Sleepless at Midnight

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  “They’re my friends. It has nothing to do with kindness.”

  “It has everything to do with kindness. With decency and generosity. Loyalty and compassion. You possess all those traits, Sarah.”

  “Anyone would do those things—”

  “No, they wouldn’t. And they don’t. Some people do, people like you, and we should all be grateful for that. But there is a lot of selfishness in the world. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that your soft heart isn’t a very special and very rare gift.”

  Pleased warmth suffused her at his words, and a heated blush rushed into her cheeks. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  He shot her a reproachful look. “I believe we already had a lesson on what to say when one is given a compliment.”

  Yes. She remembered. Vividly. It was when they’d had tea on the terrace, and he told her she was a talented artist. She recalled her pleasure at his words. Words spoken before she knew he had to marry within the next few weeks. Marry an heiress. Who would most likely turn out to be Julianne.

  She swallowed then nodded. “In that case, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She found herself staring at him, trapped by his gaze, unable to look away. Heat suffused her with smothering awareness and an almost painful yearning to touch him. A suffocating desire for him to touch her. And a flood of useless wishes that all revolved around her suddenly turning into an heiress.

  Dear God, perhaps she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be alone with him and pretend she didn’t want and need. Didn’t feel all the desires and emotions storming through her.

  But since her only alternative was to jump up and run down the path, she forced herself to look at the water. And to say something to dispel the sudden tension she felt.

  Bending her knees, she wrapped her arms tightly around her calves. “I’ve shared my secret. Now it is your turn.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “I promise.” I won’t laugh. I won’t touch. I won’t indulge in useless fantasies of things that can never be.

  “Very well. When I was a lad of ten, I dreamed, as I suppose many lads do, of being a pirate. Sailing the mighty seas, captaining my own ship, partaking of swashbuckling sword fights, looting exotic ports of call.”

  Surprised and amused, she turned toward him. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected him to say, but certainly she hadn’t anticipated anything so fanciful. “Looting?”

  He looked skyward with an expression of pure masculine exasperation. “Of course looting. How else do you think pirates get their booty? I wanted to be a pirate, not a philanthropist.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “Naturally. Continue.”

  “I realized that it unfortunately would be a number of years before I was old enough to be a pirate, but being not only determined but also impatient, I decided to be the pirate of Langston Manor, and that this lake,” he extended his arm to encompass the water, “would be my mighty sea.

  “I named myself Blackguard and spent that entire summer secretly building a pirate ship. I kept it hidden in that thicket.” He nodded his chin toward an overgrown area near a copse of elms.

  “How large was this fine ship?” Sarah asked.

  “Not much bigger than I was. I suppose some would have called it a rowboat, but only someone completely lacking in imagination.”

  She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling. “I see. Did you finish the boat?”

  “Ship,” he corrected in a very serious voice. “Yes, I did. I even carved a mermaid figure for the prow. She didn’t look much like a mermaid—I wasn’t much of a carver and I accidentally hacked off her tail. And her head. But what was left of her proudly rode on the bow.”

  He turned to gaze upon the water. After stretching out his legs, he leaned back on his forearms and continued, “On the day of the maiden voyage, I dressed in my finest pirate wear and launched Blackguard’s Booty. Seeing her bob on the surface was my finest hour. The culmination of months of planning and secret work. I’d rowed nearly to the center of the mighty sea when my fine ship suddenly sprung a leak. Being a good captain, I’d come prepared for just such an emergency in the form of a bucket. I began bailing, but seconds later Blackguard’s Booty sprung another leak. Then another. And another.”

  He turned back to her. “I can tell by your expression that you have an idea where this story is headed.”

  She had to fight to maintain a straight face. “To the bottom of the lake?”

  He blew out a long sigh. “I’m afraid you’re correct. In spite of my valiant bailing efforts, it quickly became apparent that the battle was lost. Therefore I stood, saluted, and like generations of pirate captains before me, went down with my ship.”

  “Very brave and noble of you,” she said in her most grave tone.

