“I am looking forward to Elizabeth’s ball,” Sarah said, gazing up at him.

“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

The Abducted Bride #135

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…’

‘Yes, that is very sensible of her,’ Arabella said and sighed, easing her back, which had begun to ache. ‘I wanted to tell her that the latest monthly journals arrived earlier. I believe there are some fashion plates that might be of use to her when she is planning her new wardrobe.’

‘Oh, I am sure she will be pleased to see them,’ Mrs Hunter said, looking at her anxiously. ‘Are you quite well, my dear? You look a little strained.’

‘I have a backache,’ Arabella said. ‘I do not regard it, Mama. It will pass in time. Indeed, I think I shall take a little stroll in the gardens to ease it. I might meet Sarah as she returns from her walk.’

‘Oh, I wonder if you ought to go so far?’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘You must take care of yourself, Arabella. It is so easy to miscarry a child. I lost two and it was a great sadness to me.’

‘I shall not overdo things,’ Arabella replied and gave her a patient smile. Her mother-in-law did tend to fuss a little too much, which could be irritating if one allowed it to be. However, she had decided that she would take it as well-meaning concern, and would not allow there to be friction between them. ‘Please do not worry, Mama. I am quite well.’

She got up and left the room, glad to escape into the fresh air of the garden for a while. It was quite warm that morning, the chill air of the past weeks seeming to have gone for the moment. However, her intention to walk as far as the lake to meet Sarah was curtailed as she saw a carriage arrive and knew that it was her guests.

She went to greet Elizabeth as one of the grooms handed her down. They kissed and greeted each other with pleasure, the earl waiting until they had finished before taking his turn.

‘It is so good to have you here,’ Arabella said, linking arms with Elizabeth as they moved towards the house. ‘But is John not with you? I thought you might all travel together?’

‘John drove himself,’ Daniel Cavendish told her. ‘He cannot be far behind us, though he intended to stop at the blacksmith in the village to have one of his horse’s shoes looked at. He thought it might be coming loose.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Arabella said. ‘Well, come in, my dear friends. Charles had some business this morning, but he will be back at any moment. Mrs Hunter is sitting with me in the parlour, and Sarah has gone for a walk. I dare say she will be back quite soon.’

Sarah stood watching the swans gliding effortlessly on the lake. They had kept to the far side and she had not been able to entice them nearer because they were fiercely guarding their very small cygnets. However, she had collected a crowd of rather noisy ducks about her, and she laughed as they squabbled over the last scraps of bread she had begged from the kitchens.

It was peaceful here and the scenery was beautiful, less wild than the rugged country she had been used to in the past couple of years. The hills of Tuscany had their own charm, and the gardens of the villas owned by Conte di Ceasares were very beautiful. Just before Sarah had left Italy, the villa garden had been a riot of colour, flowers spilling over from large terracotta pots, and the overpowering scent of their blooms heavy in the air. She thought that she would miss Italy and the people she had counted as friends.

She ought to be returning to the house. She had made her escape earlier because she was aware of her mama’s silent disapproval. Mrs Hunter had been cross with her daughter because she believed that she had discouraged the Conte di Ceasares from making her an offer—she would be very annoyed indeed if she knew that Sarah had twice refused him. Sighing, Sarah turned away from the lake and began to walk slowly across the grass. She had liked the Conte very well, and perhaps she ought to have obliged her mama…

Walking with her head down, lost in thought, Sarah was not immediately aware of the man standing quite still a short distance ahead of her. He was on foot and had come through the woods to the left of the lake from the direction of the village. It was not until she drew near to him that he spoke to her, making her start.

‘Sarah? Miss Hunter…’

Sarah felt a thrill of fear, which was gone in a moment. Just for a few seconds she had been back in the old nightmare, but it faded as she stared at the man standing a few feet away. Her heart raced and she felt a dizzy sensation as she knew him. He was much as he had always been and yet there was an air of sadness about him that she had not remembered. Because of his wife, she realised, as she recalled what Arabella had told her a few days earlier.

‘John? Mr Elworthy…it is you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ John stood frozen to the spot, as if he was held by some spell and could not move. ‘I am sorry if I startled you. I thought as I saw you coming this way that it was you, Miss Hunter—but I did not know that you had returned from Italy and wondered if I was mistaken.’

‘We arrived just two weeks ago and have spent most of that time here with Charles and Arabella. We go up to London in about three weeks from now. Mama and I will stay with Lady Tate, though Arabella does not intend to accompany us. She is expecting her second child and prefers to stay quietly at home until her confinement. I believe Charles has some business and may come up for a few days.’ She was talking too much, but did not know how to stop. ‘I was not aware that you were to be a guest here, sir.’

‘I hope it does not displease you?’

‘No, of course not. Why should it?’

Sarah came up to him, offering her hand. He took it for a moment, holding it loosely, as if he thought she might break.

‘Forgive me. I cannot help remembering…’ His eyes were intent on her face. He smiled and shook his head. ‘That seems a lifetime ago. You look wonderful—such a difference…not that you were ever less than lovely. What a mess I am making of this, Miss Hunter. You look beautiful, of course.’

‘Thank you.’ Sarah laughed as she saw his confusion. She had been paid many more effusive compliments during her stay in Italy, but she was warmed by John’s stumbling offering. ‘I know that I look different, Mr Elworthy. Arabella remarked on it when she saw me for the first time. I think perhaps I have grown up, become a woman. I was a lost and rather foolish girl when you last saw me.’

‘A girl perhaps,’ John said and let go of her hand, which he had retained until now, ‘but never foolish. You had been through a traumatic experience, Miss Hunter. I hope that you have recovered now? You seem very well.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Sarah said. ‘Italy did me a great deal of good, sir. I think it was because no one knew anything about me and I was able to make friends without being asked about what happened during that time. Those dark days are a distant memory to me now. I no longer suffer from nightmares.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ John said. His eyes were serious, dark shadowed, but in every other way he was much as he had always been. John Elworthy was not a striking man, but he had a quiet air about him that was pleasing and his smile touched hearts. ‘You have perhaps been told that I am a widower?’

