The Kidnapped Bride (30 page)

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Don’t put me to the test, Countess,” he warned. “Sit down and behave yourself. I want to talk to you.”

“I have no wish to sit in your company, sir,” she retorted rudely. “I tire of your endless scolds and lectures. ’Tis
my
name that is being discussed in London.
I
am the one everyone thinks killed Darcy. I want his killer laid by the heels, and no one else is lifting a finger except Colin!”

“Don’t be melodramatic!” he snapped. “I abhor Cheltenham farce. It may interest you to know, besides, that my name is very probably in all those same betting books. It would be odd indeed if it were not. So I also have a stake in finding Darcy’s killer. However, there are ways and ways of doing things, and you and Colin are more likely to upset carefully laid plans than to catch the killer. I utterly forbid either of you to engage in any further activities of that nature.” He paused, but before she could protest, a new thought occurred to him. “I have not precisely rescinded my orders regarding your riding, by the way, and I shall remind the stable personnel of that fact. Who was it who saddled your horse today? Jem?” She was silent, and he moved toward her, frowning. “Tell me, Sarah.” She shook her head stubbornly, whereupon he put his hands to her shoulders and gave her a little shake. Angrily, she twisted away, lifting an indignant hand, but he caught it easily. “Not today, Countess. Let us try to retain our composure.”

“Well, I shan’t tell you, and you have no right to force me!” Jerking her hand away, Sarah suddenly realized that she was close to tears and resorted to fury to cover them up. “You are impossible, sir! Despicable! So puffed up in notions of propriety and … and
tyranny
that you have no compassion, no understanding of others weaker than yourself!”

“Sarah!”

“No, don’t say any more! I don’t wish to hear any more! And you won’t be troubled by my presence at dinner either, my lord! I should
prefer
to remain in my bedchamber!” Yanking open the French doors, Sarah turned a deaf ear to his shouts and, raging inwardly, fairly flew across the terrace and down the dark path to Dower House. His lordship was quite obviously incapable of understanding how important it was to her to discover Darcy’s murderer and would far rather spend his time reprimanding Colin or the poor stableboys. In short, he was altogether abominable, and it was a relief to have told him so! But when she reached the candlelit haven of her bedchamber, she flung herself onto the bed and let the tears come in wracking sobs until she could sob no more.

It was nearly half an hour later that Miss Penistone entered. “You must dress for dinner now, Miss Sarah,” she said matter-of-factly. “I shall ring for Lizzie.”

“That won’t be necessary, Penny,” Sarah said, sitting up on the bed and attempting to sound dignified, but looking more like a woebegone child. “I shall not be going to dinner tonight.”

Miss Penistone seemed not to notice the tearstains or the damp wisps of hair sticking to Sarah’s face. “Of course you must go to dinner,” she said briskly, moving to the washstand and pouring cool water into the porcelain basin. “Come and wash your face, whilst I ring.” She moved to pull the bell.

“No! Penny, do not ring,” Sarah insisted. “I am staying right here.”

Miss Penistone turned back, her hand hesitating near the bell tassel. There was amusement and something else in her eyes, but her tone was much as ever. “I should advise you to leave off your sulks, my lady, and make the best of things. I had hoped you might have come to your senses by now, but since you have not, perhaps I should tell you that his lordship has said he will come to fetch you himself if you are late.”

“He wouldn’t!” But she knew he would if he had said so. And carry her to dinner over his shoulder, no doubt, like a sack of corn, if she wouldn’t go peaceably. Penny merely gave a knowing little smile and pulled the cord. “And I am not sulking,” Sarah declared as she got up and went to splash water on her face. “He was utterly hateful!”

“No doubt he was, my dear,” Penny agreed, “though it is not my place to say so, of course. He seemed not to understand, however, exactly what it was that he had done.”

“He said that much to you!” Sarah was astonished.

“No, no, but he seemed confused, not quite himself. Except, of course, when he issued his ultimatum. He said then that he didn’t care to have her ladyship ring a peal over him for keeping you from your dinner.”

