Lady Sarah's Redemption

by Beverley Eikli

  Interrupting James discussing his latest horseflesh with Colonel Marshall, Sarah asked if they’d seen her.

  “Heading for the balcony not long ago,” replied the colonel. “Couldn’t believe me eyes when she was pointed out as Lady Venetia’s gel. Already rivalling her mother in the looks department, and it’d appear Sir Richard’s as taken with her as he was with the mother.” He cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, Lady Sarah. Forgot you’d spent time under their roof.”

  Sarah hadn’t waited for his apology. Almost running, she jostled her way through the crowd in the direction of the balcony.

  Why had Caro not listened to her?

  Because she thought Sarah had abandoned her with empty promises?

  Perhaps an opportunity had afforded itself which, to the impulsive Caro, seemed too good to resist.

  She heard voices on the other side of the door which led outside. With her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure she was not being observed. She had almost pushed the door open by the time she registered the incredible sight in the ballroom behind her.

  Roland was one of three gentlemen conversing in a knot in the middle of the room. Three gentlemen and one lady - if Kitty of the Hollingsworth nunnery could be called a lady.

  Sarah froze.

  Dressed in an elegant evening gown of lilac silk with roses upon the flounce, her dark hair curled at the front and drawn up in a modish topknot of ringlets, Kitty looked the epitome of the well-bred young lady she was obviously at pains to emulate. The three gentlemen were talking amongst themselves with the occasional nod of acknowledgement at Kitty who smiled expansively.

  Kitty and Roland?

  Sarah’s amazement turned to confusion tinged with anger. Not even Roland would be brazen enough in his pursuit of egalitarianism to bring Kitty to a society ball. Especially not when his daughter was making her come-out.

  Jealousy vied with common sense.

  What was he playing at? And who was the Cyprian with the violent orange ringlets James had mentioned?

  At that moment Roland glanced up and caught her eye.

  Then, he smiled.

  It was such a candid, warm, transparent smile Sarah was nearly undone. All her doubts and anxieties vanished upon the instant.

  The gentle murmur of the room dulled to nothing, the moving throng of colour became a muted haze. Sarah was conscious only of the warmth reflected in his eyes, and the unbreakable bond between them. Seemingly physical, it spanned the distance from her heart as she stood upon the threshold of the balcony, to Roland, half a room away.

  He raised his glass in a silent toast and his eyes crinkled in a smile. Slowly and clearly, he mouthed, “I love you.”

  Then Caro screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THERE WAS LITTLE gratification in seeing Sir Richard pale and mute with shock as Sarah thrust open the double doors to the balcony.

  Within seconds she became one of seemingly dozens of onlookers. Murmuring, they gaped at Caro who stood with her back against the stone balustrade, facing Sir Richard.

  Caro was badly compromised. Sarah imagined Roland’s devastation. His own daughter, compromised by Sir Richard? It would be more than he could bear. No man of honour or loving father could let this go, unchallenged.

  She watched Caro remove her hands from her tear-stained face and open her mouth.

  To condemn Sir Richard?

  So she had gone ahead with her foolhardly plan, giving her father no recourse but to defend her reputation through pistol or sword, thereby regaining his manhood in the process.

  Except that Roland had no need to regain his manhood. He had matters well under control.

  Sarah did not need this. Not when happiness was so nearly within her grasp. Well, she was not prepared to stand by and watch Roland shot through the heart or forced into exile for taking honour to extremes.

  “Caro,” she cried, sweeping forward to envelop the girl in her arms so as to stifle the anticipated diatribe. “It was such a little spider.”

  She raised her eyes to Roland, who’d just appeared, as she crushed Caro’s face against her shoulder. Then, as if unaware of the crowd of goggling onlookers that flanked him, explained, “Caro and I were taking the air when Sir Richard stepped onto the balcony … just as a great, big, ugly spider suspended itself from the lintel. You know Caro’s feelings about spiders. I went to find something with which to kill it.”

  Caro struggled within her grasp but Sarah was not about to release her. Not until Sir Richard was gone.

