Blanchland Secret

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘You are very quiet, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy observed softly, when the movement of the dance brought them together. ‘I know it cannot be that you need to concentrate on your steps, for you dance too well for that. Have I then done something to displease you?’

  Sarah saw the flash of mockery in his eyes and, in spite of all her good intentions, she felt her temper rise. He really did have the most regrettable effect on her composure!

  ‘How could that be so, my lord?’ she asked sweetly. ‘I scarcely know you well enough to claim the privilege of being annoyed by your behaviour!’

  She saw the look of amused speculation on Guy’s face before the dance obliged him to move briefly away. Sarah tried to get a grip on her bad temper. She had no wish to betray the fact that he had the power to affect her, nor to be drawn into a conversation that could be dangerous, and she was afraid that she had already said too much. She received confirmation of this a moment later.

  ‘I collect that you mean that one must care sufficiently for someone before their behaviour can influence one’s feelings?’ Guy said lazily, when they came back together again. ‘In that case, I shall hope that time will see you quite exasperated with me!’

  Sarah reflected ruefully that she had probably deserved that and would think twice before crossing swords with him again.

  Guy seemed disinclined to let the matter drop, however, for when she did not reply he raised an eyebrow and said, ‘What do you say, ma’am? Do you think you could find it in your heart to dislike me a little?’

  Sarah smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘I know you are trying to provoke me, sir—’

  ‘Indeed? I thought the reverse was true for once!’

  ‘Very well!’ Sarah met his eyes squarely. ‘I’ll admit that I said something that I now deeply regret! Pray accept my apologies, my lord!’

  The dance had ended, but Guy was still holding her hand. They were standing on the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by couples milling about as they either retired for refreshments or joined the set that was forming, yet it seemed to Sarah that they were entirely alone. Guy smiled and when Sarah looked up into his eyes she saw an expression there that was compounded of desire overlaid by wicked mischief. So strong was the conviction that he was about to kiss her that Sarah took an instinctive step backwards.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Guy spoke so softly that only she could hear, ‘I will not do it—at least, not here! But the temptation, Miss Sheridan, is acute.’

  The colour flamed into Sarah’s face as she realised that he had read her thoughts. ‘Believe me, my lord,’ she said, with as much composure as she could muster, ‘so is the temptation to slap your face!’

  Guy burst out laughing. ‘So the honours are even, Miss Sheridan!’ He pressed a kiss on her hand. ‘Until our next meeting!’ And he sauntered away to the cardroom, leaving Sarah feeling breathless and outraged in equal measure.

  Chapter Three

  Sarah slept well that night, but awoke early with thoughts of Blanchland pressing on her mind once again. She was aware that she had as yet made no plans for her journey to her former home, other than a vague decision that she should set off the following day. This was all very fine, but she needed to be better prepared. She could not predict how Sir Ralph Covell would greet the unexpected arrival of his late cousin’s daughter, nor had she decided whether she should take him into her confidence or not. If Churchward’s information had been correct and Olivia had last been seen approaching Blanchland Court, this might prove a very bad idea indeed.

  Sarah shivered and burrowed deeper under her blankets for both warmth and comfort. Not for the first time she reflected that she was involving herself in a situation that appeared to have Gothic overtones, but she was a most practical girl and could only believe that there was a perfectly simple explanation for Olivia’s disappearance. No doubt the girl had gone to stay with a relative and forgotten to tell anyone. And the desperate matter on which she required advice would probably prove to be a romance, or, at worst, the need to go out into the world and earn a living as a governess. There was no need for worry.

  Sarah threw back the bedcovers and crossed to the window. There had been a hard frost and the winter sun was rising in a pale blue sky. The house was astir with the peculiar excitement that characterised the day of a ball. Sarah had promised to help Amelia with her preparations, but she knew that her cousin would not be rising early and she needed some fresh air.

  Amelia kept a small stable in the mews behind the buildings. There were her carriage horses, a gentle white mare that she occasionally rode in the park, and a decidedly more spirited one that Sarah enjoyed putting through its paces. The morning, with its crisp, fresh air, was perfect for a ride.

