by Cheryl Holt
“I can’t have that. You must release the room and stay with us.”
Nicholas peeked over at Sarah and said, “I couldn’t impose.”
“I insist,” Mildred responded. “I have two empty bedrooms, and you must use one of them. After all, I nagged at you so you’d come.”
“You didn’t nag.”
“I encouraged you, didn’t I? When you had other plans?”
“Yes, but it will be much more interesting to dawdle with you than whatever else I might have done instead.”
“It’s settled then. Bring your things by tomorrow at ten. We’ll be expecting you.” Mildred gestured to the street. “Now then, let’s be off, and it’s a short distance to our residence. Would you escort us, Mr. Swift? That way, you’ll know where we’re located.”
“I’d be delighted, Miss Farnsworth.”
“You shall call me Mildred.”
“I will, and you must call me Nicholas.”
“I will, and I’m so happy,” Mildred said. “This will be the best summer ever. I’m sure of it.”
She started off, and Sarah and Nicholas followed after her. They were holding hands, strolling along as if they were devoted sweethearts.
Sarah’s pulse was racing as she tried to figure out if she was glad or not to have Nicholas move into the house. As with every other issue regarding Mildred’s choices, it was up to Mildred—and not Sarah—to select what would occur.
If Mildred invited a guest, it wasn’t Sarah’s place to complain. She was excited, but terrified too. She and Nicholas shared such a potent attraction, and it seemed dangerous for them to be in such close proximity. For once, she wasn’t certain she could control herself and behave as she ought. Who could have guessed she had such reckless tendencies?
He must have sensed her dismay for he leaned in and whispered, “It will be all right.”
With those words murmured in her ear, she was willing to believe him. It would be more than all right. In fact, she was positive it would be tremendously grand.
CHAPTER SIX
Mildred was in the front parlor of her rented house. It was June, but it was a cool evening, and she had a fire burning in the fireplace. It was late, after midnight, and she was finishing her third glass of wine so her inhibitions were lowered and her urge to babble acute.
Her thoughts were awhirl over recent decisions she shouldn’t have made. She had no business pushing a romance between Sarah and Nicholas, but she couldn’t resist. Nothing good would come of it, but so what?
Nicholas was so much like her dear Robert Stone, and when she looked at him she remembered being eighteen again and wildly in love with the wrong boy.
Her appointment with Dubois had been riveting, and it had left her more forlorn than she usually was. She was dying for company, dying to have a friend who would understand the paths she’d walked in her life. Her father and brother had refused to empathize, and Clayton definitely didn’t. She’d never had a person she could trust with her innermost demons.
Occasionally, she confided in her childhood neighbor, Winston Winthrop, but while he pretended to commiserate, he didn’t really. He was simply a kind man who listened when she needed to talk.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and she glanced over to see Sarah enter. She was wearing a nightgown and robe, floppy wool socks on her feet, her pretty blond hair down and brushed out.
Mildred was feeling particularly nostalgic so it was the very worst moment for Sarah to appear. She doubted Sarah would judge or condemn her, but who could be certain?
“Mildred,” she said, “why are you sitting in the dark all by yourself?”
“It’s not dark. The fire is putting off plenty of heat and light.”
“I couldn’t sleep. How about you?”
“No.”
“I finally decided to write to my sisters again, but there’s no paper in the desk in my room. I’m here to pilfer some if I can find any.”
“Have you heard back from your first letters?”
“No, but it’s much too soon. I’m so delighted to be working for you, and I’m eager to tell them all my news. I can’t hold it in.” She was hovering, nervous about interrupting.
“Pour yourself a glass of wine”—Mildred waved for her to approach—“and tarry with me for a bit.”
“Are you positive you don’t mind?”
“You know me much better by now. If I hadn’t wanted you to join me, I wouldn’t have invited you.”
Sarah chuckled. “You’re correct.”
She went to the sideboard and poured her wine, then she eased into the chair next to Mildred. They sipped their beverages, enjoying the camaraderie. The more time she spent with Sarah the more she liked her, the more she thought that Sarah could have been the daughter she’d never had.
Choices, choices, choices…
“How are you getting along with Mr. Swift?” Mildred asked.
Sarah’s cheeks flushed. “He and I are getting along all too well—much to my chagrin.”
“Romance has blossomed, and it’s already a raging inferno.”
Sarah’s blush deepened. “Yes, that describes it: a hot, intense inferno.”
“Have you ever had a genuine amour?”
“I’ve never had an ungenuine one.”
“You and I will have to have a chat about men and important details that maidens are never allowed to learn. It will keep you out of trouble.”
Sarah laughed and fanned her face. “You’re embarrassing me, and I feel like a strumpet.”
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed about an attraction to a scalawag like Nicholas Swift. It’s perfectly understandable, but you have to be careful.”
“I know. I’ve been scolding myself for letting my infatuation flare.”
“He’s not the sort to grow fond. I interrogated him at Clayton’s party. He’s a confirmed bachelor, and he doesn’t have any money.”
“He’s been very clear on those two points.”
