Anne O'Brien (16 page)

‘It is my intention. But only if you wish me to do so. If you wish for time alone, I will give you that seclusion.’

There was a silence. She was thinking about it and he had no idea what she would say.

‘Sarah?’

‘I would like you to stay with me.’

‘Then it will be my pleasure.’ The relief in his heart seemed to him totally out of keeping with her simply stated desire. He tucked the covers around her, around both of them. ‘Go to sleep, my dear girl. There is nothing to worry you now.’

But Sarah did not sleep. Without doubt she was weary, but her mind could not rest. It played over and over the events of the past hour. Causing her to flinch at her naïveté and lack of confidence. At her lack of suitable words to say to him, when he had been so tender, so considerate of her. What could she possibly say to him? That he had awakened emotions and sensations of which she had never been aware, wonderful sensations that drove a flush to her cheeks? She could not tell him that, could not admit to such lack of knowledge. So why had
she not been able to give as freely as he had given her? She did not know the answer to that. And yet Joshua had made her feel cherished, wanted, desired. How skilled he had been. Just the thought of the power of his clever hands roused shivers along her flesh. All she could do was hope that he had been satisfied with her poor efforts. The dread spectre of the Countess of Wexford returned once more to the edge of her mind, to stand beside the bed with a disdainful lift to her perfect brows. She could never be like the Countess—confident, experienced, knowing—no matter how long she lived, no matter how tolerant her lord could continue to be. Sarah sighed against his chest. He had been honourable enough to pretend that she had been everything he had wanted. She must try harder to achieve that so that he would not turn from her in dissatisfaction.

Because if she had known before that she had loved him, it was now engraved in her heart, for all time, in letters of pure gold.

Lord Joshua held her, aware of her wakefulness, guessing at the swirling pattern of thoughts that refused to permit her mind to sink into sleep. But he said nothing, allowing her the pretence, conscious only of her softness against him. It seemed that for tonight he must be satisfied with her willingness to rest in his arms and was relieved when at last exhaustion claimed her and her breathing settled. She slid into sleep with a little sigh. It would not be an easy marriage, he realised. She was too tense, too nervous, too much embattled by fears and past influences. But they had made a start and it would improve. He smiled at the direction of his thoughts. He would like nothing better than that she could find it in her to come to him with joy and pleasure, with confidence, to find fulfilment in his arms.

The thought remained with him, one of hope, as he, too, drifted into unconsciousness.

R
ather than a more conventional honeymoon, perhaps in the Italian Lakes or on the romantic shores of the Adriatic, Lord and Lady Joshua Faringdon took themselves, the children and their household to the attractive estate on the edge of Richmond. After the flurry of activity to prepare for the wedding, by the bride at least, the rural tranquillity was a blessing, and an opportunity for the new family to become better acquainted. And not merely the bride and groom. Sarah would have been particularly interested in a private conversation between Lord Joshua Faringdon and Master John Russell when she was not present. She might have blushed at her son’s blunt style, but she would not have been surprised and would certainly not have been displeased at the outcome.

‘Sir.’ Joshua looked up to see the boy standing just inside the open library door one morning, the opportunity still there for flight if his courage failed him. ‘Sir… Will you now be my father?’

Ah. He should have expected this—but perhaps not quite so soon. John, it seemed, was as expedient as his mother. Joshua held out his hand to encourage the child to approach. ‘No. Your father is Captain John Russell, for whom you are named.’ And waited.

‘Yes.’ John nodded. ‘He was a hero and died in a battle. Mama told me. He sailed a ship all by himself.’

‘He did.’

‘He was very brave, but he died.’ A thoughtful pause as John leaned against the polished desk, rubbing the edge with none-too-clean fingers. ‘Does Mama like you?’

‘I hope so.’ Joshua fought against the irresistible ripple of laughter that threatened his composure. ‘She likes me enough to live with me.’

Which was accepted with a nonchalant shrug. ‘Will we always live here, sir?’

‘Some of the time.’ A catechism, no less! Much like Lady Beatrice, he decided, so he was well practised in fielding questions. But where was this leading?

‘Where else? Shall I like it?’

‘In London, which you know. I have an estate in Yorkshire that I think you will like. And perhaps one day you will come with me to Paris.’

‘Can I ride a horse in Yorkshire?’ Paris as yet had no such attraction. ‘I used to in New York. I was very good!’

Considering his age, Joshua doubted it, but recognised the ambition and had no intention of shattering dreams. He kept his face solemn despite the gleam in his eyes. ‘Of course. And here too. We can ride in the Park.’

‘I like horses more than ships,’ the boy confided. ‘I was sick when we sailed here. Will Beth be my sister?’

The change of subject did not throw his lordship. ‘Yes. Does that worry you?’

‘No.’ John glanced at his lordship under fair brows, assessing. ‘She likes her own way.’

‘I expect she does. Women often do. They enjoy managing.’ Joshua leaned his arms on the desk, angled his head, still waiting.

John frowned, accepting but not quite understanding. ‘I can almost run as fast as she can.’ Then: ‘What do I call you?’