  It seemed that Astra thought so, too, for her ears pricked up as soon as they left the quiet streets behind and reached the springy turf of Lansdown. Sarah enjoyed a fine gallop, leaving the toiling groom far behind, and only as she skirted Greville Baynham’s land did she slow down and allow herself to think about the previous night.

  There was no doubt that some kind of peculiar affinity existed between herself and Guy Renshaw, and she knew that if she had any sense she would leave it well alone. Sarah sighed, allowing the horse to pick its own way along the steep path. She could not deny that in some senses Guy was a very eligible parti, so eligible, in fact, that he would look to marry far higher than a penniless companion, no matter how well-connected. In other respects he was utterly ineligible, for his reputation and evident disinclination for settling down rendered him not just unsuitable but positively dangerous. Sarah sighed again. She had had plenty of opportunities to marry in the previous six years, but somehow none of her suitors had quite matched her expectations and she had been too fastidious to marry just for the sake of it. She wondered now whether that had been a mistake. Living with Amelia was enjoyable, but how long would it continue? Besides, she had had the running of Blanchland and missed having her own establishment. Yet it seemed typical that when her inclination had finally settled on a gentleman who more than met her expectations, her choice should be totally inappropriate…

  ‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan! It is a beautiful morning, is it not?’

  Sarah came out of her reverie in time to see the subject of her thoughts let himself through the gate that separated the downs from Chelwood Park. He brought his horse alongside Sarah’s and gave her a smile, his gaze openly appreciating her pink cheeks and bright eyes.

  ‘That’s a very spirited creature you have there, Miss Sheridan! It would be difficult to tell which of you looks as though they have enjoyed the gallop more!’

  He sat his own chestnut hunter with a skill that Sarah did not find at all surprising and the casual elegance of his attire would be enough, she thought, to have all last night’s impressionable debutantes swooning again. This morning, with the breeze ruffling his thick, fair hair and the sun lighting those expressive dark eyes, Lord Renshaw looked utterly devastating.

  ‘Your cousin does not ride with you?’ he asked, looking down the hill to where the groom was exhorting his labouring horse up the slope. ‘I see that you are alone, to all intents and purposes.’

  ‘I think not.’ Sarah could not help wondering what intent or purpose he might have in seeking her out alone. She would have to be careful. ‘Amelia does not care for riding, but I brought the groom.’ She gestured down the hill, where Tom was still making heavy weather of getting the old cob to catch up. Guy laughed.

  ‘So I see—and promptly left him behind again! I did not imagine you to be so keen a rider, Miss Sheridan! You did not mention it as one of your ruling passions last night!’

  Sarah cast him a look under her lashes. ‘I grew up in the country, so it can be no great surprise that I ride!’

  ‘No, but you ride very well indeed, which is rare. I’ll allow that it is commonplace enough to meet ladies who can prance about in the park and think that they look most accomplished!’

  ‘You are very severe this mornin
g, my lord!’ Sarah could not help laughing. ‘I am glad that my own small skill gains your approval rather than your censure!’

  Guy smiled lazily. ‘Oh, I am renowned as a hard critic, but I cannot find fault with you, Miss Sheridan!’

  Sarah felt herself blushing under his scrutiny. For some perverse reason all she could think of was his threat—or was it a promise?—to kiss her on some future occasion. Would such a manoeuvre be possible on horseback? It was an intriguing thought. It would certainly require considerable skill, but—Sarah suddenly realised that Guy was still watching her, one dark eyebrow raised in teasing enquiry. Afraid that he would read her thoughts again, as he had the previous night, Sarah turned her horse’s head abruptly away and was relieved to see the groom struggling up the last incline to join them on the level summit.

  ‘There is an exceptional view from up here,’ Guy observed, looking out across the city to the Somerset hills beyond, ‘and a keen breeze. It leaves me sharp set! Will you join us at Chelwood for breakfast, Miss Sheridan?’

  Tom the groom, who had been encouraging his exhausted horse, cast Sarah a scandalised glance. She smiled.