‘Yes, Arabella told me your news. I am very sorry, sir. It must be a great loss to you.’

‘The loss of a young life is always sad,’ John replied. ‘There is a child—a boy. I have left him with his nurse, but I fear that he will feel the loss of his mother as he grows to understand what has happened.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah agreed. ‘But he has his father and that will sustain him.’

‘Perhaps…’ John was silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. They had fallen into step with one another. ‘You are planning a season in town, Miss Hunter? I had thought perhaps you might be betrothed, but I see that is not so…’ He glanced at her ringless left hand. ‘Or perhaps there is someone in Italy?’

‘I might have married had I chosen,’ Sarah said for pride’s sake. ‘I have not yet decided what I wish to do in the future, sir. Mama wishes me to marry soon, but I do not know what I want…’

‘You must take your time,’ John said. ‘You are still quite young…’

‘I shall be one and twenty this year,’ Sarah said. ‘I dare say it is not too late should I wish to marry—though I believe I look older than my years.’ She put up a hand to touch the wings of white at her temples. Her hair was in general a beautiful pale golden colour; shining and thick, it had grown in the past two years, though was nowhere near as long as it had been before her illness. She wore it twisted up at the back in double knot. Her gown was a simple muslin with a turquoise blue sash caught high at the waist, its colour almost a match for her eyes. ‘Mama hoped that these would grow out as I recovered my health, but they have not.’

‘I think the wings of white are distinctive,’ John told her. ‘You have an air about you, Miss Hunter—a quiet dignity that sets well with your hair.’

‘Conte di Ceasares thought I was older,’ Sarah replied with a hint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Not that he heeded it, for we were great friends. I made many friends in Italy. Have you ever been there, sir?’

‘Yes, I visited that country when I was young,’ John told her. ‘My father considered it a part of my education. It was a wonderful experience. I spent more time in France and Spain when I was with the army—but I have not travelled overseas since my return home after the war.’

‘You did not go abroad for your honeymoon?’ Sarah asked and then blushed. ‘Forgive me—that was an insensitive question. I had no right to ask it. Indeed, I should not!’

‘You meant no harm by it,’ John said. ‘Andrea was not particularly strong even then. She did not wish to go away. She was quite happy at home with her dogs and her books…’ It was not entirely true, but John could not tell anyone about the strange haunting sadness that had come upon Andrea after their marriage.

‘I see,’ Sarah said, but wondered at the strange expression in his eyes. Clearly it pained him to speak of his wife; she thought that he must have loved her very much. She decided to be careful not to ask such clumsy questions again. ‘Tell me, sir—what part of Italy did you like most? We visited the lakes and many of the beauty spots, but settled in Tuscany.’

‘Yes, Arabella told me,’ John said. ‘I believe I like Florence very well—and Venice, of course. Did you get as far as Venice?’

‘Yes, indeed, we visited Venice almost as soon as we arrived,’ Sarah said. ‘Tilda particularly wanted to take a trip in a gondola…’ She smiled up at him, feeling on safer ground now. It was easy to talk of things and places they had both seen. Much easier than talking of personal feelings. She felt that John had suffered much since their last meeting and something inside her made her want to reach out and heal that hurt—but there was a distance in him. She sensed that he had built a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. He was happy to converse on almost any subject, but that of his wife—and that, she suspected, was taboo.

However, they had sufficient to discuss about the wonderful old buildings and treasures of Italy, and continued their walk up to the house in harmony. So much so that, when Arabella looked out of the parlour window and saw them coming, she was able to smile and consider that her plan had worked out very nicely.

Sarah had dressed in a gown of pale green silk for dinner that evening. She wore a single strand of pearls around her throat, and her maid had dressed her hair so that one smooth ringlet fell on her shoulders. Her skin still had a golden sheen to it, and she looked very beautiful as she came down to join the others in the drawing room.

She was the last to arrive, perhaps because she had taken particular trouble over her appearance that evening. It had taken her half an hour to make up her mind which gown she wished to wear, and even now she was not sure whether she had chosen the right one. She was not certain why she felt it was so important, except, of course, that she wanted John to think that she looked nice. She was trying to be sensible, to stop herself hoping that he might find her attractive. His manner earlier had convinced her that he was still in love with his late wife, still grieving for her—and yet he had cared for Sarah once. If she had let him, he would have asked her to be his wife before she left for Italy.

Sarah had often wondered if she had made a big mistake by telling him that she did not think she would ever wish to marry. It was true that she had felt like that for a while, but the feeling had passed. She was still not certain that she wished to marry—but for very different reasons. Once she had thought that she could not be any man’s wife, but now she knew that there was only one man she wished to wed.

She had realised it after parting from John and going up to her room to tidy herself for lunch. Meeting him again so unexpectedly had made her heart race wildly and she understood why she had refused the Conte when he had asked her to be his wife. She had liked him. She had liked Captain Hernshaw when they met in Rome, but neither of them had touched her heart the way John Elworthy did when he looked at her. His smile made her breathless and she was certain that she could be happy as his wife—but she was not sure that he would ask her. Perhaps he would not wish to marry again. It was obvious that his heart had been broken by Andrea’s death. However, he had mentioned that his son would miss having a mother, so perhaps it was possible that he would take another wife for the sake of his son. Sarah did not know whether she was prepared to accept a man who needed a wife for his son’s sake. It might prove too painful to know that one could only ever be second-best.

‘You look lovely, Sarah dear,’ Arabella said as she took a seat by her on the sofa. ‘But that was a pensive expression on your face just now. Serious thoughts?’

Sarah laughed and shook her head. ‘Not at all, Belle. I was just wondering what was for dinner. I am feeling hungry.’

It was a lie, of course, but it covered any awkwardness. John had glanced at her once when she entered, but his face remained impassive. She had no idea whether he thought she looked well or not. He seemed intent on his conversation with Charles and did not look her way again until dinner was announced. He came to her then, a polite smile on his lips.

