Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow

‘Ah. The Countess of Wexford? I thought as much. Beware a woman scorned, particularly one as self-seeking as the fair Countess. I doubt that she enjoyed being evicted from her role in this household.’

‘She had no role in this household.’

‘Well… I expect that she wished she had.’ Nicholas grinned in appreciation. ‘The lady has certainly sharpened her claws and is now intent on sinking them into your tender flesh. The scandal has taken the town by storm.’

‘As I know to my cost!’ Joshua put down the glass with a force that threatened the perfection of the faceted crystal. ‘But I am innocent of this, Nick. I did not murder my wife! Marianne…she is…was…!’ Aware of Wycliffe’s warning and the crevasse opening before the unwary, Joshua bit down on any further incriminating words.

Nicholas choked on his brandy.

‘She’s what? I thought she was dead.’

‘Nothing! She is.’

‘Sher…perhaps you need to tell me just what is going on. Of course you did not murder your wife. No one with any sense believes that you did. But something is afoot. What is it?’

Joshua gritted his teeth, the muscles of his jaw hardening. ‘That, Nick, is the whole problem. I must keep a still tongue in my head.’

‘Does Sarah know?’

‘No, she does not.’

‘Will you take her to Paris with you?’

Oh, God! ‘Yes…no. I haven’t decided. It is none of your affair!’

‘I just thought…’

‘What did you just think?’ Joshua glared at him.

‘That it would be better for Sarah if you took her with you.’

Joshua sighed. Of course he should take her with him. She would be devastated if he left her in London. He knew enough of Sarah’s state of mind to know that she would see it as a personal slight. But there was her safety to consider if death and violence were to be the order of the day in Paris.

‘It might,’ he said quietly, ‘be in the interest of Sarah’s safety if I left her here.’

Nicholas placed his glass carefully on the desk before raising keen eyes to pin his cousin down. ‘Sher—you can tell me to go to the devil, of course, but—are you involved in government work—something conspiratorial, perhaps—which necessitates your silence? Something which is not without its dangers?’

‘Why do you say that?’ The silver eyes narrowed with suspicion, but did not waver.

‘No reason. It is just that—’

‘You have a fertile imagination.’ Joshua was increasingly aware of a compulsion to unburden himself to his cousin. To lay before him the whole intricate web of plots and devious scheming that could undermine the peace achieved after Waterloo. To admit to the identity of The Chameleon. And knew he must not. He closed his eyes momentarily against it.

‘Perhaps I have. So you have no intention of unburdening yourself.’ It was as if Nicholas had sensed the internal battle, impulse waging war against necessity.

‘No.’

‘Very well. If that is what you truly wish.’ Nicholas pushed himself to his feet. ‘I cannot force you. But remember, if you ever need a sympathetic ear… ‘

‘Forgive me, Nick.’ Joshua also stood forcing his muscles to relax, managing a wry smile. ‘It is not my intention to appear churlish.’

‘But you do!’

‘All I can say is that the decision to unburden myself—as you put it so aptly—is not mine to make.’

Nicholas began to make his way to the door. Then, on a thought, looked back. ‘Do I surmise that your…er…colourful reputation is not as dire as you would have us believe? That it has all been a disguise for some undercover project?’

‘Surmise what you will.’ Nicholas could read nothing in Joshua’s expression. ‘But don’t discuss such an idea with Thea. Because she will surely talk to Sarah. And then where shall we all be!’

‘What an interesting life you lead, Sher!’ Now Nicholas laughed. ‘I never could accept that you were such a black sheep in the family as you would have us believe.’

‘Ha! I fear that my interesting life, as you put it, is about to call in its debts.’ For a moment Joshua hesitated, wondering if he were about to make a mistake, but was encouraged by the understanding smile on his cousin’s face. ‘You could do one thing for me.’

‘And that is?’

‘Come to Paris with me. I have the strangest feeling that I might just need your support.’

‘Will the Countess of Wexford be there?’

‘Highly likely. Now that she has done all the damage she can in London.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Thea will love it. She is not unacquainted with the city. Sir Hector was ambassador there for some months.’

‘I did not mean that Thea should… But of course she would accompany you.’ Joshua looked dubious at the prospect.

