Meet the lords and ladies of London’s ton,

Bath society and Regency

country house parties

in

Two vivid, festive novels

by reader favourites

Nicola Cornick and Anne Herries

Regency Christmas Vows

The Blanchland Secret

Nicola Cornick

The Mistress of Hanover Square

Anne Herries

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

The Blanchland Secret

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

The Mistress of Hanover Square

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

The Blanchland Secret

Nicola Cornick

For the first eighteen years of her life NICOLA CORNICK lived in Yorkshire, within a stone’s throw of the moors that had inspired the Brontë sisters to write Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. One of her grandfathers was a poet and her family contained teachers and avid readers who filled the house with books. With such a background it was impossible for Nicola not to become a bookworm.

Nicola met her future husband while she was at university, although it took her four years to realise that he was special and more than just a friend. Her husband, being so much more perceptive, had worked this out much sooner, but eventually an understanding was reached.

This lack of perception also meant that Nicola did not realise for years that she was meant to be a writer. She wrote bits and pieces of novels in her spare time, but never finished any of them. Eventually, she sent in the first three chapters of a Regency romance to Mills & Boon and, although they were rejected, she found she had become so addicted to writing that she could not stop. Happily, her third attempt was accepted and she has never looked back.

Nicola loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted by e-mail or via her website, www.nicolacornick.co.uk.

Chapter One

Mr Julius Churchward, representative of the famously discreet London lawyers of the same name, had a variety of facial expressions he could draw upon, depending on the nature of the news he was imparting to his aristocratic clients. There was sympathetic but grave, used when breaking the news that an inheritance was substantially smaller than expected; there was sympathetic but rueful, for unsatisfactory offspring and breach of promise; finally, there was an all-purpose dolefulness, for when the precise nature of the problem was in doubt. It was this third alternative that he adopted now, as he stood on the doorstep of Lady Amelia Fenton’s trim house in Bath, for if the truth were told, he knew nothing of the contents of the letter he was about to deliver.

Mr Churchward had travelled from London the previous day, stopped overnight at the Star and Garter in Newbury and resumed his journey at first light. To undertake such a journey in winter, with Christmas pressing close upon them, argued some urgency. The morning sun was warming the creamy Bath stone of Brock Street but the winter air was chill. Mr Churchward shivered inside his overcoat and hoped that Miss Sarah Sheridan, Lady Amelia’s companion, was not still at breakfast.

A neat maid showed him into a parlour that he remembered from a visit three years before, a visit during which he had conveyed to Miss Sheridan the disappointing news that her brother Frank had left no estate to speak of. At the back of his mind was an occasion some two years before that, when he had had to proffer the even more depressing intelligence that Lord Sheridan had left only a small competence to keep his daughter from penury. Miss Sheridan had borne the news with fortitude, explained that she had very few material needs and gained Mr Churchward’s admiration in the process.

He still felt the inequity of her situation keenly. A lady of Miss Sheridan’s breeding should not, he felt, be reduced to acting as companion, even to so benevolent a relative as her cousin, Lady Amelia. He was sure that Lady Amelia was too generous ever to make Miss Sheridan feel a poor relation, but it was simply not fitting. For several years Mr Churchward’s chivalrous heart had hoped that Miss Sheridan would make a suitable match, for she was young and looked well to a pass, but three years had gone by and she was now firmly on the shelf.

Mr Churchward shook his head sadly as he waited in Lady Amelia’s airy drawing-room. He tried hard not to have favourites; it would have been quite inappropriate when he had so many esteemed clients, but he made an exception in the case of Miss Sarah Sheridan.

The door opened and Sarah came towards him, hand outstretched as though he was a great friend rather than the bearer of doubtful news.

‘Dear Mr Churchward! How do you do, sir? This is an unexpected pleasure!’

Mr Churchward was not so sure. The letter he carried seemed to weigh down his document case. But such misgivings seemed foolish in the light of day. The parlour was bright with winter sunlight; it shone full on Miss Sheridan, but she was a lady whose face and figure could withstand the harshest of morning light. Indeed, her cream and rose complexion seemed dazzlingly fresh and fair and her slender figure was set off to advantage by a simple dress of jonquil muslin.

‘How do you do, Miss Sheridan? I hope I find you well?’

Mr Churchward took the proffered seat and cleared his throat. He was astonished to find that he was nervous, too nervous to indulge in talk of the weather or the journey. He bent to unbuckle his case and extracted a letter in a plain white envelope.

‘Madam, forgive my abruptness, but I have been asked to deliver this letter to you. The manner in which the request came about is quite extraordinary, but perhaps you would wish to read the letter first, before I explain…’ Mr Churchward was unhappily aware that he was rambling. Sarah’s wide and beautiful hazel eyes were fixed on his face with an expression of vague puzzlement. She took the letter and gave a slight gasp.

‘But this is—’

‘From your late brother. Yes, ma’am.’ Mr Churchward groped for his all-purpose solemn expression, but was sure he was only achieving the anxious look of a man who was not in complete control of the situation. ‘Perhaps if you were to read what Lord Sheridan has written…’

Miss Sheridan made no immediate attempt to open the letter. Her head was bent as she examined the familiar black writing and the sunlight picked out strands of gold and amber in the hair that escaped her cap.

‘Are you aware of the contents of the letter, Mr Churchward?’

‘No, madam, I am not.’ The lawyer sounded slightly reproachful, as though Francis Sheridan had committed a decided faux pas by leaving him in ignorance.

Miss Sheridan scanned his face for a moment, then walked slowly over to the walnut desk. Mr Churchward heard the sound of the letter-opener slicing through paper and felt relief wash over him. Soon they would know the worst…

There was silence in the little room. Mr Churchward could hear the chink of china from the kitchens, the sound of voices raised in question and answer. He looked around at the neat bookshelves laden with works he remembered from Blanchland; books that Sir Ralph Covell had dismissively thrown out of the house he had inherited from his second cousin, Lord Sheridan; books that Sarah had gladly retrieved for her new home.

Miss Sheridan did not speak at all. Eventually she crossed to the wing chair that mirrored Mr Churchward’s on the other side of the fireplace and sat down. The letter fell to her lap; she looked him straight in the eye.

‘Mr Churchward, I think I should read you the contents of Frank’s letter.’

‘Very well, madam.’ Mr Churchward looked apprehensive.

‘Dear Sal,’ Miss Sheridan read, in a dry tone, ‘if you get this letter I shall be dead and in need of a favour. Sorry to have to ask this of you, old girl—fact is, I’d rather trust you than anyone else. So here goes. I have a daughter. I know that will surprise you and I’m sorry I never told you before, but to tell the truth, I hoped you’d never need to know. Father knew, of course—made all the usual arrangements, all right and tight. But if he is gone and I’m gone, then the child needs someone to turn to for help, and that’s where you come in. Churchward will tell you the rest. All I can say is thank you and God bless you.

‘Your loving brother, Frank.’

Miss Sheridan sighed. Mr Churchward sighed. Both were thinking in their different ways of the insouciant Frank Sheridan who would have fathered a child so lightly, made cheerful provision for her future perhaps, but not really given the matter the thought it deserved. Mr Churchward could imagine him dashing off such a letter before he went off to join the East India Company on yet another mad attempt to make his fortune…

Sarah’s voice broke into Mr Churchward’s thoughts. ‘Well, Mr Churchward, can you, as Frank suggests, throw any more light on this mystery?’

Mr Churchward sighed for a second time. ‘I confess, madam, that I did know of Miss Meredith’s existence. Your late father…’ He hesitated. ‘Lord Sheridan came to me seventeen years ago to ask me to make arrangements for a certain child. I thought…’

‘You thought that the child was his own?’ Sarah said calmly. For a moment, Mr Churchward could have sworn that there was a twinkle in Miss Sheridan’s eye, a look that was surely inappropriate for a young lady when confronted with the evidence of some improper connection of her family.

‘Well, I assumed—’ Mr Churchward broke off unhappily, aware that it was dangerous for lawyers to make assumptions.

‘It was a natural supposition,’ Sarah said kindly, ‘especially since Frank could have been little more than eighteen himself at the time.’

‘Young men…wild oats…’ Mr Churchward made a vague gesture. He suddenly realised the impropriety of discussing such a matter with a young, unmarried lady, cleared his throat purposefully and pushed his glasses up his nose. He deplored the necessity of giving Miss Sheridan this information, but there was nothing for it. Best to be as businesslike as possible.

‘The child was placed with a family in a village near Blanchland, I believe, madam. The late Lord Sheridan paid an annuity to a Dr John Meredith each year during his lifetime and…’ he hesitated ‘…left a sum to him in his will. Dr Meredith died last year, at which time his widow and daughter were still resident near Blanchland.’

‘I remember Dr Meredith,’ Sarah said thoughtfully. ‘He was a kindly man. He attended me when I had the measles. And I do believe he had a daughter—a pretty little girl some seven or eight years younger than I. She went away to school. I remember everyone saying that the doctor must have some private income—’ She broke off, a rueful smile on her lips as she realised that the mystery of the doctor’s finances was now solved.

The arrival of some refreshments—a pot of coffee for Mr Churchward and a strong cup of tea for Miss Sheridan—created a natural break in the conversation and gave the lawyer the opportunity to move smoothly forward.

‘I do apologise for springing such a surprise on you, Miss Sheridan—’

‘Pray do not, Mr Churchward.’ Sarah smiled warmly. ‘This is none of your doing. But I understand from Frank’s letter that you were to contact me if Miss Meredith was in need of help. In what way may I assist her?’

Mr Churchward looked unhappy. He reached for his bag again and extracted a second letter. It was smaller than the first, the paper of inferior quality, the hand round and childish. ‘I received this three days ago, Miss Sheridan. Please…’

Once again, Sarah read aloud.

Dear Sir,

I am writing to you because I am in desperate need of help and do not know where to turn. I understand from my mother that the late Lord Sheridan gave her your direction, instructing her to contact you should either of us ever be in dire need. Please come to me at Blanchland, so that I may acquaint you with our difficulties and seek your advice.

I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,

Miss Olivia Meredith.

There was a silence. Mr Churchward was aware that he should have felt more at ease, for provision for illegitimate children and difficulties raised by said children was very much a part of Churchward and Churchward’s business. Never before, however, had he been confronted by the situation in which an errant brother had asked his younger sister to offer help to his by-blow. Frank Sheridan had been a likeable man, but thoughtless and devil-may-care. He had indubitably put his sister in a very awkward situation.

‘Miss Meredith makes no mention of the precise nature of her difficulties,’ Sarah said thoughtfully. ‘And when Frank wrote his letter he would have had no notion of the sort of help she would need—’

‘Very difficult for him, I am sure, madam.’ Mr Churchward still looked disapproving. ‘He wished to do the right thing by the child without knowing what that would be.’

Sarah wrinkled up her nose. ‘I fear I am becoming confused, Mr Churchward. May we go over this once again? I shall call for more coffee and tea.’

The pot was replenished, Sarah’s cup refilled, then the maid withdrew once again.

‘Now,’ Sarah said, in her most businesslike voice, ‘let us recapitulate. My late brother left a letter with you to be despatched to me in the event of a plea for help from his natural daughter, Miss Meredith. Frank was, I suppose, trying to guard against my niece being left friendless in the event of his death.’

‘I assume that to be correct, madam.’

‘And there has never been any request for help until three days ago, when you received this letter from Miss Meredith?’

Mr Churchward inclined his head. ‘All contact with Dr Meredith and his family ceased on your father’s death, ma’am. I believe that Lord Sheridan left them a sum of money—’ Mr Churchward’s lips primmed as he remembered that it was a not-inconsiderable sum of money ‘—in order that the child should want for nothing in the future. Why she has seen fit to contact us now…’

‘The help Miss Meredith needs may not be of a financial nature,’ Sarah observed quietly, ‘and she is still my niece, Mr Churchward, despite the circumstances of her birth.’

‘Very true, madam.’ Mr Churchward sighed, feeling reproved. ‘This is all most irregular and I am not at all happy about it. For you to have to return to Blanchland is the most unfortunate thing imaginable!’

Once again, the lawyer thought that he detected a twinkle in Miss Sheridan’s eye. ‘Certainly, Frank asks a great deal, Mr Churchward.’

‘He does indeed, ma’am,’ Mr Churchward said fervently. He shuddered, thinking of Sir Ralph Covell, the late Lord Sheridan’s cousin, who had inherited Blanchland Court upon Frank’s death. In the following three years Covell had turned the place into a notorious den of iniquity. Gambling, drunken revels, licentious orgies…The tales had been wilder each year. It seemed impossible to believe that Miss Sarah Sheridan, respectable spinster and pillar of Bath society, would ever set foot in the place.

‘Your cousin, Sir Ralph Covell, is still in residence at Blanchland, Miss Sheridan?’ Mr Churchward asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

‘I believe so.’ The warmth had gone from Sarah’s voice. ‘It grieves me to hear the tales of depravity at Blanchland, Mr Churchward. It is such a gracious house to be despoiled by such evil.’

Churchward cleared his throat. ‘For that reason, Miss Sheridan, it would be most inappropriate for you to return there. If your brother had known what Covell would do to your home, he would never have suggested it. Besides…’ Churchward brightened ‘…he has not actually asked you to go to see Miss Meredith yourself! You may advise her through an agent, perhaps—’

Churchward broke off as Sarah rose to her feet and crossed to the window. She gazed into the distance. The bare trees that lined the Circus were casting shifting shadows onto the pavements. A carriage rattled past.

‘Perhaps someone could represent your interests at Blanchland,’ Churchward repeated, when Sarah did not speak. He was desperately hoping that she would not ask him to be that person. His wife would never stand for it. But Sarah was shaking her head.

‘No, Mr Churchward. I fear that Frank has laid this charge on me alone and I must honour it. I shall, of course, gratefully accept your advice when I have ascertained the nature of Miss Meredith’s problem. I imagine that it should be easy enough to find the girl and see how I may help her.’

Mr Churchward was ashamed at the relief that flooded through him. There was an air of decision about Miss Sheridan that made it difficult to argue with her, despite her relative youth, but he still felt absurdly guilty. He made a business of shuffling his papers together and as he did so he remembered the piece of news that he had still to impart. His face fell still further.

‘I should tell you, ma’am, that I took the liberty of sending a message to Miss Meredith to reassure her that I had received her letter. By chance I passed my messenger on the road as I made my way here. He had been to Blanchland and was on his way back to London.’

There was a pause. Sarah raised her eyebrows. ‘And?’

Mr Churchward looked unhappy. ‘I fear that he was unable to find Miss Meredith, ma’am. The young lady was last seen approaching the front door of Blanchland Court two days ago. She has not been seen since. Miss Meredith has disappeared.’

Later, as he was driving back to London, Mr Churchward remembered that he had forgotten to tell Miss Sheridan about the third letter, the one that Francis Sheridan had requested be despatched to the Earl of Woodallan. His spirits, which had been depressingly low since leaving Bath, revived a little. Woodallan was Sarah’s godfather and a man of sound sense into the bargain. It was a pity that Mr Sheridan had ever thought to involve his sister in such an undignified situation, but at least he appeared to have had the sense to apply to a man of Woodallan’s stature to support her. Mr Churchward sat forward for a moment, debating whether to ask the driver to turn back to Bath, then he caught sight of a signpost for Maidenhead and sat back against the cushions with a sigh. He was tired and nearing home, and, after all, Miss Sheridan would learn of Lord Woodallan’s involvement soon enough.

Lady Amelia had already left for her morning engagements by the time Mr Churchward departed for London, so Sarah had no chance to confide in her cousin. She thought that this was probably a good thing, for her natural inclination had been to rush and tell Amelia all, when perhaps it would be better to think a little. Frank had not laid any strictures of secrecy on her, but Amelia was the least discreet of people and no doubt the tale of Sarah’s niece would be all over Bath in a morning were Amelia to be made party to the story.

Sarah sat on the edge of her bed and thought of Frank and of her father, paying for his granddaughter’s upkeep, and of neither of them breathing a word to her. She suspected that neither of them had ever intended that she should know. But perhaps Frank had had some premonition of his own end when he was about to set sail for India that last time. At least it would have been some comfort to him to think, as he lay racked by fever so far from home, that he had made some provision, hasty and thoughtless as it was, for Olivia’s future…

Sarah stirred herself. She could sit here thinking of it all day, but she had errands of her own to attend to—some ribbons to match at the haberdasher’s and bouquets to collect from the florist for the ball Amelia was holding the following night. Sarah replaced her lace cap with a plain bonnet, donned a sensible dark pelisse, and hurried down the stairs.

Mrs Anderson, Lady Amelia’s housekeeper, was lurking in the stairwell, a look of slightly anxious eagerness on her homely face. She started forward as Sarah reached the bottom step.

‘Was there…did the gentleman bring any good news, Miss Sarah?’

Sarah, adjusting her bonnet slightly before the pier glass, smiled slightly. News travelled quickly and a visit from the family lawyer was bound to cause speculation.

‘No one has left me a fortune I fear, Annie!’ she said cheerfully. ‘Mr Churchward came only to tell me of a request my brother Frank made a few years ago. Nothing exciting, I am sorry to say!’

Mrs Anderson’s face fell. In common with all the other servants in the house, she thought it a crying shame that Miss Sheridan should be the poor relation, and her a real lady, so pretty-behaved and well bred. Not that Lady Amelia ever treated her cousin as though she was a charity case, but it was Miss Sarah herself who insisted on running errands and doing work that was beneath her. She was doing it now.

‘Would you like me to collect the vegetables whilst I am out?’ Sarah was saying. ‘It is only a step from the florists to the greengrocer’s—’

‘No, ma’am,’ Mrs Anderson said firmly. It was one thing for Miss Sheridan to carry home a bouquet of hothouse roses and quite another for her to be weighed down with cauliflower and lettuce. She moved to open the door for Sarah and espied the portly figure of a gentleman just passing the gate. ‘Why, ma’am, ’tis Mr Tilbury! If you are quick to catch him up, he may escort you to the shops!’

‘Thank you for warning me, Annie,’ Sarah said serenely. ‘If I walk very slowly, I am persuaded he will lose himself ahead of me! I just pray that he does not turn around!’

Mrs Anderson shook her head as she watched Sarah’s trim figure descend the steps and set off slowly up Brock Street towards the Circus. There was no accounting for taste, but to her mind a marriage to a rich gentleman like Mr Tilbury was far preferable to being a poor spinster. Unfortunately, Miss Sheridan seemed too particular to settle for a marriage of convenience. Mr Tilbury was older, a widower with grown-up children, and if he were a little dull and set in his ways, well…

Mrs Anderson closed the door, noticing in the process that the housemaid had left a smear on the polished step. She walked slowly back towards the kitchens, still thinking of Miss Sheridan’s suitors. Bath was a staid place and could not offer much in the way of excitement, but there had been several retired army officers who would have been only too happy to offer for Miss Sheridan if she had given them the least encouragement. And then there was Sir Edmund Place—an invalid, with a weak chest, but a rich one! And there had been young Lord Grantley—very young, Mrs Anderson admitted to herself, barely off the leading reins, in fact, but infatuated with Miss Sheridan and no mistake! Old Lady Grantley had soon whisked her lamb out of harm’s way, declaring to all and sundry that Miss Sheridan was a designing female! Mrs Anderson bridled. Miss Sarah was more of a lady than Augusta Grantley would ever be!

Still, there was always hope. Cook’s sister, who was Lady Allerton’s housekeeper, had overheard her ladyship mention that a number of new visitors had been listed in the Bath Register, chief amongst whom was Viscount Renshaw, son of the Earl of Woodallan. Not just that, but his lordship was rumoured to be staying with his good friend Greville Baynham, one of Lady Amelia’s beaux…Still plotting, Mrs Anderson called for the housemaid and made some pungent remarks about the slovenliness of her cleaning.

The subject of these musings, completely unaware that her cousin’s matchmaking staff had plans for her, had purchased two very pretty pink ribbons for the bodice of Amelia’s ballgown and was just leaving the florist with her arms full of specially cultivated roses. No matter how she tried to avoid it, the events of the past hour kept flooding back into Sarah’s mind. A niece of seventeen! And she was only four and twenty herself! Frank, her senior by eleven years, had begun his womanising young. He had always been one with an eye for the prettiest maids. And who had been Olivia’s mother? Sarah paused on the street corner. Surely it had not been the doctor’s prim little wife? Mrs Meredith had been so very proper…

Aware that she was speculating in a most ill-bred manner, Sarah smiled a little. She was certain that Churchward had been shocked by her lack of sensibility when acquainted with the news! Engrossed in her thoughts, she stepped off the pavement and someone bumped into her, knocking all the breath out of her body. The roses went flying across the cobblestones. Sarah lost her balance and would have fallen were it not for an arm that went hard around her waist, steadying her.

