Anne O'Brien (24 page)

‘Well… If you think…’

‘And I have suggested that Nick and Thea join us for a short time. That will be company for you when I need to be elsewhere.’ He applied the layers with sly expertise.

‘Yes…’

‘You will spend a considerable amount of my money and enjoy it.’ And before she could deny it: ‘It is in our contract, so I insist.’

‘But I—’

‘Sarah! I think I should also have included in that damned document that you would not argue with me at every step. There is nothing for you to do but be ready to go to France
within the week. I have a yacht, which is awaiting us in Dover harbour. Can you be ready?’

‘Yes. Oh, yes.’ A glow of colour suffused her cheeks. He could not resist, but leaned over and kissed her tinted cheek, the most gentle of caresses. And then, because the temptation was too great, and she was so close, her soft lips. They were warm and offered everything he could ask. But he drew back.

And laughed aloud as the look of startled surprise on her face struck at his senses. The likelihood of Sarah being a spy for any foreign power roused his appreciation of the ridiculous. She might mask her thoughts, but she was not that good at hiding her feelings. Wycliffe must be a fool indeed to suspect her of double-dealing! She was as transparent as the sparkling crystal on the table when jolted into happiness.

‘What is it?’ Her glance was one of sudden concern, of suspicion that her husband had manoeuvred her into this position, which he had, of course.

‘Nothing at all, dear Sarah! You are a delight to me.’

She frowned at him, but said no more. There was no accounting for the strange whims of gentlemen, after all. So she took herself off, to organise herself for the forthcoming and entirely unexpected treat. Surely if he intended to pursue the Countess of Wexford, he would not take his wife with him. It was inconceivable! The bubble of excitement within her chest could not be quelled.

Joshua smiled at her retreating figure. It pleased him to give her pleasure. Not from love exactly—he had already made that decision, had he not? But she was enchanting when taken by surprise.

And he felt a smug satisfaction at thwarting Wycliffe’s attempts to separate them, to keep Sarah alone and under surveillance in London.

Then there was only one more step for Lord Joshua Faringdon to take.

His decision to act on Wycliffe’s suggestion—if
sugges
tion
were not too mild a word for that gentleman’s plain speaking—and return to Paris as the British government’s eyes and ears gave his lordship pause for thought in the following days. It had never been an issue for him before. He had embarked on any number of chancy escapades with little concern for his own safety or the outcome of the mission. A thoughtless belief in his own immortality, he supposed. Now, with Sarah as his wife, he must give the inherent dangers some serious consideration. It had struck him with unpleasant force on the night when he had insisted that Sarah accompany him. There should be no danger for her in Paris, yet he must still contemplate the worst scenario. So he had some rapid plans to make.

He spent a day in careful thought and planning, partly in communication with Mr Hoskins, the lawyer who oversaw all the Faringdon legal matters, and finally the withdrawal of a large sum of money from his lordship’s bank. In return he acquired a deed of property, the outcome all quickly tied up and entirely to his satisfaction.

All that remained was to present the final conclusion to Sarah. He prowled the library, awaiting her return from an outing with Theodora. And brooded over the unpredictability of women who were too independent and self-sufficient for their own good, particularly those whose well-being was fast becoming a fixation with him. However enchanting they might be, however much they might have come to fill his thoughts from one hour to the next, they were still unpredictable.

At last he heard her light footsteps in the hall and emerged to meet her, all suave elegance and composure. No one would ever question his assurance. Still in her outdoor wear, she was in process of removing her beribboned and flowered straw bonnet. The soft light through the tall windows touched her hair with pale gold. She turned to him with a quick smile.

‘Joshua.’ Her eyes picked up colour in the sunbeams. ‘I did
not know that you were home.’ Her impromptu greeting and genuine warmth filled his veins with a sudden heat.

‘I was waiting for you, lady.’

She blushed deliciously. Made no attempt to walk away, as the old Sarah might have done.

‘Sarah. Have you a moment?’

‘Of course.’

She must have no notion of how uncertain he felt, nor would she. He would carry it off with his habitual confidence as if the outcome of the next few moments were of no real importance to him, when they concerned him very much. He opened the door into the withdrawing room, a deliberate choice, being less formal and business-like than the library. It was important to keep her at her ease, unaware.

Waiting by the window as she laid aside her gloves and her parasol, he stood and watched, then without a word he handed her an envelope. Thick. Official, with her name on the outer cover.

‘What is it?’ Her brows rose in typical and instant suspicion, her eyes flying to his face.

