The Kidnapped Bride (9 page)

Work on the inside of the house went as slowly as she had expected, but the lawns and gardens began shaping up well. The gardens were still pretty bare, but the weeds were soon gone, and the grass was cut back to its proper height and restricted to its original borders. The men were still working to remove the weeds from the drive, and there remained a great deal of underbrush to be cleared from the woods, but much had been accomplished.

Penny willingly took on the burden of supervising the maidservants, often working right alongside them as they slaved to make the huge house habitable again. Sarah played the lady of the manor for a short while, but then she, too, took up a broom or a rag and worked with the others. Their tasks seemed far more interesting to her than did reading or sewing while the others were physically active. The work was satisfying and served to keep her mind off her own troubles.

Darcy clearly expected Sarah to sit with him in the library each night until after evening tea had been served, but he made no demur when she invited Penny both to dine with them and to keep them company afterward. Several times, however, both Darcy and Beck disappeared directly after dinner, not to be seen again until morning, and Sarah had no idea where they went, nor was she much interested, assuming that they must have gone carousing. She took the opportunity to have a comfortable coze with Penny and to get to bed early.

About half past two in the afternoon following the third of these excursions, a man rode up the drive, was admitted to the house, and requested private speech with the master. Sarah, practically attired in a housemaid’s mob cap and apron, was polishing the gallery rail when he was shown into the library. She could tell by looking at him that he was no gentleman, yet he was closeted with her husband for about an hour. Nevertheless, she would have taken little interest in him but for the fact that Beck seemed to find a number of excuses for loitering in the hall while the man was with Darcy. Once she could have sworn that the valet had been about to listen at the door before he noticed her standing at the rail above him. He had departed rather hastily then, only to return some minutes later upon another errand.

Once the visitor had gone, however, Beck went immediately into the library, closing the door behind him. Sarah, now very curious herself, decided that the hall table next to the library door needed polishing as much as the gallery rail, which was, as a matter of fact, now finished. On the thought, she gathered up her materials, descended the stair, rapidly crossed the hall, and began to spread bee’s wax upon the table.

S
ARAH COULD HEAR HER
husband’s voice upraised in anger, but his words were indistinct. Amazingly, she heard Beck’s voice answer back as loudly. They were clearly arguing about something, and she wished she could hear better. The idea that Darcy, easy-going as he might appear, would allow a servant of his such a liberty astounded her.

She had been polishing the side of the table away from the door with the notion in the back of her mind that, should the door begin to open, she would have ample time to scurry across to the saloon under the stair before they could note her presence. But now, her curiosity overcame her good sense, and she crept closer to the library door.

The words were slightly clearer. She heard Beck say something about the money having naught to do with him, to which her husband responded by roundly informing him that he would, by God, remember for once who was man and who was master, and that would be the end of it. The voices lowered, and Sarah nearly had her ear against the door trying to make out what the two men were saying. She could hear nothing but the low drone of their voices, but her curiosity was well and truly piqued. The hinges on the library door, she knew, had been soaped only the day before when Darcy complained that the door squeaked abominably.

Giving no thought whatever to the impropriety of her action, she set her wax cloth upon the table and began slowly to turn the handle. So intent was she upon not making any noise herself that she did not notice when the sound of voices within the room ceased, but suddenly the latch was snatched from her grasp. Gasping with shock, she glanced up to find Beck looking sardonically down at her.

“Did you wish to see his lordship, my lady?” the valet asked with mock politeness.

Sarah straightened, wiping suddenly sweating palms on the once white apron she wore over her sprig muslin round gown. Her things had arrived as promised the Tuesday following the wedding, but Sarah’s clothes were mostly for show and were highly impractical for housework. Her hair had nearly driven her crazy the first few days, until one of the maidservants had provided her with the mob cap. Even then, her heavy tresses kept escaping their confines. As a last resort, she had allowed Penny to braid her hair into two thick plaits with curling ends, which were easily tucked under the cap and pinned in place.