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am!’ a masculine voice exclaimed. ‘Devilish clumsy of me!’

The gentleman set Sarah gently on her feet and removed his arm from about her with what she considered to be unnecessary slowness. He turned to gather up the scattered flowers, but he was too late. A carriage, bowling along at a smart pace, neatly severed the heads of half of them.

‘Oh, no!’ Sarah went down on her knees again to try to rescue those that were left, but even they were bruised, their petals drooping. Amelia would be furious. The red roses were the centrepiece of her decoration the following night and the florist had grown them especially for the event. With all her heart Sarah wished she had left the roses to be brought round later on the cart with the other flowers, but she had been looking forward to walking through the winter streets with such a splash of colour. She sat back on her heels, holding the sad bouquet in her hand.

‘Pray have some sense, madam! You are likely to be squashed flat if you remain in the road!’

The gentleman took Sarah firmly by the elbow and hauled her to her feet again. There was considerably less courtesy in his voice this time.

Sarah stepped back and glared at him furiously. ‘I thank you for your concern, sir! A pity you did not think of the danger before you consigned my roses to precisely that fate!’

The gentleman did not answer at once, merely raising one dark eyebrow in a somewhat quizzical fashion. His thoughtful gaze, very dark and direct, considered Sarah from her skewed bonnet to her sensible shoes, pausing on her flushed face and lingering on the curves of her figure beneath the practical pelisse. Sarah raised her chin angrily. Her experience of gentlemen was indisputably small, but she had no trouble in recognising this one as a rake—nor in reading the expression in his eyes.

His was a tall and athletic figure, set off to perfection by an elegance of tailoring seldom found in conservative Bath society. London polish, Sarah thought immediately, remembering Amelia’s description of her years in the capital and the intimidatingly handsome gentlemen who had flocked to her balls and soirées. This gentleman had thick fair hair ruffled by the winter breeze, its lightness a striking contrast to the dark brown eyes that were appraising her so thoroughly. A slight smile was starting to curl his firm mouth as he took in the angry sparkle in Sarah’s eyes, the outraged blush rising to her cheeks.

‘I can only apologise again, madam,’ the gentleman said smoothly. ‘I was so taken in admiring the beauties of this city—’ the amusement in his eyes deepened ‘—that I was utterly engrossed!’

Sarah felt an answering smile starting and repressed it ruthlessly. There was something here that was surprisingly hard to resist; some indefinable charm, perhaps, or, more dangerously, an affinity that was as disturbing as it was unexpected. The gentleman exuded a careless confidence and a vitality that seemed to set him apart. Bath was full of invalids, Sarah realised, and it was almost shocking to meet someone who seemed so very alive.

The strangest thing of all was that he seemed vaguely familiar. The combination of fair hair and dark eyes was very unusual and definitely stirred her memory. She paused, unaware that she was staring and that the quizzical twinkle in the gentleman’s eyes had changed to thoughtful speculation.

‘I beg your pardon, but have we met before, sir?’ Sarah frowned slightly. ‘There is something familiar—’

Too late, she realised just how he might misinterpret her question. She had been thinking aloud and bit her lip, vexed with herself.

The gentleman’s dark eyebrows rose fractionally and there was a certain cynicism in his drawl as he said, ‘You flatter me, ma’am! I should say that we could be very good friends if you so choose.’

The colour flooded into Sarah’s cheeks. She stopped dead, regardless of curious glances from the other shoppers in Milsom Street.

‘That was hardly my intention, sir! I would scarcely attempt to scrape an acquaintance in so ramshackle a manner, particularly with a gentleman who is an undoubted rake! Your assumptions do you no credit! Good day to you, sir!’

He was already before her as she turned on her heel to leave him standing there.

‘Wait!’ He put out a hand to detain her. ‘Forgive me, ma’am! It was not my intention to offend you!’

Sarah looked pointedly down at his hand on her arm, and he removed it at once. ‘I should have thought that that was precisely what you intended, sir!’

‘No, indeed!’ He would have seemed genuinely contrite were it not for the glint of amused admiration she could see lurking in his eyes. ‘I intended quite otherwise—’ He broke off at the furious light in Sarah’s eyes. ‘You must allow me to apologise for my deplorable manners, ma’am! And for the roses…’ He gave a wry smile to see the drooping posy in Sarah’s hand. ‘I hope it is a simple matter to procure some more?’

It was said in the tones of someone who had never had any difficulty in finding—or paying for—two dozen red roses for his latest inamorata. Sarah, who was finding it extraordinarily difficult to remain angry with him, managed a severity she was proud of.

‘I fear that these were the last roses to be had, sir,’ she said frostily. ‘They were grown especially. And even if they were not, I can scarce afford to go around Bath buying up flowers in an abandoned fashion! Now, you will excuse me, I am sure!’

The gentleman appeared not to have heard his dismissal, although Sarah suspected that he had, in fact, chosen to ignore it. He fell into step beside her as though by mutual consent.

‘I trust that you were not injured at all in the accident, ma’am?’ The undertone of amusement was still in his voice. ‘It was remiss of me not to enquire before. Perhaps I should escort you home to reassure myself that you are quite well?’

Sarah raised her eyebrows at such flagrant presumption. She wondered just how blunt she was going to have to be to dismiss him. It was difficult when a part of her was drawn to him in such a contrary fashion, but she was not accustomed to striking up a conversation with strange gentlemen in the street. Besides, no matter what her errant senses were telling her, such behaviour was dangerous. This man was definitely a rake and had already shown that he would take advantage.

‘It is quite unnecessary for you to accompany me, sir. I am indeed well and will be home directly!’

‘But it is not at all the done thing for a lady to wander around unattended, you know,’ the gentleman said conversationally. ‘I am sure that Bath cannot be so fast as London; even so, the worthy matrons would not approve of such behaviour!’

Once again, Sarah was almost betrayed into a smile. He was outrageous, but surprisingly difficult to resist.

‘I am sure that you are aware, sir, that it causes less speculation to walk around unchaperoned than to be seen in company with a complete stranger! That being the case, I shall continue alone and wish you a pleasant stay in our city!’

So saying, she gave him a cool nod and walked away, every line of her body defying him to follow her.

Guy, Viscount Renshaw, watched the slender figure walk purposefully away from him. A faint, rueful smile curved his lips. He saw the lady reach the corner of the street, saw her pause to exchange greetings with a gentleman coming the other way and noted with quickened interest that the gentleman was his good friend, Greville Baynham. Reflecting that it was fortunate that Bath society was proving to be so close-knit, Guy strolled across the street just as Greville took his leave of the lady.

‘Sorry I was so long, old fellow!’ Greville gave his friend an amiable grin. ‘Saw a pair of Purdeys that took my fancy. I hope that you found enough to amuse you in my absence!’

‘Oh, I was well entertained,’ Guy said lazily, watching Sarah disappear out of sight. She had a very trim figure, he thought, good enough to challenge any of the accredited London beauties. Those hazel eyes, set in the wide, pure oval of her face, were magnificent…He realised that Greville had addressed another remark to him and was waiting patiently for his response.

‘I merely asked whether you would care to take the spa waters?’ his friend said with a quizzical look. ‘Though perhaps you have found other attractions more to your liking? Bath is a slow place these days, especially out of season, but—’

‘But not as slow as all that!’ Guy turned a thoughtful look on his friend. ‘Tell me, Grev, who is the lady to whom you were speaking just now?’

Greville frowned, pushing a hand through his ruffled brown hair. ‘The lady?’ His brow cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Miss Sheridan? Save yourself the trouble if you thought to strike up a flirtation there, Guy! She don’t give rakes the time of day!’

Guy laughed. ‘I believe you, although she did claim an acquaintance with me! Thought I had mistaken her quality until she gave me the coolest set-down I’ve ever experienced!’ Guy frowned a little. ‘Sheridan, did you say? The name is familiar…Why, yes, I remember her! Well, I’ll be damned!’

Greville burst out laughing. ‘Doing it too brown, Guy! I don’t believe you’ve ever met the lady before!’

‘No, I assure you!’ Guy looked triumphant. ‘Miss Sheridan is the sister of the late Lord Sheridan, is she not? She is also my father’s goddaughter and, though I have not seen her for an age, it must be the same girl! We were practically childhood friends!’

Greville’s shoulders slumped. ‘Devil take it, Guy! Of all the cursed luck!’

Guy gave his friend a pained look. ‘Surely you mean it is a charming coincidence! And, as you evidently know the lady, you will be able to furnish me with her direction—’

Greville groaned. ‘Don’t do it, Guy! Miss Sheridan is Lady Amelia Fenton’s cousin and Amelia will string me up if you try to get up a flirtation with Sarah!’

Guy smiled. He had heard quite a lot about Greville’s hopeless passion for Lady Amelia only the previous night, when his friend had been in his cups and musing on the cruelty of womankind. Guy had imagined that Bath would prove very shabby genteel now that it had passed its heyday as a fashionable spa, yet the staid society was promising several intriguing possibilities. Greville had made no secret of the fact that he intended to press his suit with the lovely Lady Amelia and now there was Miss Sheridan…

Remembering the flash in those beautiful hazel eyes as Sarah had administered her set-down, Guy was forced into a reluctant grin. He had noticed her as soon as she had come out of the florist with those wretched roses in her arms. Beneath the prim bonnet, her hair had been the colour of autumn leaves; not brown or gold or amber, but a mixture of all three. She had held herself with an unconscious grace, slender and straight; despite her demure appearance, she was far from priggish. There had been a hint of laughter in her eyes and a smile on those pretty lips, and he had known that, for all her propriety, she had been attracted to him.

It was a shame that his father was also Sarah Sheridan’s godfather. Guy acknowledged that that would preclude the sort of relationship that had sprung to mind on first seeing her. Nevertheless, it gave him the perfect excuse to pursue the acquaintance and that was a thought that held definite appeal. He drove his hands into his coat pockets.

‘Has Miss Sheridan never wished to marry?’ he asked, still following a train of thought of his own.

‘No money,’ Greville said succinctly, watching his friend with deep misgiving. ‘Here in Bath everyone is looking to marry a fortune. Sarah goes about with Lady Amelia, writes her letters and so on—’ He broke off at the look of distaste on Guy’s face.

‘Miss Sheridan a lady’s companion? Surely not!’

‘It is hardly like that,’ Greville said, leaping to Amelia’s defence. ‘Lady Amelia is most sincerely attached to her cousin—they are friends rather than employer and employee! Why, Amelia is the sweetest-natured creature—’

Guy held up a hand in mock surrender. ‘No need for such heat, old fellow! You’ll be calling me out next! I had no intention of casting doubt on Lady Amelia’s generosity, but it seems…’ he hesitated ‘…incongruous to think of Miss Sheridan in such a situation. I wonder if my father knows? At the very least he would offer her a dowry…’

Greville’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘Thought it was something else you had in mind to offer Miss Sheridan, Guy!’

‘I won’t deny it crossed my mind,’ the Viscount murmured, ‘but m’father wouldn’t like it! Tell me, Grev, if all the roses in Bath had been sold, where would you go to buy a posy for a lady?’

Greville stared at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. ‘Don’t know what the devil you’re talking about, old chap! Roses in winter?’

‘It is very late for them, I suppose. Would I be able to send someone to purchase red roses in Bristol, perhaps?’

‘You can buy anything with your sort of money,’ Greville said, without rancour. ‘Though why you would wish to go to the trouble—’

‘A favour for a lady,’ Guy explained.

‘I collect you mean to win a lady’s favour!’ Greville said glumly. ‘Well, I can’t stop you! But be warned, Guy—Miss Sheridan is no fool! She will see through your schemes! And as for Lady Amelia, well, I would not like to be in your shoes if she takes you in dislike!’ His gaze fell on the one red rose that Guy had rescued from the street and which he still held in one hand.

‘Must you walk round carrying that thing?’ he besought. ‘Devil take it, Guy, you look like a cursed dandy!’

Chapter Two

‘Sarah! You cannot return to Blanchland! I absolutely forbid it! Why, your reputation would be in shreds as soon as you crossed the threshold!’

Lady Amelia Fenton, her kittenish face creased into lines of deep distress, threw herself down onto the sofa beside her cousin. ‘Besides,’ she added plaintively, ‘you know that you detest what Ralph Covell has done to the house, and have never wanted to set foot there again!’

Sarah sighed, reflecting that the only positive thing about the current situation was that it had successfully deflected Amelia from bewailing the loss of the red roses. She had been beside herself to discover that her artistic centrepiece was ruined—until Sarah had casually mentioned her plan to travel to Blanchland on the day following the ball.

Amelia got to her feet again and paced energetically up and down before the fireplace. She looked quite ridiculous, for she was far too small to flounce about. All Amelia’s features were small but perfectly proportioned, in contrast to her fortune which was big enough to make her one of Bath’s most sought-after matrimonial prizes.

Realising from Sarah’s expression that she looked absurd, Amelia sat down again, frowning. ‘I know you think I am making a cake of myself, Sarah, but I am truly concerned for your welfare!’ She sounded small and hurt. ‘Whatever you say, it will be the ruin of you to go there!’

Sarah sighed again. ‘Forgive me, Milly! I must go. It is at Frank’s request—’

‘Your brother has been dead these three years!’ Lady Amelia said incontrovertibly. ‘It seems to me that it is asking a great deal to expect you to grant his requests from beyond the grave!’

Sarah, reflecting that her cousin had no notion quite how much Frank was indeed asking of her, tried to console her.

‘It will not be for long, I promise, and it is no great matter. I am sure Sir Ralph cannot really be so bad—’

‘Ralph has made Blanchland a byword for licentiousness and depravity!’ Amelia said strongly. ‘You may pretend that you are happy to accept this commission, but you know it will ruin you! What can be so important to force you back there? Oh, I could murder Frank were it not that he is dead already!’

Sarah burst out laughing. ‘Oh Milly, I truly wish that I could confide in you, but I have been sworn to secrecy! It is a most delicate matter—’

‘Fiddle!’ Lady Amelia said crossly. She looked at her cousin and her anger melted into rueful irritation. She could never be cross with Sarah for long.

‘Oh, I am sorry, my love! I know you were most sincerely attached to your brother and that you believe you are doing the right thing, but…’ Her voice trailed away unhappily.

‘I know.’ Sarah patted her hand. At four and twenty she was Amelia’s junior by five years, yet often felt the elder of the two. It was Amelia who rushed impetuously at life, Amelia whose reckless impulses could so often lead to trouble if not tempered by the wise counsel of her younger cousin. Amelia, widowed for five years, still seemed as heedless as a young debutante. Yet now it was she who was counselling caution and Sarah who was set on a foolhardy course.

‘And to travel now!’ Amelia said fretfully. ‘Why, it is but two weeks to Christmas and I am sure we are in for some snow!’

‘I am sorry, Milly, it is just something I feel I must do—’

‘Excuse me, madam.’ Sarah broke off as Chisholm, Amelia’s butler, stepped softly into the room. ‘There are two gentlemen here to see you—’

‘I am not at home!’ Amelia cried vexedly. ‘Really, Chisholm, you know that I am not receiving!’

‘Yes, ma’am, but you did give orders that Sir Greville—’

‘Greville!’ Amelia cried. ‘Why did you not say so, Chisholm? What are you waiting for? Show him in at once!’

Not a muscle moved in the butler’s impassive face. ‘Very well, madam.’

Sarah, repressing a smile, wondered whether Amelia appreciated the long-suffering patience of her servants. They were all most sincerely attached to her, despite her grasshopper mind.

‘Sir Greville! How do you do, sir? I had no notion you were returned from London!’

Amelia, her ill temper forgotten, smiled sunnily as her visitors were shown into the room. Indeed, Sarah felt that a less good-natured man than Sir Greville Baynham might have read far more into the warmth of his welcome than was intended. Greville had been Amelia’s most constant admirer for the last few years and though she showed every evidence of enjoying his company, she had never accepted any of his proposals of marriage. Sarah privately thought that, should Sir Greville’s attentions be permanently withdrawn, Amelia would miss him rather more than she anticipated. Unfortunately her cousin showed no sign of recognising that fact.

‘Lady Amelia,’ Greville was saying formally, ‘please allow me to present Viscount Renshaw. Guy is staying with me at Chelwood for a few days. Guy, this is Lady Amelia Fenton and…’ he turned to smile at Sarah ‘…her cousin, the Honourable Miss Sarah Sheridan, whom I believe you have already met.’

Sarah’s heart had skipped a beat as she recognised the tall figure following Greville Baynham into Amelia’s elegant drawing-room. Guy Renshaw. What dreadful bad luck that he should appear again just when she had succeeded in banishing from her mind that wicked smile and those disturbing dark eyes. And worse, it seemed she had been correct all along in recognising him, though there was little resemblance between the gangling youth who had once teased her mercilessly and this very personable man.

Guy Renshaw sketched an elegant bow. ‘Lady Amelia, how do you do? I have heard much about you!’ His voice was low-pitched and very agreeable, as melodious as Sarah remembered from that morning. She found that her heart was beating fast and had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

Amelia blushed and smiled as she gave the Viscount her hand. Sarah tried not to laugh. Judging by the rueful look on his face, Greville might be regretting introducing his friend to the lady he ardently wished to marry! Amelia was quite the most dreadful flirt and did not deserve his devotion whilst Guy Renshaw, as Sarah now knew, could scarcely be trusted.

‘And, Miss Sheridan…’ Lord Renshaw turned to her. There was a smile playing around the corners his mouth. He really was quite shockingly attractive and Sarah was sure that he knew it. The thought served to calm her. She would not provide the confirmation!

‘Not only have you and I have met before, ma’am,’ the Viscount was saying, ‘but I would go so far as to say that we were childhood friends!’

‘Were you indeed, Sarah?’ Amelia’s eyes were bright with curiosity as they moved from one to the other. ‘How intriguing!’

Sarah looked at Guy Renshaw very deliberately and saw his smile deepen into challenge as he awaited her response.

‘Lord Renshaw mistakes,’ she said slowly. ‘We were never childhood friends.’

It gave her a certain satisfaction to see the swift flash of surprise in his eyes. Guy Renshaw, Sarah thought, was all too sure of himself and his power to attract.

‘How could we be,’ she added sweetly, ‘when Lord Renshaw spent the whole time tormenting me with spiders and toads? I do believe I thought him an odious boy!’

Amelia gave a peal of laughter. ‘Dear me, Lord Renshaw, it seems my cousin has a long memory for childhood slights! You will have to try hard to win her good opinion!’

‘I shall endeavour to do so, ma’am, if Miss Sheridan will give me a second chance!’ There was speculation as well as amusement in the look Guy cast Sarah. She felt a shiver of awareness, as though he had just issued a challenge she was unsure she could meet. She looked away deliberately.

Amelia was patting the sofa beside her. ‘How long do you plan to spend in Bath, Lord Renshaw? No doubt you will find our society sadly flat after London!’

‘I doubt it, ma’am,’ Guy murmured, casting another glance at Sarah. He took a seat beside his hostess. ‘I fear, however, that I am only here for a few days. I am but recently returned from the Peninsula and am anxious to see my family again. I shall be returning to Woodallan the day after tomorrow.’

‘Then you must come to my ball tomorrow night!’ Amelia gave him a ravishing smile. ‘It will be most apt for a returned hero, for I am celebrating the allied successes!’

They fell to discussing the Peninsular War and Sir Greville came across to Sarah and sat down next to her. She let herself be distracted by small talk. At least the arrival of the two men had had the effect of diverting Amelia’s attention from her proposed visit to Blanchland, but Sarah suspected that it was only a temporary respite. Amelia was known for her tenacity and if Sarah was really unlucky the topic of the roses might be raised as well. Sarah had managed to skate adroitly over the cause of her accident but she would not put it past Guy Renshaw to mention the whole story just to put her out of countenance.