“Good. At least that’s out of the way. Now you have to figure out how to stagger through the summer without having your heart broken.”
“I hope he won’t break it.”
“I hope so too, but I wouldn’t count on it. He’s the type who relishes the chase, but who leaves after he catches his prey.”
Sarah wrinkled her nose. “I’d hate to discover he’s that shallow.”
“I’ve been acquainted with many scoundrels. They can’t help themselves.”
“No, I don’t suppose they can.”
“It’s why young ladies have mothers to counsel caution.”
“Are you counseling caution?” Sarah asked. “So far, it’s sounded as if I have your permission to misbehave.”
“I would never counsel caution, but I would suggest you proceed cautiously.”
Sarah cocked her head. “I have no idea what that means.”
“What is your opinion of Mr. Swift staying with us?”
“I’m excited to have the chance to socialize with him, but we shouldn’t be in such close proximity. I’m a tad out of control around him. It’s scaring me.”
“You need to live a little. When will you ever have an opportunity like this again?”
“I’m sure never.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, drinking their wine and pondering Mr. Swift. Mildred probably shouldn’t have welcomed him into the house with Sarah, but with the invitation extended it would be exceedingly rude to rescind it.
“Tell me about Monsieur Dubois,” Sarah said. “He’s a character, isn’t he?”
“He definitely is. I met him eight or nine years ago. He was here at the Midsummer Festival, but he travels constantly. It’s in his blood. He doesn’t like to remain in one place.”
“You don’t…ah…pay him tons of money, do you? I’d be angry if he was taking advantage of you.”
Mildred leaned over and patted Sarah’s knee. “I don’t pay him anythi
ng. We’re friends, and we simply like talking. It’s sweet of you to worry about me though.”
“I’m incredibly worried. Those clairvoyants can be dodgy, and with him being a gypsy…well…”
“He’s not a gypsy—or French. He’s as British as you are, but he likes to pretend. It makes him appear wiser and more mysterious.”
“Yes, I imagine so. I thought he was extremely mysterious.”
“Most of it is an act, and he’s so adept at chicanery he could have had a career on the stage.”
“I agree.”
“And he knows all my secrets. In that regard, he’s like a priest. He’s able to pull out the most amazing confessions.”
“Do you confess sins to him?” As the question popped out, Sarah clapped a hand over her mouth. “I beg your pardon, Mildred. Whatever you discuss with him is none of my business.”
“I don’t mind telling you. I never mention it, and it still seems so real to me—as if it just occurred—even though it’s been thirty years.”
“What is it?”
Mildred smiled. “I had a grand passion with a very inappropriate boy.”
“You’re so unconventional, Mildred. The news doesn’t surprise me.”
“It was much more scandalous than I’ve let on.”
“How scandalous?”
“When I met him, I was betrothed.”
Sarah gasped. “To someone else?”
“Yes, to a respectable, boring dolt who worked for my father. He would have been a suitable husband too, but I tossed him over.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “I’m stunned. In the end, were you…wed to either of them? I could have sworn you told me you were a spinster and not a widow.”
“Yes, I’m a spinster, but if I’d had my druthers, I’d have married Robert and lived happily ever after.”
“Your father put his foot down?”
“Yes, but I refused to listen to him, and Robert and I eloped to Scotland. He chased after us and dragged me home against my will.”
“Oh, Mildred! That’s terrible.”
“It was terrible. I’ve never gotten over it.”
Tears flooded her eyes, but she wouldn’t allow them to fall. She wasn’t usually so maudlin, but every once in awhile she was overly sentimental. Especially with Dubois reading the tarot cards. The past had been dredged to the surface.
Sarah studied her pained expression, and she said, “You’re still grieving.”
“It catches up with me every so often. I’m particularly emotional this evening. I apologize.”
“No, no, don’t apologize. Who was your beau? Robert?”
“Yes. Robert Stone. He was a wastrel who was friendly with my brother at university. He stayed with us for a holiday. There was an instant spark of attraction between us. It seemed silly to fight it, and I was so young. I didn’t grasp the consequences of what I would set in motion.”
“What happened after your father prevented your elopement?”
“He locked me in my room, and when I was finally released Robert had vanished.”
“You never heard from him again?”
“No, and I’ve never discovered why. I’m fairly sure my father bribed him to go away.” She sighed. “I couldn’t accept that he’d forsake me, but such is the folly of youth.”
“Your father bribed him? Would he have abandoned you for money?”
“Maybe. He had no prospects, and he was always scrounging for pennies. He gambled to supplement his income, and my father likely paid him to leave me be.”
“That’s the saddest story ever. Your betrothal must have collapsed.”
“Yes, it was severed, and…ah…there’s a bit more to it.”
“What’s that?”
This was the hardest part to confess. The truth painted her as a Jezebel and proved she was irredeemably wicked. But somehow, she was certain Sarah would understand and wouldn’t judge.
“I had a baby,” she quietly admitted. “A boy.”
“Oh.” There was the longest pause in history, then Sarah asked, “What became of him?”
