A Suspectible Gentleman Part 14

hear you."

His friend glanced round in alarm. Sarah patted his arm soothingly.

"Louise is far too busy preening herself on throwing Adam and Lydia together to care what you say."

Her voice was dry. "We must not spoil her triumph. Let us go this way." She led them in the opposite direction, regaling them with the same tales of battle that Adam was telling Lydia. Swan was thoroughly amused, but Kerry grew quite indignant when her role as sacrificial victim was explained to him.

"Never would have thought it of Adam," he said in puzzlement, "nor your brother neither, ma'am.

Obliging fellows in the general way, I a.s.sure you."

"Did you have no sisters to tease when you were a boy, sir?"

"They teased me," he explained gloomily. "Never got the chance to turn the tables. Still afraid of m'sisters."

"Formidable females," Swan agreed.

They wandered back to the picnic site. Lord Edward and Mary's husband were dozing among the cus.h.i.+ons, while Louise and Jonathan chatted nearby. Everyone else had gone to stroll among the barrows. Sarah started making daisy chains, and her companions persuaded her to teach them the art. Soon she was festooned with necklaces and bracelets and crowned with several wreaths of the pink-tipped flowers. She was laughingly protesting the addition of yet another, when Adam appeared with Lydia in his arms.

She jumped up, scattering flowers across the rugs, and hurried towards them.

"What happened? Lydia, are you hurt?"

"Miss Davis slipped and turned her ankle. I fear it is badly swollen."

"My dear, is it very painful? You are a little pale. Set her down on the cus.h.i.+ons, Adam, and I will look at

it."

The others crowded round with expressions of sympathy until Louise chased the gentlemen off. Lydia

had not said a word but she could not suppress a cry of pain when Sarah touched her ankle with gentle fingers in an attempt to discover the extent of the injury.

"You cannot possibly ride home," said Sarah, frowning in thought.

"Adam shall take her before him on Caesar," Louise proposed with a pleased smile.

"Oh no, I could not. Pray do not make me," Lydia beseeched her, flus.h.i.+ng.

Eliza and Lord Moffatt and Vanessa Brennan hurried up at that moment. Eliza was firmly of the opinion that it would be most improper for Lydia to ride with Adam. The sisters were beginning to squabble when Sarah cut across their argument.

"I believe my brother is the best person to take her. As he is a clergyman there cannot be the least suggestion of impropriety. Jonathan!" she called. "You will not mind carrying Miss Davis before you?"

He left the group of gentlemen who were standing about looking uncomfortable at their uselessness.

"I shall be glad to be of a.s.sistance." He looked down at the girl with a warm smile. "The sooner we have you safely home the better," he suggested. "Will you come with me?"

"Oh yes, I shall not mind going with you, sir. Sarah, will you come with me?"

Louise said sulkily that she would go too, and Lord Edward elected to accompany them, while Adam stayed behind to round up the rest of the party and escort them back to Cheve. Sarah glanced back as they rode off. Swan and Kerry were looking after her wistfully, and she realized that in the bustle of taking care of Lydia she had abandoned them without a thought.

Adam was also watching their departure. His expression was enigmatic. Sarah was suddenly afraid that he resented her interference, that he had wanted to hold Lydia in his arms on Caesar's back as he had carried her from the scene of her accident. A wave of pure jealousy flooded through her. Was it possible that Adam had a tendre for the girl?

She did not see him again that day, and when she woke the next morning her emotions were still in turmoil. She was also somewhat stiff from riding. The best cure for both conditions, she decided, was a walk to Stonehenge.

There was a damp chill in the air when she slipped out of bed. She s.h.i.+vered as she drew back the curtains and looked out into grey nothingness. A damp, gloomy shroud of mist hid the church; she could scarcely make out the low stone wall separating the garden from the churchyard. It was no day for walking freely across the hills, yet she could not bear the thought of being confined to the house. She put on an old brown walking dress and took a warm cloak downstairs with her.

Jonathan had been unusually silent the previous evening and he was no more communicative that morning. Having a.s.sured himself that his sister meant to stick to the lanes, he returned to his newspaper. She ate a piece of toast and drank some tea, then put an apple in her pocket and set out.

The only sign of life in the street was a scavenging mongrel. The village seemed unfamiliar and vaguely ominous in its grey stillness and Sarah was glad to leave it behind her. Though she could see only a few paces to either side, the lane that led towards Amesbury and Stonehenge was clearly defined in white chalk against the green gra.s.s and she had no fear of losing her way. The mist m.u.f.fled the sound of her footsteps and neither birdsong nor bleating sheep broke the silence.

Warmed by the exercise, she was throwing back the hood of her cloak when she heard the drumming of hooves close behind her.

"Sarah!"

