by Anne Herries
‘You will like Elizabeth,’ Arabella said confidently. ‘She is one of my best friends now. We visit each other often. Elizabeth has twin sons of about Harry’s age. She would like a daughter, but as yet it has not happened for her.’
‘She is lucky to have her sons,’ Sarah said, a slightly wistful look in her eyes. She had held her nephew Harry and the feel of his soft, warm body in her arms had made her feel decidedly broody. ‘As you are to have yours, Belle. Do you want another boy or a girl this time?’
‘I really do not mind,’ Arabella said, a look of serenity on her face. ‘We are quite happy to have whatever God sends us, Sarah. Another boy or a girl will be equally loved.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said and held back a sigh. She could not help envying her sister-in-law her obvious contentment with life. Such happiness would be denied to her, unless she married. ‘Mama keeps telling me I should marry, Belle. I think it would be all right. I am not afraid of being touched by a man now, as long as I truly cared for him, that is—but I haven’t found anyone I can love. Is it foolish of me to hope for it? I want to be loved and happy the way you and my brother are. Or should I marry for position and comfort as Mama seems to think I ought?’ She frowned, for it seemed to her that she was unlikely to fall in love again. She had met several attractive and charming gentlemen in Italy, but none of them had touched her heart.
‘I think you should wait until you are certain,’ Arabella told her. ‘You have a month here with us before the Season starts. Just relax and enjoy yourself, dearest. Charles will be on your side whatever you want, you know that, Sarah. He wouldn’t let your mama push you into an unwise marriage.’
‘Thank you, dearest Belle,’ Sarah said and laughed. ‘I dare say Mama is right. I ought to marry one day, but I do not want to marry anyone I cannot love.’ She sighed and a wistful look came to her pretty face. ‘Oh, I don’t know…’ It was foolish to look back. She had to move on, to leave the nightmare of the past behind.
Arabella kept her thoughts to herself. She had not forgotten that time before Sarah left for Italy. She had sensed there was something special between the girl and John Elworthy. In fact, she had been quite shocked when John married so soon afterwards. She had gone to his wedding, thinking that the slight, pale girl he had taken for his bride was not the equal of Sarah in either looks or intelligence. She had seemed desperately shy of all her husband’s friends, even nervous. Arabella had wondered why John had married the girl, because she had sensed that he was not in love with her. Oh, he had been gentle and kind, constantly attentive to her—but it was the kindness that a man might show to his young sister rather than the woman he loved.
Arabella felt a little guilty that she had not told Sarah that John was also to be one of their guests. Equally, John had no idea that Sarah and Mrs Hunter were staying. She was hoping that the shock of seeing one another without warning might start spark off some reaction, making them realise that the feelings they had had for each other more than two years ago were still there.
‘I am looking forward to seeing Lady Tate and Tilda when we go up to London,’ Mrs Hunter said as she sat in the front parlour with her daughter-in-law some days later. ‘How is dear Hester? She left us as soon as she heard you were with child, because she wanted to be of use to you in your confinement. And of course Tilda accompanied her home. I understand she is living with your aunt now. That attack of smallpox laid her very low and she thought she would rather be in England. Sarah and I missed them—though of course we had already made so many friends in Italy that we were never alone. Did Sarah tell you how sorry the Conte was to see us leave?’
‘Yes, she did mention it. Tilda divides her time between Aunt Hester and us these days, which suits us all,’ Arabella said. She had heard of the Conte di Ceasares several times from Mrs Hunter, and knew that her mother-in-law was suffering from frustration at Sarah’s apparent lack of interest in finding a suitable husband. She smiled at her mother-in-law and showed her the exquisite smocking she was working on a gown for the new baby. ‘How was it that Sarah nursed Tilda when she was ill? I am surprised that you allowed it, Mama.’
