He was not quite as tall as James, nor as broad shouldered. But
where James was large and forceful and brash of manner, Roland was well
proportioned, careful and reflective.
Advancing, she was conscious of the furtive glances in her direction
and appreciated how Caro must feel as a fragile, vulnerable debutante. If
possible her heart contracted even more. How was Caro faring, she wondered?
And then was able to see with her very own eyes, though what it was
that distracted her gaze from Roland to the quivering girl in the far corner of
the room she could not say.
Caro was alone, against the wall, one hand pressed against her
chest, the other covering her mouth. She looked as if she were about to faint
or, worse, be sick. Certainly, Sarah could see the waxy pallor of her skin from
here.
Instinctively, Sarah glanced from Caro to the object upon whom
Caro’s gaze was fixed.
As she feared.
Sir Richard was engaged in intimate conversation with Philly Miniver
in the far corner. His hooded eyes roved over her in a transparently
speculative manner while Philly blushed and giggled, using her fan just as
Sarah had taught her. Clearly, the young innocent was flattered. Sarah felt
simply nauseated.
Caro clearly was.
Quickly, Sarah turned her footsteps in Caro’s direction. She would
be by her side within a couple of seconds. She would usher Caro into another
room, soothe her, bolster her confidence. It was what Caro needed, but it was
what Sarah needed also.
To be needed.
Her progress was interrupted by a couple of leisurely promenading
dowagers and when Sarah glanced again at the curtained alcove Caro was gone.
She frowned. Then she saw her.
Caro was advancing upon Sir Richard, looking like an avenging Valkyrie.
Three more footsteps and she’d be upon him, with consequences Sarah dared not
think of just now.
Altering her trajectory, Sarah hurried past a footman bearing a tray
of drinks, jostled a scowling scion of the aristocracy and nearly floored a
club-footed colonel.
Her hand shot out and she grasped a scrap of lace.
“Caro!”
She pulled the girl from her studied path, her own grasp stronger,
and her subject more pliant than she had expected.
Caro had been wearing that mulish look of old. The consequences did
not usually augur well. She extracted her from the crowd, orchestrating the
potentially risky manoeuvre with all the skill of a consummate society hostess.
Caro rewarded her with a scowl. But at least they were now partly obscured by
the curtained alcove.
“I didn’t like the look in your eye as you were advancing upon Sir
Richard.” Sarah had not the time to formulate a more considered approach. Her
words were blunt, her look direct. “It will do your reputation and our cause no
good if you make a scene.”
“Look at him!” hissed Caro. “Talking to Philly like he’s the most
eligible man in the room, and unless one of us shows him up for what he is, he
will continue to ruin lives.”
“But publicly condemning him is not the
answer-”
“Credit me with some subtlety.” Caro’s tone was injured. “I was
hardly about to rail at him like a Billingsgate fishwife.”
“What, then, were you about to do?”
“Entice him.”
“Entice him?”
“That’s right.” Caro’s eyes narrowed. Her breathing came fast and
shallow. “Entice him onto the balcony, alone. Then I was going to scream and
succumb to the vapours, and when a large enough crowd was gathered I was going
to accuse him of trying to … to kiss me.” She looked once more as if she were
about to be sick before her expression became defiant.
“Caro…” Sarah was lost for words. Her young, awkward charge had
altered a great deal since Sarah had arrived at Larchfield. The coal dark eyes
shone with the fervour of old, but were set in a face that had matured and
blossomed. Sarah had feared Caro’s spirit had been extinguished by her
experiences at the Hollingsworths. She needn’t have worried.
She reached out and touched Caro’s cheek. “You are an innocent, you
do not know how dangerous this would be,” she said softly. “Your reputation is
your most valuable commodity. Nothing is worth endangering it.”
“Justice?”
Sarah winced, feeling the familiar ache in the region of her heart.
“Justice is never guaranteed,” she said, softly.