She looked up into Adam's smiling eyes as he drew rein beside her. Her heart turned over.

With effortless grace he swung down from Caesar's saddle to walk beside her, leading the horse.

"Lord, it's difficult to find you alone!" he said.

"Did you want to?" She felt ridiculously shy.

"Desperately." He reached for her hand, then drew back, his smile fading. "What a devilish coil," he groaned. "I am at my wits' end."

"What is it?" Sarah's sympathy had a cautious note. "Never tell me that Marguerite has returned to haunt you, or did you meet Peggy in the village? I had thought her resigned to losing her hero."

"Much worse. I scarcely know how to tell you."

"Then pray do not."

"I must. You are my only hope and I could not bear it if you found out from someone else. Sarah, I'm engaged."

Shock froze her, her gaze on his despairing face. Then she looked away, drew a deep breath and walked on.

"To whom?" Her voice was carefully neutral.

"To Lydia..."

"I wondered, yesterday. She is a very sweet girl. I wish you happy, Adam."

"...and to Vanessa..."

"Vanessa!"

"...and Catherine."

Sarah laughed. She could not help herself. She heard her own hysteria and could not stop.

Adam took her by the shoulders and shook her. "Don't," he pleaded. "Please don't." As her laughter died, he bent his head and kissed her very gently on the lips, a fleeting touch. "I'm sorry, Sarah. Tell me what to do."

"Tell me how it happened."

They walked on, her hand on his arm warm between his elbow and his side. She listened with a sense of unreality, increased by their isolation in the mist, as he explained how Vanessa had lured him into the garden and Catherine had trapped him at Old Sarum.

"I never actually proposed to either of them," he pointed out. "I merely let them believe I conceded."

"Such a scandalous want of conduct, and I thought them such proper young ladies," she marvelled. "I cannot believe that Lydia is either brave enough or unprincipled enough to have set a like snare."

"No, I cannot claim that excuse. Her fall was undoubtedly accidental and her injury genuine. She was quite overset by the intimacy of her position in my arms, afraid of what everyone would say. I suggested that if we were betrothed it would cause no comment and the notion soothed her sensibilities. I could not retract after that. Besides, I confess that three prospective brides seemed to me little worse than two, though I've not the least desire to wed any of them."

"How did you persuade her not to tell?"

"She thought a secret betrothal the most romantic thing in the world, just like a novel," said Adam dryly. "What surprises me is that none of my sisters has attempted to discover what went on on those three occasions."

"I have no doubt that none of them wished to draw attention to their connivance in entrapping you. Eliza's part in forcing you into the garden is obvious to the meanest intelligence. Mary must surely be responsible for not informing the rest of us about your detour to Old Sarum, though she may have believed your bouncer about stopping at the vicarage on your way home."

"My bouncer? Is your opinion of me so low? That was purely Lady Catherine's invention. I wanted to wring her wretched neck but the dictates of gentlemanly behaviour prevented my even giving her the lie."

Sarah felt as if a great weight had lifted from her spirits. The situation was unchanged, yet her view of it had altered radically. Resentment and indignation faded and she found herself amused at his predicament.

"Of course, I should have guessed. I daresay she considered it part of her playacting. How fortunate for you that writing and performing plays is another of her innumerable talents! Are you sure you do not wish to wed so admirably accomplished a young lady?"

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," Adam declared roundly, delighted to hear the teasing note in her voice. "Nor do I wish to spend my days gazing on Vanessa's exquisite beauty. But how the devil am I to extricate myself?"

She laughed, the merry laugh with a hint of mischief in it that he loved to hear. The mists were thinning now, swirling about them, and a sunbeam broke through. Droplets of water in her hair gleamed as golden as the flecks in her eyes, and he knew that hers was a face he would never tire of.

Her next words brought him abruptly back to earth.

"I shall help you cast off Catherine and Vanessa without a qualm after their disgraceful behaviour," she said seriously. "Lydia is another matter. She is an innocent child and I will not be party to disappointing her. I think you are going to have to marry her, Adam."

He looked at her in helpless dismay: All at once the various strands of their relations.h.i.+p came together in his mind: the old, comfortable friends.h.i.+p; the new admiration of her subtle beauty; his jealousy of Swan and Kerry; the feeling that something was missing when he was not with her; and the urge to take her in his arms when she was near and smother her with kisses. This explained his willingness to dismiss all his mistresses and his inability to choose another. There was only one woman in the world he wanted and he wanted her to be his forever.

He had lost his heart to Sarah, and here she was, explaining to him why he must marry Miss Lydia Davis. What was infinitely worse was that he knew she was right: he could not honourably cry off.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Adam's abrupt departure puzzled Sarah. After making her promise that she would not stray from the road, lest the mist close down again, he had ridden off without a backward glance. She walked on slowly, deep in thought.

