June Calvin (10 page)

“As I said, sir, Vincent will decide, but I feel sure he will expect her to marry a titled lord, or a great fortune, or both.”

The duke sighed. “Then we will have to help one another watch to see these girls do not select ineligible mates, won’t we.”

Relieved at his acceptance of the situation, Deborah nodded. “That would be best.” She had not told the duke just how truly unpleasant Vincent might be if Jennifer were to attempt to defy him. While not cruel for the joy of it, Seymour’s younger brother could be quite as ruthless as her deceased husband in the pursuit of his own will.

***

When they returned home, the duke requested that Sarah join him half an hour early for dinner, which was to include some friends of his who could be helpful to John in his political career. “I have a small matter to discuss with you, Sarah.”

Guilty awareness of her father’s probable topic made Sarah duck her head. “Yes, Papa.”

At the agreed-upon time she presented herself, prettily gowned in one of her new dresses, in the gold salon. Her father was alone, staring into the empty fireplace, a brandy in his hand.

“You wanted to speak to me, Papa?”

“Yes. Sit here with me, child.”

After a long silence while Sarah studied her father’s profile in increasing anxiety, the duke slid his arm around her and tucked her against him.

“Sal, I have rarely denied you anything you wanted.”

“No, Papa.”

“Nor do I mean to begin now, unless absolutely necessary.”

“No, Papa.”

“So I do not want you to misinterpret what I am going to say.”

“No, Papa.”

“I wish you to be a little less encouraging to Lord Alexander for the next week or so.”

A little sob escaped Sarah’s lips. “I knew you were going to say that. Why? Why don’t you like him? He said that you didn’t, but I couldn’t believe it, for I can’t see why not . . .”

“It is not that I don’t like him, though I admit I cannot feel comfortable with his making assignations with you—”

“It was my fault. I told him I was riding in the park!”

“Yes, well.” He studied her distressed face, tilted up so her eyes could search his. “It is just that I asked John to check on him, and . . .”

“He found out that Alexander isn’t going to be wealthy. Well, why does that matter? Alexander wants to be a gentleman farmer, and he already owns an estate the size of Gregory’s farm, so why should you object to him when you didn’t object to Gregory.”

The duke removed his arm and looked ahead. “In point of fact, I did object to Gregory, though not because of his lack of fortune. But we had known the lad all of his life. While I did not think he would be the best choice for you, I was sure that some of the worst effects of a bad marriage would never befall you at his hands.”

“If it is not fortune, then what? Alexander is kind, and gentle, and intelligent, and
au fait
with the
ton,
without being in the least shallow. I should have thought he would be just what you hoped I’d find last year when you made me come to London before I married Gregory.”

“I may yet conclude that he is. But my investigation is not complete, and until it is, I must insist that you treat him politely but distantly. Give him no special encouragement. Do you understand?” The duke gave his daughter a direct look she could not mistake.

“If I only knew why. What do you suspect? Do you think he would beat me?”

“It is something I can’t discuss with you. For once, I shall have to insist on blind obedience, daughter.”

Astonished and distressed, Sarah pulled herself away from her father. There was no question of disobeying him, but she did not like it. Stiffly, she got up.

“Very well, Father. It will be awkward, for we have become very good friends, very quickly. Alexander is sure to notice something different. May I be excused tonight? It is going to be a political evening, and I haven’t Jennifer’s interest in the subject. I would prefer to take a tray in my room.” She looked close to tears.

The duke rose, kissed his daughter on her forehead, and uneasily watched her walk from the room, her very posture and way of moving speaking eloquently of her unhappy state of mind.
Alexander, is it? Very good friends, hmmm?
By the time John had joined him, fifteen minutes later, his mind was made up.

“That trip to Yorkshire, John, to speak to Lord Pelham—I believe it will be necessary to make it after all, as swiftly as you can.”

John accepted this dictum calmly. A trip out of town might be helpful to him, too. Away from the sweet, hopeless temptation of Jennifer Silverton.

“I will leave at first light, sir.”

