A Worthy Gentleman

“You have not forgotten your promise to me, sir?”

“How could I?” John asked, his eyes intent on her face. He realized that he wanted very much to dance with her, to hold her close, hear her laughter and inhale the intoxicating perfume of her skin. Surely there was no sin in letting himself admit the feelings he had for her? “I am looking forward to it, Sarah—and I hope you will keep two dances for me.”

Sarah glowed in the warmth of his smile. Her heart had begun to race wildly and she was sure that he felt something for her.

“No matter who asks, I shall not give your dances away,” said Sarah.

“Good.” He reached for her hand, holding it with a firm, gentle grip. His touch sent a tingle winging down her spine, making her want to melt into his arms. “We are friends, are we not, Sarah? We have always liked one another?”

“Yes, of course.” Sarah hesitated, then added, “It might perhaps have been more once, had I not been such a foolish child….” She caught her breath as she saw the look in his eyes.

A Worthy Gentleman

Harlequin® Historical

Author Note

In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries there was a passion for gothic novels. When huge old houses were lit by candlelight and there were none of today’s modern conveniences, it must have been gorgeously frightening for society ladies to read of young girls cruelly locked away and at the mercy of evil men. How much more terrifying would it be for a young girl stolen from the bosom of a loving family to be forced to take part in a satanic ritual? And think of how her family must have suffered when she could not be found! But in the age of Romance there were at least three brave men willing to walk through hellfire for the sake of the women they loved.

This trilogy deals with the abduction of Miss Sarah Hunter and the search for her by her brother Charles, the Earl of Cavendish, and Mr. John Elworthy. It began with Elizabeth Travers and the Earl of Cavendish, and continued with Charles Hunter and Lady Arabella Marshall, ending in this last book with Sarah’s own story.

The element of darkness is balanced by the thrill of romance, and I hope you will love reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.

A Worthy Gentleman

ANNE HERRIES

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

MILLS & BOON

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ANNE HERRIES

A winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize, Anne Herries lives in Cambridgeshire. She is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers.

Available from Harlequin®Historical and ANNE HERRIES

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Captive of the Harem #145

The Sheikh #157

Rosalyn and the Scoundrel #166

A Matter of Honor #173

*A Perfect Knight #180

*A Knight of Honor #184

*Her Knight Protector #188

**Lady in Waiting #202

**The Adventurer’s Wife #208

††Forbidden Lady #209

†An Improper Companion #227

††The Lord’s Forced Bride #231

†A Wealthy Widow #235

†A Worthy Gentleman #243

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue

The man bent to lay a single yellow rose on the freshly turned soil. For a moment he stared at the inscription on the simple wooden cross, reading the words aloud, as if he wanted to hear them. As if only by saying them out loud could he believe that it was true.

‘Here lies Andrea, wife of John and mother of Nathaniel. May God keep and love her for all time.’

Tears trickled unashamedly down his cheeks so that he tasted their salt on his lips. He was weeping for the waste of it, for the loss of a young life and the bitterness of despair.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I failed you. You asked me to save you and I couldn’t. I am sorry…so sorry. I should have done more…I am so sorry, Andrea.’

His mind was tortured with regret, with the sense of failure and guilt. He thought of the empty house awaiting him, the shadows that gathered in its dark corners and taunted him in the watching hours.

Turning away at last after a long, cold vigil, his heart heavy with regret, he did not notice that hostile eyes had been watching him from a distance. Because he did not look back as he walked away, he did not witness the figure that took his place by the side of the lonely grave—lonely because it had not been permitted on sacred ground. Andrea Elworthy had taken her own life and was therefore buried outside the churchyard, on a hillside and sheltered beneath the protective arms of an ancient oak tree. It was the best John Elworthy could do for his late wife, but it did not please the one who now wept bitter, angry tears at her grave.

Perhaps it was as well for his peace of mind that John did not know his rose had been snatched from the grave and torn to pieces. He was unaware that he had an enemy…an enemy bent on revenge.

‘I am sorry that you are leaving, Signorina,’ the man said, giving the lovely girl at his side a soulful look. He was tall, dark haired and his smile was very attractive. ‘Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to stay here in Italy?’