He shook his head and smiled. ‘Open it.’ He would not say more.

‘A gift?’

‘Not really. More in the way of a security.’ He refused to be defensive, but saw the little line grow between her brows.

‘You should not, Joshua. You have given me so much. You do not need to give me more.’ But she still opened it with a very feminine curiosity.

‘I know.’ He watched her. ‘But I thought that perhaps this was necessary for you. You will understand.’

She raised her brows at his enigmatic words, but he would say no more until she had seen for herself. So Sarah extracted a sheaf of pages. Her eyes ran down one, then the next, widened with shock. Then she began to read again, colour fluctuating in her cheeks, lips parted in amazement.

‘Joshua…’ At first she could not find the words.

‘Sarah!’ He allowed himself a smile.

‘You cannot do this. You must not.’

‘Of course I can. It is my right and my pleasure. You are my wife.’ Perhaps for the first time, the force of the words struck home.
You are my wife and I alone am responsible for your happiness and your safety. Your peace of mind.

‘Joshua…it is too much.’

‘It pleases me. You must allow me to be pleased.’

‘But a house! My very own house…’

She sank to the seat beside her as if her legs had not the strength to hold her.

‘It is for yourself and John. Whatever happens in the future, you will have your own home in your own name, independent of the estate. To live in or to sell, as you see fit.’

Sarah promptly shocked both of them by abandoning the document in her lap and covering her face with her hands.

‘Oh, Sarah.’ He sighed. What did he have to do to bring her troubled soul some degree of happiness and contentment? ‘It is not worth your tears. I had hoped that it would please you and give you some security.’

Your future will no longer be entirely dependent on me.

But he could not say that, could not even admit it to himself, when his impulse was to tighten the bonds rather than loosen them.

But his instinct at this moment was to take her into his arms and dry her tears with his lips. To tell her again that she need not fear the future, or his reputation, or the terrible scandal that hedged them in—whatever it was that robbed her of comfort. He wanted her to smile at him again as she had when she had walked into the hall, a smile of sheer delight. But he held back from her, aware of his own vulnerability for perhaps the first time. If she refused this gift, it would be like a slap in the face. He did not wish to contemplate that. She might fear her dependence on him. But he was beginning to realise that his happiness was fast becoming dependent on her. And he dare not approach her, for fear that she reject him as well as his gift.

‘Sarah. Please do not cry.’ He raked his fingers through his hair in a typically Faringdon gesture. ‘I did this to make you happy, not to deluge you in grief. You can refuse it if you wish. But, indeed, I hope that you will not.’

‘Yes…no! I know why you have done it. I am so overcome.’ She looked up, a wavering smile on her lips, her lashes spangled with tears as she wiped them away her hands.

What an amazing man. He had given her a house of her own. Her own house—her mind repeated it again and again. A little town house in one of the streets off the Park. Bought by him in
her name
. Not part of the Faringdon estate. With the tip of one finger she traced where her name was written on the deed of ownership, breathless with astonishment that he should do this for her, aware of her innermost fears. How could she not weep? She had never experienced such generosity in the whole of her life. Such willingness to give her her freedom if she wished to take it. Making himself vulnerable to her own choice.

He had put her future here into her own hands. What did he deserve from her? It was time that she grew up, that she stepped outside her fears and foolish insecurities.

So Sarah rose to her feet, pressing the document to her heart for a moment before laying it aside on the table. Wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. Then walked toward him quite deliberately. Stood before him. Watched the uncertainty on his face. Raised her hands, again quite deliberately with no tremor, to frame his face, aware of the flash of surprise in his eyes as she did so. Then placed her lips on his. Very gently, the merest breath.

‘Thank you, Joshua. What a marvellous gift. How could I ask for better? I could not possibly refuse it.’ She kissed him again, astonished anew at her courage in making so personal a gesture. In the cold light of day. In the withdrawing room.

The tension eased from his face, the harsh lines softened. His smile reflected hers. It was all the encouragement she needed. She kissed him one more.

‘Sarah.’ His voice was low, a little rough with emotion. ‘Do you realise that you have kissed me three times of your own volition?’

‘I know.’ Her smile deepened. ‘And I can make it four.’

And she did.