“Clearly not, Lady Sarah, else Sir Richard would be in Newgate, not
featuring on Philly’s dance card.” She made a noise of disgust before adding
quietly, “And you’d be marrying Papa.” She sighed. “But you’re not and I am
more than prepared to take a risk to avenge ourselves against Sir Richard.”
Sarah frowned. “Caro, what happened that night at the Hollingsworths
was something we are powerless to avenge. The risks we run in trying to prove
the blackguardly behaviour of both Mr Hollingsworth and Sir Richard are too
great to our own positions. And to your father’s.”
“But if I were to claim Sir Richard guilty of enticing me onto the
balcony and trying to kiss me, Papa would have no choice but to challenge him
to a duel.”
So that was it. Sarah watched with dawning understanding as Caro
warmed to her theme.
“Inaction is absolute anathema to Papa. He’ll just wither away if
he’s denied recourse to justice.” She hesitated, adding pointedly, “Papa will
sacrifice his own happiness if he feels he doesn’t deserve it.”
Sarah knew this, but Caro’s boldness had opened up new avenues of
hope. It fizzed in her veins. Then she realised the futility of Caro’s plan and
the sudden excitement drained from her.
“Caro, do you know what lunacy your father considers duelling? Oh
yes” — she interrupted the anticipated response — “he duelled my
very own Papa in his hot-headed youth, but he is wiser now.”
Caro opened her fan with an expert flick of the wrist and drew
herself up tall. “I’m very sorry we are at odds, Lady Sarah, but I love my
father and would do anything to give him back his sense of honour.”
“You think I would not?” Sarah grasped her shoulder. “Your
intentions are good, but you are too vulnerable—”
Caro swung away from her. “
Someone
has to take risks,” she flared, marching into the centre of the room.
Sarah pulled her back. Caro was young with too much to lose; but
Sarah had lost everything she held dear.
“It is a reckless, even stupid plan,” she countered, her voice low
as she tried to conceal themselves from general observation. Caro could only be
hurt if seen associating with Sarah. “But if you promise me not to undertake it
yourself, would you be satisfied if I did so?”
Turning with a slow smile, Caro touched Sarah’s cheek with the tip
of her fan. “I believe that would be as effective.” There was a glint in her
eye. “Perhaps Papa would win, as a result, even more than simply justice.”
“YOU ARE
NOT dancing this evening, Lady Sarah?”
Sarah ceased her regal progress across the saloon and turned at the
familiar voice, heart hammering, her breath catching.
Caro, declaring herself proud to be seen with her old governess, had
insisted Sarah deliver her to Philly and Mrs Hawthorne who were seated amongst
a group of matrons and dowagers. Poor Philly. She’d blushed and stammered,
terrified of acknowledging Sarah in front of Mrs Hawthorne who had clearly
delighted in giving Sarah the cut direct.
Torn between humiliation and amusement, Sarah had left them and was
by a large potted plant several feet away from joining James when Roland
stepped into her path.
His eyes raked her with appreciation, his smile was confident. He
seemed different, as if a great weight had fallen from his shoulders, and her
heart soared with hope.
Bowing, he asked, “Might I persuade you to make an exception and
stand up with me for the next waltz?”
She felt the blush creep from her bosom upwards. Unready to yield to
her hopes, she inclined her head, warily.
How dashing he looked in evening clothes. His hair, thick and dark,
swept back from his high forehead, but she thought she saw a touch of silver at
the temples that hadn’t been there before. It only distinguished him more.
“Your magnanimous gesture might promote the rights of fallen women,”
she said lightly, to hide her nervousness, “though you court society’s
displeasure.”
“I take little account of the gossip mill, Lady Sarah.” Offering her
his arm as the orchestra struck up a Viennese Waltz, he led her onto the floor.
“Mrs Hawthorne is watching and I am sure you’d relish the chance to demonstrate
the grace with which this fine art form can be executed.”
