Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  Of course her father would not have mentioned the strained atmosphere that had prevailed inside the carriage. “It did.”

  There was a brief silence, broken by her father’s cough. Sarah glanced toward him. He nodded in Mr. Denison’s direction. “And you, sir?” Sarah asked Mr. Denison, taking the cue her father had given. “Did your journey pass without incident?” Lord, this was mundane conversation! If only she could be quarreling with Lord Spencer instead.

  “My daughters found it rather tedious, but I didn’t mind it so much. In fact, I could gaze upon the English countryside all day without tiring of it.”

  “You . . . you have daughters?” Of course he was bound to have children at his age if he had been married before, which meant he must be a widower.

  “Victoria is two and twenty, and Diana will be three and twenty next month. It is my hope that they will be able to make good matches for themselves during our stay here. Since it is my wish—­my fondest wish, I might add—­that you and I will . . . become better acquainted over the next few weeks, I was hoping you might be willing to help them. They’re wonderful girls, both of them. I’m sure you’ll find . . .”

  Mr. Denison’s voice faded into the background until Sarah was oblivious to what he was saying. She could scarcely breathe, her stomach bottoming out as reality hit her: marriage to an aging man she did not know and being stepmother to women who were older than she was. It was unthinkable, yet it seemed that this would be her lot—­the price she must pay for her transgression.

  “ . . . and you are far more beautiful than I had ever imagined,” Mr. Denison continued. “To think that I have been given the chance to court you is indeed an honor. Your father had so many positive things to say about you in his letter, and I’ve already discovered that we have something in common—­a fondness for the outdoors!”

  Didn’t most ­people enjoy a bit of fresh air and sunshine? It was hardly enough basis for marriage. Sarah’s hand curled around the fabric of her gown. Perhaps . . . She glanced at her father, aware that she was about to risk his wrath. “Mr. Denison, has Papa also told you of my scandalous behavior?”

  Mr. Denison coughed. “Well . . . he . . . er—­”

  “I have informed Mr. Denison that you are no longer chaste. He has kindly agreed to accept. Is that not so, sir?”

  “Oh, indeed it is, my lord.” Mr. Denison’s mouth drew into a wide smile. “In fact, I suspect I’ll find Lady Sarah’s willful nature most agreeable.”

  For once, Sarah’s father looked just as disgusted as Sarah felt. Unlike her, however, he quickly recovered. “Two weeks, Mr. Denison. Will that be enough time for your courtship?”

  Sarah stared. It was as if she wasn’t even in the room.

  “Certainly, my lord. It’s more than sufficient,” Mr. Denison said. His laughing eyes looked Sarah up and down.

  “Good,” Lord Andover clipped. “The sooner we plan this wedding, the better.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Mr. Denison said. He edged closer to Sarah. “What say you, my dear?”

  Nooooo!!!

  Realizing that her hands were trembling, Sarah closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “Perfect,” she managed, even as her mind began contemplating a speedy escape. Portsmouth wasn’t far. Maybe she could board a ship bound for America. If she could find the money to sponsor such a journey.

  “Well then,” Mr. Denison said, “perhaps you’d like to join me for a stroll in the garden tomorrow. I’ve been told there’s an antique sundial—­should prove interesting.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Sarah said politely. Apparently she would not have to plan an escape after all, since she was clearly destined to perish from boredom.

  Once again Mr. Denison beamed, offering Sarah a direct view of his teeth. Each was crooked, and one was even missing. She tried not to wince at the thought of eventually having to kiss him. Ga!

  Mr. Denison rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rest before dinner this evening. Thank you for your time, Lord Andover. Lady Sarah, I’ll look forward to seeing you later.”

  Sarah nodded, still struggling to comprehend what had just transpired—­that her future had been determined by men and that it didn’t look the least bit bright. She’d always imagined she’d marry for love. Love. How easy it was to conjure an empty reflection of that emotion with pretty words. Words she’d fallen prey to once with embarrassing ease. No, she would not marry for love. She would marry because her parents were desperate to be rid of her, which, to be fair, was not such an uncommon reason.

