Lady Sarah's Redemption (32 page)

Roland was one of three gentlemen conversing in a knot in the middle
of the room. Three gentlemen and one lady - if Kitty of the Hollingsworth
nunnery could be called a lady.

Sarah froze.

Dressed in an elegant evening gown of lilac silk with roses upon the
flounce, her dark hair curled at the front and drawn up in a modish topknot of
ringlets, Kitty looked the epitome of the well-bred young lady she was
obviously at pains to emulate. The three gentlemen were talking amongst
themselves with the occasional nod of acknowledgement at Kitty who smiled
expansively.

Kitty and Roland?

Sarah’s amazement turned to confusion tinged with anger. Not even
Roland would be brazen enough in his pursuit of egalitarianism to bring Kitty
to a society ball. Especially not when his daughter was making her come-out.

Jealousy vied with common sense.

What was he playing at? And who was the Cyprian with the violent
orange ringlets James had mentioned?

At that moment Roland glanced up and caught her eye.

Then, he smiled.

It was such a candid, warm, transparent smile Sarah was nearly
undone. All her doubts and anxieties vanished upon the instant.

The gentle murmur of the room dulled to nothing, the moving throng
of colour became a muted haze. Sarah was conscious only of the warmth reflected
in his eyes, and the unbreakable bond between them. Seemingly physical, it spanned
the distance from her heart as she stood upon the threshold of the balcony, to
Roland, half a room away.

He raised his glass in a silent toast and his eyes crinkled in a
smile. Slowly and clearly, he mouthed, “I love you.”

Then Caro screamed.

THERE WAS
LITTLE gratification in seeing Sir Richard pale and mute with shock as Sarah
thrust open the double doors to the balcony.

Within seconds she became one of seemingly dozens of onlookers.
Murmuring, they gaped at Caro who stood with her back against the stone
balustrade, facing Sir Richard.

Caro was badly compromised. Sarah imagined Roland’s devastation. His
own daughter, compromised by Sir Richard? It would be more than he could bear.
No man of honour or loving father could let this go, unchallenged.

She watched Caro remove her hands from her tear-stained face and
open her mouth.

To condemn Sir Richard?

So she had gone ahead with her foolhardly plan, giving her father no
recourse but to defend her reputation through pistol or sword, thereby
regaining his manhood in the process.

Except that Roland had no need to regain his manhood. He had matters
well under control.

Sarah did not need this. Not when happiness was so nearly within her
grasp. Well, she was not prepared to stand by and watch Roland shot through the
heart or forced into exile for taking honour to extremes.

 
“Caro,” she cried,
sweeping forward to envelop the girl in her arms so as to stifle the
anticipated diatribe. “It was such a little spider.”

She raised her eyes to Roland, who’d just appeared, as she crushed
Caro’s face against her shoulder. Then, as if unaware of the crowd of goggling
onlookers that flanked him, explained, “Caro and I were taking the air when Sir
Richard stepped onto the balcony … just as a great, big, ugly spider suspended
itself from the lintel. You
know
Caro’s feelings about spiders. I went to find something with which to kill it.”

Caro struggled within her grasp but Sarah was not about to release
her. Not until Sir Richard was gone.

With a look of studied exasperation, she smiled at the man who had
humiliated and ruined her, forcing down her nausea at the sight of his hooded
eyes, wary and cold. How well she remembered them glinting with lascivious
speculation, before he’d coldly condemned her to social isolation. “My
apologies, Sir Richard” — she stroked Caro’s hair — “ou must have
imagined you were walking in upon a couple of wild women.” With a shaky laugh,
she turned back to Caro.

How empowered she felt at the sight of his confused silence. By taking
the offensive, Sarah had put him on the back foot.

Responding to Sarah’s silent signal, Roland bowed him out, together
with the remaining guests, then came to stand at her side. “What is the meaning
of all this?” He sounded angry, but uncertain, also.

Caro wrenched herself free of Sarah’s embrace and faced her old
governess with blazing eyes.

