
“No, not that I’ve heard,” John said.
“You are brilliant.”
John squirmed in the chair, uncomfortable with the man’s compliments. “Thank you, sir, but I think others will envision the idea soon. If you approach a machine builder first, you will be ahead of your time.”
“I will,” Hampton said. “My lad, I will reward you for this. Once Sarah’s ball is ended, I will leave for London. I cannot thank you enough for your resourceful thinking. Clever, that’s what you are, Big John.”
John lowered his eyes and nodded. He only wished he could share the knowledge with his father, but a project of this magnitude needed financing to make the presses, and for his family, the concept would be an impossible dream.
Sarah’s comment rose in John’s thought. With God all things are possible. Could Sarah be correct? Did God help farmers or only the lords and ladies of the world?
Hampton leaned forward over his desk. “Mrs. Hampton enjoyed the trip immensely. She has talked about nothing else since she returned—Belgian chocolates, majolica earthenware, French perfume.” He arched a bushy brow and gave a chuckle. “But could you imagine what my Sarah has talked about?”
Fear rifled through John. Could her father suspect his fondness for his lovely daughter? John shook his head. “No, sir, I have no idea.”
Hampton’s chuckle turned to a full-bodied laugh. “Gummed envelopes. My practical daughter talked about daguerreotypes and gummed envelopes. She is amazing.” His face glowed.
“She is amazing,” John said, wishing he could open his heart and confess how Sarah had changed his tiresome life. Each day he filled with excitement hoping to see her for a fleeting moment. Her candid responses, her open mind, her intelligence completed the man he wanted to be.
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“I thank you, John, for the care you extended my family and your stimulating information. My visit to the exhibition months ago had been so brief that—” He halted, hearing a tap on the door. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Sarah stood in the threshold. Her focus swung from her father to John, while a flush ignited her face.
“Don’t be disconcerted, Sarah,” Hampton said. “Mr. Banning and I are nearly finished. Come join us.”
Sarah hesitated, then crept into the room, her hands folded in front of her.
“Come here, my girl,” Edward said. “I have only now thanked Mr. Banning for escorting you and your mother to London.”
“It was very kind,” Sarah said, her gaze evading John’s.
“Is this a private matter, Sarah?” Hampton asked.
At his question, John rose and backed from the desk. “I can excuse myself, sir.”
Giving John a sidelong glance, Sarah paled. “No, Father, my gowns have arrived from London and Mother thought you would like to see them.” Her timid gaze shifted to John.
“The pleasure of being a father, Big John. A man must look at fabric with ribbons, ruffles, and lace that has cost a small fortune.” He patted Sarah’s arm. “But admiring my daughter brings me much joy. One day you will know such joy.”
John quaked at his direct gaze, fearing an inference in the man’s comment.
“One day,” Hampton continued, “you will have a daughter of your own.”
Relief bathed John’s fearful guilt. “One day in the distant future, sir.”
Hampton smiled. “I must follow this lovely young lady and view the trappings that will capture some young man’s heart.”
“I’ll be on my way then, sir.” John backed away, his emotions whirling like a dervish. Futile, but true: he longed to be the young man who could offer his heart to Sarah and proclaim it to the world.
John returned from the orchard on foot. The morning had been cool, hinting rain, and he wanted the exercise. On hot days, he rode his horse, but the overcast sky and invigorating breeze urged him to go on foot. In the distance, he spied a tumble of skirt and parasol sitting on a stone outcropping. His stomach knotted, seeing Sarah waiting for him.
The four days he had accompanied her and her mother to London had been a paradox—a rapturous torment. Despite Mrs. Hampton’s obvious scorn at learning he would be their escort, she had acquiesced and appeared impressed with his knowledge and fortitude. Though Edward Hampton admired his faithfulness, he could never presume to be accepted as an equal.
“Mr. Banning,” Sarah’s voice called as he neared.
John tipped his cap. “Good morning.”
She eyed him from beneath her white wispy parasol. “I had a lovely holiday in London. Thank you for your gracious company.” She sent him a beautiful smile.
His strong legs staggered, trembling beneath him as unstable as apple pomace.
She lifted her hand upward for assistance to rise. John inspected her soft, slender fingers extended toward him and longed to press them to his lips, to taste the sweet rose attar she rubbed on her skin to keep them soft. He’d smelled the aroma on days she had followed him to the garden, and he could no longer separate the flower’s fragrance from the blossoming woman who lingered in his sight so often. He could not forget the moment in London when she clung to his arm and he dared to brush his hand against hers. Again, with caution, he propelled his arm forward and grasped her tiny fingers in his giant palm.
She rose, and her gaze dwelt on the incongruity of her hand swallowed in his. Then she focused on his face. “You are a Titan, Mr. Banning. A giant … in heart as well as size.”
Her flattery caught him unaware, and he faltered before making light of her comment. “Do not say such things, miss.”
She withdrew her hand, clasped it to her parasol, and took one step forward, then stopped to gaze at him. Time ceased as he basked in her admiring eyes.
“You are a handsome man, Mr. Banning. I must share a secret. In my mind I speak your name. John.”