‘What—me go Paris with you—and leave Thea at home?’ Nicholas laughed aloud. ‘Have your wits entirely gone begging, man? When did any fashionable woman refuse a chance to go to Paris?’

‘Forgive me, Nick—I seem to have said that more than once this afternoon!’ Joshua bared his teeth in a passable smile and now, for the first time, there was some warmth there. ‘How crass of me! Perhaps both you and your formidable wife can give my fast-disintegrating reputation some much-needed support.’

That same night Joshua had intended to dine early at home before escorting Sarah to the theatre at Covent Garden. To hell with the gossips! And the devil take Wycliffe with his insinuations concerning Sarah’s loyalties! He would not turn and run from public gaze. Had they not flung down a challenge at the Exhibition and survived the ordeal? But at the eleventh hour he could not face running the gauntlet of the tiers of boxes with their avid eyes and raised lorgnettes, pretending ignorance of the knowing looks and speculation on his relationship with Marianne. The discussion of his sins both in general and in wicked particular. His respect for Eleanor and Henry, who had done exactly that, multiplied. But he guessed, rightly, that Sarah would find no enjoyment in the performance if they were providing the audience with more entertainment than the actors on the stage.

Wycliffe’s lack of sympathy and insistence that it was Joshua’s duty to return to Paris had seriously ruffled the Faringdon feathers.

So Lord and Lady Faringdon dined à deux at home with a reasonable show of unity, finding enough food for conversation to carry them through the various dishes in the first and second courses. Perhaps with no real appetite, but with no serious conflict, or even a need to discuss the little matter of murder. Sarah was perfectly willing to follow her lord’s lead. What would be the value in their discussing so contentious an issue when there was nothing further to be said, when Joshua was as tight-lipped as one of the oysters on her plate? Until, that is, they reached the dessert, a marvellous confection of peaches in heavy syrup and spun sugar.

Lord Joshua found that he had no appetite; he did not pick up his spoon.

‘Sarah—I find a need to go to Paris.’

‘Oh.’ Her eyes immediately flew from her plate to his face, her enjoyment of the sweetness effectively destroyed by that one short statement. ‘When?’

‘In two days.’

If he saw a flicker of disappointment, a deepening of the little lines of concern that marked the fair skin beside her eyes when she was troubled, he thought he might have been mistaken. Or perhaps not. He was now intimately acquainted with Sarah’s ability to hide her thoughts.

‘Some business that has come up.’ I know it is a lame excuse, but it is the best I can do.

‘Of course.’ What business? Has the Countess of Wexford gone back to Paris? Surely he has not arranged an assignation! But I asked that I should not be required to meet and acknowledge his mistress. This would be an ideal solution to the problem. To continue the affair in Paris when I am far away! Her heart fell to the level of her satin shoes. She too put down her spoon.

‘Will it be a short visit?’ She kept her voice admirably calm, tried for a smile, which was not as successful, so skilfully raised her napkin to her lips to cover it.

‘I do not know. A week or two, perhaps longer.’

‘Very well.’ Even worse! Some would say that he is also going to ensure that there is no evidence to be discovered of the murder of poor Marianne. Many would say that. But I cannot—I will not—accept that. The possibilities rushed into her mind, rendering her almost light-headed.

Joshua watched his wife as she licked the sugar from one finger, her skin suddenly very pale. She would never ask him what he intended to do in Paris. Of course she would not. As a partner in a marriage of convenience he knew that she would be very careful of her status, ask nothing of him other than he was prepared to give on his own initiative. The thought touched his heart with compassion. And as at Richmond when she had so desperately wanted to ride with him, a desire to give her more than she was prepared to ask. So he made his decision in the blink of an eye. What was there to decide, after all? He knew what he wanted—he would not think about his reasons for it—but he also knew what would be the best for Sarah at this crucial time in their marriage. He had tried to distance himself. That had been a disaster and he could not do it again. It would be cruelty itself to leave her here alone to face the accusations, even more for her to have to tolerate Felton’s intrusive shadowing in his absence. She would assuredly think the worst of her absent husband if he abandoned her in cold blood.

He could not leave her. Had known it as soon as Nicholas had challenged him over it.

