A Lady in Love (8 page)

"But my eyes aren't blue,” Sarah said, thinking of a pair that were.

"They aren't?” Harold stooped and tried to see past the brim of her hat.

Sarah thought Harcourt was going to be sick. “ ‘Course they ain't blue, you fool; they're grey. And she don't want to hear any poem you wrote. It's bound to be rotten. Come down to the lake, Sarah. Do come. Some of us are going to fish."

"No, thank you,” she said, touching his arm for a brief moment, smiling at him. “But you go. And you, too, Harold. Maybe you can alter your poem.” Because she'd known him forever, she added, “Then I'd be so pleased to hear it."

"Of course. I'll just arrange the rhyme so it's a stormy sky. That should be simple enough.” He squinted in concentration and began to count meter on his fingers.

As Harcourt led his brother off, Sarah found herself alone. The rest of her admirers, with the goddess monopolized by the twins, had gone off to do their duty by the other girls Lady Phelps had invited for the afternoon. They were the same who had come to the evening party last week, and Sarah felt their attitude toward her had not warmed. It troubled her, but she didn't know what to do about it. On trying to approach Jessica, the girl blatantly turned away and pretended not to see her.

Lord Reyne still remained by the Dealford ladies. So did Mr. Atwood. She didn't know what to do about that, either. Harmonia did not seem to be about. Smithers said, when asked, “Miss Harmonia has gone down to the lake for the fishing."

Perhaps Harmonia did not really mind Mr. Atwood's attendance on the enemy. Because Lord Reyne stood there, Sarah crossed the grass, closer to the chairs set a little way off from the rest of the party.

In a piercing tone, Mrs. Dealford said, “Lord Reyne, you promised me an introduction to Miss East.” He obediently performed this office. “Now, be off, sir! We want no tiresome gentlemen. We want to talk. Sit down, Miss East. Emma, let Mr. Atwood show you those cattle. No. It is foolish to be afraid. You must persevere."

Mrs. Dealford proceeded to turn Sarah's mind inside out in an apparent effort to learn her every thought since babyhood. She had just wrested free the facts regarding last year's irksome meeting with a traveling portrait painter when the inquisition was broken into by a scream. The sound went on and on as though emerging from some machine.

"My dearest!” Mrs. Dealford said, starting up. Horror-stricken, she pointed toward the paddock. “She'll be gored!"

Mr. Atwood, Miss Dealford and several other intrepid gentlemen had entered the paddock to come closer to the cows. Unfortunately, the cows were not alone. Without so much as a preliminary paw at the ground to indicate his displeasure, the bull thundered forward. His chest was deep, his horns sharp and glinting in the sun, and his hide as black as an evil wish.

The others turned to flee, supporting Miss Dealford. But upon departure, she tripped on her trailing skirt, landing directly in the evidence that this had long been a cow enclosure. Instead of rising, she remained sprawled on the ground, screaming incessantly. With word and gesture, the gentlemen encouraged her to hurry and be gone.

Among the horrified onlookers, paralysis seemed to have taken hold. Then, Sir Francis called, “I'll get a gun!” and began to run up the hill to the house as fast as his long legs would carry him.

Sarah said, “Carrots!” Mrs. Dealford gave the girl a pained glance before once more gazing at her soon-to-be destroyed daughter in an agony of fear.

Already dashing toward Smithers’ tower of greenery, Sarah passed Lord Reyne. He went the other direction, carrying an unfolded tablecloth. It was dyed a mild pink. Grabbing the carrots from the base of the pyramid, Sarah followed him.

Nimbly as any boy, she climbed the white fence. Lord Reyne approached the line of gentlemen, who stood between the fallen girl and the fearful beast, as they prepared to defend her life at peril of their own. “Pick her up, you fools!” Sarah heard Lord Reyne growl as he passed them.

Stopping a few yards from the bull, who had paused as though deciding which body he'd juggle first on his horns, Alaric extended the tablecloth as a breeze billowed the material. The bull snorted and shook his head. He dashed forward a yard, then turned away as if uninterested. However, Alaric saw the animal look back at him as if judging the distance.

"Miss East!” he said, as Sarah came to his side. “Leave at once.’ The bull came around to face them. Shaking the cloth at the bull, Alaric asked mildly, “Are you daft?"

"Not at all. What are you doing?"

"A technique practiced in Spain.” He walked slowly forward, the tablecloth at the ready. “Will you please leave?"