A footman and maid arrived with refreshments and somehow, Sarah was not quite sure how, Sir Greville and Lord Renshaw exchanged places. It was done in the neatest and most unobtrusive manner, but Sarah did not miss the look of gratitude Sir Greville flashed his friend as he took his place by Amelia, and her opinion of Guy went up a little. She only hoped that the Viscount’s motives towards herself were as irreproachable.

‘May I join you?’ Guy was smiling at her, the smile that made her heart do a little flip despite herself. ‘I can assure you that it is quite safe—my preoccupation with arachnids and amphibians is a thing of the past!’ He leaned forward to help Sarah to a Bath biscuit. ‘I am most sincerely sorry for the spider on your chair—’

‘It was a toad on my chair,’ Sarah said severely, ‘and a spider in the schoolroom! I beg you not to regard it, Lord Renshaw. I do not believe that I sustained any lasting hurt!’

‘I am relieved to hear it,’ Guy murmured, ‘as I wish above all things to make a good impression upon you, Miss Sheridan!’

‘A little late for that, my lord, when you were so destructive to my roses!’ Sarah observed sweetly.

He lowered his voice. ‘Was your cousin very displeased? If only you had vouchsafed your name and direction, Miss Sheridan, I could have escorted you back here and apologised to her!’

Sarah knew he was trying provoke her by reminding her of the set-down she had given him. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she repressed it ruthlessly.

‘You know that that would scarcely have been appropriate, my lord! As for Amelia, she was a little dismayed. She is the dearest creature, but even she cannot concoct a red, white and blue flower arrangement without the red!’

‘Ah, I see. The patriotic theme?’

‘Precisely so!’ Despite herself, Sarah found that they were smiling together. Guy was sitting forward, his entire attention focused on her in a most flattering manner. It was very disconcerting.

‘I am so very sorry that I did not recognise you when we met earlier, Miss Sheridan,’ he said softly, ‘but how was I to know that the gawky schoolgirl I used to know had grown into such a beautiful woman? Such a transformation is enough to throw a fellow completely!’

Sarah felt a blush rising at the teasing note in his voice. There was admiration in the look he gave her; admiration and a more disturbing emotion. It seemed astonishing that she could be sitting here in Amelia’s drawing-room with a gentleman she had just met again for the first time in thirteen years, and be feeling this intoxicating and entirely improper stirring of the senses.

‘You are outrageous, sir!’ she said, to cover her confusion. ‘I believe you have not altered one whit!’

‘Oh, you must allow me a little improvement!’ Guy looked at her with mock-reproof. ‘At the very least, I am taller than when you last saw me!’

‘That was not at all what I meant! It seems to me that you were always given to the most excessive flattery! Why, I distinctly remember you practising your charms on my grandmother! She professed herself scandalised that one so young should be so adept at flirtation!’

‘Well, I’ll concede that I was ever inclined to practise on susceptible ladies!’ Guy said lazily. ‘You may find, however, that my scandalous behaviour has developed in other directions since then!’

Sarah was sure that he was correct and it seemed likely that the type of outrageous behaviour indulged in by a man of nine and twenty was infinitely more dangerous to her than that of a youth primarily obsessed with practical jokes.

‘I do not doubt it, sir! Pray do not furnish me with the details, it would not be at all proper!’

‘But then I am not at all proper,’ Guy said ruefully. ‘Though, to my regret, I believe you to be a very pattern-card of correctness, Miss Sheridan!’

‘So I should hope! Pray do not pursue this line of conversation, sir!’

‘Must I not?’ There was a look of limpid innocence on Guy’s face. ‘I was presuming that our previous acquaintance would allow a certain informality—’

‘Informality!’ Sarah realised that she had raised her voice when she caught Amelia’s look of curiosity. She hastily dropped her tone again. ‘You presume too much, my lord!’

Guy shrugged, gracefully conceding defeat. Sarah had the distinct impression that it would only be a temporary reversal. She cast around for a safe change of subject. Genteel Bath society had scarcely prepared her for dealing with so flagrant a flirtation. She plumped for something she hoped would be innocuous.

‘I understand that you had been abroad for some years, sir. Your family must be eager to see you after all this time.’

Guy took her lead courteously, though there was a flash of amusement in his eyes that told her he knew she was trying to deflect him.

‘Yes, indeed,’ he said agreeably. ‘I was serving with Wellesley in the Peninsula for four years and only returned because my father’s health has deteriorated and he needs my help at Woodallan.’

‘I am sorry to hear of the Earl’s ill health,’ Sarah said, concerned. ‘I hope that it is not too serious?’

For once the humour dropped away from Guy’s expression and he looked sombre. ‘I hope so, too, Miss Sheridan, but I fear the worst. It is very unlike him to admit that he needs my help, but he has intimated that he wishes me to take on more of the running of Woodallan and the other estates…’ He made an effort to try for a lighter note. ‘No doubt my mother will be glad to see me back—she has been cursing Bonaparte these four years past for prolonging the war!’

‘It is several years since I saw your parents, although your mother and I still write,’ Sarah said, with a smile. ‘She told me in her last letter that she had high hopes of your swift return. She is kind—she sent me a very sympathetic letter when my father died.’

She looked up, to see Guy watching her. For all his levity, those dark eyes were disconcertingly perceptive. ‘It must have been a difficult time for you,’ he said gently. ‘You must have been very young, no more than nineteen, I imagine? And then to lose your brother and your home in such quick succession…’

Sarah’s mind immediately flew to Blanchland again. It seemed strange that she had so completely forgotten about Frank’s letter during the past few minutes. She had lost a brother, but it appeared that she had gained a niece. What sort of a girl would Miss Olivia Meredith prove to be? Her letter had been very neat and proper, the writing of a young lady educated at one of Oxford’s more select seminaries. But how to find her? She had to concoct a plan…

Sarah realised that Guy was still watching her, his searching gaze intent on her face. It made her feel oddly breathless.

‘I beg your pardon. I was thinking of home…’ She tried to gather her thoughts and steer away from further confidences. ‘Yes, I thank you…It was a difficult time.’

‘And now you reside with Lady Amelia?’ Guy smiled, looking across at where Amelia and Greville were engrossed in conversation, her chestnut curls brushing his shoulder as she bent forward confidingly. ‘I imagine that must be quite amusing!’

Sarah laughed. ‘Oh, I have been most fortunate! Amelia’s society is always stimulating and she has been as generous as a sister to me!’

Guy lowered his voice. ‘Do you think she will ever put Grev out of his misery and accept his suit, Miss Sheridan?’

It was a surprisingly personal question. Sarah raised her eyebrows a little haughtily and saw him grin in response.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Sheridan, if you think me impertinent. I am only concerned for my friend’s future happiness, for I know he holds Lady Amelia in high esteem. But perhaps you think me presumptuous—again?’

Sarah unbent a little. ‘There is nothing I would like more than to see them make a match of it, my lord. I have been promoting the alliance these two years past! Alas, Amelia is not susceptible to my arguments!’

‘Nor to Greville’s, it would seem,’ Guy said, shifting a little in his chair. ‘And you, Miss Sheridan? No doubt you have many suitors! I should be glad to have happy news of your own situation to take back to Woodallan with me!’

If the previous question had been bold, this one took Sarah’s breath away. Once again there was a teasing light in his eyes, daring her to give him the snub he deserved.

‘I shall be happy for you to tell your family that I am in good health and spirits,’ she said, with a very straight face, ‘and to give them all my very best wishes!’

Guy did not seem discomposed. His smile broadened with appreciation. ‘I shall take that as encouragement for my own hopes then, ma’am!’

‘You should not do so, my lord,’ Sarah said crushingly. ‘I had not the least intention of encouraging you!’

‘I was thinking that the gentlemen of Bath must all be slow-tops,’ Guy said, apparently undaunted by her coldness, ‘but now I perceive that you are very high in the instep, Miss Sheridan! Your good opinion is not easily gained!’

‘Certainly not by an acknowledged rake who carelessly destroys my roses!’ Sarah said coolly. ‘Pray do not repine, however, my lord! There are any number of young ladies in Bath who would be delighted to flirt with you!’

‘Minx!’ his lordship said, with feeling. ‘I have to tell you that I have no interest in them, Miss Sheridan!’

‘Indeed?’ Sarah hesitated over administering yet another set-down to him in a single day. She had the feeling that it would be inviting trouble.

‘Naturally I do not include you in their company, ma’am! Will you dance with me at your cousin’s ball tomorrow night?’

Sarah raised her eyebrows again. There was no doubt that Viscount Renshaw possessed a most persistent and provocative disposition, and that he was deliberately trying to incite a reaction.

‘It is not certain that I shall attend, sir,’ she said, still cool. ‘I have other plans—’

His eyes danced with a secret amusement. ‘Oh, surely you would not disappoint your cousin, ma’am? Shall I appeal to her to persuade you?’ He glanced across at Amelia and Greville, still deep in conversation.

‘Pray do not disturb them,’ Sarah said hastily, aware that her colour had risen again. It was an understood thing that she would be present at Amelia’s ball, for it would be the highlight of Bath’s winter season. She suspected that Guy had guessed as much. His amused gaze rested on her face, moving over each feature with slow deliberation. Sarah felt inordinately uncomfortable under that observant scrutiny.

The clock chimed.

‘Oh!’ Amelia got hastily to her feet. ‘I do beg your pardon, gentlemen! I am promised to Mrs Chartley’s card party! Pray excuse me or I shall be very late!’

Greville and Guy stood up, Greville offering his escort to Amelia, who accepted prettily.

Guy took Sarah’s hand and pressed a kiss on it. ‘I am sure we shall see you this evening, Miss Sheridan. Do you go to the dance at the Pump Room?’

‘Oh, yes, we shall be there!’ Amelia said cheerfully, seeming blissfully unaware that her cousin was about to deny it. She gave Guy Renshaw a melting smile. ‘It is the last public dance of the year, you know! But how charming to be able to see you again so soon, Lord Renshaw!’

Guy bowed. ‘The pleasure will be all mine, Lady Amelia! Your servant, Miss Sheridan!’

They all went out together. Sarah watched from the window as the Viscount parted from Greville and Amelia with a casual word and a smile. She was aware of a certain conflict inside her and a faint disappointment. Guy Renshaw was a charming man and he had made his admiration for her very plain, but he was also a dangerous flirt who probably did not mean a word of it. It would be very foolish to read anything into his behaviour and even more imprudent to allow an unexpected physical attraction to disturb her.

Besides, he would be leaving Bath in a couple of days and so would she. Abruptly, Sarah remembered her commitment to visit Blanchland, and felt depression settle on her. She did not want to see what Ralph Covell had done to her beloved family home, nor to become embroiled in the problems of Frank’s natural daughter, nor to ruin her own reputation in the process. Amelia was quite right—she must be mad. And Churchward had even offered her a way out by suggesting that an agent could represent her interests, yet for some reason she had chosen not to take it…

Sarah felt the beginnings of a headache stir. Since she had resolved on this rash course of action, she must at least plan how to accomplish it with a minimum of fuss. Blanchland was less than a day’s journey from Bath, and if she were fortunate she would be able to find Miss Meredith quickly, discover the girl’s difficulties and instruct Churchward on the best way to resolve them. The whole matter could be decided in a week—ten days at the outside. And no one need ever know.

The presence of Viscount Renshaw and Sir Greville Baynham caused quite a stir at the Pump Room that night. Sir Greville, whose family home was a few miles north of the city, had always been a universal favourite, with several young ladies expressing themselves willing to console him if Lady Amelia refused his suit. The Viscount caused an even greater commotion, being fortunate enough to be rich, handsome and heir to an Earl into the bargain.

It was a clear, starry night, and Sarah and Amelia had walked the short distance from Brock Street to the Pump Room, enjoying the fresh chill of the night air that brought the colour to their cheeks and made their eyes sparkle. As they handed over their cloaks and Amelia cast a thoughtful look over her cousin, Sarah saw her smile of approval.

‘How pretty you look, Sarah! I would not have dreamed of saying anything before, but I am so glad you have cast off that hideous half-mourning!’

She saw Sarah’s expression and added hastily, ‘I know you were a most devoted sister to Frank, my love, but surely you are too young to wear black forever?’

Sarah could feel her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile. Milly could be amazingly tactless at times.

‘I know the black was ageing,’ she agreed mildly, ‘but surely the lavender became me a little?’

Amelia looked contrite. ‘Oh, sweetly pretty, my love, but for a whole year? And even then you habitually chose drab colours that are nothing to this delicious rose tint you are wearing now!’ She cast her cousin a sideways look. ‘I did wonder whether the advent of Viscount Renshaw was the reason for your sudden—’

‘Oh, look, Milly, it is Mr Tilbury and his sister!’ Sarah was aware that she had never shown much inclination for the Tilburys’ company before now, but felt she had to distract her cousin. Amelia, however, was far too determined for that.

‘Yes, I fear we will be in for much the same company as ever tonight, especially with it being the end of the season! As I was saying, it is fortunate that Greville has brought that charming man, Guy Renshaw, with him! I declare, Bath society seldom offers the opportunity to meet so prodigiously attractive a gentleman!’

Sarah knew that she was blushing and prayed that it could be put down to the heat of the room after the cold outside. She would never have admitted to Amelia that she had spent twice as long as usual at her toilette and agonised between the rose pink and the aquamarine silk. Sarah had been aware of a growing sense of anticipation all afternoon, and found that she was feeling quite nervous as she and Amelia entered the ballroom. She experienced an altogether unfamiliar sensation of breathlessness, her heart suddenly racing and butterflies fluttering frantically in her stomach. Her slender fingers tightened on her fan. This was ridiculous! Good gracious, she was very nearly in a fit of panic, and all because of Guy Renshaw, who had once put a toad on her dining-chair!

She could see Guy across the ballroom, deep in conversation with Greville and attracting considerable attention from the female guests. The reason was not hard to seek: the classical good looks of the Woodallan family, combined with the immaculate black and white of the evening dress, made him look extremely handsome and ever-so-slightly dangerous.

‘Half my female acquaintance have already heard that the Viscount called on us earlier and have begged an introduction,’ Amelia was saying, with a giggle. ‘I declare, we have not seen so much excitement in an age!’ She linked her arm through Sarah’s and the cousins walked slowly down the edge of the ballroom.

‘Greville looks very handsome tonight,’ Sarah observed, giving Amelia a meaningful look. ‘Not even Lord Renshaw can put him in the shade!’

‘Oh, Grev looks very well,’ Amelia said, so carelessly that Sarah wanted to shake her, ‘and I am very fond of him, of course, but in a brotherly sort of way!’

‘A favourite brother, perhaps,’ Sarah said tartly.

Amelia cast her a look from under her lashes. ‘Oh Sarah, do I treat him so badly? I do not mean to!’

‘You know you do not value him as you ought! Greville would never lose all his money at cards, or drink himself into oblivion the way your late husband did—’

‘No…’ Amelia sighed soulfully ‘…Alan was such exciting company!’

Sarah sighed. In her opinion, Alan Fenton had been a wastrel with nothing to commend him, and she could never understand why Amelia appeared to value his dashing looks over Greville’s integrity. They were almost upon Sir Greville now and she saw the glad light that sprang into his blue eyes as he looked at Amelia. It was too bad.

‘Miss Sheridan.’ Guy Renshaw took her hand, his touch evoking much the same shiver of awareness as it had done earlier in the day, and Sarah was instantly distracted. ‘You look delightful. I would ask you to dance, but I fear that the excitement of the minuet might be too much for me!’

Sarah looked reproving. ‘I know you find our entertainments dull, my lord, but there are country dances after eight, if that is your preference!’

‘What, no waltzes?’

‘Oh, the waltz is much too fast for Bath!’

‘A pity! Perhaps I shall have to settle for a country dance after all, if you will so honour me. In the meantime, do you care for a little supper?’

‘Thank you.’ Sarah let him take her arm and steer her away from the others and into the refreshment room. He helped her to a seat in a secluded alcove, then crossed to the buffet table, where several young ladies immediately gravitated towards him and one of them artfully drew him into conversation over the merits of the strawberries.

Behind a pillar to Sarah’s right, the young ladies’ mamas were watching with gimlet eyes. Sarah tried not to listen, but at least half of her wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation. She was no cynic, but she knew that despite the pungent denunciation they would inevitably make of Guy’s character, either would marry him off to their daughter with triumphant haste.

‘A shocking reputation, Mrs Bunton, quite shocking!’

‘Really, Mrs Clarke? Just how shocking would you say it is?’

‘Oh, quite dreadful! Of course, that was before he went to the War—perhaps the rigors of campaign have instilled some respectability…but I doubt it!’

‘Once a rake—’ Mrs Bunton said meaningfully.

‘Though marriage to a good woman may redeem him, of course!’

Both ladies paused, evidently dwelling on the benefits of a match with their particular daughter.

‘They say that Lady Melville was his mistress for a whole year—’

‘Oh, yes, I had heard that, too! A most impassioned liaison, by all accounts!’

‘And then there was the business of Lady Paget—’

‘Dreadful! They say her husband never recovered! But the family is rich, of course,’ Mrs Clarke said, as if in mitigation, ‘and rumour has it that Woodallan wishes him to settle down.’

‘Emma could do worse…’

‘Much worse…Or your own dear Agatha, though they say Lord Renshaw prefers blondes…’

It was perhaps fortunate that Guy chose that moment to extract himself from the bevy of debutantes and return to Sarah, whose ears were becoming quite pink from what she had been obliged to hear. His observant dark gaze did not miss her high colour; as he put the loaded plate before her, he gave her a wicked grin.

‘Dear me, Miss Sheridan, whatever can have caused you such discomfort? You look positively overset!’

‘I am very well,’ Sarah snapped, trying to keep her voice discreetly low, ‘just embarrassed at having been obliged to overhear a rehearsal of your amours, sir! It is well that you will be leaving Bath soon, you have caused such a flutter in the dovecotes!’

‘Good gracious, I had no idea you could be so frank, Miss Sheridan!’ Guy said admiringly, eyeing her outraged face with amusement. ‘To bring yourself to mention such matters! I was fair and far out in thinking you a prim Bath miss!’

‘I am prim! That is why I am so agitated!’ Sarah took a steadying draught of champagne. ‘I do not think it wise for you to distinguish me with your attentions, my lord!’

‘Why not?’ Guy looked genuinely hurt. ‘Because you are so respectable and I am not? But you see, Miss Sheridan—’ he lowered his voice ‘—I am very grateful for the condescension you are showing me! Your respectability cannot but help improve my shocking reputation, you see! If the good ladies of Bath see that you are prepared to bear me company, perhaps they will not think me so bad after all!’

‘Nonsense! You speak a deal of nonsense, sir!’

Their eyes met and Guy smiled, the lightness of his tone belied by the intensity of his gaze.

‘Very well, if you don’t like my nonsense, perhaps the truth will serve instead! I have the oddest feeling, Miss Sheridan…’ his fingers brushed the back of Sarah’s wrist lightly but with a touch that seemed to burn her ‘…that we are kindred spirits, despite our differences…or perhaps because of them…’

Very deliberately Sarah freed herself and took a mouthful of food, glad that the hand that held the fork was so steady. Her heart was racing at his touch, so light, but so confusing. He was still watching her with that disconcerting mix of speculation and challenge.

‘Tell me, Miss Sheridan, have you never wished for any excitement?’

Damn the man, would he never change the subject? Sarah felt acutely vulnerable. Just how far was he going to press this particular topic?

‘My life is quite exciting enough, I thank you, my lord.’ Her voice was quite calm. ‘I have my books and my letters and my friends. There are concerts here at the Pump Room and if the weather is fine I may promenade in the park!’

‘It sounds a positive orgy of entertainment,’ Guy murmured, his eyes mocking her above the rim of his glass. ‘Have you never been to London?’

‘No, I have not.’

‘You had no come-out, like other debutantes? No…’ he looked at her thoughtfully ‘…I suppose your father died before you were old enough, and then your brother was too wrapped up in his travelling…’

‘I liked living in the country,’ Sarah said truthfully, ‘and Bath is very pleasant.’

‘That’s certainly true. All joking aside, it seems a delightful place. But have you no wish to recapture your youth?’

‘I was not aware that I had yet lost my youth, sir,’ Sarah said tartly. ‘I am scarce in my dotage!’

‘How refreshing to meet a young lady who does not think she is at her last prayers! So you consider that you still have plenty of time to throw your bonnet over the windmill!’

