Lady Sarah's Redemption (10 page)

Mrs Hawthorne’s ill opinion amused Sarah. Mr Hawthorne’s feelings
were another matter. He ignored her. No amount of persuasion from the young
ladies would induce him to partner them in their dance lessons. Sarah knew she
was the reason.

She felt hurt. He had confided in her. The connection had not only
been physical. Clearly, he feared his attraction for Sarah, the lowly
governess.

If it were to be a battle of the wills, she thought, fluttering her
fan as she dropped a curtsy in mock deference to Caro at the conclusion of a
minuet, practiced in the drawing room with the chairs and tables pushed against
the walls, hers would prevail.

But for once, she was not entirely convinced that her powers of
persuasion matched her powers of attraction.

Roland watched the spray of droplets catch the light as two birds
bathed with rapturous abandon in the birdbath a few yards from his study
windows. It seemed a lifetime ago that he and Godby had bathed in the river
that ran through Larchfield, splashing water at each other with similar
abandon. Venetia had eaten his heart for breakfast the day he’d met her, and
made short work of the rest of him. He had nothing left of himself to offer
anyone. When Miss Morecroft had made clear she thought otherwise he’d responded
with a resurgence of symptoms indicating his dangerous susceptibility to her
overtures. How nearly he’d become a fool in love yet again.

He groaned inwardly, trying again to turn his mind to the accounts
with which his bailiff had presented him. The man was breathing over his
shoulder, waiting for him to endorse his monthly summary so Roland could send
him on his way.

Roland turned the inked paper over in a useless gesture, while he
re-lived his encounter with Miss Morecroft at the grotto. Godby’s daughter,
charming and as apparently careless and forthcoming with her affections as her
father, was never far from his thoughts.

Through the open window his eye caught a flash of white sprigged
muslin. So much more interesting than the paper in his hand. His gaze followed
Miss Morecroft’s graceful figure down the path across the sloping lawn towards
the woods. Flanked by the two little girls, the three appeared to be chatting
easily. He smiled as he imagined Harriet insisting on another worm expedition.

As if she knew she was being observed Miss Morecroft turned to look
over her shoulder. She smiled in his direction then returned her attention to
Augusta who was pulling her arm and pointing.

With a final, lingering look at the disappearing figures, he picked
up his pen and dipped it in the inkpot. In a moment Cecily would knock on the
door to show him the guest list for Caro’s ball. Launching Caro in the hopes
she’d find a suitably connected and indulgent husband was Roland’s immediate
priority. He hoped Caro would never suffer the disappointment that had blighted
her mother’s happiness. But Caro, less beautiful, more practical, had become
increasingly grounded in reality since Miss Morecroft had entered her orbit.

Caro entered the nursery, tying the ribbons of her bonnet beneath
her chin. “I’m ready, Miss Morecroft?” There was excitement in her voice.

Sarah gazed at her with approval. The girl’s simple white muslin
gown with its blue sash flattered Caro’s slender figure and set off her
striking combination of dark hair and pale skin. The ensemble had been selected
by Sarah after a battle of wills with her employer. Mrs Hawthorne was reluctant
to countenance any expenditure upon her niece, even though Mr Hawthorne paid
the bills.

“I’m afraid you younger ones must stay here,” Sarah told them from
the doorway. “This is Caro’s special treat.”

“How can you bear them clinging to your skirts, Miss Morecroft?”
grumbled Caro as they descended the stairs. “I daresay you’re used to it, with
so many brothers and sisters.” Clapping her hand to her mouth as she remembered
her error, she turned on her heel. “I’m so sorry, Miss. They’re all gone now.
You’re alone in the world.”

Sarah could not feel personal sorrow for the death of all those
Morecroft children she had never known, but she felt a pang at the fact she had
no siblings. She enjoyed Augusta and Harriet’s happy chatter
and
the way they clung to her skirts. “I
don’t dwell on what can’t be changed,” she said briskly. “Now what do we need?
Ribbons for you and-”

Caro skipped across the black and white flagged entrance hall.
Turning at the sweep of stone stairs, she said with an impish grin, “And
something for a fine gown for
you
to
wear for my birthday ball.”