Sarah watched him, admiring the set of his shoulders and the cut of his coat over his narrow hips. Realizing she should not even be thinking of his person let alone permitting her gaze to dwell upon him, she stepped out from behind the shelter of his body. Holding out the carrots, she said, “Here, Petey."

The bull trotted past Lord Reyne and stopped before Sarah. He lowered his massive head, as large as a man's chest, and took the carrots, stalks and all, from the girl's hand.

"Petey?” Alaric asked, as he folded the tablecloth. “A family pet, I take it?"

Though he approached with caution, in a very few moments he was scratching the bull's woolly head. He murmured, “Did that woman's screaming bother you, boy? Sounded like a night at the opera—something I'd advise you to avoid."

The bull's fringed ears twitched as though taking heed of this advice. He almost seemed to nod in agreement before placidly chewing the prized vegetables. Alaric took Sarah's arm as he escorted her back to the fence. “You're a very brave young lady."

"Oh, I've known him since he was a calf. I wasn't frightened at all."

"You're rather remarkable, aren't you, Sarah East?"

For the length of a single heartbeat, they looked into one another's eyes before Mrs. Dealford came forward. Lord Reyne moved away from Sarah, leaving her both breathless and confused. To be called remarkable seemed very fine, but somehow the meaning and his expression had not agreed. It was almost as if she'd displeased him somehow. Yet there had been some other feeling present in the depths of his eyes— something she could not recall ever having seen there before.

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Having heard the commotion, Harcourt, Harmonia, and Harold ran up from the lake, closely followed by the other fishers. Eagerly, they listened as several people described what had happened to Miss Dealford.

"Oh, is that all?” Harmonia asked. “She frightened the fish because of Petey? Poor fellow, he must have been terrified. I'm going to eat some cake. Mr. Atwood, pray join me."

The thin gentleman, lurking at the rear of the crowd for fear Mrs. Dealford would forget that showing Emma the cows had been her own idea, brightened up at hearing his name spoken by a friendly voice. “Miss Phelps, I should like it above all things."

Harvey, delayed all this time at the house getting the proper shine on his boots, put his arm around the weeping Miss Dealford, not noticing that she was reeking rather from the mingled mud she'd fallen into. “There, there, old girl. Come up to the house, and we'll soon have you put to rights."

Miss Dealford ceased calling brokenly for her mother and raised her glistening eyes to young Phelps. “Yes ... yes, please. Oh, he can't get out, can he?"

"Certainly not. Old Petey—that is, we keep him stoutly penned. Yes, quite stout, those pens. Helped put ‘em up myself."

"Did you really?” Reluctantly, she turned her attention once more to her mother, approaching with Lord Reyne. “I beg your pardon. Mama?"

"Of course, Emma also wishes to express her appreciation for your bravery just now. Don't you, dear? That bull would have charged you, Emma, if not for Lord Reyne."

"Actually, Mrs. Dealford,” Alaric said, “it was all Miss East's doing. Any thanks going about belong to her."

Mrs. Dealford affected not to hear. “Emma ... Emma, thank Lord Reyne. Poor child, she's so distraught."

"I'm going to the house. Mother,” Emma Dealford said. “Mr. Phelps is going to help me."

Mrs. Dealford might be convinced that Lord Reyne's bravery alone saved her daughter, yet the young gentlemen were of the opinion that it was all due to Sarah. Then and there she was voted the Order of the Carrot, with Parsley Clusters. That made her laugh, causing Mr. Posthwaite, who'd thought of the jest, to preen himself for quite half an hour.

When handsome Sir Francis arrived just too late for glory, the jokesters did their best, but his
amour propre
was too great to allow him to reply in kind. Valiantly, he pretended the pistol he'd hastily shoved into his waistband was not there, until relieved of it by Smithers. Freed from this encumbrance. Sir Francis bowed low over Sarah's hand and said, “I'm most happy violence was avoided. Especially as the bull is an old friend of the family. Your lovely hands could gentle any wild beast, even a man."

Sarah shook her head as the other gentlemen echoed the young baronet. “I know he was only curious to see what all the noise was about, same as anyone. Of course, I wasn't frightened. Why would I be?"

They paid no attention. Lord Dudley Tarle proposed a toast in her honor and Smithers went for glasses and wine. They drank and laughed, while Sarah replied only absently to their pleasantries. Her attention was fixed on the other group of excited young people.

