Sleepless at Midnight (29 page)

“Yes.” Damnation, she sounded as breathless as she felt. Desperate for something to say, she blurted out, “Where do you suppose Danforth is? I’d hoped to work on his sketch before we return to the rose garden.”

“You intend to return to the garden with me? I thought perhaps two hours of digging would be exertion enough for you for one day.”

Her inner voice urged her to claim fatigue. But as she’d been doing frequently of late, she ignored the voice. “I’m not the delicate hothouse bloom you clearly mistake me for, my lord. I assure you I’m up for the task. Unless you’d prefer to dig alone.”

He shook his head, his gaze steady on hers. “No, Sarah. I’d prefer to be with you.”

His softly spoken words seemed to hang in the air between them. and she realized with a profound sense of sadness that that would be her preference as well and not merely in regards to digging in the garden.

And she was once again forcefully reminded of the heartbreaking uselessness of wanting things she could not have.

Chapter 14

One week after Sarah’s first digging expedition, the Ladies Literary Society of London gathered at midnight in her bedchamber. The storm that had started several hours earlier continued unabated, rain and wind rattling the windowpanes. While Sarah was delighted to spend this time with her sister and friends, part of her yearned for what the storm had prevented another late night digging expedition in the rose garden with Lord Langston. The same sort they’d engaged in every night for the past week.

Because Lord Langston needed to spend the daytime and evening hours entertaining his guests, by mutual agreement they, along with Danforth, had spent several hours each night digging trenches in the acres of rose garden after everyone had retired. And tonight, because of the storm, there’d be no digging. Which meant there’d be no Lord Langston. Which, her common sense insisted, was good. And if her heart disagreed, well, that was simply too bad. With each unsuccessful outing bringing their search closer to failure, she had committed herself to listening to her common sense, and for the past week she’d been successful in all her deeds, if not always in all her thoughts.

Now, dressed in their night rails and robes, the Ladies Literary Society sat on Sarah’s bed, legs tucked beneath them. Franklin, his lumpy head finally sewed on, albeit in a slightly crooked manner, sat propped against the headboard. Several days ago, during a Literary Society meeting held in the afternoon while the gentlemen went hunting, Sarah had drawn Franklin a face, his features decided upon by secret ballot. Each Literary Lady cast her votes for which gentleman possessed the best eyes, nose, mouth, and jaw. Based on the results, Franklin possessed Lord Langston’s eyes, Lord Berwick’s nose, Mr. Jennsen’s mouth, and Lord Surbrooke’s jaw.

“It’s positively eerie how much Franklin looks like a combination of all the gentlemen,” Emily said.

“Except for the lumpy head,” said Julianne. “And I don’t believe any of the gentlemen possess one leg that is fatter than the other.”

“I also doubt any of them or any man, for that matter is quite as…endowed as our Franklin,” Carolyn said.

Muted laughter met her comment, and an image of Lord Langston rising from the bath materialized in Sarah’s mind. He came close.

“You did a wonderful job on the face, Sarah,” Carolyn said with a smile. She firmly blinked away the unsettling image. “Thank you. And now I hereby call our meeting officially to order. Does anyone have any comments?”

“I’d just like to point out,” Julianne said, “that this is the exact sort of stormy night during which Dr. Frankenstein created his monster.” She hugged her arms around herself and shot an apprehensive glance toward the dark, rain-streaked windows.

“So the atmosphere is perfect,” Sarah said in a soothing tone, knowing Julianne was frightened by storms. “And that’s all it is atmosphere.”

“It’s also the sort of night when that poor Mr. Willstone was murdered,” Julianne added. “Mother keeps harping about a crazed killer on the loose.”

“There’s been no sign of any strangers lurking about,” Carolyn said, patting Julianne’s hand. “Mr. Willstone was wandering about alone in the middle of the night. We’re surrounded by an entire household to protect us.”

“Yes, so let us speak of less distressing things,” said Emily. “I know that we agreed we’d bestowed our Perfect Man with every attribute, but given that Franklin sits here among us, I think there’s one more thing we should add to our list of things the Perfect Man should do.”

