Nicola Cornick - The Blanchland Secret

‘As to that, I cannot say.’ Sarah spoke with equanimity. ‘Nor,’ she added quickly, seeing the spark of devilment in his eyes, ‘do I have any ambition to find out!’

‘What a sensible lady you are, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy murmured. ‘So measured, so composed! Lady Amelia must find you a positive paragon of a companion!’

Remembering the concern she was currently causing her cousin, who had wasted another twenty minutes earlier that afternoon trying to persuade her against her trip to Blanchland, Sarah could not agree with him. She was almost glad to see the ponderous figure of Mr Tilbury approaching to request a dance. Guy did not demur when she excused herself and Sarah was annoyed that this should be so, then was even more irritated with herself for so out-of-character contrariness. She watched Guy performing a succession of country dances with Bath’s most eligible debutantes and told herself that she did not care in the least.

Guy presented himself a little late for his promised dance with her for he appeared to have had difficulty in tearing himself away from his previous partner, the extremely young and pretty Miss Bunton. Sarah discovered that this engendered in her a feeling of acute vexation akin to indigestion, the like of which she had never experienced before. She had to fight a hard battle with herself in order to greet him civilly, and was mortified to see the sardonic light in his eye that suggested he had seen and noted her reaction. Sarah was obliged to remind herself yet again that she had only met the man that very day and could have neither interest in nor opinion on his behaviour. Nevertheless, she kept her gaze averted from his, for she had the lowering suspicion that he could read her mind.

‘You are very quiet, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy observed softly, when the movement of the dance brought them together. ‘I know it cannot be that you need to concentrate on your steps, for you dance too well for that. Have I then done something to displease you?’

Sarah saw the flash of mockery in his eyes and, in spite of all her good intentions, she felt her temper rise. He really did have the most regrettable effect on her composure!

‘How could that be so, my lord?’ she asked sweetly. ‘I scarcely know you well enough to claim the privilege of being annoyed by your behaviour!’

She saw the look of amused speculation on Guy’s face before the dance obliged him to move briefly away. Sarah tried to get a grip on her bad temper. She had no wish to betray the fact that he had the power to affect her, nor to be drawn into a conversation that could be dangerous, and she was afraid that she had already said too much. She received confirmation of this a moment later.

‘I collect that you mean that one must care sufficiently for someone before their behaviour can influence one’s feelings?’ Guy said lazily, when they came back together again. ‘In that case, I shall hope that time will see you quite exasperated with me!’

Sarah reflected ruefully that she had probably deserved that and would think twice before crossing swords with him again.

Guy seemed disinclined to let the matter drop, however, for when she did not reply he raised an eyebrow and said, ‘What do you say, ma’am? Do you think you could find it in your heart to dislike me a little?’

Sarah smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘I know you are trying to provoke me, sir—’

‘Indeed? I thought the reverse was true for once!’

‘Very well!’ Sarah met his eyes squarely. ‘I’ll admit that I said something that I now deeply regret! Pray accept my apologies, my lord!’

The dance had ended, but Guy was still holding her hand. They were standing on the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by couples milling about as they either retired for refreshments or joined the set that was forming, yet it seemed to Sarah that they were entirely alone. Guy smiled and when Sarah looked up into his eyes she saw an expression there that was compounded of desire overlaid by wicked mischief. So strong was the conviction that he was about to kiss her that Sarah took an instinctive step backwards.

‘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…