Her friends gathered close to Lord Reyne and pressed him to show them exactly what he would have done with the tablecloth if Petey had proven hostile. In a few moments, they gave a collective sigh. Looking over at the cluster, between the heads of the gentlemen that surrounded her, Sarah saw that Lord Reyne had gone from their midst. The disappointed girls looked toward the lake. Had he walked down to the water?

Try as she would, to follow him at once was impossible. But then Smithers, bringing more wine, accidentally dropped Lady Phelps’ largest silver tray. It fell to the ground, ringing like an alarm bell. The thick green bottles which had been upon it dropped with thuds onto the grass, shaking beyond aid the fine wine inside. As her admirers spun to see this latest disaster, and the butler scrambled to collect the bottles, Sarah stole away to the lakeside.

Parting overhanging branches, Sarah stepped as carefully as a deer coming down to drink. The ground was not too boggy except by the very edge of the water. Sarah went as near as she could without getting her feet wet. The ornamental lake kept company with the sky, adding touches of silver-blue to the thickening clouds. The sun's glow had dimmed and little waves had begun to rise from the still water. Sarah suddenly felt lonely. Lord Reyne was not to be seen.

"There you are. Watcher doin’ down here all by yourself? Come back to the picnic.” Lord Dudley stumbled over the slight lip between the grass and the lakeside, yet contrived not to spill any of the pale red liquid in his glass.

He'd been so pleasant this last week that Sarah spoke politely. “I was just about to go back, Lord Dudley. Please excuse me.” His small eyes seemed very red. And surely his smile had never been so broad before, except for the night of the party.

With an apologetic smile, Sarah attempted to go around him. He grinned as if her movement were a joke and spread out his arms as though to trap her. His smile widened still further, until it seemed to Sarah that she could see nothing else. “Please, excuse me, Lord Dudley,” she repeated, raising her voice a modicum. Aunt Whitsun had told her a lady never shouts, but perhaps in exceptional circumstances she could.

Advancing, Lord Dudley nearly tripped again and the wine in his glass slopped back and forth. He seemed to regard this with considerable apprehension. Hastily, he drained the glass, doubtless for safety in case of accident. While he was thus distracted, Sarah tried once more to edge around the nobleman.

"Don't go so soon. Have a little kiss first.” He dropped his emptied glass onto the hummocky ground. “Pretty girl, pretty girl.” He reached out as though to pat her cheek. Remembering that he'd fallen down and gone to sleep after performing this action before, Sarah stood still. But instead of patting, Lord Dudley grabbed for her arm. His hand was hot. “Little kiss first,” he repeated.

Lord Dudley had an uncommonly strong grip. Before she quite knew what to do, his arm had snaked about her waist and he pulled her against him. Sarah attempted to twist free. No one had ever tried to force a kiss from her before. Disgusted, for his breath stank, she fought to keep her face turned away, pushing at his chest with her free hand. Feeling his lips against her neck, she shoved harder. All at once, her striving fingers found another set on Lord Dudley's shoulder.

For a moment, Sarah ceased to struggle as she prayed. Oh, Lord, let it be Harcourt or Harold. Let it even be vain Sir Francis. But please ... please don't let it be Lord Reyne.

In this case, her prayers were not answered. Alaric jerked hard on the tipsy fellow's shoulders, peeling him away from Sarah by main force. He stepped between them, a laughing glint in his eye as he looked at Lord Dudley and then at Sarah. “What a way to behave at a picnic."

The second son made another grab for the girl. Sarah stumbled back towards the water's edge and watched as Lord Reyne restrained Lord Dudley's flailing arms. “Just a moment, old man,” Alaric began in a tone of amused reason. “You're a trifle elevated, you know."

"I demand satisfaction for that insult!” Jerking free. Lord Dudley struck the other man across the face with his open hand.

Red marks came up in vivid relief on Alaric's cheek. His spine stiffened as he drew back, glancing briefly at Sarah. The laughter had died in eyes that now seemed all pupil, save for a flicker of fire in their depths. Sternly, he said, “You're drunk, man. And you've embarrassed a lady."

"I'm not!” Lord Dudley attacked again, his eyes closed. As he was not paying the slightest attention to where his blows fell, one smacked Sarah quite hard in the shoulder.

She stepped backwards to maintain her balance, stepping squarely into the mud at the very edge of the lake. “Oh, dear,” she exclaimed.