Several things became clear to Amelia at the same time. ‘Yes, he left about an hour ago. I did not see him, but Grev said that he had gone. Was he with you before that, Sarah?’
A nod of the head was her only reply. Amelia’s thoughtful gaze took in her cousin’s tumbled hair and the blue dress that was lacking a piece of material it had certainly started off with. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Here? He was with you here?’
Sarah nodded again.
Amelia glanced from her cousin to the bed. Try as she might, she could not keep the horror out of her voice. ‘Oh, Sarah, surely he did not make love to you—?’
Sarah made a noise that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. ‘No, it is not as bad as that!’ She pushed the damp hair back from her face. ‘Not quite, but nearly…’ Slowly the story of the encounter came out, with Amelia sitting quite still and quiet as she listened.
‘I felt so dreadful,’ Sarah ended bitterly. ‘I had told him that he had misjudged me, and then I behaved like the veriest trollop! Is it any wonder that he treated me like one? When he said—’ She broke off on a sob, swallowed and started again, ‘He made it all sound so sordid, Amelia, and that is exactly how it was!’
‘You must not blame yourself,’ Amelia said carefully, after a moment. ‘I knew that you were more than a little in love with him, whatever you said before! Lord Renshaw had no right to speak to you as he did and, despite his reputation, I had not really thought that he would—’ She broke off. ‘Truly, the man is unforgivable!’ She passed her cousin another handkerchief and patted her hand encouragingly.
Sarah blew her nose hard. ‘Oh, dear, this is a terrible! To offer me carte blanche—’
‘A poor reflection on Lord Renshaw rather than on yourself, my love!’ Amelia said stringently. ‘Pray put him from your mind. I doubt we shall see him again!’
Sarah thought that this was probably true. The idea gave her so much pain that she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying again. Yet if it was distressing to think of never seeing Guy again, it upset Sarah even more to think of the opinion of her that he would carry away.
‘Will you still go to Blanchland, Sarah?’ Amelia was asking carefully. ‘Unfortunately, it is true that everyone is talking about it. I swear I told no one, but I wonder if the servants overheard—’
‘Probably,’ Sarah said tiredly. She got up and moved to turn up the lamp. ‘Let people talk! I still intend to go tomorrow!’
‘Sarah!’ Amelia seemed uncertain whether to be glad or sorry that her cousin’s familiar determination was reappearing. ‘You cannot! Oh, surely you must see that it is impossible now! If you stay here and we put it about that it was all nothing but malicious gossip, the outcry will soon die down—’
‘You mistake, Amelia.’ Sarah was already pulling a couple of canvas bags from the cupboards, her actions showing a feverish energy. ‘I intend to go, now more than ever! I will not have the likes of Guy Renshaw standing in judgement on me!’
Sarah rose early after a night with almost no sleep at all. Amelia had left her with a kiss after spending a fruitless half hour trying to persuade her cousin to change her mind. The more Sarah thought about it, the more her conviction grew. The misery she had felt at Guy Renshaw’s stark contempt was hardening into anger now, humiliation turning into a burning fury. She was angry with herself for falling into his arms and confirming his opinion of her, but she was even more angry that he should ever have doubted her virtue. In the dark shadows of the night she had painfully admitted to herself just how much she had liked him. So much had been built upon so little: the roses, a couple of conversations, one waltz. And now she would have to learn to forget him.
With a heavy heart, Sarah dragged her bags to the bedroom door. If she was lucky, she could avoid Amelia, who always got up late on the morning after a ball. She could not bear another scene. She would take a hack down to the Angel and get the coach to the Old Down Inn and from there…
Sarah went out onto the landing, intending to tiptoe downstairs and find herself some breakfast before she left. She averted her gaze from the spot at the top of the stairs where she and Guy had had their encounter the previous night.
Far from being quiet, the house seemed very noisy. The shutters were flung back and servants were scurrying about in a frenzy. As she descended the stairs Sarah could see two large trunks, neatly bound with red rope, standing by the front door. Chisholm, looking as harassed as Sarah had ever seen him, was taking down what seemed like an endless list of instructions from his employer. Sarah stared in disbelief.
