She could have adopted the light, bantering tone he’d employed,
perhaps to put her at ease. Could have said such a thing was a long way off.
“I am not the governess you think me,” she blurted. There! She’d
exposed herself, at last. The truth had to be in the open before they could
proceed. She tensed for his horror, his outrage.
Instead, he transferred her glass from her trembling fingers to the
depths of the urn so he could grip both her hands.
“No, for I misjudged you. You are
so
much more yet I’ve been blind to the truth and for that I offer
my humblest apologies.” He lowered his head to gaze into her eyes.
“What?” Confusion swamped her.
“I believed any daughter of Godby’s must share his disregard for the
feelings of others. You have proved a true and loyal friend to my daughter. You
have the courage of your convictions. You have earned my esteem and
admiration—”
Oh, dear Lord, I
must
tell him the truth
.
She stepped backwards, drawing her hands from his grasp. Sick with fear, she
struggled for the right approach. How could she not be tarnished, however
artfully she offered her excuses? She had embarked upon her charade as a spoilt
and thoughtless young woman.
But I am no
longer that young woman
, she screamed inside.
I was once as careless as you believed, but you have shown me how to
view the world with a new understanding.
She lay the palm of her hand upon
his heart and fixed him with an intensity she had never felt before now.
“Whatever happens, I hope I will always be worthy of your regard—”
“Father, Miss Morecroft, allow me to introduce to you Mr
Hollingsworth.”
Dropping her hand, Sarah turned, forcing herself to smile. Clever
green eyes set into a handsome, chiselled face, smiled back. He had the kind of
looks that would make the heart of many a young girl beat more quickly, thought
Sarah, forcing her mind into the present. Dark brown curls swept back from a
high forehead and pronounced sideburns followed high cheekbones above a strong
chin and stylishly high pointed collar. In the final decider, his cravat could
not have been more dextrously tied.
A quick glance at Caro confirmed that she was far from immune to his
charm. Mr Hollingsworth, though of similar age to many of the young men here
tonight, had an air of assurance which set him apart.
After he’d brushed his lips across the back of Sarah’s hand and
complimented her, Sarah excused herself. This was Caro’s moment. She needed to
win her father’s approval of her new beau. And, Sarah needed time to rally her
defences and embark upon a fresh approach before she was completely undone.
En route to the supper table she was waylaid by Mrs Hawthorne and
Lady Charlotte. The latter peered at her through her lorgnette. “The silver
lutestring I had thought so unsuitable for Caro makes splendid finery for
yourself, Miss Morecroft.” Her tone was cool. With a start she added, “Is that
not the grey net from your old dress, Cecily? Why, Miss Morecroft, if you should
unexpectedly find yourself without employment here, perhaps I shall take you on
as my dressmaker.”
Sarah inclined her head while anger bubbled up inside.
“Mr Hawthorne reassures me that he and
Caro have become far too attached to me to let me go” — she forced a thin
smile — “and nor shall I be tempted to leave, no matter how great the
inducement.” With a haughty nod she left them.
The refreshments table was not far from the dancing but was afforded
some privacy by its separation through open double doors. Sarah began making
her selection as she watched Mr Hollingsworth lead Caro onto the dance floor to
join a set for a country dance.
“It was not an
auspicious moment to be interrupted, but nor was it the ideal place for such a conversation,
Miss Morecroft.”
Sarah started. She’d been unaware of Mr Hawthorne’s approach.
His smile was artless and her heart somersaulted as he said, “We
shall enjoy more privacy on the dance floor.”
Retrieving the slice of ham Sarah had dropped upon the tablecloth
with a fork and placing it on to her plate, he added, “Although I think perhaps
one dance may not be enough to say all that needs to be said.”
She hesitated. “I think it might be unseemly to engage the governess
in even one dance.” She’d been weightless with joy, earlier, but the truth of
her situation could not be ignored. She was in an impossible situation and had
not the least idea how to extricate herself.
He laughed and Sarah was struck by the transformation. The warmth of
his expression erased the deep lines etched from nose to mouth, and his eyes
glowed with humour and affection.
“I am master of Larchfield and tonight’s host. You would do me a
great honour if you reserved for me each of the three waltzes on tonight’s
programme, Miss Morecroft. I think it would send rather an unequivocal message
to the rest of the company as to how matters stand between us, don’t you?” he
murmured.
Sarah swayed towards him.
“May I take it you’ll grant my request?”
What could she say? Her whole being screamed to be enfolded in his
arms, the truth no longer a barrier as he rained kisses upon her face and lips.
Well, perhaps he’d reserve that for once they’d left the dance floor.
Her longing must have been plain for briefly he cupped her cheek,
his expression tender. “I hope I’m not being too presumptuous in taking that
for a yes,” he murmured, before he left her.
The ‘Sir Richard de Coverly’ was in progress. A dozen couples
participated, performing their steps with endless repetition.
In the meantime there were more arrivals: a group of noisy young men
in regimentals, causing the half a dozen wall flowers to raise hopeful heads in
their direction.
Sarah stood near a group of neighbourhood matrons, pointedly ignored
by Mrs Hawthorne. She tried to calm the turbulence of her emotions, tried to
whip up the sense of delicious empowerment she’d have felt not so long ago at
the prospect of Mrs Hawthorne’s reaction when Mr Hawthorne led Sarah off the
dance floor at the conclusion of the third waltz. But she knew she’d not be
released from the grip of her overpowering dread and apprehension until her
conscience was clear.
She returned Mr Hollingsworth’s smile as he passed by with Caro on
his arm. There was no point making some trite enquiry as to whether Caro were
enjoying herself. Sarah had never seen her look so happy, nor so poised and
beautiful.