‘What an extraordinary idea!’ Sarah could not help smiling in return. ‘I assure you I have no intention of doing so, my lord!’

‘Ah, well, who can say?’ Guy raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Look at you this evening, Miss Sheridan, giving countenance to a rake!’

‘I scarcely think that I am giving you countenance, my lord!’

‘Maybe not, but I notice that you do not dispute the other half of my statement!’ There was a teasing note in Guy’s voice.

‘As to that, I cannot say.’ Sarah spoke with equanimity. ‘Nor,’ she added quickly, seeing the spark of devilment in his eyes, ‘do I have any ambition to find out!’

‘What a sensible lady you are, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy murmured. ‘So measured, so composed! Lady Amelia must find you a positive paragon of a companion!’

Remembering the concern she was currently causing her cousin, who had wasted another twenty minutes earlier that afternoon trying to persuade her against her trip to Blanchland, Sarah could not agree with him. She was almost glad to see the ponderous figure of Mr Tilbury approaching to request a dance. Guy did not demur when she excused herself and Sarah was annoyed that this should be so, then was even more irritated with herself for so out-of-character contrariness. She watched Guy performing a succession of country dances with Bath’s most eligible debutantes and told herself that she did not care in the least.

Guy presented himself a little late for his promised dance with her for he appeared to have had difficulty in tearing himself away from his previous partner, the extremely young and pretty Miss Bunton. Sarah discovered that this engendered in her a feeling of acute vexation akin to indigestion, the like of which she had never experienced before. She had to fight a hard battle with herself in order to greet him civilly, and was mortified to see the sardonic light in his eye that suggested he had seen and noted her reaction. Sarah was obliged to remind herself yet again that she had only met the man that very day and could have neither interest in nor opinion on his behaviour. Nevertheless, she kept her gaze averted from his, for she had the lowering suspicion that he could read her mind.

‘You are very quiet, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy observed softly, when the movement of the dance brought them together. ‘I know it cannot be that you need to concentrate on your steps, for you dance too well for that. Have I then done something to displease you?’

Sarah saw the flash of mockery in his eyes and, in spite of all her good intentions, she felt her temper rise. He really did have the most regrettable effect on her composure!

‘How could that be so, my lord?’ she asked sweetly. ‘I scarcely know you well enough to claim the privilege of being annoyed by your behaviour!’

She saw the look of amused speculation on Guy’s face before the dance obliged him to move briefly away. Sarah tried to get a grip on her bad temper. She had no wish to betray the fact that he had the power to affect her, nor to be drawn into a conversation that could be dangerous, and she was afraid that she had already said too much. She received confirmation of this a moment later.

‘I collect that you mean that one must care sufficiently for someone before their behaviour can influence one’s feelings?’ Guy said lazily, when they came back together again. ‘In that case, I shall hope that time will see you quite exasperated with me!’

Sarah reflected ruefully that she had probably deserved that and would think twice before crossing swords with him again.

Guy seemed disinclined to let the matter drop, however, for when she did not reply he raised an eyebrow and said, ‘What do you say, ma’am? Do you think you could find it in your heart to dislike me a little?’

Sarah smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘I know you are trying to provoke me, sir—’

‘Indeed? I thought the reverse was true for once!’

‘Very well!’ Sarah met his eyes squarely. ‘I’ll admit that I said something that I now deeply regret! Pray accept my apologies, my lord!’

The dance had ended, but Guy was still holding her hand. They were standing on the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by couples milling about as they either retired for refreshments or joined the set that was forming, yet it seemed to Sarah that they were entirely alone. Guy smiled and when Sarah looked up into his eyes she saw an expression there that was compounded of desire overlaid by wicked mischief. So strong was the conviction that he was about to kiss her that Sarah took an instinctive step backwards.

‘Do not worry,’ Guy spoke so softly that only she could hear, ‘I will not do it—at least, not here! But the temptation, Miss Sheridan, is acute.’

The colour flamed into Sarah’s face as she realised that he had read her thoughts. ‘Believe me, my lord,’ she said, with as much composure as she could muster, ‘so is the temptation to slap your face!’

Guy burst out laughing. ‘So the honours are even, Miss Sheridan!’ He pressed a kiss on her hand. ‘Until our next meeting!’ And he sauntered away to the cardroom, leaving Sarah feeling breathless and outraged in equal measure.

Chapter Three

Sarah slept well that night, but awoke early with thoughts of Blanchland pressing on her mind once again. She was aware that she had as yet made no plans for her journey to her former home, other than a vague decision that she should set off the following day. This was all very fine, but she needed to be better prepared. She could not predict how Sir Ralph Covell would greet the unexpected arrival of his late cousin’s daughter, nor had she decided whether she should take him into her confidence or not. If Churchward’s information had been correct and Olivia had last been seen approaching Blanchland Court, this might prove a very bad idea indeed.

Sarah shivered and burrowed deeper under her blankets for both warmth and comfort. Not for the first time she reflected that she was involving herself in a situation that appeared to have Gothic overtones, but she was a most practical girl and could only believe that there was a perfectly simple explanation for Olivia’s disappearance. No doubt the girl had gone to stay with a relative and forgotten to tell anyone. And the desperate matter on which she required advice would probably prove to be a romance, or, at worst, the need to go out into the world and earn a living as a governess. There was no need for worry.

Sarah threw back the bedcovers and crossed to the window. There had been a hard frost and the winter sun was rising in a pale blue sky. The house was astir with the peculiar excitement that characterised the day of a ball. Sarah had promised to help Amelia with her preparations, but she knew that her cousin would not be rising early and she needed some fresh air.

Amelia kept a small stable in the mews behind the buildings. There were her carriage horses, a gentle white mare that she occasionally rode in the park, and a decidedly more spirited one that Sarah enjoyed putting through its paces. The morning, with its crisp, fresh air, was perfect for a ride.

It seemed that Astra thought so, too, for her ears pricked up as soon as they left the quiet streets behind and reached the springy turf of Lansdown. Sarah enjoyed a fine gallop, leaving the toiling groom far behind, and only as she skirted Greville Baynham’s land did she slow down and allow herself to think about the previous night.

There was no doubt that some kind of peculiar affinity existed between herself and Guy Renshaw, and she knew that if she had any sense she would leave it well alone. Sarah sighed, allowing the horse to pick its own way along the steep path. She could not deny that in some senses Guy was a very eligible parti, so eligible, in fact, that he would look to marry far higher than a penniless companion, no matter how well-connected. In other respects he was utterly ineligible, for his reputation and evident disinclination for settling down rendered him not just unsuitable but positively dangerous. Sarah sighed again. She had had plenty of opportunities to marry in the previous six years, but somehow none of her suitors had quite matched her expectations and she had been too fastidious to marry just for the sake of it. She wondered now whether that had been a mistake. Living with Amelia was enjoyable, but how long would it continue? Besides, she had had the running of Blanchland and missed having her own establishment. Yet it seemed typical that when her inclination had finally settled on a gentleman who more than met her expectations, her choice should be totally inappropriate…

‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan! It is a beautiful morning, is it not?’

Sarah came out of her reverie in time to see the subject of her thoughts let himself through the gate that separated the downs from Chelwood Park. He brought his horse alongside Sarah’s and gave her a smile, his gaze openly appreciating her pink cheeks and bright eyes.

‘That’s a very spirited creature you have there, Miss Sheridan! It would be difficult to tell which of you looks as though they have enjoyed the gallop more!’

He sat his own chestnut hunter with a skill that Sarah did not find at all surprising and the casual elegance of his attire would be enough, she thought, to have all last night’s impressionable debutantes swooning again. This morning, with the breeze ruffling his thick, fair hair and the sun lighting those expressive dark eyes, Lord Renshaw looked utterly devastating.

‘Your cousin does not ride with you?’ he asked, looking down the hill to where the groom was exhorting his labouring horse up the slope. ‘I see that you are alone, to all intents and purposes.’

‘I think not.’ Sarah could not help wondering what intent or purpose he might have in seeking her out alone. She would have to be careful. ‘Amelia does not care for riding, but I brought the groom.’ She gestured down the hill, where Tom was still making heavy weather of getting the old cob to catch up. Guy laughed.

‘So I see—and promptly left him behind again! I did not imagine you to be so keen a rider, Miss Sheridan! You did not mention it as one of your ruling passions last night!’

Sarah cast him a look under her lashes. ‘I grew up in the country, so it can be no great surprise that I ride!’

‘No, but you ride very well indeed, which is rare. I’ll allow that it is commonplace enough to meet ladies who can prance about in the park and think that they look most accomplished!’

‘You are very severe this morning, my lord!’ Sarah could not help laughing. ‘I am glad that my own small skill gains your approval rather than your censure!’

Guy smiled lazily. ‘Oh, I am renowned as a hard critic, but I cannot find fault with you, Miss Sheridan!’

Sarah felt herself blushing under his scrutiny. For some perverse reason all she could think of was his threat—or was it a promise?—to kiss her on some future occasion. Would such a manoeuvre be possible on horseback? It was an intriguing thought. It would certainly require considerable skill, but—Sarah suddenly realised that Guy was still watching her, one dark eyebrow raised in teasing enquiry. Afraid that he would read her thoughts again, as he had the previous night, Sarah turned her horse’s head abruptly away and was relieved to see the groom struggling up the last incline to join them on the level summit.

‘There is an exceptional view from up here,’ Guy observed, looking out across the city to the Somerset hills beyond, ‘and a keen breeze. It leaves me sharp set! Will you join us at Chelwood for breakfast, Miss Sheridan?’

Tom the groom, who had been encouraging his exhausted horse, cast Sarah a scandalised glance. She smiled.

‘Thank you, my lord, but I do not think that would be very proper! I fear I must return to Brock Street for my breakfast!’

‘My sensible Miss Sheridan! A bachelor household, even one so unimpeachable as Chelwood, is not an appropriate destination for a single lady!’ Guy’s dark eyes were full of mockery. ‘A pity if you were to starve on your way home as a result!’

‘I must be going, at any rate,’ Sarah said, trying to crush her foolish excitement at his use of the phrase ‘my sensible Miss Sheridan’. She turned Astra’s head towards home. ‘Amelia will need help with all the preparations for her ball tonight. Good day, my lord.’

‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy put his hand over hers on the reins. ‘Does Lady Amelia intend to be so fast as to have the waltz this evening?’

Sarah paused. ‘I believe so, my lord.’

Guy let her go and raised his whip in a salute. ‘Then save me a dance, Miss Sheridan!’

Amelia was in great good spirits. Silk drapes in red and blue swathed the walls and pillars of the ballroom, white candles filled the sconces and huge vases overflowing with red roses formed the centrepiece of her decorations.

The roses had arrived in the late afternoon and had caused much excited giggling and shrieking amongst the maids as they had tried to find sufficient receptacles in which to place them all. Several old, chipped vases had been pressed into service for the less prominent of arrangements and a chamber pot had even been proffered, though Sarah had seen Chisholm hastily hide it behind the umbrella stand before Amelia had noticed. There had been no card, which had led to much gossip and speculation, but when the pack of maids had gone and Amelia had swept off to see to the menus, Chisholm had stepped forward with a tiny, delicate posy of pale pink rosebuds with a card tucked inside. There were only two words, written in a strong black hand that Sarah had never seen before, yet instantly recognised: ‘Penance? Renshaw.’

And now Sarah was wearing one of the rosebuds pinned to the bodice of her aquamarine gown and was full of a most heady excitement at the thought of seeing Guy again.

‘Your decorations look very fine and patriotic,’ Sarah said, catching her cousin at a quiet moment between the arrival of two parties of guests. ‘I know you would not give away the secret before, but how have you managed the red, white and blue theme for the menus, Milly?’

‘Oh,’ Amelia laughed, ‘the trout with garlic and tomatoes is red and there is woodcock in a white wine sauce—’

‘And the blue?’

‘Ice cream with bilberries! We call it glace du Napoleon! Cook has been swearing that this is his finest hour!’ Amelia smiled as her gaze rested on the roses. ‘They are magnificent, aren’t they? Are you sure you have no idea of their provenance, Sarah?’

‘Good evening, Lady Amelia. And Miss Sheridan! I am so glad that you decided to attend after all, ma’am!’

Sarah swung round to see Viscount Renshaw bowing punctiliously. She was not sure whether she was glad to see him or not. On the one hand, his arrival was timely in diverting Amelia from her question. On the other, there was a decidedly wicked twinkle in his eye.

Amelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Lord Renshaw! Good evening, sir! But whatever can you mean? Why should Sarah not attend my ball? Sarah, you know you have been promised for tonight this month past!’

Sarah gave Guy Renshaw a fulminating look. ‘I have no notion what his lordship can mean, Milly!’

‘I beg your pardon.’ Guy gave her a look of limpid innocence. ‘I must have misunderstood you, ma’am. Lady Amelia, do I have your permission to take your cousin off and dance with her?’

Amelia looked speculatively from one to the other. ‘You have my blessing, Lord Renshaw, but whether Sarah will agree is another matter!’

Guy took Sarah’s arm. ‘It is a waltz and you did promise me…’

He appeared to take her acquiescence for granted, steering her towards the dance floor and taking her in his arms in a manner that might be entirely appropriate for the waltz, but nevertheless deprived Sarah momentarily of speech. Their bodies touched for a brief second before he held her a little away from him with impeccable propriety.

Sarah was an accomplished dancer, but she found that waltzing in Guy’s arms was a very different experience from attempting the boulanger with Mr Tilbury. Dancing with Guy was unnerving; the touch of his hands through the silk of her dress felt like a caress. His head was bent close to hers, and when their eyes met she could see the admiration in their depths, the flash of desire that he did not trouble to hide. It disturbed her and stirred something strange and sensual within her. Sarah closed her eyes momentarily, startled by her own feelings.

‘You dance beautifully,’ Guy said, after they had circled the floor a couple of times in silence. ‘I remember that you were musical even as a child. You used to sing and play most prettily.’

‘I do not recall that you were so eager to dance with me in our youth,’ Sarah said, with a slight smile, glad of an innocuous topic of conversation when her thoughts had been anything but innocent. ‘There was one children’s ball at which you spurned me quite ruthlessly, my lord!’

Guy’s arms tightened momentarily. Looking up, she saw a look of brilliant amusement in his eyes and her heart did a little somersault.

‘I had no discernment in my youth,’ he said regretfully, ‘and our parents were forever trying to throw us together. I believe they wished us to make a match of it and naturally enough, I tried to rebel! What boy of sixteen wishes to contemplate matrimony—least of all with a young lady of eleven!’

‘Perhaps they were a little misguided—’

‘Just premature, I believe, Miss Sheridan!’

Sarah was vexed with herself for giving him the chance to flirt with her. Just when she had thought they could talk on uncontroversial subjects, he had turned the topic around! He richly deserved a set-down.

‘More of your nonsense, sir!’ she said crossly. ‘I am no green girl to be taken in by your flattery!’

‘No, indeed,’ Guy agreed amiably, his smile teasing her. ‘I forgot that you had so many years in your dish, Miss Sheridan! My reputation is quite safe with you, is it not?’

Sarah was rendered momentarily speechless by his impudence. Before she could marshal her thoughts to deliver the cutting remark he deserved, the music whirled to a close.

Guy bowed. ‘Perhaps you will spare me another dance later, Miss Sheridan?’

‘I do not think that would be at all respectable, sir!’ Sarah said pertly, unable to resist. ‘As you have just pointed out, you must have a care for your reputation, and two dances could be considered fast!’

She saw him smile and knew he would have replied in kind had Amelia not arrived at that moment, bringing with her a very young man who had a hopeful look in his eye.

‘Lord Renshaw, pray forgive my interruption,’ Amelia began, ‘but Mr Elliston believes that you may have been serving with his elder brother in Portugal, and is most anxious for any news…’

Guy bowed. ‘Of course. You must be Richard Elliston’s brother? I remember him well.’ He gestured to the refreshment room. ‘We could talk over a glass of wine if you wish…’

Young Mr Elliston looked quite overwhelmed at such condescension. Amelia smiled, taking Sarah’s arm and drawing her away.

‘He is very kind. Poor Jack Elliston has been quite worried—the family has had no news for nigh on six months!’ She looked closely at Sarah. ‘Are you quite well, my love? Your colour is very high! I do hope you have not taken a chill!’

‘I do not believe so.’ Sarah was astonished how calm she sounded when inside she felt quite shaken. For all that she had acquitted herself well enough, flirting with Guy Renshaw was an occupation requiring sterner nerves than hers. No doubt the society ladies who indulged in a little intrigue to relieve the boredom of their marriages were well versed in playing such sophisticated games. She was not, having little or no experience of the art of dalliance.

‘Lord Renshaw seems to have been most charming to you,’ Amelia was saying, her voice casual but her gaze alert as she took in Sarah’s becomingly pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. ‘I do believe he is trying to get up a flirtation with you, Sarah!’

Sarah took a glass of wine gratefully from a passing servant and drank half of it straight away before answering. Amelia’s intent look deepened.

‘Sarah! Whatever ails you? Are you sure you are quite well?’

Sarah laughed and pressed her cousin’s hand. ‘I am feeling very well, I thank you. I believe you must put my uncharacteristic behaviour down to Lord Renshaw’s bad influence!’

Amelia’s eyes widened to their furthest extent. ‘Gracious, Sarah, how diverting! Surely you have not been encouraging him?’

‘Not precisely, but…’ Sarah hesitated ‘…I wonder if I have discouraged him sufficiently? He is, as you say, so very charming that it is difficult to resist…’

Amelia began to laugh. ‘I should not worry, Sarah! You are scarcely a hardened flirt and Lord Renshaw is experienced enough to know the difference between a lady of easy virtue and a respectable spinster! I am more concerned that your own heart should remain whole!’

Sarah wrinkled up her nose and reached for her wineglass again. ‘Really, Amelia! Respectable spinster! You make me sound at least sixty and as dull as ditchwater into the bargain!’

‘Better to be respectable than give in to Guy Renshaw’s blandishments,’ Amelia said drily. ‘He has a truly terrible reputation, Sarah! Why, Mrs Bunton tells me—’

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said hastily. ‘I have already heard her on the subject! I am in no real danger, I assure you, either from his lordship or from my own feelings! I know he can have no serious intentions and will not allow him to progress with any dishonourable ones!’

A little frown still marred Amelia’s forehead. ‘That is all very well, but it would not do to like him too much!’

‘I know.’ Sarah felt a little lurch of the heart as she spoke. Amelia had hit upon the very problem, for she was beginning to like Guy Renshaw very much indeed, and against her better judgement.

She let Mr Tilbury carry her off for the cotillion, noting that Amelia still looked concerned. She knew that her cousin had her own best interests at heart. Guy Renshaw could not be seen in the light of a suitable connection for a penniless companion. Her ineligibility could only mean that he could have no serious intentions, and designs of a less respectable nature would have to be ruthlessly crushed.

For a moment, Sarah felt an extraordinary disappointment. Guy’s charm was very potent and Sarah knew that her own inexperience made it difficult for her to treat his admiration lightly. Then there was the peculiar physical attraction he held for her, the like of which she had never even dreamed of, let alone experienced before. For a moment, Sarah let herself imagine being in Guy Renshaw’s embrace, recalling the hard strength of the arms that had held her in the waltz, the ripple of muscles beneath the smooth material of his jacket, the curl of that sensuous mouth…

Suddenly heated, Sarah felt her body diffuse with warmth and the colour flood into her face. It was fortunate that Mr Tilbury was rather unobservant, for it would have been impossible for him to believe that his own conversation could cause his companion to blush so vividly.

Sarah tried to concentrate on his observations on the price of coal, furiously castigating herself for allowing her thoughts to wander in so improper a direction. And this was hardly the first time!

The dance progressed in pedestrian fashion, with none of the zest of the previous waltz.

Guy was nowhere in sight, perhaps still talking with Mr Elliston, but Sarah noted a knot of people set a little back from the dance floor, with Mrs Bunton at its core. Several of the most influential hostesses in Bath had their heads bent close, their hairpieces waggling, their mouths forming shocked and horrified circles. One of them glanced in Sarah’s direction and looked away again hastily. Sarah frowned. Surely her behaviour with Viscount Renshaw had not caused such scandalised debate? One waltz, even with a notorious rake, hardly constituted a social solecism. Besides, Mrs Bunton had been pushing her own daughter in Guy’s direction only the night before.

