The low excited murmur grew in volume. Above the din Roland
continued, “Lady Sarah should be honoured for her bravery that night.” He shook
his head, his expression one of disgust. “Instead, she has been pilloried, her
reputation besmirched. She deserves far more than just those pearls, Sir
Richard.”
Sarah clasped her hands to her breast as she gazed about the room.
She could almost believe she saw the scales falling from people’s eyes. Even
the way Mrs Hawthorne regarded her thoughtfully through narrowed eyes suggested
she was reconsidering her opinion of her. Nevertheless, Sarah knew there were
many other crimes for which she’d not forgive the former governess.
James, as if sensing her focus, transferred his fulminating stare
from Sir Richard, to Sarah. The smile he sent her made her heart pound with joy
and relief so that she nearly missed Roland’s next words. James, like every
other person in the room, now saw how things stood with her and Roland. And he
condoned.
“Lady Sarah, unless you object, I would like to give these pearls to
Miss Featherlove. They will fund a charitable project patronised by a certain
Polish Princess in our midst tonight.”
“Cor Blimey, sir,” gasped Kitty, blushing fiercely as all eyes turned
on her, “if that ain’t arf rich!”
“No!”
Turning at Sir Richard’s bellow of rage and gasps from the audience,
Roland thrust the pearls at Queenie, sidestepping as Sir Richard barrelled
towards him, manic desperation lighting his hooded eyes. Focusing on the
pearls, Sir Richard altered his trajectory at the last moment.
There was barely enough time to act. Queenie screamed as her former
lover, face contorted with malevolence, prepared to knock her off her feet and
make off with the necklace. With a short, sharp upper thrust Roland sliced his
fist into Sir Richard’s jaw. Screaming with pain and rage, Sir Richard crashed
to the ground.
“Can a member of the judiciary help our friend off the stage?”
Roland asked.
A response came from several quarters accompanied by a smattering of
applause as Sir Richard was picked up bodily and removed.
Roland inclined his head. “I look forward to furnishing a statement
of events involving our friend’s villainy, however I still have unfinished
business with Lady Sarah.”
He beckoned to her, his gaze full of love as she stepped towards
him. Reaching out, he took both her hands and she caught her breath at the jolt
of sensation which slammed through her at his touch.
Trembling, she smiled at him, her heart almost bursting with joy as
they locked gazes and she witnessed the depth of his feeling for her.
“I denied you the pearls because of the evil with which they are
associated,” he said clearly, for all to hear, “but I want you to know you have
carte blanche
to choose whatever baubles
take your fancy when we are wed.”
Sarah intended more than
carte
blanche
with regard to baubles. Roland was hers, now. Hers to love and
cherish.
And to make her feel not only that she had met her match but that
she was the luckiest woman on the planet.
“Caro, a final chord, if you will.”
As relief and love surged through Sarah, she returned the kindling
look in Roland’s eye, squeezing his hands and longing for the crowds to
disperse so they could be alone.
He had staked a great deal on this, she knew. And her answer, though
she could not utter a word, was for all to see.
Caro obliged with an elegant few bars and Roland, flanked by Miss
Featherlove and Sarah, drew them towards the centre of the stage.
Sarah gazed out across the sea of rapt faces, her heart near to
bursting. She wished her father could have witnessed Roland’s performance. It
would make him revise his assessment of him as a buttoned-up Puritan, she
thought. And he’d have appreciated his showmanship.
Like actors on a stage, Roland raised the two women’s hands in the
air and, and to a final flourish of notes from Caro, they sank into a deep bow.
Rising, Roland brought Sarah’s hand to his lips and kissed it
extravagantly. “Ladies and gentlemen, the show is over,” he said, loudly.
“Thank you for coming here tonight.”
“And thank you, my love,” he murmured, his breath tickling Sarah’s
ear as she nestled against him, savouring his warmth as they watched the
procession of carriages pass beneath their secluded balcony. “You were most
obliging.”
Sarah raised her hand to trace the watered silk of Roland’s
waistcoat. Wonderingly, she stroked his beloved forehead before cupping his
strong jaw.
“Surely you knew, dearest Roland, I’d decided during my first days
at Larchfield you would be my husband?”
“I hadn’t realised your feelings went to quite those extremes,” he
said with a smile, “though you hinted to a certain fondness for my company. But
marriage? What would a beautiful, confident young woman want with a damaged,
taciturn fellow like me?”
It seemed he couldn’t keep his hands off her, stroking first her
cheek, and now, tenderly, her throat and collar bone. Tremors of love and
excitement rippled through her.
“I saw the potential, my darling.” Snuggling closer, she added, “I
knew I could mould that damaged, taciturn fellow into the hero of my dreams.”
She gave a contented sigh. “And what a hero you turned out to be.”
He looked down at her and the expression of bemusement on his lean,
ascetic face, so much more handsome now that the lines of tension and worry had
relaxed, amused her. She gave a short laugh. “Surely you must have been
entirely confident of my answer?”
He brushed a tendril back from her face, his smile heart-stoppingly
tender. “I certainly was not. Awaiting your response on stage was more
terrifying than approaching your father.”
“What?” She gasped, twisting out of his grasp. “My father has
already given us his blessing?” Disbelief mingled with joy as she clasped her
hands together. Her beloved, irascible father whose determination to enforce
upon her an unpalatable marriage had had such wide-sweeping repercussions. Yet
he had already sanctioned her one true love? She could hardly believe it.
“What’s this?” asked Roland, touching her cheek. “You didn’t cry
just now when I told you I couldn’t live without you.”
