Authors: Cynthia Bailey Pratt
She whispered, “I didn't mean to wake you, but you mustn't scratch."
She attempted to pull her hands free, but his grip was firmly gentle. Thinking he was playing a game, she laughed and said, “Really, you must let me go. I'll come back."
"I'll never let you go.” With surprising strength, he pulled her off balance to lie against his chest. Then he turned, and she found herself lying beside the heat of Alaric's body, his face only inches from her own. He posed above her so all she could see was the depths of his eyes. They were not sky-blue now, but dark as the midnight swell of the sea.
"Lord Reyne ...” she began, but he began to speak to her in an underbreath, words that made her cheeks burn as hot as his own.
"There's never been another woman as beautiful as you. When you appear, all the others faded into insignificance. I can't recall even their faces. You're like a dream—that's not original, but it's true for all of that. The arch of your brow would make a Roman architect weep, your lips would shame a rose for never achieving such a perfect color. And as for shape ... The way you walk with your breasts held so high ... the curves of your waist and hips ... the curve ..."
Sarah gave up twisting her wrists to get free and lay, passive and trembling, beside him. Her eyes closed as one thought filled her mind. He's going to kiss me. She held her breath and waited.
After a long time, she dared to open one eye and cast a swift glance at Lord Reyne. His cheek had fallen onto the pillow, and his chest rose and fell in the tidal rhythm of sleep. Around her wrists, his hands were relaxed. She found it disappointingly easy to slide free.
Her knees felt weak, Sarah only had strength enough to walk to the armchair and to sink down upon it. Whatever love she had felt for Lord Reyne before was but a child's for a painted image compared to what feelings kindled now in her heart. Taking his fever into account, she could not rejoice that he loved her too, though his words might lead her on to hope. He admired her and more. It was not impossible to dream that one day Lord Reyne might feel the full power of love for her.
Sarah sat in the armchair and dreamed so long that Mrs. East and Lady Phelps both came in search of her. First, they saw the man asleep and changed to a tiptoe pace. “Sarah? Wake up, dear,” her mother whispered, taking her daughter by the shoulder.
"Oh, I wasn't asleep.” Perhaps she had been, though, and all that went before was no more than a dream.
Lady Phelps said, “You mustn't tire yourself, or you'll be indisposed as well. And you missed luncheon."
"Did Harvey do it?"
"Everything was delicious. I was rather surprised."
From behind them, a hoarse voice said, “Your whispers, ladies, would rouse a sleeping stone.” The two women turned, showing Sarah between them. “Ah, there you are,” Lord Reyne said, propping himself up on his elbows.
Sarah saw, by his glittering eyes and reddened face, that his fever had not yet passed. Swiftly, she glanced up at her mother and Lady Phelps. They smiled still, the formal smiles of a sickroom call. Rising and pressing past them, she poured out more water into his glass to carry to him.
"Mind you don't spill it,” he said. “You've dampened my ardor often enough already. How can it be that every time I see you, you're more wonderful than before? But you shouldn't wear your hair up; let it be loose and free as it was the first time we met. Every time I run my fingers through it, I hear music."
He struggled upright to be in a better position to drink. Before he lifted the glass to his lips, however, he flourished it in a toast to his gape-mouthed audience. “I must compliment you on your daughter, Mrs. East. A most radiant and loving woman, or so I have always found her. Did you say something about luncheon? I have quite an appetite today. I don't know why."
The two older ladies exchanged a single glance which seemed but compressed thought. Lady Phelps stepped forward, while Mrs. East escorted a red-faced Sarah out. “Certainly, Lord Reyne,” Lady Phelps said. “Wouldn't you enjoy an iced pudding?"
"You're too kind."
But by the time she returned with it, he was once more asleep. The sweet was too good to waste, however, so she took it along to the chamber Mrs. East and Sarah were sharing during the emergency. Sarah was too happy to eat it and her mother shook her head at this sign of love, before indicating silently that she'd like to speak to Lady Phelps out in the corridor. “I think it best if Fred continues to take Lord Reyne his meals. And if the man requires entertainment, let him be content with a book."
In a low voice. Lady Phelps said, “Do you think ... has he trifled with Sarah's feelings?"