‘I believe I have the honour of taking you in, Miss Hunter?’

‘Oh, do you?’ Sarah said. She felt her stomach clench as she laid her hand on his arm and felt proud of herself because it did not tremble. It was difficult to know how to behave with him. He had called her Sarah when they were all staying at Arabella’s manor two years previously, and she had felt that he truly cared for her at that time. Yet now she was unsure. He was polite, and of course, John Elworthy would never be less than attentive or kind to any lady, but there was a new reserve in him. She was sure it had never been there in the past—either before her abduction or after. ‘That will be very nice, sir. We may continue our conversation about Italy.’

‘Yes, of course,’ John said. ‘Did you attend many balls in Italy, Miss Hunter? I dare say you will be invited everywhere when you go up to town.’

‘We shall give a small dance of our own,’ Sarah said. ‘But Lady Tate has told all her friends, so I imagine we shall be invited out quite often.’

‘I am sure you will,’ John said. ‘Elizabeth and Daniel are going up at the same time. They have told me that they are giving a ball. Daniel made me promise that I would attend. It is some time since I danced with anyone…and I am not sure that it is convenient, but perhaps…’

‘Oh, you must,’ Sarah said. ‘I shall know hardly anyone, Mr Elworthy. I hope that you will attend and that you will dance with me.’

‘Well, perhaps,’ John said and gave her the gentle, sweet smile she remembered so well. For a moment the air of sadness that hung over him had vanished and he was just as she had known him when she was a young girl. ‘But I am sure that you will soon have many admirers, Miss Hunter.’

‘Admirers are one thing, friends are another.’ The look she gave him was so direct that John caught his breath. She was the girl he had remembered, but so much more! Italy had changed her, making her the woman she had been destined to become.

‘Yes, very true.’ John’s eyes focused on her face and she thought she could read regret and a faint wistfulness in their depths. ‘Yes, I think we might be friends, Miss Hunter. At least, I see no reason why we should not…’

‘No, of course there is no reason why we should not be friends. We always were, John. You did so much for me—and for Arabella too. I thought we were friends before I left for Italy?’

‘Yes…’ John hesitated as if he wished to say more, but then stopped. They had reached the dining room and he drew her chair for her, seeing that she was comfortably settled before seating himself. Discovering that Elizabeth Cavendish was on his other side, he turned to exchange a word or two with her, leaving Sarah to speak to her brother on her other side.

It was not until the first course had been served that he spoke to Sarah again. ‘This is very good wine, is it not? I must ask Charles who his wine merchant is and where I may find him. I should like to lay a stock of this down in my own cellar.’

‘It is Italian, I think,’ Sarah replied. ‘The Conte di Ceasares was an important winegrower in the district and he taught me many things about wines. I believe I am not wrong about this, though it was not grown in Tuscany—perhaps it comes more from the north of the country.’

‘You seem to have known the Conte very well?’

‘Yes, he was our close neighbour. We actually stayed in a small villa he owned. It belonged to his family and he sometimes allows others to hire it for a while. We were very lucky to stay there. It was beautiful, though not as magnificent as the Conte’s own villa.’

‘He is, one imagines, quite wealthy?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Sarah agreed. ‘And very kind and a good friend to us.’

‘You were fortunate,’ John said. ‘One hears of travellers who return less than satisfied with the conditions they discover on their travels, but you seem to have been well served.’

‘Yes, we were,’ Sarah said. ‘I do not think Mama would have stayed so long otherwise. She came home to visit Arabella and Charles, of course, and to see her grandson. We shall stay for the birth of their second child, but I think Mama might wish to return to Italy for the winter sometimes. She likes Italy very well.’

‘And you—will you return?’

‘I am not sure,’ Sarah said. ‘I have many friends there, of course—but it depends on…’ She shook her head because she simply could not answer his question without giving too much away. ‘I confess that I like the climate. England can be very cold in winter.’

‘Ah, yes,’ John agreed. ‘Their winters are far less harsh than our own, of course, especially in the south, I believe.’

‘Oh, yes, considerably better.’

Sarah was aware of a slight restraint on his part. He lapsed into silence and then turned to speak to Elizabeth again. After a few moments he laughed, and Sarah was a little envious of his ease of manner with the countess. It was obvious that they were good friends. She wished that she might have been as easy with him, but they exchanged only a few words throughout the rest of the meal, discussing the various dishes and complimenting Arabella on her chef.

Sarah was a little relieved when the ladies left the gentlemen to their port. John was clearly not entirely comfortable in her company and she thought it a shame—she had hoped for something more.

‘How do you find it here in England?’ Elizabeth Cavendish took a seat next to Sarah and smiled at her. ‘I expect you will miss Italy. It is very beautiful. Daniel took me there on our honeymoon. I loved it. We talk of going back again one day, but I should like to have a daughter first. Once our family is complete, then we may travel more.’

‘Yes,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Arabella is taking great care. She would have liked to come to London with us, but has decided against it because the doctor warned that she ought to take things easily. Being shaken for hours in a carriage is not exactly a good idea when a lady is with child.’

‘No, you are right,’ Elizabeth said. ‘We are coming up at the same time as you go to town, Sarah. We have decided to give a ball for our friends. My brother was married last year and this is the first time we shall all be together again. We decided to make the most of it—in case I cannot go up to London next year.’

‘It will be nice to have some acquaintance there,’ Sarah said. ‘I have been used to having friends in Italy and I shall feel a little awkward at first, I think.’

‘Oh, I dare say you will soon make many acquaintances,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘But we must meet often, Sarah. I shall be delighted to take you into my circle, though we are rather inclined to be bluestockings. I hope you like to read?’

‘Yes, indeed I do,’ Sarah replied, her face lighting up. ‘I love poetry, though I do not mind novels—but poetry is my first love, and music, of course.’

‘Do you play the pianoforte?’

‘Yes, a little,’ Sarah replied. ‘I play the harp as well, but I think I prefer the pianoforte.’

