The Reluctant Heiress

by Evelyn Richardson

  “I had never quite considered it that way,” Sarah replied slowly. “I never had any interest in the sort of life led in the ton so I simply ignored the fashionable world altogether.” She paused for a moment before adding, “However, that does not mean I have been completely free to pursue my own interests. People in the country are no less inclined to gossip than those in town. There are just fewer of them. I am regarded as being most eccentric, you know.”

  “So I have heard.” The earl grinned. “And that reputation affords a certain protection in itself. When no one knows quite what to make of a person, they generally leave that person alone. You undoubtedly have become a law unto yourself around here.”

  It was Sarah’s turn to smile. There was something mischievous yet intimate in Lord Farringdon’s expression that she could not help responding to. “I suppose I have.” Not since Lady Willoughby had died had she shared her private view of the world with anyone in quite this manner. To be sure, there was Thaddeus Wilson, who participated in so many of her interests, but he did not possess the same rebellious nature that she did If he noticed the rest of the world at all, it was in the vaguest sort of way, and he certainly did not care how it related to him. Sarah did notice and she did care, not enough to change herself or to sacrifice her independence, but enough to feel anger at the narrow-mindedness and pettiness of most of society at large.

  They both fell silent as they sat gazing over the rich green fields dotted with sheep and the marshes beyond. It was a comfortable silence, the silence of two people at ease with one another’s company. Sarah was the first to break it as, glancing at the sun which had risen considerably higher over the tree-tops, she sighed. “Oh dear, I fear I have stayed away too long. Mr. Dallow is coming to see me about some sheep, and I must not be late.” She nodded to the earl, wheeled, and was off before he could so much as think up a reply.

  Alistair remained watching her until she became the merest speck in the distance heading toward what appeared to be a rose-colored manor house set in a grove of trees. So that was Ashworth. He smiled to himself. She was a rather taking little thing in her own way and, with her prickly independence, a delightful change from Rosalind and so many other women he had had over the years. He had not done too badly with her; in his presence, and in the space of half an hour she had gone from barely concealed hostility to something like friendliness. Lady Sarah Melford was a challenge, to be sure, but it was a challenge the Earl of Burnleigh was more than equal to.

  Chapter Eleven

  Riding back to Ashworth, Sarah, like Lord Farringdon, was also marveling at how the earl had been able to transform her dislike of him so easily into something less hostile. How odd, she had felt more at ease with Lord Farringdon than she had with anyone in a long time. Fool, she muttered to herself as she took a low hedge. He is legendary for his charm. You are just another victim of that charm—and a willing, credulous victim at that, she concluded furiously. But she could not really bring herself to believe that. He had been too honest, too open to be leading her on. He had not flattered her with admiring remarks on her physical characteristics or her costume as did most men bent on offering Spanish coin—not that she had been the recipient of such comments--but Rosalind had so often regaled her with stories of which admirers had said what that Sarah was very well aware of what passed for flirtation in the ton. Lord Farringdon had certainly not subjected her to any of that. No, in fact, he had treated her as though she were an equal and a friend, which was precisely what was so pleasant about it all and why she found herself drawn to him, however unwillingly.

  And that, Sarah muttered furiously to herself, is exactly why he is so dangerously attractive; he adapts himself to the temperament of the company in which he finds himself so that Lady Amelia is as comfortable with him as Rosalind is, and none could be more different than those two. The man is nothing more than a chameleon. However, she could not help being intrigued by him. Undoubtedly the Earl of Burnleigh was a rake, but he was certainly a very clever rake and far more entertaining than anyone else she had encountered in quite some time. In spite of herself, Sarah could not help looking forward to her next visit to Cranleigh just to see what he would do this time.

  Thoughts of Lord Farringdon continued to intrude upon Sarah during the rest of her day, making her less forceful than usual in her dealings with Mr. Dallow.