"I doubt it.” Yet Mrs. East's plump cheeks, so admirably suited to her cheerful outlook, were drawn down by her worried lips. “She is so desperately in love with him! It is better if they do not meet while he is ... disturbed."
"I needn't tell
you,
Marissa, that you must warn her. Men's affections, especially when ill, are so easily caught and once caught, easily changed."
"I've warned her, yes, but I fear it will do no good. She says nothing, though she sighs frequently. I have never known Sarah to sigh for anything before now."
"This is positively the last time Harvey holds open house!"
United in kindness, they made Sarah promise that she would not visit Lord Reyne's room again, even if other persons were present. She protested, knowing that her mother relied on her word, and once it was given, she could do nothing further, except think of him every moment.
From Fred, she heard of the drying and fading of the blisters, and the triumph of the first shave. From ‘Lizabeth, coming in to do Sir Francis’ room, she heard all the details of Lord Reyne's return to good humor. But Sarah did not see him again until the day he arose from his bed to re-enter the world.
Though she knew it most likely contravened the spirit of her promise, Sarah lurked in the hall to see him descend. He came down quickly enough, his fingers still smoothing the wings of his cravat. Harvey was close behind, and Lord Reyne addressed a few words to him. “All the other guests are flown, Phelps? Believe me, it was never my intention to overstay my welcome."
"On the contrary, I fear we have overdone our hospitality."
Reaching the hall. Lord Reyne said, “You must call on me when you are next in London."
Harvey was visibly gratified. “I shall, sir. Gladly."
"Just leave your nephew at home, eh, Phelps?” Laughing, Lord Reyne pushed his fist against Harvey's shoulder. Then his smile went directly to the pillar which Sarah clutched in front of herself like a shield. “Is that my playmate? Come out.” He took her wrist and pulled.
Sarah could only stare dumbly at him, certain the gesture would bring everything back to his mind. However, he only said, “What of all those promises to let me win at cribbage? You've not been near me since. Afraid your victory was a fluke?"
"No, sir."
"Ah, then you're confident you'll best me tonight! The good doctor forbids travel for two more days, so I must impose further on the good offices of our friends. And yours.” He stood before her, looking into her eyes. Then a frown came between his brows, and Sarah thought a memory stirred. Though she knew it wrong, she longed to hear those breathless phrases in her honor repeated, again and again. But all he said was, “Do you hear something?"
"Something?"
"Like the blowing of horns.” The front door was beside them. He opened it and dimly, yet growing nearer, came the sound of horns lustily blown. “Someone's coming,” he said, stepping out onto the half-round steps.
Sarah stood by his shoulder as a team of outriders came up the drive, gravel spraying from beneath their horse's hooves. The men wore grey-and-blue livery, silver braid contrasting with the brass of their instruments. They put them to their lips for one more blast that brought servants, guests, and family members to every window.
Then a darkly varnished carriage, its exquisite lines showing beneath the dust, drew around the sweep of the drive, the four horses seeming fresh from the stable. The footman swung from the back as lightly as a whirligig on a stick and bent like a sawdust doll when he bowed on opening the door. Sarah expected at least a wattled duchess for all this ceremony, yet the first person to come from the carriage was obviously a maid. The next personage, though much finer and grander than the first, also turned and waited for the last one out.
A small foot, a ruffle of gleaming petticoat beneath a soft strawberry-colored pelisse, a gloved hand, and at last the face of a lovely girl beneath a large yet tasteful hat. She cast one glance up at the house, and a ripple of laughter broke from the rosy lips. “Alaric! My foot's asleep. Help me out."
Lord Reyne said, “Lillian?"
Sarah stood wondering on the step as Lord Reyne went down to her. He'd mentioned sisters. Perhaps this was one. Now they were returning, she leaning on him and saying, “Isn't it just like me to come to you a little too late? How dare you recover before I could nurse you devotedly."
"Well, I shan't fall prey to it again just to please you. Besides, I had excellent nursing as it was. Miss Canfield, may I present Miss Sarah East?"
Sarah was ready to curtsy, but the other woman put out her hand. “I'm surprised you aren't malingering, Alaric, with such a fair one as this to look after you. How do you do. Miss East. Thank you so very much for looking after my fiance."
"May I join you, Miss East?” Miss Canfield parted from Lady Phelps and crossed the drawing room to sit beside Sarah on the silver-striped settee. A scarf floated from one shoulder and reflected the candles’ light in its rosy threads of shot silk.
