“How did you meet my son?” the Lady asked softly. She’d finally found her voice and the inquisition had begun.
“He was a friend of my brother, Albert. They met during their travels, as I believe Gabriel wrote to you in his letters,” Sarah answered honestly. “Albert died in America, and Gabriel felt the need to inform me personally of his passing. The information came a bit late, for I already knew. What I didn’t know was that my brother had betrothed me to Gabriel. His arrival at my cottage with that news took me by surprise.”
“When did you wed?” They started up the marble staircase.
“Three days ago.”
“And how long have you known Gabriel?” The Lady turned them right at the top of the stairs.
“Three days.” She briefly explained to the countess about her home, her situation, and their nonexistent courtship.
Lady Seymour’s steps faltered and she stopped. She quickly caught herself and turned to face Sarah. Her eyes were troubled but not unkind. “Do you love my son?”
Sarah had a choice. The truth or a lie. The truth was easier to manage. If Gabriel had wanted her to fib about their grand love affair, he should not have left her alone with his mother. “I do not know your son well enough to form an opinion one way or another.”
This brought a small smile. “You are honest, Sarah. May I call you Sarah? We stand on a shocking lack of formality in this household.”
“Please.” Sarah was beginning to suspect that Lady Seymour was more than just a wealthy woman in a very expensive gown. Either she was as warm as Sarah had seen when she greeted her son, or a spider waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting fly.
Her.
At the moment, she thought the latter. Time would tell if her observation proved correct.
They stopped in front of a door in the middle of a long hallway. Lady Seymour frowned. Then she stepped across the hallway, opened a second door, and led Sarah inside.
The room was tastefully decorated in shades of pale blue and white, with just enough frills to give it a feminine feel.
“This is not Gabriel’s room,” Sarah said.
“It is not. His is across the hall.”
Puzzled, Sarah set her valise on the floor. “I assumed we would share a room. I believe that my parents shared theirs.”
Lady Seymour walked to the window and pushed open the curtains. “My son married you without warning and dragged you here, without preparing you for this life. You were denied a proper courtship and a chance to marry for love. I find the situation appalling.” She walked back to Sarah. “When, and if, you choose to share a room with my son, it will be your choice, not his.”
The countess moved to the open doorway. “If I were you, my dear Sarah, I would make him work for that right.”
The Lady left her.
Stunned, Sarah reflected on the countess’s words. Had she already made an unlikely ally here in the town house? Unless she’d mistaken the meaning, Lady Seymour expected Gabriel to court her as if they had not already spoken their vows.
This was an interesting thought. Courted by her husband? She wondered what Gabriel would think of such a notion.
Sarah set her valise on the bed and began unpacking when a maid arrived. The woman was well into her twenties with a round, pleasant face and a stout frame.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Harrington. I am Flora. I will be your lady’s maid.” She curtsied. “My Lady asked me to make your stay pleasant.” She glanced at the contents laid out on the bed. After a cursory examination, and several “oh dear’s,” the maid took matters into her capable hands.
The next hour was met with a flurry of activity as two other maids arrived to assist Flora. Sarah was stripped and put into a hot bath. The soap had the scent of oranges and exotic flowers. It was delightful, a decadent treat. Sarah sighed loudly, in a most unladylike way. This caused the younger maids to giggle.
Flora leveled on them a scolding glare. They went back to work, placing an array of womanly items out on the dressing table. A silver brush, perfume, creams, everything made to pamper. Flora placed a dress on the bed, a fetching concoction of yellow and lace.
“Lady Seymour found this in Lady Brenna’s old room,” the woman explained. “There are several dresses for you to use until your new wardrobe has been ordered and delivered. I hope you like yellow?”
“I do like yellow.” At this moment, the dress could be a ghastly mix of orange, blue, and pink, and she’d find it more palatable than the gowns she’d brought with her.
With the bath concluded, the maids helped her from the tub, dried and fluffed her. Flora trimmed her hair and put the brown mass into an attractive twist at her nape. Once dressed, Flora turned her toward the mirror. Sarah’s breath caught.
“You have made a miracle, Flora,” Sarah said. She almost did not recognize herself. Though no grand beauty, she did look rather pretty.
“You must not doubt yourself, Mrs. Harrington,” the maid replied. “You just needed a bit of help.”
Sarah laughed and Flora flushed, as if suddenly realizing she’d both insulted and complimented Sarah in the same breath.
“Oh, Mrs. Harrington. I did not mean—”
Sarah cut her off with a wave of her hand. “No insult was taken. I did look a bit of a fright. I am unused to dressing for anything. My appearance was dull indeed.”
The maids smoothed the dress and declared her fit for a late lunch with the family. Sarah pulled in a deep breath for courage as Flora led her to the staircase where Lady Seymour was waiting below. Sarah joined her on the landing. The countess smiled.
“My, don’t you look lovely,” the Lady said and took her arm. “Gabriel will be pleased.”
Sarah put her free hand over her fluttering stomach. This was the first challenge to her mettle.
