by Amanda Scott
They had other conversations, and Sarah came to feel very fond of Lady Packwood. For once, she felt she could confide in someone without being condemned for speaking of personal things. She even told her ladyship in detail of Darcy’s peculiar ethics and listened contentedly to an articulate castigation of his character.
Nicholas made no comment when Sarah first appeared in a morning gown of pale blue sprigged muslin, its satin sash tied high under her breasts with a cheerful nosegay of blue silk rosebuds, so she happily went on ignoring her blacks except for their daily rides or the presence of an occasional caller. One morning, nearly a week after the Packwoods’ arrival, Sarah donned a charming frock of lilac muslin with a sash and satin-covered buttons in a deeper purple and stepped out into the garden for some fresh air. A lilac ribbon had been threaded artistically through her curls, and she knew she was looking very well. She walked carefully in dainty lilac sandals, skirting the library terrace and crossing the main drive to the forecourt. Moss roses were beginning to bloom in the herbaceous borders, and she wanted to see what other interesting varieties might be preparing to make their presence known. The morning was not so bright as its predecessors had been, for there were puffy clouds scudding across the common, now and again dimming the sunlight.
The drumming of hoofbeats on the drive diverted her, and she looked up to see Mr. Randolph approaching, mounted on a horse that would have looked more at home pulling a plow. She waved, and he swung the animal toward her.
“Good day to ye, my lady!” he called cheerfully. “I was just coming fer ’is lordship, cause that sow he’s been watchin’ has produced a fine family. Ten of ’em, and she looks to be knowing her business, which they often don’t first time round. His lordship’ll be right pleased, I’m thinkin’.”
“I’m sure he will, Mr. Randolph. Oh, look,” she added as the familiar figure came into sight from the library side of the house. “There he is now, so you may tell him at once.”
Randolph rode off to meet Nicholas, and Sarah continued her round of the borders, then climbed the front steps to the entrance, just as earl and tenant parted company. Nicholas turned toward the steps at once, but Randolph’s news notwithstanding, his expression was anything but cheerful.
“Come into the library,” he said sternly. “I’ve a deal to say to you.”
Sarah stood her ground, her courage bolstered by continued association with Lady Packwood. “Don’t bark orders at me, my lord. You may say whatever you wish to say right here.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Countess,” was the crushing retort. “And believe me when I say you would prefer to hear me in the privacy of my library, rather than here, where anyone might chance to listen.”
That could not be denied, but though she followed him, Sarah was determined to retain her dignity. A startled footman sprang to open the library doors, but Nicholas scarcely waited for him to shut them again before snapping without preamble, “I said nothing when you began wearing colors, but by heaven, I expected you to practice some discretion! Instead, I find you preening yourself in front of Sam Randolph as though you hadn’t a thought in your head for your dead husband.”
“Poppycock!” said Sarah, borrowing one of her ladyship’s favorite words.
“What!”
“I said, ‘poppycock,’ my lord, for I haven’t a thought in my head for Darcy, and I don’t particularly care who knows it. What I do to satisfy propriety, I do because you say it is necessary. But if you mean to tell me that I must keep to my own house and not venture out of doors at all, then I might just as well keep to my blacks. It was the purest misfortune that Mr. Randolph saw me, and he was full of his sow’s news, so I doubt he noticed anything untoward. He would have thought it odd indeed, however, had I turned and run from him.”
“Nothing was said about flaunting yourself in the front court or on the main drive,” Nicholas replied severely, “and you know it very well. The point was that you would wear your dresses where none but the family would see you, that you would be protected by the servants and your own discretion from chance meetings with those who might be offended by such behavior. I’ll agree that Randolph’s mind was not on your clothing, but it might just as well not have been Randolph. My mother’s presence here is known throughout the neighborhood,” he went on in that same harsh tone, “and she has already had several callers. There will be more. If something like this happens again, you will return to your blacks permanently, so I suggest you give careful thought to my words.”
