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

Foolish! She was quickly impatient with herself. Of course it could not be so. Yet she was still uneasy and sought for reasons why it might be, why someone might have an interest in her. There was certainly one possibility that came to mind with a terrible clarity. Was it Edward? Sir Edward Baxendale, her brother, who lived in genteel, resentful and bitter poverty and had proved his willingness to take any action, however disreputable, to increase the funds at his disposal. Now that she had married a man in possession of a fortune, Edward might see an opportunity to make new demands on her. If that were so, she could not possibly tell Joshua of her suspicions. She would do nothing to resurrect old memories.

But if it were Edward, why did he need to have her followed? Why not simply write and demand money, a brother’s begging letter to his wealthy sister? It just did not make sense.

So it was all in her imagination. And she saw no need whatsoever to tell Joshua of her fears.

Until one afternoon when they were returning to Hanover Square with Beth and John in their landau, taking advantage of the mild sunshine after a week of rain. As they drew up before the steps, Sarah quickly turned her head, her attention caught by the smallest of movements. Was that a shadow of a man within the darker shadows of the trees and ornamental bushes behind the iron railings? Did he draw back to merge with the deeply dappled light as they came to a halt?

‘What is it?’ Joshua asked, aware of the sudden stiffening of her spine, her fixed gaze.

‘Nothing really. Just a…’ Her eyes continued to search the gardens.

‘Tell me.’ Was that the slightest edge to his voice?

‘I just had the sensation that someone was watching me…us.’ Her glance back again over her shoulder toward the garden could not but betray her anxiety. ‘Do you think it could be so?’

‘No.’ His hesitation was so slight as to be indiscernible. He smiled briefly, touched her hand fleetingly. ‘Just chance—there is nothing to hurt you here. Put it out of your mind, my dear.’ Joshua deliberately smoothed the crease from between his brows, intent on preserving an untroubled exterior. So Sarah was being followed, was she? There was only one man who might be involved in such an activity towards himself and his family. He would think about it and its implications when alone; they did not immediately spring to mind. But he would take steps to stop it if it became necessary.

‘Of course. How foolish I am.’ Sarah returned his smile in apology. Besides, she was wary of saying more for fear of sharp-eyed, sharp-eared Beth picking up the conversation. And Joshua, in truth, probably had the right of it.

The moment passed.

But as Sarah and Beth climbed the stairs together, Joshua having taken John with him to oversee the stabling of the horses, the little girl leaned close.

‘I saw him too, Mama. A man in a dark coat.’ Then ran on ahead.

Which consolidated all Sarah’s fears.

* * *

And then the rumours started.

Gently at first. Softly. Whispered in withdrawing rooms throughout fashionable London.

Then more loudly, insistently. Behind fans, sly hands, turned heads. In Hyde Park. At Almack’s. At private parties. Wherever the ton met. Eyes glinting in greedy interest, a delectable scandal to enliven the most tedious of gatherings. No one knew whence the information came, but everyone was prepared to discuss and speculate and claim that, of course, they knew it to be true beyond doubt. They had always known that there was room for suspicion when that name was spoken…

The details of the scandal were fairly complete from the very beginning. But embroidered with possibilities as the days passed. Until the nasty little rumours came perforce to the ears of Judith and Lady Beatrice, as such rumours must, when they attended a select little soirée at the home of one who might have been considered a friend. She was quick to acquaint them with the details. Horrified, Lady Beatrice Faringdon and the Countess of Painscastle held a council of war in Grosvenor Square on the following morning to compare notes and discuss their response. Considering the dangerous aspect of the content, and their close connection with the main target, the scandal could not be ignored.

The first Lady Joshua Faringdon, those in the know stated, a French lady of considerable charm and elegance, was dead. Nothing new or of moment here. Had died some years previously in France. But not of some virulent and fatal disease as all had been led to understand. Would you believe it? She had been murdered.

But who had committed the foul deed?

Well, who, of course? Did it need to be spelled out?

It had been heard on very good, but unnamed, authority that the lady was involved in a passionate love affair with an aristocrat at the Bourbon Court where she had been murdered in a fit of uncontrolled fury by her jealous husband. Lord Joshua Faringdon. A pistol shot to the heart, no less. Her husband had then summarily disposed of her body, leaving everyone in England to believe that she had sickened, been buried and grieved over in France.

‘I don’t believe it!’ stated Judith unequivocally after discussing the outrageous suggestion with her mama. For once the teacups sat neglected between them, the elegant little plate of macaroons abandoned.

