A Worthy Gentleman

by Anne Herries

  Mrs Hunter was proved right; if they had received a nice flow of invitations before, they were inundated with them now. When there was more than one affair on a certain night, it was only possible to attend them all by leaving one event after an hour or so to move on to the next. It became a mad social whirl and Sarah’s feet seemed to hardly touch the floor as she went from one large, prestigious affair to another. If it was not a private ball or soirée, it was a card party, masked rout or a visit to Vauxhall with a party of friends. Sarah found it exciting but also tiring, and sometimes wished for more leisure to spend with her true friends.

  Mrs Hunter, however, had not stopped wearing a smile since they had been invited to a dinner and cards at Lady Mountbank’s house, for she was one of the leading hostesses of the Season, and a lady known to ignore those who did not come out of the top drawer. While the Hunters were a good county family and well respected, they were not titled and had not expected to be invited into the homes of the most influential hostesses. Mrs Hunter had hoped that the invitations to the large balls might come their way, but now they were being asked to the more intimate affairs that she had not dreamed of. It was, of course, the Duke of Pentyre’s influence, something she never failed to impress on her daughter.

  ‘He is taken with you, Sarah,’ she told her daughter on the morning of his own ball. ‘I dare say he is not yet ready to speak, but if you are sensible he will do so by the end of the Season.’

  ‘You cannot be sure of that,’ Sarah said, avoiding her mother’s gaze. She was already aware that the duke had shown her considerable favour and that because of it several rather haughty hostesses had gone out of their way to be more than kind to her. She was, as he had predicted, becoming all the rage, and could not enter a drawing room without being immediately surrounded by both ladies and gentlemen. ‘We should not take his intentions for granted, Mama. After all, he might have married before this had he wished.’

  ‘Gentlemen often prefer to wait to take a wife,’ her mother told her. ‘I think he has it in mind to set up his family, Sarah. No doubt he feels it is time to make sure of his heir.’

  Sarah did not argue further. She had hoped that this would not happen, that she would be given time to discover if there was a gentleman she particularly liked among her new acquaintances. However, it seemed that Mrs Hunter had recovered from her disappointment that Sarah had not taken the Conte and was now set on her becoming a duchess.

  She spent that morning driving to the park with Julia Moore and two gentlemen, and enjoyed herself a great deal. Neither of the gentlemen had shown a particular preference for her. Indeed, she believed she had been included in the party so that she might accompany Julia, and that suited her very well. She had no idea that several gentlemen who might have offered for her were watching to see what happened. It was already being rumoured in the clubs that Pentyre meant to have her, and it was generally felt that he was a bad man to cross.

  He was known to have been wild in his youth, though much reformed of late. His fortune was intact, thanks to his skill and luck at the card tables, but he was a crack shot and few would risk offending him and being called out.

  After saying goodbye to her friends outside Lady Tate’s house, Sarah went into the parlour to discover that Elizabeth Cavendish was visiting. Elizabeth smiled at her.

  ‘At last I have found you at home,’ she said. ‘I have called twice, Sarah, but you were out. I wanted to ask if you will come to a reading tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Sarah said before her mother could refuse. ‘I had kept it free, because we have been out every day and shall not be home until the early hours of the morning.’

  ‘Ah yes, you are to attend Pentyre’s ball, are you not?’ Elizabeth said and frowned. ‘We were invited, but Daniel declined. We had a previous engagement.’

  ‘Could you not have come on?’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘I think almost everyone will be there.’

  ‘I am sure it will be a sad crush,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘However, Daniel does not particularly care for Pentyre—some dispute in the past, I believe.’

  ‘I have found him charming,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘He seems very taken with Sarah, you know.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Elizabeth frowned, but made no comment. She would ask Daniel for more particulars before she spoke to Mrs Hunter. If she had understood her husband correctly, Pentyre was not the husband for Sarah, but she would not say anything before she had all the facts.