‘Then we shall be good company,’ Elizabeth said. She wrinkled her smooth brow. ‘Tell me, was John in spirits at dinner? I have been concerned for him recently. It was difficult to persuade him to come with us on this visit. He spends too much time alone these days. Daniel and he are such friends, but even he sees less of John than he would like. Before he married he visited us almost every week.’

‘I dare say he has been grieving,’ Sarah said. ‘He has had an unfortunate loss.’

‘Yes, though I am not sure if…’ Elizabeth shook her head as if she had said too much. ‘I know that he has been grieving, but it is more than a year since Andrea died. He cannot keep himself shut up from the world for ever. He blames himself, of course, but it was not his fault.’

Sarah would have liked to ask more, but at that moment the gentlemen came into the room and she did not like to push for more information. Now was not the time. She would ask Elizabeth what she meant another day.

Arabella was beckoning to her. Sarah got up and went to her, agreeing to a request to play for them. Sitting down at the pianoforte, she began to play a sonata by Mozart that she was very fond of, her face assuming a dreamy expression as she was carried far away. Sarah was smiling as she thought of an evening in Italy when she had played this piece. It was the night when Conte di Ceasares had first proposed to her.

‘What are you thinking?’ a voice asked and she discovered that John had come to stand by her side. ‘You look as if you are lost in the music.’

‘Yes, I was,’ she said and stopped playing, for she had reached the end of the piece. ‘Do you not love Mozart’s work? I think he was so wonderful, but his own people did not appreciate him until it was too late.’

‘Too often the case,’ John said and reached over her to play a few notes himself. Sarah smiled and let him play for a moment before joining in again.

‘You enjoy music, sir. Do you often play?’

‘Sometimes,’ John said. ‘Perhaps we may perform a duet one evening, Miss Hunter?’

‘Yes, why not?’ she said. ‘We must practise together before we play for others, I think.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said and smiled oddly. ‘But I have interrupted you. Please continue.’

‘I think Arabella has sent for the tea tray,’ Sarah replied and stood up. ‘Another time, perhaps.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said. ‘Excuse me. I am promised to Charles for a game of billiards. I shall hope to see you in the morning, Miss Hunter.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said. ‘Goodnight, Mr Elworthy.’

She watched as he, Charles and Daniel left the room, before taking her seat close to Arabella so that she could help to pass round the tea.

‘John plays the pianoforte very well,’ Arabella said to her. ‘I have not seen him take an interest for a long time, but he certainly enjoyed your playing, Sarah.’

‘Oh, I am not as proficient as many ladies are,’ Sarah said. ‘But I like to play sometimes.’

‘So does John,’ Arabella said. ‘It is a pleasure you share, Sarah.’

She looked very happy about something, which made Sarah wonder exactly what was on her mind.

Chapter Two

Sarah was sitting in the rose arbour reading a book of poetry when John came upon her the next morning. He paused as if fearing to intrude, smiling hesitantly when she looked up and saw him.

‘I did not wish to disturb you, Miss Hunter. Forgive me. I shall go.’

‘I hope that you will not,’ Sarah replied and closed her book. ‘It is very peaceful here. I sometimes sneak away to read for a while, but I am not averse to your company, Mr Elworthy.’

‘Are you escaping from someone?’ John asked and smiled as he sat down on the wooden bench next to her, being careful not to crush her gown.

‘From my mama,’ Sarah confided with a naughty look. ‘It is very wicked of me, but I could not resist. Poor Mama is in a cross mood this morning. She had a letter from one of her friends in Italy and something in it upset her. I do not know what. She has been scolding me for not making more of my chances while we were there.’

‘Your mama would perhaps like you to be married?’ John’s eyes were steady on her face.

‘Yes…’ Sarah felt her cheeks getting warm. ‘She thinks it is time that I put the past behind me. Indeed, I think I have done so, but…’ She shook her head. ‘It is not that I do not wish to oblige my mama, but she is too impatient and I need time.’

‘Perhaps you still think that you would rather not marry?’

Sarah was silent for a moment, her head bent, cheeks pink. ‘No, it is not quite that, sir. Just that, as yet, no one that I would wish to wed has asked me.’ She turned her head as she felt his eyes on her, afraid that she might betray herself and pretending interest in a rose that was still in a tightly formed bud.

The silence stretched between them for a few moments, and then John spoke words that sent a chill of ice into her heart. ‘I dare say you will meet someone in London. A gentleman of good birth and fortune who has a whole heart and will fall in love with you the moment he sees you.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Sarah said. She felt that the tears were very close and got quickly to her feet. ‘Excuse me, I must see if Mama has come down yet. I believe she has arranged for us to have a fitting with Arabella’s seamstress this morning. Some of the gowns we ordered in York were not well finished.’

‘Sarah…’ John spoke to her retreating back, silently cursing himself. He thought that perhaps he had hurt her, which was the last thing he had intended. Once he would have responded very differently to such an invitation, for he believed it had been a gentle hint that he might find favour in her eyes. ‘Damn! Damn it! Why did I not just walk away? Forgive me, Sarah. I am not worthy…not worthy of you…’

John turned away from the house, striding out towards the woods. It was his intention to fetch his curricle and horses, which had been stabled at the inn in the village. The blacksmith would have done his work by now, and John meant to take his leave of Arabella and the others as soon as he decently could. If it were possible he would leave now, make some excuse, but it would offend his friends. He could bear it for a day or so longer, though it almost wrenched the heart out of him when Sarah looked his way and he saw hurt mirrored in her lovely eyes. Would that he could turn back the past two years! He ought to have followed Sarah to Italy as had been his intention, but he had lingered, uncertain of his reception, and then it had been too late.

If only he had walked away from Andrea that day…if he had not listened to her pleas for help…but it was useless to look back. He had married her, given his name to her child, stood by her—and all to no avail. She had taken her own life while in a fit of despair and the sight of her lifeless body as it was taken from the river had nearly destroyed him. He had failed her. Andrea had begged for his help, but he had failed her. And now his guilt haunted him like a dark shadow at his elbow. He had nightmares, which woke him sweating with fear, and he had begun to imagine things; sometimes he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him—it was as if his late wife were haunting him.

