Anne Herries - Regency Christmas Vows - The Blanchland Secret / The Mistress of Hanover Square

‘Do not worry,’ Guy spoke so softly that only she could hear, ‘I will not do it—at least, not here! But the temptation, Miss Sheridan, is acute.’

The colour flamed into Sarah’s face as she realised that he had read her thoughts. ‘Believe me, my lord,’ she said, with as much composure as she could muster, ‘so is the temptation to slap your face!’

Guy burst out laughing. ‘So the honours are even, Miss Sheridan!’ He pressed a kiss on her hand. ‘Until our next meeting!’ And he sauntered away to the cardroom, leaving Sarah feeling breathless and outraged in equal measure.

Sarah slept well that night, but awoke early with thoughts of Blanchland pressing on her mind once again. She was aware that she had as yet made no plans for her journey to her former home, other than a vague decision that she should set off the following day. This was all very fine, but she needed to be better prepared. She could not predict how Sir Ralph Covell would greet the unexpected arrival of his late cousin’s daughter, nor had she decided whether she should take him into her confidence or not. If Churchward’s information had been correct and Olivia had last been seen approaching Blanchland Court, this might prove a very bad idea indeed.

Sarah shivered and burrowed deeper under her blankets for both warmth and comfort. Not for the first time she reflected that she was involving herself in a situation that appeared to have Gothic overtones, but she was a most practical girl and could only believe that there was a perfectly simple explanation for Olivia’s disappearance. No doubt the girl had gone to stay with a relative and forgotten to tell anyone. And the desperate matter on which she required advice would probably prove to be a romance, or, at worst, the need to go out into the world and earn a living as a governess. There was no need for worry.

Sarah threw back the bedcovers and crossed to the window. There had been a hard frost and the winter sun was rising in a pale blue sky. The house was astir with the peculiar excitement that characterised the day of a ball. Sarah had promised to help Amelia with her preparations, but she knew that her cousin would not be rising early and she needed some fresh air.

Amelia kept a small stable in the mews behind the buildings. There were her carriage horses, a gentle white mare that she occasionally rode in the park, and a decidedly more spirited one that Sarah enjoyed putting through its paces. The morning, with its crisp, fresh air, was perfect for a ride.

It seemed that Astra thought so, too, for her ears pricked up as soon as they left the quiet streets behind and reached the springy turf of Lansdown. Sarah enjoyed a fine gallop, leaving the toiling groom far behind, and only as she skirted Greville Baynham’s land did she slow down and allow herself to think about the previous night.

There was no doubt that some kind of peculiar affinity existed between herself and Guy Renshaw, and she knew that if she had any sense she would leave it well alone. Sarah sighed, allowing the horse to pick its own way along the steep path. She could not deny that in some senses Guy was a very eligible parti, so eligible, in fact, that he would look to marry far higher than a penniless companion, no matter how well-connected. In other respects he was utterly ineligible, for his reputation and evident disinclination for settling down rendered him not just unsuitable but positively dangerous. Sarah sighed again. She had had plenty of opportunities to marry in the previous six years, but somehow none of her suitors had quite matched her expectations and she had been too fastidious to marry just for the sake of it. She wondered now whether that had been a mistake. Living with Amelia was enjoyable, but how long would it continue? Besides, she had had the running of Blanchland and missed having her own establishment. Yet it seemed typical that when her inclination had finally settled on a gentleman who more than met her expectations, her choice should be totally inappropriate…

‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan! It is a beautiful morning, is it not?’

Sarah came out of her reverie in time to see the subject of her thoughts let himself through the gate that separated the downs from Chelwood Park. He brought his horse alongside Sarah’s and gave her a smile, his gaze openly appreciating her pink cheeks and bright eyes.

‘That’s a very spirited creature you have there, Miss Sheridan! It would be difficult to tell which of you looks as though they have enjoyed the gallop more!’

He sat his own chestnut hunter with a skill that Sarah did not find at all surprising and the casual elegance of his attire would be enough, she thought, to have all last night’s impressionable debutantes swooning again. This morning, with the breeze ruffling his thick, fair hair and the sun lighting those expressive dark eyes, Lord Renshaw looked utterly devastating.

‘Your cousin does not ride with you?’ he asked, looking down the hill to where the groom was exhorting his labouring horse up the slope. ‘I see that you are alone, to all intents and purposes.’

‘I think not.’ Sarah could not help wondering what intent or purpose he might have in seeking her out alone. She would have to be careful. ‘Amelia does not care for riding, but I brought the groom.’ She gestured down the hill, where Tom was still making heavy weather of getting the old cob to catch up. Guy laughed.

‘So I see—and promptly left him behind again! I did not imagine you to be so keen a rider, Miss Sheridan! You did not mention it as one of your ruling passions last night!’

Sarah cast him a look under her lashes. ‘I grew up in the country, so it can be no great surprise that I ride!’

‘No, but you ride very well indeed, which is rare. I’ll allow that it is commonplace enough to meet ladies who can prance about in the park and think that they look most accomplished!’

‘You are very severe this morning, my lord!’ Sarah could not help laughing. ‘I am glad that my own small skill gains your approval rather than your censure!’

Guy smiled lazily. ‘Oh, I am renowned as a hard critic, but I cannot find fault with you, Miss Sheridan!’

Sarah felt herself blushing under his scrutiny. For some perverse reason all she could think of was his threat—or was it a promise?—to kiss her on some future occasion. Would such a manoeuvre be possible on horseback? It was an intriguing thought. It would certainly require considerable skill, but—Sarah suddenly realised that Guy was still watching her, one dark eyebrow raised in teasing enquiry. Afraid that he would read her thoughts again, as he had the previous night, Sarah turned her horse’s head abruptly away and was relieved to see the groom struggling up the last incline to join them on the level summit.

‘There is an exceptional view from up here,’ Guy observed, looking out across the city to the Somerset hills beyond, ‘and a keen breeze. It leaves me sharp set! Will you join us at Chelwood for breakfast, Miss Sheridan?’

Tom the groom, who had been encouraging his exhausted horse, cast Sarah a scandalised glance. She smiled.

‘Thank you, my lord, but I do not think that would be very proper! I fear I must return to Brock Street for my breakfast!’

‘My sensible Miss Sheridan! A bachelor household, even one so unimpeachable as Chelwood, is not an appropriate destination for a single lady!’ Guy’s dark eyes were full of mockery. ‘A pity if you were to starve on your way home as a result!’

‘I must be going, at any rate,’ Sarah said, trying to crush her foolish excitement at his use of the phrase ‘my sensible Miss Sheridan’. She turned Astra’s head towards home. ‘Amelia will need help with all the preparations for her ball tonight. Good day, my lord.’