by Anne Herries
They did not quarrel. Perhaps it might have been better if they had, but each treated the other with unfailing politeness, speaking when they met but never really talking. After the harsh words that morning, John had realised that this situation could not go on. Either he must make Andrea his wife in all ways, or they must live apart. He had made up his mind that he would talk to her that evening—but by then they had taken her lifeless body from the river.
Was it his fault? John had told himself that he had done nothing to harm Andrea, and yet his conscience would not let him rest. Had he made Andrea so unhappy that she had taken her own life? It was a hard cross to bear, and the reason why he had begun to wonder if he actually had placed those items amongst his things. Was he trying to punish himself without knowing he did so?
No, this was ridiculous! John shook his head. There must be another reason for what had happened, something that ought to be apparent but was not. He had no reason to torture himself in this way. Andrea had known he did not love her when they married. Surely she must have known? But she had not understood that his heart was irrevocably given to another woman.
He had tried to forget Sarah. He had believed that she would never return to England, and for months he had succeeded in dulling the sense of loss that lived with him. Now, seeing her, being close to her, the scent of her perfume teasing his senses, he knew that he had never ceased to think of her. Staying here in this house was exquisite torture, making him achingly aware of a need within himself. Yet how could he ask her to marry him?
John knew that Andrea’s death had set off some whispering. People had wondered why a young woman delivered of a fine son would take her own life…no one had said it to his face, but John believed that some suspected that she might not have gone willingly into the river.
He had no idea who had begun the rumours, but they had been brought to his attention a few weeks earlier by Andrea’s father.
‘I know it is all nonsense,’ Sir Andrew said when he rode over that morning to show John the letter he had received. ‘Had there been any truth in this wretched insinuation, this would surely have been signed. It is a damned lie and I do not believe it for a moment, but I thought you should see it.’
John had read the accusation, his lips white with anger. He handed the letter back to his father-in-law. ‘I swear to you that there is no truth in this, sir. Andrea was a little unwell after the birth of…our son, that is all.’
‘No, no, John, let us be straight with one another,’ Sir Andrew said. ‘We both know that the child was not yours. Andrea told me the truth after she had spoken to you. She wanted me to know that you had not shamed her.’
‘I never knew that,’ John said. ‘She need not have told you. I promised her that no one would hear of it from my lips—and, as far as I am concerned, the boy is mine.’
‘You are a good man,’ Sir Andrew said, ‘and that is why I know this is a lie. I shall destroy the letter, but it may not be the end of it, John.’
And it had not ended there. John had received a vicious letter himself a few days before he left home for this visit. The writer said that he or she knew the truth and that John would pay the price of his evil. It was again unsigned and John had destroyed it at once, but the shadow had lingered. Sir Andrew had refused to believe him capable of murder—but others might not be so convinced of his innocence.
John knew that he could not think of marriage while such a shadow hung over him. He shivered, feeling the chill creep down his spine. If he married again so soon, the rumours would increase and might be difficult to disprove. How could he marry anyone until he could clear his name of any wrongdoing?
Indeed, if Sarah heard the spiteful whispers, she might wonder if there was some truth in them. She would certainly not wish to be the wife of a man who might be accused of murdering his first wife. He must put all thought of it from his mind!
Sarah spent the rest of the morning being fitted for a new walking gown and two afternoon dresses. Although Mrs Hunter intended to order several new gowns in town, she thought highly enough of her daughter-in-law’s seamstress to trust her with a part of Sarah’s new wardrobe.
Her mother’s fussing over details enabled Sarah to put the incident with John out of her mind. She was aware that she might have revealed her feelings too plainly, but when they met again before dinner, he greeted her as always with his gentle smile. He was sitting opposite her this time, for Daniel had taken her into dinner and she felt some relief that she was not obliged to make polite conversation with John.
‘How do you like being back in England?’ Daniel asked. ‘Do you find it very different, Miss Hunter?’