“You needn’t sound so wounded.” Sarah laughed through her tears and
hugged him tightly. “Once I’d decided to marry you I knew the hardest thing to
reconcile would be Papa’s displeasure. Especially” — she sent him a wry
glance — “when I learned the two of you had been at each other like a
couple of warring schoolboys.”
“I suspect your father would take as much exception to that
undignified description as I do.” Roland drew himself up with exaggerated
dignity. “He certainly took exception, initially, to my presumption.”
Sarah shook her head, wonderingly. “I wish I could have been there.
Did he throw anything?”
“I was a little concerned when he attacked the fire with such energy
then didn’t set down the poker as he addressed me.” With a smile, Roland patted
her hand which now rested against his lapel. “But after a couple of brandies
during which I explained the situation, rather as I did on stage, his mood
became much more sanguine.”
“Oh, Roland,” Sarah burst out with feeling, “I knew you’d win him
over, just as you did me.”
“Well, there were differences, but as regards timing, I hope you’ll
forgive my impatience.” He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “I couldn’t
wait three weeks for the banns to be read, after all the time we’ve wasted.”
Sarah’s eyes lit up with joy. Standing on her toes she twined her
arms around his neck. “You’ve arranged a special licence?”
Clasping her wrists so as to ease the stranglehold she had on him,
he said, “Your father, in fact, offered to relieve me of the task, since I had
so much to organise this evening.” His sigh held relief as he added, “I’m glad
you feel as I do, my darling. I was afraid you’d be disappointed at not
preparing the event to your satisfaction. In about three hours, we’ll be man
and wife.”
“Three hours!” Sarah cried, wrenching out of his arms, her hand
fingering the simple gold cross at her throat.
“Sarah, what is it?” Drawing her back to him, Roland’s look was a
study in anguished confusion.
“Two things, Roland.” She could see his suspense was agony and knew
it was wicked to take advantage of the power she had over him. With an
extravagant sigh she asked, “Don’t you remember your promise?”
He seemed at a loss.
“On stage when you gave the pearls to Miss Featherlove you promised
I could choose any jewels I liked.” Maintaining her stricken look she went on,
“Surely you don’t imagine I can be married in just this simple gold cross?”
“Sarah, it’s three o’clock in the morning.” His brow still creased
with concern, he added, “which is not to say I don’t fully intend-”
Sarah laughed, and with a growl Roland snatched her back within the
circle of his arms once he understood she was amusing herself at his expense.
Narrowing his eyes he asked, “And the second thing?”
Sarah met his gaze with studied earnestness. There was no levity in
her tone this time.
“I want a proper proposal, Roland.” Only as she made the request did
she realize how important it was to her. “Many men I’ve not loved have asked me
to marry them.” She swallowed. “James asked me, but he might has well have been
buying a cow at market, and then you, Roland” — she reached up her hand
to stroke his cheek, willing him to understand — “You began to propose
when you came to see me that day, though it sounded as if you were being forced
because duty required it of you.”
Slowly Roland nodded. He understood. With a wry smile he said, “And
on stage I skipped the proposal assuming you’d make your feelings clear if you
objected.”
Sarah nodded.
Straightening to his full height, he drew her into the moonlight and
for a long moment gazed down at her, as if the sight were to sustain him
through all life’s battles.
“Lady Sarah,” he said, his voice soft and impassioned as he lowered
himself on bended knee, “if I could be everything you ever wanted, I’d have no
hesitation in asking you to make me the happiest man by agreeing to be my
wife.” Kissing her hand, his smile was wondering. “But if I let the fear of my
shortcomings stand in the way of my happiness, I’d forever wonder what might
have been. Sarah, words cannot express my admiration of your strength and
courage” — there was a quaver in his voice — “and above all, your
loyalty. Nor can you know the extent to which they’ve sustained me.”
Sarah felt the great lump in her throat swell. Shocked by the depth
of love and sincerity she saw in his fevered eyes, she needed the catharsis of
being in his arms once more, but he was not finished.
“You taught me never to give up hope and to you I credit my salvation.
If you would do me the honour to be my wife, history would know no happier
man.”
“Oh, Roland!” cried Sarah, hurling herself at him as he rose,
covering his face with kisses and catching him off balance so that he stumbled
against the wall. “That was far and away the best proposal I’ve ever had. Yes!
Of course I’ll marry you!”
For an eternity they clung to one another, savouring the joy of
deserving one another, equally and forever.
Finally, when they broke apart, Roland decided there was time enough
to grant Sarah’s first request, after all. She deserved to be married in
something finer than her simple gold cross, and the grumbles of the nearby
jeweller at being woken from his sleep were soon silenced by Roland’s generous
patronage.
When Sarah’s gratitude far outweighed his expenditure Roland
wondered how he ever could have compared her with Venetia.
And later, when he brought her back to Larchfield as his wife, he
watched with loving pride as she greeted his two young nieces with kisses and
hugs and cries of delight. Sarah even received Mrs Hawthorne with dignified
kindness, though Roland suspected this had the opposite effect of soothing the
delicate sensibilities of the former mistress of Larchfield. And he suspected
Sarah knew very well it would, too.
As love for his new wife and hope for their future replaced the
doubts and insecurities that had flourished in his once-barren heart, Roland no
longer questioned his right to a second chance at happiness.
Sarah had made him see the world through her eyes. Happiness was the
preserve of everyone, but only those who strove for it deserved it.
THE END
Lady Farquhar’s Butterfly
A Little Deception
(Nominated for Favourite Historical
Romance for 2011 by ARRA – Australian Romance Readers of Australia)
Beverley Eikli
also writes sensual or erotic historicals as Beverley Oakley.
Here are a
list of books under her pseudonym.
You can find
them here or at www.total-e-bound.com