So this was it. There was a lot of Sarah in this splendid child.
Not just his colouring, but his squared shoulders and determined stance. And his courage. The unknown Captain Russell should be very proud of his son, as should his mama. Perhaps one day… But there was a serious matter to be settled here.

‘Can I suggest…’ Joshua’s reply was gentle, full of understanding of the child’s insecurities. ‘Captain Russell is your father and for now you will keep his name. But you could call me Papa, as Beth does. That might be easier. Do you think?’

John thought. ‘Yes, sir. Papa. I can do that.’ His face was lit by a sudden disarming grin. ‘I’m glad I asked. I must go now. Mama says I still have to have lessons.’

He ran to the door in some relief.

‘John…’

‘Yes…Papa?’

‘Ah…it does not matter.’ He did not know what he wished to say after all. ‘This afternoon we will ride in the park.’

‘Yes!’ And left.

Which was a pretty good outcome for a morning’s work.

When Sarah heard her son address Joshua as Papa for the first time that very afternoon, her head whipped round, a range of expressions on her face. If her life had depended on it, she could not have explained her emotions in that one moment. Her lord saw and understood.

‘It was his choice,’ Joshua explained when the children were out of earshot. ‘He knows that John Russell is his father. But it is simpler for him this way. We came to a…an understanding. At present he likes horses better than ships, so I am an attractive prospect as the owner of an extensive stable.’ A smile—a little wry—touched his face. ‘Unless you object, of course.’

‘No. No—how could I?’ A flame of heat warmed her heart for this man who could take her and her son with such ease. Perhaps one day they would have children of their own. It was by no means an unpleasant prospect. Sarah turned back to
watch her son, who was longingly and impatiently clinging to the head of a lively pony, hoping to hide the sudden heat in her cheeks.

Beth quickly came to her own understanding with Sarah. A pragmatic child as ever, she decided that she would address Sarah as Mama and did so in her solemn fashion from the very beginning.

The relaxed days in Richmond also gave Lord and Lady Faringdon time and space in which to discover each other. Sarah learnt that although her husband might appear stern, sometimes austere and given to moments of deep distraction, he was blessed with an appreciation of the ridiculous and a quick infectious grin. He was a man who liked matters arranged to his own way of thinking, but could be sensitive and thoughtful of her needs too. It was a shock to have her desires preempted, her wishes attended to, sometimes before she had even voiced them. How could she not love a man so stunningly attractive, so graciously disposed towards her? Sometimes he surprised her by his impulsive actions. He was very
Faringdon
, she decided as she observed Joshua ordering their removal from London to Richmond. There were traits of both Henry and Nicholas here, particularly his impatience when thwarted. But those two gentlemen had never made her heart race, brought a blush to her cheeks or a tingle to the surface of her skin at the very thought of the man’s touch. Even the slightest brush of his hand on her arm was enough to stir a heat in her belly. A response to him that she became very adept at masking.

When he came to her at night, Lord Joshua continued to be careful of her. Gentle at all times. He made no demands on her with which she might be uncomfortable. A man of honour in all things, she thought, no matter the scandals that surrounded his name. Perversely, she felt just a touch of disappointment. What would it be like if her lord felt real passion for her—to
love her, to possess her with such intensity, such lack of control as to rob her of her will and her choice? She thought she might like it. Then blushed an even deeper hue. And had to accept that she lacked the confidence or knowledge to do anything about it.

But of course she did not expect her lord to be carried away, his control destroyed, in the heat of an overwhelming passion, did she?

Joshua at first found his wife shy. But then, perhaps not shy. It was just that she was not at ease with him yet. He had learnt very quickly that she needed encouragement to relax and be herself. She thought too much about what people might think of her, if they would approve of her, if they would be critical of her actions and opinions. She had a gentle humour, a tendency to chuckle before she became aware and stopped herself. But her quiet blue eyes would still dance. Patient, generous with her time, she lavished love openly on the children, Beth as well as John, determined that they should never lack for affection. Joshua watched her with a sharp prick of guilt for it seemed that Sarah knew his daughter better than he did. For herself, she needed to know that she was wanted, appreciated. When he came to her bed, a freedom within their relationship that he could not resist, she responded to his needs readily enough. But here, too, there was a reserve that made him hold back, prevented him from making too many demands on her. It pleased him that she slept easily in his arms.

Whatever the difficulties, they found a rapport in the days together. And a startling moment of illumination for both of them.

It became customary on mild days to ride in the expanse of Richmond Park, Lord Joshua with the two children. Sarah did not accompany them, but one afternoon, on her son’s insistence, went to the stables to admire his prowess. Joshua handed his horse to a groom and walked toward her, a welcoming smile.

‘Will you join us?’

‘No.’ Sarah shook her head, but he caught a glimpse of what he interpreted as regret.

On a thought he asked, ‘Can you ride?’ He had never considered that she could not, merely that it was not to her taste. Theodora rode, so he had presumed that her sister did also.

‘No. Our horses were sold.’