‘Yes, it is different,’ Sarah agreed. ‘But I am very happy here, sir. And of course we go to London in almost three weeks.’
‘Ah, yes, you will be thrust into the social whirl,’ he said, smiling at her kindly. ‘Elizabeth tells me you share her interest in books. I warn you that she will expect you to attend all her afternoon meetings. You must say if you have other engagements. My wife likes to manage us all.’
The smile and the wicked look in his eyes were enough to tell Sarah that he was amused and there was no malice in his words. He was clearly very much in love with Elizabeth, and Sarah felt a pang of envy as she saw the way they looked at each other. If only she could find that sort of love!
Glancing across the table, she discovered that John was watching her. He looked serious, although he smiled and inclined his head as their eyes met. Sarah sensed that he was concerned about something, and wondered at the signs of tiredness in his face. John was always gentle, unfailingly kind and caring, and yet there was something about him that inspired confidence. She knew that he was to be relied upon in a crisis and she sensed an inner strength that was perhaps not immediately obvious to a casual onlooker.
He must still be grieving for his wife, of course. It was only a year since Andrea Elworthy had died. No doubt he had loved her very much and could not be expected to think of marrying again just yet.
John had turned to Elizabeth, who was sitting to his left. They were laughing at something now and Sarah wished that she might feel the ease of an old friendship such as they obviously shared. John had been her friend once. He had cared for her, but she had walked away from him and he’d fallen in love with Andrea.
Why did that hurt so much? Sarah knew that she had only herself to blame. With a little encouragement John would have asked her to marry him more than two years previously—but that was then and things had changed.
Sarah realised that, since learning of his wife’s death, she had been secretly wishing that he might turn to her, might ask her to marry him. His behaviour in the rose arbour that morning had destroyed her dreams. John was not ready to marry again just yet.
Would he ever be? Sarah frowned at her own thoughts. She would be foolish to hope for something that might never happen. Had John felt anything for her, he would surely not have answered her as he had. By telling her that she would meet a gentleman with a whole heart, who would love her, he could not have been clearer.
John was still in love with his late wife. Sarah must not embarrass him by showing her feelings for him. In future she would take great care not to be alone with him.
Sarah’s ordeal lasted for just two days more. On the morning of the third day, Arabella told her that John was leaving them.
‘He has some business that will not wait,’ Arabella said. ‘I am sorry he cannot stay longer, but he seems anxious to keep his appointment and I am afraid we must allow him to go, Sarah.’
Sarah was torn between regret and relief. It would be easier when she did not have to meet John at every meal, but a part of her wanted him to stay. She knew that he was grieving, but sometimes when they spoke she felt that something flowed between them.
She was sitting in the downstairs parlour when John came to take his leave of Arabella. Looking up, Sarah’s heart jerked as she saw how elegant he looked in his buckskin breeches and a blue coat that fi
tted him to perfection. He was of a slighter build than either Charles or Daniel, but Sarah thought him the most attractive of any gentleman she had met thus far. More than that, she felt a warmth inside every time he smiled at her.
‘Are you sure your business will not wait?’ Arabella asked as he said his farewells. ‘We had hoped you would stay at least a week.’
‘It was my hope too,’ John replied in his easy, gentle way. ‘Perhaps another time?’
‘Yes, of course. You know that you will always be welcome here, John.’
‘Thank you. I shall remember,’ he promised. Sarah thought there was a hint of regret in his face as he turned to her. ‘It was good to see you again, Miss Hunter.’
‘Yes,’ Sarah replied. She got up from her chair and walked to meet him, offering her hand. John hesitated briefly before taking it in his. Sarah tingled at his touch. There was a clean fresh scent about him that she found appealing and she wished that he might take her in his arms, but he had let go of her hand and was about to turn away. He must not go like this! Before she could prevent the words they leapt from her tongue, ‘Perhaps we shall meet in town, sir?’
‘I am not sure,’ John said with a vague look in his eyes.
