by Cheryl Bolen
His brows lowered. "What actress would that be?"
"Your . . . intended."
"Oh, that one." He shrugged. "Well, I'm not tied down yet."
"Such a lovely ways of saying things. Tied down. I believe I would call off a betrothal if my intended spoke like that."
"Ah, but a man fortunate enough to win the hand of the fair Lady Sarah Milton would never look upon matrimony as being tied down."
"You, sir, have just redeemed yourself." Not really, but if he could attempt gallantry, so could she.
He smiled. He really did have an awfully nice smile, and he smiled quite readily.
"I pray you don't bite my head off for saying so, but I enjoyed playing whist with you as my partner last night. Male or female, I'd rather have you than anyone for a partner."
She smiled at him. "I won't bite off your head. Thank you." This time, she was sincere.
"It was almost as much fun as listening to you play."
"Oh, come, sir. You can't expect me to believe that."
"I know I have many faults, but I am speaking the truth. I did not even know how much I enjoyed music until I listened to you play last night. I was actually disappointed when my cousin announced whist—and that is the first time ever I wasn't anxious to set up the whist table." He stopped and looked at her. "I’m being perfectly honest."
"Thank you. Your friend was most helpful in turning the pages for me."
"Would that I had his . . . knowledge."
"He is awfully nice."
"Best friend a fellow ever had."
The sky had grown darker and darker as they made a complete revolution of the gallery. During that time, the wind had strengthened, fanning sheaves of leaves and ripping small branches from the trees. "I fear some branch may come hurling through these glass windows. If anything happens to Em, Dunsford will kill me. I'd better see her back to him."
Sarah was touched by his concern over his sister, even though he credited his brother-in-law with being the worrier.
"If Harriett wishes to stay behind, I'll look after her," Sarah offered Lady Dunsford, but when quizzed, the child opted to go with her mother and uncle.
That left Sarah with her own mother, Mrs. Twickingham, and the duchess. The four of them began to stroll another revolution of the gallery while little Charlie ran about. "It's terribly dreary," the duchess said, "and the rain gets more violent by the moment."
Indeed, it had. Its force was so strong Sarah feared the window glass would smash under the pounding. "It's gotten almost as dark as night," Sarah said.
"And it's just past noon," her mother added, shaking her head.
"Not the weather we had hoped for," the duchess said. "I'd much rather cope with snow."
Sarah and her mother agreed.
"I thought dear Alfred was more gallant than normal," the duchess said.
Sarah nodded. "He was quite charming."
"I was so disappointed back in the drawing room when you said you two did not suit,” the duchess said, “for I had such strong hopes that you would. I truly believe you two would be perfect for each another."
Why did members of his family not understand him better, Sarah wondered? Did they not realize his inclination toward a more disreputable sort of woman? "I can't answer for your cousin. I will own, I once found him most appealing, but I'll say no more."
The duchess gave her a quizzing look.
“I must say,” Cressida Twickingham said, “that I begin to feel quite the neglected wife being close to you and the duke and Lord and Lady Dunsford. Your husbands are so devoted. I declare, if Blanks fawned over me in such a manner, I’d be forced to call the magistrates and report that my husband had been abducted and replaced with an impersonator!”
The other ladies laughed.
“Don’t feel badly,” Sarah said. “It’s been my observation that few women in all the kingdom are as cherished as are the duchess and her cousin. Their marriages are not what one is accustomed to seeing.”
“I do wish, my dearest,” Lady Babington said to Sarah, “that you could find a husband like those two have.”
Sarah snorted. “That’s extremely unlikely, especially given that my matrimonial prospects grow dimmer by the day.”
The duchess rubbed her arms and shivered against the cold. “My fireplace beckons. I can stand this dreariness no longer.”
“A good suggestion,” Lady Babington said.
The others concurred.
Except for Sarah. “I believe I’ll stay behind. I crave a bit of solitude.” She needed time alone to contemplate her recent conversation with Alfred Wickham—especially now that it occurred to her that he was up to no good.