Sarah Hunter smiled. It was so warm and peaceful here in this beautiful garden that she was tempted to stay. Conte Vittorio Vincenzo di Ceasares had been a constant friend to them since they had first taken this villa in the hills of Tuscany. He had asked her to marry him twice and she had refused in such a way that she had kept him her friend. Her gentle dignity and her smile had enchanted him, bringing him back to her again and again like a moth to the flame.

‘We must return, sir,’ she said. ‘Mama wishes to see her grandson. She misses her friends in England, even though we have made so many new ones here. It will be hard to part with them, of course, but Mama longs to be home by the summer.’

‘I shall miss you,’ he said, his dark eyes intense as they dwelled on her lovely face. There was something unforgettable about her, something that made him want to cherish her and keep her safe. ‘But perhaps you will return to us one day?’

‘Perhaps.’

Sarah stopped to pick a rose, holding it to her nose to inhale its fragrance. The sunshine of Italy had healed her spirit. She was no longer the sad, nervous girl she had been when they arrived. She was a woman, much admired and sought after. Vittorio had not been the only gentleman to offer her marriage during her stay in Italy.

Sarah believed that her fear of marriage had gone. The nightmares caused by her abduction from the gardens of her home over three years ago were a distant memory. Yet she had never felt any inclination to marry any of the wealthy, titled and, in Vittorio’s case, handsome men who had proposed to her. Perhaps if one particular English gentleman had travelled to Italy as she had hoped he might…if John had asked her to marry him or written to her…but she knew that he had taken a wife six months after she’d left England.

It was more than two years now since they had come to Italy. Sarah had forgotten most of the things that had hurt her—but she could not forget John Elworthy. She had believed that he loved her, but he had married so soon after they parted. If his feelings for her had been real, he would not have done that, and it was foolish to think of him. She had tried to put the memory of his smile from her mind, and sometimes she thought that she had succeeded.

She smiled and handed her rose to the handsome man hovering attentively at her side. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again one day,’ she said. ‘Keep that in memory of me, Vittorio.’

He took the rose, placing it inside his coat, next to his heart. ‘I shall never forget you,’ he told her with a wistful look. ‘But I think that you will soon forget me when you are home.’

Chapter One

‘Oh, Sarah, it is so good to see you again,’ Arabella said to her sister-in-law. They hugged each other in mutual delight. ‘We were so pleased when your mama’s letter came telling us that you were returning to England. As you know, Charles intended that we should come out and visit you this year but…I am afraid something changed our plans.’ She laid a gentle hand on her stomach. She was hardly showing yet, though into the fourth month of her second pregnancy. Her son Harry was now a year old, a sturdy little child already able to stand and take a few steps about his nursery without help.

‘You look blooming,’ Sarah said. ‘You are even lovelier than I remembered, Belle. Motherhood and marriage must suit you.’

‘Yes, indeed it does,’ Arabella agreed. ‘I never knew life could be so wonderful, Sarah. Charles is all that I could ask of a husband, and I believe he is happy too.’

‘I am sure he is,’ Sarah agreed. She glanced around the sitting room. Arabella had made some changes since she had last seen it, which Sarah liked and approved, though she was not sure that her mother did. However, Arabella was the mistress here now, and by rights Mrs Hunter should be living in the Dower House elsewhere on the estate. ‘I love this duck egg blue, Belle. It is such a soft, restful colour. I remember this room was a rather dull shade of green before. I think that light colours like this bring peace and elegance to a room.’

‘The green was perhaps a little too dark for my taste,’ Arabella said. ‘But what about you, dearest? You look very well. I think Italy must have been good for you?’

‘Yes, it was,’ Sarah said. ‘We were lucky enough to take a lovely villa in the hills of Tuscany. It is owned by the Conte di Ceasares and he lives in a larger house quite near by. He visited often and invited us to meet all his acquaintances. We made lots of wonderful new friends because of his kindness. He was sorry to see us leave.’

‘Yes, I expect he was.’ Arabella’s eyebrows went up, a little smile on her lips. ‘Your mama told me she thought he was in love with you—was he?’

‘Yes, I think so, just a little,’ Sarah said, a faint blush in her cheeks. ‘He is rich, handsome and generous, Belle. Mama was cross because I did not encourage him. She does not know that he asked me to marry him and I would prefer that she did not. She is a little impatient over the subject of marriage. She says it is impossible that I remain unwed for ever—and she thinks I should have forgotten all that nonsense of the abduction by now.’