  With a look of studied exasperation, she smiled at the man who had humiliated and ruined her, forcing down her nausea at the sight of his hooded eyes, wary and cold. How well she remembered them glinting with lascivious speculation, before he’d coldly condemned her to social isolation. “My apologies, Sir Richard” — she stroked Caro’s hair — “ou must have imagined you were walking in upon a couple of wild women.” With a shaky laugh, she turned back to Caro.

  How empowered she felt at the sight of his confused silence. By taking the offensive, Sarah had put him on the back foot.

  Responding to Sarah’s silent signal, Roland bowed him out, together with the remaining guests, then came to stand at her side. “What is the meaning of all this?” He sounded angry, but uncertain, also.

  Caro wrenched herself free of Sarah’s embrace and faced her old governess with blazing eyes.

  “You ruined everything!” she hissed. “I thought you loved my father!”

  “I love him too much for you to risk his life with your hare-brained scheme,” Sarah said, her expression softening as she turned it upon Roland. Caro, fiery and impetuous, as ever, would thank her for it, later. “Now come, it’s freezing out here.”

  “Gratified though I am by all this talk of love,” said Roland, as they stepped into the warmth, “I would appreciate an explanation.” He tilted Caro’s head up with a finger beneath her chin, adding, “Though I shudder to think what your ‘plan’ involved.”

  He shepherded them into a deserted passage just off the ballroom. Old Masters stared down at them. Sarah moved to Roland’s side, standing so close their bodies touched. A frisson of electricity charged through her reinforced by a surge of exultation as she felt Roland stiffen with similar awareness.

  “Caro was concerned you were in the grip of a crisis of masculinity” — she was unable to resist stroking his sleeve — “resulting from your inability to defend us at the Hollingsworth’s.”

  Roland glanced between the two women. “Caro is very perceptive,” he said, “but it is not for her — or you, Sarah — to manufacture a situation whereby I can demonstrate my — er — manhood.”

  He sighed, the noise of muted gaiety just beyond the double doors. “I want justice as badly as you, but a public justice, more meaningful than that wrought at the end of a sword.” He turned to his daughter. “Caro, if I were to demand satisfaction, what do you suppose might happen to me — and to the rest of you? Do you know what a crack shot Sir Richard is reckoned to be?”

  “Such modesty,” Sarah murmured. She was well aware of Roland’s skill with a pistol.

  Roland pulled out a snowy handkerchief and offered it to his snivelling daughter. “Now dry your tears,” he said, gently, “and look at me. I have a request, but if you feel you’re not strong enough to oblige me, I’ll ask Lady Sarah.”

  They looked at him, enquiringly.

  “I have brought a companion with me tonight who will entertain the audience with a piece that has been” - he slanted a smile in Sarah’s direction – “carefully prepared. I had hoped, Caro, you might accompany her on the pianoforte.”

  Caro didn’t immediately pick up the nuance. Her recent humiliation was too fresh.

  But Sarah clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Why, Caro, you can play almost anything by sight and you’ve gained such confidence since that evening I instructed you in deportment.” Gripping Roland’s arm, she went on, “You may recall it. I had borrowed one of y
our late wife’s gowns for the occasion.”

  To her surprise he seemed reluctant to meet her look as he murmured with feeling, “I remember it well.”

  “Only I believe I did such a clever job at pretending to be your late wife, you actually believed I was your late wife, returned from the dead.”

  Roland made a pretence of adjusting her hand upon his sleeve. “That kiss was for you,” he said in a low voice, bending his head so his lips brushed her ear, “though it took me a while to admit it to myself.”

  She shivered at his touch, detaining him with a sly whisper, “Are you sure you didn’t wish it was Venetia? It cannot have escaped you that my response was not exactly lacklustre.”

  He drew himself up and regarded her in silence. Then with quiet deliberation, he told her, “I’ve never wished you were Venetia. That was the evening” — he had difficulty uttering the words — “you broke through my defences and it was all over for me.” He glanced at his daughter. “I was ashamed at how I scandalized and upset you, Caro,” he said. “But that was the evening I realized I was unable to live without your governess.”