‘But you promised to dance with me at Elizabeth’s ball!’ Sarah knew that she ought not to press him, but something inside told her that if she did not speak now it might be too late. ‘Surely you will not disappoint Elizabeth—and me?’
John was caught as he saw the appeal in her eyes. She had never looked prettier than she did now in her jonquil-yellow morning gown and it hurt to refuse her anything. He hesitated for a moment before inclining his head. ‘It seems as if I gave my word and must therefore keep it, Miss Hunter. I shall come up for the ball.’
Sarah’s heart beat wildly. He was grieving for his wife, but he still liked her. She was sure in that instant that John felt something. Perhaps it was not yet love, but that might come in time.
‘I shall save two dances for you, sir. Do not leave me standing alone.’
‘I never lightly break my word,’ John said. ‘Excuse me, ladies. I must say goodbye to Charles and Daniel. I have spoken to Elizabeth.’
Sarah was silent after he left the room, but there was a look of such longing on her face that Arabella guessed what was in her mind.
‘John is a man whose thoughts and emotions run deeply,’ Arabella said, looking pensive. ‘You must be patient, Sarah. I think he has much on his mind, but I am sure that he will find a solution to his problems.’
Arabella wondered if she ought to explain that John was being threatened. He had confided to Charles that someone had begun spreading rumours about the nature of Andrea’s death. Charles had, of course, dismissed it as spiteful nonsense. He was very angry that letters and whispers were circulating.
‘How anyone could think it for one moment!’ Charles had burst into furious speech when they were alone the previous night. ‘John is the last man on this earth I would suspect of having killed his wife.’
‘Why would anyone wish to spread such a rumour?’ Arabella had asked him. ‘It is scandalous and cruel. Someone must hate him to do such a thing.’ She frowned as a thought occurred to her. ‘Could it have anything to do with that other business?’
‘You mean because of the part John played in thwarting Sir Courtney’s attempt to abduct you and force you to marry him?’
‘Yes,’ Arabella replied, looking anxious. ‘John risked his life for our sakes, but why should he be the one to suffer now? And Captain Hernshaw fired the shot that killed Sir Courtney when he tried to kill Sarah and I…’
‘As well us as John if someone wanted revenge for that affair,’ Charles agreed. ‘No, I think this has more to do with John. There is something else…something that runs deeper.’ He explained that John had found some of Andrea’s possessions in his room. ‘Someone must have put that stocking on his bed. It did not get there of its own accord.’
‘Is that so surprising? I dare say the maids found it tucked away somewhere. My things often get left in your room. It could have been caught under the bed or some such thing.’
Charles shook his head. ‘I do not think John’s marriage was like ours, Belle. He would never speak of his intimate situation but…I have never thought it a love match.’
‘Nor I,’ Arabella agreed. ‘He was attentive and kind to her—but not as a man in love might be.’
‘John thought it right to inform me of the rumours and mentioned that he was under a strain. However, he said nothing of their relationship. What I have told you is merely my opinion.’
‘I had already formed my own,’ Arabella said. ‘It seems that John has an enemy, Charles.’
‘Yes, that was the conclusion I formed. I made him promise to seek out Tobbold—you may recall that both Daniel and I have found him a useful man?’ She nodded. ‘John needs someone to help him now. He must discover who is spreading malicious lies. Meanwhile, this remains a secret between us. Mama is not to be told, though both Elizabeth and Daniel have been informed. John wanted them to know because of the ball.’
‘You don’t think…’ Arabella was dismayed. ‘I imagined the gossip was confined to John’s village and home. It will be uncomfortable for him if it becomes generally known and believed.’
‘It will not be known from any of us!’
‘No, certainly not,’ she agreed.
Seeing the sadness in Sarah’s eyes after John had left them, Arabella was tempted to confide in the girl. However, on further reflection, she decided against speaking. It was not truly her affair. John might resent it if he knew that his secret had been betrayed. After all, had he wished Sarah to know, he would no doubt have told her himself.