Chapter 10

There was a great hubbub in the streets as they drew near the Royal Opera House the next evening. The new opera by Rossini,
The Barber of Seville
, was being performed, and it seemed the entire fashionable world had turned out to see it.

By the time the duke had successfully shepherded Sarah, Jennifer, and Lady Cornwall to his box, he was beginning to yearn for the peace and quiet of the country. He knew Lord Alexander would be in the pit, for Sarah had confessed as much on the way over. After all, she hadn’t known he would ask her to avoid the young man when she had seen him that morning. It was painful for Harwood to see her downcast expression as she fretted over how she would conduct herself toward Alexander, and what his response would be.

When she saw Meade in the milling throng below her, looking eagerly up at her, Sarah gave him the briefest of smiles, before turning to stare blankly ahead of her. Harwood’s heart clenched at the sight of unshed tears in her eyes.

Lady Cornwall looked from father to daughter sympathetically, and then tried to distract Sarah by asking her to identify the occupants of the various boxes. Jennifer entered eagerly into the activity, even inquiring in all innocence as to the names of the beautiful Cyprians who occupied one particularly scandalous box.

“I never saw them before,” Sarah admitted, “but I feel they must be some of the
nouveau riche,
who simply don’t know how to go on. Wouldn’t you say so, Father?”

The duke eyed the indicated box judiciously, allowing himself a moment’s enjoyment of the charms so bounteously displayed there. “I don’t know them either. You probably have the right of it, Sal,” he drawled. At that moment he caught Deborah’s eye and winked at her.

“What is it, Mother?” Jennifer asked solicitously as her mother seemed to collapse in a fit of coughing into her handkerchief.

Deborah, eyes flashing, turned her back on the duke in pretended annoyance, but he noticed that her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

In her survey of the boxes, Sarah caught the eyes of several young people whom she had known last year. “Oh, look, there’s Gilbert, Lord Threlbourne; you remember him, Jenny. And Harrison Curzon has returned to town at last. I told you how he frightened Davida. And there are Lord Whitham and his new wife, Elspeth. And Arnold Lanscombe—oh, bother—he’s seen me!”

Sarah nodded her head in polite acknowledgement when London’s biggest gossip stood in his box to bow to her. Thus far she had avoided Lanscombe and others of his ilk. She dreaded the encounter she knew must come eventually, for he would surely seek her out and pry into her lack of fiancé or husband.

When the intermission arrived, the Duke of Harwood’s box was quickly filled by young people. Sarah introduced Jennifer to those who hadn’t made her acquaintance yet, and chatted casually with her friends and admirers, keeping one eye on the entrance to the box. In equal parts she dreaded and looked forward to Alexander’s visit. She wanted to see him desperately, but hated the fact that she must treat him just as she did all of the other beaux who crowded the box.

But before Alexander arrived, Arnold sauntered in. He had come determined for answers and quickly insinuated himself into the semicircle around Sarah and Jennifer. The duke, who was propping up the wall at the back of the box while observing the scene, saw his daughter’s unease and moved nearer.

“But Lady Sarah, what is this? You are standing here entertaining beaux quite as if you had no young farmer waiting for you to marry him.”

Arnold looked around in exaggerated mystification. “Where is your rustic lover? I declare he made such an impression on me, I have been quite breathless to learn of your engagement. Each day I have searched the papers in vain.”

Sarah lifted her small chin. “There is no engagement. Mr. Allensby and I decided we wouldn’t suit.” All of her attention was now concentrated on Arnold. She didn’t notice that Alexander had slipped into the box.

“But you seemed so hopelessly besotted last season! Did you tire of his countryfied ways so soon, or did he find another sweetheart during your absence?” Lanscombe’s eyes glittered with malicious curiosity. It seemed to Sarah that the other visitors to their box had all stopped their conversations to listen intently for her response.

Sarah opened and then closed her mouth, a blush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. She was drawing breath to confess once and for all that she had been jilted, that Gregory had preferred someone else, when the duke stepped forward. He couldn’t protect his daughter from every heartache, but he certainly would not permit this jumped-up dandy to torment her.