  Schooling her emotions, Sarah rose, as did her father. “I ought to go and pick out a gown for dinner this evening,” she said, grateful that her voice did not reflect her inner turmoil. “I’ll want to look my best for Mr. Denison.”

  “Don’t squander this opportunity,” her father said, his face drawn in grim lines. “You have your sisters to consider. As soon as you are settled, they’ll be less likely to have their reputations ruined by association, if word were to get out.”

  “It won’t,” Sarah said. It hadn’t yet.

  “Still, you’ll be your husband’s responsibility, and as a married woman living in Yorkshire—­”

  “I’m going to Yorkshire? For good?” She might as well be going to the moon.

  “It’s where Mr. Denison has his home—­a horse farm with spectacular Thoroughbreds, including ten prime mares, in case you’re wondering. Once we breed them with that stallion I bought in Germany last year, we’ll produce some fine racers.”

  “A horse farm,” Sarah echoed, feeling weak. Of course her father would leap at the opportunity to form an alliance with a fellow horse enthusiast. Especially if there was money in it, which there would be, considering the best horses sold for somewhere in the vicinity of one thousand pounds, perhaps more.

  “And if I don’t comply?”

  Heavy creases formed upon her father’s brow. “We’ve been over this a dozen times before, Sarah. You were born to procure land, status and opportunity through marriage. Squandering your chance to do your duty . . .” He took a breath, visibly agitated as he stared at her without compassion. “I have done the best I can, under the circumstances, providing a match for you that will benefit this family greatly.”

  “By sending me off to Yorkshire to live on a horse farm.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I wish I could go in your stead.”

  “And marry Mr. Denison? I’m sure you’d make a delightful ­couple. I certainly woul—­”

  “Watch your tongue, Sarah!” Her father’s voice ricocheted off the walls. He paused and took a fortifying breath before continuing. “The important thing is that nobody there will care one way or another about your past—­especially not when you’re a married woman.”

  “I’ll be out of the way,” Sarah murmured. While you and Mr. Denison will be filling your coffers.

  “It’s for the best,” her father said, upon which he left the room.

  “You made the right choice, selecting the blue gown this evening,” Lady Andover said as she and Sarah followed the rest of the family down the stairs to supper that evening. “No doubt Mr. Denison will find you pleasing.”

  “You speak as though I deliberately aim for him to do so,” Sarah muttered.

  “You continue to try my patience,” Lady Andover said. “Your papa and I have been exceedingly tolerant. We have even found a man who is willing to marry you when most would have shuddered at the thought of accepting another’s castoff. But rather than show us some gratitude, you treat us with contempt.”

  “I treat you with contempt, Mama?” Sarah could scarcely believe the accusation. “You wouldn’t say so if you were in my shoes.”

  “I hope you’re not implying that we have been unjust with you or that we’ve treated you any differently than you might have expected under the circumstances. There are many parents
who would have disowned their daughter for what you’ve done, yet you continuously act as though all of this is our fault, when you have only yourself to blame.”

  There was a measure of truth to that which Sarah could not deny.

  “I doubt I’m likely to forget it, Mama,” Sarah said, “but if you wish to maintain some semblance of normalcy and prevent unnecessary gossip, I would suggest we try to pretend I’ve done nothing wrong. To that end, it wouldn’t hurt if you smiled at me on occasion.”

  Halting, Lady Andover stared at her stepdaughter, her lips stretching into a tight smile. “Will this do?”

  Sarah’s heart crumpled, but she held her head high as she said, “It’s fortunate you’re not an actress, since you’d hardly have much success on the stage with such a meagre effort.”

  “Pretending one’s daughter is not a disappointment is no easy task, Sarah, but I do what I must, and so will your Papa. All I ask is for you to follow suit so we can put this mess behind us.”

  And with that final bite, Lady Andover sailed after her husband and her other, untarnished, daughters, entering the green salon with them while Sarah trailed behind. As much as it hurt, she knew she only had herself to blame. She also knew she had a duty to fix her mistake as best she could for the sake of her sisters’ reputations.