Later Joshua was free to heave a sigh of relief that his plan had come to a satisfactory fulfilment. Whatever happened in the future, Sarah would have her own home, over and above the settlement made for her in the legal jointure at the time of their marriage. Because it had to be faced. Sarah was unaware of the dangers, and it was his intention that she remain so, but dangers there undoubtedly were. If Wycliffe was talking of assassinations, political murder… Joshua thought about his last visit to Paris, his expression grim. It had ended in his ignominious sprawl over a balustrade with immediate pain and inconvenience, but no lasting damage. It could have ended quite differently if his assailant had been intent on taking his life. He had been careless, thoughtless of his safety. Next time—if there was to be a next time—he would be prepared against so overt an attack, but he might not be so fortunate in the outcome. It was the price he might be called upon to pay, becoming involved with those who would destroy the peace and stability of Europe. He had always accepted that. If death awaited him in the sumptuous rooms and clipped gardens of Paris and the Tuileries, so be it. But Sarah would not suffer. A grim tension settled about his mouth.

And Sarah must not know.

February 1820—Paris

I
t was new and overwhelming and Sarah, as she admitted in the secrecy of her heart, adored every minute of it despite having no familiarity with it or acquaintance there of her own. The city was so
old
compared with New York. So much to see, so many gracious buildings, such a variety of shop windows to gaze into, so many fashionable people. Her isolation was merely temporary. Theodora and Nicholas were expected to join them any day. Sarah suspected that Joshua had arranged it for her comfort and was grateful. Nor could she fault his own concern for her happiness. Until her sister arrived he was attentive and companionable, pleased to escort her wherever she wished to go. He bought her a copy of Galignani’s
Paris Guide
and consented to accompany her sight-seeings with amused tolerance. She could almost close her mind to the many times when he was not at home, usually during the dark hours, when he left their house in the most fashionable quarter of the city without advising anyone of his destination. Almost, but not quite.

Sarah had little time to sit and think. Even to miss the children, which she did, of course, when she came upon something
that would reduce John to astonishment, such as a splendid parade of the lancers of the Garde Royale, or would attract Beth’s wide-eyed interest. But Lord and Lady Joshua Faringdon were in demand. As soon as it was known that the English lord had returned to Paris, they received one invitation after another to soirées and balls, intimate At Homes and Court receptions. Particularly the formal receptions at the Palais Royal in the Tuileries Gardens. Sarah made her curtsy here to Louis XVIII, his brother Charles, Comte d’Artois, and Louis’ nephew, the Duc de Berri, who, with his young Duchesse, were at the centre of a lively circle who enjoyed life to the full. The Faringdons were soon drawn into the set who danced and feasted and discussed matters of triviality or importance from dawn to dusk. Sarah found it easy to admire the pretty Duchesse who remained cheerful despite her agonising failure to bear her lord, whom she so clearly adored, a son.

It was, as Joshua had told her, the time of Carnival, the days of mad revelry before the onset of the abstinence of Lent. Days of feasting and dancing, in private houses and in the streets, days and nights when no one slept. When visits to the opera or the open-air boulevard entertainments became the priority for the aristocracy. When even King Louis joined the procession of carriages and the masked revellers through the streets of the capital and the de Berris were frequently to be seen at the public festivities.

In Paris the shops were without doubt magnificent. Even Sarah could not but be entranced by the richness and beauty as she strolled along the rue Vivienne or the Champs-Elysées to the Tuileries Gardens. She could hardly wait for Theodora to join her. Meanwhile she strolled with Joshua when he visited Galignani’s famous bookshop and reading room to meet and exchange news with any number of English visitors, as well as read the English newspapers and magazines delivered daily.

Although she would never speak of it to him, it could not but impress her how graciously Lord Joshua Faringdon was re
ceived. How much at ease he was. She could not but admire his address and presence as he introduced her to the Parisian
beau monde
, ensuring her immediate acceptance into the most magnificent of private homes and châteaux, at a gossipy breakfast, a fashionable and erudite
salon
, a formal diplomatic ball or a frivolous
bal costume
. Sarah might eschew the extravagant costumes worn by some—how could she possibly consider the dress of a Peruvian princess as suitable attire?—but the opportunity to wear a silver silk-and-taffeta domino over her gown with a seductively feathered mask to cover her face—how could any lady, even the quietly reserved Lady Faringdon, resist such delights? And when it came to the dancing she discovered herself perfectly adept at mastering the steps of the polka, the polonaise, and even the mazurka with its hectic Polish folk tunes. Lord Joshua was able to partner her with sure steps, impeccable grace and timing and superb sartorial elegance. How unfair it was. But her heart swelled with unspoken love and pride when he led her into a waltz and held her close, when she felt the strength and warmth of his satin-clad arm rest around her waist, to the jealous glances of any number of far more beautiful ladies than she could ever claim to be. Sarah smiled in utter contentment.

