Blanchland Secret

by Nicola Cornick

  It was inevitable that, at some point, the conversation would turn to the forthcoming marriage.

  ‘We were so excited when Guy told us of the wedding!’ Clara said, smiling across the table at her future sister-in-law. ‘A whirlwind romance, and to your childhood sweetheart, too! Oh, Sarah, it is entirely delightful!’

  Sarah could sense that Guy had paused in his conversation with Emma and was listening. She did not even glance at him.

  ‘Yes, is it not a charming story!’ Remembering how she had once denied that they had even been childhood friends, Sarah still managed to hit exactly the right, easy note. ‘As soon as we met in Bath, Guy reminded me of how close we had been as children!’

  ‘It is a tale to tell our own grandchildren, in fact,’ Guy interposed, an edge to his voice. ‘Just like a fairy tale!’

  Sarah smiled at him blithely. ‘What an enchanting thought, my lord,’ she said sweetly. ‘We must make sure to do so!’

  ‘You must have been pleased to discover that the marriage could take place so soon,’ Clara said, beaming. ‘What with Olivia’s arrival and the twelve days of Christmas and two weddings in the family, we shall be as merry as grigs!’

  ‘It will be utterly thrilling!’ Sarah gushed.

  Guy shot her a speaking glance. His dark eyebrows snapped together. Sarah felt a strange exhilaration, like taking too much wine. She might not be able to make her husband love her, but she could surely irritate him. She knew that the frown on his brow, the ceaseless drumming of his fingers on the table, indicated that she had managed to break through the barrier of indifference that he had erected about himself.

  The gentlemen rejoined the ladies swiftly after the meal, but Guy again showed little interest in talking to his fiancée. Instead he chatted to Amelia and Greville, affording Sarah the opportunity to study him covertly whilst she sat talking with Clara. The soft lamplight burnished his fair hair and cast a shadow across the planes of his face, accentuating the strong lines of cheekbone and jaw. He was smiling as he talked and Sarah felt her heart twist with longing and despair. She wanted him to love her, but she knew it was too late. She had had his love for the asking—and had twisted it out of recognition. As though sensing her regard, Guy looked up and his eyes, darkly shadowed, met Sarah’s. Then he looked away with apparent boredom, and such misery choked Sarah’s throat that for a moment she could not breathe. Was this, then, how her life was to be in future? In the middle of the warmth and love of this family, she alone would feel cold and alone.

  She excused herself to the Countess and made her way unhurriedly to the door, intending to slip away to an early bed. To her surprise, Guy stood up and came across to her just as she was leaving.

  ‘I will escort you to your room, Sarah.’

  Sarah did not demur, though she felt awkward in his company. She knew that he was only offering to accompany her in order to show his family that all was well between them. They went slowly up the stairs and along the gallery, where more haughty pictures of Woodallan ancestors looked down. It was Sarah who broke the silence.

  ‘Thank you for everything that you have done to help Olivia, my lord. I am very grateful that you were able to persuade your father to accept her into the family.’

  Guy stopped walking. In the shadowy gallery it was too dark to see his face clearly.

  ‘I have not forgotten,’ he said slowly, ‘that you were the one who was brave enough to answer Olivia’s plea for help in the first place.’

  The compliment was unexpected. He took her hand, his fingers, long and strong, interlocking with hers. Sarah felt a shiver go through her.

  ‘Brave?’ She knew her voice sounded shaky. ‘Surely you mean obstinate—or damnably foolish!’

  ‘Maybe.’ She heard the implication of a smile in his voice and felt her hand tremble in his. She tried to withdraw it. ‘It was still courageous.’

  For what seemed like hours, Sarah stood staring at him, captured by the expression in his eyes. One tiny tug of the hand would have brought her into his arms, but he did not move. It was Sarah who pulled away first, and her feet tapped on the wooden floor of the gallery as she fled from him.

