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

It was, as Joshua had told her, the time of Carnival, the days of mad revelry before the onset of the abstinence of Lent. Days of feasting and dancing, in private houses and in the streets, days and nights when no one slept. When visits to the opera or the open-air boulevard entertainments became the priority for the aristocracy. When even King Louis joined the procession of carriages and the masked revellers through the streets of the capital and the de Berris were frequently to be seen at the public festivities.

In Paris the shops were without doubt magnificent. Even Sarah could not but be entranced by the richness and beauty as she strolled along the rue Vivienne or the Champs-Elysées to the Tuileries Gardens. She could hardly wait for Theodora to join her. Meanwhile she strolled with Joshua when he visited Galignani’s famous bookshop and reading room to meet and exchange news with any number of English visitors, as well as read the English newspapers and magazines delivered daily.

Although she would never speak of it to him, it could not but impress her how graciously Lord Joshua Faringdon was received. How much at ease he was. She could not but admire his address and presence as he introduced her to the Parisian beau monde, ensuring her immediate acceptance into the most magnificent of private homes and châteaux, at a gossipy breakfast, a fashionable and erudite salon, a formal diplomatic ball or a frivolous bal costume. Sarah might eschew the extravagant costumes worn by some—how could she possibly consider the dress of a Peruvian princess as suitable attire?—but the opportunity to wear a silver silk-and-taffeta domino over her gown with a seductively feathered mask to cover her face—how could any lady, even the quietly reserved Lady Faringdon, resist such delights? And when it came to the dancing she discovered herself perfectly adept at mastering the steps of the polka, the polonaise, and even the mazurka with its hectic Polish folk tunes. Lord Joshua was able to partner her with sure steps, impeccable grace and timing and superb sartorial elegance. How unfair it was. But her heart swelled with unspoken love and pride when he led her into a waltz and held her close, when she felt the strength and warmth of his satin-clad arm rest around her waist, to the jealous glances of any number of far more beautiful ladies than she could ever claim to be. Sarah smiled in utter contentment.

Sometimes, when at leisure, she allowed herself to recall her own upbringing in the little Jacobean manor house in Whitchurch, comfortable enough, of course, but where both affection and money were sadly lacking, from which her marriage to John Russell had been a welcome escape. Only to be forced to return to Whitchurch by a series of catastrophic events, not least the death of her husband. There was little of that naïve and shy girl to be seen now in fashionable Lady Faringdon, she mused, as she smoothed a pair of delectable lavender kid gloves over her smooth, well-cared for hands. But under the surface… there lurked the distressing lack of confidence that still struck her at the most inconvenient moments. Leaving her to feel unworthy of being noticed, much less being the recipient of affection—or even love. There was little point in her lecturing herself over it again—it just happened, rather like being struck down by a sudden heady cold. She smiled at the thought. But it afflicted her much less than it had in the past and she believed that she had learned to live with her guilt for past sins. Here in Paris she was accepted into society in her husband’s name and, perhaps a little, on her own merit.

And although she was aware of and sometimes irritated by the ripple of interested gossip when they entered a room, the welcoming smiles and flirtatious glances of the beautiful women who wore their jewels with such casual assurance and hid their expressions behind feathered fans, Sarah had the relief of knowing that here in Paris she was not being followed. Not once did she feel the soft footstep of an anonymous figure behind her. Whoever had been sufficiently interested in her movements had been left behind in London. But she did not speak of it to Joshua. He would deny it anyway. She had no wish to destroy the present comfortable harmony between them.

Theodora and Nicholas arrived in Paris as expected. Sarah came upon Thea arranging the disposal of their luggage at the Faringdon house in Paris with all the skill of a lady of many and distant travels in the company of her mother and ambassadorial father.

‘Sarah! We have arrived at last.’ Thea embraced her sister. ‘How well you look and how fashionable. It is so many years since I last visited Paris for any length of time—not since my father was with the embassy here. I expect the shops are as enticing as ever. Shall we explore them this afternoon?’

‘Are you not too tired after your journey?’ Sarah already knew the reply.