Mr Tilbury addressed another of his remarks to her and Sarah temporarily forgot the group of gossiping matrons. However, she was reminded again swiftly as the dance drew to an end. As Mr Tilbury escorted her from the floor, Mrs Clarke drew her skirts aside and turned her back in the most pointed of snubs. Sarah stopped in surprise and Mr Tilbury’s face flushed with outrage.

He was about to speak when Mrs Clarke said loudly, ‘What can one expect with such low family connections? There’s bad blood in the Covell family, which no doubt accounts for his cousin throwing her lot in with him! I wonder at Lady Amelia giving countenance to a woman who is clearly lost to all sense of decency!’

Shock rendered Sarah temporarily speechless. All around her she could see the looks of speculation and hear the chatter of rumour and gossip. She looked about desperately for Amelia, but her cousin was across the room, talking to Greville Baynham. There was no help closer at hand. Mr Tilbury was opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish, his own expression one of painful embarrassment. Everyone else merely watched to see what would happen next.

Murmuring an incoherent apology to Mr Tilbury, Sarah hurried from the ballroom, almost ran up the stairs and instinctively sought shelter in her own room. Once there, she closed the door softly and leant back against it with her eyes closed. Mrs Clarke’s sharply cruel words echoed in her mind: ‘Lost to all sense of decency…’

There could be no mistake. Somehow, word of her intention to visit Blanchland had leaked out, been seized upon by eager gossips, and passed around the ballroom. Sarah felt outraged and humiliated. How dared they speak of her like that, make her the butt of their slander, rip her reputation to shreds in her very presence? She had seen them all, some condemning her already, others merely excited by scandal, but all watching her reactions for their own entertainment. Sarah had heard of times when the collective disapproval of Bath society had ruined someone’s reputation, or left them a social outcast. It was just that she had never been on the receiving end before.

And why should she hide away here as though she had something to be ashamed of? Eyes flashing, Sarah flung open the door, ready to do battle in the ballroom. She would show Mrs Clarke and Mrs Bunton and all the other quizzes that she did not give a rush for their disapproval! She would not let them judge her and run away from them…

Sarah closed the door behind her and walked towards the stairs, still burning with outraged anger. She did not see the figure on the shadowed landing until it moved, and then she spun round with a gasp of alarm.

‘Lord Renshaw! Good gracious, you gave me fright! Whatever are you doing up here, sir?’

‘I wanted to speak to you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said, coming forward into the circle of light cast by the single candelabra. ‘I heard you come running up here and thought it best, perhaps, that we did not have an audience for our conversation.’

Sarah looked at him in puzzlement. There was something curious in his tone, some element that she could not define but that made her uncomfortable. It was impossible to decipher his expression in the flickering candlelight.

‘I do not understand you, sir,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Surely it would be better to return to the ballroom—’

‘Very well, if you are determined to face the extraordinary rumours that are circulating there,’ Guy said coolly. ‘Perhaps we could invite the whole of Bath society to join the conversation since they are taking such a close interest in your affairs!’

Sarah let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘Oh, so you have heard—’

‘I have! I could scarce believe it! Either you are seriously lacking in judgement, Miss Sheridan, or you are not the woman I thought you!’

Sarah stared at him, her temper soaring dangerously. She had been expecting him to sympathise with her in the face of the small-minded and malicious scandal-mongers, and to find herself condemned unheard was adding insult to injury.

‘Oh really, my lord!’ she burst out. ‘It is the outside of enough to have to put up with the ill-informed gossip of spiteful matrons without such as yourself picking pieces in my good character as well!’

‘Indeed?’ Guy stepped closer to her, his physical presence completely overwhelming her. Now that he was so near, Sarah could sense the slow burn of his anger, though she still did not understand its cause. ‘At the least you do not pretend ignorance! Are you telling me that the rumours are untrue, Miss Sheridan?’

Sarah hesitated for a fatal second, trapped by her own honesty. ‘Yes! No! At least…I do intend to visit Blanchland, but it is not as you imagine…’

Guy brought his hand down on the banisters with a force that seemed to make the delicate ironwork shiver. ‘Surely it can be no surprise that your apparent desire to spend the winter in a house of ill repute should set the town by the ears, Miss Sheridan! Good God, Blanchland is a place where no woman of respectability should dream of setting foot! You will not have a shred of reputation left to you!’

Sarah glared at him. ‘I can scarce believe that you are giving credence to chance-heard rumours, my lord! I should have thought better of you! You have not even paused to request an explanation!’

Guy had turned away, his face tight and angry, but now he swung back towards her.

‘There can be no reasonable explanation! At least,’ he corrected himself punctiliously, ‘the best construction I can put on your conduct is that you lack any sense of proper behaviour and the worst—’ his dark eyes narrowed murderously ‘—is that you are accustomed to the sort of society and pursuits that Blanchland has to offer! Neither is an adequate excuse!’

Sarah seldom lost her temper. The even tenor of life in Amelia’s household was hardly ever ruffled by upset or disturbance, but now she found herself furiously angry. Guy’s stubborn refusal to see anything but the worst in her was as distressing as it was infuriating. The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that she could not understand why he was so angry. Worst of all was a shaming desire to cry, as she realised that, despite the brevity of their acquaintance, his good opinion was something that she valued deeply. She swallowed hard and made a conscious effort to whip up her anger as a defence against the hurt she was feeling.

‘That is enough, sir! I do not wish to hear you slander my reputation! And as for your playing of the moral arbiter, it is rich beyond belief! You are the greatest hypocrite I have ever come across!’

Sarah made to walk past Guy and seek the sanctuary of her room again, all thoughts of returning to the ballroom forgotten. She was shaking with anger and mortification. She had no clear idea of how such a confrontation could have occurred, nor did she wish to prolong it. For Guy to take her to task in such a way was not the conduct of a gentleman, but deeper than that, more hurtful, was his evident contempt and unjust condemnation.

Guy shifted slightly, but he did not move to let her past. There was something wholly unyielding about his stance, as though he had no intention of letting her go easily. For a long moment their eyes met in angry conflict, then Guy stepped forward and trapped Sarah between his body and the balcony rail.

He bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that was searching and utterly ruthless. Disbelief and fury welled up in Sarah. She pummelled his chest hard with her clenched fists, but he only tightened his grip on her, rendering her protests useless.

‘I am living up to my reputation now, Miss Sheridan,’ he said, raising his lips an inch from hers. ‘I suggest that you start to do the same!’

His mouth returned to hers with a fierce demand. A shocking excitement swept through Sarah, setting her trembling in his arms. She could smell the faint, crisp scent of his lemon cologne, taste the sweetness of wine as his lips parted and moved over her own, lightly one moment, deepening again the next, but always in inexorable control. The merciless hands holding her hard against him did not relent for a moment.

Sarah gave up the struggle. She had no strength left to resist him, no will to do so. Despite the calculated nature of his embrace, to be kissed by him was such exquisite pleasure that she never wanted it to end. Her fingers uncurled against his chest and she slid her arms up about his neck. One of Guy’s hands slipped down her back and over her hip, drawing her against the hardness of his body. He slid his other hand under the hair at the nape of her neck, his caress on the tender skin there causing Sarah to shiver. She made a small, inarticulate sound of surrender, pressing closer, completely abandoned to the kiss.

Something had changed, although Sarah was too adrift to realise what it was. Guy’s cruel grip had eased and the touch of his lips, his hands, became gentle, exploring mutual pleasure rather than administering punishment. The aquamarine dress was slipping off Sarah’s shoulders and the lace fichu tumbled to the floor. She felt the featherlight touch of Guy’s fingers graze her collarbone before his lips left hers to trace a downward path from the line of her throat over the exposed curve of her breast. His breathing was as ragged as her own now. Sarah arched against him, weak with desire, stunned by her reaction to him.

His mouth returned to hers roughly, plundering its softness. He held her face still with one hand, upturned and open to his, his fingers tangled in her hair. His other hand gently brushed aside the silk of the dress and bared Sarah’s heated skin to his touch. The deep, sweet invasion of her mouth went on and on. The pins tumbled from Sarah’s hair and fell with a soft tinkle on to the marble floor of the hall below. She did not notice; did not notice as her hair fell from its carefully arranged curls to swirl about her bare shoulders, did not notice as her bodice slipped to her waist, leaving her half-naked in Guy’s arms, did not notice as a door below opened abruptly and people spilled out into the hall.

‘Oh!’ There was a squeal from one of the women. ‘I almost stepped on a pin!’

Sarah heard the voices, but could make no sense of them through the desire that clouded her mind. It seemed, however, that Guy retained just enough presence of mind to drag her back from the balcony and into the shadows before the assembled company turned as one to gaze up into the darkness of the upper hall.

‘I say! Whatever is going on? Is there anybody up there?’

There was a giggle from one of the women, a guffaw, hastily repressed, from one of the men, and some murmured words and laughter before they all drifted off into the cardroom. Then there was silence.

Reality hit Sarah like a tidal wave. How could she be standing here in the candlelight, her clothing all awry, having allowed this man the most appalling liberties imaginable? Only seconds before he had questioned her virtue, and now she had comprehensively proved his point! She was trembling, her whole body shaking not with passion but with the enormity of what she had done. Where would it have ended? With her naked on the landing in full view of Amelia’s guests? Her cheeks burned as she realised that she had been so lost in desire that she had not even thought of whom might see her. How could this have happened? She had always found Guy Renshaw attractive, but their verbal sparring had given her no clue to the shocking physical awareness that would flare between them. Why, when she had made to leave him on the landing she had not even liked him any more! And yet…

Sarah pulled her dress up over her shoulders and bent to pick up the discarded scrap of white lace. The point of a fichu, she remembered her mama telling her years before, was to preserve a lady’s modesty. Well, she had no need of that! Her own behaviour had proved as much! And worse, memory stirred to remind her just how much she had enjoyed it, how she had ached for Guy’s kisses, the touch of his hands on her body…How was it possible to dislike someone and want them at the same time? The thought made her despair.

More distressing still was the look of stony contempt on Guy’s face. Whatever emotions had shaken her, they had evidently left him singularly unmoved. He still had hold of her wrist, but Sarah wrenched it from his grasp and walked past him to the door of her bedroom, her head held high and the effect ruined by the knowledge that his gaze had taken in the decadent effect of her plunging neckline. Her heart sank as Guy followed her into the room. All she wanted to do now was recover from her humiliation in private.

‘You will oblige me by leaving me alone now, sir.’ Sarah knew she had not achieved the icy tone she sought and could hardly bear to raise her eyes to his.

‘A moment.’ Guy’s searing gaze swept over the dishevelled curls about Sarah’s shoulders and lingered on the shadowy cleft between her breasts. ‘You’re good, I’ll say that for you! Just enough untutored innocence mixed with passion!’ He gave a cynical laugh. ‘Good enough to leave me in some doubt! Anyway, I came to make you an offer—one that you may look kindly upon after your performance just now. I wish to spare you the trouble of looking for a protector at Blanchland. I am rich enough for any taste and I’m sure I can satisfy you! What do you say?’

The colour drained from Sarah’s face. This was the final insult. She had refuted his accusations only to fall into his arms and apparently prove herself experienced. Was carte blanche the logical outcome? She supposed that might be so. Could she blame him for thinking of her as he did? Perhaps not, and yet she had hoped he would know her better than that. She had cherished secret dreams that had been far removed from this tawdry reality. She could scarcely believe that everything good and pure and sweet between them had been ground into the dust.

‘Get out of my room!’ It felt to Sarah that she must have shouted, but her words came out as a whisper. Guy’s expression was blank for a moment, then he turned on his heel and the slam of the door echoed through the entire house.

‘Sarah?’ Amelia’s tap on the door was almost silent and her cousin barely heard her whisper. ‘Sarah, are you there?’

As Sarah struggled to sit up, Amelia turned the knob and stepped into the darkened bedroom. The lamp was turned down low, but there was enough light to see Sarah’s stricken face and Amelia hurried forward in obvious alarm.

‘Sarah! Whatever has happened?’

Sarah raised a face so blotchy and tear-stained that it was almost unrecognisable. A few minutes before she would have sworn she had no more tears left, but now she burst into tears all over again.

‘Oh, Milly!’

Amelia sensibly did not press for an explanation, but gathered her cousin into her arms without a word. Eventually Sarah’s sobs subsided a little again and she looked up.

‘Has he gone?’

‘He? Who?’

‘Lord…Lord Renshaw…’

Several things became clear to Amelia at the same time. ‘Yes, he left about an hour ago. I did not see him, but Grev said that he had gone. Was he with you before that, Sarah?’

A nod of the head was her only reply. Amelia’s thoughtful gaze took in her cousin’s tumbled hair and the blue dress that was lacking a piece of material it had certainly started off with. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Here? He was with you here?’

Sarah nodded again.

Amelia glanced from her cousin to the bed. Try as she might, she could not keep the horror out of her voice. ‘Oh, Sarah, surely he did not make love to you—?’

Sarah made a noise that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. ‘No, it is not as bad as that!’ She pushed the damp hair back from her face. ‘Not quite, but nearly…’ Slowly the story of the encounter came out, with Amelia sitting quite still and quiet as she listened.

‘I felt so dreadful,’ Sarah ended bitterly. ‘I had told him that he had misjudged me, and then I behaved like the veriest trollop! Is it any wonder that he treated me like one? When he said—’ She broke off on a sob, swallowed and started again, ‘He made it all sound so sordid, Amelia, and that is exactly how it was!’

‘You must not blame yourself,’ Amelia said carefully, after a moment. ‘I knew that you were more than a little in love with him, whatever you said before! Lord Renshaw had no right to speak to you as he did and, despite his reputation, I had not really thought that he would—’ She broke off. ‘Truly, the man is unforgivable!’ She passed her cousin another handkerchief and patted her hand encouragingly.

Sarah blew her nose hard. ‘Oh, dear, this is a terrible! To offer me carte blanche—’

‘A poor reflection on Lord Renshaw rather than on yourself, my love!’ Amelia said stringently. ‘Pray put him from your mind. I doubt we shall see him again!’

Sarah thought that this was probably true. The idea gave her so much pain that she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying again. Yet if it was distressing to think of never seeing Guy again, it upset Sarah even more to think of the opinion of her that he would carry away.

‘Will you still go to Blanchland, Sarah?’ Amelia was asking carefully. ‘Unfortunately, it is true that everyone is talking about it. I swear I told no one, but I wonder if the servants overheard—’

‘Probably,’ Sarah said tiredly. She got up and moved to turn up the lamp. ‘Let people talk! I still intend to go tomorrow!’

‘Sarah!’ Amelia seemed uncertain whether to be glad or sorry that her cousin’s familiar determination was reappearing. ‘You cannot! Oh, surely you must see that it is impossible now! If you stay here and we put it about that it was all nothing but malicious gossip, the outcry will soon die down—’

‘You mistake, Amelia.’ Sarah was already pulling a couple of canvas bags from the cupboards, her actions showing a feverish energy. ‘I intend to go, now more than ever! I will not have the likes of Guy Renshaw standing in judgement on me!’

Sarah rose early after a night with almost no sleep at all. Amelia had left her with a kiss after spending a fruitless half hour trying to persuade her cousin to change her mind. The more Sarah thought about it, the more her conviction grew. The misery she had felt at Guy Renshaw’s stark contempt was hardening into anger now, humiliation turning into a burning fury. She was angry with herself for falling into his arms and confirming his opinion of her, but she was even more angry that he should ever have doubted her virtue. In the dark shadows of the night she had painfully admitted to herself just how much she had liked him. So much had been built upon so little: the roses, a couple of conversations, one waltz. And now she would have to learn to forget him.

With a heavy heart, Sarah dragged her bags to the bedroom door. If she was lucky, she could avoid Amelia, who always got up late on the morning after a ball. She could not bear another scene. She would take a hack down to the Angel and get the coach to the Old Down Inn and from there…

Sarah went out onto the landing, intending to tiptoe downstairs and find herself some breakfast before she left. She averted her gaze from the spot at the top of the stairs where she and Guy had had their encounter the previous night.

Far from being quiet, the house seemed very noisy. The shutters were flung back and servants were scurrying about in a frenzy. As she descended the stairs Sarah could see two large trunks, neatly bound with red rope, standing by the front door. Chisholm, looking as harassed as Sarah had ever seen him, was taking down what seemed like an endless list of instructions from his employer. Sarah stared in disbelief.

‘…and cancel my attendance at Mrs Chartley’s breakfast, if you please, and the card party at Colonel Waring’s and any other invitations I have forgotten!’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And make sure that any invitations from Mrs Bunton and Mrs Clarke are returned unopened—’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Amelia, looking fresh and radiant in a coffee-brown travelling dress and matching hat, turned to see her cousin watching her in amazement from the top of the stairs.

‘There you are, Sarah! At last! Hurry and take some breakfast! Oh, and Chisholm—’ her voice hardened ‘—if Sir Greville Baynham calls, pray tell him that I have left town and that his friends are not welcome in my house again—’

‘Oh, Milly, you cannot do that! It is not Greville’s fault!’ Sarah recovered the use of her voice and hurried down to her cousin’s side.

‘No matter!’ Amelia’s chin was set defiantly. ‘Sir Greville is to blame for having such poor taste in his friends! Now, are you almost ready, my love?’

Sarah watched bemusedly as two footmen threw open the main door and staggered out to the carriage under the huge weight of Amelia’s baggages.

‘Yes, but…what…?’

‘I knew that I could not persuade you to change your mind,’ Amelia said, seizing her arm and steering her towards the breakfast parlour, ‘so I have changed mine! Dearest Sarah! I am coming with you!’

Chapter Four

‘Seems to me you’ve made a dashed mess of things, Guy,’ Greville Baynham said frankly, helping himself to a large plate of devilled kidneys. ‘Didn’t even give the poor girl a chance to explain!’

Guy stared gloomily out of the breakfast-room window. He had spent the best part of the night playing high and drinking deep, and this morning was left with a vicious headache and a feeling of sick disgust. At the back of his mind was the thought that Greville was very probably correct.

In his salad days he had tumbled into love several times with females who were either unsuitable or ineligible or both. It had not mattered then; his suffering was usually of short duration and there were plenty of ladies willing to help him recover and move on to the next conquest. As he had grown older he had seen that love rarely had much to do with these transactions and was quite content for this to be the case. The fact that his father wished him to settle down and provide an heir for Woodallan he viewed as a completely separate issue. Or, he had viewed it as such until he had met Miss Sarah Sheridan.

Guy shifted in his chair. He had told Greville about the rumours that were circulating about Sarah and a little of the scene between them, though, naturally enough, he had not imparted the whole tale. Greville had been frankly incredulous.

‘Sounds all a hum to me,’ he said judiciously. ‘The Bath tabbies usually prefer fiction to fact! They find it so much more scandalous. Ten to one the whole thing is nothing more than a Banbury tale!’

Guy pulled a face. ‘I would like to agree with you, Grev, but Miss Sheridan practically confirmed it! When I asked her if it was true she was visiting Blanchland, she did not give a convincing denial! What was I to think?’

Greville waved his fork about descriptively. ‘That she was visiting her old nurse? That Ralph Covell wanted to hand over some of her father’s paintings? I don’t know—anything except what you clearly did think, old chap!’

Guy did not deny it. Now he said, ‘I suppose…I may have been a little hasty—’

‘Seems to me you should think about why you reacted as you did,’ Greville said drily, demonstrating his disconcerting habit of hitting the nail on the head. ‘I believe you must owe Miss Sheridan an apology, Guy. Do you care to accompany me to Brock Street this morning? I was intending to call on Lady Amelia anyway.’

Guy hesitated. He sincerely doubted that Sarah would either offer an explanation or give him the chance to apologise. It seemed most likely, in fact, that she would never speak to him again. He thought again of the previous night, of how Sarah’s initial resistance to him had melted into response and how he had taken ruthless advantage of it. Much as he would have preferred to deny it, her willingness had raised an echo of genuine passion in him that had transcended the blind fury that had first prompted him to punish her. He had been as shaken as she was—or as she had appeared to be.

Guy paused. Supposing—just supposing—Sarah had been the innocent he had always thought her to be? How must she have felt to have her inexperienced reactions construed as calculated passion? How would she be feeling that morning, confronted with the discovery of her own desires and the memory of his contempt? There were no excuses. He had taken disgraceful advantage of her.