  ‘Well, I must take my leave,’ she said and kissed Sarah on the cheek. ‘I shall see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, certainly,’ Sarah said. ‘I did not realise you were in town. We have been receiving so many cards and I have not seen them all…but I knew you were due to arrive any day and I have looked forward to seeing you.’

  ‘I hope that we shall meet often,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But at least you will be coming to our ball next week.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah replied. She walked out to the hall with Elizabeth. ‘I would not miss it for the world.’ She hesitated, and then, ‘Have you heard from Mr Elworthy?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Has he not called on you? He came up yesterday and is to stay until after my ball. He is our guest and you may see him tomorrow if he cares to join us for a few minutes. We shall be mostly ladies, of course, but he may come in for a while—if only at teatime.’

  ‘John is in London?’ Sarah’s heart leaped with excitement. In all the chaos of the social whirl she had managed to put him out of her thoughts for a while—at least, she had pushed her unhappiness to the back of her mind. Now the idea that she might see him the next day filled her with anticipation. ‘I do hope he will come, Elizabeth.’

  ‘Yes, so do I,’ her friend said and squeezed her hand. ‘I shall do my best for you, dearest. And now I really must go…’

  Returning to the parlour at the back of the house, Sarah was thoughtful. She was glad that she had kept the following afternoon free. It would be interesting to sit with Elizabeth and her friends and hear some readings—but it would be wonderful if John were to join them.

  ‘I really cannot see what the Earl of Cavendish can find to dislike about Pentyre,’ Mrs Hunter was saying to Lady Tate as she walked in and sat down in a chair that looked out at the garden.

  ‘I did hear something—’ Tilda said and stopped as the two older ladies turned to look at her. ‘It was just that he had been a little wild when he was younger, though I am not sure what that means exactly.’

  ‘A reformed rake makes the best husband,’ Mrs Hunter said, giving Tilda a sour look. ‘I am sure a lot of gentlemen could be described in that way, Tilda.’

  Sarah did not listen to Tilda’s reply or the conversation that went on behind her. All she could think of was the possibility of seeing John Elworthy the next day.

  Would he think she had changed since she came up to town? She had been given so many compliments on her appearance that she thought her fashionable clothes must have given her a new touch. Perhaps John would find her attractive now. Or was he still too much in love with his wife to care?

  ‘Sarah—are you attending?’ Mrs Hunter spoke to her sharply. ‘I was saying that you ought to go up and rest. You want to look your best for this evening, do you not?’

  ‘Yes, Mama, of course.’ Sarah rose and went out of the room obediently. Usually, she would have protested that she was not tired, but today she was glad of the excuse to be alone so that she could think about meeting John the following day.

  Chapter Four

  It was the most glittering occasion that Sarah had so far attended. Three large reception rooms were overflowing with guests, the rich hue of their clothes and jewels like butterflies fluttering in a gaudy herbaceous border. Overhead, huge chandeliers were a blaze of light, the glitter of crystal baubles adding to the brilliance of the scene.

  Sarah’s party moved slowly through the reception rooms towards the gallery, where the sound of music could be heard. The French windows had been throw
n open to let in some air, for the overcrowded rooms were already warm and the scent of strong perfume was heavy on the air. Such a crush would guarantee the success of the evening, though Sarah could not help thinking that the smaller dances she had attended were more enjoyable.

  However, several gentlemen, who were eager to dance with her, came immediately to greet her, and, mindful that she had promised the Duke of Pentyre two dances, she filled them in herself for later in the evening. She was soon dancing with gentlemen she had met before at various affairs, laughing up at them, caught by the pleasure of charming company. Her card was filled for the whole evening before an hour had passed, and she was not even aware that someone came to the door of the gallery to watch for a few minutes. He left a short time later without greeting her or her companions. Had she been aware that John Elworthy had paid a brief visit to the ball without seeking her out, it might have dimmed her pleasure in the evening, but she did not catch sight of him and so she was able to dance and laugh with her friends in a carefree manner.