He did not grant her an opportunity to reply, but turned on his heel and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a firm snap. Sarah stood where she was, her fists clenched against her skirts. Once again, she was close to tears, and she knew she had brought it on herself.
A hand touched her shoulder and she nearly screamed. “He should not have spoken to you so, Sarah!” Lionel said, breathing fiery indignation.
She had been so wrapped in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard his approach, but she realized he must have been in the library the whole time. “Lionel! You nearly frightened the wits out of me! What are you doing here?”
“Reading,” he answered simply, indicating the high, winged chair that faced the fireplace. “Nothing else to do. I heard him though, and I shan’t allow him to abuse you so ever again.”
“Don’t be silly, Lionel. How could you stop him?”
“I’ll marry you.”
“Marry me!”
“Oh, Sarah, you are wonderful,” he breathed. “So beautiful, so pure, so sweet.” He moved to take her in his arms.
“Lionel!” she gasped, eluding him with difficulty. “What can you be thinking of? I am a widow in mourning. I cannot be married for at least a year. Even a year would be questionable to some.”
“Take you to France,” he replied, making another effort to capture her. “Nobody cares a button about such things there. Stands to reason,” he added. “We wouldn’t tell them.”
“Oh, you’re demented!” Sarah cried, escaping his clutches once more only to come up against a corner where two bookshelves met. “I wouldn’t marry you under any circumstances! You’re … you’re too young!” she finished triumphantly.
“Older than you,” he pointed out. “Heard my stepmama say you wasn’t eighteen yet. Well, I am. Got money, too—at least, Papa has, which is by way of being the same thing. I’ll cherish you.”
“I don’t want you to cherish me,” Sarah wailed, trying ineffectually to push him away when he boxed her into her corner. “I want you to leave me alone!”
“No, you don’t. I know better,” he muttered huskily, bending his head to try to kiss her, his hands pressing into her shoulders. Her bodice was of the sort known as à l’enfant, and one sleeve slipped away under his fingers. Sarah began to struggle more wildly.
“Let me go, Lionel!”
He was holding her with his body pressed against hers, and the shelves behind were digging into her back painfully. He was much stronger than she would have thought, had she given the matter prior consideration, and she feared for a moment that she might suffocate. She twisted her head from side to side, crying out against him and trying to push him away, but the way he was holding her made her arms and hands seem useless. He even began to caress her bare shoulder, but she was too busy trying to elude his thick, wet lips to worry about that. Being kissed by Lionel would be exactly like being kissed by a fish! She screwed her eyes shut and twisted her face as far around toward the corner as it would go.
“Don’t fight me, beautiful Sarah. You know you will like it. It’s only a matter of time.” He pressed against her even harder, bringing the hand that had been caressing her shoulder up to turn her head. “No need to be missish,” he murmured. “Come to think of it, you already know all about such things. Stands to reason. Married to that Darcy fellow.” His hand was forcing her chin around, and Sarah could scarcely breathe. Then, suddenly, he gave a startled gasp, and she was relieved of his weight.
She
opened her eyes to see him spun around by a grip of steel just before he was floored by a wicked right jab to what there was of his chin. Nicholas rubbed his knuckles and glanced briefly at Sarah before he lunged forward and yanked Lionel to his feet again. Since he chose the younger man’s neckcloth as his handle, she thought it no wonder that Lionel gave a terrified shriek.
“We’ll finish this business in the stableyard, by God!” Nicholas growled furiously. “You just come with me, you young Casanova. Either on your feet or not, as you please. I’m perfectly willing to drag you the distance.”
“No! No, you don’t understand!” Lionel squeaked. “She wanted it. She is mad about me!”
Nicholas still clenched the neckcloth, forcing Lionel up onto his toes, and Sarah feared briefly that he meant to throttle the younger man then and there. She cried out to the earl, but he gave no sign of hearing her. His attention was focused entirely upon Lionel.
