Lady Sarah's Redemption

by Beverley Eikli

  Sarah turned the pages, giving Caro’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she glanced around the room. Some people appeared mesmerized, others distinctly uncomfortable. She guessed there were more than a few gentlemen who had sampled the charms of the inimitable Miss Featherlove.

  The meaning of the song was quite clear and Sir Richard, publicly unmasked for his duplicity, was powerless to refute her musical allegations.

  Miss Featherlove’s massive bulk swayed in time to the tune, her loving glance never once leaving Sir Richard’s pallid countenance.

  Dickie Byrd said: “Use your charm,” Queenie,

  Ferret out those secrets, enticingly,

  Then we can laugh, yes we can laugh, over all that money.

  He was powerless, thought Sarah with a thrill. Just as she had been powerless as his captive. Roland had engineered this situation to liberate her and to grant herself and Caro the satisfaction of seeing their tormentor publicly humiliated. Her heart swelled with pride.

  The Duke of Lomar snuggled up to me,

  Lord Basil Swain and Harry Stokes said: “my dear Queenie,

  How you’d laugh, love,

  How you’d laugh,

  If you knew how we made our money.”

  The murmurs grew and the three men named in Queenie’s song, young blades well known for winning and losing fortunes upon the turn of a card, wiped their sweating brows and fingered their collective stocks as if they needed more air.

  No one, however, looked as uncomfortable as Sir Richard whose compressed lips and narrowed eyes, as he fixed them upon Roland, made no secret of his loathing.

  Sarah was glad of the protection her position on the dais afforded her.

  Across the crowd her eyes locked with Roland’s. Her heart turned a clumsy, lurching somersault before nestling cosily into position. A look of understanding passed between them. Though she was enjoying every minute of this, anticipation clawed at her. Soon Roland could declare himself, publicly.

  Miss Featherlove raised her voice to be heard above the din, snatches of song plunging others into the mire of scandal.

  No matter how much more of Sir Richard’s villainy was revealed in this little ditty, Miss Featherlove’s performance promised a scandal of such proportions he would never be received in respectable society, again.

  Roland’s focus shifted and Sarah’s gaze darted back to Sir Richard. She half expected to see him bolt through the French doors which opened onto the terrace.

  He was half way there already.

  Then he hesitated. She saw him square his shoulders before he turned towards Miss Featherlove. In half a dozen strides he was up the stairs and onto the dais.

  The songstress faltered only briefly as he approached her with angry deliberation. Sarah turned another page of music while Caro continued playing without a false note.

  Only when Sir Richard put his hands to Miss Featherlove’s throat did she falter. Caro stopped playing. The dowager to Sarah’s right gasped.

  “Release Miss Featherlove.” Roland spoke quietly, but his voice reverberated in the sudden silence.

  “I’d rather handle a snake,” Sir Richard ground out, “but perhaps you forget, Hawthorne, that the necklace belongs to me.”

  With a cry, Queenie gripped the pearls as Sir Richard fumbled with the clasp.

  A low excited hum rippled through the crowd.

  “Legally, my late wife’s property is my property,” observed Roland, as he crossed the dais towards them. “You should have thought of that before you bestowed such a handsome gift upon Venetia.”

  Sir Richard’s face contorted with rage. Roughly, he jerked Queenie within the circle of his arm. “I was exiled because of debts incurred procuring Venetia that … tribute to my enduring admiration.”

  “You did more than admire her,” said Roland, calmly. “You became her slave in the process. Do not blame me for that.” Glancing between the audience and his adversary, he indicated the door with a flourish. “I think it’s time to leave, Sir Richard.”

  Sir Richard’s hands dropped from Queenie’s throat. She took an unsteady step backwards.

  “Pistols or swords, Hawthorne.” Very deliberately the baronet flung down one black glove. It landed with a dull thud upon the stage at Roland’s feet.

  Sarah’s heart lurched wildly and her knees went weak. No man of honour would refuse a challenge. Yet this was lunacy. And wasn’t it what Roland had been striving to avoid?