He had ordered that her personal belongings be packed and taken to the attics, but small things kept reappearing, tucked in amongst his own clothes as if placed there on purpose to remind him. A kerchief had been under his pillow when he went to bed the night before he left Elworthy House, and a few days earlier he had discovered her prayer book in his dressing chest; another time he had smelled her perfume in his room. It had been so strong that he had almost believed she was there.

He did not believe that he had placed any of the items where he found them. He had questioned his housekeeper about them, but the woman denied all knowledge of Andrea’s things, except to say that they had been taken to the attics. Indeed, she had gone so far as to say she was certain the prayer book had not been in the dressing chest the previous evening when she had placed some clean linen there herself, and she had looked at John curiously as if suspecting that he had put it there. But John was certain that he had not done anything of the kind. Yet how could it have come there…unless Andrea’s unquiet spirit was haunting him?

Surely not! John did not truly believe that such a thing was possible. He knew that he had failed Andrea, but he had not been deliberately cruel—so why was he being punished for her death? She had taken her own life by walking into the river. It was true that he had been a little irritated with her earlier that day, but he had apologised almost at once for his brusque manner. Had it really been a few cross words that had driven her to take her life? Or was it something more? Perhaps she had guessed that his feelings for her could never be more than kindness?

They had known each other since they were children, their parents friends and neighbours. After John’s father died, Sir Andrew Walton had offered to help John put his estate in order. He had not needed his help, but he had remembered the kindness given and when Andrea had turned to him in her distress, he had done what any decent gentleman would do. Rather than let her face the shame that a wicked rape had brought upon her, he had asked her to marry him, and she had gratefully accepted. Indeed, he knew that she had hoped for it when she came to him.

After he had married Andrea, John had tried hard to put Sarah out of his mind, but he was afraid that his wife had sensed his heart was not hers to command—that he would never love her as a man ought to love the woman he had married. John had been kind, but she had been suffering from the sickness brought on by her condition when they wed, and he had left her to sleep alone that night. After the birth, when she recovered, she had told him that he might join her in her bed, but he had told her that she was not yet well enough and she had not asked again. Somehow they had drawn apart as the days and weeks passed, and Andrea had retreated into a silent world of her own.

They did not quarrel. Perhaps it might have been better if they had, but each treated the other with unfailing politeness, speaking when they met but never really talking. After the harsh words that morning, John had realised that this situation could not go on. Either he must make Andrea his wife in all ways, or they must live apart. He had made up his mind that he would talk to her that evening—but by then they had taken her lifeless body from the river.

Was it his fault? John had told himself that he had done nothing to harm Andrea, and yet his conscience would not let him rest. Had he made Andrea so unhappy that she had taken her own life? It was a hard cross to bear, and the reason why he had begun to wonder if he actually had placed those items amongst his things. Was he trying to punish himself without knowing he did so?

No, this was ridiculous! John shook his head. There must be another reason for what had happened, something that ought to be apparent but was not. He had no reason to torture himself in this way. Andrea had known he did not love her when they married. Surely she must have known? But she had not understood that his heart was irrevocably given to another woman.

He had tried to forget Sarah. He had believed that she would never return to England, and for months he had succeeded in dulling the sense of loss that lived with him. Now, seeing her, being close to her, the scent of her perfume teasing his senses, he knew that he had never ceased to think of her. Staying here in this house was exquisite torture, making him achingly aware of a need within himself. Yet how could he ask her to marry him?

John knew that Andrea’s death had set off some whispering. People had wondered why a young woman delivered of a fine son would take her own life…no one had said it to his face, but John believed that some suspected that she might not have gone willingly into the river.

He had no idea who had begun the rumours, but they had been brought to his attention a few weeks earlier by Andrea’s father.

‘I know it is all nonsense,’ Sir Andrew said when he rode over that morning to show John the letter he had received. ‘Had there been any truth in this wretched insinuation, this would surely have been signed. It is a damned lie and I do not believe it for a moment, but I thought you should see it.’

John had read the accusation, his lips white with anger. He handed the letter back to his father-in-law. ‘I swear to you that there is no truth in this, sir. Andrea was a little unwell after the birth of…our son, that is all.’

‘No, no, John, let us be straight with one another,’ Sir Andrew said. ‘We both know that the child was not yours. Andrea told me the truth after she had spoken to you. She wanted me to know that you had not shamed her.’

‘I never knew that,’ John said. ‘She need not have told you. I promised her that no one would hear of it from my lips—and, as far as I am concerned, the boy is mine.’

‘You are a good man,’ Sir Andrew said, ‘and that is why I know this is a lie. I shall destroy the letter, but it may not be the end of it, John.’

And it had not ended there. John had received a vicious letter himself a few days before he left home for this visit. The writer said that he or she knew the truth and that John would pay the price of his evil. It was again unsigned and John had destroyed it at once, but the shadow had lingered. Sir Andrew had refused to believe him capable of murder—but others might not be so convinced of his innocence.

John knew that he could not think of marriage while such a shadow hung over him. He shivered, feeling the chill creep down his spine. If he married again so soon, the rumours would increase and might be difficult to disprove. How could he marry anyone until he could clear his name of any wrongdoing?

Indeed, if Sarah heard the spiteful whispers, she might wonder if there was some truth in them. She would certainly not wish to be the wife of a man who might be accused of murdering his first wife. He must put all thought of it from his mind!

Sarah spent the rest of the morning being fitted for a new walking gown and two afternoon dresses. Although Mrs Hunter intended to order several new gowns in town, she thought highly enough of her daughter-in-law’s seamstress to trust her with a part of Sarah’s new wardrobe.

Her mother’s fussing over details enabled Sarah to put the incident with John out of her mind. She was aware that she might have revealed her feelings too plainly, but when they met again before dinner, he greeted her as always with his gentle smile. He was sitting opposite her this time, for Daniel had taken her into dinner and she felt some relief that she was not obliged to make polite conversation with John.