‘Have you forgotten it?’ Arabella asked, looking at her with warm affection. They had become so close in the months after Sarah’s abduction, perhaps because the girl had been very ill after she’d escaped from her captors. For a long time she had not even known her own name. It would not be surprising if she still carried mental scars. ‘Has time erased the fear from your mind?’

‘Yes, I believe it has,’ Sarah told her, wrinkling her brow. It all seemed so long ago now; in the warmth of Italy’s sunshine, she had forgotten the dark depressing days of her illness. ‘I did consider marrying Vittorio after I heard that John was married. He is kind, generous and very charming, Belle. I like him better than most of the others…’

‘There were others?’

‘Oh, yes, several…’ Sarah laughed at her sister-in-law’s teasing look. ‘One of them was Captain Hernshaw. We met him when we were in Rome for a visit. He didn’t actually ask me to marry him, but he seemed to enjoy my company and I think he might have had I given him some encouragement. At times he was a little sad and I believe I reminded him of home.’

‘Captain Hernshaw?’ Arabella nodded, remembering the gentleman for his kindness. ‘He may have saved my life the day Sir Courtney tried to kill us both, Sarah. I always liked him. He might be a good choice if you wished to marry…’ She hesitated for a moment, and then, ‘Have you heard about John?’

‘John Elworthy?’ Sarah’s heart caught a beat. She looked at Arabella intently. ‘What about John?’

‘You said that you knew he was married?’

‘Yes, I had Charles’s letter.’

‘His wife gave birth to a son seven months after they were married. I heard that she fell down the stairs and that was why the baby was born early…’ Arabella paused, feeling uncertain. Sarah’s eyes were shadowed with some painful emotion and she almost wished she had not begun this, and yet it might be best if it came from her. ‘Andrea killed herself six months after her son was born. John tried to convince everyone that she was ill and didn’t know what she was doing, but the church refused to allow him to have her buried in consecrated ground.’

‘Oh, no!’ Sarah cried, looking shocked. Her own pain was forgotten as she thought of what he must have suffered. ‘That is awful for poor John. He must have felt wretched. Why did she kill herself, Belle? What can have made her do such a terrible thing?’

‘No one knows for certain. I don’t think John understands it—though I know he blames himself for her death. He says that the birth of the child had pulled her down, upset the balance of her mind…that she must have walked into the river in some frantic fit of despair.’ Arabella also sensed that there were thoughts that John did not share with his friends, for she had seen the shadows that lurked in his eyes and knew that he was tormented by his wife’s suicide.

‘That is such a terrible thing to happen,’ Sarah said and tears stung her eyes as she pictured John’s distress. ‘He must have been so distressed. He could only have been married a short time.’

‘Just over a year in all,’ Arabella said. ‘I know how it feels to lose someone you love, Sarah—but my first husband died a hero. John bears the burden of his wife’s shame and her illness. I have seen him only once since the funeral, but Charles has visited with him for a few days. He says that John blames himself for her death and I am sure he is right. It is hardly surprising that he should feel it so deeply. You know how gentle and caring John has always been, Sarah.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Sarah agreed and her throat was tight with emotion. ‘But I am certain that he has no reason to blame himself. His wife must surely have been ill?’

‘That is what Elizabeth and Daniel both say,’ Arabella said. ‘I am not sure if you know the Earl and Countess of Cavendish? They live quite close to John and knew his wife a little, though she did not go out often. I only met her twice. That reminds me, Daniel and Elizabeth are coming to stay with us in a few days so you will meet them then.’

‘I remember the earl,’ Sarah said. ‘He and Charles were friends before I was abducted. It was the earl who first discovered what had happened to me, wasn’t it?’ She nodded as Arabella confirmed it. ‘Yes, I thought so. I don’t believe I have met his wife, though.’

‘You will like Elizabeth,’ Arabella said confidently. ‘She is one of my best friends now. We visit each other often. Elizabeth has twin sons of about Harry’s age. She would like a daughter, but as yet it has not happened for her.’

‘She is lucky to have her sons,’ Sarah said, a slightly wistful look in her eyes. She had held her nephew Harry and the feel of his soft, warm body in her arms had made her feel decidedly broody. ‘As you are to have yours, Belle. Do you want another boy or a girl this time?’

