A Worthy Gentleman

‘And you—will you return?’

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

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

‘Oh, yes, considerably better.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do you play the pianoforte?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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