Desire For Revenge

‘Really?’ Sarah kept her face straight as she teased. ‘That’s odd…I always thought Ralph was quite definitely a meat and two veg man!’

‘Oh, for goodness sake you’re as bad as the kids,’ Jane complained but she was grinning, too, as they drove out of the car park.

As it was Saturday a small market was in progress and although they had some problems in parking, once they had done so, it didn’t take them long to buy the bits and pieces Jane wanted.

‘Fancy a cup of coffee before we go back?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’ve just about got time, and there’s a rather nice new place that specialises in traditional afternoon teas.’

‘Sounds good.’

The café was situated just off the small town square and had been attractively decorated in soft peach and grey. The cane chairs were painted white with peach seat covers, and despite the obvious bustle they were lucky enough to find an empty table, in the window.

‘Mmm…this is nice,’ Jane murmured as she sat down. ‘I daren’t come in here with the brats, they’d cause too much chaos.’

They gave their order to a smiling waitress, and while Jane deliberated over a cream cake or a scone with jam and cream, complaining about the calorie intake of both, Sarah looked out of the window on to the busy street and the square.

A man walked across the road and into the square, his face in profile to her, his thick, black hair ruffled by the cool breeze. His skin looked tanned, his body tall and lean, with just a hint of breadth about the shoulders. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as he turned to check the traffic and she saw the intense sapphire blue of his eyes. As she looked she could almost see him as her Elizabethan gallant; her romantic Jacobite rebel; her reckless Regency rake. She blinked and swallowed hard and both the man and her inner visions of him were gone.

‘Sarah, are you all right?’

She forced a shaky smile and nodded her head. ‘Sorry, I was miles away…’

‘Daydreaming,’ Jane agreed wryly. ‘I recognised all the signs, although to judge from the rapt expression on your face, it was a very special daydream. You’re not holding out on me by any chance, are you?’ she questioned severely. ‘There isn’t someone in your life I don’t know anything about, is there?’

‘Don’t be silly. What on earth gave you that idea?’

‘The look on your face,’ Jane told her bluntly. ‘You were looking as though Robert Redford had suddenly materialised in front of you.’

In spite of herself Sarah coloured faintly. The romantic daydreams of her teenage years were something she had long ago put behind her, and it was embarrassing to have them called to mind so strongly by the chance sighting of a strange man. She hadn’t even seen him full face…but there had been something about him…quivers of sensation fluttered deep inside her, quickly banished when she realised the complete folly of the direction her thoughts were taking. It was both impossible and ridiculous to be so attracted to a man on mere sight.

‘Come on, we’d better make a move,’ Jane told her, consulting her watch again. ‘I want the holy terrors bathed and in bed before Mrs Arbuckle arrives. Thank goodness Ralph has managed to install a separate bathroom for the guest room and for the nursery now, otherwise, we’d be queuing up for the same one from now until doomsday.’

‘Read me another story, Auntie Sarah…’ Sarah was in Louise’s room, sitting beside the four-year-old’s pretty Laura Ashley decorated bed.

‘You’ve had two already,’ she reminded her niece, hiding an appreciative grin at this bid to delay the moment of going to sleep a little further…

‘Well then will you tell me another one tomorrow?’

‘I tell you what, tomorrow night I’ll tell you all about the ball.’ Sarah offered.

Louise’s eyes widened. ‘Will there be princes there and princesses?’ She was very much into fairy stories and Sarah repressed a small sigh for the vast gulf that lay between romance and reality.

She stood up and bent over the small figure of her niece to tuck the covers more securely around her, bending down to kiss her good night.

Ralph was reading to the boys, while Jane had her bath, and Mrs Arbuckle, the vicar’s wife, was due in half an hour.

Checking that the night light was lit, Sarah let herself out of the room.

In her own room the dress she had unpacked and pressed on their return from town hung on the bathroom door. It was a gloriously rich Georgian costume in the most beautiful eau de nil silk, which opened over an underskirt of white satin embroidered with a complex design of silver flowers and leaves. At intervals the hem of the overskirt was caught up with white silk bows to reveal the satin underdress and the low neckline of the dress had a small pleated frill of white satin. The same fabric lined the sleeves from the elbows down, where they were caught up with ribbons. Sarah had no doubt that the dress was an exact replica of an original Georgian ballgown, and it was so supremely lovely that she felt she hardly dared to wear it.