  The Duke of Pentyre claimed Sarah for the two dances promised, and she found him charming. He danced well and treated her just as a gentleman ought, returning her to her mama after their dance. At supper Sarah’s party found a table reserved for them and servants to wait on them, though the duke paid merely a fleeting visit to inquire if they had all they needed. As the host he was bestowing attention on as many of his guests as possible, though he did find time to ask Sarah if she would drive with him in the park the next afternoon.

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but I am already engaged,’ she told him with a smile. ‘Perhaps another day?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he replied easily. ‘When are you at home? I shall call on your mama.’

  ‘On Tuesday afternoons, sir,’ Sarah said. ‘I know Mama would be honoured to receive you should you wish to call.’

  ‘Then I shall,’ he promised and moved on.

  ‘I warned you not to engage yourself for tomorrow,’ Mrs Hunter said when he had left them. ‘You might have gone driving with him if you had not been so foolish.’

  ‘But I am looking forward to Elizabeth’s reading afternoon,’ Sarah said. ‘The duke will call on you, Mama—and I shall go driving with him another day.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it will not do to seem too available,’ Mrs Hunter said, looking thoughtful. ‘After all, you have met only a few times. We cannot be certain of his intentions yet.’

  ‘We have some weeks before we go home,’ Sarah said. ‘Surely there is no hurry for anything, Mama?’

  Mrs Hunter gave her a direct look, but said no more. People were beginning to drift back to the ballroom and Sarah’s next partner had come to look for her. Mrs Hunter and Lady Tate sat on a little longer at the supper table.

  ‘I think he seems interested in her,’ she said reflectively. ‘Will he come up to scratch, do you think, Hester?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Lady Tate said and looked thoughtful. ‘I believe John Elworthy was here briefly this evening. Did you see him? He was watching Sarah…’

  ‘Watching Sarah?’ Mrs Hunter’s eyes slanted round to look at her. ‘I know she liked him once, but he married someone else. Besides, I should wish more for Sarah. Mr Elworthy is a pleasant gentleman, I grant you that, but the duke would be so much better for her.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Lady Tate said. ‘But you should not push her, Selina. It only makes her uneasy. I am sure Sarah will receive more than one offer before long. Allow her to choose for herself, my dear.’

  ‘I want her to be happy,’ Mrs Hunter said and took out her lace kerchief, pleating it nervously between her fingers and dabbing at the corners of her eyes. ‘Most of all I want her to be safe. I cannot forget that other business, Hester. If the gossips were to hear of it, it might mean the end of her chances.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Lady Tate said. ‘I doubt that will happen, Selina. It was some time ago and must be forgotten. Besides, so few knew of it that I cannot think it likely. No, my dear, be patient—I do not believe that Sarah will disappoint you.’

  John left the Duke of Pentyre’s ball and walked through the dimly lit streets in the direction of the Earl of Cavendish’s town house in a fashionable garden square. He had been undecided whether to attend the ball that evening, but at the last minute looked in on the off-chance of seeing Sarah. He had watched her from afar, seeing that she looked happy and was enjoying herself with her friends. It was not surprising that she had become so popular, for she was beautiful. Since arriving in town, he had been hearing her name everywhere he went, and knew that several gentlemen were betting openly on Pentyre to win her.

  The idea of Sarah married to the duke brought a frown to John’s face. Daniel could not stomach the man and said that he was a ruthless rake, a little too lucky at the card tables, and had once been seen often in the company of Sir Montague Forsythe.

  ‘You do not think that he…?’ John’s blood had run cold when Daniel told him. ‘Was he a member of that hellish gang who kidnapped Sarah and meant to sacrifice her in their foul rituals?’