“With your obviously high powers of discernment, Mr. Lanscombe, surely you didn’t think a mere farmer suitable for the daughter of the Duke of Harwood? I will protect my daughter from
any
and
all
who would take advantage of her good nature.” Harwood looked down his nose at Arnold, his steely eyes conveying a message that the dandy interpreted without delay. There had better not be any wicked limericks at
his
daughter’s expense!

“Very natural, sir. I always said you were ill-matched there, Sarah.” Suddenly eager to be elsewhere, Arnold bowed to her, then to the duke, and excused himself.

He followed closely on the heels of Lord Alexander Meade, who had overheard the duke’s remarks. Alexander had felt the blood mounting to his face just as if the duke had been speaking in those disparaging tones of himself.
No wonder Sarah barely looked at me earlier
, he thought.
The duke obviously has put an end to all my hopes, for I’m nothing but a farmer, at least in my prospects.

Sarah breathed deeply for the first time since Arnold Lanscombe had entered the box. The duke had played the repressive father to save face for her. She flashed him a smile of adoration before resuming her observation of the door, expecting any moment to see Alexander. But soon the orchestra was playing the overture for the second act, and she had to face the fact that he was not coming.

The box quickly emptied. Sarah became aware that Harrison Curzon was frostily receiving a rejection from Jennifer, whom he had invited for a drive tomorrow afternoon. It appeared that Jennifer had taken the story of Curzon’s rough treatment of Davida to heart and intended to have nothing to do with the handsome, wealthy rake.

Sarah was surprised and disappointed that Alexander had not come to see her. She wouldn’t have been able to show him any particular attention, but she at least would have been able to see him and hear his voice for a few minutes. She knew perhaps it was for the best. This way there was no danger of his feeling snubbed by her. She could not help searching the pit in vain for another sight of him, however, and heard not a note of the remainder of the opera.

***

“And so he’ll never let me marry her. I know that now.” Alexander, in a brocade dressing robe, was clutching a nearly empty bottle of wine, the second one broached that evening while retailing the events in the Harwoods’ opera box for Henry, who, true to his dislike of music, had not attended.

Henry shook his head sympathetically. He had played his part in the killing of both wine bottles and was feeling quite protective toward his friend. “He’s a cold, calculating bastard. You have only to look at him to know it.”

“I actually don’t blame him. In a worldly sense Sarah can do much better than me. But I thought she might be able to convince him. Ah, the way she looked down on me in the pit tonight! So unhappy. Now I know why. Doubtless he’d forbidden her to encourage me.”

“So steal her away. She’s infatuated with you. She’ll go willingly enough, and—”

“Absolutely not!”

“Such a lack of enterprise, of fortitude. You don’t deserve her if you are unwilling to take risks for her.” Having delivered himself of this wisdom, Henry held out his glass for another refill.

“Fort, you don’t understand. Not having been close to your parents, I suppose you can’t. Sarah adores her father. Even if I could persuade her to marry me against his wishes, an estrangement from him would make her miserable. And then, there is my family to consider. They would be extremely hurt were I to do something so unconscionable. They’d be delighted to add Sarah and her father to our family circle, but appalled to have the connection repudiated and despised by the duke.”

“I see your point. All my father cares is that I marry a healthy girl to produce an heir for his precious title. He even said if I’d beget an heir before I left to join the army, he’d be glad of my going and purchase my commission himself. If marrying weren’t the only way I can come about, I’d stay single as long as he lives, just to spite him!”

Appalled at such a lack of filial feeling, Alexander was silent as he divided the rest of the wine bottle between himself and his friend.

Henry tossed off the wine and stood up, swaying slightly. “Ugh. That wine on top of the several brandies I had after dinner has about finished me. I mean to call on the lovely Miss Jennifer Silverton tomorrow, so I think I’ll turn in.”

Alexander watched passively as Henry left the room. His mind was still occupied with Sarah. How should he act toward her? He’d moved too fast, courted her too aggressively, because she’d been so receptive. Now he felt responsible for her unhappiness. She’d begun to form a
tendre
for him, which he shouldn’t have allowed to happen without being sure of her father’s ultimate approval.