  To her surprise Roland smiled pityingly at Sir Richard.

  “My point has already been proved. Why would I take up arms now that the whole world knows you for the villain you are?” Looking past Sir Richard, Roland found Sarah. In a moment he was at her side. She felt his comforting warmth through the thin fabric of her bead-encrusted muslin evening gown. Longing rippled through her but she fought the urge to sag against him. Let him deal with Sir Richard first.

  “So you are a coward then, Hawthorne?” Sir Richard taunted. “Venetia said as much. How many times were you cuckolded?”

  Fighting her indignation, Sarah pushed Caro back down onto her seat.

  “My late wife’s memory is not under discussion.” Roland refused to be drawn.

  It was clear Sir Richard’s frustration was growing at the infertile ground upon which his taunts were falling. Yet Sarah was conscious of Roland’s tenseness as he called on those reserves of restraint which had served him so well.

  She was equally conscious of Caro’s efforts to restrain herself and prayed the girl did not burst out with something inappropriate. Caro had grown in maturity but she was like a wound-up spring when her emotions were engaged.

  Queenie, now standing half way between Roland and Sir Richard, fingered the pearls nervously. Hardly surprising, observed Sarah, in view of the way Sir Richard was eyeing them. Balefully. As if he would pounce any moment and rip them from around her neck.

  The baronet scratched the side of his large, Roman nose. “Here’s the bargain, Hawthorne. Return my necklace and I’ll not mention the … er … compromising situation in which I found myself with your dear friend, the most delectable Lady Sarah in a certain house of ill repute.”

  Dear Lord, was she going to succumb to a fainting fit at the most inappropriate time of her life? Sarah closed her eyes as she swayed. She wondered how many in the audience would attribute the hot blush that crept up from her neckline as the stain of guilt. Not that it mattered, it would merely endorse what was already accepted as the truth.

  Then she felt the wool of Roland’s coat against her forearm and the surreptitious squeeze of her hand.

  He was giving her strength and courage, just as she had given him the same that night at the Hollingsworths. She stifled a sob as he left her to return to Queenie.

  “Miss Featherlove, I hope you’ll forgive such an ungentlemanly act,” he apologized, as his hands went to the nape of her neck to unclasp her necklace.

  No. Sarah didn’t quite say it. She was shocked, horrified. It didn’t matter, she wanted to say to him. He must not cave in, publicly, on her account.

  She saw Sir Richard’s triumphant sneer as Roland held the pearl necklace like a delicate, sparkling spider’s web, suspended between his hands.

  But the victorious scorn was replaced with confusion, then frustrated outrage as Roland resumed his place at Sarah’s side. Only it was not Sarah he addressed, but a blushing Caro.

  “This belonged to your mother and is, by rights, yours now. Its history is not a happy one but its destiny is yours to decide.”

  Caro rose, slowly. Unable to speak, she stared, first at her father, then at the assembled guests. A movement from Sir Richard made her turn her head.

  Admiringly, Sarah watched as Caro stood her ground for he looked in that moment as if he would wrest the necklace from her grasp if she dared take it.

  Caro put out a tentative hand to touch the pearls then recoiled, as if stung. “No, Papa! I don’t want them!”

  Roland nodded.

  “Sir R
ichard.” He smiled as Sir Richard stepped forwards as if he expected Roland to relinquish them to him, after all.

  “Perhaps, Sir Richard, you wish Lady Sarah to have the pearls as a token of atonement. It was, after all, on your orders that she was detained at the address to which she was directed” - he waited for the excited murmur this inevitably created before continuing - “used as a pawn for vengeance against myself.”

  The low excited murmur grew in volume. Above the din Roland continued, “Lady Sarah should be honoured for her bravery that night.” He shook his head, his expression one of disgust. “Instead, she has been pilloried, her reputation besmirched. She deserves far more than just those pearls, Sir Richard.”

  Sarah clasped her hands to her breast as she gazed about the room. She could almost believe she saw the scales falling from people’s eyes. Even the way Mrs Hawthorne regarded her thoughtfully through narrowed eyes suggested she was reconsidering her opinion of her. Nevertheless, Sarah knew there were many other crimes for which she’d not forgive the former governess.

