B005R3LZ90 EBOK (19 page)

Sam continued to kick at Sally as she plopped him on the grass. Then she took up his sister, handing her to George.

The entire time George and his daughter rode, Sam cried. Sally swept up her skirts and sat down beside him on the grass, holding out her arms for him. For the first time ever, he refused to come to Sally. His face red, great rivers of tears washing down his cheeks, he shook his head vigorously.

"I can see this arrangement needs to be improved," she said, shaking her head.

When George returned, Sam stood and ran toward the horse, his arms held over his head, silently begging for another ride.

George shook his head. "Not now, lad. You had your turn."

Sally came and took Georgette down while George dismounted. Meeting Sally's gaze, George said, "The boy certainly does love horses."

"Poor lamb," Sally lamented, "I've never seen him so upset."

"Tomorrow we'll have to make sure there are two horses, and each of us can take one of the children."

Sally nodded. She would take Georgette. Sam and his father needed to establish a bond, and what better way to do so than for Sam to associate his father with his favorite thing?

Before darkness fell, George, with his family at his side, sought out the steward.

When they came upon Mr. Willingham riding his horse through the orchard, the two men greeted each other affably. "May I present you to the new Lady Sedgewick?" George said.

The man, who was much the same age as George, quickly dismounted, handed his reins to his employer, and swept into a bow. Then he drew Sally's hand to his lips. "Your servant, milady."

"I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance," Sally said. "My husband speaks most highly of you. Tell me, have you been able to implement the new machinery?"

His brown eyes sparkled. "I have indeed." Turning to George, he said, "Should you like to see it?"

"Certainly," George said.

Sally hoped Mr. Willingham did not detect the insincerity in her husband's voice, evident though it was to her.

Mr. Willingham took two steps, then stopped and scratched at his head. "Actually, tomorrow will be better. By the time we get to the fields this afternoon, it will be growing dark."

George clapped a hand around the man's shoulder. "I plan to devote most of the day tomorrow to having you update me on the estates."

They all began to walk back toward the house, Mr. Willingham leading his horse behind them.

"Should you care to eat dinner with us tonight, Mr. Willingham?" Sally asked.

"I would be honored to do so."

By the time they reached Hornsby, the servants' chaise had arrived, and all the servants were attempting to perform their usual duties.

Miss Primble took the children to the nursery while Sally and George mounted the stairway to dress for dinner. Her trembling hand grasped the banister as they climbed the old oak staircase. "There is something I beg to ask of you, my lord."

George put a gentle hand to her waist. "What, my dear?"

"I would rather that you not go into the viscountess's chambers until they are redecorated." She drew in her breath. Since the day she had become betrothed to George, neither of them had ever mentioned Diana by name. And Sally was exceedingly grateful to him for that. "I should like for you to continue forward, not backward."

His mouth a grim line, he nodded.

At the top of the stairs, he turned to the left and walked almost to the end of the long hallway. He came to a stop and turned to Sally. "If you care to see them, these are the viscountess's chambers."

She nodded solemnly and watched as he walked to the next door and entered.

Then she opened the door and walked into a bedchamber that was done completely in scarlet. Scarlet walls. Scarlet draperies. Scarlet bed coverings. Sally's heart thumped as she pictured Diana sitting before the gilded dressing table. The room would have been the perfect backdrop for the raven-haired beauty. If being here sent Sally's heart thumping, she knew George would have broken down completely. It was best that he not come in here while the room still bore Diana's distinctive stamp.

 Sally would have changed the decor even if it had not evoked memories of the lovely Diana. Scarlet simply was not her. Of all the colors in the spectrum, red would likely have been Sally's last choice for her bedchamber.

She walked up to the silk moire draperies and fingered them. Unlike those in Sam's chamber, these looked as fresh as the day they had been installed. A pity to waste them. Silk was so very dear.

Then it occurred to her that red would nicely complement the royal blue in Sam's chamber. Even with the scarlet draperies, Sam's room would be far too masculine to ever evoke Diana. Sally decided she would order these draperies be moved to Sam's room on the morrow, the same day she would send for painters for her new chambers.