The thought that he must give Sarah up brought a wrenching pain to his chest. He tried to reason his way free of it.
You couldn’t be in love with her so soon, Alexander
, he chided himself.
You’ve only spent a few hours in her company.

The deep sadness permeating his being argued against his rational self, however. He decided that the best, the wisest course, would be to leave London as soon as he could wind up his affairs, and sail for India. In the meantime it would be best could he avoid
ton
events. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to do that without severely disappointing another young miss who was very dear to him.

Alexander rolled across the bed to pluck the letter he had received that day from his seventeen-year-old sister. He loved all of his sisters, but Hetty and he had always been especially close. She had written him all of the news at home, and concluded with a request.

And so, Alex, Papa’s gout keeps us all penned here at Colby Chase, all except Carlton, who is coming down on his own next week. But you know Carlton won’t do the pretty for Anna, so promise me you will. She’s a sweet girl, but terribly shy. She needs a nonesuch like you to take notice of her, if she is to attract any attention at all. Perhaps that rapscallion of a friend of yours, Mr. Fortesque, might be interested in her, for she has a tidy fortune, and is not so
very
plain, is she? Or perhaps you might consider her yourself, Alex. She would make you a perfect wife, for I know her heart, and she is as good-natured a creature as lives. At any rate, you will call on her, dance with her, squire her about a bit, until she begins to take, won’t you, darling brother of mine?

Hetty

Alexander lay on his back and tried to remember Anna-Marie Allistair. A nondescript girl with mousy brown hair and pale blue eyes, painfully thin and painfully shy. But by no means so plain as to be ineligible. Perhaps . . .

A pair of large grey eyes and three delightful dimples in an adorable round face suddenly drove out Anna-Marie’s dim memory. Alexander groaned.
I could try to love her, Hetty
, he thought.
In fact, I will try. But I doubt if I’ll succeed, for my heart has already felt cupid’s arrow, I fear.

***

After delivering Jennifer and Deborah to their home after the opera, the duke studied Sarah’s face in the dim light of the carriage lamps. She looked miserable, as she had most of the evening. She made no attempt to engage him in conversation, whereas usually she would be bubbling over with comments on the performances or the members of the audience.

Harwood sighed and leaned forward in his seat, taking her hands in his and shaking them a little. “Sarah, please don’t take it so hard. You barely know this young man and . . .”

“And now I never shall.” She turned her head away, lower lip quivering.

“You make me feel a beast!”

“No, Papa, you’re not a beast, but . . .”

“A monster, then.”

“Not a monster, either, but . . .”

“I’m not sure I want to hear the rest of either of those sentences. Sarah, don’t you see? I
would
be a beast, a monster, to carelessly let you develop a deep affection for someone when there was a good possibility you could never marry him.”

“Yes, Papa.” She sighed and turned back to meet his eyes. “I know. It hurts, but I know you are doing only what you think is best for me.”

To distract her, Harwood observed, “Jennifer and Lady Cornwall certainly seemed to enjoy the opera, didn’t they?”

“Jennifer is almost as enthralled by it as Davida was.”

“Lady Cornwall, too. She has a magnificent voice, by the way. When your mother and I knew her, so long ago, she was begged to sing wherever she went.”

Sarah looked speculatively at her father, who was smiling fondly now. “You like her very much, don’t you, Papa?”

“I like them both. I am very glad you have found a new friend; I know you missed Davida sorely. It seems the connection comforts
both
of us for the loss of Davida.”

He grinned almost boyishly at her reference to his growing fondness for Deborah. “I was wondering how long it would be before you noticed.”

To his surprise, Sarah did not smile back, but instead began worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Before he could question her, the carriage came to a stop before their door. A footman handed Sarah down the steps. She waited for her father, taking his arm as they climbed the steps.

While they made their way into the house, Sarah’s mind was racing. She had been sworn to secrecy. She couldn’t tell him about Lady Cornwall’s miserable marriage, and hence her very understandable determination never to marry again. And yet . . . her father had spoken truly. It would be wrong to let a loved one develop a deep affection for someone if there was no hope of a happy outcome.