So he abandoned any attempt to eat Mrs Beddows’s masterpiece with some relief and cast his napkin on the table.

‘Sarah. Yes, I am going to Paris. But you are coming with me. Go and instruct your maid to pack some clothes. Not many, mind. You can enjoy the glories of Parisian fashion when you get there.’

‘Me?’ It was almost a squeak. She pushed aside her spoon with a clatter. ‘You will take me to Paris?’ Whatever she had expected, it was not this.

‘You, my dear wife. I have arranged for the children to stay with Judith.’ Well, he would do so first thing in the morning. ‘Don’t argue!’ as he saw her lips part. ‘Beth and John will enjoy it. Judith will spoil them inordinately. I need some time alone with you, away from the wagging tongues. Let us call it a late wedding visit, if you wish.’ He built his case skilfully unless she would still refuse. But what woman would? ‘I need to introduce you to Paris and you need to inspect our property there. It is Carnival, with much to entertain and amuse.’

‘Well… If you think… ‘

‘And I have suggested that Nick and Thea join us for a short time. That will be company for you when I need to be elsewhere.’ He applied the layers with sly expertise.

‘Yes…’

‘You will spend a considerable amount of my money and enjoy it.’ And before she could deny it: ‘It is in our contract, so I insist.’

‘But I—’

‘Sarah! I think I should also have included in that damned document that you would not argue with me at every step. There is nothing for you to do but be ready to go to France within the week. I have a yacht, which is awaiting us in Dover harbour. Can you be ready?’

‘Yes. Oh, yes.’ A glow of colour suffused her cheeks. He could not resist, but leaned over and kissed her tinted cheek, the most gentle of caresses. And then, because the temptation was too great, and she was so close, her soft lips. They were warm and offered everything he could ask. But he drew back.

And laughed aloud as the look of startled surprise on her face struck at his senses. The likelihood of Sarah being a spy for any foreign power roused his appreciation of the ridiculous. She might mask her thoughts, but she was not that good at hiding her feelings. Wycliffe must be a fool indeed to suspect her of double-dealing! She was as transparent as the sparkling crystal on the table when jolted into happiness.

‘What is it?’ Her glance was one of sudden concern, of suspicion that her husband had manoeuvred her into this position, which he had, of course.

‘Nothing at all, dear Sarah! You are a delight to me.’

She frowned at him, but said no more. There was no accounting for the strange whims of gentlemen, after all. So she took herself off, to organise herself for the forthcoming and entirely unexpected treat. Surely if he intended to pursue the Countess of Wexford, he would not take his wife with him. It was inconceivable! The bubble of excitement within her chest could not be quelled.

Joshua smiled at her retreating figure. It pleased him to give her pleasure. Not from love exactly—he had already made that decision, had he not? But she was enchanting when taken by surprise.

And he felt a smug satisfaction at thwarting Wycliffe’s attempts to separate them, to keep Sarah alone and under surveillance in London.

Then there was only one more step for Lord Joshua Faringdon to take.

His decision to act on Wycliffe’s suggestion—if suggestion were not too mild a word for that gentleman’s plain speaking—and return to Paris as the British government’s eyes and ears gave his lordship pause for thought in the following days. It had never been an issue for him before. He had embarked on any number of chancy escapades with little concern for his own safety or the outcome of the mission. A thoughtless belief in his own immortality, he supposed. Now, with Sarah as his wife, he must give the inherent dangers some serious consideration. It had struck him with unpleasant force on the night when he had insisted that Sarah accompany him. There should be no danger for her in Paris, yet he must still contemplate the worst scenario. So he had some rapid plans to make.

He spent a day in careful thought and planning, partly in communication with Mr Hoskins, the lawyer who oversaw all the Faringdon legal matters, and finally the withdrawal of a large sum of money from his lordship’s bank. In return he acquired a deed of property, the outcome all quickly tied up and entirely to his satisfaction.

All that remained was to present the final conclusion to Sarah. He prowled the library, awaiting her return from an outing with Theodora. And brooded over the unpredictability of women who were too independent and self-sufficient for their own good, particularly those whose well-being was fast becoming a fixation with him. However enchanting they might be, however much they might have come to fill his thoughts from one hour to the next, they were still unpredictable.