‘No. Of course not.’ The far-from-doting mama might believe much of her son but not murder. ‘It is impossible to even contemplate so disgraceful a possibility.’

‘But where would such a rumour begin?’

‘I have no idea.’ Lady Beatrice fixed her daughter with an expression of deep concern. ‘And you must admit, Judith, there are some difficult areas here for the family.’

‘What? Surely, Mama, you will give no weight to this terrible accusation? You might suspect Sher of being too thoughtless with the family name and we know for a fact that he has had any number of mistresses under his protection—there is no need to frown at me! Everyone knows it—but murder!’

‘Of course not, Judith! Try not to be foolish. But think. A sudden disease to strike down a healthy young woman. We were not there. Have we ever seen the grave? No, we have not. Does Joshua ever talk about it? No, he does not. The whole affair gives me an uneasy feeling.’

‘Sher would never murder his wife. He would not murder anyone! I will accept no truth in it.’

‘Neither will I. But I wish your brother would not play his cards quite so close to his chest!’ Lady Beatrice could envisage her next meeting with some of her fashionable associates over a glass of ratafia and did not enjoy the prospect. ‘It is difficult to know what to say when one is as much in the dark as the town tabbies.’

‘A ridiculous suggestion!’ was the only opinion given by Nicholas when he and Theodora called at the Painscastle residence and were drawn into the discussion. ‘You cannot possibly give it any credence.’

‘Will you talk to Sher?’ Theodora asked of Judith. ‘It would seem to be the obvious next step.’

‘Not willingly,’ Judith admitted. ‘You could talk to him, Nick! But there is one person who must be told, if she has not heard it already.’

‘Sarah, of course.’ Thea’s mind ran along the same lines. Her lips curled in grim humour. ‘Better that she hear it from us that her husband is a murderer than from deliberate malice on the grapevine.’

So Thea and Judith immediately took themselves in the barouche to Hanover Square, where Sarah welcomed them with delight, no notion of their intent. Until she saw their concerned eyes, their obvious discomfort. And listened aghast to the lurid picture laid out before her. They spared her no details. She must know what was being said.

Murder!

Sarah would have denied that such damning and unjustifiable gossip was being spread through the fashionable haunts of London. But once knowing, she quickly became aware of the widespread comment. The hushed voices as she came into the room when paying an afternoon visit. The covert glances. Everyone seemed to be discussing Lord Joshua Faringdon’s implication in a deed as foul as any she could envisage. And as completely unbelievable. Of course she did not believe it. Dismissed the whole thing as nothing but malicious mischief-making. But why? And who had seen fit to plant the seeds?

And then, as is the nature of such things, it brushed her consciousness again that she was without doubt being followed. Joshua might have denied it unequivocally, but she knew in her heart that it was true. Were the two events connected? Her mind immediately began to consider and weave the possibilities.

Joshua might deny the existence of the shadow, but she was certain that it existed. The worries stayed with her and gnawed at her peace of mind. Who could possibly be expected to enjoy peace of mind and the unexpected delights of a new marriage when secretive eyes followed her, when her husband was accused of dispatching his first wife and hiding her body?

Well, there was only one solution to this. She would ask Joshua to tell her the truth.

She accosted him on his return from Brooks’s.

‘Sarah… ‘ He took her hand, would have saluted her cheek, but was brought to a halt by something in her demeanour. If he was surprised by the reserve in her response to him, he did not show it.

‘I need to speak with you.’ He saw her lips set in a firm line, little lines of strain—signs of concern that had now been absent for some little time—between her brows.

‘Of course.’ He led her into the library. Closed the door. Turned to face her.

‘What is it that disturbs you? Do you still see phantom followers?’ He tried for a light response to the tension that swirled around her.

‘Yes. And so does Beth.’ His brows rose, but before he could find suitable words, she continued. ‘But that is not it… ‘ She might as well ask outright. ‘Joshua—have you heard the rumours?’

‘Rumours?’ The epitome of innocence. She could not deny his lack of comprehension. Or could she? She suspected that Lord Faringdon’s ability to dissemble was supreme.

‘Obviously not. Perhaps the gentlemen at Brooks’s are less inclined to gossip than their wives. Or more discreet when their members are present. Thea and Judith warned me—and then I saw it, felt it, heard it for myself. The hush from those present when I walked into the withdrawing room, when I took tea with Lady Stoke. The conversation came to a remarkably abrupt end.’

A cold fear inched its way down his spine. So she had heard. Well, of course she had. Had he expected her to live in blissful ignorance when the whole town was talking? Yet he kept his composure. ‘What conversation?’