“He is keeping Colin from his,” Sarah pointed out. When Penny said nothing, she hunched a shoulder. “Oh, very well. I suppose it is different. To tell the truth, Penny, I do not know what made me fly into such a pelter with him. It just happened.” But she did remember that he had brought her near to tears. Even so, why had she become so angry? It was as though he sparked something off inside her whenever they were together. As though there was always conflict between them. It had been so from the beginning, of course. She had been antagonized the first time they met, when he criticized where others had praised. But why should she let it bother her so? Unquestionably, it was time to take control of herself and the situation as well.

Sarah straightened, tilted her chin, and even managed a nearly normal smile when Lizzie answered Penny’s summons. “My gold silk, Lizzie,” she ordered. “And hurry. I don’t wish to be late.” She began pulling pins from her hair and allowed Penny to help her from her riding habit. She would show him! Sulks indeed! The trick was simply to let him see that his moods could not affect her, that she was a grand lady supremely indifferent to his criticisms or his accolades, should he choose to deliver either. She would hold herself aloof from all that. After all, she would have to put up with him for quite some time yet. It might as well be as painless as possible.

In record time, she was ready. Her dress no longer showed the slightest trace of a bloodstain. Indeed, the gold silk shimmered as she moved, while emeralds at her throat and ears sparkled green fire. Lizzie brushed her hair till it glistened, then parted it in the middle, and swept the two wings into a knot of curls banded by a narrow braid at the top of her head. Sarah surveyed the results in her mirror.

“Perfect. Shall we go, Penny?”

Shaking out the skirt of her lavender silk dinner gown, Miss Penistone agreed that it was more than time. Sarah realized that, despite the rush, they were indeed a few minutes late, so it was no great surprise to her to discover, when they reached the top of the stairs, that Nicholas was on the point of entering the hall.

“Good evening, my lord,” she greeted him, imitating Lady Hartley’s chilly hauture. “How kind of you to give us your escort.”

N
ICHOLAS’S EYES HELD A
touch of mockery, but he made no comment upon her appearance, merely greeting both ladies amicably and holding the door open for them to pass through. They could not manage the pathway three abreast, so he stood politely aside, and Sarah passed him with her nose in the air. Miss Penistone shot her a look of reproach, but it was ignored, and if that lady wondered how long his lordship would tolerate such Turkish treatment, she kept the thought to herself.

The pathway was dark and Sarah stumbled once, but she had to catch herself, for Nicholas made no move to come to her assistance, only stepping forward when they reached the flagstone terrace to open the doors. Lady Packwood and Sir Percival looked up as they entered.

“My, how grand you look tonight, my dear,” Lady Packwood commented cheerfully. “Complete to a shade!”

“Fine as fivepence,” agreed Sir Percival, flicking snuff from his sleeve. “Looks like a golden statue, don’t she, my sweet?”

Sarah blushed, as Sir Percival’s words unleashed a spate of memories, and wished that she had worn something else. She glanced at Nicholas quickly enough to catch a sharp look before he turned away to the wine tray.

“Anyone else?” he inquired smoothly.

The others declining, he helped himself to a small glass of mountain, tossing it down rather quickly when Dasher entered to ask if they were now ready to dine.

If anyone had asked Sarah three days later, or even the following morning, to repeat the gist of the table talk that evening, she would have been hard pressed to comply. She might have remembered making a lot of airy gestures, tossing out light, cheerful comments by the peck, or maintaining a chilly politeness whenever called upon to notice his lordship’s presence, and she would have been vaguely aware that Sir Percival had disapproved of their having fallen victim to a pair of nasty highwaymen, but she would never remember a single other topic or a specific phrase.

Telling herself that she was delighted when Sir Percival suggested to Nicholas after dinner that the two of them take their port to the billiards room, she followed Lady Packwood back to the library, thinking they could enjoy a comfortable coze, uninterrupted by any of his lordship’s usual, fusty comments. However, less than a half hour later, Sarah stifled a yawn. She could not understand it, but the evening seemed to have turned sadly flat. Surely, Lady Packwood’s conversation was as amusing as ever, and Penny’s knitting needles clicked away with comforting familiarity, but she herself was having much difficulty sustaining her part of things. She half expected her ladyship to demand to know what was wrong with her and did not know whether to be grateful or indignant when she did not. A few moments and several yawns later, she could stand it no longer.