‘When is my wife ever tired when there is the possibility of spending money on dresses and smart hats and the like?’ Nicholas had entered the hall behind them and now saluted Sarah on her cheek with grace and humour. ‘As my lady says, Sarah, marriage becomes you. But why you should feel comfortable as Sher’s wife, I know not.’ The glint in his eyes belied the sharp thrust at his cousin’s expense.

Sarah blushed, but could not mistake Thea’s subtle elbow in Nicholas’s ribs.

‘I am sure he is the perfect husband,’ Theodora stated. ‘Will you come with us, Nicholas?’

‘No. You do not need me, I am assured.’

Thea kissed him, allowing him to curl an arm around her waist, to pull her close, in the relative privacy of the entrance hall. ‘I promise not to spend too much.’ She lowered her lashes, flirtatious as ever.

‘Don’t promise that—or we shall both be disappointed when you do.’ He returned the caress to her cheek when she offered it. ‘I trust Sarah to keep an eye on you, as your elder sister.’

‘An impossible task to place on my shoulders!’ Sarah smiled and Thea crowed with laughter, which filled Sarah with delight that her family had joined her. There was nothing now to prevent her enjoying her first experience of the fashionable and sophisticated life offered by the French capital.

Sarah’s equanimity, however, at the covetous glances cast at her husband was severely overthrown during one hot and deplorably overcrowded evening at the home of Pozzo di Borgo, the Russian Ambassador. Afterwards she could not say what had made her aware, to turn her head at that precise moment. A faintest shiver of anticipation along her spine. But she felt a need to look over her shoulder—to see her lord standing at the entrance to a private anteroom. Tall, straight and splendidly handsome in the dark severity of formal evening clothes. As was now very familiar to her, her heart fluttered and her cheeks grew pink with sheer delight in his presence—until she saw that he was in close and intimate conversation with a woman. A woman whose lovely face and superb figure were horribly familiar. The conversation between the two was clearly of a serious nature and in some depth. Then her lord was bowing over the lady’s hand, raising it to his lips.

Olivia Wexford. Of course.

Sarah could not see Joshua’s expression, but she could view the Countess’s face without interruption. Perhaps a little cool and serious at first. The faintest of frowns between her arched brows. Some sharp words from her expression. Then her face warming with a charming sparkle in her eyes and a flirtatious little smile curving her lips. She tapped Lord Faringdon’s arm with her fan. There could be no mistaking so provocative a gesture for what it was. An invitation!

Sarah turned away. She did not wish to see more. The pain in her heart stabbed deeply, more than she could ever have believed. But she should have expected no less. Joshua had not married her for love. Sarah had acknowledged that incontrovertible fact at the very beginning, acknowledged, reluctantly, that he would continue to give his affections elsewhere. But she could not like the Countess of Wexford, remembering her sly malice and deliberate desire to harm. In fact, the gentle lady, who now stood with her back deliberately turned against the Countess and her own husband, was forced to admit that she positively detested the woman! Sarah’s fingers curved around her fan into remarkable talons, worthy of a predator about to strike. Sensing the immediate danger to the fragile ivory sticks, Sarah took a breath and used all her will-power to force them to relax. She must be willing to accept. She could not like it, but she must acknowledge that her marriage was truly one of convenience.

But why did it have to be the Countess of Wexford who returned to such prominence in her lord’s life?

She eventually brought herself to speak of the unnerving episode to Thea, desiring a sympathetic audience. But Thea shrugged, giving no credence to her sister’s fears.

‘I don’t understand why you are so concerned.’

‘He was kissing her hand.’

‘Sarah! Of course he would. Joshua is all grace and elegance and perfect manners. And, after all, he knows the woman. He could hardly turn the shoulder in public, now could he?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ She did not look convinced.

Thea smiled. ‘Joshua is no fool. Give him credit for seeing how shallow and self-centred that dreadful creature is.’

Sarah answered with unusual asperity. ‘But meanwhile he might also see—and remember!—how well endowed and beautiful she is! I know for a fact that she once engaged his interest.’

‘Sarah…’ What could Thea say to reassure? ‘That was before he married you!’

‘Does that matter?’

