IT WAS the evening of the following day before Sarah had any opportunity to put her plan into operation. Lady Murdoch woke in the morning with one of her migraine headaches and declined even to go to the Pump Room for her morning drink of the sulfur waters. She kept to her bed in a darkened bedroom, declaring that she would stay there all day, as she was quite determined to be well enough to attend the concert and fireworks display in Sydney Gardens that evening.
Sarah found herself with an unexpectedly free day. Not that it was entirely free. She did undertake to run a few errands for her cousin, including a visit to the circulating library to try to find a book that would not put Lady Murdoch to sleep every time she opened its cover. She made the journey soon after a fairly early breakfast in the hope of avoiding anyone she knew. She did not entirely succeed, but she did not meet anyone she particularly wished to avoid.
It was an ordeal of a day nonetheless. She almost wished that the headache would persist and they would not be able to attend the evening's entertainment. But she felt guilty for even allowing such a thought. The headache was very clearly not an imaginary ailment.
Anyway, she thought with an attempt at being sensible, if she did not have the opportunity to act this evening, she would have to face the same unpleasantness tomorrow. She felt sick at the thought of what lay ahead, but since it had to be done, she might as well do it before the day ended. She did not wish to have quite such a sleepless night of agonized indecision as she had had the night before.
And indeed, by the middle of the afternoon Lady Murdoch had ventured from her room to the salon and was taking tea and even halfheartedly thumbing through the book Sarah had chosen. She would be quite well enough to go out that evening, she told Sarah.
"And it is only right that I should be well enough," she said, "for you have missed a whole day of enjoyment, Sarah dear. There was really no need for you to stay at home, for I am sure that Bertha or Mrs. Smythe or Mrs. Marchmont would have been only too happy to have you join them in whatever they had planned. But I know you well already. You are too kind to me. I am quite becoming spoiled, I do declare."
The words did nothing to make Sarah feel better about the evening ahead. She smiled.
"It really is no sacrifice to stay at home, Cousin Adelaide," she said. "I have enjoyed a quiet read."
A hired carriage arrived early in the evening to take them across the river to Sydney Gardens, which looked quite enchanted lit by lanterns, Sarah thought. If only she could relax and enjoy the evening. Normally she would have loved nothing more than to sit and listen to an orchestra play in surroundings of such beauty. And she would have looked forward to the fireworks for Lady Murdoch's sake.
But these were not normal circumstances. They sat and waited for the concert to begin. And they waited for the arrival of Lady Cavendish and her party, Lady Murdoch with eagerness, Sarah with dread. Though whether she dreaded more their coming or the possibility that they would not come, she would have been hard put to it to decide.
She was not to be held long in suspense. A mere few minutes after their own arrival, as she exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Joshua Stonewall, who had come across to them and asked leave to sit beside her, Lady Murdoch stirred at her side.
"Yoo-hoo!" she yelled suddenly, waving the kid gloves that she had removed a few minutes before. "Over here, Bertha."
Mr. Stonewall jumped to his feet to greet the ladies and there was a great deal of bustling as they all found seats. Sarah felt her heart begin to thump so uncomfortably that she was finding it hard to breathe. Cranwell seated himself several seats away from her. Lady Murdoch, Lady Cavendish, Fanny, and Captain Penny sat between her and him. She tried to concentrate on what Mr. Stonewall was saying to her.
"Can't understand why I ain't seen you before, Miss Fifield," he said. "I move around quite a bit and thought I knew everybody who is somebody."
Sarah smiled. "Perhaps I am not somebody very special," she said.
Mr. Stonewall gave her an incredulous look. "I assure you, ma'am," he said fervently, "there ain't the man living who would forget you once he had set eyes on you."
Sarah's attention was fully caught. She looked at the tall, thin young man beside her with full awareness. She was always taken by surprise when any man showed interest in her person. But there was something in Mr. Stonewall's tone that suggested more than mere repartee or gallantry.
"It is my red hair, sir," she said lightly. "It is the curse of my existence."
The concert began soon afterward and Sarah was able to withdraw into her own thoughts again. However, she was constantly aware of the man who fidgeted and frequently yawned beside her. She could certainly do without the complication of having another man developing a tendre for her. Of course, if her plan worked, she would not have to worry about that.