Sometimes, when at leisure, she allowed herself to recall her own upbringing in the little Jacobean manor house in Whitchurch, comfortable enough, of course, but where both affection and money were sadly lacking, from which her marriage to John Russell had been a welcome escape. Only to be forced to return to Whitchurch by a series of catastrophic events, not least the death of her husband. There was little of that naïve and shy girl to be seen now in fashionable Lady Faringdon, she mused, as she smoothed a pair of delectable lavender kid gloves over her smooth, well-cared for hands. But under the surface…there lurked the distressing lack of confidence that still struck her at the most inconvenient moments. Leaving her to feel unworthy of being noticed, much less being the recipient
of affection—or even love. There was little point in her lecturing herself over it again—it just happened, rather like being struck down by a sudden heady cold. She smiled at the thought. But it afflicted her much less than it had in the past and she believed that she had learned to live with her guilt for past sins. Here in Paris she was accepted into society in her husband’s name and, perhaps a little, on her own merit.

And although she was aware of and sometimes irritated by the ripple of interested gossip when they entered a room, the welcoming smiles and flirtatious glances of the beautiful women who wore their jewels with such casual assurance and hid their expressions behind feathered fans, Sarah had the relief of knowing that here in Paris she was not being followed. Not once did she feel the soft footstep of an anonymous figure behind her. Whoever had been sufficiently interested in her movements had been left behind in London. But she did not speak of it to Joshua. He would deny it anyway. She had no wish to destroy the present comfortable harmony between them.

Theodora and Nicholas arrived in Paris as expected. Sarah came upon Thea arranging the disposal of their luggage at the Faringdon house in Paris with all the skill of a lady of many and distant travels in the company of her mother and ambassadorial father.

‘Sarah! We have arrived at last.’ Thea embraced her sister. ‘How well you look and how fashionable. It is so many years since I last visited Paris for any length of time—not since my father was with the embassy here. I expect the shops are as enticing as ever. Shall we explore them this afternoon?’

‘Are you not too tired after your journey?’ Sarah already knew the reply.

‘When is my wife ever tired when there is the possibility of spending money on dresses and smart hats and the like?’ Nicholas had entered the hall behind them and now saluted Sarah on her cheek with grace and humour. ‘As my lady says, Sarah, marriage becomes you. But why you should feel com
fortable as Sher’s wife, I know not.’ The glint in his eyes belied the sharp thrust at his cousin’s expense.

Sarah blushed, but could not mistake Thea’s subtle elbow in Nicholas’s ribs.

‘I am sure he is the perfect husband,’ Theodora stated. ‘Will you come with us, Nicholas?’

‘No. You do not need me, I am assured.’

Thea kissed him, allowing him to curl an arm around her waist, to pull her close, in the relative privacy of the entrance hall. ‘I promise not to spend too much.’ She lowered her lashes, flirtatious as ever.

‘Don’t promise that—or we shall both be disappointed when you do.’ He returned the caress to her cheek when she offered it. ‘I trust Sarah to keep an eye on you, as your elder sister.’

‘An impossible task to place on my shoulders!’ Sarah smiled and Thea crowed with laughter, which filled Sarah with delight that her family had joined her. There was nothing now to prevent her enjoying her first experience of the fashionable and sophisticated life offered by the French capital.

Sarah’s equanimity, however, at the covetous glances cast at her husband was severely overthrown during one hot and deplorably overcrowded evening at the home of Pozzo di Borgo, the Russian Ambassador. Afterwards she could not say what had made her aware, to turn her head at that precise moment. A faintest shiver of anticipation along her spine. But she felt a need to look over her shoulder—to see her lord standing at the entrance to a private anteroom. Tall, straight and splendidly handsome in the dark severity of formal evening clothes. As was now very familiar to her, her heart fluttered and her cheeks grew pink with sheer delight in his presence—until she saw that he was in close and intimate conversation with a woman. A woman whose lovely face and superb figure were horribly familiar. The conversation between the two was clearly of a se
rious nature and in some depth. Then her lord was bowing over the lady’s hand, raising it to his lips.

Olivia Wexford. Of course.

Sarah could not see Joshua’s expression, but she could view the Countess’s face without interruption. Perhaps a little cool and serious at first. The faintest of frowns between her arched brows. Some sharp words from her expression. Then her face warming with a charming sparkle in her eyes and a flirtatious little smile curving her lips. She tapped Lord Faringdon’s arm with her fan. There could be no mistaking so provocative a gesture for what it was. An invitation!

