A Lady in Love (7 page)

Fortunately for Sarah's peace of mind, her mother and Lady Phelps had always maintained a steady traffic between their households. Rarely in me history of their friendship had a day passed without some child trudging back and forth with a note or jar of jam or skein of silk. The only change in this routine was that Sarah could now be found immediately whenever her mother had a small commission for Hollytrees, instead of having to be searched for. This eagerness to be of service continued, despite the dangers Sarah found in the journey.

The difficulties were lessened by Harmonia's loss of interest in the conduct of her friend's beaus, having found one of her own. Without Harmonia to give the alarm, Sarah found it easier to evade the younger men. All the same, Sarah did not abandon her caution, still looking both ways before emerging from the trees and listening carefully for the sound of male footsteps before advancing down a seemingly deserted hall.

Despite her care, it was a near run thing on one or two occasions. Lord Dudley had the knack of appearing around a corner just as Sarah came out of range of cover. Fortunately, he seemed to have no memory of their encounter in Harmonia's bedchamber. Furthermore, though he'd smile when he saw her, he did not appear intent on overwhelming her with his charm. The same could not be said of the others when they found her.

Though the nearly universal demand for her company continued, every day she was disappointed in her own dearest wish. Sometimes, no matter how indiscreetly she inquired, she couldn't even manage to find out from Lady Phelps and Harmonia where Lord Reyne was, or what he had done that day.

On Tuesday, she came up to return a shawl her mother had borrowed. Mrs. East had been unable to locate it until almost four o'clock, so when Sarah arrived, Harmonia asked her to stay to tea. Entering the green drawing room, she crossed to take her teacup and then searched for a place to sit.

Lord Reyne sat in an armchair, pulled around near to the fireplace. Though until that moment she had found the touch of autumn in the air invigorating, she now went closer to warm her hands. She felt almost afraid to look at him, yet she did not miss his self-absorption. Sad lines sculpted his narrow face. She wondered if he were in pain.

He glanced up, his frown still in place. Recognizing her, his features seemed to relax. “Ah, Miss East. Have you climbed any more trees? Or led any more parades?"

Sarah could only shake her head, too happy to speak. He actually remembered her after nearly an entire week without seeing her! She seated herself on a hassock near his feet. Sipping her tea, Sarah did not dare raise her eyes above Lord Reyne's knees. Finally, an idea of something to say crossed her mind. “Are you enjoying your stay at Hollytrees?"

He nodded. “So much so that I have agreed to remain for several more days. I had thought of leaving tomorrow."

Sarah's heart leapt painfully and she nearly spilt her tea. He was not going soon, though not staying long. “But you are to be here for the picnic?"

"I have been persuaded. I think young Harvey wishes to question me about my experiences during the last campaign. Somehow, I find it difficult to talk about that now. I suppose my memory is failing. The price of old age, you know.” His mouth twisted, and Sarah made haste to change the subject.

"You said, I think, that you've a house in Essex. What is it like?” She hoped to picture him in his home, if he would tell her enough. It would give her something to dream of, after he left.

"Miss East, as I have seen you in your night attire, you needn't talk to me as though I were entirely a stranger.” Alaric lowered his voice to a murmur. The instant blush that appeared in her cheeks brightened her grey eyes before they were hidden beneath those dark lashes, so absurdly lovely for a girl with hair quite like spun gold.

"I never thanked you—"

"On the contrary. Miss East, you thanked me by allowing me to be of service. Forgive me for teasing you, and for leaving you now as I must. I am engaged to discuss the Corn Laws with Sir Arthur.” Alaric stood up and turned away, his hand accidentally brushing against the silken coil of her hair. He sternly ignored the tingle that ran up his arm at the contact.

Dealing with the hero-worship of the sons of the Phelps family wore on his nerves, but he enjoyed the freedom of the house. He'd found some old friends in their library. The gently rolling countryside admirably suited a man who needed to hone his skill in the saddle without overtiring himself. And yet, Alaric had not felt quite at ease until he saw the East girl hesitating beside him. The temptation to tease her was overwhelming and dangerous. He'd write to Lillian tonight.