  Straightening her spine, Sarah followed her family, aware that her arrival had not gone unnoticed. She was being watched by several prominent guests, their curiosity undoubtedly enormous due to Sarah’s absence from Society for so long.

  Quickening her pace, she hurried past the Duchess of Pinehurst, a dragon outfitted with a pair of quizzing glasses, her attention fixed directly on Sarah. Her Grace was notorious for hunting down brides for her grandsons—­of which she had several. Explaining to her that she would rather marry Mr. Denison was not a conversation Sarah wished to endure.

  Catching her breath, she looked about, seeking her soon-­to-­be fiancé, relief flooding her when she failed to find him. Glancing at her parents and younger sisters, she decided to avoid that quarter, since they were now busily conversing with the Earl and Countess of Wilmington. Panic set in at the thought of being questioned by that inquisitive ­couple, so Sarah continued past them, hoping she would soon discover a small nook where she could go unnoticed until they were all called into the dining room.

  To her relief, she discovered an alcove with a low bench and a window looking out on the garden. Heading straight for it, she almost reached it when a young lady stepped into her path and said, “I believe I’ve yet to make your acquaintance.”

  Sarah froze, her eyes shifting between the dark-­haired woman and the window seat that beckoned. “I . . . er . . .”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the lady said with an air of confidence that was difficult not to admire. “I’m Fiona Heartly—­the Earl and Countess of Oakland’s youngest. And you are?” Lady Fiona tilted her head as she peered up at Sarah with great interest.

  There was no getting around it without being rude. Sarah was going to have to introduce herself to someone for the third time that day, so she forced a smile and said, “Lady Sarah—­the Earl and Countess of Andover’s eldest.”

  Lady Fiona frowned. “Are you married?” she asked rather bluntly.

  Sarah shook her head, not liking the direction in which this conversation was going. “No,” she said, deciding to keep her reply short.

  “Perhaps you have a fiancé then?” Lady Fiona inquired.

  Heavens, but the woman was being forward! Sarah pressed her lips together and fought the urge to run. “Not really,” she said. Technically this was true. Lady Fiona’s frown deepened. “Forgive me, but I’m simply trying to place you. I made my debut last Season, but I didn’t see you at any of the social gatherings. Had you been there, I would have noticed, since I do have a tendency to be quite observant.” She narrowed her gaze, and Sarah’s skin began to prick. “You’re not old enough to be on the shelf yet, which makes me wonder why we’ve never met before.”

  “I made my debut two years ago,” Sarah explained, “but then Grandmamma died and I went into mourning, which is why I was absent last Season.”

  “And this year? I do hope you and your family haven’t suffered any more losses.”

  “I . . . er . . . there was no need for me to go to London this year,” Sarah managed, hoping her new companion would accept that without further question.

  She didn’t of course, her eyebrows rising as she leaned toward Sarah. “No need?” she asked.

  And now for the unavoidable truth. “My father found a suitor for me before the Season began.”

  “Oh.” Lady Fiona looked very disappointed, but then her face brightened. “Who is he? What’s his name?”

  Sarah cringed. “Mr. Denison.”

  Lady Fiona looked pensive. Eventually she shook her head. “I’ve never heard of him.” She studied Sarah. “Have you met him yet?”

  “Just this afternoon,” Sarah admitted while she prayed for this conversation to come to a speedy end.

  “Well?” Lady Fiona asked. “What’s he like?”

  “Er . . .”

  “Is he handsome?” Lady Fiona asked impatiently. Before Sarah could utter a word, she said, “I can tell by your expression that he’s not.” She looked at Sarah with pity until Sarah felt like screaming. It was all so unfair!

  “He’s older,” Sarah confided. It was clear that she would not be rid of Lady Fiona or her prying questions anytime soon.

  Lady Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “How much older?”

  “I can’t say,” Sarah said, for indeed she could not. She could only hazard a guess.