"Certainly,” Sarah said, prompted only by politeness.
"What a charming home Hollytrees is. Lady Phelps says that it is historically nothing, however, compared with your own, I hope I may come to see it while I am here?"
"Lady Phelps is very kind."
It was after dinner. Mrs. Smithers, joyful because her husband felt more the thing, had created a splendid feast for the mere eighteen persons who now sat at the family table. The gentlemen, replete, lingered over their wine while the ladies departed to take tea in the drawing room.
With Miss Canfield's arrival at Hollytrees, a new spirit seemed to have taken hold. When his wife gave him an embroidered waistcoat on his last birthday. Sir Arthur had declared no power on earth would make him wear such a dandified garment. He wore it tonight. Lady Phelps selected a dashing turban to complement her husband's choice. The twins, heavy-eyed and sniffling still, rebelled at staying in bed any longer and had come down with marvelously inventive cravats. The rest of the guests were fine enough for a ball. Even Mr. East had taken trouble enough to brush his hair over the balding spot at the back.
Sarah's choice, if left to herself, would have been mourning. Today she had discovered the truth of the proverb that declares “Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves."
"Sarah East?” Lord Reyne had said in answer to a question put by his fiancee. “She's a beauty, I quite agree. But I'm afraid babes in arms have few attractions for me.” Miss Canfield had laughed and then said something in an undertone. “Well, yes, you are rather long in the tooth, aren't you, Lillian? What are you now, twenty-one? Ah, twenty-two! Our marriage is off."
She had not meant to listen. Lady Phelps had sent her to ask Miss Canfield if she needed anything in her room. Sarah couldn't say that she'd rather walk barefoot through alligator-infested waters than speak to Miss Canfield. Approaching the open door, she'd heard Miss Canfield say, “What an amazingly lovely creature you introduced as your nurse. Is her character as charming as her face?"
Upon hearing Lord Reyne's cool reply, Sarah kept only enough wits to glide, rather than clatter, away. In a vacant room, she caught her breath with a sob. The odor of flowers, placed here to drive off the bad air that came with sickness, filled her lungs. Raising her eyes, Sarah saw that this was his room. Here, on that bed, he'd poured out his admiration for her. That, she now realized, was only the ravings of a fevered man. If dreams went by contraries, so might delirious praises of her beauty mean something entirely different.
Once, she'd found a wounded rabbit under a bush, pressed into the moist ground as though praying to be absorbed by the sheltering earth. Picking it up, she'd felt it shudder, yet it was too wretched even to kick out against her. Her father had delicately removed the wire that had lacerated its leg. Though it recovered, it always lay flat in the bottom of the hutch, until Sarah could bear its sadness no longer and let it go.
She felt like that now, dumbly miserable, yet there was no hand to free her. Sarah felt the impossibility of sharing her newest sorrow with anyone. She had no more words to express it than did the rabbit.
Mrs. East, approaching the settee, was in time to hear her daughter's ungracious reply to Miss Canfield. “Of course, you must visit,” Mrs. East said. “We are returning home this evening."
Sarah looked up. “We are?"
"I hope you shall find time to visit us, Miss Canfield."
"Thank you, I certainly shall. Having made Miss East's acquaintance, I am reluctant to sever our friendship so soon. I have such cause for gratitude towards you."
At the warmth of Miss Canfield's tone, Sarah straightened her sloping shoulders and said, “I haven't done anything."
Miss Canfield's dark eyes smiled. “You cared for Alaric when I could not. What greater cause could there be? I wonder ... would you accept some token of my gratitude?” She wore, as was the fashion, five or six beaded bracelets on her left wrist. Now she unfastened one, and with a glance upwards to receive Mrs. East's approval. Miss Canfield pressed it into Sarah's limp hand.
It was a pretty thing, of lozenge-shaped blue stones flecked with gold, separated by golden spheres. Sarah looked at it, cool and solid in her hand, and dully said, “Thank you."
As Sarah fumbled with the tiny hook. Miss Canfield said, “The stones are lapis lazuli from Afghanistan. I spent several years in India with my father, where we collected many beautiful things.” Fleetingly, she touched the fine sapphires that dazzled with blue fire about her slim throat.