She was not thinking of her appearance at the moment, however, because at Beck’s words, Darcy had risen quickly to his feet from the heavy oak chair behind the desk, his eyes wide with a mixture of consternation and astonishment. “Sarah! What on earth!”

Sarah entered reluctantly and approached the desk to face him. She was not surprised to discover that her knees were quaking, for she was appalled at herself and filled with remorse to think that she had actually been guilty of eavesdropping, something no true lady would ever lower herself to do. To be carried away by curiosity, not a pretty quality in itself, was certainly no excuse for such reprehensible behavior, and Darcy would be quite right to censure her. Perhaps, she thought with a sudden surge of anxiety, he might even beat her! Aunt Aurelia would certainly have done so, had Sarah been guilty of such an impropriety while living at Hartley House!

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said in a low tone, her eyes downcast.

Darcy took his seat again and cocked his head curiously. “Do you make a habit of listening at doors, my dear? I should have thought Lady Hartley would have nipped such rag manners firmly in the bud.” She flushed deeply at this uncanny echo of her own thoughts, and he went on evenly, “Don’t approve of it myself, you know. Can’t think of anything more likely to displease me in a servant, let alone a wife.”

He paused a moment, watching her intently, but when Sarah opened her mouth to speak, to try to defend the indefensible, he silenced her with a gesture. “I am disappointed in you, Sarah. Thought you had better manners.”

“I’m terribly sorry, my lord,” she replied, striving to maintain what was left of her dignity. “It was an impulse, and I am truly ashamed of myself.”

“Perfectly understandable, Sarah. You ought to be ashamed.” But his tone was vague. Beck stood just behind her. He had said nothing, but now, Darcy seemed to look past her, sending his man a rather quizzical look, and Sarah had the odd notion that they were carrying on a sort of silent conversation. It made her uncomfortable at first, then irritated her.

“Could we not discuss this matter privately, my lord?” she asked, controlling her voice carefully. She was scarcely in a position to make demands, yet surely he must see that he ought not to scold her in front of his valet!

“It seems to me,” he said now, “that Beck and I were trying to discuss a matter privately before you popped onto the scene. The man’s got a right to know what you were doing there.” Sarah’s ears burned at the reproof, and she knew Beck was staring at her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how his presence unmanned her. She straightened her shoulders and kept her eyes firmly fixed upon her husband.

“What … what are you going to d-do?” she asked, annoyed by the slight stammer that betrayed her nervousness.

“Well, I shall have to consider the matter,” Darcy replied, leaning back in the chair and lacing his fingers together under his chin.

“His late lordship would no doubt have punished anyone he caught listening in on a private conversation,” Beck put in. “Most severely.”

His tone was positively silky, Sarah thought, scarcely able to believe her ears. That Darcy could discuss such a thing with a servant! It was intolerable! Her first reaction was to protest, but the words died unspoken. It would do no good at all and would, indeed, be far more likely to set up his back, to trigger that streak of obstinacy that had made things so difficult at the outset. He would not appreciate any backchat from her, not in Beck’s presence. It would be far wiser, if a great deal more difficult, to tread lightly.

She had no reason to think Darcy a particularly violent man, but she had come to realize in the past days that Beck did exert an odd sort of influence over his master. If he pressed for punishment and Sarah could not succeed in placating her husband, servant or not, Beck might well turn the trick.

“Man’s quite right, you know, Sarah,” Darcy observed. “M’ father would have been dashed severe upon such an occasion. But can’t decide what to do without knowing exactly what you overheard.” He spoke casually, but she sensed that her reply would be important to him. With the threat of possible punishment hanging over her, it was a bit difficult to collect her thoughts, but she made the effort. Perhaps, if he knew that she had heard nothing special, he would not be harsh with her.

“I heard nothing that made any sense to me, my lord,” she answered, choosing her words with care, and pointedly giving her back to the valet. “There was only one point where I was able to decipher words at all. I heard Beck say something about money meaning nothing to him, and then you said he was to do as he was told. Everything else was quite muffled. I’m afraid that is why I was opening the door. I still cannot believe I was capable of doing such a thing. You are very right to be angry with me, sir, but I beg of you—”

“Talking will pay no toll,” Beck interrupted harshly. “How can we trust what she says, my lord?”