“Just what you’d suppose. I was sent to an unwed mother’s home, and I had him there. Immediately after his birth, he was taken from me.”
“It must have been devastating for you.”
“I was told he was given up for adoption, but I’ve never been positive that’s what transpired. He might have simply been placed in an orphanage where he’d have passed away early on.” She shrugged. “It’s haunted me—the not knowing.”
“I can imagine.”
“I was never the same afterward, and I missed both of them so desperately. My father and I fought about it until the day he died.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He felt guilty at the end, and he tried to assuage his conscience by bequeathing half his fortune to me, but it didn’t bring my son back.”
It was a bitter pill to swallow, how her father—on his deathbed—had begged forgiveness. She was a Christian so she claimed she’d pardoned him, but she really hadn’t. There was no reason for him to have been so cruel to her, but then he’d been a very cruel man. There were probably daughters in the world who could move beyond such a betrayal, but she wasn’t one of them.
“Is that why you visit clairvoyants like Dubois?” Sarah inquired. “Have you been searching for information about them?”
“Yes. They insist Robert and my boy are alive.” Sarah looked as if she’d insert a word of caution, and Mildred stopped her. “You don’t need to warn me. I recognize that they’re mostly charlatans, and they tell me what I yearn to hear.”
“They tell you you’ll see them again? Is that it?”
“Dubois isn’t certain about Robert—his future is still unfolding—but my son is close by, and I might meet him someday. He said I might not even realize it was him, that we might cross paths in a shop or on the street. But Fate will deliver him to me before it’s all over.”
Sarah stared at her so pityingly, and Mildred understood she sounded like a fool. But she wasn’t daft about any of it. It comforted her to envision them safe and hale.
“How old would your son be this year?” Sarah asked.
“He’s about to turn thirty. Saturday is his birthday.”
“Shall we have a little party for him?”
It was the nicest question she could have posed. “I was planning on it. I always celebrate in a special way.”
Sarah slid off her chair and knelt in front of Mildred. She clasped her hands and said, “This has been a heavy burden for you.”
“Very heavy.”
“You must not talk about it much.”
“Not hardly ever.”
“Well, I’m glad you confided in me, and you can discuss it whenever you’re in the mood. I don’t want you to hold it in anymore.”
“I’d like that. I’d like to talk about both of them—but particularly my son. I’m obsessed with wondering what sort of man he grew to be. It’s why I like Mr. Swift so much. He reminds me of Robert, and he’s about the same age my boy would be.”
“If he’s alive…” Sarah murmured.
“Yes, if he’s alive.”
“We’ll tell ourselves he made it,” Sarah firmly stated, “that he was raised by a kind family, and he’s an upstanding member of the community. Why, he’s probably been married for years. You might have a dozen grandchildren.”
“Wouldn’t it be pretty to think so?” Mildred replied. “You’re a good girl, Sarah. I wish your mother was still with us so she could see how you turned out. Now why don’t you find some of that writing paper and head to bed? Leave an old woman to her wine and her memories.”
Sarah scoffed. “You’re not old, but I will leave you to your memories—so long as you promise not to mope and mourn.”
“I won’t.”
“I doubt I’ll sleep a wink. If you get overly maudlin, knock on my door.”
“I like having that option.” She waved Sarah away. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
Sarah pushed herself to her feet, and she leaned in and kissed Mildred on the cheek. “Don’t be sad.”
“I’m not sad. I’m nostalgic.”
Sarah went to the desk in the corner, found some paper, then started out. From the vestibule, she glanced back at Mildred, and she was grinning from ear to ear.
“Just so you know,” she said, “I drank the love potion Dubois gave me.”
“You scamp! I figured you’d throw it away.”
“Mr. Swift and I shared it.”
“Oh, dear me. I realize you don’t believe in Dubois’s magic, but he has unexplainable powers. You might be in for a wild ride.”
“I might be.” Sarah winked. “I’ll keep you posted!”
“You’d better.”
Mildred sighed with satisfaction. It would be a summer of romance, and she was excited to learn how it would unfurl.
* * * *
Nicholas dropped his portmanteau on the bed, then peered out the window into the rear garden. Mildred’s house was centrally located, perfect for walking, socializing, and attending dances and other events. The yard was small, fenced in by hedges and surrounded by other houses.
There was an alley in the back with a convenient gate so he could slip in and out without being noticed. If circumstances became too uncomfortable, he could sneak away without anyone noting his departure.
Why had he accepted her invitation? He had schemes running on her and Sarah so it was insane to stay with them. Then again, his schemes would be brought to fruition much sooner if he was in close proximity.
He thought about Sarah, about their stirring kisses and the love potion they’d drunk. He had no business flirting with her. She had no boon to offer except her virginity, and he would never demand that. It wasn’t worth the complications that could arise, unless of course he decided to pursue the wager with Lady Middlebury.
Could he ruin Sarah for twenty pounds? No. He was a craven cad and charlatan, and he should have ignored Lady Middlebury when she’d suggested the bet. But he’d been afraid—if he’d declined—she’d have approached the others in the room.
