Regency Christmas Vows: The Blanchland Secret / The Mistress of Hanover Square

Still, there was always hope. Cook’s sister, who was Lady Allerton’s housekeeper, had overheard her ladyship mention that a number of new visitors had been listed in the Bath Register, chief amongst whom was Viscount Renshaw, son of the Earl of Woodallan. Not just that, but his lordship was rumoured to be staying with his good friend Greville Baynham, one of Lady Amelia’s beaux…Still plotting, Mrs Anderson called for the housemaid and made some pungent remarks about the slovenliness of her cleaning.

The subject of these musings, completely unaware that her cousin’s matchmaking staff had plans for her, had purchased two very pretty pink ribbons for the bodice of Amelia’s ballgown and was just leaving the florist with her arms full of specially cultivated roses. No matter how she tried to avoid it, the events of the past hour kept flooding back into Sarah’s mind. A niece of seventeen! And she was only four and twenty herself! Frank, her senior by eleven years, had begun his womanising young. He had always been one with an eye for the prettiest maids. And who had been Olivia’s mother? Sarah paused on the street corner. Surely it had not been the doctor’s prim little wife? Mrs Meredith had been so very proper…

Aware that she was speculating in a most ill-bred manner, Sarah smiled a little. She was certain that Churchward had been shocked by her lack of sensibility when acquainted with the news! Engrossed in her thoughts, she stepped off the pavement and someone bumped into her, knocking all the breath out of her body. The roses went flying across the cobblestones. Sarah lost her balance and would have fallen were it not for an arm that went hard around her waist, steadying her.

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am!’ a masculine voice exclaimed. ‘Devilish clumsy of me!’

The gentleman set Sarah gently on her feet and removed his arm from about her with what she considered to be unnecessary slowness. He turned to gather up the scattered flowers, but he was too late. A carriage, bowling along at a smart pace, neatly severed the heads of half of them.

‘Oh, no!’ Sarah went down on her knees again to try to rescue those that were left, but even they were bruised, their petals drooping. Amelia would be furious. The red roses were the centrepiece of her decoration the following night and the florist had grown them especially for the event. With all her heart Sarah wished she had left the roses to be brought round later on the cart with the other flowers, but she had been looking forward to walking through the winter streets with such a splash of colour. She sat back on her heels, holding the sad bouquet in her hand.

‘Pray have some sense, madam! You are likely to be squashed flat if you remain in the road!’

The gentleman took Sarah firmly by the elbow and hauled her to her feet again. There was considerably less courtesy in his voice this time.

Sarah stepped back and glared at him furiously. ‘I thank you for your concern, sir! A pity you did not think of the danger before you consigned my roses to precisely that fate!’

The gentleman did not answer at once, merely raising one dark eyebrow in a somewhat quizzical fashion. His thoughtful gaze, very dark and direct, considered Sarah from her skewed bonnet to her sensible shoes, pausing on her flushed face and lingering on the curves of her figure beneath the practical pelisse. Sarah raised her chin angrily. Her experience of gentlemen was indisputably small, but she had no trouble in recognising this one as a rake—nor in reading the expression in his eyes.

His was a tall and athletic figure, set off to perfection by an elegance of tailoring seldom found in conservative Bath society. London polish, Sarah thought immediately, remembering Amelia’s description of her years in the capital and the intimidatingly handsome gentlemen who had flocked to her balls and soirées. This gentleman had thick fair hair ruffled by the winter breeze, its lightness a striking contrast to the dark brown eyes that were appraising her so thoroughly. A slight smile was starting to curl his firm mouth as he took in the angry sparkle in Sarah’s eyes, the outraged blush rising to her cheeks.

‘I can only apologise again, madam,’ the gentleman said smoothly. ‘I was so taken in admiring the beauties of this city—’ the amusement in his eyes deepened ‘—that I was utterly engrossed!’

Sarah felt an answering smile starting and repressed it ruthlessly. There was something here that was surprisingly hard to resist; some indefinable charm, perhaps, or, more dangerously, an affinity that was as disturbing as it was unexpected. The gentleman exuded a careless confidence and a vitality that seemed to set him apart. Bath was full of invalids, Sarah realised, and it was almost shocking to meet someone who seemed so very alive.

The strangest thing of all was that he seemed vaguely familiar. The combination of fair hair and dark eyes was very unusual and definitely stirred her memory. She paused, unaware that she was staring and that the quizzical twinkle in the gentleman’s eyes had changed to thoughtful speculation.