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

“The Perfect Man must not only be willing to sit in a room filled with gossiping women and listen politely, but he must also be the soul of discretion.” Emily waggled her brows. “Because Franklin is about to hear an earful.”

“Impossible he has no ears,” Carolyn quipped.

Their laughter dispelled the gloomy mood. Julianne scooted closer to Emily and asked, “What’s the gossip? Tell, tell.”

“Don’t ask me,” Emily said, treating them all to her most innocent expression. “Ask Sarah.”

Sarah suddenly felt the weight of three pairs of curious eyes gazing upon her, and her stomach dropped. Good lord, had Emily somehow found out about her late night digging excursions?

“Me?” she asked, horrified that the word sounded like a guilty squeak.

“Yes, you,” Emily said, giving her arm a playful push. She leaned closer toward the center of the square they formed and whispered loudly, “Sarah has made a conquest.”

Good God. She did know. “It’s not what you think ”

“Of course it is,” Emily said. “’Tis obvious Mr. Jennsen likes you.”

For several seconds she sat with her mouth open, mid-word. Then she shook off her surprise and frowned. “Mr. Jennsen?”

Emily looked toward the ceiling. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Before she could reply, Carolyn said, “I’ve noticed his partiality toward you as well, Sarah.”

“As have I,” added Julianne.

A heated flush suffused Sarah, and she knew the blotches of embarrassment were on their way.

“He has been kind and charming to all of us.”

“Yes,” Carolyn agreed, “but especially to you.” A frown puckered her brow. “Which rather worries me. He seems a decent man, but there is something about him that is, well, rather…dark. And secretive.”

“No doubt his American upbringing,” Julianne said. “Which is why he hasn’t been fully accepted into Society.”

“That and he’s in trade,” Emily said with a sniff. “Personally, I think he’s a nincompoop. Lording his wealth over everyone, casting his jaded eye toward our Sarah. Why, he’s nothing more than a common colonial. He presents himself as a diamond, but he is nothing more than a paste gem.”

Surprised by Emily’s comments, Sarah felt driven to defend the man. “I’ve not found anything offensive about Mr. Jennsen,” she said. “In fact, he’s been very kind to me.”

“Perhaps not offensive,” said Emily, “but I do think that beneath his perfectly tailored clothing lurks a man who is a bit vulgar and more than a bit uncivilized. Which makes him not good enough for our Sarah. But what about the other gentlemen? Personally, I find both Lord Langston and Lord Berwick handsome.”

“True,” said Julianne, “but Lord Berwick is more personable. Lord Langston is rather…somber. And he doesn’t seem to be at all the passionate sort.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “I’ve always dreamed of a darkly passionate suitor.”

“Perhaps he’d surprise you.” The words popped out of Sarah’s mouth before she could stop them, and she barely refrained from clapping her hand over her runaway mouth. Good lord, next she’d be telling them all precisely how passionate Lord Langston could be. But Julianne would have to find that out for herself and that was something Sarah simply couldn’t think about. Emily nodded. “Sarah’s right perhaps he’d surprise you. And Lord Langston is the one rumored to be looking for a wife,” she added with an arch look in Julianne’s direction. “You’re the one he particularly asked to partner with him in whist.”

Even in the dim light Sarah could see Julianne’s blush, and a rush of guilt and discomfort at the topic suffused her. Anxious to move the conversation away from Lord Langston, she said, “What about Lord Surbrooke?”

“He’s another one with secrets, I think,” said Emily.

“And perhaps some sadness,” Sarah said. “Even when he laughs, happiness never quite shows in his eyes. And Lord Berwick?”

“Handsome,” said Julianne.

“Charming,” added Emily.

“Polished, but rather shallow, I think,” said Carolyn. “I sat next to him at dinner this evening and overheard his conversation with Lord Thurston, who sat across from us, about how incompetent servants can be. Lord Berwick mentioned that he was missing a pair of boots a pair his valet swears he packed, but obviously didn’t. His lordship didn’t notice the boots’ absence until the gentlemen went hunting, as they were the pair he likes to wear for such outings.”

“Oh, dear, I hope our little prank hasn’t caused difficulties for Lord Berwick’s valet,” said Sarah, her gaze shifting to Franklin. “I suppose we should think about dismantling our Perfect Man and returning the articles of clothing.”