Of course. He had not thought of that. A childhood blighted by lack of resources, a profligate father and a feckless mother. Horseflesh would be the first luxury to be sold. He saw the faint colour in her face at the admission, but did not embarrass her with further comment.

‘Do you wish to? I can teach you.’

Sarah hesitated, finding herself struggling between a sharp desire to achieve that skill for herself, yet not wishing to put the burden of her inexperience on to anyone. Certainly not on to Joshua, who probably had his hands full with her son’s enthusiastic efforts. She must not be demanding of his time more than she already was. So: ‘No, but thank you for your kind offer. You go on. You will enjoy the air. I shall take a turn in the garden.’

He would have allowed her to turn away, to deny her interest, but her voice held so wistful a note. He realised in that moment that Sarah had lived her whole life at the whim of others, doing what would please them, never putting her own wishes forward. So much unlike his own life, where the desires of the Faringdon heir were paramount. Well, he would change all that. Today, she would be given the desires of her heart.

‘Sarah.’ He stretched out his hand to grasp hers, to stop her making a retreat. ‘Would you truly wish to ride?’

‘Not an animal such as that.’ She laughed, retreating into light humour, effectively hiding any personal inclination with consummate skill. She had been doing it for years, Lord Joshua decided. And he had only just come to realise it. He watched her as with a shake of her head she indicated her lord’s dark bay stallion, which was in process of pawing up the turf.

‘Sarah…’ He allowed just a hint of impatience to creep in.

She heard it. ‘I might.’ To agree was to escape.

‘Go and find something to wear.’ Definitely a command.

‘But I—’

‘We will wait for you.’

In a mild panic, Sarah cast an eye over to where the children were growing impatient.

‘Go on, Scheherazade.’ Joshua clasped her shoulders, turned her round and gave her a gentle but definite push in the direction of the house.

Sarah stalked off. She never stalked—but on this occasion she felt like it, ordered about as if she were a servant. Scheherazade indeed! The thought brought a shocked giggle to her throat, unsure of which emotion took precedence. Terrible nerves at the coming ordeal, disapproval of being ordered to ride whether she wished to or not or…or delight that she might actually, at last, learn to ride a horse.

Within the half hour Lady Faringdon marched back again into the stableyard, clad in plain skirt and close-fitting jacket, accompanied by an obvious cloud of indignation and an invisible but strong bout of nerves.

‘I don’t at all know of the wisdom of this…’ The frown between her brows was directed at her lord. Until her attention was caught by a movement in the stable doorway. ‘Oh…’

‘Mama. This is Jewel.’ A groom beside him to hold her head, John held the end of the reins of a little mare, so pale grey as to be almost white. Soft and gentle, perfectly proportioned, a lady’s riding horse with side saddle. Exactly like a painted palfrey, all neat lines and elegantly curving neck, glowing in the winter sunshine as if from a gilded medieval illustration.

‘She’ll look after you.’ Joshua could only smile at his wife’s obvious enchantment with the little animal. If any mare in his stable could entice a reluctant lady to risk the dangers of a first ride, it was The Jewel. And, he knew as he watched her, his wife was just as enchanting as the mare. ‘This is one of Nick’s breeding from Aymestry. She is a gentle little animal, as comfortable a ride as a feather bed. You need have no concerns of
her running off with you. She will go to sleep on her feet if you let her.’

‘Well!’ Sarah was speechless. She stroked the satin coat and almost purred as the mare turned dark, long-lashed eyes on her. ‘You are so very pretty.’ The mare promptly sighed and leaned her shoulder against her. Sarah fell instantly in love. Now she had two objects of unreserved love in her life other than her son, she realised. And both of them Faringdon.

‘Come then, my lady.’ Lord Joshua gave her no time to renege, lifted her into the saddle, helped her hook her knee in place with brisk efficiency, held her as she arranged her skirt in graceful folds. ‘The Jewel will do nothing that you do not ask of her.’ He enfolded her hands in his, gave them a light pressure. And made her a promise. ‘And I will not allow any harm to come to you.’ He swung up onto the back of the well-mannered bay and was rewarded by a smile that illuminated his wife’s face with such joy and beauty that it took his breath away.

So they rode in the Park. As a family, Sarah thought, a family of her own. As she had always longed to do. Nothing could have given her greater pleasure. She was nervous, but The Jewel was as precious as her name, as placid, as careful of her rider’s comfort, as had been promised. Sarah could not believe the level of happiness that threatened to overflow and reduce her to emotional tears. She swiped at the dampness on her lashes before anyone could see. The shame and terrors of the past receded into distant impenetrable mist whilst at the centre of her existence was Joshua Faringdon, her world, her universe, filling her heart with love.

The pleasure for Lord Joshua Faringdon was quite simply to see his wife’s delight. The colour, delicate rose, in her face. To hear her laugh when she succeeded in mastering the mare’s slow trot without loss of dignity. He felt the splendour of it as a blow to his gut, a heavy thud of admiration and also of arousal. The desire to draw her close and caress her, mouth to mouth, soft curves to hard planes, her sweet breath mingling with his.