‘I should not have rejected him before I left for Italy,’ Sarah said, breaking the silence between them. ‘He would have spoken then had I allowed it. I thought for a while that I should never wish to marry anyone.’
‘And now?’ Arabella asked, but before Sarah could answer, the door opened and both Elizabeth and Mrs Hunter came in. ‘Ah, there you are. Did you see John just now? He has been taking his leave of us. He has important business elsewhere but has promised to come up to town for your ball, Elizabeth.’
‘Has he?’ Elizabeth was surprised. ‘He must have changed his mind, for he seemed to think he would not manage it. I am glad that he will come. He looks tired and drained, and I am sure that it is no wonder. He needs to be with friends.’
‘Yes, that is what Charles thinks,’ Arabella agreed. She glanced at Mrs Hunter, who was clutching some letters. ‘Did those just arrive?’
‘Your housekeeper gave them to me,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘One is for you, Arabella—and one for you, Sarah.’
Sarah took the letter from her mother. She walked over to a small table by the window and sat down on an elegant parlour chair, breaking the seal. She knew who had sent it—it carried the wax impression of the Conte di Ceasares’ seal. She scanned the few lines swiftly.
‘This is from the Conte,’ she told her mother. ‘It is just to say that he hopes we had a good journey.’
Mrs Hunter looked disappointed. ‘I had thought he might have written to say he intended to visit London.’
‘No, Mama. It is simply a polite letter to inquire after our health.’
‘Did you wish to see him again, Mrs Hunter?’ Elizabeth said with a teasing look, for she had no idea of who the Conte was or what age he might be. ‘Or perhaps Sarah…’
‘He was very taken with Sarah in Italy,’ Mrs Hunter said and looked thoughtful. ‘Had she been more sensible, she might have been married to him by now.’ She gave her daughter a straight look.
‘Mama!’ Sarah cried, blushing bright pink. ‘I pray you will not say such things.’
‘And why should you pray that, miss?’ Her mother looked at her in some annoyance. ‘The Conte is rich, attractive and charming—and not so very much older. You are foolish not to have taken him when he asked, Sarah.’ She nodded as Sarah stared at her
. ‘I am aware that you refused him without reference to me. Had you asked, I should have advised you to take him.’
‘Please, Mama, do not,’ Sarah begged, feeling as if she could sink. It was so very embarrassing.
Elizabeth had realised her mistake. She sent Sarah an apologetic look. ‘Tell me, Mrs Hunter, where do you intend to take Sarah for her new clothes when you are in town? Have you heard that we have a new and very talented modiste? Her name is Madame Henriette Deloir and she made a wonderful gown for me this spring. Everyone thought that it must have come from Paris.’
‘You mean your green gown,’ Arabella said. ‘It is exquisite, Elizabeth. The lace she used to trim the sleeves is finer than anything I have. I shall ask her to make something for me once the baby is born.’
The conversation was successfully turned as Mrs Hunter asked for the modiste’s address. Sarah stood looking out of the parlour window, her back turned to the others. She had not realised that her mother knew she had refused the Conte’s offer and it was a shock to learn it so publicly.
Tears stung her eyes as she thought of how different it might have been had John asked her to marry him.
Staying here with Arabella, watching as she and Elizabeth held their children in their arms, holding the babies herself, Sarah had come to realise that she wanted a home and children of her own. Her heart belonged to John, but if he no longer cared for her…
Sarah sighed. She was not sure that she could marry just for the sake of a home and children, though she knew that it happened. In Italy most marriages were arranged and many of them turned out well. Some of the ladies she had counted her friends were completely happy with the husbands their families had chosen for them. She suspected that two of the ladies had secret lovers, but it was never spoken of.
It was not what Sarah wanted! She knew that if she married John she would never look at another man, but what if she were forced to take a husband for other reasons? Arabella had said that Charles would not allow Sarah to be pushed into an unwelcome marriage. However, he did not have to live with Mama! Mrs Hunter could be very disagreeable if thwarted too often.