‘How do you like being back in England?’ Daniel asked. ‘Do you find it very different, Miss Hunter?’

‘Yes, it is different,’ Sarah agreed. ‘But I am very happy here, sir. And of course we go to London in almost three weeks.’

‘Ah, yes, you will be thrust into the social whirl,’ he said, smiling at her kindly. ‘Elizabeth tells me you share her interest in books. I warn you that she will expect you to attend all her afternoon meetings. You must say if you have other engagements. My wife likes to manage us all.’

The smile and the wicked look in his eyes were enough to tell Sarah that he was amused and there was no malice in his words. He was clearly very much in love with Elizabeth, and Sarah felt a pang of envy as she saw the way they looked at each other. If only she could find that sort of love!

Glancing across the table, she discovered that John was watching her. He looked serious, although he smiled and inclined his head as their eyes met. Sarah sensed that he was concerned about something, and wondered at the signs of tiredness in his face. John was always gentle, unfailingly kind and caring, and yet there was something about him that inspired confidence. She knew that he was to be relied upon in a crisis and she sensed an inner strength that was perhaps not immediately obvious to a casual onlooker.

He must still be grieving for his wife, of course. It was only a year since Andrea Elworthy had died. No doubt he had loved her very much and could not be expected to think of marrying again just yet.

John had turned to Elizabeth, who was sitting to his left. They were laughing at something now and Sarah wished that she might feel the ease of an old friendship such as they obviously shared. John had been her friend once. He had cared for her, but she had walked away from him and he’d fallen in love with Andrea.

Why did that hurt so much? Sarah knew that she had only herself to blame. With a little encouragement John would have asked her to marry him more than two years previously—but that was then and things had changed.

Sarah realised that, since learning of his wife’s death, she had been secretly wishing that he might turn to her, might ask her to marry him. His behaviour in the rose arbour that morning had destroyed her dreams. John was not ready to marry again just yet.

Would he ever be? Sarah frowned at her own thoughts. She would be foolish to hope for something that might never happen. Had John felt anything for her, he would surely not have answered her as he had. By telling her that she would meet a gentleman with a whole heart, who would love her, he could not have been clearer.

John was still in love with his late wife. Sarah must not embarrass him by showing her feelings for him. In future she would take great care not to be alone with him.

Sarah’s ordeal lasted for just two days more. On the morning of the third day, Arabella told her that John was leaving them.

‘He has some business that will not wait,’ Arabella said. ‘I am sorry he cannot stay longer, but he seems anxious to keep his appointment and I am afraid we must allow him to go, Sarah.’

Sarah was torn between regret and relief. It would be easier when she did not have to meet John at every meal, but a part of her wanted him to stay. She knew that he was grieving, but sometimes when they spoke she felt that something flowed between them.

She was sitting in the downstairs parlour when John came to take his leave of Arabella. Looking up, Sarah’s heart jerked as she saw how elegant he looked in his buckskin breeches and a blue coat that fitted him to perfection. He was of a slighter build than either Charles or Daniel, but Sarah thought him the most attractive of any gentleman she had met thus far. More than that, she felt a warmth inside every time he smiled at her.

‘Are you sure your business will not wait?’ Arabella asked as he said his farewells. ‘We had hoped you would stay at least a week.’

‘It was my hope too,’ John replied in his easy, gentle way. ‘Perhaps another time?’

‘Yes, of course. You know that you will always be welcome here, John.’

‘Thank you. I shall remember,’ he promised. Sarah thought there was a hint of regret in his face as he turned to her. ‘It was good to see you again, Miss Hunter.’

‘Yes,’ Sarah replied. She got up from her chair and walked to meet him, offering her hand. John hesitated briefly before taking it in his. Sarah tingled at his touch. There was a clean fresh scent about him that she found appealing and she wished that he might take her in his arms, but he had let go of her hand and was about to turn away. He must not go like this! Before she could prevent the words they leapt from her tongue, ‘Perhaps we shall meet in town, sir?’

‘I am not sure,’ John said with a vague look in his eyes.

‘But you promised to dance with me at Elizabeth’s ball!’ Sarah knew that she ought not to press him, but something inside told her that if she did not speak now it might be too late. ‘Surely you will not disappoint Elizabeth—and me?’

John was caught as he saw the appeal in her eyes. She had never looked prettier than she did now in her jonquil-yellow morning gown and it hurt to refuse her anything. He hesitated for a moment before inclining his head. ‘It seems as if I gave my word and must therefore keep it, Miss Hunter. I shall come up for the ball.’

Sarah’s heart beat wildly. He was grieving for his wife, but he still liked her. She was sure in that instant that John felt something. Perhaps it was not yet love, but that might come in time.

‘I shall save two dances for you, sir. Do not leave me standing alone.’

‘I never lightly break my word,’ John said. ‘Excuse me, ladies. I must say goodbye to Charles and Daniel. I have spoken to Elizabeth.’

Sarah was silent after he left the room, but there was a look of such longing on her face that Arabella guessed what was in her mind.

‘John is a man whose thoughts and emotions run deeply,’ Arabella said, looking pensive. ‘You must be patient, Sarah. I think he has much on his mind, but I am sure that he will find a solution to his problems.’

Arabella wondered if she ought to explain that John was being threatened. He had confided to Charles that someone had begun spreading rumours about the nature of Andrea’s death. Charles had, of course, dismissed it as spiteful nonsense. He was very angry that letters and whispers were circulating.

‘How anyone could think it for one moment!’ Charles had burst into furious speech when they were alone the previous night. ‘John is the last man on this earth I would suspect of having killed his wife.’

‘Why would anyone wish to spread such a rumour?’ Arabella had asked him. ‘It is scandalous and cruel. Someone must hate him to do such a thing.’ She frowned as a thought occurred to her. ‘Could it have anything to do with that other business?’

‘You mean because of the part John played in thwarting Sir Courtney’s attempt to abduct you and force you to marry him?’

