A Worthy Gentleman

‘I hope it does not displease you?’

‘No, of course not. Why should it?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘He is, one imagines, quite wealthy?’

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

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

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