Guy gave a groan and buried his head in his hands. Looking at matters in the cold light of day, he was both stunned and disconcerted by his violent reaction to the gossip he had heard. As Greville had said, he needed to analyse why he had responded so furiously and the answer was not far to seek. Although he had not previously acknowledged it, his feelings for Sarah Sheridan ran very deep indeed. The knowledge was a shock on one level, but on another he was obliged to admit that he had known it from the first. The fact that he had known her such a short time was irrelevant to his feelings. And now he had made the most godforsaken mess of the whole business…He groaned again.

Greville was eyeing him with concern. ‘I’ll ring for an ice bag,’ he said, getting up. ‘And, Guy, have a shave before you go out. It won’t help your cause to arrive in Brock Street looking half cut!’

The house in Brock Street was shuttered and it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time before Chisholm answered the bell. Nor was his demeanour particularly encouraging when he did so, for there was a look in his eye that seemed to imply that they should be using the tradesmen’s entrance.

‘Good day, Lord Renshaw. Good day, Sir Greville. May I be of service?’

Guy and Greville waited to be allowed over the threshold, but Chisholm remained obdurately in the way. Greville raised his eyebrows.

‘Good day, Chisholm. Is Lady Amelia receiving visitors? Pray tell her that we have called!’

Chisholm folded his lips into a thin line. His stance seemed to suggest that such good humour was sorely misplaced.

‘I regret to inform you, sir, that Lady Amelia has left town.’

There was a pause. Guy stepped forward. ‘And Miss Sheridan? Is she at home?’

Chisholm’s gaze seemed to turn even more glacial. ‘I fear not, my lord. However, her ladyship asked me to give Sir Greville the following message.’ He cleared his throat and avoided looking directly at either of them. ‘Her ladyship wishes it to be known that she has gone to the country with her cousin. Further, whilst you are still welcome to visit here, Sir Greville, the same invitation does not extend to your friends. Good day, sir.’

Chisholm bowed neatly, stepped back and closed the door firmly.

Both Guy and Greville stared at the wooden panels in stupefaction, then Greville took a hasty step forward and reached for the bell again. Guy laid a hand on his arm.

‘Grev! Wait!’

Guy did not think he had ever seen his friend so angry. Greville’s grey eyes were burning with fury. ‘How dare he say such things! The confounded impertinence of the man! Why, I’ll—’

‘He is only doing as he was instructed,’ Guy pointed out quietly. ‘Come away, Grev. There are people watching.’

It was true. Several curious passers-by, including the ubiquitous Mrs Clarke, were occupying the pavement at the bottom of the steps.

‘Oh, Sir Greville!’ that lady trilled, stepping forward to block their way. ‘Lord Renshaw! Have you heard the news? Lady Amelia has gone to Blanchland with her cousin! I can scarce believe it, but it must be true for Mrs Bunton heard it from Lady Trippeny, who—’

Greville set his shoulders. He gave the gossip a look of comprehensive dislike. ‘It is perfectly true, Mrs Clarke, but of no great import! Miss Sheridan has been called to Blanchland on an urgent family matter and her cousin has gone with her as chaperon! That is all! And I do beg you to remember that, before you indulge in idle speculation about the lady who is shortly to become my wife! Why, I shall be joining her at Blanchland shortly myself!’

Mrs Clarke’s mouth rounded in astonishment. ‘Oh, Sir Greville! And, Lord Renshaw—’ she swung round on Guy accusingly ‘—were you aware of this?’

Guy tried not to laugh. ‘Which part, Mrs Clarke? The bit about Lady Amelia chaperoning her cousin to Blanchland, or the part about Sir Greville being betrothed to Lady Amelia and joining her at Blanchland tomorrow? Or even…’ his smile broadened ‘…the fact that I am shortly to announce my own engagement to Miss Sheridan? Yes, I am aware of all of it!’

Mrs Clarke backed away from them, almost tripping over the kerb in her haste to escape and acquaint Mrs Bunton with her news. The two men nodded amiably to the rest of the crowd and strolled off down Brock Street with every appearance of nonchalance.

‘I cannot believe we just did that,’ Guy said under his breath, as they turned into The Circus and paused for a moment. ‘The story will be all over Bath in less than a half hour! Did you mean what you said?’

‘Of course!’ Greville looked grim. ‘You know I’ve been meaning to marry Amelia this past age! This ridiculous jaunt to Blanchland has simply precipitated matters!’

‘Hope she sees it in the same light as you, old fellow,’ Guy said feelingly. ‘Do you mean to go there to offer her your protection?’

‘Well, I hadn’t thought of it until five minutes ago,’ Greville admitted, ‘but now I see I need to talk some sense into the foolish woman!’

Guy repressed a grin. ‘Well, in that case you’d better travel with me! I’m for Woodallan, and you can break your journey there before travelling to Blanchland on the morrow.’

‘Thank you!’ Greville seemed to be recovering his good humour. The tense lines on his face eased a little. ‘And what of your own plans, Guy? Thought you were touched in the attic when you said that about marrying Miss Sheridan!’

Guy shifted a little. ‘Couldn’t leave Miss Sheridan as the only one with a stain on her reputation, could I, Grev? That odious woman would rip her to shreds!’

‘But will you keep your word?’ Greville pressed. ‘If not, Miss Sheridan will be thrown to the wolves anyway!’

‘I suppose I’m honour bound to try to persuade her…’ Guy gave his friend a lopsided grin. ‘You may count this as your fault, for telling me to examine my feelings! Truth is, I’d offer for Sarah like a shot if I thought she’d have me, but I doubt she’ll even consider it. Too much to forgive, I suppose! Devil take it, how have I managed to make such a confounded mess of things in such a short space of time?’

Greville laughed. ‘Cupid’s arrow, old chap! Strikes when and where, at will! And it seems to me that, of the two of us, you have the harder task!’

‘Amelia, you know this will not serve! Instead of saving my reputation, you are only ruining your own! Why, both of us will be tarred with the same brush!’

Sarah and her cousin had been arguing all the way from Brock Street to Combe Hay. The beauty of the winter countryside had been ignored and the discomfort of the twisting road scarcely noticed as Sarah desperately tried to persuade Amelia to change her mind. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Amelia had spent considerable time and effort in trying to persuade her to abandon the trip to Blanchland, yet here she was sitting in Amelia’s carriage with Amelia’s servants in attendance and Amelia herself beside her. And her cousin was adamant.

‘I am a respectable widow whose good reputation can only help to protect you, dearest Sarah. Since it seems you are determined to go through with this mad plan, I feel it my duty to accompany you and save you from yourself!’

‘You are very noble,’ Sarah said, uncertain whether to laugh or cry, ‘but pray do not make this sacrifice on my account! You have told me yourself that Blanchland is the most licentious house in the kingdom—you must know that even your good name will not be able to withstand the scandal! Oh, Amelia, pray do not go through with this!’

Amelia turned her dark gaze on her cousin. ‘You have not told me why this visit is so important to you, Sarah, but I have to believe that it is of great consequence. If it matters so much to you that you are prepared to risk your reputation on it, I am prepared to do the same to help you. There! We shall have no more arguments!’ She turned her shoulder and looked out of the window.

Sarah gave a sigh of exasperation. She could not deny that it was pleasant to have company on the journey and it was infinitely more comfortable to travel privately than on the public stage. But those were small benefits in comparison to the damage that this escapade would cause. No doubt the whole of Bath society would already have heard what had happened, and how could either of them ever show their faces there again? It was melancholy to think of Amelia being ostracised for an act of misplaced kindness.

Sarah looked at Amelia’s determined profile. She felt a strong sense of guilt that she had not confided her quest in her cousin, but something made her hesitate. Time enough for that when Miss Meredith had been found and the mystery solved. At least arguing with Amelia had distracted her from melancholy thoughts about Guy.

They stopped for luncheon and to change the horses at the inn at Clandown, and Amelia confidently predicted that they would reach Blanchland by late afternoon, for the roads were good for the time of year. Sarah started to feel very nervous. How would she find her home after all these years? And how would Ralph react to their unexpected arrival? She barely knew her father’s cousin; though she bore him no ill will for inheriting her home after Frank’s death, she could hardly bear to think what he had done to it.

The journey progressed uneventfully until they neared the Old Down crossroads, where a sudden downpour took them by surprise and set the road awash. Within moments the horses had lost their footing and the carriage lurched off the road and into the ditch.

‘No harm done, ma’am,’ the coachman reported cheerfully as he helped Amelia and Sarah down on to the road, ‘but it might be better if you took shelter in the inn whilst we haul it out. A nice dish of tea should help you over the shock!’

The Old Down Inn was accustomed to passing trade and soon put a private parlour at the disposal of its unexpected guests. Amelia regarded her dripping figure with deep displeasure, whilst outside the rain splattered against the window and emphasised the sudden decline in the good weather.

‘Oh, I look hideous,’ Amelia declared, wringing water from her cloak into a bucket helpfully provided by the landlady. ‘This bonnet is quite ruined, and I have only worn it twice! A fine pair of figures we will cut, arriving at Blanchland in such a state!’

She glanced critically over Sarah, whose hair was drying in corkscrew curls about her face. ‘Humph! Well, at least you look the part, Sarah, with your wild hair and soaking dress! Oh, this is too bad!’

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said drily. ‘It is comforting to know that I already look like a demi-rep and I have not even set foot in the house yet! Do you care for tea and cakes, Milly? It might improve your temper!’

Amelia looked rueful. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah, I know I am like a bear with a sore head! Truth to tell, I was feeling nervous before, but now I just feel downright unpresentable! Oh, to arrive in so undignified a state when we do not even know what we will find…’ She took a cup of tea and moved over to the window. ‘I had better not sit down or I shall cause a puddle! I wonder when this storm will cease—’ She broke off with an exclamation and Sarah looked up from the fire, which she had been trying to coax into reluctant life with the poker.

‘Whatever is the matter, Milly? You look as though you have seen a ghost!’

‘It is Greville!’ Amelia whispered, looking as though she was about to rush from the room. ‘Greville and Lord Renshaw! Sarah, they are here!’

Sarah felt her heart leap into her throat. ‘Oh, no, it cannot be! You must be mistaken, Milly!’

‘I tell you, they were right outside the window—’

Amelia broke off at the sound of voices in the passageway outside. The parlour door opened.

‘Good afternoon!’ Greville Baynham said affably, as though he were meeting them in Milsom Street. ‘An inclement day! I am glad to see that you appear to have suffered no injury when your coach left the road!’

Neither Sarah nor her cousin were up to answering him in kind. Sarah met Guy Renshaw’s quizzical gaze, blushed crimson and looked hastily away. As he came towards her, she backed away from the fire, still holding the poker, and took refuge behind the parlour table. Amelia, obviously viewing attack as the best form of defence, burst into speech.

‘You!’ she said, in tones of ringing outrage. ‘Whatever are you doing here, Sir Greville?’

‘Came to find you,’ Greville said imperturbably. He crossed to the fire and kicked it into a blaze, warming his hands. ‘Heard you’d gone off on some mad start and thought that you might need some help—’

Amelia drew herself up to her full—tiny—height. ‘Well, we do not, sir! Not from you, at any rate! We can manage perfectly well on our own!’

‘I doubt that,’ Greville said coolly. ‘You have only been on the road for a few hours and already you are in a scrape! And as for your destination—well, that proves you have not the least notion of how to carry on! Good God, two gently bred ladies visiting a house of ill fame! Fit for Bedlam, both of you!’

Amelia’s stormy gaze swept from Greville to Guy Renshaw and rested there for a moment. ‘Do not preach to me, sir, when you keep such poor company!’

Sarah winced. Amelia seldom lost her temper properly, but when she did so the results could be spectacular. This promised to be one of those occasions. She caught Guy Renshaw’s eye and saw that he was looking rather amused. A slow smile was curling the corners of his mouth and Sarah felt an answering gleam and stifled it at once. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to experience any kind of kindred feeling for Guy. He had humiliated her and insulted her, she reminded herself severely, and his charm was of the most superficial kind.

‘It ill becomes you to speak of bad company when you are planning so rash an escapade, madam!’ Greville said to Amelia, more coldly than Sarah had ever heard him. ‘Do you forget that this will ruin your reputation forever? And yet you disparage those who seek to offer you their aid—’

‘Offer their aid!’ Two spots of colour were burning on Amelia’s cheeks now. ‘Forgive me, sir, but it seems to me that you came to censure rather than to support! My cousin and I can do very well without such dubious assistance!’

‘You may claim so, but you have as much idea of how to go on as a pair of schoolgirls! Less! At least a schoolroom miss knows her manners!’

Sarah caught her breath sharply as Amelia made a noise like an enraged kitten. The combatants faced each other fiercely across the table, Amelia with her fists clenched and Greville with a singularly unyielding look on his face.

Sarah could feel Guy watching her across the room and she found herself looking around for a means of escape. Guy was between her and the door, the window was too small and she could scarcely scramble up the chimney. A strange panic took hold of her as he came towards her.

As Amelia drew breath for another salvo, Guy reached Sarah’s side and took her arm.

‘I believe that we may safely leave these two to settle their differences, Miss Sheridan. May I beg a word in private?’

‘Certainly not!’ Amelia snapped, before Sarah could speak. She flashed Guy a look of contempt. ‘Stand aside from my cousin, Lord Renshaw! You have done her enough harm!’

Guy looked from Amelia to Greville. ‘My dear Lady Amelia, pray confine your quarrel to Sir Greville and leave Miss Sheridan to deal with me!’ He removed the poker from Sarah’s hand. ‘I should feel safer if you were without this!’

Sarah had forgotten that she had been stirring the fire when they had arrived. She relinquished her weapon and edged away from Guy towards the door.

‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy had turned back to her with exquisite courtesy. ‘Pray do not leave just yet! It is still raining and your carriage is not fit for use! Will you grant my request of a private interview?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘My cousin is in the right of it, sir. I do not care to have my business discussed in a wayside inn!’

Guy inclined his head. ‘Then come back with us to Woodallan and discuss it there!’

‘Impossible!’ Amelia retorted, her colour still high. ‘We must reach Blanchland before nightfall—’

‘Must you?’ Guy strolled into the middle of the room and turned back to smile at Sarah. ‘Had you thought what might happen if you arrive at dinner time?’ he asked conversationally, looking from her to Amelia. ‘Why, Sir Ralph may well be indulging in one of his famous orgies and you would walk right into the middle of it! Time enough for that once you have been there a little while! But if you leave it to the morning, you will find them all still abed. Not ideal, of course, but less…active, perhaps, than the night before!’

‘Outrageous!’ Amelia declared.

‘But true,’ Greville said coolly.

‘I fear Lord Renshaw may be right, Milly,’ Sarah said after a moment. ‘Perhaps we should bespeak rooms here for the night—’

‘Out of the question,’ Guy said briskly. ‘You could not so offend my parents’ hospitality, Miss Sheridan, as to take rooms within two miles of their house!’

Sarah flushed. ‘If you were not to tell them we were here—’

‘Alas, I would find it quite impossible to keep the truth from them! Their own goddaughter preferring the dubious comforts of an alehouse to Woodallan! I am sure my mother would be quite distraught!’

Sarah reached for her cloak. Somehow they had been outmanoeuvred. ‘Very well, my lord. Since I do not trust you to spare your mother’s feelings, we will come with you. However—’ she glared at him ‘—do not think to dissuade us from our errand, nor to enlist the support of your parents in such an enterprise!’

Guy’s dark gaze mocked her. ‘Miss Sheridan! I could not possibly tell my parents that you intended to visit Blanchland! The shock might kill them!’

He held the door open for her. ‘You look very pretty, Miss Sheridan,’ he added, in tones low enough that only Sarah could hear. ‘To see you with your hair like that gives me ideas—’

‘I thank you,’ Sarah snapped. ‘I heard enough of your ideas last night, sir! I wonder that you dare to speak to me of them again!’

Guy detained her with a hand on her arm. ‘In point of fact, Miss Sheridan, that is what I wished to discuss with you. I wished to apologise, but I will save it until we have gained the privacy of Woodallan!’

Sarah’s lips tightened angrily. ‘It may be that I do not wish to hear any of your excuses, Lord Renshaw!’

‘You will hear me out, however,’ Guy said, with what seemed to Sarah to be breathtaking arrogance. He offered her his arm, and laughed when she swept past him, ignoring it. Behind her, Sarah could hear Greville and Amelia starting to bicker again as they all went out into the yard.

‘You realise that you will have to marry me now!’ Greville was saying, in an exasperated undertone, to which Amelia retorted,

‘I would rather walk across hot coals, sir!’

They journeyed to Woodallan in bad-tempered silence.

Woodallan lay two miles from the turnpike road, in a hollow beside a stream, sheltered by the hills behind and with a glorious vista of rolling country before it. The rain had cleared as quickly as it had come, and the house’s golden Bath stone gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. Next to Blanchland, it had always been one of Sarah’s favourite places, and now she felt a lump in her throat as the years rolled back. She remembered walking up the long lime avenue as a child, clutching her father’s hand, remembered playing hide-and-seek in the topiary garden, remembered tickling trout in the stream during the hot summers…

The Blanchland and Woodallan estates had marched together and the families been friends since the first Baron Woodallan and Sir Edmund Sheridan had sailed the seas together as privateers under Queen Elizabeth. It had always been a family joke that Frank Sheridan had inherited his wanderlust from his ancestors.

The carriage drew up in front of the main door and Guy jumped down to help her descend.

‘Welcome back,’ he said, and for a moment it seemed that he had invested the words with a greater significance.

Sarah shrugged the thought aside. It was too dangerous for her to start to feel at home in her childhood haunts, for in a week’s time—two at the most—she would have to return to Bath and the life she was accustomed to. Time spent at Blanchland and Woodallan could only be a passing phase, but when she had planned her journey she had not spared a thought for the way in which old memories would be stirred up. She looked at Guy, who was looking up at the house with a half-smile on his lips.

‘It must be a great pleasure for you to be home again, my lord, after so long abroad,’ she said spontaneously, and he smiled down at her, and for a split second Sarah was happy.

‘Oh, it is, Miss Sheridan, for here I have all the things I most care for.’

Again, Sarah tried not to read too much significance into his words. She turned aside and followed Amelia and Greville up the steps, reminding herself that she was vulnerable to him and must be always on her guard.

The Countess of Woodallan was in the hall to welcome her son home, and, as word of Guy’s arrival spread, it seemed that the house was full of beaming servants all wishing to greet him. Sarah and the others hung back until the crush had lessened a little, when the Countess turned and caught sight of her.

‘Sarah! Good gracious, what a wonderful surprise! Forgive me for not welcoming you sooner, my dear!’ She enveloped Sarah in a warm hug. ‘And Greville! Guy…’ she swung round accusingly on her son ‘…you should have told us you were bringing a party!’

Guy, who had been conversing quietly with his father’s steward, came forward. ‘I’m sorry for giving you no warning, Mama, but it was a spur-of-the-minute decision. Miss Sheridan and her cousin are travelling on in the morning, but I persuaded them to break their journey here tonight.’

The Countess swallowed her disappointment well. ‘I am sorry to hear you will be leaving so soon. But perhaps—’ she smiled at Sarah ‘—you will consider visiting us again on your journey back? You could stay for Christmas! That would be most pleasant, for we have so much news to catch up on!’

Sarah smiled a little stiffly. In the warmth of her welcome she had almost forgotten the reason for her visit, and the fact that she would be travelling on to Blanchland almost immediately. The Countess, suddenly aware of an air of constraint about her guests, turned her warm smile on Amelia. Greville stepped forward to make the introductions.

‘Lady Woodallan, may I present my fiancée, Lady Amelia Fenton. Lady Amelia is Miss Sheridan’s cousin.’

‘I am not!’ Amelia said hotly, then catching the look of amazement on her hostess’ face, stammered, ‘That is, I am Sarah’s cousin, but I am not Sir Greville’s fiancée!’

There was an awkward silence.

‘I am afraid that Lady Amelia has not quite become accustomed to the idea yet, ma’am,’ Greville said easily, ignoring Amelia’s fearsome glare. ‘I must apologise for imposing on your hospitality like this, particularly when you must be wishing to have Guy to yourselves!’