“I don’t know how it is,” she said, not realizing she had interrupted Lady Packwood’s anecdote midsentence, “but I seem to be exceedingly fatigued this evening. I beg you will forgive me, ma’am, if I excuse myself.”

“Of course, my dear,” replied her ladyship agreeably, while Penny obligingly bestowed her knitting. “I expect you are still recovering from this morning’s shocking incident. A good night’s rest will put you right again.” Since Sarah thought it would not be quite tactful to admit that she had not really thought once all evening about the highwaymen, she accepted the excuse and gratefully made her escape without noticing when Lady Packwood, exchanging a glance with Penny, shook her head in tolerant amusement.

It was still only half past ten when Lizzie snuffed out the candles and bade Sarah a fond good night, and suddenly she was no longer sleepy at all. Try as she would to erase her mind of thought, the vision of a gentleman with fair curls and blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed kept intruding. How ridiculous to dwell upon that face, she scolded herself. Particularly when the laughter was so rare. He nearly always frowned, did he not? Was nearly always vexed or disapproving. Besides, she was a widow with most of her year’s mourning still ahead of her. Not that that made a difference where he was concerned, of course, except that it meant he would continue to carp and censure and make himself generally irritating, A whole year! No parties, no pleasures, no fun! It was too much. Entirely too much! Had she not made up her mind to ignore his moods and his notions of propriety as well? Why on earth could she not put his lordship out of her head entirely!

Sarah punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape and plopped her head down again, determined to capture sleep. But it continued to elude her. It seemed that she no sooner found a comfortable position for her head than her back began to ache. But when she turned over, the back of her knee began to itch. She scratched it with a toenail and decided that the problem was actually that the bedclothes had become disarranged.

Sitting up, Sarah yanked and straightened until she had pulled the patchwork coverlet loose from the foot of the bed. With à sigh, she threw off the covers and got up. First, she straightened the bed properly, but as she was about to climb in again, she decided against it. Admit it, she thought, you just are not ready to sleep.

Perhaps, she could go downstairs and find something to read. There was, if she was not mistaken, a new issue of the
Ladies’ Monthly Museum
in the drawing room. She slipped her feet into a pair of soft slippers and found a silk dressing gown on a hook in her wardrobe. But as she wrapped it around herself, she changed her mind again. What she really needed was a hot posset or at least some warm milk. Either one ought to send her right off. Maybe someone was still up. But when she opened her door, only darkness greeted her. Darkness and silence.

Sarah sighed and shut the door again. She really didn’t want to go downstairs by herself just to fix warm milk. She wasn’t even sure where Betsy kept the items necessary to prepare it. A hot posset was out of the question. And she didn’t really want to read either. Restlessly, she walked to the front window to adjust it, although no adjustment was necessary.

It was a glorious night. A slender crescent moon hung over the dark shapes of the trees, and the stars were out in riotous profusion, dancing like silver glitter against the black, black sky. As she watched, a shooting star arched over the trees hiding the main house from view. She looked more closely. Not even a flicker of light shone through the thick foliage from the library window, so it was later than she had thought, and they had all gone to bed.

Well, not all. As she formed the thought, a flash of light caught her attention amidst the trees below. Sarah chuckled. That boy! Up to his tricks again. Clearly, he had not learned his lesson the first time. But still, considering her present mood, he might at least provide diversion, so long as his lordship didn’t catch him at his nonsense again.

Just then, she heard a tentative woof. Erebus! On the thought, she hurried to the door, down the dark stairs, and out onto the front veranda. The dog must not disturb Nicholas, or Colin would be in for it again. There was a second bark, louder, less tentative. She hurried toward the sound, not wanting to call out, wanting only to stifle the noise. She reached the path and stopped. It was very dark and very quiet.

A third bark, then two more in quick succession. They came from her right, the thickest part of the wood. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but it was still difficult to find her way through the shrubbery, particularly with twigs and branches snatching at her dressing gown. Suddenly she came into a small clearing and saw the dog on the other side near a large boulder. He heard her and woofed a greeting, galumphing toward her, then turning back almost immediately to the rock. Looking back, he woofed again, then pawed at something on the ground that produced a distinctly wooden sound.