  ‘Thank you, my lord, but I do not think that would be very proper! I fear I must return to Brock Street for my breakfast!’

  ‘My sensible Miss Sheridan! A bachelor household, even one so unimpeachable as Chelwood, is not an appropriate destination for a single lady!’ Guy’s dark eyes were full of mockery. ‘A pity if you were to starve on your way home as a result!’

  ‘I must be going, at any rate,’ Sarah said, trying to crush her foolish excitement at his use of the phrase ‘my sensible Miss Sheridan’. She turned Astra’s head towards home. ‘Amelia will need help with all the preparations for her ball tonight. Good day, my lord.’

  ‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy put his hand over hers on the reins. ‘Does Lady Amelia intend to be so fast as to have the waltz this evening?’

  Sarah paused. ‘I believe so, my lord.’

  Guy let her go and raised his whip in a salute. ‘Then save me a dance, Miss Sheridan!’

  Amelia was in great good spirits. Silk drapes in red and blue swathed the walls and pillars of the ballroom, white candles filled the sconces and huge vases overflowing with red roses formed the centrepiece of her decorations.

  The roses had arrived in the late afternoon and had caused much excited giggling and shrieking amongst the maids as they had tried to find sufficient receptacles in which to place them all. Several old, chipped vases had been pressed into service for the less prominent of arrangements and a chamber pot had even been proffered, though Sarah had seen Chisholm hastily hide it behind the umbrella stand before Amelia had noticed. There had been no card, which had led to much gossip and speculation, but when the pack of maids had gone and Amelia had swept off to see to the menus, Chisholm had stepped forward with a tiny, delicate posy of pale pink rosebuds with a card tucked inside. There were only two words, written in a strong black hand that Sarah had never seen before, yet instantly recognised: ‘Penance? Renshaw.’

  And now Sarah was wearing one of the rosebuds pinned to the bodice of her aquamarine gown and was full of a most heady excitement at the thought of seeing Guy again.

  ‘Your decorations look very fine and patriotic,’ Sarah said, catching her cousin at a quiet moment between the arrival of two parties of guests. ‘I know you would not give away the secret before, but how have you managed the red, white and blue theme for the menus, Milly?’

  ‘Oh,’ Amelia laughed, ‘the trout with garlic and tomatoes is red and there is woodcock in a white wine sauce—’

  ‘And the blue?’

  ‘Ice cream with bilberries! We call it glace du Napoleon! Cook has been swearing that this is his finest hour!’ Amelia smiled as her gaze rested on the roses. ‘They are magnificent, aren’t they? Are you sure you have no idea of their provenance, Sarah?’

  ‘Good evening, Lady Amelia. And Miss Sheridan! I am so glad that you decided to attend after all, ma’am!’

  Sarah swung round to see Viscount Renshaw bowing punctiliously. She was not sure whether she was glad to see him or not. On the one hand, his arrival was timely in diverting Amelia from her question. On the other, there was a decidedly wicked twinkle in his eye.

  Amelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Lord Renshaw! Good evening, sir! But whatever can you mean? Why should Sarah not attend my ball? Sarah, you know you have been promised for tonight this month past!’

  Sarah gave Guy Renshaw a fulminating look. ‘I have no notion what his lordship can mean, Milly!’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ Guy gave her a look of limpid innocence. ‘I must have misunderstood you, ma’am. Lady Amelia, do I have your permission to take your cousin off and dance with her?’

  Amelia looked speculatively from one to the other. ‘You have my blessing, Lord Renshaw, but whether Sarah will agree is another matter!’

  Guy took Sarah’s arm. ‘It is a waltz and you did promise me…’

  He appeared to take her acquiescence for granted, steering her towards the dance floor and taking her in his arms in a manner that might be entirely appropriate for the waltz, but nevertheless deprived Sarah momentarily of speech. Their bodies touched for a brief second before he held her a little away from him with impeccable propriety.