In addition to the shoes provided to match the outfit there was a box containing combs and flowers attached to them for her hair, and several small patches with a brief handwritten note explaining where each one was to go and the precise meaning appertaining to each placement. Sarah raised her eyes a little over this, having had no idea that these adornments possessed their own special language. To complete the outfit there was even a fan in the same eau de nil silk as her gown.

Luckily her hair was long and naturally curly enough for her to pin it up in a small circlet of ringlets, which she coaxed to form by using her heated tongs. The effect, once she had pinned the flower combs in place, was surprisingly effective.

She took her time over her make-up, remembering that the fashion in the Georgian era was for pale skin, and having placed a small round patch just beneath her eye she sat back to study the whole effect. Even without powdering her hair it was surprising how different she looked. She and Jane had discussed doing this but had decided against it because of the mess involved.

She was just slipping her dress on when Jane came in. Her sister’s eyebrows lifted in silent appreciation.

‘Wow,’ she exclaimed at last. ‘You look fantastic. Turn round, I’ll help you with the zip.’

‘It doesn’t have one,’ Sarah pointed out wryly. ‘Just one hundred million hooks and eyes.’

‘An authentic touch we could well do without,’ Jane grumbled as she fastened each of the tiny fastenings. ‘There,’ she exclaimed at last, ‘now turn round.’

Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was unbelievable what a difference her costume made. She could have stepped out of a portrait of some Georgian lady.

‘It’s stunning,’ Jane told her quietly. ‘Absolutely stunning…’

Smiling, Sarah dropped her a brief curtsey, and unfurled her fan, looking demurely at her sister over the top of it. ‘Merci, My Lady,’ she cooed dulcetly. ‘You are too kind.’

Jane raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Okay, you can cut that out,’ she instructed. ‘Heavens, I’d better fly and get ready myself. I just came in to tell you that Mrs Arbuckle has arrived. Ralph is ready and downstairs entertaining her.’

‘I’ll come and give you a hand with your dress then, shall I?’ Sarah offered.

Her sister’s dress was a rich cobalt blue with gold embroidery, but slightly plainer than her own, and since her own hair was short, Jane had elected to wear with her outfit a period wig which she had also hired from the stage company.

Ralph’s stare of amazement when they both went downstairs proved just how much their costumes transformed them. Mrs Arbuckle told them half enviously that they looked wonderful and although Ralph complained that the wig he was wearing was making him itch, Sarah suspected that her brother-in-law was enjoying the opportunity to dress up as much as they were themselves.

Because of the volume of the women’s dresses Ralph had decided that they might as well push the boat out in style and had organised a chauffeur-driven limousine to take them to the ball.

‘Much better than a coach and four,’ Jane exclaimed appreciatively as she sank down into the comfortable leather seat. ‘What do you think, Sarah?’

Sarah agreed that Ralph had shown good sense because between the two of them they took up the entire length of the huge back seat leaving Ralph to sit in front with the driver.

Their destination, the Georgian house where the ball was being held, was only on the other side of the village—a fifteen-minute drive at most.

For the occasion the driveway was illuminated with Japanese flares in soft pastel colours, the front of the house ablaze with lights. Several other cars were disgorging their passengers when they drew up, most of them garbed in Georgian costume.

A liveried flunkey standing by the main door requested their tickets and then ushered them inside, where another liveried attendant indicated the direction of the cloakrooms.

‘The ballroom’s on the second floor,’ Jane hissed to her sister as they followed several other women in the direction of the ladies’ cloakroom.

Having checked that her wig wasn’t in any danger of disgracing her, Jane suggested that they go upstairs.

Outside the doors to the ballroom Ralph was waiting for them, talking to another couple. His male companion was rather portly, and looked flushed beneath his heavy wig. He greeted Jane with a brief kiss on the cheek as did the woman with him.

‘And this is Sarah, my sister-in-law,’ Ralph introduced her. ‘Tom and Veronica Merryweather… Veronica was partially responsible for organising this affair tonight.’

Veronica Merryweather was small and plump, wearing a gown that displayed her pretty shoulders. Sarah guessed shrewdly that the collar of diamonds she was wearing round her throat was genuine, and she also suspected from the slight tension she could feel emanating from her sister that Jane was a little on edge in her presence.