  Even Miss Trimble, despite her failing eyesight, noted Sarah’s abstracted air. The former governess, now in failing health, had been delighted to hear from her pupil, and so excited at the prospect of being useful to her that she had hurried to Ashworth, completely ignoring her infirmities. In fact, Sarah had been appalled to see how much the lady had aged, but she had allowed herself to be assured that a sojourn in a household with her former charge was just the thing the governess needed. Indeed, Miss Trimble had seemed to move more quickly and look a good deal more stout after a few days at Ashworth, and though she would actually not have been of much help should Sarah’s virtue have been seriously threatened, her presence was enough to protect her former pupil’s reputation.

  Guessing from the few details that Miss Trimble let fall that hers must have been a rather narrow and poverty-stricken existence, Sarah was only too happy to be able to offer her every possible luxury she could think of. The poor woman was pathetically grateful. “So kind, always so thoughtful, even as a little girl,” she murmured over and over again as Sarah would lead her to a chair in the sunlit library, bring her a shawl, or read her the latest news from The Times.

  Actually, Sarah was rather enjoying having someone to look after. It brought a warmth and a sense of usefulness, a sense of belonging that she had sadly missed in her life without Lady Willoughby. To be sure, she continued to involve herself in the welfare of the villagers, helping the younger children to learn their letters, occasionally settling disputes among the older ones, taking food to the sick, and generally interesting herself in the problems and difficulties that beset her less fortunate neighbors. Though they appreciated all that she did and frequently sought out her advice, the villagers still stood somewhat in awe of her. To them she was the lady of the manor and consequently a being from another realm entirely. To Miss Trimble she was one of the few kind and genuinely concerned people the governess had encountered in her life.

  It did Sarah a great deal of good to feel needed, to feel as though she meant something to another person. For much of her life she had been rather extraneous to anyone’s existence.

  Certainly, she had never been anything but an encumbrance to her father and her brother, if they stopped to think of her at all. And Lady Willoughby, though she had delighted in her granddaughter’s companionship, had done far more for Sarah than Sarah could do for her grandmother. While it was true that Rosalind was demanding Sarah’s help right now, the marchioness had made it abundantly clear that had there been anyone more fashionable and more amusing than Sarah to call upon, she certainly would have done so.

  No, when Miss Trimble’s face lighted up as she entered the room, Sarah experienced a glow of happiness, knowing that her mere presence was so important to someone. The idea that someone was even thinking of her gave her a sense of well-being such as she had never felt before.

  Sarah would have been astounded had she known herself to be the focus of someone else’s thoughts, someone far less feeble, far less helpless than Miss Trimble. Lord Farringdon continued to contemplate Lady Sarah Melford all the way back to Cranleigh, and even after that as he sat down to a hearty rasher of eggs. She is a funny little thing, he thought as he paused in the meal to take a great gulp of coffee, quiet and seemingly happier alone than in company, yet she was not at all shy. Sarah appeared ready to discuss topics that most women would customarily have avoided. Unlike almost all the females he had encountered, she was quite capable of conversing intelligently about something other than herself—a rare trait, indeed. He looked forward to speaking further with her. Certainly, she offered a distinct contrast to Rosalind and the Edgecumbe g
irls, all three of whom made him feel positively hunted with their interest in him, hunted to the degree that it was a delightful relief to enjoy the early morning hours without fear of their pursuit, safe in the knowledge that they had probably not yet arisen and would be at their toilette for some time after that.

  This sense of security was short-lived, however, as Rosalind, after a morning spent closeted with her maid, appeared around noon, a vision of loveliness that demanded masculine attention and admiration. Nothing would do but to have both the attractive men in the household dancing attendance on her. To this end she organized a trip to Folly Hill, the local promontory that afforded a commanding view of the countryside and required the use of several carriages. If she could have had things her way, Rosalind would have sat alone in the barouche with either the chevalier or the earl, but given the impossibility of this, she invited Lady Amelia and her mother to join her as they offered the least competition for masculine attention. Besides, a gentleman riding attentively alongside could carry on just as intimate conversation as one seated in a barouche.