‘I beg your pardon, but have we met before, sir?’ Sarah frowned slightly. ‘There is something familiar—’

Too late, she realised just how he might misinterpret her question. She had been thinking aloud and bit her lip, vexed with herself.

The gentleman’s dark eyebrows rose fractionally and there was a certain cynicism in his drawl as he said, ‘You flatter me, ma’am! I should say that we could be very good friends if you so choose.’

The colour flooded into Sarah’s cheeks. She stopped dead, regardless of curious glances from the other shoppers in Milsom Street.

‘That was hardly my intention, sir! I would scarcely attempt to scrape an acquaintance in so ramshackle a manner, particularly with a gentleman who is an undoubted rake! Your assumptions do you no credit! Good day to you, sir!’

He was already before her as she turned on her heel to leave him standing there.

‘Wait!’ He put out a hand to detain her. ‘Forgive me, ma’am! It was not my intention to offend you!’

Sarah looked pointedly down at his hand on her arm, and he removed it at once. ‘I should have thought that that was precisely what you intended, sir!’

‘No, indeed!’ He would have seemed genuinely contrite were it not for the glint of amused admiration she could see lurking in his eyes. ‘I intended quite otherwise—’ He broke off at the furious light in Sarah’s eyes. ‘You must allow me to apologise for my deplorable manners, ma’am! And for the roses…’ He gave a wry smile to see the drooping posy in Sarah’s hand. ‘I hope it is a simple matter to procure some more?’

It was said in the tones of someone who had never had any difficulty in finding—or paying for—two dozen red roses for his latest inamorata. Sarah, who was finding it extraordinarily difficult to remain angry with him, managed a severity she was proud of.

‘I fear that these were the last roses to be had, sir,’ she said frostily. ‘They were grown especially. And even if they were not, I can scarce afford to go around Bath buying up flowers in an abandoned fashion! Now, you will excuse me, I am sure!’

The gentleman appeared not to have heard his dismissal, although Sarah suspected that he had, in fact, chosen to ignore it. He fell into step beside her as though by mutual consent.

‘I trust that you were not injured at all in the accident, ma’am?’ The undertone of amusement was still in his voice. ‘It was remiss of me not to enquire before. Perhaps I should escort you home to reassure myself that you are quite well?’

Sarah raised her eyebrows at such flagrant presumption. She wondered just how blunt she was going to have to be to dismiss him. It was difficult when a part of her was drawn to him in such a contrary fashion, but she was not accustomed to striking up a conversation with strange gentlemen in the street. Besides, no matter what her errant senses were telling her, such behaviour was dangerous. This man was definitely a rake and had already shown that he would take advantage.

‘It is quite unnecessary for you to accompany me, sir. I am indeed well and will be home directly!’

‘But it is not at all the done thing for a lady to wander around unattended, you know,’ the gentleman said conversationally. ‘I am sure that Bath cannot be so fast as London; even so, the worthy matrons would not approve of such behaviour!’

Once again, Sarah was almost betrayed into a smile. He was outrageous, but surprisingly difficult to resist.

‘I am sure that you are aware, sir, that it causes less speculation to walk around unchaperoned than to be seen in company with a complete stranger! That being the case, I shall continue alone and wish you a pleasant stay in our city!’

So saying, she gave him a cool nod and walked away, every line of her body defying him to follow her.

Guy, Viscount Renshaw, watched the slender figure walk purposefully away from him. A faint, rueful smile curved his lips. He saw the lady reach the corner of the street, saw her pause to exchange greetings with a gentleman coming the other way and noted with quickened interest that the gentleman was his good friend, Greville Baynham. Reflecting that it was fortunate that Bath society was proving to be so close-knit, Guy strolled across the street just as Greville took his leave of the lady.

‘Sorry I was so long, old fellow!’ Greville gave his friend an amiable grin. ‘Saw a pair of Purdeys that took my fancy. I hope that you found enough to amuse you in my absence!’

‘Oh, I was well entertained,’ Guy said lazily, watching Sarah disappear out of sight. She had a very trim figure, he thought, good enough to challenge any of the accredited London beauties. Those hazel eyes, set in the wide, pure oval of her face, were magnificent…He realised that Greville had addressed another remark to him and was waiting patiently for his response.