‘You are very welcome for as long as you wish to stay,’ the Countess murmured, trying not to stare at Amelia as though she had a lunatic in the house. ‘But you look as though you were caught in the storm, my dears! I will show you to your rooms so that you may change, and send word to Cook to increase the covers for dinner. Guy, your father should have returned by then. He has driven over to Home Farm to talk to Benton about the milk yield, but I expect him back at any time!’

‘Before you carry Miss Sheridan away, Mama, I should like to speak with her in private,’ Guy said firmly. ‘There is a matter to be settled between us that cannot wait.’

Sarah blushed scarlet and the Countess frowned. ‘But, Guy, Miss Sheridan will be tired from her journey, and is drenched by the rain besides! Surely it can wait a little—’

‘Oh, yes, indeed, ma’am,’ Sarah added hurriedly, ‘there is no urgency!’

‘I am desolate to contradict you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said smoothly, ‘but it is imperative that we speak now. I do not wish there to be any further misunderstandings!’

‘It seems to me that we have two ardent suitors here and two reluctant ladies!’ a voice said, from behind them, and Sarah swung round to see her godfather in the doorway.

The Earl of Woodallan was leaning heavily on his stout ash stick and looked a lot older than Sarah remembered, but the expressive dark eyes, so like his son’s, were as sharp as ever. ‘Lady Amelia…’ he gave as courtly a bow as ever his son could achieve ‘…and Sarah, my dear! What a delightful surprise! And Sir Greville, too! Well, Guy—’ he turned to his son, the sardonic gleam in his eye belied by a smile ‘—good to see you back again, boy!’

‘Sir!’ Guy hurried forward to shake his father’s hand, and Sarah took advantage of the moment to step back, throwing her godmother a pleading glance.

‘If we could be permitted to change our clothes, ma’am—’

‘Of course, my love.’ The Countess swept up her goddaughter and Amelia, and shepherded them towards the stairs. ‘Come along with me! The gentlemen are quite preoccupied and will not notice—’

The Earl’s voice stayed them as they reached the half-landing.

‘Charlotte, be sure to deliver Miss Sheridan to the blue drawing-room just as soon as she is ready! Guy will be waiting for her!’

‘Like father, like son,’ the Countess murmured under her breath. ‘I fear that an autocratic nature is in the Woodallan blood!’

It was three-quarters of an hour later that Sarah descended the stairs again. She was clean and dry, dressed in a becoming russet gown belonging to the younger of Lady Woodallan’s daughters and with her hair neatly braided into a bun on the top of her head.

‘Too austere, Miss Sheridan,’ was Guy’s comment as he ushered her into the blue drawing-room. ‘You are too soft and sweet to pretend to such severity!’

He, too, had changed into clean buckskins, polished boots and an olive green jacket that fitted his broad shoulders to perfection. Sarah, experiencing a traitorous rush of feeling on seeing him, immediately went on the attack.

‘By what right do you criticise my appearance, sir? Kindly refrain from becoming too personal!’

Guy grinned, unabashed, and gestured her to a chair before the fire. ‘That was precisely the matter I wished to discuss with you, Miss Sheridan—Sarah. May I call you Sarah?’

‘I am surprised you trouble to ask, sir!’ Sarah said hotly. ‘No, you may not!’

‘Very well then, Miss Sheridan, I will not provoke you!’ Guy sat down opposite her. Sarah, who was feeling quite on edge, resented his assumption of ease. ‘I am grateful to you for granting me a hearing. I feared you would not. My behaviour in Bath—’ He stopped, and started again. ‘After the things I said, I could not blame you if you choose to deny me the chance to apologise.’

‘I have promised to hear you out, my lord,’ Sarah said coldly. ‘Beyond that, I promise nothing.’

Guy grimaced. ‘You are not making this easy for me, Miss Sheridan! I wished to apologise to you, both for my actions and my words last night—’

Sarah got to her feet, her face suffused with colour. Her instinct was to flee the room immediately out of sheer embarrassment. Despite herself, she could not prevent a scorching memory of the events of the previous night from invading her thoughts.

Anticipating her retreat, Guy moved swiftly to stand between her and the door.

‘Please, Miss Sheridan—you promised me a hearing—’

‘I have done so, sir,’ Sarah said, as steadily as she could. ‘You wished to apologise and I have heard you.’

‘And?’

‘And, sir?’

Guy gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘And do you forgive me? I do not seek to justify myself in any way. What I did was inexcusable.’

Sarah paused. It did seem churlish to reject his apology when he seemed sincere, particularly as he had made no attempt to excuse his actions. She could feel a tiny corner of her heart unfreezing towards him and ruthlessly sought to conquer her weakness. It would never do to allow the spark of that earlier attraction to be rekindled into life. She had burned herself badly enough on that already.

‘Very well, sir. I accept your apology.’

‘That was not precisely what I asked.’ Guy was frowning. ‘I wished to know if you forgive me.’

‘And the answer is no.’ Sarah met his eyes very straight. ‘I do not forgive you for speaking to me as you did, nor for believing me a…a woman of easy virtue. That I cannot pardon.’

Guy inclined his head. ‘You are very frank and I accept what you say, Miss Sheridan. But there were mitigating factors—’

‘Which you said you would not raise to justify yourself!’

Guy gave her a wry smile. ‘That’s true, but may we not sit down and talk a little more?’

Sarah looked at him for a moment, then reluctantly returned to her seat in front of the fire. Despite the uncomfortable situation, she had to admit that the atmosphere of Woodallan was very restful. The drawing-room, decorated in pale blue and gold, and with the small fire adding a heart of warmth, was most peaceful. The charm of Woodallan went beyond mere wealth or good taste—it was so tempting to relax into it, but Sarah knew she could not afford to do so. She did not belong here.

‘You seem unaccountably determined to prolong my discomfiture, my lord,’ she observed, knowing that the colour still burned in her cheeks. ‘Generosity might prompt you to let the matter go now.’

‘Forgive me, there is a reason that I shall come to shortly.’ Guy sat forward, resting his chin on his hand. ‘I am sorry for listening to groundless gossip and still more sorry for acting on it, as I have said, but I confess I am puzzled as to the truth, Miss Sheridan. What can have prompted you to decide to travel to Blanchland, when you knew that to do so would cause such speculation?’

Sarah hesitated. She was terribly tempted to tell him the truth, but realised that this was only because she wanted him to think well of her again. Such a motive was hardly a good enough reason to give away the secret. If Guy could not trust her without proof, then she would not oblige him.

‘It is a family matter,’ she said evasively. ‘I am fulfilling a request from my late brother.’

Guy frowned a little. ‘Can you not be more specific, Miss Sheridan? I am trying to understand—’

Sarah shook her head. ‘I appreciate your concern, my lord, but it is a private matter. I have told no one, not even Amelia.’ She looked up and met his eyes. ‘She does not know the reason for my quest, but she is prepared to trust my judgement and accompany me, even so.’

‘Point taken, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy murmured. He got to his feet again and strolled over to the window. ‘But you must also take my point. Whilst your motives for travelling to Blanchland may be of the purest, the interpretation put on them will not be. It is inevitable that the world will make its own judgements. Miss Sheridan, if I could only prevail upon you to reconsider your visit? Could not your man of business undertake the commission to Blanchland? You could then stay here at Woodallan for a while and there would be no grounds for scandal…’

Sarah was tempted. The Blanchland visit had already caused so much trouble, and she had not even arrived. And to be able to stay at Woodallan would be blissful. She shook her head slowly. ‘Do not press me, sir. There is much appeal in your suggestion, but I cannot. My brother has asked me to undertake this quest personally and I shall do as he wished.’

Guy looked at her for a moment, but she did not retract her statement. He sighed. ‘Then you must also take the consequences, Miss Sheridan. Greville may not have put it most delicately when he told Lady Amelia she would be ruined, but he is in the right of it. Without the protection of his name, she will be reviled. And the same must apply to you.’

Sarah frowned. ‘I do not dispute the truth of your words, sir, but I am not surprised that Amelia quarrelled with Sir Greville over it! He was insufferably righteous, and to make an offer in such a manner is to beg a refusal! As for my own situation, I feel it is not as acute as Lady Amelia’s. I have no position in society to support—as a poor relation I have no prospects to ruin!’

‘You may choose to see yourself in that light, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said quietly, ‘but others will think differently. I myself…’ he hesitated ‘…I believe that you should consider…In short, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would do me the honour of marrying me.’

Sarah stared at him in total disbelief. ‘Are you mad, sir, or is this some ill-timed jest?’

Guy’s lips tightened angrily, though he was clearly trying to keep control of his temper. ‘Neither, madam! I saw it as a way out of your present difficulties—’

‘Thank you!’ Sarah was on her feet as well now, facing him across the room. ‘Despite my lack of prospects, I had not viewed marriage as a solution to my problems!’ She was astounded at the strength of her own anger. ‘Yesterday you told me that my behaviour suggested that I was some sort of trollop and you treated me as such! Scarcely the conduct of a man prepared for matrimony! Then today you suggest I marry you to provide a way out of an unfortunate predicament! Forgive me, my lord, if I do not fall into your arms with tears of gratitude!’

Guy winced. ‘I realise that this is not the way you might have wished it—’

‘Very true! I do not wish to hear this at all!’

‘Yet you should know that I have already given people to understand that we are shortly to become betrothed in order to protect your good name!’

Sarah looked at him in infuriated silence for a moment before bursting out, ‘You take too much upon yourself, my lord! Upon my word, of all the high-handed, arrogant, ill-conceived ideas—’

Guy closed the distance between them in two strides. He seemed amused rather than angered by Sarah’s outrage. ‘I am aware of your opinion of me, Miss Sheridan, but I believe you are being less than honest. Confess that you like me a little!’

Sarah glared up at him. ‘I shall not! Conceited, overbearing…’

She was incensed to see that Guy was actually grinning. He took her hands. ‘Come, come, Miss Sheridan, we could be here for some time at this rate! Say you will consider my proposal, at the least!’

Sarah’s treacherous heart did a little somersault. The warm touch of his fingers was distracting. ‘Certainly not, my lord!’

‘Then you force me to be less than chivalrous!’ He was drawing her closer. Sarah resisted, feeling her heart start to race.

‘It would be more surprising to find you behaving in a gentlemanly fashion, sir!’ The words came out more huskily than she intended. His proximity was having a disastrous effect. Sarah was suddenly aware of the intimate heat of the room, the sweet scent of lilies by the fireplace, the sensitivity of her skin beneath his touch…

‘Unfair, Miss Sheridan!’ Guy murmured in her ear. ‘Have I not just behaved in the most gallant manner possible? Alas that you force me to a point of clarification on our discussion earlier.’ His lips brushed her hair, causing Sarah to shiver. She desperately tried to step back but found that her limbs would not obey her.

‘Clarification, sir?’ Her words came out as a whisper.

‘Indeed. I wish you to know,’ Guy continued, ‘that when I apologised for my behaviour that night it was in relation to our argument and the unfounded accusations I made against you.’ He looked directly into her eyes. ‘I do not intend to apologise for…what came after.’

He was very close now. Sarah’s gaze moved involuntarily to the hard line of his jaw, his mouth…She felt herself turn hot all over and wrenched her gaze away, fixing it sternly on a potted palm in a corner of the room.

‘And yet I believe, my lord, that you were acting under a misapprehension…’

‘In a sense…I’ll allow I thought myself deceived and believed you…experienced. Yet my behaviour was very much in accordance with what I had wanted ever since I first saw you, Miss Sheridan…’

Sarah felt smothered by the heated atmosphere and her own emotions. Her heart was beating light and fast in her throat and she knew she had to put some distance between them, but she could not seem to break away from him. She could not be so weak as to fall under his spell again so soon, not when he had traduced her character and shown his lack of faith in her, then compounded his sins by a high-handed proposal that she could only refuse…

Guy let go of her hand, but only to draw her closer still, until their bodies were almost touching.

‘Deny that you felt the same way, too, Miss Sheridan. Deny it if you dare!’

‘I do deny it!’ Sarah wrenched herself free of him and backed away. She was utterly confused by the emotions he could stir up in her. ‘Tomorrow I shall leave here for Blanchland and you need not concern yourself with my affairs any further, my lord. It will no longer be any of your business!’

Guy’s expression was inscrutable. He made no move to touch her again, but his voice held her still when she would have run away. ‘You have made your feelings plain, Miss Sheridan. I must disappoint you, however. I have made this my business and I do not intend to disengage now. You may have as much time as you wish to get used to the idea, but the fact remains—you will marry me!’

Chapter Five

Dinner was a surprisingly good-humoured meal, considering that Sarah was avoiding Guy and Amelia and Greville were evidently not speaking to each other. The Earl and Countess took charge effortlessly, the former charming Amelia and the latter regaling Sarah with tales of her married daughters and their families. Guy and Greville fell to discussing horses, the food was excellent, and the meal passed without incident. It was only later, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, that the Earl took a seat beside Sarah and broached the delicate subject. They had chatted for a while about Sarah’s life in Bath, reminisced about earlier times and talked about developments in the Woodallan estate, before Sarah had unwisely remarked that the Earl must be glad to have his son and heir restored to him. Lord Woodallan smiled.

‘I must admit there were times when I thought I’d never see Guy again! I suppose he had to get rid of his restlessness before he was prepared to settle down. In my youth it was the Grand Tour and these days it is the War, but either way…’ He twinkled at her. ‘And now I find that he is all set for parson’s mousetrap, but the lady of his choice is not willing!’

Sarah blushed. ‘Sir—’

The Earl patted her clasped hands. ‘I know I am an interfering old man, but I only wished to say that nothing would make me happier than to see Jack Sheridan’s daughter take her place in due course as mistress of Woodallan.’

Sarah looked away. ‘Thank you, sir. I am sorry…there are difficulties…’

‘I guessed as much,’ the Earl said drily, ‘but perhaps they will resolve themselves more easily than you might think, Sarah! Just do not keep my scapegrace son waiting too long, I beg you. He may seem a rogue, but he has many sound qualities—I should know, for he inherits them all from me!’

The Earl of Woodallan’s study faced southwest, looking across the bowling-green and the formal parterre to the deer park and the Mendip Hills beyond. On this particular evening, the heavy brocade curtains were closed against the night and two lamps burned on the tables each side of the fire. Guy, who had just finished a game of billiards with Greville, found his father sitting in one of the armchairs, perusing a well-worn leather bound book. He invited his son to pour them both a drink.

‘Brandy for you, sir?’ Guy asked, crossing to the decanter and pouring a generous measure into the two cut glasses that stood there. He took one across to his father, noting the effort it seemed to cost the Earl simply to stretch out a hand for the glass. The Earl managed to conceal his weakness most of the time, but his son could see the changes that illness had wrought in him.

The Earl fixed Guy with his piercing dark gaze and said gruffly, ‘I meant it when I said I was glad to see you back in one piece, boy. I must admit there were times in the last four years when I wished you’d had a brother!’

Guy laughed. He sat down opposite his father, stretching his legs out towards the grate. A fire burned there and its warmth was comforting.

‘I am here now, sir, and don’t intend to go travelling again!’

The fierce black gaze looked him over. ‘You look well enough on it, I suppose,’ the Earl said. ‘A bad business, though. Must have had its nasty moments.’

‘Yes, sir, although there were none when I thought I would not see my home again!’

‘You were lucky,’ the Earl said unemotionally. ‘The quacks tell me I shouldn’t touch this stuff,’ he added, tilting the brandy glass to his lips with evident enjoyment, ‘but it makes no odds now.’

‘I expect it helps sometimes.’

The Earl gave him a sharp look. ‘No fool, are you, boy? You know I’m dying. No…’ he made a gesture as Guy shifted uncomfortably ‘…denials are for the women and the medical men. I know the truth. It’s one of the reasons I wanted you back here.’

‘Of course. You know that I will do anything in my power—’

The Earl put his glass down with a hand that was not quite steady. ‘There is something I have to ask of you, Guy, a particular commission before you can come home for good and settle down. Set up your nursery, perhaps.’ There was a glint of a smile. ‘It pains me to send you away no sooner than you arrive, but I have no choice.’

Guy made a slight gesture, at a loss. ‘Name your commission, sir. I will undertake it.’

‘In a moment.’ The Earl turned aside, picking a letter from the table at his elbow. ‘Tell me, what is the nature of the quarrel between you and Miss Sarah Sheridan?’

Guy met his father’s quizzical gaze. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I do not wish to discuss it. It is…a personal matter.’

‘I see,’ the Earl said slowly. ‘Can it be anything to do with her intention to return to her home at Blanchland? I take it that that is her destination tomorrow?’

Guy jumped. Some brandy spilled. From early childhood his father had had an uncanny knack of reading his mind and the young Guy had sometimes wondered whether the Earl had supernatural powers. Their eyes met. Guy had always found it impossible to lie to his father.

‘Devil take it, sir, how can you possibly know that? I cannot believe that Miss Sheridan would have mentioned it—’

‘She did not,’ the Earl confirmed with a smile. ‘In point of fact, she refused to tell me the difficulties that afflict your relationship. I take it that I am correct in thinking that you wish to marry the lady?’

Guy grinned reluctantly at his father’s perspicacity. ‘Yes, sir. You mentioned earlier that you wished to see me settle down…Well, almost as soon as I met Miss Sheridan I had such thoughts, for all that I had known her so short a while.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘They were thoughts quite alien to the lifestyle of a rake!’

‘It happens to us all sooner or later,’ his father said drily. ‘But you quarrelled—over Blanchland?’

Guy shifted slightly again. ‘More or less. I thought that her decision to go there reflected ill on her character and judgement. I said some terrible things to her, for which I am truly ashamed. When I had had chance to reconsider, I realised that I might have misjudged her, and apologised. But still she refuses to tell me the reason for her decision—’

‘I believe that I may throw some light on that,’ the Earl said, surprisingly. ‘You had better read this letter now.’

Guy took the proffered sheets with a certain curiosity. He had no notion what to expect, but now he saw that it was in a gentleman’s hand and read the signature as that of Francis Sheridan. He remembered Sarah telling him that her quest to Blanchland was in connection with her brother and frowned.

‘But Frank Sheridan…’

‘Yes, he has been dead these three years,’ the Earl agreed readily. ‘Unusual, is it not! There was a covering note from the lawyer…’ He passed it over.

Julius Churchward’s note was brief and to the point. A situation had arisen that had prompted him to send the enclosed letter to the Earl. He was confident that the letter from Lord Sheridan would be self-explanatory, but he felt that he should add that Miss Sarah Sheridan had also been given a letter from her late brother. He remained his lordship’s humble servant, etcetera. Guy raised his eyebrows.

‘As clear as day!’

The Earl laughed. ‘Read the letter, Guy.’

Guy settled back in his chair and scanned the sheets with close interest.

Dear Sir

I am conscious that you will find it most odd in me to be communicating with you from beyond the grave, but I find I must. I am compelled to contact you to ask that you do me a service, not for my own sake—I know your feelings on that matter only too well!—but for the sake of my sister, and indeed to aid your own grandchild.

Guy looked up, his gaze suddenly startled, but the Earl’s expression was hooded. ‘Finish the letter, boy.’

At the time of writing, Miss Meredith is fifteen years old and attending a seminary in Oxford. She is a pretty, behaved girl who has never caused either myself or her adoptive parents any concern. I have no reason to suppose that she will not progress from her school to make a suitable and entirely respectable marriage in the fullness of time. I only wish I had the means to ensure it. Unhappily I cannot. I am dying and I am aware that that will leave Miss Meredith and her parents without the security that my family has been able to provide, albeit at a distance, for all of her life.

I could think of only one plan. I have instructed Dr Meredith and his wife that if ever their daughter is in great need, they should contact Julius Churchward. They are good people and I am persuaded would only resort to this if the need was genuine and severe. Once Churchward receives any communication from them, he is to contact Sarah and acquaint her with the problem.

I have thought much about asking my sister to go to the aid of my natural daughter. It is most irregular. I should, of course, have made the request to you directly, sir, but the truth is that I did not dare. You made your feelings for me quite plain all those years ago and even now I know that you cannot forgive me.

But now I am beseeching you, for the sake of the love you bear Sarah as her godfather, to stand her friend. Her innate goodness will prompt her to do what is right, but she may be in need of protection. And I commend Miss Meredith to you as an innocent child who does not deserve to suffer for her father’s faults. Forgive me for my presumption. I can only add that if you see fit to answer my request I will be forever thanking you for your kindness.