  Another barouche containing Lady Edgecumbe and her daughters made up the party while the chevalier. Lord Farringdon, and Lord Tredington accompanied on horseback. Sarah, hastily summoned from Ashworth and loath to be confined to a carriage with either her sister-in-law or the Edgecumbe girls, was also mounted, a circumstance that caused Cordelia and her sister to exchange knowing glances at yet another example of her unbecoming lack of femininity, but since Sarah limited her conversation to the Reverend Mr. Witson and posed not the slightest threat to any of the women bent on attracting the attention of either the chevalier or the earl, she was soon forgotten in the rush to see which carriage would command the escort of which man.

  Wishing to avoid further importunities from the chevalier, Rosalind was quick to call Lord Farringdon to her side with the first comment that came to mind. “What a truly splendid animal, my lord. I am persuaded that you must find it very tame sport to accompany us at such a snail’s pace when you are accustomed to risking your neck at every possible chance.”

  Sarah, who was close enough to be within earshot of this transparent bid for attention, snorted to herself at the idea that Rosalind would recognize any quality about a horse beyond its color and the fact that it possessed four legs. Unfortunately, she was also able to hear the earl’s reply, which was equally fatuous. “But what is speed compared to the opportunity to feast one’s eyes on such loveliness?”

  What a coxcomb! All Sarah’s dawning respect for the man evaporated in an instant. How he could empty the butter-boat over her sister-in-law in such a fashion with a straight face was more than she could fathom. Unable to stop herself, she stole an incredulous glance at Lord Farringdon only to discover that he was looking straight at her and, what was worse, the man had the audacity to wink at her in a most conspiratorial manner!

  Of all the ... ! Sarah’s hands tightened on the reins, causing Ajax to sidle and toss his head, which only deepened the amused expression on the earl’s face. And then there was Rosalind, so accustomed to masculine adoration that she accepted such barefaced flattery without a blink, not even questioning its sincerity. As far as she could see, the two of them deserved one another—both were so convinced of their fascination to the opposite sex that it never occurred to either one to doubt its potency for even a moment.

  Still, the earl had appeared to be a reasonable creature both this morning and the day before. For some inexplicable reason, Sarah discovered that she did not want to think of Lord Farringdon as one of Rosalind’s flirts, but why that was she could not say precisely. He had seemed too cynical and too intelligent to be taken in by a lovely face and practiced coquetry. Yet now he was leaning over the marchioness as though enthralled by her every word. There remained, however, an air of wry self-consciousness about the man when he caught Sarah observing. Did he think he could win Sarah over as well? She shook her head in disgust. Almost, she had come to enjoy the man’s company, but she should have known better after witnessing that passionate embrace years ago. He was just as much interested in dalliance as Rosalind was. Sarah sat stock-still for a moment, struck by yet another, even worse possibility—perhaps he was truly in love with her sister-in-law.

  No. Somehow that idea was even more upsetting than thinking of him as a rake. Surely, he would have married Rosalind if that had been the case. His family was as ancient and respectable as the Melfords and his fortune a good deal larger than Harold’s. And why was she wasting all this thought on the Earl of Burnleigh anyway, Sarah chided herself. He was nothing more than a Bond Street beau who spent his life in pursuit of excitement and amusement, not the sort of person she would have ordinarily wasted a second thought on. It was with relief that she turned to the vicar, who broke into her thoughts.

  “I am happy that the marchioness was able to lure you along on this expedition, for I now have the opportunity to enjoy intelligent conversation as well as a beautiful day. I have been meaning to ask you what you think of this Burdett business?”