  James, as if sensing her focus, transferred his fulminating stare from Sir Richard, to Sarah. The smile he sent her made her heart pound with joy and relief so that she nearly missed Roland’s next words. James, like every other person in the room, now saw how things stood with her and Roland. And he condoned.

  “Lady Sarah, unless you object, I would like to give these pearls to Miss Featherlove. They will fund a charitable project patronised by a certain Polish Princess in our midst tonight.”

  “Cor Blimey, sir,” gasped Kitty, blushing fiercely as all eyes turned on her, “if that ain’t arf rich!”

  “No!”

  Turning at Sir Richard’s bellow of rage and gasps from the audience, Roland thrust the pearls at Queenie, sidestepping as Sir Richard barrelled towards him, manic desperation lighting his hooded eyes. Focusing on the pearls, Sir Richard altered his trajectory at the last moment.

  There was barely enough time to act. Queenie screamed as her former lover, face contorted with malevolence, prepared to knock her off her feet and make off with the necklace. With a short, sharp upper thrust Roland sliced his fist into Sir Richard’s jaw. Screaming with pain and rage, Sir Richard crashed to the ground.

  “Can a member of the judiciary help our friend off the stage?” Roland asked.

  A response came from several quarters accompanied by a smattering of applause as Sir Richard was picked up bodily and removed.

  Roland inclined his head. “I look forward to furnishing a statement of events involving our friend’s villainy, however I still have unfinished business with Lady Sarah.”

  He beckoned to her, his gaze full of love as she stepped towards him. Reaching out, he took both her hands and she caught her breath at the jolt of sensation which slammed through her at his touch.

  Trembling, she smiled at him, her heart almost bursting with joy as they locked gazes and she witnessed the depth of his feeling for her.

  “I denied you the pearls because of the evil with which they are associated,” he said clearly, for all to hear, “but I want you to know you have carte blanche to choose whatever baubles take your fancy when we are wed.”

  Sarah intended more than carte blanche with regard to baubles. Roland was hers, now. Hers to love and cherish.

  And to make her feel not only that she had met her match but that she was the luckiest woman on the planet.

  “Caro, a final chord, if you will.”

  As relief and love surged through Sarah, she returned the kindling look in Roland’s eye, squeezing his hands and longing for the crowds to disperse so they could be alone.

  He had staked a great deal on this, she knew. And her answer, though she could not utter a word, was for all to see.

  Caro obliged with an elegant few bars and Roland, flanked by Miss Featherlove and Sarah, drew them towards the centre of the stage.

  Sarah gazed out across the sea of rapt faces, her heart near to bursting. She wished her father could have witnessed Roland’s performance. It would make him revise his assessment of him as a buttoned-up Puritan, she thought. And he’d have appreciated his showmanship.

  Like actors on a stage, Roland raised the two women’s hands in the air and, and to a final flourish of notes from Caro, they sank into a deep bow.

  Rising, Roland brought Sarah’s hand to his lips and kissed it extravagantly. “Ladies and gentlemen, the show is over,” he said, loudly. “Thank you for coming here tonight.”

  “And thank you, my love,” he murmured, his breath tickling Sarah’s ear as she nestled against him, savouring his warmth as they watched the procession of carriages pass beneath their secluded balcony. “You were most obliging.”

  Sarah raised her hand to trace the watered silk of Roland’s waistcoat. Wonderingly, she stroked his beloved forehead before cupping his strong jaw.

  “Surely you knew, dearest Roland, I’d decided during my first days at Larchfield you would be my husband?”

  “I hadn’t realised your feelings went to quite those extremes,” he said with a smile, “though you hinted to a certain fondness for my company. But marriage? What would a beautiful, confident young woman want with a damaged, taciturn fellow like me?”

  It seemed he couldn’t keep his hands off her, stroking first her cheek, and now, tenderly, her throat and collar bone. Tremors of love and excitement rippled through her.

