Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow

‘Then I will accept your kind offer, my lord.’

It was hardly a romantic basis for a marriage, but he inclined his head in stern agreement. He would not smile! ‘Thank you, Mrs Russell. And how long do you envisage for this writing of compatible lists?’

‘I would like a week in which to consider it, my lord. If that is to your liking.’

‘Very well. You shall have a week to decide on my fitness to be your husband.’

Ignoring this deliberate provocation, suspecting his amusement at her expense, Sarah immediately turned to go, the business completed, but he stopped her, his voice gentle yet still commanding. ‘Will you allow me to do one thing, madam? To seal our agreement?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘I would like to kiss your fingers.’ Her lips, he decided, with some degree of disappointment, were clearly beyond bounds here.

‘Why…yes…if you wish it, sir.’

Never had he approached so reluctant a lady. But nothing deterred, he bowed with due and solemn courtesy before her and, when she placed her hand in his, he raised it to his lips in the most formal of gestures. Her skin was cool and soft beneath the warmth of his mouth. ‘You are very practical, Mrs Russell. It would not do to embark on a liaison that stood little chance of success. I shall pray for compatibility.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ He was laughing at her! Her brows twitched together in suspicion.

He really would have to stop her inclination to use such formality — but perhaps not yet. ‘Perhaps we shall deal well together, madam.’ He took the opportunity to capture her other hand, to kiss those fingers as well.

‘It would be my wish, my lord. I would not desire you to be dissatisfied with the results of your most generous offer.’ The colour deepened with her reply. If she had but realised, he thought, it was a very sad little comment on her experience of life. He found himself reluctant to release her hands after all.

But Sarah drew away. ‘If you will excuse me, sir, Beth will be waiting for me for her lesson.’

‘And what is it to be today?’ He tried to lighten the tension between them.

‘French, my lord.’

‘Of course. Then I should say “Merci et au revoir, Madame Russell”.’

At some time during the following week Lord Faringdon sat down at his desk with a sheet of blank paper before him. For some inexplicable female reason, Sarah Russell wanted a contract between them. He supposed that he must give it some thought before the eleventh hour. What on earth would she expect from him? She had said that they should write what they hoped for from the match.

Be practical! That was what she would expect. Mrs Russell was a very practical lady. With his black brows drawn into a forbidding line, his lordship selected a pen and without a heading to the sheet wrote for a minute in forceful black script.

To undertake and oversee the running of my houses in London, Richmond and Yorkshire. Also my rented property in Paris.

He looked at it. That was good. Then:

To care for and be a mother to my daughter Celestine.

Fine! He had spoken to her about these two issues after all.

Now what? He could think of nothing more and, in a similar frustrated fashion to that experienced by his beleaguered housekeeper, threw down the pen with disgust. It read like the dry and formal words of a lawyer rather than the tender desires of a prospective husband! Lord Faringdon poured a glass of port and sipped it, contemplating the blank space on the page, selecting and discarding ideas. To allay some of the scandal in my life by providing me with a new bride? A flippant comment, he decided, and an empty hope. Marriage would not necessarily still wagging tongues. So no point in adding it. To warm my bed at night? As his wife, she would, of course. He had no intention of entering into a marriage that was in name only. So why include it?

He looked at the sheet, an accusatory stare. A poor attempt, but he could do no better. He finished the port and abandoned the attempt with a sigh of relief. After all, he still had two more days before he must enter into negotiations with Mrs Russell. Perhaps he would think of something before then.

One week from their previous discussion they met as arranged, for Lord Faringdon at an unacceptably early hour in the morning. Mrs Russell presented herself in the library, all business, to discuss the matter of the proposed personal contract. He would not guess at the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath the discreetly high neck of her gown.

‘Well, Mrs Russell. Our contract.’ He glanced down at the sheet of paper tucked beneath the blotter on his desk, the content of which had given him so much difficulty. There was little to be seen to reflect all the mental effort. He had added nothing since his original attempt.

‘Yes, my lord.’ Sarah unfolded the sheet that she carried.

His lordship stared at it with horror. Even from a distance he could see that the single sheet was covered from top to bottom with her neat writing. And numbered points, no less, unless he was much mistaken. There must be at least eight or nine there! What on earth had the woman found to write about? He cast another surreptitious glance down at his own, hoping that it was out of sight of the lady who clearly required much from him. Two sentences only! His brain scrambled furiously as he grew aware of the silence that was beginning to stretch between them. Would she be insulted if he had only two requests or hopes from their proposed marriage? Of course she would!

When he raised his eyes again to the lady, who waited so patiently for his reply, he thought he detected a hint of uncertainty in her clear gaze. She would surely think that he was about to renege on his offer. He must put her mind at rest. So he coughed to hide the astonished amusement that had threatened to rob him of words and managed a smile.

‘Forgive me, Mrs Russell. I need another few hours—for so momentous an event, you understand. Perhaps you would take tea with me this afternoon—as a guest, of course—and we can discuss the issues.’

‘Very well. This afternoon, my lord. At three o’clock would be acceptable.’

She left the room, taking her list with her.

Lord Faringdon sat down at his desk and retrieved the paltry document from beneath the blotter. He picked up a pen and gave his mind to some serious thought! A desperate remedy was required—and quickly.

He allowed his mind to drift over what he knew of Mrs Russell. A quiet composed lady it would seem on first impression. Yet not so. Under the surface—who knew what tides and eddies surged? She was not unattractive, he acknowledged. If she would relax, smile a little more, and if she had time and money to consider her wardrobe and indulge herself a little, he believed that she would be more than passably pretty. Too often she was pale and strained. Life had not been kind to her.

