Anne O'Brien - Regency High Society Vol 6 - The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow

Perfect in every sense, Thea decided as she watched her sister, delighted for her happiness, but not without a hint foreboding. And hoped that Lord Joshua Faringdon might be more than a little surprised when he set eyes on the lady whom he had known only in the plain and formal garb of his housekeeper, solemn and withdrawn, rather than the laughing lady who posed before her reflection with grace and charm, her eyes shining with innocent pleasure in her new gown. There was so much in the way of love and generosity about Sarah for him to discover. Theodora smiled with perhaps a gentle malice towards the absent gentleman and silently wished her sister well.

Madame Stephanie nodded her approval with gushing compliments, seeing the future opportunities for dressing the new Lady Joshua Faringdon.

Judith clapped her hands in delight. ‘Poor Sher. He has taken on a beauty and does not realise it. It will do him good!’

Sarah simply shook her head and blushed. But glanced at herself in the mirror with something like shock.

‘The neckline of the dress sits well on you,’ Thea observed as they prepared to depart. ‘I think I will give you a string of pearls to wear with it.’

‘I had some,’ Sarah admitted, a trifle wistfully. ‘From our mother—the only jewellery she had left for me to inherit. But I had to sell them. I needed the money, you see, when John, my husband, died…’ She turned her face away to hide the flush of embarrassment. ‘I did not mean to tell you that.’

‘Oh, Sarah. I don’t think I ever realised how difficult things must have been for you. I am so sorry.’

‘On occasion they were.’ Sarah turned back with the sweetest of smiles. ‘But not today. Today I have forgotten the dark times.’ Her quick smile illuminated her whole face as she squeezed Thea’s hand, and Thea prayed silently that the tranquillity and happiness, so absent from Sarah’s life, would now enfold her for eternity.

Although Sarah might have been entirely caught up in preparations for her marriage, she was determined not to neglect her responsibilities as housekeeper and governess since she had not as yet been replaced in either role. It was not in her nature to do so—nor to sit at ease; since Joshua was still absent in Richmond, it gave her thoughts something to occupy them. But not enough. At any time during the day—or night—she found herself thinking of what he might be doing and when he might return. Was he missing her, even a little, or did he never give her a passing thought beyond that of an obligation to which he was now tied through some quixotic impulse and which he was coming to regret? She hissed her frustrations and looked round for something else to do. So, the next day, after a particularly tedious lesson—even to her mind—in the use of globes with John and Beth, she decide to investigate the attics. The top floor of the house in Hanover Square was a place, like all attics as far as Sarah was concerned, of dust and cobwebs and stored treasures that had long outlived their usefulness.

‘Just look at all this!’ She stood with her hands on her hips, daunted by the extent of abandoned relics of a past life in the house.

‘It’s exciting.’ Eyes round, John could hardly restrain his joy. ‘Like Aladdin’s cave in the stories. Or buried treasure.’

Beth twitched her skirts from the dust with superior distaste, but was secretly enthralled. ‘Can we look in the boxes?’

John was already opening and closing them, declaring it better than lessons. ‘It’s just like exploring an unknown country, as Captain Cook did. As I will do when I am old enough to have my own ship. I shall discover a new country. Perhaps more than one.’ He pulled out an elderly stuffed bird, probably an owl, its feathers moulting on the floor. ‘Which country did this come from?’

‘England, I think. Nothing too exciting.’ His mama smiled. Today it was ships and exploration rather than horses.

She regarded the jumbled piles of unwanted items with a sudden decision not to embark on such a project until she really had nothing better to do. Pieces of furniture, some heavy and carved, some spindly and gilded, but all long out of fashion. A box of unframed water colours of pastoral scenes by some eighteenth-century Faringdon lady—no talent here, Sarah judged, so no wonder they had been allowed to moulder in the attic. There were boxes of clothes, dry and dusty and lavender scented, with a hint of moth, which allowed Beth, to her delight, to dress up and parade in some outmoded creation in heavy damask with whalebone stays and a heavy train.

‘Look at me!’ Beth swept the floor, sending up clouds of dust. ‘Am I not a lady?’

Sarah chuckled. ‘You are indeed a fine lady.’

Beth fastened a spray of egret feathers in her hair, albeit lopsided. ‘I think I am like Grandmama Beatrice. She often wears feathers and is very grand.’

‘So she does. Take care with those backless slippers.’

‘I can walk perfectly well in them.’ Laughing, she swept an ungainly curtsy.

John entertained himself with cries of glee in a chest of discarded toys, lining up a row of broken long-faded lead soldiers. ‘Perhaps I will be a soldier instead. Or a pirate. Can I be a pirate, Mama?’

‘We’ll see.’ Now was not the moment to discuss so lawless an occupation. Meanwhile, Sarah inspected the rest. A firescreen, a birdcage with a broken door, frayed and worn bed-hangings, packets of letters and old documents—all the detritus of life over the years—no, she certainly did not have the energy to clear it all out. Besides, as Lady Faringdon, she would have every excuse not to roll up her sleeves and tackle it herself.

Stacked against the far wall were paintings, some of them of houses and parkland. One was of the estate in Richmond, from the name inscribed in the frame, one might have been the Faringdon country house at Burford under its discoloured varnish, the rest she did not recognise. And portraits. One of Lady Beatrice, probably in the early days of her marriage, which brought a glint of amusement to Sarah’s eyes. She understood exactly why that lady had banished it to the dust and darkness. The artist had no flair and had captured no flattering features in the sitter. One pair of matching portraits showed Joshua and Judith as children. Very attractive, with Judith looking positively angelic and Joshua vastly superior. The rest, as far as she could tell, were old, of people she did not recognise, with Faringdon colouring and features, but with the stiff formality and dress of the past two centuries.

Finally, a group of smaller portraits came to hand, which she turned over with little interest. Family again. Until coming upon a small portrait, life size, but head and shoulders only, which caught her attention. From the neckline of the gown, low across the generous bosom, and the styling of the hair into high-crowned ringlets, it would seem to be of recent origin. Perhaps even in the last decade. A striking lady, young, but not a girl, and not a Faringdon. A dark brunette with distinctly slanted brows and high cheekbones, not a classic beauty, but arresting. And with a tantalising smile on her full mouth and a flirtatious sparkle in her dark eyes, as if she would beckon and beguile. A charming representation. Sarah gained the impression that the artist had caught the lady’s expression to perfection.

So who was this?

Beth had staggered dangerously to her shoulder in a pair of high-heeled damask slippers, to investigate what she was doing.

‘Do you recognise any of these portraits, Beth?’ Sarah spread them on the floor and against the wall. ‘Or this lady?’ She held up the portrait to the branch of candles that they had brought with them.

‘That is Grandmama.’ Beth pointed at the disapproving image of Lady Beatrice as it leaned against the wall. Then shook her head, showing no interest in the rest, before returning to her less-than-stately pursuits.