  He shrugged. “It was the least I could do.”

  “So Blackguard’s Booty…?”

  “Remains at the bottom of the lake. Along with my spectacles, which I lost somewhere between leaks ten and eleven. My father was none too pleased when I arrived home with my finest breeches and jacket ruined and my glasses gone.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I’d suffered a mishap at the lake. Which was perfectly true.”

  “You didn’t tell him of this boyhood desire to loot and swashbuckle?”

  “I’ve never told anyone.” He shot her a frown. “You’ll recall your promise not to laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing,” she said, trying her best not to. “Although I must admit it’s difficult when I can so vividly picture you standing in your leaky rowboat, saluting, with ever-rising water lapping around your waist.”

  “Ship,” he corrected with an injured sniff.

  “Clearly you changed your mind about becoming a pirate.”

  “Which is good. Turns out I wasn’t much of a pirate. Or a boatbuilder.”

  “’Tis fortunate you knew how to swim.”

  “Yes. But other than that, the entire episode was a total failure.”

  “Oh, but it wasn’t. Just because your boat didn’t prove seaworthy doesn’t take away from your success.”

  “Success?” He chuckled. “Madame, you clearly missed the part of the story where I went down with my ship.”

  “I did nothing of the sort. Your success was in your determination to build a boat. Your perseverance in completing it. Most people wouldn’t have even attempted such a project, let alone seen it to fruition. And the crowning achievement of your success was your final noble gesture of seeing it through to the end.”

  He nodded slowly, then said, “As captain of the ill-fated Blackguard’s Booty, I thank you for your kind words. If only you’d been around twenty years ago, my pride might have recovered more quickly.”

  “I doubt it. Twenty years ago I would have laughed myself into a seizure at the sight of Blackguard going down with his rowboat.” She grinned, then in her best underwater imitation, added, “Glub glub glub.”

  His lips twitched, but then he quickly narrowed his eyes. “You’re laughing.”

  “I’m not. I’m smiling.”

  He smiled back, a slow smile that reached all the way to his eyes and stole her breath. Filled her once again with the overwhelming awareness of him that she’d managed to push aside during his tale. “We’re now even,” he said.

  “Yes.” Damnation, she sounded as breathless as she felt. Desperate for something to say, she blurted out, “Where do you suppose Danforth is? I’d hoped to work on his sketch before we return to the rose garden.”

  “You intend to return to the garden with me? I thought perhaps two hours of digging would be exertion enough for you for one day.”

  Her inner voice urged her to claim fatigue. But as she’d been doing frequently of late, she ignored the voice. “I’m not the delicate hothouse bloom you clearly mistake me for, my lord. I assure you I’m up for the task. Unless you’d prefer to dig alone.”

 
He shook his head, his gaze steady on hers. “No, Sarah. I’d prefer to be with you.”

  His softly spoken words seemed to hang in the air between them. and she realized with a profound sense of sadness that that would be her preference as well—and not merely in regards to digging in the garden.

  And she was once again forcefully reminded of the heartbreaking uselessness of wanting things she could not have.

  Chapter 14

  One week after Sarah’s first digging expedition, the Ladies Literary Society of London gathered at midnight in her bedchamber. The storm that had started several hours earlier continued unabated, rain and wind rattling the windowpanes. While Sarah was delighted to spend this time with her sister and friends, part of her yearned for what the storm had prevented—another late night digging expedition in the rose garden with Lord Langston. The same sort they’d engaged in every night for the past week.

  Because Lord Langston needed to spend the daytime and evening hours entertaining his guests, by mutual agreement they, along with Danforth, had spent several hours each night digging trenches in the acres of rose garden after everyone had retired. And tonight, because of the storm, there’d be no digging. Which meant there’d be no Lord Langston. Which, her common sense insisted, was good. And if her heart disagreed, well, that was simply too bad. With each unsuccessful outing bringing their search closer to failure, she had committed herself to listening to her common sense, and for the past week she’d been successful—in all her deeds, if not always in all her thoughts.