Sarah laughed. “How do you suppose I might pay for that out of my
wages, Miss Hawthorne? No, I shall refurbish your aunt’s cerulean blue velvet.
You won’t recognize it.”

Caro slanted her a secretive look as they made for the bridle path
that led over the hill to the village beyond. “Perhaps you’d relish an even
greater challenge. Like constructing a garment entirely from new.” Her eyes
shone as she looked at Sarah. “Of
any
material you choose. I asked father yesterday and he has given his consent.”

Before Sarah could respond, Caro rushed on, “I said I couldn’t
possibly enjoy my birthday ball unless Miss Morecroft, who loves fine clothes
far more than I do, had the prettiest gown of her imagination. We’re going to
the village today to choose a bolt of fabric, and all the trimmings, for you!”

Caro laughed at Sarah’s silence and the expression of shock on her
face. “You’ll enjoy sewing it yourself, won’t you? There’s plenty of time.”

Sarah beamed. “I couldn’t think of a nicer surprise,” she said,
clapping her hands together. “What a capital girl you are, Caro.”

In the village shop Caro deliberated over a bolt of Egyptian Brown
sarsanet and a silver grey lutestring called Esterhazy.

Sarah felt moved beyond words. There had been more than a few
occasions when she’d wondered if her young charge positively
dis
liked her. How curious, she
reflected, that this home-sewn gown, conceived by Caro and sanctioned by Mr
Hawthorne, filled her with more honest excitement than any
 
extravagant creation she had devised
with her seamstress.

“Hardly an appropriate colour for one’s foray into the world, Caro.”

They turned to see Lady Charlotte, flanked by her nieces, regarding their
choices with disapproval.

Sarah sent a swift look at Caro, to indicate she would deal with
this, but with a petulant tilt to her chin, Caro announced, “I intend wearing
scarlet to honour my mother, Lady Charlotte. This is in fact for Miss
Morecroft.”

Sarah’s heart sank. “Caro should not have spoken like that,” she
apologised, but Lady Charlotte ignored her.

“Mr Hawthorne must pay you handsome wages to teach his daughter
decorum and respect if you can afford such finery, Miss Morecroft. Georgiana,
Philly.” She put a hand on each girl’s shoulder to shepherd them out of the
shop. “Your visit to Larchfield this afternoon is cancelled due to Caro’s gross
incivility.”

Caro looked abashed but her eyes flashed defiance when she turned at
Sarah’s gentle rebuke. “That woman has never said a kind word about either you,
or mother,” she began. However as Mrs Willow, the shop proprietor, returned to
show them a selection of ribbons that would complement each fabric, Sarah
decided not to pursue the matter.

Caro had regained her former ebullience by the time they’d left the
shop, and when she saw Philly and Georgiana running towards her across the
village green, she beamed.

“We’re so sorry Aunt Charlotte was such a gorgon.”

“How did she agree to you coming out again?” Caro asked.

Georgiana giggled. “We had a harpsichord session, and Philly did
lots of very loud singing, until Aunt Charlotte positively begged us to leave
her in peace. Oh Caro—” She took her friend’s arm and fell into step.
“Isn’t it exciting to have so many men in red at the ball? What a boon that
Hetty Siskin’s brother is so well connected. Your father has agreed, hasn’t
he?”

Caro nodded.

“And is he inviting Mr Hollingsworth?” Philly’s tone was urgent.
“Please say you’ve asked him?”

 
“Who is Mr Hollingsworth?”
Sarah’s tone was sharp.

The three girls gasped. “Talk of the devil,” said Philly. “He’s over
there. Do you think he could have seen us and come out specially?”

Before anyone could respond, a tall, smiling gentleman strolled up
to them.

“Ladies.” He removed his low crowned beaver with a bow. “You all
look especially lovely this morning.”

When the introductions had been performed, Sarah silently observed
the newcomer’s disquieting effect upon the three girls.

He was, she judged, several years older than herself, with the kind
of handsome looks, detail to fashion and personable manner calculated to win
him female admirers. Caro, Georgiana and Philly crowded round him, chattering
as if they’d known him forever.