Francis Sheridan.

Guy put down the pages of closely written words and reached for the brandy decanter again.

‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Miss Sheridan goes to Blanchland at her brother’s request to aid his natural daughter.’ He met his father’s sardonic gaze. ‘What do you wish to tell me about the detail of this letter, sir?’

The Earl gave a rueful shrug. ‘How do you read it?’

Guy’s gaze narrowed. ‘That you have a grandchild whom, for reasons of which I am unaware, you have chosen not to acknowledge. To say that I am astounded would be to understate the case. And if Frank Sheridan was her father, then who—?’

‘You have—you had—three sisters, Guy.’

‘Yes, but—’ Guy was aware that he sounded incredulous ‘—you imply that Catherine had Frank Sheridan’s child? But she was only sixteen when she died…She died of a fever—’

‘Childbirth fever,’ the Earl said heavily. Suddenly he looked old and tired. ‘You had no idea, Guy?’

‘Not the least in the world!’ Guy put his glass down. His head was spinning. He had only been twelve when his elder sister had died and had never questioned that the family tragedy had hidden a catastrophe of even greater proportions. It seemed incredible.

‘I can scarce believe it,’ he said slowly. ‘But surely…I mean…could they not have married? Sheridan was wild, but he was not an unsuitable match. Surely he would not have abandoned her!’

The Earl shook his head slowly. ‘That is at the root of the whole tragedy, Guy. Catherine did not tell anyone until near the end and none of us even guessed. Looking back I cannot believe that we were so blind, but it was so. Oh, we knew that she had a tendre for him—Frank Sheridan could charm the birds from the trees—but we had no notion that it had gone any further! Why, she was only sixteen and the sweetest child—’ He broke off. ‘And by the time we found out, Sheridan had set off on one of his harebrained trips abroad. The babe was born and Catherine died whilst he was away.’

Guy stared into the glowing heart of the fire. ‘What happened when Frank Sheridan returned?’

The Earl’s face was in shadow. ‘There was the most appalling scene, as you might imagine. He stood over there—’ the Earl nodded towards the fireplace ‘—paper-white and shaking, and swore that he had not known, that he would have married her. But, of course, it was all too late. I called him a blackguard and a cad, and threatened to have him horsewhipped from the house. I never spoke to him again, to the day he died.’

‘And the child?’

The Earl looked away. ‘I am ashamed to say that I allowed Jack Sheridan to take her away and to make all the arrangements. I could not forgive her, innocent as she was, for robbing us of our daughter’s life. I knew she was well provided for—Jack made sure of it, but to my shame I never wanted to know more.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I believe that your mother would have acted differently, had I permitted it, but I was bitter and sick with anger. Even now, when this arrived—’ he tapped the letter ‘—I was in two minds about how to act. I was tempted to burn it and forget about it for another seventeen years!’

‘What made you change your mind, sir?’

‘Two things,’ the Earl said bleakly. ‘Firstly, your mother told me plain that it was my bounden duty to help my goddaughter. And then, of course, Sarah arrived here.’ He met his son’s eyes. ‘When I realised that she was prepared to do what I was not, for the sake of her brother’s child, I felt ashamed. And also…’ a smile warmed his voice for the first time ‘…she is all the things that Frank Sheridan was not. She is good and true and brave, and I do not believe we should let her go to Blanchland alone!’

Guy got up to put another log on the fire. He stirred it to a blaze before he replied. ‘How much of this story do you think Miss Sheridan knows, sir?’

‘Very little, I imagine,’ the Earl said. ‘Jack Sheridan swore that neither he nor his son would ever burden Sarah with the tale, nor do I think they would bring shame on Catherine’s name in such a way. And that is why—’ he leaned forward, suddenly urgent ‘—you must find Miss Meredith before Sarah ever sets eyes on her!’

Guy frowned. ‘I collect that you do not wish Sarah to be aware of my sister’s part in this?’

‘Absolutely not! No one must ever know! It must remain a secret!’

Guy shook his head slowly. ‘I do not like the sound of this, sir. You must be more plain. What is it that you wish me to do?’

The Earl brought his fist down hard. ‘Find the girl! Buy her off! Persuade her to go away! The difficulties she finds herself in may well be pecuniary and she may be open to persuasion! Do whatever you have to, to keep the matter a secret!’

Guy looked at his father in bafflement. ‘You set me a strange task, sir,’ he said wryly. ‘I have never seen you act in such a way before. Are you sure that this is what you truly want? And as for deceiving the woman I wish to marry before the knot is even tied—it does not augur well for my future happiness!’

‘And yet I must ask it of you, Guy,’ his father said, fixing him with his fierce, dark gaze. ‘It must be done. Catherine’s memory must not be despoiled.’

They talked long into the night but Guy was unable to persuade his father to change his mind.

It was impossible to travel on to Blanchland the following morning. The rain of the previous day had frozen in deep ruts overnight, making the roads impassable.

‘Another day and the frost will be hard enough for you to travel,’ the Countess said cheerfully as she came to Sarah’s room to acquaint her with the news. ‘Or else it will thaw again and you can be on your way! But for the meantime, Sarah dear, I am very happy for you to prolong your stay!’

Sarah herself had mixed feelings. Having got so close to her destination, the waiting was hard to bear. Then there was the prospect of another day in Guy’s company when she would far rather put some distance between them. And then there was the fact, which she would admit only to herself, that although half of her wanted to run away from him, the other half found him all too attractive.

She was spared Guy’s company in the morning, however, for the gentlemen had gone out for an early ride and were not expected back before luncheon. Lady Woodallan, recognising a kindred spirit in Amelia, bore her off to inspect the still room, so Sarah was left to her own devices. This did not trouble her. She spent a happy hour reacquainting herself with Lord Woodallan’s extensive library collection, then turned her attention to the glass cases containing an assortment of semiprecious stones that he had collected on his travels abroad. Here was the brilliant deep blue of the lapis lazuli that had so fascinated her as a child, the pale green of the peridot and the deep amber of the tiger’s eye, flecked with gold.

The walls of the library were furnished with family portraits and Sarah paused on her way out to consider the large family grouping over the fireplace. Here was a younger Earl and Countess of Woodallan, smiling proudly as their four children played about their feet. Guy looked stiff and self-conscious in his child’s velvet suit and Sarah smiled a little. His younger sisters Emma and Clara, the latter barely more than a baby, sat on the floor at their feet, but the eldest girl stood shyly by her mother’s chair. She must have been a couple of years older than Guy, Sarah thought, and she looked grave but with a smile breaking through. Sarah frowned, trying to remember her name. Catherine. She had died when Sarah was only seven and Sarah had no clear memory of her.

Sarah moved on to pictures of Lady Emma and Lady Clara as debutantes, both fair-haired, brown-eyed and heartbreakingly lovely. The Woodallan looks were very distinctive, Sarah thought. She remembered them both with fondness as having a great sense of fun and thought with regret that it would have been very pleasant to accept Lady Woodallan’s invitation and return for Christmas, when both daughters and their respective families were expected.

That, of course, was not the only proposal that had been made to her. And there to remind her was a portrait of Guy in his early twenties. The artist had captured brilliantly the wicked twinkle in those brown eyes and the unconsciously arrogant tilt to his chin. He looked strikingly handsome and Sarah’s heart contracted a little.

She went out into the hall, closing the library door quietly behind her. The sun had come out and Sarah decided that she would take a walk before luncheon. She picked up her cloak, donned her boots and went out into the morning air.

A quick tour of the gardens took her through the parterre and downhill towards the fields that bordered the trout stream. Sarah leant over and dabbled her fingers in the crystal clear water, finding it icy. There was no danger of lingering outdoors today, for an easterly wind made Lady Woodallan’s predictions of a hard frost seem very likely.

‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan.’ Sarah turned to see Guy leaning on a five-bar gate a few yards away. He must have moved very quietly; she had not heard his approach. ‘Did you fancy sledging down the hill as we did as children?’

Sarah laughed. ‘I do not believe there is sufficient snow, my lord! The last time we tried that there were drifts five foot deep!’

‘I remember!’ Guy pushed the gate open and strode through to join her. ‘I borrowed a tray from the kitchen and found it ran faster than the proper sledge!’

‘And you finished head down in a drift and Clara screamed and screamed because she thought you were dead!’

They laughed together.

‘Perhaps we might try again when you return to Woodallan for Christmas,’ Guy said, as they turned back towards the house. ‘There is bound to be further snowfall before then. Indeed, I believe we are in for quite a cold snap!’

‘So your mother was saying.’ Sarah pushed her hands into the fur muff and shivered a little. ‘I would not wish you to forget, however, that I have made no commitment to return for Christmas!’

‘Of course.’ Guy’s smile was rueful. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sheridan! It was my own hopes that were speaking! I do most ardently wish that you will stay a little at Woodallan after your quest to Blanchland is completed.’

‘I shall see,’ Sarah said cautiously. ‘Shall we walk back, sir? It is too cold to tarry here!’

‘By all means.’ Guy fell into step beside her as they turned back up the hill. ‘What are your impressions of Woodallan after all these years, Miss Sheridan? Does it bring back happy memories for you?’

Sarah paused. They were skirting a huge oak that stood alone in the middle of the meadow. In the summers long ago she had scrambled up into its spreading branches and sat feeling the sway of the tree in the breeze. Clara and Emma had been too scared to climb so high and Lady Sheridan had scolded her daughter for being a tomboy.

‘Sometimes it is a mistake to go back, my lord.’

Guy’s hand was on her arm. ‘But if the past could also be the future, Miss Sheridan…?’

Sarah felt terribly tempted. To regain so much, to return to a place that held such happy memories…But the one thing that she really wanted—Guy’s love—was not part of the bargain. His charm and kindness to her were dangerous, drawing her in again, stirring up feelings she wanted to forget, making her vulnerable. Many, more practical than she, would settle for such an advantageous marriage of convenience. Perhaps, Sarah thought, she might have done so herself were her feelings not engaged. But the thought of Guy with another woman in his arms made her feel quite sick. If she bore his name, she could not bear to lose him.

Sarah turned away abruptly and walked on.

‘There is something I need to tell you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said, after a moment. ‘It concerns your trip to Blanchland. Would you care to discuss it here, or wait until we are back in the house?’

‘Perhaps it would be better to talk as we walk back, my lord.’

‘To avoid another uncomfortable tête-à-tête?’ Guy gave her an ironic smile. ‘Have no fear, Miss Sheridan! Even I am not so lost to all sense of propriety as to try to seduce you in my parents’ house! However, if you wish, we shall talk of it now. The cold air is death to strong passion, after all!’

Sarah blushed angrily. ‘Did you have some material point to make, my lord?’

‘Indeed!’ Guy stretched lazily, then drove his hands into his coat pockets. Sarah hastily averted her eyes. Such blatant masculinity at such close quarters was decidedly unsettling.

‘I have to tell you that I am to accompany you to Blanchland,’ Guy continued. He smiled at Sarah’s evident annoyance. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sheridan, but my father wills it so and I am sure you would not wish to disappoint him!’

‘I thought that you said you would not tell your parents of my destination,’ Sarah said crossly. She regarded him with suspicion. ‘There is something very strange about this, my lord! Do you care to explain?’

‘Very well,’ Guy said obligingly. ‘I believe that you received a letter from your late brother asking you to offer your aid to a certain young lady. The request necessitated you travelling to Blanchland. My father received a similar letter asking that he offer you all support in your search. Unfortunately he is too ill to undertake the obligation, so he has asked me to do so in his place. So I will be journeying to Blanchland with you, Miss Sheridan!’ He held the gate open for her to walk through into the gardens. ‘I am sure you cannot be pleased—’

‘No, indeed! It is most unfortunate!’

Guy’s ironic smile deepened. ‘Thank you, Miss Sheridan!’

‘Oh!’ Sarah caught herself. ‘Indeed, I am very grateful to Lord Woodallan for offering me assistance, but truly there is no need—’

‘You waste your breath if you seek to dissuade me, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said drily. ‘My father is adamant and I must do as he wishes.’

They walked on a little in silence. The winter wind was chill with an edge of sleet to it now.

‘If you were to consult your own inclination rather than your duty—’ Sarah began.

‘Then the answer would still be the same. I am at your disposal!’

Sarah gave an angry sigh. ‘Frank should not have burdened Lord Woodallan with such a commission!’

‘I agree with you,’ Guy said readily. ‘I also believe that your brother must have felt he had placed you in an invidious position, not to say an irregular one! He was appealing to Lord Woodallan as your godfather and the person who could offer you protection. Had he known that Blanchland had become a house of ill fame I am persuaded he would never have laid such a charge on you!’ He shrugged. ‘As it is, I am astonished you accepted the obligation!’

Sarah pulled the brim of her bonnet closer about her face to protect her from the sting of the wind. ‘I know it must seem most singular,’ she admitted, ‘and, to own the truth, I did not wish to do so! But Frank has asked it and the girl is my niece whether I like it or not, so…’ Her voice trailed away. She was not sure whether she was glad or otherwise of Guy’s support in the matter. Had it been Lord Woodallan, as Frank had intended, she would have accepted his help unequivocally. But Guy was a different matter and now Frank’s actions had made it impossible for her to keep him at a distance.

‘How do you intend to present your case to Sir Ralph?’ Guy asked, watching lazily as doubt and worry chased each other swiftly across Sarah’s expressive face. They were approaching the door of the house now. ‘Do you intend to reveal the whole to him?’

Sarah bit her lip. Guy seemed to have a talent for hitting on precisely the matters that concerned her. She still had not decided how to tackle that problem, uncertain whether to take Sir Ralph into her confidence or not. Sarah’s heart sank as she realised how ill prepared she was for the whole venture. What thoughts she had had since leaving Bath had been all to do with Guy himself and nothing to do with Olivia Meredith at all!

‘I have not really decided…’ She knew she sounded vague. ‘I confess I need more time to fashion a tale…Oh, dear,’ she finished, despairing, ‘was there ever such an ill-thought-out enterprise!’

Guy’s lips twitched. ‘My dear Miss Sheridan, can I not persuade you to change your mind, even at this eleventh hour? Despite my reluctance, I am willing to stand your friend and go to Blanchland on your behalf!’

For a moment, Sarah was tempted. To wash her hands of the whole matter was very appealing, but she had not persisted this far in order to turn back now.

‘Thank you, sir. It is a generous offer, but I feel I must go myself.’

‘You are very obstinate, Miss Sheridan!’ Without warning, Guy stopped and took her hands in his. ‘Obstinate, difficult, determined to cause a scandal—’

‘I will thank you to be quiet, my lord!’ Sarah was pink with indignation. She dropped the muff and could not free herself to pick it up again. ‘Let me go! Someone will see us!’

Guy shrugged. ‘Very probably! I cannot say that the thought disturbs me!’

‘Oh!’ Sarah tried disengage herself again. Guy refused to let go.

‘You yourself,’ Sarah said furiously, ‘are arrogant and high-handed—’

‘I believe you have already told me, Miss Sheridan!’ Guy was smiling down at her with the wicked amusement that always made Sarah’s pulse race.

‘If you are to accompany me to Blanchland, I trust that you will behave with decorum, my lord!’

‘I think that that is very unlikely. You had best be prepared for the worst!’ Guy turned her hand over and pressed a kiss on the palm. ‘Do not forget,’ he said caressingly, ‘that I still have to persuade you to accept my hand in marriage. I shall be doing my utmost to convince you!’

Sarah wrenched her hands away, knowing she was trembling violently. It was intolerable that he should have such an effect on her!

‘Pray do not persist in this ridiculous jest, my lord! We both know you cannot mean it!’

‘Never more serious, I assure you, Miss Sheridan! As I said yesterday, you will have time to become accustomed to the idea.’ Guy was laughing at her. ‘What you will not have is the chance to refuse me!’

Sarah drew breath for a scathing retort but broke off as the door swung open to reveal the butler, his expression as wooden as the door panels. ‘Luncheon is served, my lord. Miss Sheridan,’ he bowed politely, bending to retrieve the muff, ‘allow me, madam—’

But he was talking to thin air. With a fulminating glance, Sarah had stalked off, leaving Guy still grinning as he watched her indignant figure walk out of sight.

After lunch the sleet turned to light snow that lay like icing across the parkland.

‘Oh, how pretty!’ Amelia exclaimed, as she stood by Sarah in the library and looked out across the hills. ‘If it continues like this, I fear we may have to stay some time!’

Sarah looked exasperated. ‘It is only five miles to Blanchland, Milly! If the worst comes to the worst, I shall walk there tomorrow!’

Amelia’s face fell. ‘Would you not prefer to stay at Woodallan, Sarah? It is so pleasant—’

‘Of course I would rather stay here!’ Sarah said crossly. ‘How could I possibly favour Blanchland over this? The fact is that I have lost a week already since the letter arrived and—’

She broke off, remembering that Amelia was not party to the letter’s contents. Amelia gave her a curious look.

‘Is time a material factor then? I had not realised.’

‘No, I am sorry.’ Sarah looked shamefaced. ‘I did not say…’

Amelia pressed her hand. ‘Time enough for you to tell me all about it when you are ready.’ She gave Sarah a penetrating look. ‘I understand, however, that Lord Renshaw accompanies us?’

Sarah felt the telltale blush creep into her cheeks. ‘So I am told. It was not at my instigation!’

Amelia raised her eyebrows. ‘On his own inclination, then—’

‘No!’ Sarah realised she sounded too vehement and tried to calm down. ‘That is, he tells me that Frank wrote to Lord Woodallan, asking him to help me in my quest. Unfortunately, the Earl is too ill to accompany us, so…’ She shrugged.

‘So Lord Renshaw comes instead!’ Amelia frowned. ‘Are you sure about this, Sarah? It sounds all a hum to me!’

Now it was Sarah’s turn to frown. ‘Whatever can you mean? Of course I am sure!’

‘Only that it seems a little odd. I am not sure why, but…’

‘Yet it must be so. Guy—Lord Renshaw,’ Sarah corrected herself meticulously, ‘knew of the purpose of my visit, and that can only have come from Frank’s letter.’

Amelia shrugged lightly. ‘As you say, my love. I must surely be making a mystery out of nothing!’ She moved across to the writing box. ‘Now, since it is not really the weather to go out, I shall write some letters.’

‘I’ll sit with you and read a book,’ Sarah said, selecting one from the shelves. She settled in an armchair beside the roaring fire, and for a time there was no sound but for the pages turning softly and the scratch of Amelia’s nib on the paper. Sarah, however, was hardly concentrating. Amelia’s words had raised some doubts in her mind, yet she was unsure what it was that disturbed her. Never mind—tomorrow she would reach Blanchland at last and unravel the mystery of Olivia Meredith.

Dinner was another very pleasant meal and was followed by charades and card-playing before bedtime. Lady Woodallan was chatting to Amelia as they ascended the stairs and it was completely by chance that Sarah, trailing a little behind, heard the conversation between father and son in the hall below.

‘You have told her that you will go, then,’ Lord Woodallan was saying as he lit the remaining candles to see them up to bed.

‘I have, sir.’ Guy sounded a little grim.

‘But not the rest? Not about—?’

‘No. It is as you wished.’

‘Good.’ Woodallan sounded relieved. ‘Then you will see to it, Guy. Find Miss Meredith—and make sure that Miss Sheridan does not—’

Guy glanced up at that moment and Sarah shrank back into the darkness at the top of the stairs. Her mind was racing as she puzzled over what she had heard. So what Guy had told her was true, but only up to a point—his father did want him to accompany her to Blanchland, but not simply to give her his aid! Apparently he had his own reasons for wishing to find Olivia, and she was not to be made aware of them…

‘Sarah!’ Amelia called, a little impatiently. ‘Where are you? I am waiting to say goodnight!’

She yawned widely as Sarah hurried up the remaining few steps, then gave her cousin an affectionate peck on the cheek. ‘Sleep well, my love!’

But Sarah tossed and turned for over an hour as she tried to work out what connection the Woodallan family might have with Olivia Meredith and, more importantly, why she should not be privy to it. Her musings shed no light, however, and in the end she fell asleep, to dream that she was chasing a fair-haired girl across the park at Blanchland, but, just before she reached her, the girl disappeared.

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