She ignored her mother’s worrying glance.
Chapter 5
It was only natural that Alfred Wickham dominate Sarah’s thoughts after he had signaled her out to walk with him—and after the duchess expressed her opinion that her cousin and Sarah were well suited.
But the more Sarah thought about the way Mr. Wickham had come to her here, the more her suspicions grew. His mother’s absence from the ladies’ gallery walking just happened to coincide with that lady’s son’s decision to be uncharacteristically civil to Sarah. Sarah was all but certain Lady Landis had cried off the walking in order to seek a private meeting with her son. At that meeting, the mother would have induced the son to make himself charming to Sarah.
Sarah paced the long gallery alone, her stride as angry as she. The slashing rain pounding the walls of windows and the skies as black as night did nothing to improve her dark mood.
Now she felt more humiliated than ever. How could she have been so foolish as to have fallen under Alfred Wickham’s spell, even if only for a few moments?
She would not let it happen again.
The man clearly favored women of ill repute. Let him have his actress!
As she strolled the long, chilly gallery she came to the conclusion she would make herself agreeable to Lord Pottinger. To salvage her pride, Sarah determined to do something she never did. She was going to actually flirt with a man—with Lord Pottinger. He was much kinder than Alfred Wickham, though Mr. Wickham was awfully solicitous of his sister. Mr. Wickham wasn’t a total wastrel.
* * *
At dinner that night Alfred was determined, especially since his mother was there as a witness, to be far more charming to Lady Sarah than he’d been the previous evening. His cousin Bonny had once again done him the goodness of placing him next to the lovely Lady Sarah, who once again wore a gown—this time one of a pale blue that matched her eyes—that displayed those magnificent breasts.
“My cousin says you stayed on by yourself in that dreary gallery,” he said to Lady Sarah. “Was it not almost totally dark?”
She studied her soup without looking up at him in much the same way Potts had studied his the previous night. “Yes, it was.”
The way she acted had him examining their conversation to determine if he’d said something that offended her, but he could think of nothing that would have. Perhaps she just relished her clear turtle soup.
He waited until the next course. “I am told the rain is diminishing. I will be most gratified. What about you, my lady? Surely, in spite of your solo walk in the darkened gallery, you cannot enjoy rainy days.”
She continued cutting the turbot into tiny pieces without looking at him. “No, I don’t actually.”
He waited to see if she would either expand on her views of the weather or look him in the eye, but neither was forthcoming.
But before she ate a single bite of the turbot, she smiled upon Potts. “What about you, Lord Pottinger,” said she, “Will you be happy to see the last of the rain?”
Potts looked completely taken aback to have been addressed by her. Then he looked up from the plate he had just cleaned, smiled at her, and said most cheerfully, “Oh, indeed, m-m-m-my lady. I will be m-m-m-most profoundly grateful to get outdoors.”
“As will I,” Lady Sarah said. “And the chil
dren. They are looking forward to picking holly with which to decorate for Christmas. Did you do that when you were a child, my lord?”
Alfred was feeling like one standing in queue who’d had the door slammed in his face.
“When I was a s-s-s-small lad, when we went to Lancaster House. When I was older, I was allowed to help with the Yule log.”
“The duke’s going to pretend to allow little Charlie to help with the Yule log—if the weather clears,” Alfred added.
Lady Sarah ignored Alfred. “Do you have nieces and nephews, my lord?” she asked Potts.
“Several. I don’t get to s-s-see them often, as m-m-m-my sisters are a good bit older. “One lives near the Scottish borders, and other in f-f-far west Devon.” He eyed Alfred. “I suppose Wick’s to be an uncle any day.”
“Yes,” Alfred said. “My sister and Dunsford are hoping for a lad. Course I’m already uncle to Harriett.”
“Yes. Quite forgot about that,” Potts said.
“How exciting it will be if the babe is born whilst we all are here.” Lady Sarah spoke more to Potts than she did to him. Alfred was beginning to feel low.