“And where do you hail from, if I may be so bold as to cut in?”
Sarah asked, eventually. Not only was it growing cold on the damp grass, there
were some who’d consider it unseemly for all the world to witness the young
ladies feting an unfamiliar gentleman.

His smile was as warm for the governess as it was for the young
ladies. A shrewd touch. Sarah wondered for whom he might have a possible
interest.

“I’ve leased Hawthornedene for the season.”

Caro took Sarah’s arm. Sarah had rarely seen her so animated. “Uncle
Hector’s house. Well, he owned it though he didn’t live there, of course. It’s
beautiful, Miss Morecroft.”

“You must be my guests some time,” the young man said. “I shall
organise a picnic by the lake.”

This was greeted by squeals of enthusiasm. Sarah realised it was
hardly fair to criticize him for looking so self-satisfied but when she’d
dragged Caro away from the group she demanded, “Since when has Mr Hollingsworth
become your latest bosom-bow?”

“I did not think it a crime to speak to a young man.” Caro’s tone
was defensive. “Or that you’d think ill of me, Miss Morecroft. He’s a friend of
Hetty Siskin’s brother. I’ve met him several times on walks and once when we
were at Hetty’s house.” Caro wrapped her cashmere shawl more closely around her
and stuck her nose in the air as they walked across the common.

Wrapping her own, more serviceable woollen shawl around her
shoulders, Sarah followed. “Don’t be cross with me, Caro. I must be accountable
to your father and aunt.” She put her hand on Caro’s shoulder and was relieved
that her conciliatory gesture wasn’t rebuffed.

“It seems I’m to be criticised whatever I do,” Caro grumbled. “Aunt
Cecily harps on at me to be more sociable, but she’s such a high stickler that
only means being nice to Lady Charlotte and mean old cats like her.”

“That would have been a good start.” Sarah’s tone was dry. “But now
we are nearly home, so let’s say no more about it. I was not criticising you
for talking to Mr Hollingsworth, merely executing my duty as your governess by
ensuring he’s a nice, suitable young man worthy of your addresses.”

Caro halted and fixed her with an intense look. “Oh, he is, Miss
Morecroft,” she breathed.

“THERE ARE
NOT nine pence in a shilling, Augusta,” Sarah snapped, tossing the gown she was
sewing onto the nursery table.

Remorse was swift as she saw Augusta’s trembling lip. She sighed as
she acknowledged she was taking her frustration out on the girls as she drilled
them, in between sewing straight seams and fine pin tucks. “I’m sorry I was
sharp,” she said, more kindly. “Tell me the cost of a loaf of bread, and
there’ll be no more sums for today.”

But they could not, and Sarah did not know the answer, herself. She
tried to bolster her spirits but it was no use. What was the point of the
lovely creation taking shape? Mr Hawthorne would pay her no attention. He’d
gone to pains to keep his distance since their encounter at the grotto. He’d
hardly seek her out at Caro’s birthday ball.

“I have a secret,” announced Augusta, from her cushion at Sarah’s
feet, recovering her spirits.

“If it’s about Caro, then I already know it,” said Harriet who was
sitting beside her. “It’s not nice to gossip about people behind their backs.”

“I’m only telling Miss Morecroft.” Augusta stuck her tongue out at
her sister. “She’d not get Caro into trouble.”

“And what is this secret?” asked Sarah mildly, hiding her disquiet.

“I saw her with Mr Hollingsworth in the churchyard … alone,” said
Augusta in weighty tones.

“The churchyard in the middle of the village?” Augusta’s tone was
scornful. “Where everyone in the village
 
pays their respects to the dead?”

“Well, I nearly didn’t see them,” said Harriet. “I was with Ellen
and she was hurrying me along. But it
was
Caro
and
she was in the shadow of the
yew trees where I’d seen them talking the day before, too.”

“I hope you don’t mean to gossip like this to your mother,” reproved
Sarah, biting off a thread.

The girls looked indignant. “We never tell mama anything! Not even
when we hear the servants gossip about
her
.”