  It was Christmas Eve. Sarah, acting the part of the future mistress of Woodallan, accompanied the Countess on visits to tenants and villagers to distribute Christmas presents and good wishes. The carriage was laden down with everything from coal to oranges, tea to plum cake. Sarah was sure that she even saw the Countess slip some tobacco into the gnarled hands of various old gentlemen and a bottle of gin to one ancient lady. It was great fun and they were greeted warmly wherever they went, Sarah especially so as the young lord’s future bride.

  Naturally, Guy did not accompany them. His excuse had been that his father’s illness made it essential that he act as host and entertain his male guests, but as these were all either family or close friends, this rang a little hollow. It rankled especially with Sarah, who could not avoid the assumption that he did not wish to be with her. The Countess noted her goddaughter’s frozen expression but wisely held her own counsel, knowing that there were some times when even friendly advice was unwelcome.

  Dinner that evening was very different from the family affair of the night before. The Woodallans were hosting a dinner and informal dance for the whole neighbourhood and numerous coaches drew up at the door decorated with holly and mistletoe. The great hall of the old house had been cleared for the banquet, a huge fire blazed in the medieval hearth and torches flared on the walls. It looked dramatic and festive.

  Amelia had chosen a dress in Christmas scarlet for the occasion. ‘I hope it does not seem too daring for the country,’ she said doubtfully, turning before the mirror in Sarah’s bedroom. She gave a little giggle. ‘I am indeed a scarlet woman, so it is most apt!’

  ‘You look wonderful,’ Sarah said truthfully, for the deep red was most striking against Amelia’s white skin and black hair. ‘I wish I could wear something as bright as that to give me confidence! And you are no scarlet woman, Milly, but a Christmas bride!’

  Greville, taking advantage of the special licence, had pressed Amelia to marry him the day after Christmas, and she had been happy to agree.

  Amelia smiled. ‘You look charming.’ She considered Sarah’s green silk with its overdress of gold gauze. ‘I am sure Guy will have no complaints!’

  ‘I am sure Guy will not even notice,’ his fiancée said glumly.

  The evening did nothing to disprove her opinion. This time Guy did not even lead her into dinner, and he spent the entire evening away from her side. They did not exchange a single word. Sarah chatted and smiled until she thought her face would ache, and anticipated how mortified she would be when her fiancé neglected to dance with her. Dinner seemed to last forever, but eventually the tables were cleared away and the hall prepared for the carollers.

  The press of people was becoming greater by the minute, and Sarah felt very vulnerable as she stood alone on the edge of the throng. She reflected wryly that it was lucky she was dressed in green. At least some people might mistake her for the Christmas decorations.

  A lot of wine had been consumed during dinner and the hall seemed to be becoming very hot. Sarah fanned herself and looked around surreptitiously for Guy. She could see Amelia and Greville, amorously entwined beneath some mistletoe and gazing into each other’s eyes. Olivia and Justin Lebeter were standing together, heads bent close. Sarah stifled a sigh. Only she, it seemed, was on her own…

  ‘Miss Sheridan?’

  Sarah spun around. A tall young man with dark hair and an easy smile was looking at her hopefully. He gave a slight bow.

  ‘Daniel Ferrier, at your service, ma’am! You may remember that we were neighbours once—’

  ‘Daniel Ferrier!’ Sarah gave him her hand. ‘I remember you well! How are you, sir? Why, it must be all of six years since we met—’

  ‘Seven, I believe, ma’am.’ Mr Ferrier smiled warmly. He seemed quite dazzled that she should have remembered him at all.


  Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the bell ringers and the village carollers, who gave a hearty rendition of several traditional tunes before turning with gratitude to the pork pie and elderberry wine that Lady Woodallan had laid out for refreshment. More villagers were arriving for the dance, and the throng of guests was quite overwhelming now. Sarah found herself pressed against Mr Ferrier rather more closely than propriety demanded. Mr Ferrier did not appear to object.

  ‘Would you care to dance, ma’am?’ he asked her, as the music struck up for the first set of country dances.

  Sarah could not see Guy anywhere in the mêlée. With a mental shrug, she accepted Daniel Ferrier’s invitation, and allowed him to swing her around to the music with as much abandon as all the other guests. Sarah found it pleasant not to be overlooked, even if she was dancing with the wrong man. Bright-eyed and breathless, they sat down as the music ended, to catch up on all the years that had passed since they had last met.