He wondered if his mother was noticing the lady’s coolness to him. What could he do to soften Lady Sarah toward him?
To his even greater humiliation, Lady Sarah looked past him to speak to the person on the other side of him, Twigs. “Mr. Twickingham, do you and Mrs. Twickingham have children?”
Twigs pursed his lips as if the question necessitated great thought. “No. Can’t say that we do.”
“How long have you been married?”
He looked to the head of the table. “Radcliff?” he called to the duke.
The duke set down his wine glass and raised a brow.
“How long you and Duchess been wed?”
“Three years.”
Twigs turned away and eyed Lady Sarah. “Then we’ve been married two and a half. We got married less than a year after Radcliff. He always teases that I copy everything he does.” He shrugged. “Daresay he’s right.”
Alfred could understand why the Twickinghams had not yet propagated. Twigs was seldom home with his wife. One could not go to White’s that Twigs wasn’t there. The fellow had never been much in the petticoat line. Sporting pursuits were what held his interests. Much like Alfred himself. Give them the company of other bloods and something upon which to wager, and they were happy.
When the next course came, the banter across the table between Potts and Lady Sarah grew even warmer—so warm, in fact, that Potts became so comfortable, he stuttered less and less.
And Alfred became a bit melancholy. He consoled himself that at least he’d have Lady Sarah as his whist partner. He vowed to be as charming as was possible. He rather looked forward to sitting across from her. Then it would be he—and not Potts—who would be staring at her pretty face.
But first they must get through this interminable dinner. He was getting bloody bored listening to her talking sweetly to his best friend. What was his mother to think? He fancied getting the money from his mother to settle his debts. She was bound to be unhappy with the way this dinner conversation was going. One watching them would think Lady Sarah was setting her cap for Potts.
Women always favored Alfred over Potts—not that Potts was not a grand fellow, and any woman would be most fortunate to secure his affections. Alfred just wished it wasn’t this woman who was trying to secure Potts’ affections. Because of Alfred’s mother.
After dinner and after the men stayed behind with their port, they rejoined the women. Then he had to be subjected to music, which until last night he had never enjoyed. What he really wanted was to hurry to the whist table and have Lady Sarah almost exclusively.
But first, Bonny said, “Pray, Mrs. Twickingham, won’t you favor us with a song?”
Twigs’ wife shrugged. “Being country bred, I do not like to hold myself up next to talented songstresses like your cousin, your grace.”
“I do understand,” Bonny said. “I, too, was country bred, and with no brothers, I regret to say I was raised like a lad.”
To which comment, the duke roared with laughter.
All eyes turned to the duke, and all in the chamber joined his levity.
“You see, my dearest,” Radcliff said, “no one here has an imagination that can extend to picturing anything about you that is remotely masculine.”
The duchess’s laughing eyes met her husband’s. “I thank you, my darling, but if you think to ever entice me to sing in public, you greatly miscalculate.” She directed her attention to Mrs. Twickingham. “Why don’t you play for Emily. It’s been far too long since I’ve heard my cousin’s lovely voice.”
Alfred had to admit his sister sang like a nightingale.
His mother looked inordinately pleased. “Oh, yes, please, Emily. Do sing for us.”
“Very well, if I may be permitted to sing sitting down. I get so out of breath when I stand.”
Their mother nodded. “You’re now breathing for two, dearest.”
Alfred did not at all mind listening as his sister sang, but did fear she would overtax herself. It pleased him that the others listened appreciatively as she performed, but he was thankful Dunsford insisted she sing just one song.
The duke and duchess then implored Lady Sarah to play once more for the gathering. She graciously consented. To Alfred’s consternation, as she rose, so did Potts. He followed her to the pianoforte, without being asked to do so, and proceeded to turn the pages while she played.
After quickly glaring at his friend, Alfred was mesmerized by Lady Sarah. He was reminded of the first time he beheld the actress Fanny Arbuthnot upon the stage. He’d been instantly struck by her beauty—and a strong lust.