‘…and cancel my attendance at Mrs Chartley’s breakfast, if you please, and the card party at Colonel Waring’s and any other invitations I have forgotten!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘And make sure that any invitations from Mrs Bunton and Mrs Clarke are returned unopened—’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Amelia, looking fresh and radiant in a coffee-brown travelling dress and matching hat, turned to see her cousin watching her in amazement from the top of the stairs.
‘There you are, Sarah! At last! Hurry and take some breakfast! Oh, and Chisholm—’ her voice hardened ‘—if Sir Greville Baynham calls, pray tell him that I have left town and that his friends are not welcome in my house again—’
‘Oh, Milly, you cannot do that! It is not Greville’s fault!’ Sarah recovered the use of her voice and hurried down to her cousin’s side.
‘No matter!’ Amelia’s chin was set defiantly. ‘Sir Greville is to blame for having such poor taste in his friends! Now, are you almost ready, my love?’
Sarah watched bemusedly as two footmen threw open the main door and staggered out to the carriage under the huge weight of Amelia’s baggages.
‘Yes, but…what…?’
‘I knew that I could not persuade you to change your mind,’ Amelia said, seizing her arm and steering her towards the breakfast parlour, ‘so I have changed mine! Dearest Sarah! I am coming with you!’
Chapter Four
‘Seems to me you’ve made a dashed mess of things, Guy,’ Greville Baynham said frankly, helping himself to a large plate of devilled kidneys. ‘Didn’t even give the poor girl a chance to explain!’
Guy stared gloomily out of the breakfast-room window. He had spent the best part of the night playing high and drinking deep, and this morning was left with a vicious headache and a feeling of sick disgust. At the back of his mind was the thought that Greville was very probably correct.
In his salad days he had tumbled into love several times with females who were either unsuitable or ineligible or both. It had not mattered then; his suffering was usually of short duration and there were plenty of ladies willing to help him recover and move on to the next conquest. As he had grown older he had seen that love rarely had much to do with these transactions and was quite content for this to be the case. The fact that his father wished him to settle down and provide an heir for Woodallan he viewed as a completely separate issue. Or, he had viewed it as such until he had met Miss Sarah Sheridan.
Guy shifted in his chair. He had told Greville about the rumours that were circulating about Sarah and a little of the scene between them, though, naturally enough, he had not imparted the whole tale. Greville had been frankly incredulous.
‘Sounds all a hum to me,’ he said judiciously. ‘The Bath tabbies usually prefer fiction to fact! They find it so much more scandalous. Ten to one the whole thing is nothing more than a Banbury tale!’
Guy pulled a face. ‘I would like to agree with you, Grev, but Miss Sheridan practically confirmed it! When I asked her if it was true she was visiting Blanchland, she did not give a convincing denial! What was I to think?’
Greville waved his fork about descriptively. ‘That she was visiting her old nurse? That Ralph Covell wanted to hand over some of her father’s paintings? I don’t know—anything except what you clearly did think, old chap!’
Guy did not deny it. Now he said, ‘I suppose…I may have b
een a little hasty—’
‘Seems to me you should think about why you reacted as you did,’ Greville said drily, demonstrating his disconcerting habit of hitting the nail on the head. ‘I believe you must owe Miss Sheridan an apology, Guy. Do you care to accompany me to Brock Street this morning? I was intending to call on Lady Amelia anyway.’
Guy hesitated. He sincerely doubted that Sarah would either offer an explanation or give him the chance to apologise. It seemed most likely, in fact, that she would never speak to him again. He thought again of the previous night, of how Sarah’s initial resistance to him had melted into response and how he had taken ruthless advantage of it. Much as he would have preferred to deny it, her willingness had raised an echo of genuine passion in him that had transcended the blind fury that had first prompted him to punish her. He had been as shaken as she was—or as she had appeared to be.
Guy paused. Supposing—just supposing—Sarah had been the innocent he had always thought her to be? How must she have felt to have her inexperienced reactions construed as calculated passion? How would she be feeling that morning, confronted with the discovery of her own desires and the memory of his contempt? There were no excuses. He had taken disgraceful advantage of her.