‘Sarah seems to be immune to the disease,’ her mother said. ‘Some friends of ours had it years ago. Sarah had been playing with their children, but she did not take it from them. Nor did she seem affected in Italy. She nursed Tilda, as you know—but did she tell you that she insisted on caring for the children of one of our friends there?’ Arabella shook her head. ‘They had gone down with it too and Sarah suspected that their nurse was not looking after them as she should. She took over the nursery and happily both recovered. I think it was that act of courage that made the Conte fall in love with her. He said that she was as brave as she was lovely and gave her a beautiful gold brooch to thank her.’
‘Yes, she is brave. I have always thought so.’
‘Brave, but very stubborn,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘I am sure she might have married him if she had given him the least encouragement. One would think that she did not wish to be married—but I know that she adores children. The children in Italy were always hanging round her neck, especially the street urchins. She gave them coins whenever we visited the markets.’
‘Where is Sarah this morning?’
‘Oh, she went for a walk as far as the lake,’ Mrs Hunter said, frowning slightly. ‘In Italy she walked a great deal. I think she is determined that she will not be influenced by what happened before…’
‘Yes, that is very sensible of her,’ Arabella said and sighed, easing her back, which had begun to ache. ‘I wanted to tell her that the latest monthly journals arrived earlier. I believe there are some fashion plates that might be of use to her when she is planning her new wardrobe.’
‘Oh, I am sure she will be pleased to see them,’ Mrs Hunter said, looking at her anxiously. ‘Are you quite well, my dear? You look a little strained.’
‘I have a backache,’ Arabella said. ‘I do not regard it, Mama. It will pass in time. Indeed, I think I shall take a little stroll in the gardens to ease it. I might meet Sarah as she returns from her walk.’
‘Oh, I wonder if you ought to go so far?’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘You must take care of yourself, Arabella. It is so easy to miscarry a child. I lost two and it was a great sadness to me.’
‘I shall not overdo things,’ Arabella replied and gave her a patient smile. Her mother-in-law did tend to fuss a little too much, which could be irritating if one allowed it to be. However, she had decided that she would take it as well-meaning concern, and would not allow there to be friction between them. ‘Please do not worry, Mama. I am quite well.’
She got up and left the room, glad to escape into the fresh air of the garden for a while. It was quite warm that morning, the chill air of the past weeks seeming to have gone for the moment. However, her intention to walk as far as the lake to meet Sarah was curtailed as she saw a carriage arrive and knew that it was her guests.
She went to greet Elizabeth as one of the grooms handed her down. They kissed and greeted each other with pleasure, the earl waiting until they had finished before taking his turn.
‘It is so good to have you here,’ Arabella said, linking arms with Elizabeth as they moved towards the house. ‘But is John not with you? I thought you might all travel together?’
‘John drove himself,’ Daniel Cavendish told her. ‘He cannot be far behind us, though he intended to stop at the blacksmith in the village to have one of his horse’s shoes looked at. He thought it might be coming loose.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Arabella said. ‘Well, come in, my dear friends. Charles had some business this morning, but he will be back at any moment. Mrs Hunter is sitting with me in the parlour, and Sarah has gone for a walk. I dare say she will be back quite soon.’
Sarah stood watching the swans gliding effortlessly on the lake. They had kept to the far side and she had not been able to entice them nearer because they were fiercely guarding their very small cygnets. However, she had collected a crowd
of rather noisy ducks about her, and she laughed as they squabbled over the last scraps of bread she had begged from the kitchens.
It was peaceful here and the scenery was beautiful, less wild than the rugged country she had been used to in the past couple of years. The hills of Tuscany had their own charm, and the gardens of the villas owned by Conte di Ceasares were very beautiful. Just before Sarah had left Italy, the villa garden had been a riot of colour, flowers spilling over from large terracotta pots, and the overpowering scent of their blooms heavy in the air. She thought that she would miss Italy and the people she had counted as friends.
