The Marriage Truce

Sarah Chandler stood in one corner of Lady Henslowe’s ballroom, partially hidden by a Grecian column entwined with ivy and silk flowers, and wished, not for the first time this evening, that she could go home. Pleading a headache and quitting the ball would, however, be all too obvious.

The only redeeming factor was no one had quarrelled, at least publicly. But the air was thick with unspoken tensions. It hardly helped that the ballroom had somehow become divided into two sides which resembled nothing as much as two armies preparing for battle. The Chandler relations stood on one side near the tall double doors leading into the hallway, and the St Clairs on the opposite side near the doors leading to the garden. The rest of the guests chose the other two walls with a few brave souls meandering between the two. The only thing that would make it worse was if her brother, Nicholas, was present. Thank goodness, he was safely in Scotland.

She looked over at the dancers and picked out Adam, her second cousin, gracefully executing the steps of a quadrille with his betrothed. From the way they gazed into each other’s eyes, it was apparent they were deeply in love. How unfortunate that Lady Jessica’s brother undoubtedly detested the Chandlers more than anyone on earth. At least Adam was only a cousin. It would be much worse if Lady Jessica was marrying into Sarah’s own family. But of course, Lord Huntington would probably send his sister to a convent before he would allow such a thing.

She glanced over at the St Clair wall. For once he wasn’t staring at her, thank goodness. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, regarding the company with a faintly amused look on his darkly handsome face as if he found the ball a source of sardonic amusement. Of course, he had had a similar expression on his face nearly every time she saw him in London last month, so that was nothing unusual. Certainly the tensions seemed to affect him not at all. But neither had the speculations and stares cast his way in London.

Sarah would have thought him completely indifferent except that once or twice she caught an expression on his face that was oddly vulnerable, despite his cool stance. And then had experienced the most insane desire to approach him. But of course, he would only have walked away from her.

As if sensing her interest, he turned his head and looked at her. His mouth curved in a slow, rather wicked smile that made her feel vulnerable. She flushed and forced her gaze to a spot over his left shoulder, trying to pretend she found something there quite fascinating before looking away. For not the first time, she wondered why Adam must fall in love with Lord Huntington’s sister. She only prayed Huntington wouldn’t feel obligated to visit the Henslowe estate very often.

‘Sarah, are you hiding again?’

Sarah started. Her cousin, Amelia, Lady Marleigh, appeared at her side. She was tall and blonde with a slender graceful figure, and a pair of lively blue eyes. ‘Not that I blame you. ’Tis the most dreadful ball I have ever attended. I’ve never seen a group with such dismal faces.’

‘I know. It’s rather like the air before a thunderstorm. The clouds are gathering and the air is still and sticky and one is just waiting for the storm to break and clear the air.’

‘What do you think the storm will be? A duel, perhaps?’

Sarah made a face. ‘No, please not that! I don’t think I could bear another duel!’

‘Well, perhaps we should go and stand with the St Clairs. That would certainly create a diversion. Perhaps by Lady Beatrice. She looks extremely displeased. Or…’ Amelia’s vivid blue eyes sparkled with sudden mischief. ‘We could have Lord Henslowe present you to Huntington as his next partner.’

‘No, thank you!’ Sarah nearly shuddered at the thought. ‘He’d probably just look at me in his odious way and walk off.’ Or, worse, accept and she’d be forced to spend an entire set with his sardonic gaze and confusing remarks. Such as the time in London when Lady Ralston made the grave error of seating her next to him at dinner. Or the time she’d backed into him at a rout where he’d looked down his arrogant nose at her while she stammered an apology. She still cringed at the memory.

‘Are you certain? He’s been staring at you all evening. Just as he did in London. Even John said something and he is so terribly dense at noticing such things.’ A mischievous smile crossed her face. ‘I sometimes wonder if Lord Huntington has a tendre for you.’

‘That is the most ridiculous notion,’ Sarah snapped. ‘In fact, he quite detests me. Not that I can fault him.’

Amelia rolled her eyes. ‘How perfectly idiotic! I will admit, I find this whole quarrel tedious. Certainly the affair was very dreadful, but it happened nearly two years ago. I can understand why he wants nothing to do with Nicholas, but with you? You had nothing to do with it.’

Sarah looked away. Amelia was wrong, she had everything to do with it. If she hadn’t invited Mary to stay with her, if she hadn’t been so worried about Mama, if she hadn’t been so naïve, perhaps things would have turned out differently. As it was, every time she saw Huntington, she felt the same regret and guilt all over again.