‘I really do not mind,’ Arabella said, a look of serenity on her face. ‘We are quite happy to have whatever God sends us, Sarah. Another boy or a girl will be equally loved.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said and held back a sigh. She could not help envying her sister-in-law her obvious contentment with life. Such happiness would be denied to her, unless she married. ‘Mama keeps telling me I should marry, Belle. I think it would be all right. I am not afraid of being touched by a man now, as long as I truly cared for him, that is—but I haven’t found anyone I can love. Is it foolish of me to hope for it? I want to be loved and happy the way you and my brother are. Or should I marry for position and comfort as Mama seems to think I ought?’ She frowned, for it seemed to her that she was unlikely to fall in love again. She had met several attractive and charming gentlemen in Italy, but none of them had touched her heart.

‘I think you should wait until you are certain,’ Arabella told her. ‘You have a month here with us before the Season starts. Just relax and enjoy yourself, dearest. Charles will be on your side whatever you want, you know that, Sarah. He wouldn’t let your mama push you into an unwise marriage.’

‘Thank you, dearest Belle,’ Sarah said and laughed. ‘I dare say Mama is right. I ought to marry one day, but I do not want to marry anyone I cannot love.’ She sighed and a wistful look came to her pretty face. ‘Oh, I don’t know…’ It was foolish to look back. She had to move on, to leave the nightmare of the past behind.

Arabella kept her thoughts to herself. She had not forgotten that time before Sarah left for Italy. She had sensed there was something special between the girl and John Elworthy. In fact, she had been quite shocked when John married so soon afterwards. She had gone to his wedding, thinking that the slight, pale girl he had taken for his bride was not the equal of Sarah in either looks or intelligence. She had seemed desperately shy of all her husband’s friends, even nervous. Arabella had wondered why John had married the girl, because she had sensed that he was not in love with her. Oh, he had been gentle and kind, constantly attentive to her—but it was the kindness that a man might show to his young sister rather than the woman he loved.

Arabella felt a little guilty that she had not told Sarah that John was also to be one of their guests. Equally, John had no idea that Sarah and Mrs Hunter were staying. She was hoping that the shock of seeing one another without warning might start spark off some reaction, making them realise that the feelings they had had for each other more than two years ago were still there.

‘I am looking forward to seeing Lady Tate and Tilda when we go up to London,’ Mrs Hunter said as she sat in the front parlour with her daughter-in-law some days later. ‘How is dear Hester? She left us as soon as she heard you were with child, because she wanted to be of use to you in your confinement. And of course Tilda accompanied her home. I understand she is living with your aunt now. That attack of smallpox laid her very low and she thought she would rather be in England. Sarah and I missed them—though of course we had already made so many friends in Italy that we were never alone. Did Sarah tell you how sorry the Conte was to see us leave?’

‘Yes, she did mention it. Tilda divides her time between Aunt Hester and us these days, which suits us all,’ Arabella said. She had heard of the Conte di Ceasares several times from Mrs Hunter, and knew that her mother-in-law was suffering from frustration at Sarah’s apparent lack of interest in finding a suitable husband. She smiled at her mother-in-law and showed her the exquisite smocking she was working on a gown for the new baby. ‘How was it that Sarah nursed Tilda when she was ill? I am surprised that you allowed it, Mama.’

‘Sarah seems to be immune to the disease,’ her mother said. ‘Some friends of ours had it years ago. Sarah had been playing with their children, but she did not take it from them. Nor did she seem affected in Italy. She nursed Tilda, as you know—but did she tell you that she insisted on caring for the children of one of our friends there?’ Arabella shook her head. ‘They had gone down with it too and Sarah suspected that their nurse was not looking after them as she should. She took over the nursery and happily both recovered. I think it was that act of courage that made the Conte fall in love with her. He said that she was as brave as she was lovely and gave her a beautiful gold brooch to thank her.’

‘Yes, she is brave. I have always thought so.’

‘Brave, but very stubborn,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘I am sure she might have married him if she had given him the least encouragement. One would think that she did not wish to be married—but I know that she adores children. The children in Italy were always hanging round her neck, especially the street urchins. She gave them coins whenever we visited the markets.’

‘Where is Sarah this morning?’

‘Oh, she went for a walk as far as the lake,’ Mrs Hunter said, frowning slightly. ‘In Italy she walked a great deal. I think she is determined that she will not be influenced by what happened before…’