  Sarah was an accomplished dancer, but she found that waltzing in Guy’s arms was a very different experience from attempting the boulanger with Mr Tilbury. Dancing with Guy was unnerving; the touch of his hands through the silk of her dress felt like a caress. His head was bent close to hers, and when their eyes met she could see the admiration in their depths, the flash of desire that he did not trouble to hide. It disturbed her and stirred something strange and sensual within her. Sarah closed her eyes momentarily, startled by her own feelings.

  ‘You dance beautifully,’ Guy said, after they had circled the floor a couple of times in silence. ‘I remember that you were musical even as a child. You used to sing and play most prettily.’

  ‘I do not recall that you were so eager to dance with me in our youth,’ Sarah said, with a slight smile, glad of an innocuous topic of conversation when her thoughts had been anything but innocent. ‘There was one children’s ball at which you spurned me quite ruthlessly, my lord!’

  Guy’s arms tightened momentarily. Looking up, she saw a look of brilliant amusement in his eyes and her heart did a little somersault.

  ‘I had no discernment in my youth,’ he said regretfully, ‘and our parents were forever trying to throw us together. I believe they wished us to make a match of it and naturally enough, I tried to rebel! What boy of sixteen wishes to contemplate matrimony—least of all with a young lady of eleven!’

  ‘Perhaps they were a little misguided—’

  ‘Just premature, I believe, Miss Sheridan!’

  Sarah was vexed with herself for giving him the chance to flirt with her. Just when she had thought they could talk on uncontroversial subjects, he had turned the topic around! He richly deserved a set-down.

  ‘More of your nonsense, sir!’ she said crossly. ‘I am no green girl to be taken in by your flattery!’

  ‘No, indeed,’ Guy agreed amiably, his smile teasing her. ‘I forgot that you had so many years in your dish, Miss Sheridan! My reputation is quite safe with you, is it not?’

  Sarah was rendered momentarily speechless by his impudence. Before she could marshal her thoughts to deliver the cutting remark he deserved, the music whirled to a close.

  Guy bowed. ‘Perhaps you will spare me another dance later, Miss Sheridan?’

  ‘I do not think that would be at all respectable, sir!’ Sarah said pertly, unable to resist. ‘As you have just pointed out, you must have a care for your reputation, and two dances could be considered fast!’

  She saw him smile and knew he would have replied in kind had Amelia not arrived at that moment, bringing with her a very young man who had a hopeful look in his eye.

  ‘Lord Renshaw, pray forgive my interruption,�
� Amelia began, ‘but Mr Elliston believes that you may have been serving with his elder brother in Portugal, and is most anxious for any news…’

  Guy bowed. ‘Of course. You must be Richard Elliston’s brother? I remember him well.’ He gestured to the refreshment room. ‘We could talk over a glass of wine if you wish…’

  Young Mr Elliston looked quite overwhelmed at such condescension. Amelia smiled, taking Sarah’s arm and drawing her away.

  ‘He is very kind. Poor Jack Elliston has been quite worried—the family has had no news for nigh on six months!’ She looked closely at Sarah. ‘Are you quite well, my love? Your colour is very high! I do hope you have not taken a chill!’

  ‘I do not believe so.’ Sarah was astonished how calm she sounded when inside she felt quite shaken. For all that she had acquitted herself well enough, flirting with Guy Renshaw was an occupation requiring sterner nerves than hers. No doubt the society ladies who indulged in a little intrigue to relieve the boredom of their marriages were well versed in playing such sophisticated games. She was not, having little or no experience of the art of dalliance.

  ‘Lord Renshaw seems to have been most charming to you,’ Amelia was saying, her voice casual but her gaze alert as she took in Sarah’s becomingly pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. ‘I do believe he is trying to get up a flirtation with you, Sarah!’

  Sarah took a glass of wine gratefully from a passing servant and drank half of it straight away before answering. Amelia’s intent look deepened.

  ‘Sarah! Whatever ails you? Are you sure you are quite well?’

  Sarah laughed and pressed her cousin’s hand. ‘I am feeling very well, I thank you. I believe you must put my uncharacteristic behaviour down to Lord Renshaw’s bad influence!’