‘I merely asked whether you would care to take the spa waters?’ his friend said with a quizzical look. ‘Though perhaps you have found other attractions more to your liking? Bath is a slow place these days, especially out of season, but—’

‘But not as slow as all that!’ Guy turned a thoughtful look on his friend. ‘Tell me, Grev, who is the lady to whom you were speaking just now?’

Greville frowned, pushing a hand through his ruffled brown hair. ‘The lady?’ His brow cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Miss Sheridan? Save yourself the trouble if you thought to strike up a flirtation there, Guy! She don’t give rakes the time of day!’

Guy laughed. ‘I believe you, although she did claim an acquaintance with me! Thought I had mistaken her quality until she gave me the coolest set-down I’ve ever experienced!’ Guy frowned a little. ‘Sheridan, did you say? The name is familiar…Why, yes, I remember her! Well, I’ll be damned!’

Greville burst out laughing. ‘Doing it too brown, Guy! I don’t believe you’ve ever met the lady before!’

‘No, I assure you!’ Guy looked triumphant. ‘Miss Sheridan is the sister of the late Lord Sheridan, is she not? She is also my father’s goddaughter and, though I have not seen her for an age, it must be the same girl! We were practically childhood friends!’

Greville’s shoulders slumped. ‘Devil take it, Guy! Of all the cursed luck!’

Guy gave his friend a pained look. ‘Surely you mean it is a charming coincidence! And, as you evidently know the lady, you will be able to furnish me with her direction—’

Greville groaned. ‘Don’t do it, Guy! Miss Sheridan is Lady Amelia Fenton’s cousin and Amelia will string me up if you try to get up a flirtation with Sarah!’

Guy smiled. He had heard quite a lot about Greville’s hopeless passion for Lady Amelia only the previous night, when his friend had been in his cups and musing on the cruelty of womankind. Guy had imagined that Bath would prove very shabby genteel now that it had passed its heyday as a fashionable spa, yet the staid society was promising several intriguing possibilities. Greville had made no secret of the fact that he intended to press his suit with the lovely Lady Amelia and now there was Miss Sheridan…

Remembering the flash in those beautiful hazel eyes as Sarah had administered her set-down, Guy was forced into a reluctant grin. He had noticed her as soon as she had come out of the florist with those wretched roses in her arms. Beneath the prim bonnet, her hair had been the colour of autumn leaves; not brown or gold or amber, but a mixture of all three. She had held herself with an unconscious grace, slender and straight; despite her demure appearance, she was far from priggish. There had been a hint of laughter in her eyes and a smile on those pretty lips, and he had known that, for all her propriety, she had been attracted to him.

It was a shame that his father was also Sarah Sheridan’s godfather. Guy acknowledged that that would preclude the sort of relationship that had sprung to mind on first seeing her. Nevertheless, it gave him the perfect excuse to pursue the acquaintance and that was a thought that held definite appeal. He drove his hands into his coat pockets.

‘Has Miss Sheridan never wished to marry?’ he asked, still following a train of thought of his own.

‘No money,’ Greville said succinctly, watching his friend with deep misgiving. ‘Here in Bath everyone is looking to marry a fortune. Sarah goes about with Lady Amelia, writes her letters and so on—’ He broke off at the look of distaste on Guy’s face.

‘Miss Sheridan a lady’s companion? Surely not!’

‘It is hardly like that,’ Greville said, leaping to Amelia’s defence. ‘Lady Amelia is most sincerely attached to her cousin—they are friends rather than employer and employee! Why, Amelia is the sweetest-natured creature—’

Guy held up a hand in mock surrender. ‘No need for such heat, old fellow! You’ll be calling me out next! I had no intention of casting doubt on Lady Amelia’s generosity, but it seems…’ he hesitated ‘…incongruous to think of Miss Sheridan in such a situation. I wonder if my father knows? At the very least he would offer her a dowry…’

Greville’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘Thought it was something else you had in mind to offer Miss Sheridan, Guy!’

‘I won’t deny it crossed my mind,’ the Viscount murmured, ‘but m’father wouldn’t like it! Tell me, Grev, if all the roses in Bath had been sold, where would you go to buy a posy for a lady?’

Greville stared at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. ‘Don’t know what the devil you’re talking about, old chap! Roses in winter?’

‘It is very late for them, I suppose. Would I be able to send someone to purchase red roses in Bristol, perhaps?’

