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

‘Sarah—’

‘I have something to say.’

Lord Joshua made no move toward her, but shrugged into his coat. For once he could not meet her eyes, which held the bright light of imminent conflict.

‘When Eleanor felt most under threat from the Baxendale scandal,’ she spoke of it without a tremor, ‘when my brother seemed likely to succeed and the haut ton turned against her, when she was not invited to the homes of those whom she would have once called friends, do you know what she did?’ Sarah did not wait for an answer. Not that her lord was capable of giving one. ‘She went to the opera at Covent Garden. She insisted that Henry take her, to show the world that she believed in her own innocence and she did not care that others would question the legality of her marriage to your cousin Thomas. She sat there throughout the whole performance, with every lorgnette raised in her direction. She smiled, she flirted a little, she conversed. And hid from the world how much she suffered. Henry sat beside her, to shield her and support her with his presence because he could do no other. I admire them more than I can say.’

Sarah stopped to draw breath, then continued.

‘We should do the same. You claim your innocence. Then we should show a united front against those who would disbelieve. There is an Exhibition today at the Royal Academy. I forget whose paintings. It is not important. We should attend. With Thea and Nicholas. And Judith and Simon too, if they will come. And I will stand with you because it is the only thing I can do to show the world that I do not believe what is being said.’

‘Sarah…’ He was for the moment speechless, astounded at her courage to embark on so public a display. Swamped with guilt that she should choose to have anything to do with him after the events of the previous day. ‘I do not know what to say… ‘

‘You do not have to say anything. I will arrange it with Thea. If you would be pleased to escort me, at seven-thirty, I think.’

Without waiting for another word or a response from her lord, Sarah turned on her heel, closing the door behind her with a very positive click. And made sure that for the rest of the day she was so busy that should anyone—should Lord Joshua Faringdon—desire communication of any nature with her she would be quite unobtainable.

The Faringdon party attended the Exhibition in strength. Lord Joshua Faringdon discovered that, despite the strength of the temptation, he dare not cry off. The involvement of the little party and knowledge of the paintings was to be fairly minimal, but that was not the object of the exercise. They displayed considerable if not amazing interest in the hanging. The joint subjects of murder and Marianne were understood by all to be taboo. A brief but detailed conversation between the three ladies ensured that all rose superbly to the occasion. Thea and Judith both instructed their husbands on the purpose of this unprecedented outing, which neither gentleman would have chosen over a quiet evening with cards and brandy at Brooks’s.

They talked, smiled, admired, sampled the refreshments. Whatever they felt, they hid behind gracious exteriors. There was a need for Faringdon family unity, which they all recognised and supported. They surrounded their notorious black sheep with firm support and unquestioning loyalty.

A very public statement of trust.

Sarah cast off all her misgivings, her reserve, her lack of confidence, her dislike of attention. Not once did she turn away from interested glances, not once did she fail to meet a speculative eye. Bright, lively, engaging, she stood beside Joshua and dared anyone to believe him capable of violent death. When he offered his arm to lead her round the exhibits, she laid her hand there with perfect composure, smiling up into his face with great charm. What it cost her to put on this performance, her lord had no idea. She bowed, nodded, conversed with acquaintances, flirted a little with her painted fan when Simon engaged her in conversation, as if there was no problem on this earth to trouble her. She had dressed with particular care in—for Sarah—an eye-catching gown in a deep rose pink silk overlaid with silver lace, a pretty string of diamonds and opals clasped around her neck with drop earrings to match. Her naturally pale cheeks benefited from skilfully applied Liquid Bloom of Roses; it required no application of Olympian Dew to bring a sparkle to her eyes. Lady Joshua Faringdon, in her quiet way, had declared war.

No one would accuse her husband of murder and think that she gave it any serious consideration. No one would divide them, whoever it might be who had first dropped the poisonous words into the willing ear of the Polite World. And her family would support her. She felt a warmth spread around her heart as she watched them: Thea, using all her lively charm and diplomatic experience of foreign receptions, Judith calling on her wide acquaintance. The gentlemen relaxed and talked horses and sport when they could escape their wives’ eagle eye. Whatever the outcome of this night, Sarah knew that she had made the right decision.

No one could question or intimidate the united Faringdons. With a little crow of success, Sarah wished that Eleanor and Henry were present to appreciate the outcome of her plotting.

* * *

They returned home, exhausted from the constant strain to remain cheerful, but Sarah was content. She had done all that she could. Not least to show her husband, who had tried to distance himself from her because he could not speak the truth, that she would not accept his decision. She would stand at his side whether he wished it or not.

The trial of the evening at the Exhibition left Lord Joshua Faringdon feeling utterly wretched. He had gone along with it because he could think of no good reason not to. Sarah’s determination, her refusal to discuss it, had carried him along, a leaf in the current of a millstream. And now he was swamped with shame. His gentle Sarah had walked into the lion’s den for him. Such faith, such strength. She had stood by him in glory and splendour to face the gossips. His intention had been to step back from her, to allow her to believe the scandal if she wished, to hate him if she wished. To build a barrier between her and the deceit that was his to bear. To replace any suffering she might feel with contempt, because he simply did not deserve her sympathy. He could not use her innocence and her loyalty in his own interests. But Sarah, with astonishing strength of will, had torn his plan to rags, by standing beside him before the interested eyes of the Polite World.

How had it all become so complicated?

The simplicity of it was that he could not remain apart from her. He did not wish to remain apart. He felt the meanest worm in the face of such loyalty. He must put some of it right with her—she deserved no less.

So Joshua knocked on her door and waited for a reply. Sarah had gone straight to her bedchamber without any attempt at conversation, which was signal enough that he would have to be willing to make amends.