“I can’t bear to think of pulling him apart tonight,” Julianne protested. “This is his first meeting with us since gaining his face and having his head sewn on.”

“True,” Sarah agreed. “Very well, we’ll wait a day or so to dismantle him. Now, let’s continue our assessments. What of Lords Thurston and Hartley?”

“Witty and nice, and nice but boring,” said Carolyn, ticking off her vote for each gentleman on her fingers.

“Agreed,” said Emily and Sarah together.

“Yes,” said Julianne, “although they both strike me as rather…lecherous.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “Plus, Lord Thurston has horrid breath.”

“Ewwwww!” they all said in unison, then collapsed into giggles. Emily laughed so hard she flopped onto her back. Franklin, thrown off balance, promptly tilted over on top of her.

“Speaking of lecherous,” Carolyn said with a laugh, reaching out to reseat Franklin. “The Perfect Man would never behave in such an ungentlemanly way. Perhaps Franklin isn’t so perfect after all.”

Sarah chuckled with the others, but an image rose in her mind, of Lord Langston, holding out his hands to her as she sat in the bathtub. Of him kissing her while he caressed her wet, naked body. Most assuredly not the sort of behavior that would be considered gentlemanly. Yet in spite of that, to her, he was still perfect.

Unfortunately.

Matthew stood at his bedchamber window and stared out into the darkness. Rain lashed against the glass panes, accompanied by howling gusts of wind, and he cursed the fates that had brought the inclement weather. If not for this bloody storm, he’d right now be in the rose garden digging trenches in the moonlight certainly not his favorite place to be or his favorite thing to do. But they’d taken on new meaning and enjoyment over the past week because of his companion. Sarah.

He closed his eyes and blew out a long sigh. This past week following that first afternoon digging expedition with Sarah had simultaneously proven both the most enjoyable and the most frustrating he’d ever known. But tonight, because of the storm, there’d be no digging. Which meant there’d be no Sarah.

Which meant there’d be no companionship. No moonlit walk to the lake, as they’d done after each unsuccessful digging expedition. No sharing stories of childhood adventures and mishaps. No skipping stones along the water’s glasslike surface. No tossing sticks for Danforth to fetch. No frog catching, as they’d indulged in last evening. No smiles. No laughter. No easing of the knot of loneliness that had gripped him so tightly for so long.

No profound sense of happiness.

Of course, it also meant he was spared the torture of being close to her yet not able to touch her. The torment of inhaling the seductive scent of lavender that clung to her soft skin and gloriously unruly hair. The agony of clenching his teeth every time their shoulders or fingers accidentally brushed. The frustration of wanting her so damn badly yet having to pretend that he felt nothing warmer for her than tepid friendship.

It had indeed been a week of torturous contentment.

Last night, after watching her enter her bedchamber, he’d gone to his room and paced until dawn, unable to sleep, unable to erase her from his mind. With failure to find the money looming ever larger, he’d told himself that surely after spending more time with her, he’d discover aspects of her nature he didn’t like. Quirks that annoyed him. Personality traits that he didn’t admire. But now, a week later, he could only laugh at the folly of that belief. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to spend with her. For all his hope of finding something about her he didn’t like, their excursions only served to reinforce all the things he already liked and admired about her. Not only that, but he also discovered new aspects of her, all of which greatly appealed to him.

She was fiercely determined and optimistic, refusing to allow him to give up hope that the money would be found. And she was patient and tireless, never once complaining about the strenuous work or the blisters that formed on her hands. She hummed while she worked, a habit that made him smile because she was clearly tone deaf a flaw he should have found irritating but instead found utterly endearing.

Highly concerned for their safety, he’d brought his knives each night, and a pistol as well, but not once had he sensed any threats or anyone watching them, nor had the ever alert Danforth. If someone had previously been watching him, it seemed clear they’d abandoned the endeavor. And just this evening he’d heard through the servant gossip grapevine that Elizabeth Willstone’s brother Billy Smythe had abruptly left Upper Fladersham, fueling speculation that he was responsible for Tom’s death. A very sad outcome for the Willstone family, but a huge relief, as far as his own circumstances were concerned.