She ought to be returning to the house. She had made her escape earlier because she was aware of her mama’s silent disapproval. Mrs Hunter had been cross with her daughter because she believed that she had discouraged the Conte di Ceasares from making her an offer—she would be very annoyed indeed if she knew that Sarah had twice refused him. Sighing, Sarah turned away from the lake and began to walk slowly across the grass. She had liked the Conte very well, and perhaps she ought to have obliged her mama…
Walking with her head down, lost in thought, Sarah was not immediately aware of the man standing quite still a short distance ahead of her. He was on foot and had come through the woods to the left of the lake from the direction of the village. It was not until she drew near to him that he spoke to her, making her start.
‘Sarah? Miss Hunter…’
Sarah felt a thrill of fear, which was gone in a moment. Just for a few seconds she had been back in the old nightmare, but it faded as she stared at the man standing a few feet away. Her heart raced and she felt a dizzy sensation as she knew him. He was much as he had always been and yet there was an air of sadness about him that she had not remembered. Because of his wife, she realised, as she recalled what Arabella had told her a few days earlier.
‘John? Mr Elworthy…it is you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ John stood frozen to the spot, as if he was held by some spell and could not move. ‘I am sorry if I startled you. I thought as I saw you coming this way that it was you, Miss Hunter—but I did not know that you had returned from Italy and wondered if I was mistaken.’
‘We arrived just two weeks ago and have spent most of that time here with Charles and Arabella. We go up to London in about three weeks from now. Mama and I will stay with Lady Tate, though Arabella does not intend to accompany us. She is expecting her second child and prefers to stay quietly at home until her confinement. I believe Charles has some business and may come up for a few days.’ She was talking too much, but did not know how to stop. ‘I was not aware that you were to be a guest here, sir.’
‘I hope it does not displease you?’
‘No, of course not. Why should it?’
Sarah came up to him, offering her hand. He took it for a moment, holding it loosely, as if he thought she might break.
‘Forgive me. I cannot help remembering…’ His eyes were intent on her face. He smiled and shook his head. ‘That seems a lifetime ago. You look wonderful—such a difference…not that you were ever less than lovely. What a mess I am making of this, Miss Hunter. You look beautiful, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarah laughed as she saw his confusion. She had been paid many more effusive compliments during her stay in Italy, but she was warmed by John’s stumbling offering. ‘I know that I look different, Mr Elworthy. Arabella remarked on it when she saw me for the first time. I think perhaps I have grown up, become a woman. I was a lost and rather foolish girl when you last saw me.’
‘A girl perhaps,’ John said and let go of her hand, which he had retained until now, ‘but never foolish. You had been through a traumatic experience, Miss Hunter. I hope that you have recovered now? You seem very well.’
‘Yes, I am,’ Sarah said. ‘Italy did me a great deal of good, sir. I think it was because no one knew anything about me and I was able to make friends without being asked about what happened during that time. Those dark days are a distant memory to me now. I no longer suffer from nightmares.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ John said. His eyes were serious, dark shadowed, but in every other way he was much as he had always been. John Elworthy was not a striking man, but he had a quiet air about him that was pleasing and his smile touched hearts. ‘You have perhaps been told that I am a widower?’
‘Yes, Arabella told me your news. I am very sorry, sir. It must be a great loss to you.’
‘The loss of a young life is always sad,’ John replied. ‘There is a child—a boy. I have left him with his nurse, but I fear that he will feel the loss of his mother as he grows to understand what has happened.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah agreed. ‘But he has his father and that will sustain him.’
‘Perhaps…’ John was silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. They had fallen into step with one another. ‘You are planning a season in town, Miss Hunter? I had thought perhaps you might be betrothed, but I see that is not so…’ He glanced at her ringless left hand. ‘Or perhaps there is someone in Italy?’