Her glance fell on Diana's bed with its gilded canopy. And her heart quickened. That George and Diana had made love there made her profoundly sad. When it became her room, Sally would have the bed moved to the window wall. Anything to obliterate memories of her predecessor.

And since the room was so bold and dark now, she would select something completely different. Ivory, she thought, even if it would take several coats for it to cover the red.

To the left of the bedchamber she located the dressing chamber, a small room that was completely empty, save for the red velvet curtain that covered its sole window. She saw that the room could be entered from two sides. She swallowed. The next room would be George's.

She stood there in the eerie silence imagining George and Diana freely accessing each other's chambers. Would that she would ever be so comfortable with the man she had married.

She strode back into the bedchamber and across it, coming to another scarlet room, this one the viscountess's study. It was furnished with a French escritoire, also of gilt, and a pair of red silk brocade settees. She would love to recover those in ivory, too. A pity she would be shackled—because of scarcity of funds—with the gilded furniture. Walnut was much more to Sally's liking.

* * *

Sally took pains with her toilette to look her best for dinner. She was pleased that the curls Hettie had put in early that morning still held. Hettie pressed her emerald gown, and Sally chose to wear the Sedgewick emeralds with it.

She had no need to ask where the dining room was located. From her many visits here she remembered every chamber on the first floor as well as the rooms of the rectory that had been her only childhood home. When she glided into the dining room, George and Mr. Willingham both stood. Was she reading too much into the look of pride that glinted in her husband's eyes?

"How lovely you look, my dear," George said as he moved to her and took her hand to kiss.

Once they were seated, he said, "Despite being short-handed, the staff has done remarkably well. I believe you'll be pleasantly surprised over the fare."

Her glance scanned the dozen dishes scattered along the table's white cloth. She was rather grateful there was no footman hovering around—a casualty of her husband's reduced circumstances. She much preferred private dinners, something unobtainable at grand houses like the Moreland's Winston Hall. She recalled several dinners here at Hornsby when servants had been in attendance, but as the Sedgewick family wealth shrank and swelled, so did the number of Sedgewick servants. More often than not, the footmen had been absent.

Just being at Hornsby exhilarated her. There was no telling how productive George could become now that he was away from Bath. Her heart fluttered when she realized she would be his helpmate.

"You have enjoyed excellent weather here of late, I understand," Sally said to Mr. Willingham.

"We have, indeed."

Mr. Willingham looked completely different tonight than he had this afternoon in his buff-colored clothing. Now he wore a black tailcoat of good cut, and the fresh white of his expertly tied cravat accentuated the deep tone of his olive complexion. He was an awfully good looking man. He was perhaps a bit taller than George. And less muscular. His dark skin with his dark hair and eyes brought to mind a Spaniard or Italian. Certainly not the Englishman he was from head to foot. Sally found herself wondering why so handsome a man was still not married.

His eyes flashed with laughter as he looked at her. "I have been racking my brains, trying to remember where I have seen you before. You're Miss Glee's friend!"

He might remember her, but she could not remember ever seeing him before, which was not difficult to understand. Whenever she had been at Hornsby—even the one time she came there after George's marriage—she had been too thoroughly besotted over George to ever notice another man. "You, sir, are in possession of a remarkable memory, to be sure. Not many remember me, as I'm rather plain."

There was genuine warmth on his face when he protested. "I assure you,
plain
is not a word that would enter my mind when I think of you, my lady. If his lordship does not object to my saying so, I think you're rather lovely."

George coughed. "Of course I don't mind. Sally is much prettier now that she curls her hair."

Sally met Mr. Willingham's gaze with sparkling eyes. "What he really means is now that I'm fortunate enough to have a lady's maid to curl my wretched hair."

"I never noticed if your hair was straight or curly," Mr. Willingham said. "I was always struck by the juxtaposition."

"The juxtaposition?" Sally queried.

Mr. Willingham nodded. "You know, the blond hair with eyes that are deep brown and skin that's golden. Not the fairness one would usually expect from a blond-haired woman."