Thea frowned at her sister with more than a little frustration. ‘Well—you know him better than I, of course.’ She would not refer to the rumours that, according to Nicholas, had followed Joshua all his adult life, to the despair of Lady Beatrice. ‘But I would not think you had anything to fear from the Countess. Your lord is hardly neglectful of you, is he?’

For since her arrival, Thea had noted Joshua’s care and particular attention to Sarah. The softness of his expression when his eyes rested on his wife, particularly when Sarah was unaware, could not be denied. How complicated it was becoming. Thea knew that Sarah loved Joshua, of course—had she not admitted the fact herself? But it seemed equally possible that Lord Joshua was fast losing his heart to a lady who had no appreciation whatsoever of that interesting development. And equally, it seemed to Theodora, a fascinated witness, that Lord Joshua was fighting against the experience. How foolish people were when they refused to accept this basic and highly desirable attraction. Not like herself and Nicholas, of course. She had the grace to blush a little as she remembered her own forward behaviour. Particularly a notable incident in the stables at Aymestry, before the disaster of the fire. But she took it upon herself not to meddle in her sister’s private affairs. Or not yet, at any event. Sarah would not thank her for it and she certainly did not think that Joshua would welcome any involvement on her part. As for Nicholas… She winced a little as she imagined her lord’s caustic words if she engaged in stirring the smouldering ashes between Joshua and Sarah into a bright flame. So—for a little time at least—she would simply watch and keep her own council.

Sarah, unaware of her sister’s train of thought, accepted Thea’s advice, but she still could not feel at ease. If she became a little uncertain and just slightly withdrawn towards her lord, he apparently showed no awareness of it.

Which perversely worried Sarah even more.

But any surface harmony between them was not to last.

For Sarah it all began with an inopportune meeting with the one woman in Paris whom she had every intention of avoiding. It could not be avoided, since Sarah had arranged to wait for Thea outside Le Domino Rouge, a mantua makers in the rue Vivienne, when out of the next-door establishment, which sold the finest of leather gloves, stepped no other than the Countess of Wexford. The two ladies faced each other. Both curtsied. Both regarded each other with smiling lips and frosty eyes.

‘Mrs Russell.’ The Countess unfurled her parasol with a supremely elegant gesture, entirely in keeping with her smoothly controlled voice. ‘But, of course, you are no longer Mrs Russell, are you? I would not have expected to meet Lord Faringdon’s…ah, housekeeper…here.’ Her smile had the tiniest and most effective hint of contempt in tone and in the calculated hesitation. ‘You played your cards very cleverly, did you not? I would not have expected such expertise on your part—but it seems that we must not be misled by appearances. One does not expect such skills from a mere employee.’

‘I do not take your meaning, my lady.’ Of course she did. It fired Sarah’s blood with instant wrath. How dare the Countess patronise her!

‘No? I should have realised, of course. Joshua did not seek me out when I was resident in Hanover Square. I had thought it was his tiresome injuries that prompted his lack of interest. But now I know the truth.’ The Countess’s magnificent eyes flashed. ‘You were the object of his gallantry, I presume. Did you take him to your bed, Mrs Russell?’

‘No, my lady, I did not.’ Sarah might be suitably horrified at so intimate a conversation, so blatant a suggestion, in a public street, but as her mind absorbed the Countess’s words, it was as if a heavy weight was lifted from her heart. She felt almost light-headed as an intense relief flooded through her. Joshua did not seek me out when I was resident in Hanover Square. She had no doubt that the Countess was speaking the truth. Why admit to such humiliation otherwise, when her intent had been to lift her finger and secure Lord Joshua’s interest? So Joshua had never taken her as his mistress. It was difficult for Sarah to suppress the little bubble of delight in her throat. But she did, sensing that Olivia Wexford could still be an enemy. Further, Sarah had no intention of retreating from so insensitive an accusation about her own status in Hanover Square. But nor would she allow the explosion of fury in her blood to be evident. She opened her cream ecru parasol in malicious parody and smiled with particular sweetness. ‘You must not judge me by your own standards, my lady.’ The reply was quite gentle.

‘No? But what woman would not welcome a man such as Joshua Faringdon to her bed? What woman would not cast out lures? Such wealth. Such an address. Between you and me, my dear, I think that we can agree that he is quite irresistible.’