  ‘No, I do not think it—at least, I do not know,’ Daniel said, a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘His name was never spoken of in connection with that affair. However, I know for a fact that his tastes are perverted. There was a disturbing tale circulating about him some years ago. It has been forgotten now, of course, but I have warned Charles not to allow his sister to become too involved with him. I am sure that he would not give his permission to the match—unless, of course, Sarah was in love with him. He may well have reformed for all I can tell. What I actually know of his activities was some years ago. A man may change, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ John agreed, though like Daniel he felt doubtful. ‘But still…I would not wish such a match for her.’

  ‘No, nor I were she my sister,’ Daniel had told him. ‘But what of you, John? What news of your affair?’

  ‘Nothing as yet,’ John said. ‘I have not as yet received another letter and Andrea’s things have stopped appearing in my rooms since I spoke to the housekeeper. I believe it must have been one of the maids, and I think Mrs Raven may have dismissed her.’

  ‘That is good,’ Daniel said. ‘Perhaps it will fade away now, John. Whoever was trying to cause trouble for you may simply give up. But you must not relax your guard—and watch your back just in case….’

  Afterwards, John wondered whether it was instinct or Daniel’s advice that warned him later that night. He had been lost in thought, but all of a sudden he was aware of something happening behind him. He turned swiftly and saw that a man dressed in dark clothes had crept up behind him. His arm was raised, a heavy club about to be brought down on John’s head.

  John leapt at him, wrestling with him for the club as the fellow grunted and struck out with his feet in an effort to bring John down. However, the element of surprise had been lost and the rogue soon discovered that his mark was not as easy as he had imagined. When John landed a punch on his chin, the ruffian went staggering back, his cudgel falling from his hand. John kicked it away and the other man hesitated, then turned tail and went running off into the night, clearly thinking him not worth the effort of robbing.

  John continued his walk. He had been in little real danger for he had a loaded pistol in his greatcoat pocket and might have used it if he had chosen—but had the attack been meant only as robbery? Was his attacker a villain of the streets taking his chance to rob an unwary gentleman—or had there been something more sinister behind the attempt?

  He was thoughtful as he reached Cavendish Place and went inside. The letters had stopped, as had the attempt to make him think that Andrea was haunting him—but perhaps his enemy had decided to try a different tactic?

  Who was he—and what had John done to arouse his hatred? It was a mystery he could not yet solve, though certain suspicions were beginning to take shape at the back of his mind.

  Sarah had chosen a deep sea-green walking gown for her appointment with Elizabeth that afternoon. It
had a high waist and a wide sash of a deeper green, and she wore a short jacket that fastened over her breasts with silk frogging and fitted neatly into her waist. Her bonnet was of a fine straw decorated with ribbons to match her gown and tied at the side in a large bow, her hair hanging down in a bunch of artfully arranged ringlets. All of which gave her a fashionable touch, setting off her pretty face to advantage.

  Tilda had decided to accompany her. They walked the short distance to Elizabeth’s house, for it was a lovely day and it was good to be in the sunshine. Admitted to the house, they both took off their bonnets and outer garments, going into the front parlour on the first floor to meet their hostess and those of her guests that had already arrived.

  Sarah glanced around the room hopefully for John, but there was no sign of him. However, she had not expected that he would attend the meeting in its entirety and was not too disappointed. It was primarily a ladies’ affair and she met several of her friends, but also some older ladies that she had not been introduced to before. More ladies were arriving all the time and there were twenty present when the first reading began with some lines from Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. A discussion then ensued as to whether his later work was of an equal standard, with some liking The Corsair and others very much against.

  ‘I have always believed him the equal of Scott,’ Lady Barrie said. She was a young matron, confident and lively. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, for she had meant to provoke a reaction. ‘And for me he far eclipses Wordsworth—’

  ‘Oh, no, how can you say so?’ Sarah exclaimed. ‘Mr Wordsworth has written some wonderful poetry. I love the Lucy poems and Lyrical Ballads is always by my bedside.’

  ‘Have you read The Excursion?’ Lady Barrie asked. ‘It is not the quality of earlier work and I am not the only one to think it. Besides, Byron has such passion, such a zest for life…’