Sarah turned away. She did not wish to see more. The pain in her heart stabbed deeply, more than she could ever have believed. But she should have expected no less. Joshua had not married her for love. Sarah had acknowledged that incontrovertible fact at the very beginning, acknowledged, reluctantly, that he would continue to give his affections elsewhere. But she could not
like
the Countess of Wexford, remembering her sly malice and deliberate desire to harm. In fact, the gentle lady, who now stood with her back deliberately turned against the Countess and her own husband, was forced to admit that she positively
detested
the woman! Sarah’s fingers curved around her fan into remarkable talons, worthy of a predator about to strike. Sensing the immediate danger to the fragile ivory sticks, Sarah took a breath and used all her will-power to force them to relax. She must be willing to accept. She could not like it, but she must acknowledge that her marriage was truly one of convenience.

But why did it have to be the Countess of Wexford who returned to such prominence in her lord’s life?

She eventually brought herself to speak of the unnerving episode to Thea, desiring a sympathetic audience. But Thea shrugged, giving no credence to her sister’s fears.

‘I don’t understand why you are so concerned.’

‘He was kissing her hand.’

‘Sarah! Of course he would. Joshua is all grace and elegance and perfect manners. And, after all, he knows the woman. He could hardly turn the shoulder in public, now could he?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ She did not look convinced.

Thea smiled. ‘Joshua is no fool. Give him credit for seeing how shallow and self-centred that dreadful creature is.’

Sarah answered with unusual asperity. ‘But meanwhile he might also see—and remember!—how well endowed and beautiful she is! I know for a fact that she once engaged his interest.’

‘Sarah…’ What could Thea say to reassure? ‘That was before he married you!’

‘Does that matter?’

Thea frowned at her sister with more than a little frustration. ‘Well—you know him better than I, of course.’ She would not refer to the rumours that, according to Nicholas, had followed Joshua all his adult life, to the despair of Lady Beatrice. ‘But I would not think you had anything to fear from the Countess. Your lord is hardly neglectful of you, is he?’

For since her arrival, Thea had noted Joshua’s care and particular attention to Sarah. The softness of his expression when his eyes rested on his wife, particularly when Sarah was unaware, could not be denied. How complicated it was becoming. Thea knew that Sarah loved Joshua, of course—had she not admitted the fact herself? But it seemed equally possible that Lord Joshua was fast losing his heart to a lady who had no appreciation whatsoever of that interesting development. And equally, it seemed to Theodora, a fascinated witness, that Lord Joshua was fighting against the experience. How foolish people were when they refused to accept this basic and highly desirable attraction. Not like herself and Nicholas, of course. She had the grace to blush a little as she remembered her own forward behaviour. Particularly a notable incident in the stables at Aymestry, before the disaster of the fire. But she took it upon herself not to meddle in her sister’s private affairs. Or not yet, at any event. Sarah would not thank her for it and she certainly
did not think that Joshua would welcome any involvement on her part. As for Nicholas… She winced a little as she imagined her lord’s caustic words if she engaged in stirring the smouldering ashes between Joshua and Sarah into a bright flame. So—for a little time at least—she would simply watch and keep her own council.

Sarah, unaware of her sister’s train of thought, accepted Thea’s advice, but she still could not feel at ease. If she became a little uncertain and just slightly withdrawn towards her lord, he apparently showed no awareness of it.

Which perversely worried Sarah even more.

But any surface harmony between them was not to last.

For Sarah it all began with an inopportune meeting with the one woman in Paris whom she had every intention of avoiding. It could not be avoided, since Sarah had arranged to wait for Thea outside Le Domino Rouge, a mantua makers in the rue Vivienne, when out of the next-door establishment, which sold the finest of leather gloves, stepped no other than the Countess of Wexford. The two ladies faced each other. Both curtsied. Both regarded each other with smiling lips and frosty eyes.

‘Mrs Russell.’ The Countess unfurled her parasol with a supremely elegant gesture, entirely in keeping with her smoothly controlled voice. ‘But, of course, you are no longer Mrs Russell, are you? I would not have expected to meet Lord Faringdon’s…ah, housekeeper…here.’ Her smile had the tiniest and most effective hint of contempt in tone and in the calculated hesitation. ‘You played your cards very cleverly, did you not? I would not have expected such expertise on your part—but it seems that we must not be misled by appearances. One does not expect such skills from a mere employee.’