Had Caro just discovered the antidote that would banish her demons
forever? Sarah had no doubt that Mr Hawthorne had invested in herself the care
of his damaged, passionate heart. It was a weighty responsibility. She prayed
she would not fail him.
She shivered at the chill gusting in with the arrival of some
latecomers. More young men, self consciously adjusting their high pointed
collars after they’d been relieved of their outerwear by Lavery. She smiled at
the stir of feminine interest.
A smile soon replaced by dismay as the assembled group broke up
revealing a young man whose sheer height and breadth and thick red hair set him
apart. Only that was not what drew Sarah’s attention, and soon all those
nearby.
Run
! screamed the voice of salvation in her head.
It’s all over for you. You’ve lost your chance and you can never be
redeemed.
But horror curdled into sick inaction, rooting her to the spot.
The ringleader, a blonde, tousle-headed young captain, rose from his
bow with an engaging smile, and glanced about the room. “Mrs Hawthorne, ladies.
“Forgive us for being so late. Is Aunt Charlotte here? I daresay I deserve the
earful she’ll no doubt dish out, but we are here at last and-”
“Sarah!”
She hadn’t realised how tensely she’d waited for it.
“Sarah?” the red-haired man asked again, his voice now low,
questioning. He advanced a few steps. Sarah retreated in the face of his
stricken look. Pale-complexioned with a dusting of freckles across his nose,
and hugely broad shoulders, his presence filled her with as much affection as
alarm. She hadn’t realised she’d missed James so much. Her heart pounded. She
wanted to throw herself into his arms then drag him from the room and tell him everything.
She could not with so many eyes upon her. Her future happiness hinged on how
she dealt with the next few moments.
She was aware of Lady Charlotte’s gimlet eye trained upon her. She
forced herself to give a little laugh as James approached.
Be calm
, she exhorted herself.
If
you lose your composure now, it could be all over for you
.
“Hello, James.” She grasped his wrist. How she kept her voice
steady, she did not know. Smiling, keenly aware of the interest still trained
upon her, she pulled him a few feet away. She realised she could not bask in
admiration all evening without exciting the glare of publicity at such an
interesting change of tone. “Goodness, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Had
you not heard I’d taken a position as governess for Mr and Mrs Hawthorne? No?”
Please
, she prayed.
Not here. Don’t let him unmask me in front of everyone.
Taking
advantage of James’s confusion, she went on, quickly, “It’s a long story and I
can’t wait to catch up with all you’ve been doing. Only you’ll have to excuse
me as I’ve promised the next dance.” In a low hiss she added, “Meet me at the
supper table in two minutes.”
Shaking, she made her escape. She soon gave up trying to load up her
supper plate, instead watching beadily as Mrs Hawthorne quizzed the red-headed
newcomer across the room.
A few minutes later James was by her side. Gripping her arm he
exhorted her, “Dear God, Sarah, you know we all thought you were dead? How
could you—?”
“Please, James!” she entreated under her breath, for another couple
was now helping themselves to food, nearby. “There’s a terrace just outside.
I’ll be there as soon as I can get away. I promise I’ll explain everything!
Just don’t tell anyone who I am.”
She pulled away, leaving her plate upon the sideboard. Her breath came
in short, sharp bursts as she hurried towards the double doors. Caro smiled at
her over her shoulder as she waited in line to perform her dance steps. Lady
Charlotte cast her a narrow-eyed look as she slipped from the room.
Sarah steeled herself as she stepped from the passage out onto the
terrace, heedless of the chill upon her bare shoulders.
In just a moment she’d be calling on all her reserves of remorse and
tact to soothe the feelings of a kind and honourable man who had every reason
to feel hurt and betrayed.
Poor James, she thought as she prepared to sink her pride. Her
spirits sank even lower as she reflected that her ordeal with James was just
the prelude to her mortification.
TREMBLING,
SARAH PACED the gravel terrace just around the corner from where the doors
opened wide upon the garden outside.
The final chords of the ‘Sir Richard de Coverley’ were followed by a
smatter of clapping. Sarah chewed her knuckles. After a short interval the
orchestra would break into the exciting, romantic strains of the waltz. She
stifled a sob of disappointment. If she could tell James the truth, quickly,
she might be back in time. The fear of James revealing her true identity
battled with her fear that Mr Hawthorne would come looking for her.
She continued to pace, her mind in a panic, oblivious to the soft
tread upon the gravel until she virtually collided with him.
“James!”
“Sarah!”
Seizing his arm, she pulled him into the seclusion of the shrubbery.
“Do you realize your father is half mad with grief?” he demanded,
angrily. “Not to mention the agonies
I’ve
suffered on your account. I can’t believe you’ve done this!”
His words were like barbs in her already battle-scarred conscience.
She couldn’t bear to see the pain and anger that roiled in his hurt, angry
green eyes.
“You don’t understand, James. I had to leave.”
His chest heaved but he said nothing, though he quirked an eyebrow
in invitation to go on.
“It was because of you—”
“
Me
?”
She reached up to put her hands on his shoulders. “Papa was pressuring
me to accept your offer. I knew you didn’t really want to marry me—”
“That’s not true!” he interjected, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Oh James,” Sarah sighed, hooking her hands behind his neck and
wilting against him. She wanted him to forgive her but she didn’t want to be
forced into revealing the full truth. Not now.
“It
is
true. And as I
wanted to marry you as much as you wished to marry me—” she shrugged,
nestling her cheek against his chest — “I thought that disappearing would
be the best way of winning Papa round.”
James grunted as he stroked her hair, the sounds of the next waltz
drifting through the open windows. “Lord Miles would hardly have forced you to
the altar against your wishes. Sarah, come back!” He made a lunge for her as
she disengaged herself and ran towards the house.