Sarah had not another opportunity to speak to Lord Reyne that afternoon. But she could watch him, even when ostensibly speaking to one of the others. She could only hope the cold breeze would fade by Thursday, for it would be too bad if the picnic must be canceled. Prayers for fair weather would be within the bounds of sanctity, she supposed, if she prayed for the success of Lady Phelps’ plans, rather than selfishly.

Thursday dawned clear and sunny, more or less, a summer day let down in the middle of October. The sky above emulated the exact color of Lord Reyne's eyes, though stern mountains of white and grey cloud were building up on the horizon. In the lane that led to Hollytrees, Sarah danced as she walked, bowing to a he-rabbit waiting beside a mushroom and kissing her hand to a tree that burned with crimson leaves.

Emerging on the hillside where the house sat, she could see all the lawn. The servants had already brought out tables and chairs, setting them up beside a rivulet that lead to the Phelpses’ artificial lake. This was a new addition, having been dug out of the native soil but three years before. Picturesque though it might be, regrettably the lake had rendered the nearby soil quite marshy. Lady Phelps decided the picnic would be more seemly some little distance from the lake. It shone enticingly through the framing trees.

Though he stepped no less quietly than before, Sarah felt that Lord Reyne stood beside her and turned sharply to see if it were true. No witty greeting came to her. She could only look at him, happy to see him well. Whatever had troubled him at tea the day before seemed to have left him.

After waiting for her to speak, Alaric said gently, “Good afternoon. Miss East. I had hoped I might see you today. Are you ready to go down, or do you wish to wait for Miss Phelps and her brothers? They're not far behind me; I left them gathering a multitude of rugs."

At the sound of his voice, she lost all the fear that had kept her tongue-tied. “I don't care to wait, and I know Smithers won't mind if we go down in advance.” As they went, she said, “This is the best hill in the county to roll down, and it makes wonderful sledding in the winter. You only have to be careful not to run into that fence. Or the water."

"Do you often roll down this hill now that you are grown?"

"No, not anymore. Not since last summer.” Sarah's feelings glowed in her cheeks. Not only had he said he hoped that he would see her today, but he thought her grown up. Molly had been wrong about her best nainsook muslin gown not being suitable for a day on the grass. She could not regret disregarding the country-woman's stern predictions of rain. The weather could not be so cruel as to change!

They reached the table. She greeted Smithers and the rest of the staff. They were putting the final touches to the tall pyramid sculpture of vegetables in the center of the main table, silver and china dishes radiating out from this artistic center like a mosaic.

"It must have taken hours, Mr. Smithers."

Alaric agreed with Sarah. “The Duchess of Richmond's alfresco occasions are nothing to it, Mr. Smithers."

The portly butler bowed from the waist. “A fancy of my own, my lord."

"How hard you have worked,” Sarah said. “You know, it's a pity it won't survive. Once the boys come down, I mean."

Walking around the other side to get another perspective, Alaric said, “An artist must take every opportunity to practice, eh, Mr. Smithers? If it were not a poor recompense for Lady Phelps’ hospitality, I would try to steal you away for my own household. You're rather wasted down in the country."

"Thank you, my lord. I could not leave Sir Arthur's service."

"Of course not,” Sarah said. “They'd never get on without you. I know I couldn't. All the times you've rescued me! Do you remember when ... ?” Just in time, Sarah recalled that the tales of her hoydenish escapades might not please Lord Reyne. Glancing at him, she saw him attending with polite interest. “I forgot what I was going to say."

Smithers, equipped with the god-like perception of a truly gifted butler, merely bowed again and murmured, “Always happy to be of service to Miss Sarah."

Harmonia called her name from the top of the hill. Sarah waved and Harmonia ran down, going faster and faster as the slope increased. It seemed as though Smithers’ work was destined for a premature destruction, when Lord Reyne stepped out and caught the flying girl against his chest. He steadied her, tilted his hat, and walked away. Sarah sighed. If only it could have been she who fell into his arms, even for a moment.

"Are you all right?” she asked Harmonia, as the girl panted for breath.

"Goodness, yes! I wanted to talk to you before Mother came.” Taking her friend by the hand, she set off briskly, out of earshot of the servants and the guests. “You'll never guess what horrid thing has happened."

"What?"

"Miss Dealford, a dreadful friend of Harriet's, is visiting us. With her mother. They're frightfully correct and the worst bores. You've got to help me get rid of them or they'll stay for days."