The sound of his name on her lips sent joyous shivers down his sun-warmed back. I am a daring fool, he thought, knowing he should not allow the remarkable sensations to remain in his thoughts. “You should not think of my name.”
“But it pleases me,” she said. “Would you speak my name, John?”
Her question stopped him like a man who has spied a coiled viper. He desired to bolt from the charming woman. “That is impossible. Totally improper. Please, don’t ask.”
“But—”
“Your father would discharge me. You are the daughter of gentry. I am little better than a servant.”
Her eyes lowered, and he could barely hear the whisper of her voice. “Please let me hear you say Sarah.”
Longing swelled in his chest, and he closed his eyes to control the sweet feelings that rambled through him. “I … I cannot.”
“Only once, John. Please.” She rested her hand against his forearm. “John.”
He struggled to sound the name against his tongue. The sweetness of the tone filled his breath, and he could only murmur. “S … Sarah.”
Their gazes met, and he clung to the moment like a baby bird ready to leap with faith into the air.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She stepped back and appeared suddenly shy. “Please return alone, John. I’ll be along shortly. I know you have work to do … and you would rather reach the garden without me at your side.”
He could only nod, for his lungs had disregarded his command to breathe. Pulling his gaze from her fair face, he moved off, his long strides creating distance between them. He could not look back for fear he would turn around and run back to her, lifting her in his arms and carrying her away. She had captured his mind and heart.
In the lamplight, Sarah gazed at her elegant ball gown. She eyed herself in the glass, admiring the delicate pink silk frock fashioned with balloon sleeves graced with deep lace epaulets. Her gaze swept along the demure rounded neckline, and she caressed the darker pink ribbon serving as a sash and admired the same shade bows along the lacy hem. The gown was exquisite.
She had pulled back her hair with a satin bow, and Dulcie had combed it into banana curls that brushed against her bare neck. Her only jewelry was pearls at her throat and small pearl earrings, a gift from her father.
Carriages had been arriving, and music drifted up from the parlor adjoining the small ballroom. Beyond, the conservatory had been readied where the dancers could retire and sit on benches among the palms.
She slid into her white satin evening slippers and lifted the delicate ivory fan trimmed with pink lace. She fluttered it in front of her face, reviewing her mother’s prodding to display the fan properly. Without her mother’s knowledge, she had practiced twirling it in her left hand. A young man knew it meant I love another.
If only John were one of the eligible young men of the village, the evening would be perfect. Instead, he had spent the day toting in bouquets of flowers from the garden and adding palms and fern along the terrace. In the frenzy of her ball, Sarah had only seen him through her window and caught a glimpse of him in the conservatory. Her knees weakened as she remembered the afternoon he’d whispered her name. Sarah. The word filled her heart like a glorious symphony.
Calming her thoughts, Sarah took a deep breath and opened her door. If she didn’t make her entrance soon, her mother would appear to escort her down the staircase.
Laughter and voices drifted from the ground floor, and she crept forward, forcing her legs to carry her to the wide steps. She hesitated at the top, as her mother had insisted, until enough eyes were drawn to her entrance. Then in the growing hush, she made her way down the staircase.
A young man she had seen on other social occasions waited for her, taking her hand as she neared the bottom. Applause rang through the entrance hall, and joining her parents, she stood in the receiving line until her legs trembled and her face grew weary from her forced smile.
The music livened, and when the first reel began, another gentleman led her to the dance floor. One by one, the possible suitors took turns asking her to dance, bowing and scraping with an attempt to leave her with a lasting impression. All failed miserably. Sarah could only envision the chestnut-haired orchard keeper with his tender, dark eyes.
The meal seemed an endless series of tiresome conversations while Sarah nibbled from each course—julienne soup to boiled salmon followed by lamb cutlets and spring chicken served with her father’s best cyder. Desserts were on a sideboard to be enjoyed later by those who wished. Sarah had eyed the fresh fruit, cherry tarts, custard, and her favorite charlotte russe, but her stomach had no interest in the food nor her heart in discourse.
At the appropriate time, Sarah invited the guests to return to the ballroom. The older guests settled in the parlor, leaving the young men and women to dance. Her face flushed from the heat, Sarah excused herself and hurried through the conservatory, then slid through the door into the moon-filled night.
Strolling away from the conservatory’s glow, Sarah drew in the fragrance of the night air and looked into the sky. The lilting music filled the soft night, and her longing tugged at her heart.
“Why have you left your guests?”
Sarah gasped, then recognized John’s voice emanating from the shadow of the privet fence. She rushed toward his voice as he stepped away from the shrubs into the moonlight.
Without hesitation, Sarah fell into John’s wide-opened arms. He clasped her to him, her head pressing against his heart. “John, I am so glad you are here.” She clung to him, her pulse racing at the delight of his presence more than the fear of discovery.
“Sarah,” he murmured, his heart thundering against his chest, “my sweet, dearest Sarah. I am wrong to hold you in my arms, but I can no longer contain my joy at seeing you. You are an angel in the moonlight.”
British Brides Collection Page 29