“You ruined everything!” she hissed. “I thought you loved my
father!”

“I love him too much for you to risk his life with your hare-brained
scheme,” Sarah said, her expression softening as she turned it upon Roland.
Caro, fiery and impetuous, as ever, would thank her for it, later. “Now come,
it’s freezing out here.”

“Gratified though I am by all this talk of love,” said Roland, as
they stepped into the warmth, “I would appreciate an explanation.” He tilted
Caro’s head up with a finger beneath her chin, adding, “Though I shudder to
think what your ‘plan’ involved.”

He shepherded them into a deserted passage just off the ballroom.
Old Masters stared down at them. Sarah moved to Roland’s side, standing so
close their bodies touched. A frisson of electricity charged through her
reinforced by a surge of exultation as she felt Roland stiffen with similar
awareness.

“Caro was concerned you were in the grip of a crisis of masculinity”
— she was unable to resist stroking his sleeve —
 
“resulting from your inability to defend
us at the Hollingsworth’s.”

Roland glanced between the two women. “Caro is very perceptive,” he
said, “but it is not for her — or you, Sarah — to manufacture a
situation whereby I can demonstrate my — er — manhood.”

He sighed, the noise of muted gaiety just beyond the double doors.
“I want justice as badly as you, but a public justice, more meaningful than
that wrought at the end of a sword.” He turned to his daughter. “Caro, if I
were to demand satisfaction, what do you suppose might happen to me — and
to the rest of you? Do you know what a crack shot Sir Richard is reckoned to
be?”

“Such modesty,” Sarah murmured. She was well aware of Roland’s skill
with a pistol.

Roland pulled out a snowy handkerchief and offered it to his
snivelling daughter. “Now dry your tears,” he said, gently, “and look at me. I
have a request, but if you feel you’re not strong enough to oblige me, I’ll ask
Lady Sarah.”

They looked at him, enquiringly.

“I have brought a companion with me tonight who will entertain the
audience with a piece that has been” - he slanted a smile in Sarah’s direction
– “carefully prepared. I had hoped, Caro, you might accompany her on the
pianoforte.”

Caro didn’t immediately pick up the nuance. Her recent humiliation
was too fresh.

But Sarah clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Why, Caro, you can play
almost anything by sight and you’ve gained such confidence since that evening I
instructed you in deportment.” Gripping Roland’s arm, she went on, “You may
recall it. I had borrowed one of your late wife’s gowns for the occasion.”

To her surprise he seemed reluctant to meet her look as he murmured
with feeling, “I remember it well.”

“Only I believe I did such a clever job at pretending to be your
late wife, you actually believed I
was
your late wife, returned from the dead.”

Roland made a pretence of adjusting her hand upon his sleeve. “That
kiss was for
you
,” he said in a low
voice, bending his head so his lips brushed her ear, “though it took me a while
to admit it to myself.”

She shivered at his touch, detaining him with a sly whisper, “Are
you sure you didn’t wish it
was
Venetia? It cannot have escaped you that my response was not exactly
lacklustre.”

He drew himself up and regarded her in silence. Then with quiet
deliberation, he told her, “I’ve
never
wished you were Venetia. That was the evening” — he had difficulty
uttering the words — “you broke through my defences and it was all over
for me.” He glanced at his daughter. “I was ashamed at how I scandalized and
upset you, Caro,” he said. “But that was the evening I realized I was unable to
live without your governess.”

Caro blushed. “I know.”

Sarah’s heart swelled and she nestled closer to Roland. They were
only a few feet from the double doors that opened into the ballroom. Anyone
might appear but she didn’t care.

Roland leant down to cup her face in both his hands. His voice was
soft but urgent as he said, “If this evening does not go as planned, Sarah, you
are still betrothed to James.”

“No, Roland—”

He stayed her protest with a finger to her lips.

“This song,” Caro interrupted, frowning, oblivious now to her
elders. “Papa, if you don’t think it too difficult I’m prepared to court the
embarrassment of a poor rendering.”