“You need not worry about being overwhelmed by family,” Lady Seymour said. “Simon and Brenna are married and gone, and Lord Seymour is out of town until tomorrow. It is just us three for lunch.”
The words gave her some comfort. They entered the dining room and the maid brought tea. Unable to think of a single topic on which to converse with the countess, Sarah walked to the buffet and examined the food. There was enough to feed a family for a full week.
Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until this moment.
“There you are, darling,” Lady Seymour said from behind her.
Turning, Sarah expected to see her burly husband in animal hide. Instead, a man, a very, very, handsome man, stood in the open doorway, bedecked in black but for a crisp white shirt and cravat. Her breath caught.
Dumbstruck by his male beauty, Sarah scanned her eyes down his tailored clothing to his polished boots, and back up again. His face was clean-shaven and his hair trimmed neatly, if not a bit long at the collar. Whoever he was, Sarah was certain that he could give her husband tips on proper grooming.
She did not realize she’d been staring like a ninny until she heard Lady Seymour laugh. The man smiled at Sarah’s discomfiture, showing a set of very nice teeth. Her heart fluttered and her face warmed.
The countess cleared her throat and stepped toward the man to take him by the hand. She led him to where Sarah stood. The scent of sandalwood and spice teased her senses.
“Sarah, I’d like to introduce you to my son, Gabriel Alexander Harrington.”
Chapter Four
At first, Sarah thought Lady Seymour was playing a prank at her expense. However, when he reached out and took her hand, and she looked into his familiar green eyes, she knew this perfect male specimen was indeed her husband.
Her knees knocked and her mind went blank. He kissed her hand and the crinkles around his eyes deepened with his smile.
“The shock of seeing me thus has overwhelmed my wife,” he teased. “I fear she might swoon.”
Sarah’s spine st
iffened. “I do not swoon,” she said quite breathlessly, and not entirely certain that swooning was not in her future. Who would not swoon under his attention?
If she’d thought herself married well above her station before, when he was a scruffy barbarian, his perfect manly perfection served to confirm the notion. Not only was he wealthy and noble, but he was so handsome that beside him, she faded into the background like ancient sun-damaged wallpaper.
Composure, Sarah, composure, she silently scolded. It would not do to present herself as a silly and besotted girl in front of Gabriel. A handsome face did not a man of sterling character make. He could be a gambler, a drunkard, a libertine.
“I am surprised to see you do possess cheeks,” she said, fighting to untangle her tongue.
His chuckle was rich and deep. “Mother found me a razor.”
“I see.” Lud. Why couldn’t he be average? He was much easier to accept as the bear-man. Now she suspected were she to be introduced to society on his arm, everyone would wonder why Gabriel had chosen her, when he could have had his pick among the Ton beauties.
“You look pretty, Sarah,” he said, breaking through her woolgathering.
Sarah blinked. “Pardon?”
“I said, you look pretty. The gown suits you.” He kissed her knuckles again. Her hand tingled where he’d pressed his lips. She had to bite back a ridiculous sigh.
Proper, drab, and shy Sarah Palmer was taken with a man. Everyone she knew from home would find the notion quite amusing. She’d never had a real suitor before. Now she was married to the prince of the castle. No one would believe her good fortune.
If this was indeed good fortune. She wasn’t convinced. However, it would be nice to stare at his handsome face over the dinner table. She’d grown tired of the beard.
“Thank you,” she managed. She knew he was being polite but liked the compliment anyway. When he released her hand, it was all she could do not to fan herself with her fingertips.
Focus, Sarah, she thought. She’d come to London for one reason and it wasn’t to become taken with her husband.
Hoping to hide her flush, she turned back to the buffet as Lady Seymour’s mouth quirked. “Now that you two have properly met, let us eat,” the countess said. “I am famished.”
Sarah made her selection, careful to keep her eyes averted from Gabriel, and spent the meal pushing her food around on her plate. Her fluttering stomach made eating difficult. Thankfully, neither her husband nor Lady Seymour seemed to notice as Gabriel regaled them with stories of his travels.
“You really rode a camel?” the countess asked.
“I did,” Gabriel answered. “He was a humorless beast. And he smelled like you’d expect a camel to smell. Unpleasant. I also rode a donkey and was almost eaten by a crocodile, if not for the quick thinking of our guide who snatched me from the beast’s great jaws.”
“Oh dear,” Lady Seymour said, aghast. “Perhaps you should tell me no more. I do not think I want to hear that story.”
“Then you will probably not want to hear about the tribe of Amazon natives that wanted to eat Albert and me for dinner?”
Lady Seymour paled. “Can you not come up with a story that does not involve you almost getting consumed?”
Gabriel laughed. “Most of my best stories revolve around peril. There are many places in the world where the citizens are less than civilized.” He winked at Sarah. She flushed. “And if I remember correctly, there are society matrons here in London who would certainly fit that description.”
“That is why I am thankful that you are no longer dressed like a savage,” his mother countered. “I cannot imagine the stir that would cause. We have enough scandal in our history without adding to the whispers.”
“I thought you spent all your time in America,” Sarah said.