‘Yes,’ Arabella replied, looking anxious. ‘John risked his life for our sakes, but why should he be the one to suffer now? And Captain Hernshaw fired the shot that killed Sir Courtney when he tried to kill Sarah and I…’

‘As well us as John if someone wanted revenge for that affair,’ Charles agreed. ‘No, I think this has more to do with John. There is something else…something that runs deeper.’ He explained that John had found some of Andrea’s possessions in his room. ‘Someone must have put that stocking on his bed. It did not get there of its own accord.’

‘Is that so surprising? I dare say the maids found it tucked away somewhere. My things often get left in your room. It could have been caught under the bed or some such thing.’

Charles shook his head. ‘I do not think John’s marriage was like ours, Belle. He would never speak of his intimate situation but…I have never thought it a love match.’

‘Nor I,’ Arabella agreed. ‘He was attentive and kind to her—but not as a man in love might be.’

‘John thought it right to inform me of the rumours and mentioned that he was under a strain. However, he said nothing of their relationship. What I have told you is merely my opinion.’

‘I had already formed my own,’ Arabella said. ‘It seems that John has an enemy, Charles.’

‘Yes, that was the conclusion I formed. I made him promise to seek out Tobbold—you may recall that both Daniel and I have found him a useful man?’ She nodded. ‘John needs someone to help him now. He must discover who is spreading malicious lies. Meanwhile, this remains a secret between us. Mama is not to be told, though both Elizabeth and Daniel have been informed. John wanted them to know because of the ball.’

‘You don’t think…’ Arabella was dismayed. ‘I imagined the gossip was confined to John’s village and home. It will be uncomfortable for him if it becomes generally known and believed.’

‘It will not be known from any of us!’

‘No, certainly not,’ she agreed.

Seeing the sadness in Sarah’s eyes after John had left them, Arabella was tempted to confide in the girl. However, on further reflection, she decided against speaking. It was not truly her affair. John might resent it if he knew that his secret had been betrayed. After all, had he wished Sarah to know, he would no doubt have told her himself.

‘I should not have rejected him before I left for Italy,’ Sarah said, breaking the silence between them. ‘He would have spoken then had I allowed it. I thought for a while that I should never wish to marry anyone.’

‘And now?’ Arabella asked, but before Sarah could answer, the door opened and both Elizabeth and Mrs Hunter came in. ‘Ah, there you are. Did you see John just now? He has been taking his leave of us. He has important business elsewhere but has promised to come up to town for your ball, Elizabeth.’

‘Has he?’ Elizabeth was surprised. ‘He must have changed his mind, for he seemed to think he would not manage it. I am glad that he will come. He looks tired and drained, and I am sure that it is no wonder. He needs to be with friends.’

‘Yes, that is what Charles thinks,’ Arabella agreed. She glanced at Mrs Hunter, who was clutching some letters. ‘Did those just arrive?’

‘Your housekeeper gave them to me,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘One is for you, Arabella—and one for you, Sarah.’

Sarah took the letter from her mother. She walked over to a small table by the window and sat down on an elegant parlour chair, breaking the seal. She knew who had sent it—it carried the wax impression of the Conte di Ceasares’ seal. She scanned the few lines swiftly.

‘This is from the Conte,’ she told her mother. ‘It is just to say that he hopes we had a good journey.’

Mrs Hunter looked disappointed. ‘I had thought he might have written to say he intended to visit London.’

‘No, Mama. It is simply a polite letter to inquire after our health.’

‘Did you wish to see him again, Mrs Hunter?’ Elizabeth said with a teasing look, for she had no idea of who the Conte was or what age he might be. ‘Or perhaps Sarah…’

‘He was very taken with Sarah in Italy,’ Mrs Hunter said and looked thoughtful. ‘Had she been more sensible, she might have been married to him by now.’ She gave her daughter a straight look.

‘Mama!’ Sarah cried, blushing bright pink. ‘I pray you will not say such things.’

‘And why should you pray that, miss?’ Her mother looked at her in some annoyance. ‘The Conte is rich, attractive and charming—and not so very much older. You are foolish not to have taken him when he asked, Sarah.’ She nodded as Sarah stared at her. ‘I am aware that you refused him without reference to me. Had you asked, I should have advised you to take him.’

‘Please, Mama, do not,’ Sarah begged, feeling as if she could sink. It was so very embarrassing.

Elizabeth had realised her mistake. She sent Sarah an apologetic look. ‘Tell me, Mrs Hunter, where do you intend to take Sarah for her new clothes when you are in town? Have you heard that we have a new and very talented modiste? Her name is Madame Henriette Deloir and she made a wonderful gown for me this spring. Everyone thought that it must have come from Paris.’

‘You mean your green gown,’ Arabella said. ‘It is exquisite, Elizabeth. The lace she used to trim the sleeves is finer than anything I have. I shall ask her to make something for me once the baby is born.’

The conversation was successfully turned as Mrs Hunter asked for the modiste’s address. Sarah stood looking out of the parlour window, her back turned to the others. She had not realised that her mother knew she had refused the Conte’s offer and it was a shock to learn it so publicly.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought of how different it might have been had John asked her to marry him.

Staying here with Arabella, watching as she and Elizabeth held their children in their arms, holding the babies herself, Sarah had come to realise that she wanted a home and children of her own. Her heart belonged to John, but if he no longer cared for her…

Sarah sighed. She was not sure that she could marry just for the sake of a home and children, though she knew that it happened. In Italy most marriages were arranged and many of them turned out well. Some of the ladies she had counted her friends were completely happy with the husbands their families had chosen for them. She suspected that two of the ladies had secret lovers, but it was never spoken of.

It was not what Sarah wanted! She knew that if she married John she would never look at another man, but what if she were forced to take a husband for other reasons? Arabella had said that Charles would not allow Sarah to be pushed into an unwelcome marriage. However, he did not have to live with Mama! Mrs Hunter could be very disagreeable if thwarted too often.

Sarah knew that by giving her this London Season, her mother was offering her one last chance. Mrs Hunter expected her daughter to make a good marriage. If at the end of the season Sarah was not at least promised to someone, her mama would be most annoyed, for she might never have a better chance to find a husband.

