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

Leaving Sarah to collect them together again and re-stack them against the wall. Was this lady perhaps Joshua’s wife, Marianne? Beth’s French mother. Sarah regarded the painted face with narrowed eyes, searching for any similarity. Beth might be too young to remember and recognise her. She would have been barely five years old when the lady died, and if she had rarely seen her… But if so, why would her portrait have been discarded here? Unless Joshua had indeed been heartbroken over her death as Judith had suggested, not able to bear the sight of her beloved features. Understandable, yet Sarah felt a tug of jealously that he should have been able to feel such affection for the enchanting Marianne. Certainly he never spoke of her, which might indicate a blighted passion and a damaged heart, and Sarah knew that she did not have the courage to initiate a conversation on the subject of Marianne Faringdon. She prepared to tuck the portrait away. If only Joshua might one day feel such overwhelming emotion toward her . But Sarah shook her head at her foolishness. How could she ever compare with this attractive lady in her husband’s affections?

Or—another thought suddenly struck, a painful dart to her heart—perhaps it was not Marianne at all, but the portrait of a mistress, discarded here when the affair ended. Again, not a thought she wished to pursue.

Or more likely, Sarah decided with a firm determination to reclaim her common sense, it was a lady with no close connection whatsoever to the family. In which case there was no reason for Sarah to feel such a lowering of her spirits. She sighed, rose from her knees, to brush her cobwebbed hands down her skirts in resignation. Whatever the possibilities, it was not her concern.

She turned the lady’s demanding and flirtatious gaze to the wall, to set about persuading a pair of extremely dusty children to leave so miraculous a source of unexpected delights.

Pictures in attics proved to be only one cause of disquiet for Sarah. And not the most unsettling. During her continuing overseeing of the house, she found herself in the rooms occupied until late by the Countess of Wexford. They had been thoroughly cleaned and set to rights on that lady’s departure. Sarah, critically, looked around. The maids, she was forced to acknowledge, had done an excellent job, probably rejoicing in being able to sweep all remnants of that demanding lady from their existence. But then she saw that there on the bed lay a pair of gloves, in the softest of pale grey kid, undoubtedly of French manufacture. Overlooked and forgotten probably, in a drawer, when Hortense packed her mistress’s belongings so rapidly. Perhaps the maid who had cleaned the rooms had found them and forgotten to bring them downstairs.

Sarah picked them up. Smoothed her fingers over their fine surface, lifted them to take in the scent that clung to them. The perfume immediately assailed her senses, heavy and sultry, highly reminiscent of the Countess’s presence. For Sarah it brought the image of the Countess forcefully into her mind—beautiful, stylish, sophisticated—as if she had just polished a magic lamp and a genie had emerged to stand before her. Sarah frowned.

‘I do not need you to continue to haunt this house! You are not welcome here!’ Then, realising that she was speaking to empty air, she laughed softly. But she replaced the gloves and left them where she had found them. She did not wish to think about the Countess of Wexford, or her previous status in this house with regard to Lord Joshua Faringdon. It left her feeling edgy and not a little unhappy. What on earth was Lord Joshua doing, to offer marriage to Sarah Russell when he could have Olivia Wexford as his mistress?

So that by the time Joshua returned from Richmond, it was to discover that his intended bride was in a difficult and skittish mood. After greeting him formally, as his housekeeper, she made herself scarce below stairs, and then was impossible to pin down. Lord Joshua had no intention of treading on Mrs Beddows’s preserve in the kitchen to find her. What a ridiculous situation this was when he could not separate his wife from the housekeeper, when she had found a bare two minutes to welcome him home as if she were still in his employ and then taken herself off to God knows where! He felt his temper building. He had spent his time at Richmond between the tedium of necessary estate business and contemplating his forthcoming nuptials with some bemusement. He was not sure how he had got himself to this point of asking Sarah Russell to marry him. Surely marriage was not the only way to solve the lady’s problems. But he had, for better or worse. His lordship gritted his teeth. And now he wanted to see her and speak with her again. If he could just find her.

He ran her to ground in the formal dining room overlooking the Square where she was in process of replacing the ornate branched silver candlesticks. They had been newly polished and Sarah was engaged in repositioning them on the dining table and the sideboards. For a moment she was unaware of his standing in the doorway, giving him the opportunity to simply look at her. This woman, still little more than a stranger, to whom he had offered marriage. The first impression to deal him a flat-handed blow was that she looked different. Charmingly different. And being well versed in the niceties of female fashion, Lord Joshua immediately knew why. This was the influence of Judith and Thea, if he were not much mistaken. His lips curved in an indulgent smile. They had obviously taken his bride in hand with splendid results. Nothing outrageous or overstated for her delicate role between housekeeper and Lady Faringdon, but an elegant high-waisted gown in a clear summer blue, which he knew immediately would match and enhance her eyes. The sleeves were long and sleek to draw attention to her slender hands. The hem was ruffled and ribbon-trimmed, deliciously feminine. And her hair. It was caught up in frivolous ringlets that fell to her shoulder in the palest of gleaming gold silk, little curls fanning onto her cheeks. He had never thought of Sarah as being frivolous and found himself outrageously moved by the cool, calm elegance of the lady, the quiet dignity with which she completed so menial a task. With the sun angling through the window to gild her with its warm radiance, she was quite lovely. What had he expected from the lady who would be Lady Joshua Faringdon? Just this, he decided, but it still took him by surprise.

He stepped forward and she looked up, then swiftly back down to her task of placing the candlesticks with a nicety of judgement. What he had seen fleetingly in her eyes worried him. She was not at ease. But then, why did that not surprise him either?

‘Sarah.’ He walked toward her, a little hum of anger in his blood, replacing the sudden pleasure, whether at her or himself he had no very clear idea. But his nearness had the desired effect of forcing her to look up.

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Joshua .’ They were making no progress here. He stifled a sigh and kept a firm hand on any further sharp comment.

‘Yes. Of course.’ She looked at him, eyes wide, assessing, for some female reason that would doubtless be impossible for a mere male to determine.

‘What is it? What is wrong?’ He felt the frown begin between his brows, but could not prevent it.

Sarah saw it too. ‘Nothing is wrong—exactly.’

‘Then if it is nothing exactly, perhaps you could abandon my silver and give your attention to me for a moment. I think I am more important.’ Nor could he prevent the edge in his voice.

It raised the faintest of smiles from his bride as she recognised the arrogant response, which ruffled him still further. So he leaned forward, took the candlestick from her fingers, placed it on the table with less care than might be expected for the highly polished rosewood surface and kept a grip of her hands when she automatically stepped back.