“What on earth is going on here?” Lady Packwood pushed the hall door wide and took in the scene in one swift, comprehending glance. Sarah, flushing to the roots of her hair, was attempting to restore her gown to its proper order, and Nicholas retained his grip on Lionel as he turned to face his mother. “Release him, Nicky,” she said steadily.
“Not on your life, madam,” Nicholas grated. “I intend to teach him manners. He is coming with me to the stableyard, where I mean to introduce him to the business end of a horsewhip.”
Lionel blanched, going perfectly still in Nicholas’s grasp, much like a terrified rabbit, and Lady Packwood regarded him with undisguised contempt. Then she turned her direct gaze on her angry son.
“I sympathize with your feelings, dear boy, but I cannot allow it,” she said with a touch of regret. “It would upset his father. Lionel,” she went on brusquely, “I am completely disgusted with you. Go upstairs to your bedchamber at once, until I speak with your papa about this.” Lionel looked willing enough to obey her, but since Nicholas had not yet let go of his neckcloth, he was helpless. Lady Packwood met her son’s stubborn gaze with one just as determined. “Release him, Nicholas. At once.” She held his gaze while her will clashed with his, and Sarah felt a tension in the air so tactile it seemed something must snap before it would ease.
Nicholas sighed. “Very well, madam, since it means so much to you.” He let go, and Lionel scrambled away to the door. But then, he nearly ruined everything, for he paused on the threshold, safely behind his stepmother, and turned back.
“Sarah wanted it, my lady. I know she did. She—”
Nicholas took a threatening step toward him, and he fled. Lady Packwood laid a restraining hand on her son’s arm. “Let him go, Nicky. I’ll attend to him, never fear. He shan’t annoy her again.”
“No, that he will not,” Nicholas confirmed in a tight voice, “for he is going to pack his bags and get out just as fast as he can manage it. I’ll not tolerate that puppy’s presence here one second longer than necessary.” He paused and gave his mother an apologetic look before proceeding. “I don’t mean to cause difficulties for you, Mama. If it can be managed in such a way that you and Sir Percival need not go with him, I should like you to remain as long as it suits you to do so.”
Lady Packwood smiled at him. “It would have been very improper for you to horsewhip him, you know, though I am glad to discover that, in certain instances, you can still be swayed by emotion and not always ruled by propriety. Let me talk to Lionel and then to his father. I shall have to contrive a bit, perhaps, but I doubt it will be beyond my talents.”
“I doubt anything is beyond your talents, ma’am,” her son said, lifting one of her carefully manicured hands to his lips. “If it will help, I will place my post chaise at your service.”
“I shall keep your kind offer in mind,” she said with a wink. “Sarah dear, don’t stand like a stock. Go wash your face, and get that Betsy of yours to fix you a cup of tea.”
She left and Sarah, still in her corner, watched Nicholas warily. He made no move to approach her, merely wiping a hand across his brow. “How did it happen?”
She realized she had been holding her breath and let it out slowly. “He was here, in that chair, while you … while we were talking before.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t see him. He said he wanted to marry me.”
“What!”
She nodded. “To protect me from you. He said he would take me to France, that no one would care about the proprieties there.” Her lips twitched as she remembered Lionel’s exact words.
Nicholas stared as though he thought she might be mocking him, but she nodded again, and he frowned. “Coxcomb!”
“He was very sure of himself, sir. He seemed to think I would welcome his advances, that I was just flirting when I tried to rebuff him.”
“Where would he get such a notion?” Nicholas demanded, staring at her suspiciously again. Sarah’s temper flared.
“Well, he didn’t get it from me!” she retorted hotly. “He tried playing off his stupid tricks once before, whilst we were riding, and I said I would speak to your mama if he didn’t behave himself. That stopped him cold, I can tell you, and he can’t have thought I would say such a thing just to lead him on!”
There was amusement in his eye now. “No,” he conceded, “that is not the usual strategy. But you cannot deny, Countess, that he has been watching you these past days like a hungry puppy, whilst you have done little to dissuade him.”