‘I did not have to lure Lord Joshua, my lady.’ Sarah had no difficulty in preserving her confident little smile as she noted the tension in the beautiful face.

‘Beware of being too confident, my lady’ A snap here as the Countess’s control all but slipped in the face of such challenge. ‘You hear what the rumours say of your husband. A rake and a libertine might not make for a comfortable husband.’

‘I know. I have heard the rumours. I have known them from the very beginning,’ Sarah inclined her head in gracious acknowledgement. ‘But I do not have to believe all that I hear.’

‘Not even about Joshua’s first wife? Marianne?’ There was a sparkle in the Countess’s eyes, almost of greed, as she watched her quarry’s reaction.

She was to be disappointed. ‘Certainly not of that,’ Sarah replied with equanimity. ‘I know of what my husband is capable. And it is not murder. I am astounded that you would repeat such an unpleasant and outright lie. It does you no credit, my lady.’

‘You are haughty. Perhaps you should consider the safety of your own position—’ Her words ended as Theodora made her appearance from the exclusive modiste’s emporium and approached the two ladies with sharp ears and an air of deep fascination. The Countess promptly turned on her heel to put an end to any further exchange.

‘The Countess of Wexford did not have the good manners to exchange greetings,’ Thea observed with a bright smile. ‘Not a suitable person with whom to be acquainted, I think. I could not help but overhear, Sarah. Now, where do you suppose that rumour of Marianne’s fate began?’ Thea raised her brows as she continued to watch the Countess’s retreating figure.

Sarah too watched Olivia’s departure with thinned lips. ‘I cannot imagine.’

Theodora laughed. ‘I see that we are in agreement, my dear sister.’ She tucked her hand in Sarah’s arm.

‘I think that we are indeed.’

Which left Sarah with the slightest frisson of triumph that Olivia had not shared her bed with Joshua when they had shared a house. It gave Sarah a lighter heart—but did not heal it.

Fate began to take a more malicious hand.

The tranquil pond began to acquire even more ripples of disquiet.

Olivia Wexford’s was not the only face in a crowd destined to draw Sarah’s attention. The incident, trifling in itself, occurred on the following afternoon when strolling in the Tuileries Gardens with Theodora, Lord Joshua having once again cried off from accompanying them. But then, as Thea pointed out with an arch of her brows, so had Nicholas, so there was no cause for any dark suspicion—it was merely that gentlemen could always find better things to do than promenade in gardens! Sarah found herself stepping around a small group of fashionable strollers, deep in conversation, equally there to enjoy the air and the flowers, one of them, a lady in a bonnet much to Theodora’s decided taste with nodding plumes and flowers and an extravagant crown. Sarah managed only a glimpse of dark hair and dark eyes and strikingly dark brows within that remarkable setting, yet she was struck by an instant recognition. But who? And where?

‘Thea—the lady who has just passed us…’

‘The one with the osprey feathers? What a splendid bonnet it is. But I could not wear that colour. Amber does not become me.’

‘Never mind the hat! Do you know her? Your acquaintance is so much wider than mine.’

‘No longer, I fear. Aymestry is not exactly the centre of the universe,’ Thea admitted without discernible regret. ‘I think the lady and I have not met. She has an arresting face.’

So thought Sarah. No, they had never met, yet it tugged at her mind. Perhaps indeed it was a distant acquaintance—someone whom she had seen in London who was also paying a visit to Paris. A familiar suspicion trickled into her mind. Or someone she had seen in Joshua’s company. She closed her mind to that. But the lady was indeed eye-catching…

It was not important.

The face stayed in her memory. Sarah was not at ease.

Joshua also found himself beset.

His conversation with Olivia Wexford at the diplomatic reception had been totally unsatisfactory, much as he had expected. When he had broached the subject head on, with typical candour, she denied any knowledge of the source of the rumours in London. But her eyes had been cold and watchful of his reaction to her. She was not beyond throwing out lures, despite their fraught parting, making it more than evident that she would welcome any overtures from him. Joshua smiled without humour. He had no intention of making overtures of any nature to the Countess. He had never trusted her, trusted her even less now, knowing that she was capable of making any kind of mischief. He would not become involved with her again, whatever plots Wycliffe might devise. She was far too dangerous, driven by resentment at her so-casual dismissal from his life.