She answered, he entered. She was sitting at her dressing table.

‘I thought you would go on to one of your clubs with Nicholas.’ She did not look at him, but kept her hands busy.

Took off her jewels and replaced them in their case. Began to take the pins from her hair.

‘No.’

‘I think we made a point tonight.’ She continued to place the pins in a cut-glass bowl. ‘I think that Eleanor would have been proud of me.’

‘Sarah—’

‘There is no need to say anything. I know that you cannot. But we have done what we can.’

She stood to move across the room to find a home in a little bow-fronted cabinet for her gloves and fan. But now he strode forward to take her wrist in a light clasp and pull her to a halt. Yet still she did not turn toward him. Nevertheless he would say what he had to say and try to bridge the yawning chasm.

‘You do not realise the debt I owe you tonight, Sarah. I think no man could ask more of his wife than that she stand at his side when any remaining honour attached to his name is destroyed. Yet you did exactly that. With such grace and dignity as I have never seen. I don’t know whether you believe me or trust me, but you made so public a gesture in my support…’ With firmer pressure, he turned her toward him. ‘I need to ask your forgiveness. I treated you abominably.’

‘I know you did. I suppose you had your reasons, even if I can neither understand nor accept them.’ She would not make it easy for him. Her eyes were accusing. ‘It would help if you told me the truth, but we have been through all that, have we not?’

‘Sarah… ‘ Never had he seen such a chill in her eyes, so stern a line to her lips. And it hurt to know that he deserved it, and far more.

‘I know. You cannot. Let us leave it at that.’ She made to pull away, but he dare not allow it. He took her hands in his so that he could face her squarely.

‘Then let me say this. I admire you, Sarah. My respect for you is beyond measure. Never more so than this night. Your bravery, your strength, your willingness to put yourself on the line for me. I tried to push you away. To keep the scandal from hurting you more. I find that I cannot do that.’

Sarah waited. Admired, respected, he had said.

Loved? Ah, no.

‘I need you tonight, Sarah.’ He hesitated, so unusual in this dynamic man. ‘I will not force my presence on you if it is distasteful. And in God’s name it must be. I would ask for your tolerance, Sarah, until I can put matters right between us.’

‘Will it ever be possible?’

‘Yes. I promise you.’

She watched, waited, thought of the weight of his words. Read the sincerity in his eyes, which gleamed true silver tonight. Sincerity, yes, but also a terrible uncertainty, which smote at her senses. A vulnerability that had shaken him to the core. It shocked her to see the rare emotion race across his face with vivid intensity. Her heart stuttered. However foolish, however naïve it might be, she trusted him. And would trust him whatever the world might say against him. She allowed her lips to soften, her cold face to warm into a smile. And allowed her woman’s heart to dictate her response. She could not refuse him if he had a need of her.

She opened her arms at her sides, almost a gesture of submission. Or was it invitation. For if she trusted him to have committed no evil act, she must surely trust him with the safekeeping of her body and her clamouring emotions. It was time that she had the courage to respond to his love making, to claim her own needs. It was more than time. She forced herself to continue to hold his gaze

‘Then come.’ Her voice was soft, full of feminine allure. ‘If you want me tonight I will not deny you, but it is necessary for you to play the role of lady’s maid. You would not imagine the intricacy of buttons and ribbons.’ Then he caught the gleam in her eye and was able to breathe more easily. ‘But perhaps you are intimately acquainted with them. If so, it will on this occasion be to my advantage.’

Sarah’s deliberate humour sliced through the wall of tension between them so that he could step forward with a soft laugh and apply himself to the task. He was, she was forced to admit as she watched his bent head, remarkably skilled. Tiny buttons, delicate ribbons, they posed no problem for his clever fingers. Gown, petticoats, shoes, stockings, all quickly dealt with to give her no room for embarrassment, to be disposed carefully over the daybed. Until she stood in her chemise. He made to blow out the candles, as he thought she would wish, but Sarah had made her decision and now she stretched out a hand.

‘No. Leave one burning.’

‘Are you sure? If you are more comfortable without… ‘

Nerves touched her skin with delicate tremors. ‘No. Leave it. That is what I want tonight.’

So. A new Sarah, he realised. One who had thrown down the gauntlet in public and exerted her will this night. And one, it would appear, intent on continuing to surprise him. So he complied. She would have turned from him to walk to the bed, a chilly little action in itself if of no real moment, but this night he would not allow it. To turn from him, if only for a matter of seconds, was going beyond what he desired for himself, desired for her. He stepped after her and before she could slide between the sheets he took her arm in a gentle hold, drawing her around to face him.

Fingers brushed over her cheekbone and down, to the fine curve of her throat, then to cup the back of her neck beneath her hair. ‘You are a woman of many facets, Sarah. And a woman of outstanding valour tonight. If you will trust me with your reputation, don’t hold yourself back from me now. Let me show you what can exist between a man and a woman, without shyness, without restraint, without self-consciousness. Don’t retreat from me but let me pleasure you,’ he added as her lashes fluttered over her eyes in a moment’s insecurity as she felt the beginning of a deep blush at his seductive words.

The lashes lifted, the gaze now direct and steady, more than he could ever have desired when she had hidden her dreams from him. Sarah lifted her hands to place them flat against his chest and spoke, as he was quick to recognise, from her heart. ‘Very well. Show me the delights that can exist between a man and a woman. For my experience is shallow and my confidence low. So show me. But do not condemn me, I beg of you, if you find me less than skilful.’ And that was as honest as he could ever hope for.

‘Sarah. You still do not realise. I could never find you wanting. All I ask is that you will respond as your heart dictates.’