Guy gave a groan and buried his head in his hands. Looking at matters in the cold light of day, he was both stunned and disconcerted by his violent reaction to the gossip he had heard. As Greville had said, he needed to analyse why he had responded so furiously and the answer was not far to seek. Although he had not previously acknowledged it, his feelings for Sarah Sheridan ran very deep indeed. The knowledge was a shock on one level, but on another he was obliged to admit that he had known it from the first. The fact that he had known her such a short time was irrelevant to his feelings. And now he had made the most godforsaken mess of the whole business…He groaned again.
Greville was eyeing him with concern. ‘I’ll ring for an ice bag,’ he said, getting up. ‘And, Guy, have a shave before you go out. It won’t help your cause to arrive in Brock Street looking half cut!’
The house in Brock Street was shuttered and it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time before Chisholm answered the bell. Nor was his demeanour particularly encouraging when he did so, for there was a look in his eye that seemed to imply that they should be using the tradesmen’s entrance.
‘Good day, Lord Renshaw. Good day, Sir Greville. May I be of service?’
Guy and Greville waited to be allowed over the threshold, but Chisholm remained obdurately in the way. Greville raised his eyebrows.
‘Good day, Chisholm. Is Lady Amelia receiving visitors? Pray tell her that we have called!’
Chisholm folded his lips into a thin line. His stance seemed to suggest that such good humour was sorely misplaced.
‘I regret to inform you, sir, that Lady Amelia has left town.’
There was a pause. Guy stepped forward. ‘And Miss Sheridan? Is she at home?’
Chisholm’s gaze seemed to turn even more glacial. ‘I fear not, my lord. However, her ladyship asked me to give Sir Greville the following message.’ He cleared his throat and avoided looking directly at either of them. ‘Her ladyship wishes it to be known that she has gone to the country with her cousin. Further, whilst you are still welcome to visit here, Sir Greville, the same invitation does not extend to your friends. Good day, sir.’
Chisholm bowed neatly, stepped back and closed the door firmly.
Both Guy and Greville stared at the wooden panels in stupefaction, then Greville took a hasty step forward and reached for the bell again. Guy laid a hand on his arm.
‘Grev! Wait!’
Guy did not think he had ever seen his friend so angry. Greville’s grey eyes were burning with fury. ‘How dare he say such things! The confounded impertinence of the man! Why, I’ll—’
‘He is only doing as he was instructed,’ Guy pointed out quietly. ‘Come away, Grev. There are people watching.’
It was true. Several curious passers-by, including the ubiquitous Mrs Clarke, were occupying the pavement at the bottom of the steps.
‘Oh, Sir Greville!’ that lady trilled, stepping forward to block their way. ‘Lord Renshaw! Have you heard the news? Lady Amelia has gone to Blanchland with her cousin! I can scarce believe it, but it must be true for Mrs Bunton heard it from Lady Trippeny, who—’
Greville set his shoulders. He gave the gossip a look of comprehensive dislike. ‘It is perfectly true, Mrs Clarke, but of no great import! Miss Sheridan has been called to Blanchland on an urgent family matter and her cousin has gone with her as chaperon! That is all! And I do beg you to remember that, before you indulge in idle speculation about the lady who is shortly to become my wife! Why, I shall be joining her at Blanchland shortly myself!’
Mrs Clarke’s mouth rounded in astonishment. ‘Oh, Sir Greville! And, Lord Renshaw—’ she swung round on Guy accusingly ‘—were you aware of this?’
Guy tried not to laugh. ‘Which part, Mrs Clarke? The bit about Lady Amelia chaperoning her cousin to Blanchland, or the part about Sir Greville being betrothed to Lady Amelia and joining her at Blanchland tomorrow? Or even…’ his smile broadened ‘…the fact that I am shortly to announce my own engagement to Miss Sheridan? Yes, I am aware of all of it!’
Mrs Clarke backed away from them, almost tripping over the kerb in her haste to escape and acquaint Mrs Bunton with her news. The two men nodded amiably to the rest of the crowd and strolled off down Brock Street with every appearance of nonchalance.
‘I cannot believe we just did that,’ Guy said under his breath, as they turned into The Circus and paused for a moment. ‘The story will be all over Bath in less than a half hour! Did you mean what you said?’
