Anne Herries - A Worthy Gentleman

Sarah took the letter from her mother. She walked over to a small table by the window and sat down on an elegant parlour chair, breaking the seal. She knew who had sent it—it carried the wax impression of the Conte di Ceasares’ seal. She scanned the few lines swiftly.

‘This is from the Conte,’ she told her mother. ‘It is just to say that he hopes we had a good journey.’

Mrs Hunter looked disappointed. ‘I had thought he might have written to say he intended to visit London.’

‘No, Mama. It is simply a polite letter to inquire after our health.’

‘Did you wish to see him again, Mrs Hunter?’ Elizabeth said with a teasing look, for she had no idea of who the Conte was or what age he might be. ‘Or perhaps Sarah…’

‘He was very taken with Sarah in Italy,’ Mrs Hunter said and looked thoughtful. ‘Had she been more sensible, she might have been married to him by now.’ She gave her daughter a straight look.

‘Mama!’ Sarah cried, blushing bright pink. ‘I pray you will not say such things.’

‘And why should you pray that, miss?’ Her mother looked at her in some annoyance. ‘The Conte is rich, attractive and charming—and not so very much older. You are foolish not to have taken him when he asked, Sarah.’ She nodded as Sarah stared at her. ‘I am aware that you refused him without reference to me. Had you asked, I should have advised you to take him.’

‘Please, Mama, do not,’ Sarah begged, feeling as if she could sink. It was so very embarrassing.

Elizabeth had realised her mistake. She sent Sarah an apologetic look. ‘Tell me, Mrs Hunter, where do you intend to take Sarah for her new clothes when you are in town? Have you heard that we have a new and very talented modiste? Her name is Madame Henriette Deloir and she made a wonderful gown for me this spring. Everyone thought that it must have come from Paris.’

‘You mean your green gown,’ Arabella said. ‘It is exquisite, Elizabeth. The lace she used to trim the sleeves is finer than anything I have. I shall ask her to make something for me once the baby is born.’

The conversation was successfully turned as Mrs Hunter asked for the modiste’s address. Sarah stood looking out of the parlour window, her back turned to the others. She had not realised that her mother knew she had refused the Conte’s offer and it was a shock to learn it so publicly.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought of how different it might have been had John asked her to marry him.

Staying here with Arabella, watching as she and Elizabeth held their children in their arms, holding the babies herself, Sarah had come to realise that she wanted a home and children of her own. Her heart belonged to John, but if he no longer cared for her…

Sarah sighed. She was not sure that she could marry just for the sake of a home and children, though she knew that it happened. In Italy most marriages were arranged and many of them turned out well. Some of the ladies she had counted her friends were completely happy with the husbands their families had chosen for them. She suspected that two of the ladies had secret lovers, but it was never spoken of.

It was not what Sarah wanted! She knew that if she married John she would never look at another man, but what if she were forced to take a husband for other reasons? Arabella had said that Charles would not allow Sarah to be pushed into an unwelcome marriage. However, he did not have to live with Mama! Mrs Hunter could be very disagreeable if thwarted too often.

Sarah knew that by giving her this London Season, her mother was offering her one last chance. Mrs Hunter expected her daughter to make a good marriage. If at the end of the season Sarah was not at least promised to someone, her mama would be most annoyed, for she might never have a better chance to find a husband.

Sarah was not afraid of her mother, but she did not wish to be at odds with her. Nor did she wish to remain at home with Mrs Hunter for the rest of her life. She envied Elizabeth and Arabella their freedom.

Sarah’s heart lifted. John had promised to attend Elizabeth’s ball. Perhaps when they danced together he would fall in love with her again.

John drove his horses hard for some minutes. He was determined to put some distance between himself and Sarah, determined that he would not give into the voices in his head telling him to turn back.

He had been a fool to weaken over Elizabeth’s ball. Seeing Sarah again was bound to bring him pain. Besides, if Charles was right, he had an enemy. Someone who was bent on ruining him and perhaps worse.

John was not certain he could prove his innocence if it came to a trial at law. He had spent some time with his agent the morning that Andrea had killed herself. Afterwards, he had gone for a long walk alone, needing to sort out his thoughts. His path had taken him to the far side of the estate. At no time had he been anywhere near the river, but could it be proven? He had some ideas that might be foolish nonsense, and yet he could not help thinking that he might know the writer of the letter. The hand had been disguised, of course, and yet he had his suspicions.

If he were forced to prove his innocence, it might be only his word against another’s. He believed that a man had written the unsigned letter. John might be acquitted by reasonable doubt, for if he could not prove his innocence no one could prove his guilt. However, the mud would stick. People would say that there was no smoke without fire. Even if he were merely called before the local Justice of the Peace, some would think him a murderer. John had told his friends of the threat, believing that they ought to be aware that he might be disgraced at any time.

‘You might prefer that I did not attend Elizabeth’s ball, Daniel.’

‘Damn it, John! Do not dare to say such a thing to me again. None of us would believe such a wicked lie.’ Daniel had been outraged.

‘But others will,’ John had pointed out with a wry smile. ‘Some will cut me, I make no doubt. You could be tarred with some of the filth they may throw at me.’

‘Anyone stupid enough to think you a murderer will no longer be welcome in my house,’ Daniel said, looking grim.

Charles had said much the same. Neither of his friends was prepared to think the worse of him. John had thanked them for their loyalty, but he knew that he would find a rather different attitude in others should the rumours become common knowledge.

‘Speak to Tobbold,’ Daniel had advised him. ‘He will get to the bottom of this if anyone can, John. It is a pity that you did not keep the letter. If you should receive another, make sure you retain it as evidence. Someone is out to ruin you. You have an enemy, my friend, and you must fight back. He must not be allowed to get away with this, whoever he may be.’ Daniel frowned. ‘I suppose you have no idea who it might be?’

‘No, none at all,’ John said, though it wasn’t quite true. He had wondered, but his suspicions seemed so ridiculous that he could not bring himself to voice them aloud. ‘I have racked my brains to no avail. I thought that perhaps Andrea’s father might blame me, but he was disgusted by the letter sent to him, and the first to bring this matter to my attention.’

‘I am at your service,’ Charles told him. ‘If there is anything I may do to help, John, you have only to send word.’

‘The same goes for me,’ Daniel agreed. ‘I am certain we can sort this out between us, John. I shall make inquiries myself, because there is more to this than we yet know—but you must speak to Tobbold. Your enemy is a dangerous man and may not be satisfied with your ruin.’

John was feeling better for having confided in his friends. Both had declared him perfectly sound of mind, which meant that he might be dealing with more than one enemy. And at least one of them was able to come and go in his own house!