At last he heard her light footsteps in the hall and emerged to meet her, all suave elegance and composure. No one would ever question his assurance. Still in her outdoor wear, she was in process of removing her beribboned and flowered straw bonnet. The soft light through the tall windows touched her hair with pale gold. She turned to him with a quick smile.

‘Joshua.’ Her eyes picked up colour in the sunbeams. ‘I did not know that you were home.’ Her impromptu greeting and genuine warmth filled his veins with a sudden heat.

‘I was waiting for you, lady.’

She blushed deliciously. Made no attempt to walk away, as the old Sarah might have done.

‘Sarah. Have you a moment?’

‘Of course.’

She must have no notion of how uncertain he felt, nor would she. He would carry it off with his habitual confidence as if the outcome of the next few moments were of no real importance to him, when they concerned him very much. He opened the door into the withdrawing room, a deliberate choice, being less formal and business-like than the library. It was important to keep her at her ease, unaware.

Waiting by the window as she laid aside her gloves and her parasol, he stood and watched, then without a word he handed her an envelope. Thick. Official, with her name on the outer cover.

‘What is it?’ Her brows rose in typical and instant suspicion, her eyes flying to his face.

He shook his head and smiled. ‘Open it.’ He would not say more.

‘A gift?’

‘Not really. More in the way of a security.’ He refused to be defensive, but saw the little line grow between her brows.

‘You should not, Joshua. You have given me so much. You do not need to give me more.’ But she still opened it with a very feminine curiosity.

‘I know.’ He watched her. ‘But I thought that perhaps this was necessary for you. You will understand.’

She raised her brows at his enigmatic words, but he would say no more until she had seen for herself. So Sarah extracted a sheaf of pages. Her eyes ran down one, then the next, widened with shock. Then she began to read again, colour fluctuating in her cheeks, lips parted in amazement.

‘Joshua… ‘ At first she could not find the words.

‘Sarah!’ He allowed himself a smile.

‘You cannot do this. You must not.’

‘Of course I can. It is my right and my pleasure. You are my wife.’ Perhaps for the first time, the force of the words struck home. You are my wife and I alone am responsible for your happiness and your safety. Your peace of mind.

‘Joshua… it is too much.’

‘It pleases me. You must allow me to be pleased.’

‘But a house! My very own house… ‘

She sank to the seat beside her as if her legs had not the strength to hold her.

‘It is for yourself and John. Whatever happens in the future, you will have your own home in your own name, independent of the estate. To live in or to sell, as you see fit.’

Sarah promptly shocked both of them by abandoning the document in her lap and covering her face with her hands.

‘Oh, Sarah.’ He sighed. What did he have to do to bring her troubled soul some degree of happiness and contentment? ‘It is not worth your tears. I had hoped that it would please you and give you some security.’

Your future will no longer be entirely dependent on me.

But he could not say that, could not even admit it to himself, when his impulse was to tighten the bonds rather than loosen them.

But his instinct at this moment was to take her into his arms and dry her tears with his lips. To tell her again that she need not fear the future, or his reputation, or the terrible scandal that hedged them in—whatever it was that robbed her of comfort. He wanted her to smile at him again as she had when she had walked into the hall, a smile of sheer delight. But he held back from her, aware of his own vulnerability for perhaps the first time. If she refused this gift, it would be like a slap in the face. He did not wish to contemplate that. She might fear her dependence on him. But he was beginning to realise that his happiness was fast becoming dependent on her. And he dare not approach her, for fear that she reject him as well as his gift.

‘Sarah. Please do not cry.’ He raked his fingers through his hair in a typically Faringdon gesture. ‘I did this to make you happy, not to deluge you in grief. You can refuse it if you wish. But, indeed, I hope that you will not.’

‘Yes… no! I know why you have done it. I am so overcome.’ She looked up, a wavering smile on her lips, her lashes spangled with tears as she wiped them away her hands.