‘I might have married had I chosen,’ Sarah said for pride’s sake. ‘I have not yet decided what I wish to do in the future, sir. Mama wishes me to marry soon, but I do not know what I want…’
‘You must take your time,’ John said. ‘You are still quite young…’
‘I shall be one and twenty this year,’ Sarah said. ‘I dare say it is not too late should I wish to marry—though I believe I look older than my years.’ She put up a hand to touch the wings of white at her temples. Her hair was in general a beautiful pale golden colour; shining and thick, it had grown in the past two years, though was nowhere near as long as it had been before her illness. She wore it twisted up at the back in double knot. Her gown was a simple muslin with a turquoise blue sash caught high at the waist, its colour almost a match for her eyes. ‘Mama hoped that these would grow out as I recovered my health, but they have not.’
‘I think the wings of white are distinctive,’ John told her. ‘You have an air about you, Miss Hunter—a quiet dignity that sets well with your hair.’
‘Conte di Ceasares thought I was older,’ Sarah replied with a hint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Not that he heeded it, for we were great friends. I made many friends in Italy. Have you ever been there, sir?’
‘Yes, I visited that country when I was young,’ John told her. ‘My father considered it a part of my education. It was a wonderful experience. I spent more time in France and Spain when I was with the army—but I have not travelled overseas since my return home after the war.’
‘You did not go abroad for your honeymoon?’ Sarah asked and then blushed. ‘Forgive me—that was an insensitive question. I had no right to ask it. Indeed, I should not!’
‘You meant no harm by it,’ John said. ‘Andrea was not particularly strong even then. She did not wish to go away. She was quite happy at home with her dogs and her books…’ It was not entirely true, but John could not tell anyone about the strange haunting sadness that had come upon Andrea after their marriage.
‘I see,’ Sarah said, but wondered at the strange expression in his eyes. Clearly it pained him to speak of his wife; she thought that he must have loved her very much. She decided to be careful not to ask such clumsy questions again. ‘Tell me, sir—what part of Italy did you like most? We visited the lakes and many of the beauty spots, but settled in Tuscany.’
‘Yes, Arabella told me,’ John said. ‘I believe I like Florence very well—and Venice, of course. Did you get as far as Venice?’
‘Yes, indeed, we visited Venice almost as soon as we arrived,’ Sarah said. ‘Tilda particularly wanted to take a trip in a gondola…’ She smiled up at him, feeling on safer ground now. It was easy to talk of things and places they had both seen. Much easier than talking of personal feelings. She felt that John had suffered much since their last meeting and something inside her made her want to reach out and heal that hurt—but there was a distance in him. She sensed that he had built
a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. He was happy to converse on almost any subject, but that of his wife—and that, she suspected, was taboo.
However, they had sufficient to discuss about the wonderful old buildings and treasures of Italy, and continued their walk up to the house in harmony. So much so that, when Arabella looked out of the parlour window and saw them coming, she was able to smile and consider that her plan had worked out very nicely.
Sarah had dressed in a gown of pale green silk for dinner that evening. She wore a single strand of pearls around her throat, and her maid had dressed her hair so that one smooth ringlet fell on her shoulders. Her skin still had a golden sheen to it, and she looked very beautiful as she came down to join the others in the drawing room.
She was the last to arrive, perhaps because she had taken particular trouble over her appearance that evening. It had taken her half an hour to make up her mind which gown she wished to wear, and even now she was not sure whether she had chosen the right one. She was not certain why she felt it was so important, except, of course, that she wanted John to think that she looked nice. She was trying to be sensible, to stop herself hoping that he might find her attractive. His manner earlier had convinced her that he was still in love with his late wife, still grieving for her—and yet he had cared for Sarah once. If she had let him, he would have asked her to be his wife before she left for Italy.
Sarah had often wondered if she had made a big mistake by telling him that she did not think she would ever wish to marry. It was true that she had felt like that for a while, but the feeling had passed. She was still not certain that she wished to marry—but for very different reasons. Once she had thought that she could not be any man’s wife, but now she knew that there was only one man she wished to wed.