  Mr Ferrier’s uncle, it transpired, had purchased him a cornetcy in the 10th Foot and he had progressed to the rank of Captain before selling out six months previously. He gave Sarah a very lively account of his time serving in the Peninsula. In turn, Sarah told him of her life in Bath, and they were so engrossed that at first she did not notice that Guy had actually come across to ask her for a dance.

  He greeted Ferrier with a pleasant nod of the head, but the expression in his eyes was watchful, his voice cold.

  ‘Please excuse me for stealing my fiancée away from you, Ferrier. I fear I shall not have the opportunity to dance with her otherwise!’

  Daniel Ferrier could not miss the warning implicit in the words. His gaze met Guy’s for a long moment and Sarah felt the sudden tension between them. This was ridiculous, for Daniel Ferrier had never been any more than a family friend, and besides, Guy had shown no interest in asserting his claim to her hand before. The silence threatened to become embarrassing, then Ferrier gave a nod of acknowledgement even slighter than Guy’s.

  ‘You are most fortunate, Renshaw.’

  ‘So I think,’ Guy agreed smoothly.

  Sarah was beginning to find this male arrogance very irritating. She got to her feet slowly, making her regret rather more evident than was strictly necessary.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Ferrier. No doubt we may continue our conversation at a future date.’

  ‘I should like that, ma’am,’ Daniel Ferrier said, with a ghost of a smile. He bowed and sauntered away, and Guy put a firm arm about Sarah’s waist and guided her into the set. It was clear that he was furious, for his mouth was set in a straight line and his eyes glittered with suppressed anger.

  ‘Miss Sheridan,’ he said, under his breath, ‘you will do me the courtesy of forbearing to flirt with my parents’ neighbours!’

  The injustice of the remark took Sarah’s breath away and prompted her good resolutions to fly out of the window. Suddenly a wholesale argument seemed a most attractive way of clearing the air. She could see that the other couples in the dance were watching them with curiosity, and she gave Guy a ravishing smile.

  ‘You are speaking nonsense, my lord! Mr Ferrier is simply an old friend!’

  ‘So I believe,’ Guy said tightly. ‘He will not become a new one, however!’

  The steps of the dance forced them to part at that moment, but both of them knew the topic was not closed. When they came back together again, Sarah said, with a melting smile, ‘It shows a certain arrogance, my lord, to ignore your future wife for the best part of three days and then to take exception when another pays her a little attention!’

  Guy glanced around to make sure they were not overheard. His face was set.

  ‘I do not care for other men paying attention to my wife!’

  ‘Pshaw! You are just a dog in a manger!’ Sarah twirled merrily to the music. ‘You do not care for me yourself—you have made that clear!’

  ‘It is scarcely appropriate for you to console yourself before the knot is even tied! I saw the two of you earlier—pressed so close a sixpence could not have come between you!’

  The steps separated them again, giving Sarah the chance to prepare her next salvo.

  ‘I had not realised that it would be more appropriate for me to wait until after the wedding!’ she said, as they were reunited. She was well aware that she was starting to behave very badly and she was enjoying it, particularly as Guy did not appear to see the amusing side.

  He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘It would not be. As well you know!’

  ‘Then I am condemned to a most lonely existence, am I not?’ Sarah flourished an exaggerated curtsy at the end of the dance, and clapped enthusiastically. ‘You are the most dreadful puritan, my lord! Since we are to make a marriage of convenience I am simply making the best of it!’

  Guy kept hold of her arm. His grip was tight. He made no move to steer them back into conversation with any of their friends, but started to lead Sarah purposefully towards the door. Sarah could see everybody watching them whilst pretending that they were not doing so. She hung back, prevaricating.

  ‘I am in need of a drink, my lord—’

  ‘You may have one in the drawing-room. Whilst I speak to you.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘I do not wish to speak with you any further. You are being quite absurd!’