Then there was the problem that she was self-effacing in the extreme. Would willingly fade into the Chinese wallpaper if she could rather than draw attention to herself. And yet she was competent and effective when dealing with areas under her jurisdiction. He could not fault her administration of his house or her authority over his staff.

He tapped the pen against the surface of the desk as he considered the crux of the matter as he saw it. She was totally lacking in self-worth, unaware of her own attractiveness and her own merits. Knowing of her background from Judith, the manner in which her brother had bribed and manipulated her until she had found herself involved in a despicable pretence, he understood that she suffered from a severe attack of guilt. And so suspected that she felt herself unworthy of love or affection. Yet she had been married. His lordship found himself contemplating the unknown Captain John Russell who had, it would appear, won Sarah’s heart and trust. A difficult task, it would seem—if not impossible! She was quick to withdraw from all attempts at personal contact. From any moves to show friendship or warmth. Yet Judith found her a good friend and had much affection for her.

And if Theodora was her sister… So much energy and confidence there if Judith were to be believed. There must be hidden depths indeed locked in Sarah’s neat figure. And perhaps he had seen them to a small extent. He recalled the delight of the French banquet, the Countess of Wexford firmly thwarted and put in her place. There was humour there, too, despite her frequently solemn exterior. And her joy in the garden with Beth and her son. Energy and innocent pleasure, a total joy in the foolish activities—until she became aware of his watching her. If he could give her that freedom and opportunity to enjoy and blossom… Well! He could soon fix that! A personal contract, she had said. Very well. He would add some very personal demands to his list.

With a sardonic twist to his lips, Lord Faringdon wrote for several minutes without pause, covering the rest of the sheet and part way down a second. Then threw down his pen with a laugh.

Mrs Russell might find that she had met her match. And if she would, might just enjoy the result!

Once again, at three o’clock precisely, Sarah had presented herself in Lord Faringdon’s library. She had been ushered to a chair, had measured out the tea, poured the fragrant liquid, and had immediately put down the fragile painted china without tasting. Now she watched him and waited, with her heart in her mouth and her hopes for her future in his lordship’s beautiful hands. Or, almost her hopes. She could hardly include in her list her yearning that one day he might love her, as she loved him, unconditionally and based on nothing but an unreasoning desire. She watched him as he read down the single sheet. As his brows arched at one point, then immediately drew together into a heavy frown, she swallowed. No need to be nervous, she chided, and blushed at some of the thoughts she had allowed herself to include. He could only refuse, after all, and she would have lost nothing. Except that she would be obliged to terminate her employment here and find another position. It would be too uncomfortable to continue. She waited as he read to the end, palms damp with nerves. Then sighed as he returned to the beginning and reread it, wishing not for the first time that she could read his face.

Fortunately, she could not.

Typical Sarah, he thought. Careful and thoughtful and…and prim. He hid his enjoyment of the situation. How right he had been in his assessment of her character. And he had every intention of destroying the demure sobriety that could frequently rob her of joy and pleasure. He would take the weight of care from her shoulders and allow her to blossom without restraint. She did not know that she needed liberating, of course, and would probably resist at every step, so his campaign must necessarily be devious. Her marriage terms touched not only his sense of the ridiculous but also his compassion.

Freedom to run his establishments and appoint servants to her own liking. He would expect that. But had there been some problem here of which he knew nothing? He had been unaware of any difficulties in Hanover Place. Whatever she desired on this matter, she could have her way.

A comfortable financial settlement for herself and her son to cushion the child’s future. Well, that would be confirmed in the legal settlement, of course. And would be far more than comfortable, but there was no need to worry her with details of amounts and jointures.

Freedom to decide on the upbringing and education of John. Both acceptable and anticipated. As she would concern herself over the nurturing of Beth. He had no qualms on that issue. And had every intention of doing his best for the boy.

Her own wishes to be considered. Ah! Not to be coerced or dictated to or forced into actions against her will. His heart went out to her as she sat across from him silently awaiting his decision, even though he restrained himself from glancing in her direction. He knew exactly where that came from—and damned the unknown Edward Baxendale for his bitter legacy. In future, Sarah should have all the freedom she desired.

His brows rose in amazement, then snapped into a dark frown as he read on. No inappropriate orgies, entertainments, opera dancers or actresses in the house when she herself was present. Orgies? In God’s name, what had she heard? Surely not Judith! Then, with a wry curl of his lips, he once more had to accept the far-reaching tendrils of gossip and innuendo surrounding his life in Paris and could not complain.

He shrugged and read on to the final lines. A comment that touched his heart. I do not expect to be introduced to or be called upon to meet or acknowledge your mistress. I do not expect to have to receive her in my home. The Countess of Wexford, of course! I accept your freedom to take a mistress, given the pure convenience of our marriage, but I trust your sensitivity on this matter. I do not wish to have to acknowledge her.

How tragic. That Sarah should consider herself so undesirable and unworthy of love that he would continue to keep a mistress. His reputation again stood him in no good stead. He was gripped with a need to remove all such doubts from her mind. And make her feel loved and desirable.

He placed the paper on the desk where his own cup of tea also remained untasted. Without a word, unsmiling, giving no hint of his feelings, he handed her his own greatly revised script. And watched with deceptively stern features as she sat and read.