“No, for he was not bothering me—only watching, as you say—and I had no wish to cause a scene that would upset her ladyship or Sir Percival.”
“It might have been better for all of us if you had,” he suggested gently.
“It might have been better for all of us,” she retorted, “had you been content to say your piece on the front steps instead of hailing me before such an audience!”
Nicholas put back his head and laughed. “Oh, Countess, you take the honors this time. What a thing to say!”
Sarah only grinned at him in passing, as she made her way to the terrace door, intending to follow Lady Packwood’s advice. She felt Nicholas’s eyes on her back as she left, but she did not turn, nor did she see him again before dinner.
Lady Packwood announced then that, since Lionel was pining for the delights of London (having, in fact, been too blue-
deviled to come down to dinner), Sir Percival had agreed to take him up to the metropolis himself on the morrow and see him established while, at the same time, attending to the business that awaited him there. Her ladyship, feeling that she would only be a nuisance to gentlemen intent upon gentlemen’s matters, meant to stay on at Ash Park, if dear Nicky would have her, until Sir Percival returned, at which time they would, if the mood was right, set off directly for the Continent.
Thanks to Lionel’s absence, the mood at the table was not nearly so strained as Sarah had feared it might be; nevertheless, the gaiety of past evenings was missing. She noted Colin’s gaze upon her more than once and thought he looked a bit under par, but she assumed idly that it must be her own attitude and everyone else’s affecting his.
The ladies adjourned to the library, and Nicholas followed soon after, informing his mother that Sir Percival had stepped outside to blow a cloud. The conversation seemed to lag, and Sarah was just thinking of bidding everyone else good night when the hall door opened and Colin stepped in, looking very uncomfortable indeed. His eyes sought out his uncle, who was leaning against the mantel shelf, and he swallowed hard before blurting, “Please, Uncle Nick, it was all my fault!”
XIV
THERE WAS A MOMENT of stunned silence while the four adults looked at the boy in astonishment. He had been sent off to bed as usual after dinner, and although several of those present might have suspected he would not be asleep, none expected him to seek out his uncle in such a way. Nicholas recollected himself first.
“What is all your fault?” Colin hesitated and looked so miserable that Sarah wished she could help him but, knowing she
could not, kept silent. He glanced at her, then back at his uncle. “Would you prefer to speak to me privately?” Nicholas inquired gently.
“Yes … no, sir,” the boy amended, lifting his chin. “It wouldn’t be right. Cousin Sarah should know, and I don’t mind Gram or Miss Penny. But you’re going to be angry,” he added bluntly.
“Then you’d best get it over with so that we may all be comfortable again, don’t you agree?”
Colin nodded slowly, one hand rather nervously plucking at a coat button. He opened his mouth once or twice and glanced at Sarah again, but no words came.
“Has it to do with Lionel?” Nicholas asked quietly.
Colin’s eyes flew to his, and his mouth opened slightly. He swallowed again and nodded. “Yes, sir. He said he has to leave and that it’s my fault, that because of me he insulted Cousin Sarah.” This time he looked toward his grandmother, but his gaze quickly returned to his uncle. Nicholas was frowning, and Colin bit his lip.
“How does he think it your fault?” Nicholas asked finally. “What did you do?”
Colin took a deep breath. “It was just ragging, because he was so nutty on Cousin Sarah, and I never meant anything to come of it. I guess he’s a bit sillier than I thought.”
“Lionel is very silly,” inserted his grandmother calmly, “but you have not explained things very well, you know. I expect your uncle wishes to know precisely what you said to him.”
“Precisely,” Nicholas agreed, shooting a speaking look at his mother. Sarah realized that Lady Packwood had spoken up in hopes of preventing Nicholas from barking at the boy, and it was clear from his look that Nicholas also realized it. Miss Penistone seemed to be giving all her attention to the piece of fancy work in her lap.