‘You can buy anything with your sort of money,’ Greville said, without rancour. ‘Though why you would wish to go to the trouble—’

‘A favour for a lady,’ Guy explained.

‘I collect you mean to win a lady’s favour!’ Greville said glumly. ‘Well, I can’t stop you! But be warned, Guy—Miss Sheridan is no fool! She will see through your schemes! And as for Lady Amelia, well, I would not like to be in your shoes if she takes you in dislike!’ His gaze fell on the one red rose that Guy had rescued from the street and which he still held in one hand.

‘Must you walk round carrying that thing?’ he besought. ‘Devil take it, Guy, you look like a cursed dandy!’

Chapter Two

‘Sarah! You cannot return to Blanchland! I absolutely forbid it! Why, your reputation would be in shreds as soon as you crossed the threshold!’

Lady Amelia Fenton, her kittenish face creased into lines of deep distress, threw herself down onto the sofa beside her cousin. ‘Besides,’ she added plaintively, ‘you know that you detest what Ralph Covell has done to the house, and have never wanted to set foot there again!’

Sarah sighed, reflecting that the only positive thing about the current situation was that it had successfully deflected Amelia from bewailing the loss of the red roses. She had been beside herself to discover that her artistic centrepiece was ruined—until Sarah had casually mentioned her plan to travel to Blanchland on the day following the ball.

Amelia got to her feet again and paced energetically up and down before the fireplace. She looked quite ridiculous, for she was far too small to flounce about. All Amelia’s features were small but perfectly proportioned, in contrast to her fortune which was big enough to make her one of Bath’s most sought-after matrimonial prizes.

Realising from Sarah’s expression that she looked absurd, Amelia sat down again, frowning. ‘I know you think I am making a cake of myself, Sarah, but I am truly concerned for your welfare!’ She sounded small and hurt. ‘Whatever you say, it will be the ruin of you to go there!’

Sarah sighed again. ‘Forgive me, Milly! I must go. It is at Frank’s request—’

‘Your brother has been dead these three years!’ Lady Amelia said incontrovertibly. ‘It seems to me that it is asking a great deal to expect you to grant his requests from beyond the grave!’

Sarah, reflecting that her cousin had no notion quite how much Frank was indeed asking of her, tried to console her.

‘It will not be for long, I promise, and it is no great matter. I am sure Sir Ralph cannot really be so bad—’

‘Ralph has made Blanchland a byword for licentiousness and depravity!’ Amelia said strongly. ‘You may pretend that you are happy to accept this commission, but you know it will ruin you! What can be so important to force you back there? Oh, I could murder Frank were it not that he is dead already!’

Sarah burst out laughing. ‘Oh Milly, I truly wish that I could confide in you, but I have been sworn to secrecy! It is a most delicate matter—’

‘Fiddle!’ Lady Amelia said crossly. She looked at her cousin and her anger melted into rueful irritation. She could never be cross with Sarah for long.

‘Oh, I am sorry, my love! I know you were most sincerely attached to your brother and that you believe you are doing the right thing, but…’ Her voice trailed away unhappily.

‘I know.’ Sarah patted her hand. At four and twenty she was Amelia’s junior by five years, yet often felt the elder of the two. It was Amelia who rushed impetuously at life, Amelia whose reckless impulses could so often lead to trouble if not tempered by the wise counsel of her younger cousin. Amelia, widowed for five years, still seemed as heedless as a young debutante. Yet now it was she who was counselling caution and Sarah who was set on a foolhardy course.

‘And to travel now!’ Amelia said fretfully. ‘Why, it is but two weeks to Christmas and I am sure we are in for some snow!’

‘I am sorry, Milly, it is just something I feel I must do—’

‘Excuse me, madam.’ Sarah broke off as Chisholm, Amelia’s butler, stepped softly into the room. ‘There are two gentlemen here to see you—’

‘I am not at home!’ Amelia cried vexedly. ‘Really, Chisholm, you know that I am not receiving!’

‘Yes, ma’am, but you did give orders that Sir Greville—’

‘Greville!’ Amelia cried. ‘Why did you not say so, Chisholm? What are you waiting for? Show him in at once!’

Not a muscle moved in the butler’s impassive face. ‘Very well, madam.’

Sarah, repressing a smile, wondered whether Amelia appreciated the long-suffering patience of her servants. They were all most sincerely attached to her, despite her grasshopper mind.

‘Sir Greville! How do you do, sir? I had no notion you were returned from London!’