George somberly glanced from Willingham to Sally. "By Jove! You're right, Willingham. Never thought of it before. Lady Sedgewick is rather unusual looking."

Sally was uncomfortable being the topic of conversation. She was made even more uncomfortable by the fact that her inferior appearance was the subject of said conversation. "You must tell us all about the new farm machinery, Mr. Willingham."

The steward did just that. Not that Sally understood half of what the man and George were discussing. Even though their jargon was—for the most part—poorly understood by her, Sally was delighted to see how animated her husband became when discussing his lands. She was more convinced than ever that the decision to come here had been the right one.

After dinner, Mr. Willingham stayed and played loo with his employer and his wife. Long before the clock struck ten, Sally began to yawn. She had risen very early that morning in order to have Hettie do her curls for the long journey. Knowing that she would spend more hours with George this day than she ever had spent with him before, she'd been determined to look her best.

"You two must be most fatigued," Mr. Willingham said as he stood. "I'll leave now."

George and Sally also rose, George slipping an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'll meet you at ten in the morning, Willingham."

After seeing their guest to the door, Sally and George began to mount the stairs, and Sally found herself yawning on almost every step. Mention of ten in the morning had reminded her that tomorrow would be the first morning of their marriage that she and George would not be together. Her chest tightened. Would they ever again know the intimacy they had known in Bath?

He left her at the door to Sam's room, then strolled to the end of the hallway.

When Sally entered the lad's chamber, he was crying. Miss Primble tossed Sally a forlorn look. "I've never seen him like this before, milady. He won't go to bed."

Sally's face softened as she went to Sam and lifted him, holding him close and patting his back. "I believe if he could talk, he'd be imploring us to take him home. Bath is the only home he's ever known, and I suspect he's frightened to be in a new, unfamiliar place."

"I daresay you're right, milady."

"I'll sleep with the little lamb. Will you go and be with Georgette?"

"I will, milady." Miss Primble quietly slipped from the room.

Holding Sam close, Sally paced the floor, cooing to the babe. "Don't worry, sweetheart, Mama's going to stay with you." She still experienced an intoxicating thrill each time she referred to herself as
Mama.
That title was as precious to her as
viscountess
.

There was a knock on the chamber door. "Yes?" Sally said.

Hettie entered the room. "I thought to help you dress for bed, milady."

Pleased at her maid's complete competence, Sally smiled at her. She hated to put Sam down because of the fragile state of his shredded emotions. "Thank you, Hettie, but not tonight. I'll undress myself once Master Sam has calmed down."

Hettie's fine blond brows drew together. "Is something the matter with the little master?"

"I believe he's frightened of his new surroundings. That is all."

Once Hettie left the chamber, Sam's tears ceased. Continuing to hold him close, Sally pointed to the bed. "Mama's bed. You're going to sleep with me tonight, love."

He continued to whimper. It tore at Sally's heart to think of how many hours the babe must have been sobbing out his little heart. Holding him tightly to her, she said, "It's all right now, sweetheart. Mama's here with you."

She thought he took consolation in her words.

Before long, she shed her evening dress, donned her shift,

and gathered Sam into her arms. "Come on, little love, we're going to bed now." She lay down with him, careful to leave one taper burning because of his fear of the dark. He scooted close to her, shoved his thumb into his mouth, and was asleep in less than a minute.

A smile of contentment on her own face, Sally soon drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 18

Her first full day at Hornsby was a busy one for Sally. She had started the day by making the acquaintance of the staff. After that she asked Mrs. MacMannis to take her on a tour of the house, even to the linen closets and the butler's pantry.

As Sally passed dozens of portraits of long dead ancestors, she made a mental note to have George educate her on the family history. Before the year was out, she vowed to know the name of every ancestor whose portrait hung at Hornsby. She even fancied commissioning portraits of the new Lord and Lady Sedgewick. Though she was ashamed to admit it, Sally was glad there was no portrait of the beautiful Diana. Who would have known Diana would die at just two and twenty? The same age Sally was now. Her stomach tumbled at the thought.