“I believe her,” Darcy replied, somewhat hesitantly, Sarah thought. “She’s got no reason to lie, has she?”

“We can’t know that, can we? Besides, even if she heard nothing today, we can’t take the chance she might do such a thing again. ’Specially now that her curiosity’s been aroused.”

As indeed it had. Sarah still did not turn to look at Beck, but his tone made her skin crawl. She wondered what in the world the two men could have been discussing that would make them react so strenuously to her eavesdropping. Shame had quite given way to her natural inquisitiveness, and snapping an imaginary finger at the proprieties involved, she privately decided that she would seize whatever opportunity arose to discover what these two were up to. Her expression must have given her thoughts away, for Darcy’s eyes narrowed, and he turned slightly in his chair.

“Perhaps Beck is right. Come round here to me, Sarah.” Not knowing precisely what he had in mind, Sarah hesitated, and Darcy glanced past her at Beck. She had the sudden feeling that the valet would force her into compliance with her husband’s request, and that might well have been the case had the front windows of the library not been wide open, allowing the sound of an approaching vehicle to divert them all.

A light racing curricle painted sunshine yellow, its wheels picked out in orange, its seat covered with polished leather, hove into view through the framework of trees lining the now nearly pristine drive. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of its driver, a gentleman in a many-caped driving cloak who flicked his whip back, caught the thong neatly, and slipped the handle into its lock before drawing up in front of the house with all the flair of a nonesuch.

“My God, it’s Nick!” Darcy exclaimed. “What the devil is he doing here?”

Sarah stared out the window, unconsciously taking in the full scene—the brilliantly colored curricle, the team of magnificent chestnuts now pawing and champing at bits as though poised for flight instead of ending a journey; the diminutive tiger perched up behind the driver—but she was mindful only of the driver himself.

Sir Nicholas Ashton was a tall gentleman with fair, curly hair that was cropped short and worn in a cherubim style. The cloak made his shoulders look even broader than Sarah remembered them to be, and beneath it, it could be seen that he wore cream-colored pantaloons and brightly polished Hessians. As he handed the reins to his tiger and swung down from the curricle, his mouth was set in grim lines, and his deep-voiced orders to take the rig around to the stables came clearly to the threesome still frozen in place in the library.

Suddenly and most painfully aware of her untidy appearance, Sarah came to life, snatching the mob cap from her head. “Please, sir,” she begged, turning pleading eyes to her husband, “may I be excused?”

He nodded. “Go to your bedchamber. We’ll discuss this matter properly once I’ve got rid of him.”

Sarah escaped thankfully, taking the stairs nearly two at a time. She looked back from the landing to see Beck watching her as though to make sure she had reached the gallery before he opened the front door. A moment later, Sir Nicholas strode into the hall, his capes swinging. There was no sign now of the grimness she had noted earlier.

“Ho, Beck, you old scoundrel!” he boomed heartily. “Where’s your master?”

“Here, Nick.” Darcy spoke from the library threshold, and Sarah stepped further back into the shadows, lest any of them glance up and somehow catch a glimpse of her there. She was eavesdropping again of course, but she could no more have torn herself away than she could have flown. “What do you want here?”

Darcy’s tone was barely civil, and Sir Nicholas grinned at him. “Don’t overdo your welcome, my lord. I’ve come to pay a bride visit, of course. The news was devilish slow catching me, but once I heard you’d managed to get yourself leg-shackled, I had to pay my respects.” He cast a glance around the hall. “Where’s your bride?”

“Upstairs, I daresay,” Darcy replied carelessly. “Do you stay to dine?”

Sir Nicholas laughed. “Dine! I hope to impose longer than that. I’m to collect young Colin for the long vacation at the end of the week. I’d as lief not go to Town and back again, if you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself. Hope your tiger’s prepared to see to your wants though, because I’m mighty short-handed at the moment, and Beck is going up to London for a day or so. Besides, he’s already doing a good bit more than he’s paid for.”