Amelia, her ill temper forgotten, smiled sunnily as her visitors were shown into the room. Indeed, Sarah felt that a less good-natured man than Sir Greville Baynham might have read far more into the warmth of his welcome than was intended. Greville had been Amelia’s most constant admirer for the last few years and though she showed every evidence of enjoying his company, she had never accepted any of his proposals of marriage. Sarah privately thought that, should Sir Greville’s attentions be permanently withdrawn, Amelia would miss him rather more than she anticipated. Unfortunately her cousin showed no sign of recognising that fact.

‘Lady Amelia,’ Greville was saying formally, ‘please allow me to present Viscount Renshaw. Guy is staying with me at Chelwood for a few days. Guy, this is Lady Amelia Fenton and…’ he turned to smile at Sarah ‘…her cousin, the Honourable Miss Sarah Sheridan, whom I believe you have already met.’

Sarah’s heart had skipped a beat as she recognised the tall figure following Greville Baynham into Amelia’s elegant drawing-room. Guy Renshaw. What dreadful bad luck that he should appear again just when she had succeeded in banishing from her mind that wicked smile and those disturbing dark eyes. And worse, it seemed she had been correct all along in recognising him, though there was little resemblance between the gangling youth who had once teased her mercilessly and this very personable man.

Guy Renshaw sketched an elegant bow. ‘Lady Amelia, how do you do? I have heard much about you!’ His voice was low-pitched and very agreeable, as melodious as Sarah remembered from that morning. She found that her heart was beating fast and had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

Amelia blushed and smiled as she gave the Viscount her hand. Sarah tried not to laugh. Judging by the rueful look on his face, Greville might be regretting introducing his friend to the lady he ardently wished to marry! Amelia was quite the most dreadful flirt and did not deserve his devotion whilst Guy Renshaw, as Sarah now knew, could scarcely be trusted.

‘And, Miss Sheridan…’ Lord Renshaw turned to her. There was a smile playing around the corners his mouth. He really was quite shockingly attractive and Sarah was sure that he knew it. The thought served to calm her. She would not provide the confirmation!

‘Not only have you and I have met before, ma’am,’ the Viscount was saying, ‘but I would go so far as to say that we were childhood friends!’

‘Were you indeed, Sarah?’ Amelia’s eyes were bright with curiosity as they moved from one to the other. ‘How intriguing!’

Sarah looked at Guy Renshaw very deliberately and saw his smile deepen into challenge as he awaited her response.

‘Lord Renshaw mistakes,’ she said slowly. ‘We were never childhood friends.’

It gave her a certain satisfaction to see the swift flash of surprise in his eyes. Guy Renshaw, Sarah thought, was all too sure of himself and his power to attract.

‘How could we be,’ she added sweetly, ‘when Lord Renshaw spent the whole time tormenting me with spiders and toads? I do believe I thought him an odious boy!’

Amelia gave a peal of laughter. ‘Dear me, Lord Renshaw, it seems my cousin has a long memory for childhood slights! You will have to try hard to win her good opinion!’

‘I shall endeavour to do so, ma’am, if Miss Sheridan will give me a second chance!’ There was speculation as well as amusement in the look Guy cast Sarah. She felt a shiver of awareness, as though he had just issued a challenge she was unsure she could meet. She looked away deliberately.

Amelia was patting the sofa beside her. ‘How long do you plan to spend in Bath, Lord Renshaw? No doubt you will find our society sadly flat after London!’

‘I doubt it, ma’am,’ Guy murmured, casting another glance at Sarah. He took a seat beside his hostess. ‘I fear, however, that I am only here for a few days. I am but recently returned from the Peninsula and am anxious to see my family again. I shall be returning to Woodallan the day after tomorrow.’

‘Then you must come to my ball tomorrow night!’ Amelia gave him a ravishing smile. ‘It will be most apt for a returned hero, for I am celebrating the allied successes!’

They fell to discussing the Peninsular War and Sir Greville came across to Sarah and sat down next to her. She let herself be distracted by small talk. At least the arrival of the two men had had the effect of diverting Amelia’s attention from her proposed visit to Blanchland, but Sarah suspected that it was only a temporary respite. Amelia was known for her tenacity and if Sarah was really unlucky the topic of the roses might be raised as well. Sarah had managed to skate adroitly over the cause of her accident but she would not put it past Guy Renshaw to mention the whole story just to put her out of countenance.