  She might as well have saved her breath. Guy’s arm was hard about her waist and he half-carried her across the hall and through the door of the drawing-room, kicking it shut behind them.

  ‘Why do you not lock the door?’ Sarah suggested helpfully. ‘It was so effective last time!’

  Guy looked almost murderous. ‘Listen, Sarah—’

  ‘I think not. I have heard enough.’

  Guy continued as though she had not spoken. ‘If you think that ours will be a marriage of convenience, you are sorely mistaken!’

  Sarah paused. She had not expected this. She frowned a little. ‘But that was the agreement! Since we are obliged to marry, it should be in name only!’

  Guy smiled. ‘I see! Not just a marriage of convenience, but one in name only! I do not think so! Certainly, I never agreed to such a thing!’

  ‘But—’ Sarah’s mind skittered across the conversation they had had at Blanchland when Guy had pointed out that she would have to marry him for the sake of Olivia and of her own reputation. Perhaps the phrase had not been used, but the implication had surely been the same thing. The marriage would be for form’s sake only. She looked at him accusingly.

  ‘Surely you cannot pretend to have any feelings for me! Not when you condemned me outright for believing you capable of hurting Olivia!’

  Guy drove his hands into his jacket pockets. ‘Very direct, Miss Sheridan! Are you sure that you are prepared for an equally direct response?’

  Sarah stared at him. She was half-wondering whether she did, in fact, want to know his feelings for her, or whether some things were better left unspoken. However, it was too late. Guy strolled across to the window, looking out into the snowy dark.

  ‘Since there is to be truth between us, Miss Sheridan, I confess that I find you very attractive. I have always done so.’ He turned back to look at her. ‘So there is no possibility of a marriage in name only. Even were I to promise it, I know I would break the promise at the first opportunity.’

  Sarah’s throat was dry. ‘But that is iniquitous! Why, you do not even like me! How can you expect—?’ She stopped as he came across to her. He picked up one amber ringlet and let it slide through his fingers. Sarah turned her face away. She was trembling and she could not bear him to see the effect he had on her.

  ‘I know you understand me.’ Guy spoke a little huskily. He let go of the ringlet reluctantly and his fingers drifted across the soft skin of her neck. ‘For you feel it, too. It is the one thing that unites us.’

  Sarah clenched her fists. ‘But I will not give in to it!’

  Guy laughed. ‘Ah! That must be the difference between us!’

  Sarah was afraid that sh
e would cry with frustration and hurt. ‘It is not right! How can this be, when we have hurt each other and dislike each other and can never love each other—?’

  Guy’s only reply was to bend his head and brush his lips against the hollow at the base of her throat.

  Sarah was really struggling now, against him, against her treacherous feelings and, most of all, against the sensual excitement that was prickling along her nerve-endings, reminding her of how it had been between them. The touch of his lips was light, brushing first one corner of her mouth then the other in a teasing caress. Sarah’s eyes drifted closed as he captured her lips, tenderly, seductively…

  She wrenched herself away. ‘No! I will not give in to this!’

  Guy stepped back in an exaggerated gesture of deference. ‘Very well, Miss Sheridan. But have you thought how it will be living with me, day in, day out, yet denying the craving of your body, refusing the comfort of my arms?’ His dark gaze held her still. ‘We shall see who wins in the end!’

  It was late afternoon on the day before the wedding when Amelia found her cousin sitting quietly in the old chapel. The winter sun was slanting through the stained glass windows, making pools of colour on the stone floor. Amelia shivered, for the air was cold. It was three days since she had married Greville in a quiet family ceremony in this very place, but now the wedding decorations had gone and the dusty chill had settled again, and it seemed it had settled on Sarah as well. She had seldom seen her cousin look so pinched and drawn. Sarah was sitting quite still, her head tilted back as she apparently contemplated the faded gold stars on the white-painted ceiling. Her cloak was wrapped tightly around her and she seemed to have shrunk within it, drawn in on herself. Amelia frowned.

  ‘Sarah? Have you been here all afternoon?’ Amelia slid into the pew beside her cousin, noting that Sarah jumped as though she had not even heard her approach.