  “I saw the potential, my darling.” Snuggling closer, she added, “I knew I could mould that damaged, taciturn fellow into the hero of my dreams.” She gave a contented sigh. “And what a hero you turned out to be.”

  He looked down at her and the expression of bemusement on his lean, ascetic face, so much more handsome now that the lines of tension and worry had relaxed, amused her. She gave a short laugh. “Surely you must have been entirely confident of my answer?”

  He brushed a tendril back from her face, his smile heart-stoppingly tender. “I certainly was not. Awaiting your response on stage was more terrifying than approaching your father.”

  “What?” She gasped, twisting out of his grasp. “My father has already given us his blessing?” Disbelief mingled with joy as she clasped her hands together. Her beloved, irascible father whose determination to enforce upon her an unpalatable marriage had had such wide-sweeping repercussions. Yet he had already sanctioned her one true love? She could hardly believe it.

  “What’s this?” asked Roland, touching her cheek. “You didn’t cry just now when I told you I couldn’t live without you.”

  “You needn’t sound so wounded.” Sarah laughed through her tears and hugged him tightly. “Once I’d decided to marry you I knew the hardest thing to reconcile would be Papa’s displeasure. Especially” — she sent him a wry glance — “when I learned the two of you had been at each other like a couple of warring schoolboys.”

  “I suspect your father would take as much exception to that undignified description as I do.” Roland drew himself up with exaggerated dignity. “He certainly took exception, initially, to my presumption.”

  Sarah shook her head, wonderingly. “I wish I could have been there. Did he throw anything?”

  “I was a little concerned when he attacked the fire with such energy then didn’t set down the poker as he addressed me.” With a smile, Roland patted her hand which now rested against his lapel. “But after a couple of brandies during which I explained the situation, rather as I did on stage, his mood became much more sanguine.”

  “Oh, Roland,” Sarah burst out with feeling, “I knew you’d win him over, just as you did me.”

  “Well, there were differences, but as regards timing, I hope you’ll forgive my impatience.” He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “I couldn’t wait three weeks for the banns to be read, after all the time we’ve wasted.”

  Sarah’s eyes lit up with joy. Standing on her toes she twined her arms around his neck. “You’ve arranged a special licence?”

  Clasping her wrists so as to ease the strangl
ehold she had on him, he said, “Your father, in fact, offered to relieve me of the task, since I had so much to organise this evening.” His sigh held relief as he added, “I’m glad you feel as I do, my darling. I was afraid you’d be disappointed at not preparing the event to your satisfaction. In about three hours, we’ll be man and wife.”

  “Three hours!” Sarah cried, wrenching out of his arms, her hand fingering the simple gold cross at her throat.

  “Sarah, what is it?” Drawing her back to him, Roland’s look was a study in anguished confusion.

  “Two things, Roland.” She could see his suspense was agony and knew it was wicked to take advantage of the power she had over him. With an extravagant sigh she asked, “Don’t you remember your promise?”

  He seemed at a loss.

  “On stage when you gave the pearls to Miss Featherlove you promised I could choose any jewels I liked.” Maintaining her stricken look she went on, “Surely you don’t imagine I can be married in just this simple gold cross?”

  “Sarah, it’s three o’clock in the morning.” His brow still creased with concern, he added, “which is not to say I don’t fully intend-”

  Sarah laughed, and with a growl Roland snatched her back within the circle of his arms once he understood she was amusing herself at his expense. Narrowing his eyes he asked, “And the second thing?”

  Sarah met his gaze with studied earnestness. There was no levity in her tone this time.

  “I want a proper proposal, Roland.” Only as she made the request did she realize how important it was to her. “Many men I’ve not loved have asked me to marry them.” She swallowed. “James asked me, but he might has well have been buying a cow at market, and then you, Roland” — she reached up her hand to stroke his cheek, willing him to understand — “You began to propose when you came to see me that day, though it sounded as if you were being forced because duty required it of you.”

  Slowly Roland nodded. He understood. With a wry smile he said, “And on stage I skipped the proposal assuming you’d make your feelings clear if you objected.”

  Sarah nodded.