Sarah's attention still turned toward Lord Reyne, now in a group with Sir Francis and several other young men. But when her friend enlisted her aid, she asked, “Why do you want to be rid of them?"

"Because she has her hooks into Harlow, that's why. They arrived last night, and what do you know? They know him from London. I've hardly had the chance to speak to him since. He's so pleasant to everyone; he doesn't have the heart to give her the kind of set-down she deserves. Look there, and you'll see what I mean."

The weedy figure came down the hill, feeling with his small feet for firm footholds, quite as if he were descending an Alp.

He seemed to be escorting an opened parasol. As they came closer, Sarah saw a frail-seeming young woman gripping his arm, wrinkling the blue superfine. She seemed especially frightened of the cows, who walked up to the fence as stately as dowagers to see the visitors. Mr. Atwood brandished his stick at them and steered a path somewhat farther away from the enclosure.

"You would think,” said Harmonia, “that with all the unmarried men who are staying with us, she'd find someone else to attach herself to rather than my Harlow."

"Your Harlow?"

Harmonia blushed. “Oh, Sarah! If you only knew!"

"I'm sure he's being polite. I'll wager ...” Sarah waited for Harmonia's eager questions, but her friend did not take her up. Perhaps the matter was serious.

Miss Dealford smiled; Harmonia grumbled. “That creature ..."

"What do you want me to do?'’ Sarah would throw her heart into this project, if it meant Harmonia would be happy.

"I don't know, exactly. If we could but get her away from Harlow! Mother's seen us; we have to go back."

Miss Dealford already felt put out because Harriet had been too busy at her son's cradle to talk last night. Now she and her mother sniffed at Miss East and sneered at the ill-taste of the men who went at once to her side. Harlow remained beside them, but he shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and had to be spoken to twice before he replied. Only Alaric kept his manners and his sense, bringing each woman a cup of punch.

"Who is that young person?” Mrs. Dealford inquired of him, peering at the tall blonde through her lorgnette.

"Miss Sarah East, the daughter of a neighbor of Sir Arthur's."

"And who is her father?” she asked, repeating herself like an owl.

"A scholar of some note.” He had listened for quite an hour, his first night at Hollytrees, to Sir Arthur's stories about the incomprehensible behavior of Mr. East, which seemed to consist chiefly of corresponding with papers other than
The Morning Chronicle.

"Oh,” said Miss Emma Dealford, exchanging a glance with her mother. As though it had been spoken, the phrase “Undistinguished Antecedents” hovered in the air. “She's tolerably pretty."

"Is she?” Alaric asked, stifling a yawn. He rose. “May I refill your glasses, ladies?"

Sarah had no opportunity to sit even an instant with an empty glass or empty plate. If she had not kept on her feet, she would have been too stuffed to move, like a force-fed goose. The young men seemed intent on having her taste at least a little of everything Simmers thought necessary for a special luncheon.

Sarah saw Lord Reyne bow and speak a moment to his hostess. Lord Dudley Tarle was taking a glass of wine with Lady Phelps, and the two men talked, seemingly at ease.

Beside her, Harcourt asked, “Do you want Mother? I'm sure she'll be glad to get away from that old stick, Lord Dudley. Reyne's not a bad sort, however. Even if he's interested in butterflies.” The boy's disgust was palpable.

"That's not so terrible,” Sarah said, determined to cultivate a passionate interest in winged insects.

"No, but he wants to talk about them. All the time. And you know, I leave that sort of stuff to Harold."

"What do you leave to me? Are you making out a will, old man? I trust this treasure is among ..."He bent and kissed Sarah's hand. Harcourt made an expressive face. “But I forget. Sarah is not yours to give away.” Harold retained her hand, and Sarah had to tug forcefully to get it back. She wiped it surreptitiously on a napkin.

"We were talking of Lord Reyne,” she said.

"No, we weren't, either,” Harcourt said sharply, then, recalling to whom he spoke, he softened his tone. “Don't you remember? We were talking about that fool, Tarle."

"Oh. Butterflies,” Harold said. “How dull. I can entertain you better than that, Sarah. Wouldn't you like to walk with me by the water? I'll read you my latest poem. It's ... I'm dedicating it to you. It's called ‘To S. E.’ ‘Oh, eyes that mirror heaven's hue ...’ “