  Sarah was grateful for the distraction. There was something about Thaddeus’s pleasant, open countenance that made one instinctively like and trust him. There was certainly nothing of the deliberate charm that made people such as the Earl of Burnleigh so upsetting. She sat in silence, gazing at the flowering countryside and considering this difference. Then, with a start, she realized that she had not answered the question addressed to her. “Burdett? I admire his convictions; however I am not at all certain I understand all the fine points of this latest contretemps with Parliament. Certainly he is a zealous reformer, a man who acts to protect the rights of those people who have few, if any, to speak for them.”

  “And yet he opposed our efforts to rid Europe of the most absolute demagogue the world has seen in some time,” a deep voice spoke behind them.

  Sarah whirled around to discover Lord Farringdon regarding her quizzically, one dark eyebrow raised and a crooked smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Blast! Was she never to be allowed to forget the man’s presence? Why did he not stay fawning over Rosalind and the Edgecumbe girls? They deserved his attention; she did not, especially when she was trying to have a serious discussion with Thaddeus. Men like Farringdon did not possess a serious bone in their bodies, and yet here he was presuming to pass judgment on a man who devoted his life to that most weighty of subjects—political reform. “I believe Sir Francis Burdett to be a most estimable man, a champion of rights for those who are unfortunate, a tireless worker in the cause of justice, and a believer in liberty for all men—a belief, which though it may lead him to oppose war with France, makes him nonetheless admirable,” she responded with close-lipped annoyance.

  “The man has a most devoted defender in you, Lady Sarah,” Alistair responded, a twinkle of amusement lurking in the gray eyes. The lady was irritated with him, and he knew precisely the reason, having provoked her deliberately. But it was worth it. She did look magnificent with the brilliant color staining her cheeks and righteous anger sparkling in her eyes. “And he would most certainly think highly of you as well, an earnest young woman who devotes her life to good works in the surrounding countryside, eschewing the empty amusements of the ton.”

  Somehow, Sarah felt more exasperated than flattered by this encomium, nor did it help to have Thaddeus rush loyally to her defense. “Lady Sarah is an example to us all. She concerns herself not only with the welfare of those at Cranleigh and Ashworth, but in the larger neighborhood as well. She has made sure that a school has been established to teach girls as well as boys their numbers and letters, and even helps out there herself. The parish is most fortunate to have her,” he concluded enthusiastically.

  It was with an effort that Sarah maintained a serene, detached expression under the earl’s ironic gaze when really she longed to scowl most dreadfully at him. Drat the man! He seemed omniscient. Something in the way he was looking at her made her realize that he was well aware of the conflicting thoughts and emotions she w
as experiencing. Ordinarily, Sarah would have been more than happy to acknowledge her interest in the welfare of the villagers and in politicians who were working to effect changes in the broader scheme of things for such people. Ordinarily, she would have scorned anyone who was not concerned with such important affairs, dismissing that person as not being worth the time of day. But, perversely enough, at this particular moment she did not wish to be thought of as one of those very dull, very blue ladies who went around boring everyone with their constant talk of their own good works. On the whole, such creatures were humorless and unattractive, and for some reason Sarah did not wish to be put in a class with them, especially when her sister-in-law was looking so ravishing in a dove gray carriage dress of the new corded muslin with a black lace shawl draped gracefully around her. The Marchioness of Cranleigh might be in half-mourning, but she looked enchanting, and certainly far more alluring and interesting than someone attired in a severely cut slate gray riding habit that was years out of fashion.

  Sarah gave herself a mental shake. What was wrong with her, anyway? She had never admired Rosalind in the least and had even less desire to compete with her, but neither did she wish to be dismissed as an antidote who had nothing to do with her life except help around the parish. Nor did she wish it to be thought that her sole admirer was the local vicar. Somehow the tone in Lord Farringdon’s voice and the expression in his eyes implied all that. Worse yet, she was bothered by it. Why she should care what some arrogant Corinthian thought of her was more than Sarah could fathom. Now the arrogant Corinthian was addressing her again. “I beg your pardon? I was not attending,” Sarah was forced to confess with some confusion.