  Now, dressed in their night rails and robes, the Ladies Literary Society sat on Sarah’s bed, legs tucked beneath them. Franklin, his lumpy head finally sewed on, albeit in a slightly crooked manner, sat propped against the headboard. Several days ago, during a Literary Society meeting held in the afternoon while the gentlemen went hunting, Sarah had drawn Franklin a face, his features decided upon by secret ballot. Each Literary Lady cast her votes for which gentleman possessed the best eyes, nose, mouth, and jaw. Based on the results, Franklin possessed Lord Langston’s eyes, Lord Berwick’s nose, Jennsen’s mouth, and Lord Surbrooke’s jaw.

  “It’s positively eerie how much Franklin looks like a combination of all the gentlemen,” Emily said.

  “Except for the lumpy head,” said Julianne. “And I don’t believe any of the gentlemen possess one leg that is fatter than the other.”

  “I also doubt any of them—or any man, for that matter—is quite as…endowed as our Franklin,” Carolyn said.

  Muted laughter met her comment, and an image of Lord Langston rising from the bath materialized in Sarah’s mind. He came close.

  “You did a wonderful job on the face, Sarah,” Carolyn said with a smile.

  She firmly blinked away the unsettling image. “Thank you. And now I hereby call our meeting officially to order. Does anyone have any comments?”

  “I’d just like to point out,” Julianne said, “that this is the exact sort of stormy night during which Frankenstein created his monster.” She hugged her arms around herself and shot an apprehensive glance toward the dark, rain-streaked windows.

  “So the atmosphere is perfect,” Sarah said in a soothing tone, knowing Julianne was frightened by storms. “And that’s all it is—atmosphere.”

  “It’s also the sort of night when that poor Willstone was murdered,” Julianne added. “Mother keeps harping about a crazed killer on the loose.”

  “There’s been no sign of any strangers lurking about,” Carolyn said, patting Julianne’s hand. “ Willstone was wandering about alone in the middle of the night. We’re surrounded by an entire household to protect us.”

  “Yes, so let us speak of less distressing things,” said Emily. “I know that we agreed we’d bestowed our Perfect Man with every attribute, but given that Franklin sits here among us, I think there’s one more thing we should add to our list of things the Perfect Man should do.”

  “What is it?” Sarah asked.

  “The Perfect Man must not only be willing to sit in a room filled with gossiping women and listen politely, but he must also be the soul of discretion.” Emily waggled her brows. “Because Franklin is about to hear an earful.”

  “Impossible—he has no ears,” Carolyn quipped.

  Their laughter dispelled the gloomy mood. Julianne scooted closer to Emily and asked, “What’s the gossip? Tell, tell.”

  “Don’t ask me,” Emily said, treating them all to her most innocent expression. “Ask Sarah.”

  Sarah suddenly felt the weight of three pairs of curious eyes gazing upon her, and her stomach dropped. Good lord, had Emily somehow found out about her late night digging excursions?

  “Me?” she asked, horrified that the word sounded like a guilty squeak.

  “Yes, you,” Emily said, giving her arm a playful push. She leaned closer toward the center of the square they formed and whispered loudly, “Sarah has made a conquest.”

  Good God. She did know. “It’s not what you think—”

  “Of course it is,” Emily said. “’Tis obvious Jennsen likes you.”

  For several seconds she sat with her mouth open, mid-word. Then she shook off her surprise and frowned. “ Jennsen?”

  Emily looked toward the ceiling. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

  Before she could reply, Carolyn said, “I’ve noticed his partiality toward you as well, Sarah.”

  “As have I,” added Julianne.

  A heated flush suffused Sarah, and she knew the blotches of embarrassment were on their way. “He has been kind and charming to all of us.”

  “Yes,” Carolyn agreed, “but especially to you.” A frown puckered her brow. “Which rather worries me. He seems a decent man, but there is something about him that is, well, rather…dark. And secretive.”