“There and farther south. The camel belonged to a merchant in San Francisco and the crocodile lived in the Amazon River. You should be happy I did not make a trip to Africa. I hear the crocodiles are much larger there.”
“Please, no more,” his mother begged with a laugh.
Lady Seymour spent the next hour telling him all about the family news. Sarah learned the story of their newly discovered cousin Eva, her duke, and their baby; Simon and his Laura; and Brenna and her husband and son. Added to the tale were the adventures of cousin Lady Noelle and her American husband to complete the picture. By the time the storytelling ended, Sarah was exhausted.
“Your family is very colorful,” she said during a lull.
“They are,” Gabriel replied. “Though I cannot vouch for the spouses, as I have not yet met any of them, I can assure you that the Harringtons are all a lively bunch. They will keep you endlessly entertained.”
She imagined being overwhelmed, most likely. Had her family been alive, she could count them on one hand. And since her aunt died, she’d been alone for two years with only a few neighboring acquaintances to keep her company.
Most people thought her odd, and some thought her too poor to befriend. The rest were just too kind not to offer her a chicken, a bucket of milk, or an occasional conversation.
Never social, now she’d been thrust into a world so unlike what she knew. The whole was simply overwhelming to contemplate. And so far she’d only met Lady Seymour.
Lud, she was a Harrington now, with all the expectations behind the name.
Her hands began to shake. What little food she’d ingested turned to stone in her belly. Fearing the rising rush of panic, she quickly excused herself and hurried to her room, crossed the space, and stared out the window to the street below.
It was not acceptable to break in front of the countess. Showing weakness would be the ultimate humiliation.
From what she’d learned about the family thus far, Harrington women had to be strong, confident, and charming! Could she meet those lofty standards? Not in fifty years!
The marriage would never be successful. Perhaps she could convince Gabriel to return her to the cottage with a small monthly stipend before they grew to hate each other.
They simply did not suit.
Unfortunately, the countess followed her up before she could gather the courage to go off in search of her husband and make the offer to leave London. With a knock on the door, Lady Seymour broke her privacy. Sarah brushed tears from her cheeks and turned away from the window.
“Come sit with me.” Gabriel’s mother sat on the bed. Sarah joined her. The Lady peered into her face for a moment then spoke. “Gabriel told me a few things about your life. After your father’s death and your brother’s disappearance, you spent years trying to survive. According to Gabriel, you were clinging to your existence by the tips of your fingernails.”
“I was.” Sarah straightened. “I suspect that had my brother realized the condition I was in, he would have returned home straightaway.”
“Perhaps. Still, he never should have left you to fend for yourself with only an elderly aunt to watch over you. You’ve been terribly neglected.”
The Lady did have a point. “My aunt had meager funds, and my brother sent some money, though not nearly enough for my upkeep. And our village was so small that prospects for marriage were nearly nonexistent.” She decided to keep her worries about Mister Campbell and his intentions to herself. “Had Gabriel not come for me, I truly do not know how much longer I could have survived.”
Both women knew what may have happened to Sarah in that situation. Women without prospects often met grim fates.
“How old are you, Sarah?” Lady Seymour asked.
“Nineteen.” She felt so much older.
“I did not realize you were so young.” The countess sighed. “Have you ever been to a ball, hosted a party, or danced?” Sarah shook her head. “The Ton will gobble you up should we foist you upon them in this condition. There is much work to do.”
Lady Seymour p
atted her hand. “First, we shop. Tomorrow afternoon we will head to Bond Street and see you refitted from the skin out. Then there will be lessons and more lessons until you have the skills to navigate society.”
Sarah’s hands shook again. The countess took them both in her warm grip. The Lady’s eyes showed good humor. “Do not worry, Sarah. We will take one tiny step at a time.”
After the countess excused herself, Sarah slumped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Lud. Society? Lessons?
What if Gabriel did not agree to send her back to the cottage? What if he wanted her here, at his side, forever?
She could be trapped in this marriage for eternity.
Was she ready to be a Harrington? The idea of being launched on society terrified her. Yet, the idea of cowering in her cottage, rather than facing the challenges ahead of her, was worse. When had she become so fearful of life?
There was something about changing herself from country mouse to Lady that appealed to the feminine side of her.
Gabriel appealed to the feminine side of her.
Dare she imagine he could someday become fond of her? Was there a chance she might both solve the mystery of Father’s death and remain in London, with him?
She ran her hand over the borrowed dress. The fabric was kitten-soft under her touch. Her mind went to balls, parties, and dancing in Gabriel’s arms.
When she’d seen him as a way to get to London, she’d not considered the marriage further than the vows. If her future was that of Mrs. Gabriel Harrington, then she’d have to accept him as her husband and play the part of amiable wife.
Could she settle into that role?
Gabriel would be part of everything in her life from now forward. But what if she fell in love with him? The idea, though difficult to believe, was not an impossibility. He was a charming rogue. The question was, could he fall in love with a church mouse like her?
Not ever, most likely. She was a duty, nothing more.
Her father held her here for now. If she asked to leave London after his case was solved, what would he say?
The Wife He Always Wanted Page 5