  Caro blushed. “I know.”

  Sarah’s heart swelled and she nestled closer to Roland. They were only a few feet from the double doors that opened into the ballroom. Anyone might appear but she didn’t care.

  Roland leant down to cup her face in both his hands. His voice was soft but urgent as he said, “If this evening does not go as planned, Sarah, you are still betrothed to James.”

  “No, Roland—”

  He stayed her protest with a finger to her lips.

  “This song,” Caro interrupted, frowning, oblivious now to her elders. “Papa, if you don’t think it too difficult I’m prepared to court the embarrassment of a poor rendering.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Let me reassure you, Caro, your skill will not be under scrutiny.” Then, as he pushed the doors open and they stepped across the threshold, he added, “I have worked very hard these last weeks to ensure the audience’s attention will be focused elsewhere.”

  Anticipation thrummed through Sarah’s veins. What on earth could have inspired Roland with such expectation and fear of failure, in equal measure?

  Since none of the guests this evening was inclined to engage her in conversation she sought out Kitty, who remained quietly within the ranks of the three gentlemen with whom Roland had been conversing, earlier.

  “Kitty?”

  Kitty’s eyes widened. “Ssh, m’lady. I ain’t s’posed to speak English.”

  Sarah took her arm and drew her aside.

  “I’m s’posed to be a Polish princess,” she said in response to Sarah’s look of enquiry. “’Twere Mr Hawthorne wot said I could come.” She gave a beatific smile as she clasped her hands to her scrawny chest. “Said was there anything I wanted above all else in the world and I told him, ‘to go to a grand ball like a princess and see real diamonds, only I know the likes o’ me wouldn’t never see summat like that.’ ”

  “You wanted to go to a ball more than be free of the Hollingsworths?” Sarah asked in amazement.

  “That’s what Mr Hawthorne asked, too. I told him, ’course I wanted that, only that weren’t never going to happen while that piece of paper gave them such a hold on me.”

  Sarah smiled. “What did he say to that?”

  “Said he reckoned he could find a man o’ law who’d be able to look into that piece of paper and do a deal with the Hollingsworths what would release me shortly.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Fact is, he reckons his lawyer chap’ll have it all organized within the next few days. Then he said he wanted me to come to this ’ere ball tonight and paid for me dress.” Reverently, she touched the folds of her lilac skirts. As she returned her attention to Sarah, she added hastily, “Weren’t in the way of payment, like, m’lady, as in I weren’t required to do nuffink in return.” Frowning, she added, “My fine gown weren’t, leastaways.”

  “And your friend’s finery was?” Despite James’s allegations Sarah was not perturbed.

  “Well, a bit of bartering went on, I guess—” Kitty shot Sarah a puzzled stare. “Mr Hawthorne told you already? He said it were to be a grand surprise. Me lips were buttoned ’pon pain ’o death.”

  “I was only guessing, Kitty. Just like my guess is that your friend is a striking redhead.”

  “That’s right, I’d forgot you’d met Queenie, then, M’lady. Didn’t think you’d ’ad the pleasure.” Kitty smiled ingenuously. “She’s the star attraction this evening and weren’t to show herself ’til she steps out and” - she took a deep breath and frowned, memorizing the words “‘strikes awe and admiration into the ’earts of all who behold ’er.’ ” She gave a decisive nod. “Oh, yes, and the fear o’ God, too. That’s quotin’ Mr Hawthorne.”

  “Sarah—” It was James at her elbow. He bowed to Kitty.

  “James, this is Princess-”

  “Anna Pawlak,” Kitty supplied quickly as Sarah explained, “I’ve been naming various personages to her this evening, though she speaks no English.”

  Before James could respond, Roland joined them. “I believe the entertainment is about to begin.” He sounded calm, almost bored and Sarah struggled to stifle all signs of her almost unbearable excitement. What could he have up his sleeve?

  James gave a longsuffering sigh. “Lord, I wonder what Lady Ponsonby has on the bill this evening: Miss Lavinia Longbotton swooning over her Child Harolde recitation?”

  Roland gave Sarah a colluding look. “I think the evening promises something a little less insipid.”