Eventually the music drew to an end for the interval before the second half of the concert. Joshua turned to Sarah and suggested that they take a walk along the lantern-lit paths. She rose to her feet.
"Come along, Cran," Joshua called. "You were quizzing me just a few days ago about not having enough exercise. Will you and Lady Hannah join us for a stroll?"
Fanny turned eagerly to Captain Penny. "Shall we walk too?" she asked. "I feel quite cramped from sitting still for so long."
Lady Murdoch loudly urged the young people to go walking and enjoy the evening air.
Amid the bustle and confusion Sarah moved close to Cranwell. "I wish to speak to you," she said in a low voice without raising her eyes to his.
She did not know if he had heard or not. He turned to offer his arm to Hannah and moved off along the path without a word. They walked for several minutes, past a waterfall, across a Chinese bridge, until the sound of music came quite distinctly from behind them. Fanny wrinkled her nose and looked up at the captain.
"Let us walk for a little while longer," she said. "We can hear the music quite clearly from here."
"Better, in fact, Lady Fanny," Joshua said, turning to her with a grin. "Here on one's feet one can perhaps remain awake to listen."
"It really is beautiful here," Hannah said. "It is quiet. One can almost imagine that one is in the countryside."
"Am I the only honest music lover in this whole group?" Cranwell asked, amusement in his voice. "But, ah, no. I distinctly recall Miss Fifield saying that she loves to listen to music too. Josh, change partners with me, will you, old fellow? We two music lovers will walk back to rejoin the concert. Miss Fifield?"
"I say!" Joshua began to protest. But he shrugged, smiled gallantly at Hannah, and took her arm. "Come, ma'am," he said, "let us see if we can outdistance that noise, shall we?"
Cranwell said nothing until they were completely out of earshot of the rest of the group. He turned out of the main path onto a narrower, more winding one that received its light only from the main thoroughfare.
"Well?" he said finally. "You wished to speak to me?"
"Yes," she said, breathing deeply in an attempt to control the thumping of her heart. "Two days ago you offered to pay me to leave Lady Murdoch and Bath and to return to my former way of life. Three times the sum you gave me after our divorce was the amount you named, I believe?"
Cranwell looked at her briefly. "That is correct," he said.
Sarah smiled ahead of her. Quite unconsciously she was assuming the coquettish manner she had used on a previous occasion, when he had come to speak with her a few days after their marriage.
"I have given the matter some thought," she said, "and I have decided that the sum is too small."
"Indeed?" he said coldly.
"I find that my life is very comfortable at present," she said. "It is much to my liking. If I am to give it up, you will have to make it worth my while."
"Well, Sarah," he said briskly, "and what is your price?"
"Twice what you have offered me," she said without hesitation.
He was silent for a long while. They strolled along the deserted pathway, her arm still linked through his.
"And what do I receive in return?" he asked finally.
"I shall leave Bath within three or four days," she said, "and I shall make quite sure that our paths do not cross ever again."
"I see," he said, and there was another pause.
"If you really wish to be rid of me," Sarah said, glancing sidelong at him, the provocative smile still on her lips, "you will consider my price a bargain."
"Yes," he said, "I do. I shall send my man to Brock Street with a draft on my bank tomorrow morning. Will that be acceptable to you?"
"Entirely," she said. "Here. I shall leave my glove with you. You may send the draft to me under cover of returning my lost possession."
He took the white kid glove and thrust it into his pocket. He did not offer his arm to her again, and she made no move to look for his support. They walked on side by side in a heavy silence. But almost by unspoken consent their footsteps lagged as they approached the bend in the path that would take them in the direction of the main path again.
Cranwell stopped finally and turned to face her. "Sarah," he said softly, "what will you do?"
"Gracious!" she said with a brittle laugh. "That is none of your concern, your grace. You have ensured that I will not be a pauper, at least."
"Use the money wisely," he said earnestly. "Don't go back to your old way of life. Please!"
"And what is that?" she asked, looking into his eyes, the smile falling away from her.
He shrugged. "Men," he said. "I don't know what you do, Sarah. I don't know what it is in your character that has kept you from a respectable way of life. Perhaps the death of your parents when you were young set you to looking for love in the wrong places. Perhaps your brother's death unsettled your emotions. But there are depths to your character that could so easily make you into a completely different person."