Amelia shut her fan. ‘Well, you would be better off with Huntington than with Cedric Blanton. I fear he’s about to ask you for another dance. If you stand up with him one more time, everyone will consider you practically betrothed.’

‘Oh, dear.’ She turned and saw that Amelia was right, Cedric Blanton was heading in their direction.

A rather florid man in his early thirties, he had recently bought a small estate nearby nearly a year ago. From the first time she met him at a dinner party, he had made his interest in her quite clear. He had even appeared in London when she had been there for a month visiting Amelia and her husband John. She found his conversations annoying. She did her best to avoid him, but tonight had been difficult.

‘Since you cannot bring yourself to snub him, I think you should make your escape,’ Amelia said. ‘Go. I will keep him occupied with my witty conversation.’

Sarah cast her a grateful look and started around the edge of the ballroom. The best route of escape looked to be towards the double French doors leading to the veranda. Unfortunately, it was also the St Clair wall, but perhaps if she hurried past no one would notice her, or at least she wouldn’t notice them. She had just arrived at the enemy wall when a plump elderly woman stepped in front of her.

Sarah side-stepped in order to avoid standing on the lady’s foot. Instead, she landed squarely on a masculine shoe fastened with a shiny buckle. She glanced quickly up at the tall figure standing before her. ‘I beg your…’ The words died on her lips when she saw the man’s face.

Lord Huntington looked as startled as she felt and then his brow shot up in his arrogant fashion. ‘Miss Chandler, I am beginning to think you desire a more intimate acquaintance with me.’

‘You are quite wrong,’ Sarah snapped.

‘Then why do you persist in stepping into me?’

‘I could ask why you persist in standing in my way.’

His gaze roved over her face in a careless fashion that made her flush. ‘Perhaps because I desire a more intimate acquaintance with you.’

He was doing what he always did, making some sort of suggestive remark that erased any sympathy she might have felt, and flustered and irritated her at the same time.

She gave him her most quelling look. ‘I fear you are merely attempting to annoy me, my lord.’

‘Why would I wish to do that?’

‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps you could let me pass.’

‘I could. However, are you certain it is safe?’

‘Now what do you mean?’

His smile was most annoying. ‘This appears to be the St Clair side of the room. Perhaps you should retrace your steps and take the, er…safer route. Not to mention that our host seems to disapprove of your conversing with me.’

She glanced around and saw that Lord Henslowe was indeed watching them with his most thunderous look. She turned away, feeling even more impatient. ‘This is the most ridiculous…. really, there is no reason why anyone shouldn’t take whichever side of the room they want. Or speak with whomever they choose.’

His brow rose again. ‘Does that mean you are here because you wish to talk to me?’

‘No! Must you…’ Over his shoulder she saw Cedric had broken away from Amelia and was peering around the room. He caught sight of her and started in her direction. ‘Please excuse me, I cannot stand here trading nonsense with you.’

Huntington still watched her in that lazy way that made her want to hit him. ‘Then perhaps you would consider continuing the, er, nonsense while we danced.’

Her mouth fell open and hot colour rushed to her cheeks. ‘I…I pray you will not tease me in such a fashion.’ She backed away. ‘I…I really must find my…my grandfather.’ She dashed away towards the open doors leading to the veranda and had no idea whether it was Huntington or Blanton that she wanted to escape most.

Dev watched Sarah Chandler brush through the double doors that opened on the veranda. She was looking for Lord Monteville in the garden? She would do better to try the card room.

He frowned. What the hell came over him every time he saw her? He had no idea why he wanted to tease her out of the wary disapproval with which she regarded him. Or bring a blush to her lovely cheeks. If he had an ounce of sense, he’d stay out of her way. Certainly, from the horrified look on her face when he suggested she dance with him, she fervently wished he would.

‘At daggers drawn again, I see. Now, what devilish thing did you say to Miss Chandler to cause her to run off?’ His cousin Lord Jeremy Pennington, appeared at his side.

Dev quirked a brow. ‘I merely asked her to stand up with me.’

‘Not quite the usual reaction to such a request from you. Not that I blame her. You seem determined to needle her.’

‘I cannot help it if she regards me as the devil incarnate.’

Jeremy glanced at him. ‘She has nothing to do with her brother’s sins.’

‘No.’

‘I don’t suppose you would consider some sort of reconciliation? It’s bound to make things a trifle awkward now with Jessica and Adam.’

Dev shrugged. ‘Even if I should wish that, I doubt if Miss Chandler would agree.’