He gave a short laugh. “Let me reassure you, Caro, your skill will
not be under scrutiny.” Then, as he pushed the doors open and they stepped
across the threshold, he added, “I have worked very hard these last weeks to
ensure the audience’s attention will be focused elsewhere.”

Anticipation thrummed through Sarah’s veins.
What on earth could have inspired Roland with such expectation and fear of
failure, in equal measure?

Since none of the guests this evening was
inclined to engage her in conversation she sought out Kitty, who remained
quietly within the ranks of the three gentlemen with whom Roland had been
conversing, earlier.

“Kitty?”

Kitty’s eyes widened. “Ssh, m’lady. I ain’t s’posed to speak
English.”

Sarah took her arm and drew her aside.

“I’m s’posed to be a Polish princess,” she said in response to
Sarah’s look of enquiry. “’Twere Mr Hawthorne wot said I could come.” She gave
a beatific smile as she clasped her hands to her scrawny chest. “Said was there
anything I wanted above all else in the world and I told him, ‘to go to a grand
ball like a princess and see real diamonds, only I know the likes o’ me
wouldn’t never see summat like that.’ ”

“You wanted to go to a ball more than be free of the
Hollingsworths?” Sarah asked in amazement.

“That’s what Mr Hawthorne asked, too. I told him, ’course I wanted
that, only that weren’t never going to happen while that piece of paper gave
them such a hold on me.”

Sarah smiled. “What did he say to that?”

“Said he reckoned he could find a man o’ law who’d be able to look
into that piece of paper and do a deal with the Hollingsworths what would
release me shortly.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Fact is, he reckons his
lawyer chap’ll have it all organized within the next few days. Then he said he
wanted
me to come to this ’ere ball
tonight
and
paid for me dress.”
Reverently, she touched the folds of her lilac skirts. As she returned her
attention to Sarah, she added hastily, “Weren’t in the way of payment, like,
m’lady, as in I weren’t required to do nuffink in return.” Frowning, she added,
“
My
fine gown weren’t, leastaways.”

“And your friend’s finery was?” Despite James’s allegations Sarah
was not perturbed.

“Well, a bit of bartering went on, I guess—” Kitty shot Sarah
a puzzled stare. “Mr Hawthorne told you already? He said it were to be a grand
surprise. Me lips were buttoned ’pon pain ’o death.”

“I was only guessing, Kitty. Just like my guess is that your friend
is a striking redhead.”

“That’s right, I’d forgot you’d met Queenie, then, M’lady. Didn’t
think you’d ’ad the pleasure.” Kitty smiled ingenuously. “She’s the star
attraction this evening and weren’t to show herself ’til she steps out and” -
she took a deep breath and frowned, memorizing the words “‘strikes awe and
admiration into the ’earts of all who behold ’er.’ ” She gave a decisive nod.
“Oh, yes, and the fear o’ God, too. That’s quotin’ Mr Hawthorne.”

“Sarah—” It was James at her elbow. He bowed to Kitty.

“James, this is Princess-”

“Anna Pawlak,” Kitty supplied quickly as Sarah explained, “I’ve been
naming various personages to her this evening, though she speaks no English.”

Before James could respond, Roland joined them. “I believe the
entertainment is about to begin.” He sounded calm, almost bored and Sarah
struggled to stifle all signs of her almost unbearable excitement. What could
he have up his sleeve?

James gave a longsuffering sigh. “Lord, I wonder what Lady Ponsonby
has on the bill this evening: Miss Lavinia Longbotton swooning over her
Child Harolde
recitation?”

Roland gave Sarah a colluding look. “I think the evening promises
something a little less insipid.”

James’s eyes narrowed. “Hawthorne, might I remind you that Lady
Sarah and I are to be married within the sennight. I trust you weren’t offended
at not receiving an invitation—”

“Not at all,” Roland reassured him. “I’d rather stoke the fires of
Hell.”