  “Well,” Lady Fiona said, her expression softening with a smile as she took Sarah by the arm and steered her away from the tempting alcove, “if he doesn’t please you, then I’m sure we can find someone else who does.”

  “Wh-­what?” Whatever Lady Fiona was getting at, Sarah didn’t like it. “My parents insist on Mr. Denison,” she said, hoping to dissuade the woman from whatever matchmaking scheme she was contemplating.

  Lady Fiona glanced at her with disbelief. “Why?”

  “Well . . . I . . . that is . . .” How on earth was she going to explain their reasoning?

  “I’m sure they believe they’ve found a good husband for you,” Lady Fiona said as she pulled Sarah along. “But parents’ criteria always differ from their daughter’s. Considering your lengthy absence from Society, I think you ought to have a look around Thorncliff before making any hasty decisions. There are plenty of eligible gentlemen here. Young and handsome ones even.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Sarah hedged.

  Lady Fiona looked at her in dismay. “You cannot mean that you would rather marry an old untitled man you barely know as opposed to a dashing viscount or earl?”

  “My parents—­”

  “Yes, yes. Their opinion on the matter is clear. But what about yours?”

  Sarah blinked, and Lady Fiona grinned. “Fear not. We’ll find someone better for you than this Mr. Denison fellow, but first I am going to ensure that you make some more friends by introducing you to my family. I have every confidence that you’ll enjoy spending time with me and my sisters during your stay here.”

  Sarah groaned. This was going to be a disaster. Arm linked with Sarah’s, Lady Fiona guided her toward their shared destination—­a group of ladies chatting amicably with an older ­couple and a gentleman: a man whom Sarah recognized immediately. Lord Spencer.

  Heaven help her! Sarah wanted to dig in her heels and claw her way back to safety, but Lady Fiona had a very firm hold on her arm, and before Sarah knew it, she was brought before the rest of the Heartlys and introduced, all the while acutely aware of Lord Spencer’s dark gaze boring into her.

  “So you see,” Lady Fiona said as soon as the necessary pleasantries had been exchanged, “Lady Sarah is now
back in Society.” She gave her brother a pointed look that made Sarah’s cheeks flame.

  “We’re absolutely delighted to make your acquaintance,” Lady Fiona’s mother, Lady Oakland, said. “I’m sure my daughters will enjoy your company immensely, and if there’s ever a need of dancing . . . well, Spencer makes an excellent partner. I do hope you’ll keep him in mind.”

  Sarah nodded, because it was the only thing she could do while the Heartly daughters smiled with unabashed glee. Lord and Lady Oakland looked equally enthusiastic at the prospect of pairing her off with their son, while Lord Spencer appeared rather acerbic. Hardly surprising, when it was embarrassingly apparent that his entire family was on a matchmaking spree.

  Fleetingly, Sarah wondered if it was possible for her to dissolve into the Persian carpet on which she was standing. And to think she’d been concerned about the Duchess of Pinehurst! The Heartlys might not be equipped with quizzing glasses, but it was clear that they were in possession of something far worse—­a keen desire to find the viscount a wife.

  “Thank you, my lady, but I’m so out of practice that I really don’t have any intention of dancing while I’m here. I’d hate to embarrass my partner by making a cake of myself,” Sarah said, hoping to discourage Lord Spencer’s wrath. After all, the last time she’d seen him, she’d suspected him of suspecting her of entrapment.

  “Good evening, Lady Oakland,” came a voice from behind Sarah’s right shoulder. She winced, recognizing it as her stepmother’s. “Lord Oakland,” Lady Andover added. “How delightful it is to see you both here, and with your lovely children, no less.”

  Lady Oakland smiled politely, while Lord Oakland offered a bow. “We thought we’d escape to Thorncliff while our home is being renovated.”

  “A wonderful retreat, don’t you agree?” Lady Andover asked.

  “Oh, without a doubt,” Lord Oakland said.

  “I see you’ve met my eldest daughter,” Lady Andover continued, her smile unfaltering as she looked about the group of ­people gathered before her, “but unfortunately I must steal her away. I hope you don’t mind.”