There was no understanding men. She had insisted on his obligation to Lydia partly in the hope of discovering how he felt about taking the bashful child to wife. She still had no notion whether he was despondent, resigned, or even content to have the decision made for him. Her other aim, she acknowledged to herself, was to punish him a little for his blithe disregard of convention. The trouble was that all her arguments were true. He had no excuse whatsoever for retracting his proposal.

Though she had always told herself that she had no hope of winning him, Sarah's heart sank at the finality of his engagement. It was no use trying to persuade herself that no woman of sense could possibly love a man who flitted from female to female like a bee from blossom to blossom. Common sense had nothing to do with it.

An idea nagged at her. One man, many brides ... Bluebeard! Catherine and Vanessa must surely know the fairy tale, so that she would not have to be too explicit. If she could give them a disgust of Adam, they might release him of their own accord. It would not hurt to make them ashamed of their own deceit while she was about it, and she had an idea how to go about that, too.

Her eyes sparkling with mischief, Sarah swung round and started back towards Little Fittleton. The sooner she put her plan into action the better, for there was no knowing when one of the young ladies might let the cat out of the bag and precipitate a horrendous scandal.

It was still early. Even after stopping at the vicarage to change her dress, Sarah arrived at Cheve House before all the ladies had left their chambers. She asked for Lady Cheverell, and Gossett showed her into the morning room.

"Sarah, my dear, how delightful to see you. Oh dear, I am growing so forgetful. Have we an outing planned for today?"

"No, ma'am, and it is shockingly early for a morning call. I had a sudden whim to go shopping in Devizes and I wondered whether Lady Catherine and Miss Brennan might care to go, too. Miss Davis's ankle will prevent her joining us, I collect?"

"The poor child is much improved but she had best rest it today." She rang the bell. "I must confess, I shall be very glad if you will take the other two off for the day. I cannot like them, Sarah! If Adam weds one of them, I shall happily retire to the dower house in Salisbury."

The butler was sent to enquire whether the young ladies were interested in a shopping excursion. This was the weakest part of Sarah's scheme. Mary and Eliza had warned their protegees not to offend the Meades, but if they felt themselves secure in having caught Adam, they might ignore the advice. However, Gossett returned shortly with two acceptances.

"Then it remains only to beg the use of your barouche," said Sarah gaily, trying to conceal her relief. "It is sadly forward in me, I know, but I fear Lady Catherine and Miss Brennan will change their minds if I offer to drive them in the gig behind Dapple."

"To be sure, their gowns would be horridly crushed and that will never do. You will not want to drive the barouche, though. One of the grooms shall take you."

This was a difficulty Sarah had not foreseen. It was quite unsuitable for her to sit on the box, besides making it impossible to converse with her pa.s.sengers, yet she did not want a groom listening while she denounced his master. Then she remembered Nellie's follower, who was so eager to please his sweetheart's employers.

"If Peter is available," she requested, "I should prefer him. I know him for a trustworthy lad." And discreet, she hoped.

Not an hour later, Peter was driving the barouche north toward Devizes with three young ladies seated behind him. Sarah explained to her guests that the opening of the Kennet-Avon Ca.n.a.l some four years since had greatly increased the prosperity of the town, leading to the establishment of many new shops.

"Lady Lansdowne told me of a milliner she considers the equal of any in London." As she hoped, this led to a lengthy discussion of fas.h.i.+on from which she was largely excluded. She planned to introduce the subject of Adam on the way home, for she had no intention of escorting two sulky young ladies all day.

Sarah found touring the shops of Devizes with Lady Catherine and Vanessa Brennan unspeakably tedious. Nothing came up to London standards except Lady Lansdowne's milliner (being a marchioness she was not to be contradicted), where each bought a bonnet. Sarah's feet were aching by the time they returned to the Bear for refreshments before leaving for Cheve.

They sat at the window overlooking the bustling marketplace. Sarah enquired of the waitress whether the tall stone monument in the centre of the square was the market cross recently erected by Lord Sidmouth to commemorate his long a.s.sociation with the town.

"Yes'm, thet be it. Ha' ye heard the story?" The girl set down a tray of tea and buns.

"I have, but I should like to read it for myself."

"What story is that?" clamoured her companions. Sarah refused to tell, claiming that she feared to relate it incorrectly. It was time to put into effect the first part of her plan, to make them ashamed of their dishonest stratagems. She turned the conversation to the ball at Cheve and the outing to Salisbury, thus ensuring that the discreditable events of each occasion were at the forefront of their minds. Tea finished and a message sent to Peter that they would require the carriage in twenty minutes, they strolled over to the market cross.

Built of stone, it was some twenty feet high with four turrets on top, an impressive monument. In a niche on one side they found inscribed the tale Sarah was looking for.