“I shall try to give satisfaction.”
That his smile was colluding offered another beacon of hope. When
his arm encircled her waist, Sarah wilted against him. “Embraced by society at
last,” she murmured as he raised her up and they began circling.
How commandingly he held her. She could indulge in all the
adolescent daydreaming she chose and he’d navigate her surely to her
destination. It seemed an eternity since she’d last danced in his arms. And
under such different circumstances. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the
rapture of the music and the familiar warmth and strength of Roland’s body
inches from hers. Dare she hope this was the precursor to an even closer union?
“Why did you not tell me the whole truth, Sarah?”
The intensity of his softly spoken words jolted her back to the
present. Before she could answer he went on, “I knew you’d been seen alone and
unchaperoned en route to a supposed assignation—” His look was
heartbreakingly tender — “but tonight is the first I’d heard my name
mentioned.”
She clung to him as they navigated a tight turn, not trusting
herself to speak. Out of the corner of her eye she caught James’s disapproving
look, saw Mrs Hawthorne fanning herself with a vigour unwarranted by the
temperature. Beside her, Caro beamed.
Perhaps Roland saw James also for he went on, “I can only imagine
you did not press me to do as honour dictated because you preferred Captain
Fleming, after all. If that is so, I am glad you are marrying the right man.
You deserve only the best, Sarah, for I’ve not met a braver, more admirable
woman.”
“You know I don’t prefer
Captain Fleming,” she whispered, stumbling as her vision blurred. Roland
whisked her skilfully a few inches from the ground, averting disaster as he
negotiated his own footwork, then set her down again and resumed the dance with
all the finesse of a gifted athlete.
Sarah’s heart lurched at the quizzical, wondering look in his eye.
He loved her. Minutes ago she’d not dared hope. Now hope had taken root and was
flourishing in the warmth of his gaze. So how could he continue to deny her? To
deny himself? Was his honour really more important than his happiness? She
recalled Caro’s plan in a new light. Perhaps it was not so foolish.
He squeezed her hand and murmured with feeling, “How I long to repay
you for all you have done for Caro and me.”
She closed her eyes, tensing as she strove for courage. He declared
his love and his admiration, yet the caveat was always the same. His honour prevented
him. “Do you remember the last words I said before you left, Roland?” She heard
the breathlessness in her voice.
He gazed down at her, silent a long moment. Then he said softly,
“They gave me hope when all hope was lost.”
The waltz was nearing the end. Desperation clawed at her. She
couldn’t let him walk away from her, yet again. She opened her mouth to speak
but he shook his head, his eyes yearning, but — it broke her heart to
acknowledge it, regretful— as he murmured, “Do you remember the last words
I
spoke to you?”
How could she forget? He’d sworn he’d not seek her out until he
considered himself worthy of her. Well, time was running out.
Exhaling on a sob of frustration, she allowed him to navigate her
towards the edge of the dance floor. Soon the waltz would be at an end.
Then what?
Roland studied her through narrowed eyes as she clung to him, the
music thrilling to an end. He tried to make sense of it. She should hate him.
Loathe and despise him. The sight of him ought to excite disgust. He’d failed
her. Time and again. Instead, she gazed up at him with such transparent
yearning it was enough to make him weep with frustrated longing.
He must dampen this ridiculous feeling of elation that was sweeping
good sense before it. Regardless of the outcome of this evening, marriage to
Fleming ensured Sarah’s happiness. James Fleming was a good man: loyal and
worthy of her. Roland’s past matrimonial credentials hardly bolstered his
cause. That aside, the bluff, good natured James would be a far better anchor
for his free spirited and headstrong beloved Sarah.
The knowledge that contact must soon be broken was almost more than
he could bear. He thought of the entertainment to follow, the groundwork so
carefully laid out. Later this evening would be a different matter, though the
outcome was by no means assured. It would be foolish to get either of their
hopes up.