‘Of course!’ Greville looked grim. ‘You know I’ve been meaning to marry Amelia this past age! This ridiculous jaunt to Blanchland has simply precipitated matters!’
‘Hope she sees it in the same light as you, old fellow,’ Guy said feelingly. ‘Do you mean to go there to offer her your protection?’
‘Well, I hadn’t thought of it until five minutes ago,’ Greville admitted, ‘but now I see I need to talk some sense into the foolish woman!’
Guy repressed a grin. ‘Well, in that case you’d better travel with me! I’m for Woodallan, and you can break your journey there before travelling to Blanchland on the morrow.’
‘Thank you!’ Greville seemed to be recovering his good humour. The tense lines on his face eased a little. ‘And what of your own plans, Guy? Thought you were touched in the attic when you said that about marrying Miss Sheridan!’
Guy shifted a little. ‘Couldn’t leave Miss Sheridan as the only one with a stain on her reputation, could I, Grev? That odious woman would rip her to shreds!’
‘But will you keep your word?’ Greville pressed. ‘If not, Miss Sheridan will be thrown to the wolves anyway!’
‘I suppose I’m honour bound to try to persuade her…’ Guy gave his friend a lopsided grin. ‘You may count this as your fault, for telling me to examine my feelings! Truth is, I’d offer for Sarah like a shot if I thought she’d have me, but I doubt she’ll even consider it. Too much to forgive, I suppose! Devil take it, how have I managed to make such a confounded mess of things in such a short space of time?’
Greville laughed. ‘Cupid’s arrow, old chap! Strikes when and where, at will! And it seems to me that, of the two of us, you have the harder task!’
‘Amelia, you know this will not serve! Instead of saving my reputation, you are only ruining your own! Why, both of us will be tarred with the same brush!’
Sarah and her cousin had been arguing all the way from Brock Street to Combe Hay. The beauty of the winter countryside had been ignored and the discomfort of the twisting road scarcely noticed as Sarah desperately tried to persuade Amelia to change her mind. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Amelia had spent considerable time and effort in trying to persuade her to abandon the trip to Blanchland, yet here she was sitting in Amelia’s car
riage with Amelia’s servants in attendance and Amelia herself beside her. And her cousin was adamant.
‘I am a respectable widow whose good reputation can only help to protect you, dearest Sarah. Since it seems you are determined to go through with this mad plan, I feel it my duty to accompany you and save you from yourself!’
‘You are very noble,’ Sarah said, uncertain whether to laugh or cry, ‘but pray do not make this sacrifice on my account! You have told me yourself that Blanchland is the most licentious house in the kingdom—you must know that even your good name will not be able to withstand the scandal! Oh, Amelia, pray do not go through with this!’
Amelia turned her dark gaze on her cousin. ‘You have not told me why this visit is so important to you, Sarah, but I have to believe that it is of great consequence. If it matters so much to you that you are prepared to risk your reputation on it, I am prepared to do the same to help you. There! We shall have no more arguments!’ She turned her shoulder and looked out of the window.
Sarah gave a sigh of exasperation. She could not deny that it was pleasant to have company on the journey and it was infinitely more comfortable to travel privately than on the public stage. But those were small benefits in comparison to the damage that this escapade would cause. No doubt the whole of Bath society would already have heard what had happened, and how could either of them ever show their faces there again? It was melancholy to think of Amelia being ostracised for an act of misplaced kindness.
Sarah looked at Amelia’s determined profile. She felt a strong sense of guilt that she had not confided her quest in her cousin, but something made her hesitate. Time enough for that when Miss Meredith had been found and the mystery solved. At least arguing with Amelia had distracted her from melancholy thoughts about Guy.
They stopped for luncheon and to change the horses at the inn at Clandown, and Amelia confidently predicted that they would reach Blanchland by late afternoon, for the roads were good for the time of year. Sarah started to feel very nervous. How would she find her home after all these years? And how would Ralph react to their unexpected arrival? She barely knew her father’s cousin; though she bore him no ill will for inheriting her home after Frank’s death, she could hardly bear to think what he had done to it.
Blanchland Secret Page 7