  James’s eyes narrowed. “Hawthorne, might I remind you that Lady Sarah and I are to be married within the sennight. I trust you weren’t offended at not receiving an invitation—”

  “Not at all,” Roland reassured him. “I’d rather stoke the fires of Hell.”

  “Good Lord—”

  Bowing, Roland turned to leave then checked himself. “My apologies, Fleming. That was discourteous. Nevertheless, I would ask to resume the subject of Lady Sarah’s nuptials when tonight’s entertainment has finished. Excuse me, Lady Ponsonby is signalling, for I’ve the duty of introducing tonight’s guest of honour.” His gaze caught and held Sarah’s. Impulsively, he clasped her hand.

  “Lady Sarah, my protégé, Miss Queenie Featherlove is performing a work, composed by me, in your honour.” He hesitated and there was urgency in his tone as he added, “Listen closely, for it is my sincerest desire that her words find their way to your heart.”

  Before James could respond with justified outrage, he put out a hand to his worthy competitor.

  “Captain Fleming,” he said, “though I deplore your politics as you do mine, we do share a common interest: Lady Sarah’s happiness. As one man of honour to another, may I be allowed a final opportunity to determine the lady’s feelings with regard to myself?” He sent Sarah a heartfelt look. “At the conclusion of tonight’s entertainment that will no longer seem so outrageous a request.”

  James responded with brittle pride. “I assure you, Lady Sarah’s happiness is paramount. I doubt you can convince me you are the better man, Hawthorne. But if you can convince Lady Sarah—”

  A hush fell upon the audience as Roland strode onto the dais. Then a surprised murmur rippled through the crowd.

  “Good Lord!” breathed James.

  “Heavens! I don’t believe—” gasped a woman near Sarah.

  Sarah couldn’t help but silently agree. Queenie Featherlove was eye-catching, there was no doubt about that. Despite the costly accoutrements, including a spectacular string of pearls Sarah reckoned cost more than the diamonds worn by the duchess to her right, she made no secret of her trade. The way she thrust her bosom forward as she adjusted her plunging neckline, the turquoise feathers of her headdress swaying wildly, made no secret of her pride in it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Miss Featherlove crooned in a throaty but carrying tone, her arms sweeping wide to embrace the audience, “it is my pleasure
tonight to sing for you a song composed especially to honour a dear friend of mine—” She twisted her head as if searching for someone. When her gaze alighted upon Sir Richard she gave a dazzling smile.

  “Sir Richard, you were not leaving, I trust? My song is for you.”

  Caught like a rabbit in a shaft of light, Sir Richard appeared to deliberate. His route to the open double doors was cut off as the interested crowd closed in.

  A prostitute performing publicly in honour of a baronet? It was unprecedented. Not least cause for curiosity verging on scandal was the fact that Roland Hawthorne, an MP known for his radical egalitarianism, was promoting the woman and the entertainment.

  Caro made her way to the piano, Sarah joining her to turn the pages. Like the rest of the crowd that evening, they gasped as Miss Featherlove named the personage she honoured. Then they smiled at one another.

  “Better than swords?” whispered Sarah.

  Caro nodded as she sank onto the stool and struck the first chord. “Better than swords,” she concurred, softly.

  Miss Featherlove inclined her head in response to the musical introduction before launching into her song in a fine, strong contralto, her peacock feathers trembling with emotion.

  Dickie Byrd sat in an old fir tree,

  Gloating over his spoils, he rubbed his hands with glee,

  Laugh, Dickie Byrd, laugh, there’s plenty more money.

  There was appreciable movement in the audience as people strained their necks to search out the hapless Sir Richard. From her elevated position to one side of the dais, Sarah could just see him, a lone figure scrutinized by the crowd. His hooded eyes roamed over Miss Featherlove before apparently seeking Roland, and his thin lips curled in a snarl as he ran a finger around his neck to loosen his cravat.

  Dickie Byrd promised an equal half to me,

  “To feather your nest,” he said tenderly.

  Laugh, Queenie, love, laugh,

  Together we’ll have so much money.