Sarah was not afraid of her mother, but she did not wish to be at odds with her. Nor did she wish to remain at home with Mrs Hunter for the rest of her life. She envied Elizabeth and Arabella their freedom.

Sarah’s heart lifted. John had promised to attend Elizabeth’s ball. Perhaps when they danced together he would fall in love with her again.

John drove his horses hard for some minutes. He was determined to put some distance between himself and Sarah, determined that he would not give into the voices in his head telling him to turn back.

He had been a fool to weaken over Elizabeth’s ball. Seeing Sarah again was bound to bring him pain. Besides, if Charles was right, he had an enemy. Someone who was bent on ruining him and perhaps worse.

John was not certain he could prove his innocence if it came to a trial at law. He had spent some time with his agent the morning that Andrea had killed herself. Afterwards, he had gone for a long walk alone, needing to sort out his thoughts. His path had taken him to the far side of the estate. At no time had he been anywhere near the river, but could it be proven? He had some ideas that might be foolish nonsense, and yet he could not help thinking that he might know the writer of the letter. The hand had been disguised, of course, and yet he had his suspicions.

If he were forced to prove his innocence, it might be only his word against another’s. He believed that a man had written the unsigned letter. John might be acquitted by reasonable doubt, for if he could not prove his innocence no one could prove his guilt. However, the mud would stick. People would say that there was no smoke without fire. Even if he were merely called before the local Justice of the Peace, some would think him a murderer. John had told his friends of the threat, believing that they ought to be aware that he might be disgraced at any time.

‘You might prefer that I did not attend Elizabeth’s ball, Daniel.’

‘Damn it, John! Do not dare to say such a thing to me again. None of us would believe such a wicked lie.’ Daniel had been outraged.

‘But others will,’ John had pointed out with a wry smile. ‘Some will cut me, I make no doubt. You could be tarred with some of the filth they may throw at me.’

‘Anyone stupid enough to think you a murderer will no longer be welcome in my house,’ Daniel said, looking grim.

Charles had said much the same. Neither of his friends was prepared to think the worse of him. John had thanked them for their loyalty, but he knew that he would find a rather different attitude in others should the rumours become common knowledge.

‘Speak to Tobbold,’ Daniel had advised him. ‘He will get to the bottom of this if anyone can, John. It is a pity that you did not keep the letter. If you should receive another, make sure you retain it as evidence. Someone is out to ruin you. You have an enemy, my friend, and you must fight back. He must not be allowed to get away with this, whoever he may be.’ Daniel frowned. ‘I suppose you have no idea who it might be?’

‘No, none at all,’ John said, though it wasn’t quite true. He had wondered, but his suspicions seemed so ridiculous that he could not bring himself to voice them aloud. ‘I have racked my brains to no avail. I thought that perhaps Andrea’s father might blame me, but he was disgusted by the letter sent to him, and the first to bring this matter to my attention.’

‘I am at your service,’ Charles told him. ‘If there is anything I may do to help, John, you have only to send word.’

‘The same goes for me,’ Daniel agreed. ‘I am certain we can sort this out between us, John. I shall make inquiries myself, because there is more to this than we yet know—but you must speak to Tobbold. Your enemy is a dangerous man and may not be satisfied with your ruin.’

John was feeling better for having confided in his friends. Both had declared him perfectly sound of mind, which meant that he might be dealing with more than one enemy. And at least one of them was able to come and go in his own house!

John found it difficult to understand how that could be. Many of his servants had worked for him for years, and some for his parents before him. He would have sworn that every one of them was loyal. Why had this person turned against him? What had he done that deserved this?

John had puzzled over it, but could find no answer. Perhaps his enemy had bribed one of the maids to place Andrea’s things amongst his, hoping to unnerve him? It had certainly given him a nasty shock the first time, but afterwards he had begun to suspect what was going on. When he returned home he would ask his housekeeper if any new maids had been taken on in the past few months.

And why was his enemy trying to ruin him? Was it because Andrea had taken her own life? He had wondered if Sir Andrew had written his own letter in order to threaten him, and yet he could not truly think it. His father-in-law had known that her child was not John’s—how could he blame John for the fit of despair that had driven her to take her own life?

Who else would want revenge for her death? John could think of no one. She did not have any brothers or sisters, and her mother had died when she was but a child.

So perhaps it was nothing to do with Andrea. Perhaps she was merely the tool being used against him. John frowned as he slowed his horses to a steadier pace. He had no idea where to start looking for clues. He could tell Tobbold what had happened so far, but he could give him no help in solving the mystery.

It was possible that this nonsense might be something to do with Sir Courtney Welch—or even Sir Montague Forsythe. John had been involved in both those affairs. He had helped when Charles had been desperate to discover his sister’s whereabouts after Forsythe had had her abducted, and John had also played a big part in scuppering Sir Courtney’s attempt to force Arabella into marrying him. It was also possible that he had trodden on someone’s toes for quite another reason, though he did not know of anyone who had a right to hate him. He had not insulted anyone, nor had he ruined another gentleman at the card tables.

It was a warm spring day, but John felt the chill of winter enter his heart. The future looked bleak indeed. It was hopeless. How could he ever discover who his enemy was, let alone prove his innocence to the world? He had no answers to the questions others would ask of him. All he did know for certain was that he could not ask any woman to marry him while this shadow hung over him. Only a selfish man would think of his own happiness when it might bring harm to the woman he admired more than any other.

Yet had he the right to ignore Sarah? He had once given her to understand that he was in love with her. In the rose arbour she had seemed to invite him to speak, and a part of him had longed to oblige her—but he did not wish to bring her down. If he were to be disgraced—or, worse, accused of murder—it could ruin her life.

John knew that he must conquer the guilt he felt concerning his wife. It was true that he had not been able to give her the love she needed. Kindness and concern were all very well in their way—but was it his neglect in making their marriage a true one that had driven Andrea to take her life? Or was there some reason of which he had no knowledge?

Only when he had settled his own mind would he be able to think of making plans for the future.

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