  “No doubt his American upbringing,” Julianne said. “Which is why he hasn’t been fully accepted into Society.”

  “That and he’s in trade,” Emily said with a sniff. “Personally, I think he’s a nincompoop. Lording his wealth over everyone, casting his jaded eye toward our Sarah. Why, he’s nothing more than a common colonial. He presents himself as a diamond, but he is nothing more than a paste gem.”

  Surprised by Emily’s comments, Sarah felt driven to defend the man. “I’ve not found anything offensive about Jennsen,” she said. “In fact, he’s been very kind to me.”

  “Perhaps not offensive,” said Emily, “but I do think that beneath his perfectly tailored clothing lurks a man who is a bit vulgar and more than a bit uncivilized. Which makes him not good enough for our Sarah. But what about the other gentlemen? Personally, I find both Lord Langston and Lord Berwick handsome.”

  “True,” said Julianne, “but Lord Berwick is more personable. Lord Langston is rather…somber. And he doesn’t seem to be at all the passionate sort.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “I’ve always dreamed of a darkly passionate suitor.”

  “Perhaps he’d surprise you.” The words popped out of Sarah’s mouth before she could stop them, and she barely refrained from clapping her hand over her runaway mouth. Good lord, next she’d be telling them all precisely how passionate Lord Langston could be. But Julianne would have to find that out for herself—and that was something Sarah simply couldn’t think about.

  Emily nodded. “Sarah’s right—perhaps he’d surprise you. And Lord Langston is the one rumored to be looking for a wife,” she added with an arch look in Julianne’s direction. “You’re the one he particularly asked to partner with him in whist.”

  Even in the dim light Sarah could see Julianne’s blush, and a rush of guilt and discomfort at the topic suffused her. Anxious to move the conversation away from Lord Langston, she said, “What about Lord Surbrooke?”

  “He’s another one with secrets, I think,” said Emily.

  “And perhaps some sadness,” Sarah said. “Even when he laughs, happiness never quite shows in his eyes. And Lord Berwick?”

  “Handsome,” said Julianne.

  “Char
ming,” added Emily.

  “Polished, but rather shallow, I think,” said Carolyn. “I sat next to him at dinner this evening and overheard his conversation with Lord Thurston, who sat across from us, about how incompetent servants can be. Lord Berwick mentioned that he was missing a pair of boots—a pair his valet swears he packed, but obviously didn’t. His lordship didn’t notice the boots’ absence until the gentlemen went hunting, as they were the pair he likes to wear for such outings.”

  “Oh, dear, I hope our little prank hasn’t caused difficulties for Lord Berwick’s valet,” said Sarah, her gaze shifting to Franklin. “I suppose we should think about dismantling our Perfect Man and returning the articles of clothing.”

  “I can’t bear to think of pulling him apart tonight,” Julianne protested. “This is his first meeting with us since gaining his face and having his head sewn on.”

  “True,” Sarah agreed. “Very well, we’ll wait a day or so to dismantle him. Now, let’s continue our assessments. What of Lords Thurston and Hartley?”

  “Witty and nice, and nice but boring,” said Carolyn, ticking off her vote for each gentleman on her fingers.

  “Agreed,” said Emily and Sarah together.

  “Yes,” said Julianne, “although they both strike me as rather…lecherous.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “Plus, Lord Thurston has horrid breath.”

  “Ewwwww!” they all said in unison, then collapsed into giggles. Emily laughed so hard she flopped onto her back. Franklin, thrown off balance, promptly tilted over on top of her.

  “Speaking of lecherous,” Carolyn said with a laugh, reaching out to reseat Franklin. “The Perfect Man would never behave in such an ungentlemanly way. Perhaps Franklin isn’t so perfect after all.”

  Sarah chuckled with the others, but an image rose in her mind, of Lord Langston, holding out his hands to her as she sat in the bathtub. Of him kissing her while he caressed her wet, naked body. Most assuredly not the sort of behavior that would be considered gentlemanly.

  Yet in spite of that, to her, he was still perfect.