But the matter of the Countess of Wexford was quickly put out of his mind. There was beyond question something afoot, as Wycliffe had intimated. He could find no sound evidence beyond an uneasy calm and a variety of enigmatic observations from his many sources. He had definitely discarded the viability of the long-running plot to restore the Emperor Napoleon. It was generally acknowledged that the exiled ruler was near death. Yet it seemed to him that Paris was holding its breath, awaiting some catastrophe. As he worded to Wycliffe in a carefully neutral note, nothing was clear except the extreme vulnerability of the Bourbons. Louis himself widowed and childless, his brother also widowed. Even more a cause for concern was that Louis’s nephew and his lively wife, the Duc and Duchesse de Berri, had yet to produce a living son. A carefully plotted assassination against any or all, particularly if the royal family neglected its security during the Carnival revels, could destroy the Bourbon claim in one vicious coup and open France to God-knew-what influences.

So Joshua worried about the lack of news and the dangers inherent in the street celebrations. It even began to tease at his mind that perhaps he should have left Sarah in London after all. It might be that there were real dangers lurking behind the costumes and masks here in Paris, not to be compared with the minor irritation of having one of Wycliffe’s men dog her steps at home. That thought, growing as the days passed, troubled his sleep and scraped at the edges of his temper. He must take it upon himself to ensure Sarah’s safety—after all, he had insisted that she come to Paris—but his energies were being stretched in too many directions. The one consolation was that since Thea and Nick were here it meant that she need never go out without company, if he were committed. But even so, he must stick close to his wife. It was becoming more and more important to him that he keep her safe. When his sleep was not disturbed by plots and rumours, it was troubled by thoughts of Sarah.

His troubles were multiplied a thousand times when he, too, saw a face he knew. Recognised it immediately, without any difficulty. Dark haired, dark eyed, striking features, it was a face with which he had lived for many years. So familiar that it caused him to rein in his horse with ungentle hands. The lady passed by him in a fashionable carriage, in company with a distinguished gentleman some years older than herself and another fashionably dressed couple. Before he could gather his wits and restrain his horse’s lively reactions, she was too distant, so he was unable to speak with her. Besides, in truth, he had no idea what he should say to her in company, in public. He could imagine some of the repercussions with a bitter twist to his lips. The morass of scandal might deepen yet and sink everyone concerned.

Thus this chance encounter, a succession of sleepless nights and the problem of a wife who was not exactly cool but was more than a little reserved, put him out of all humour, with himself in particular and the world in general. He took himself home with a short temper and a black frown, where Nicholas came across him in the hall, leafing through his correspondence, and quickly gave an excuse to make himself scarce after the briefest of greetings. Sher’s temper was legendary. Slow to burn, but inflammatory when once ignited. With the result that the one to be scorched and feel the full force of the blast was Sarah, unsuspecting and close at hand. Sarah, who was unfortunate to suffer one of her devastating moments of doubt and insecurity.

She was standing in the morning room, its door open into the entrance hall, opening an official letter, which was addressed with her name and had just been delivered. ‘Joshua!’ She looked up as he came into view.

‘What is it?’ A short brusque reply, but which did not immediately catch her attention from the sheet in her hand.

‘It is a draft on your bank for me… Is this your idea of pin money?’

‘What of it?’ She should have realised it, made allowances, she thought in retrospect. Especially when he entered and closed the door with something like a slam. ‘You need it. Particularly if you allow Theodora to encourage your spending habits.’

She should definitely have been warned by this unexpected sniping at Theodora. But was not.

‘Not as much as this.’ She was still taken up with the row of figures on the draft.

‘You asked for some.’

‘I cannot spend all this—not if I stayed here more than a twelve-month.’

‘You must be the first woman in creation who cannot.’

‘I don’t deserve it.’ Oh, no! I should not have said that. She knew it as soon as the words escaped her lips. What made her say it? It made her sound so… so pathetic! She had moved beyond such lack of esteem long ago. But she did and immediately saw the result.