What an amazing man. He had given her a house of her own. Her own house—her mind repeated it again and again. A little town house in one of the streets off the Park. Bought by him in her name. Not part of the Faringdon estate. With the tip of one finger she traced where her name was written on the deed of ownership, breathless with astonishment that he should do this for her, aware of her innermost fears. How could she not weep? She had never experienced such generosity in the whole of her life. Such willingness to give her her freedom if she wished to take it. Making himself vulnerable to her own choice.

He had put her future here into her own hands. What did he deserve from her? It was time that she grew up, that she stepped outside her fears and foolish insecurities.

So Sarah rose to her feet, pressing the document to her heart for a moment before laying it aside on the table. Wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. Then walked toward him quite deliberately. Stood before him. Watched the uncertainty on his face. Raised her hands, again quite deliberately with no tremor, to frame his face, aware of the flash of surprise in his eyes as she did so. Then placed her lips on his. Very gently, the merest breath.

‘Thank you, Joshua. What a marvellous gift. How could I ask for better? I could not possibly refuse it.’ She kissed him again, astonished anew at her courage in making so personal a gesture. In the cold light of day. In the withdrawing room.

The tension eased from his face, the harsh lines softened. His smile reflected hers. It was all the encouragement she needed. She kissed him one more.

‘Sarah.’ His voice was low, a little rough with emotion. ‘Do you realise that you have kissed me three times of your own volition?’

‘I know.’ Her smile deepened. ‘And I can make it four.’

And she did.

Later Joshua was free to heave a sigh of relief that his plan had come to a satisfactory fulfilment. Whatever happened in the future, Sarah would have her own home, over and above the settlement made for her in the legal jointure at the time of their marriage. Because it had to be faced. Sarah was unaware of the dangers, and it was his intention that she remain so, but dangers there undoubtedly were. If Wycliffe was talking of assassinations, political murder… Joshua thought about his last visit to Paris, his expression grim. It had ended in his ignominious sprawl over a balustrade with immediate pain and inconvenience, but no lasting damage. It could have ended quite differently if his assailant had been intent on taking his life. He had been careless, thoughtless of his safety. Next time—if there was to be a next time—he would be prepared against so overt an attack, but he might not be so fortunate in the outcome. It was the price he might be called upon to pay, becoming involved with those who would destroy the peace and stability of Europe. He had always accepted that. If death awaited him in the sumptuous rooms and clipped gardens of Paris and the Tuileries, so be it. But Sarah would not suffer. A grim tension settled about his mouth.

And Sarah must not know.

Chapter Nine

February 1820—Pari

It was new and overwhelming and Sarah, as she admitted in the secrecy of her heart, adored every minute of it despite having no familiarity with it or acquaintance there of her own. The city was so old compared with New York. So much to see, so many gracious buildings, such a variety of shop windows to gaze into, so many fashionable people. Her isolation was merely temporary. Theodora and Nicholas were expected to join them any day. Sarah suspected that Joshua had arranged it for her comfort and was grateful. Nor could she fault his own concern for her happiness. Until her sister arrived he was attentive and companionable, pleased to escort her wherever she wished to go. He bought her a copy of Galignani’s Paris Guide and consented to accompany her sight-seeings with amused tolerance. She could almost close her mind to the many times when he was not at home, usually during the dark hours, when he left their house in the most fashionable quarter of the city without advising anyone of his destination. Almost, but not quite.

Sarah had little time to sit and think. Even to miss the children, which she did, of course, when she came upon something that would reduce John to astonishment, such as a splendid parade of the lancers of the Garde Royale, or would attract Beth’s wide-eyed interest. But Lord and Lady Joshua Faringdon were in demand. As soon as it was known that the English lord had returned to Paris, they received one invitation after another to soirées and balls, intimate At Homes and Court receptions. Particularly the formal receptions at the Palais Royal in the Tuileries Gardens. Sarah made her curtsy here to Louis XVIII, his brother Charles, Comte d’Artois, and Louis’ nephew, the Duc de Berri, who, with his young Duchesse, were at the centre of a lively circle who enjoyed life to the full. The Faringdons were soon drawn into the set who danced and feasted and discussed matters of triviality or importance from dawn to dusk. Sarah found it easy to admire the pretty Duchesse who remained cheerful despite her agonising failure to bear her lord, whom she so clearly adored, a son.