What he experienced this night was similar yet vastly different. There was lust. How could he not be somewhat affected by those stunning breasts? They cried out to be . . . caressed. The very thought aroused him. But the other feelings this woman elicited in him were profoundly different than those stirred by the actress who’d briefly been under his protection before he tired of her and discarded her like a pair of old boots, albeit with a handsome settlement.
If one were just observing Lady Sarah from across the chamber, as he was now, she would appear to be the most elegant creature one had ever beheld. Everything about her was exquisite. The previous night he had conceded that she was lovely. Tonight he understood why his mother so strongly believed this woman was capable of capturing his heart. Not that she could, of course.
But he could not deny that for breeding, beauty, and an elegance beyond compare, this woman had no equal. Now he knew why Lord Fox had been so completely besotted by Lady Sarah Milton.
And for reasons he could not explain, he hoped to God Potts was not falling in love with her.
As much as watching her elegant fingers race over the keys of the pianoforte was a feast for his eyes and as much as he enjoyed it, another part of him was anxious to get her away from the instrument, away from Potts and have her at his own whist table. As his partner.
* * *
When she took her seat at the whist table, Sarah ignored Mr. Wickham as much as she could without being overtly rude.
“I very much enjoyed hearing you sing,” she said to his sister.
“Thank you. It does rather tire me these days.”
Lord Dunsford lifted his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Everything tires her these days, but it will soon be over. Her time’s near.”
Sarah was so touched over the tender relationship between the earl and his wife. She feared she would never find so loving a husband. She was beginning to fear she would never find a husband at all. Before she knew she was going to speak, she blurted out her feelings. “You two are so fortunate to have such a loving marriage.”
Lord Dunsford kissed his wife’s hand once more. “Yes, we are blessed.”
“And we know it,” Lady Dunsford added.
“I have been told, Lady Sarah, you have had many opportu
nities to wed but have chosen not to,” Mr. Wickham said.
She eyed him frostily. “I choose not to marry where there is no love. Look at how happy your sister is. That is what I wished for.”
“You use the past tense?” Alfred asked, his brows hiked.
“It’s not looking promising.”
“There are not many dukes available.”
She glared at him. “I care not for rank. All that I require is that my future husband come from a good family. Unlike some . . .” She drilled him with a knowing glare, thinking of his actress, “I think it’s difficult to have a successful marriage of mixed classes—not impossible, but difficult.”
He brushed off her comment. “Then a baron—or even a viscount—might answer your needs?”
“Or even a mister. Pray, do not misjudge me.” He was hard to read. Was he wondering if she would be interested in marrying Lord Pottinger? Why had Mr. Wickham mentioned marriage to a baron or viscount? Mr. Wickham himself was in line to become a viscount, but of course he was not interested in her since he was promised to an actress. And now Sarah had gone and blurted out about mere misters—which Alfred Wickham currently was. She was mortified.
And more resolved than ever to be cold to him.
She smiled at his sister. “If I were to marry, which is extremely doubtful, I should want a man as charming as your husband, and I fear there are no more.”
Lady Dunsford flicked a glance at her brother, then back. “While they are rare, I trust you’ll find one, my lady, and perhaps you won’t have to look so very far.”
For spite, Sarah cast her glance across the chamber at Lord Pottinger who sat across the table from the duchess. “Perhaps gallantry isn’t dead.”
“I believe it’s your deal, Lady Sarah,” Mr. Wickham said stiffly.
She and Mr. Wickham handily won the first game. Soon they got into a rhythm like that cultivated from years of familiarity. When his sister played the king of clubs, he said, “I do believe my partner is void in that suit. Will you not trump it, my lovely Lady Sarah?”
Sarah smiled and slapped a nine of diamonds on the king. “How well you know me, sir.” She marveled over the man’s skill at the game. And as angry as she was with him, she had to admit she had never enjoyed playing whist more than she had this evening.