"How do you know?" she said, and laughed. "You really know nothing at all about me, your grace."
"I do know," he said decisively. "I loved you once."
She laughed again. "You loved the girl you thought I was," she said. "A young innocent who did not exist."
"Sarah," he said, and his hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, "please assure me that you will not go back to being whatever it was that you were."
"A whore?" she said, pulling back from his hand.
He stared at her. "You see," he said, "I have just realized that I am in some way responsible for you. You seem to be living with some respectability under the influence of Lady Murdoch. With my money perhaps you will be free to be tempted by the lure of the past again."
"You are not in any way responsible for me, George," Sarah said vehemently. "Not in any way. I am no longer your wife."
He looked at her and nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "Sometimes I forget that. The money will be yours tomorrow to do with as you wish."
"We must return," Sarah said, "before the others come back and wonder what has become of us."
"Yes," he said.
But they still stood and looked at each other. And each was aware that this was probably the last time they would ever be alone together. They would never talk to each other again. In a few days' time she would be gone.
Cranwell held out a hand to her. "I do not hate you, Sarah," he said, "and I cannot wish you ill. Let us not part bitter enemies. I wish for you a happy life."
Sarah took a deep breath and put her hand in his. She watched his slim fingers close around hers. "I wish you a happy marriage, George," she said, "happier than the first. I am sorry for… I am sorry," she ended lamely.
He lifted her hand to his lips but did not take his eyes from hers. "I am too, Sarah," he said.
His eyes strayed to her lips. And she knew what was going to happen. Her mind was fully aware of the emotionally charged atmosphere that had destroyed their common sense. But her mind was not in control of the moment at all. It was a moment for physical sensation.
There was instant familiarity in his kiss. There was the comfortable molding of her body to his, as if they had been made to fit into each other's arms. There was the distinctive smell of some cologne, which she had forgotten until this moment. There was the firm warmth of his mouth open slightly over hers and the surprising strength of his arms crushing her to him. And there was that almost instant surge of heat and passion that blanked her mind to all rational thought and set her to clinging to him and tilting her head and aching to bring him closer, closer.
She did not afterward know how long their embrace lasted. She was jerked back to reality from an unknown, timeless world of passionate longing when he pushed her from him and held her away with one hand gripped painfully on each of her arms.
"God!" he said. "You witch, Sarah. You devil! What is it you do to me?"
She swallowed painfully and fought the tears that were lurking very near the surface. "Take me back, George," she said. "I want to go back to Cousin Adelaide."
He too was visibly fighting for control. "Please accept my apologies," he said. "I have insulted you, and I am without excuse. Forgive me, please."
He turned abruptly and began to walk rapidly along the path. But when Sarah hurried along at his side, he slowed his pace again, took her arm, and drew it through his.
"I really am sorry," he said, not turning his head to look at her again. "Damned sorry for everything. I wish you and I had never met, Sarah. It would have been so much better for both of us if we had not. God, I wish we had not met."
Sarah said nothing.
"Will you mind if I do not accompany you to the shops, Cousin Adelaide?" Sarah asked the following morning during breakfast. "Winston asked me in the Pump Room if he might call on me later."
Lady Murdoch looked up sharply from spreading jam on a scone. "Did he indeed?" she said, smiling broadly. "And did he say what he wished to see you about, dear?"
"No, he did not," Sarah said.
"Well, depend upon it," the older lady said, pointing the jam-covered knife across the table, "he is going to propose to you, Sarah. I have known it all along. Did I not say days ago that Lord Laing was sweet on you? Well, I declare. I shall certainly have something to tell Bertha."
Sarah blushed. "Please, cousin," she said, "say nothing this morning. Indeed, I do not know what Winston wishes to say to me. Perhaps he has some news from home."
Lady Murdoch nodded knowingly. "If that were so, he would not have asked for a private meeting, you may depend on it," she said shrewdly.
"I suppose not," Sarah said, blushing still.
Lady Murdoch bit into her scone, having piled clotted cream on top of the jam. "Oh," she said, her mouth full, "I can scarcely wait for this evening, Sarah. By then I shall surely have the most wonderful news for Bertha. Such a handsome couple!"
Sarah felt guilty an hour later when she stood on the pavement outside the house waving to Lady Murdoch as her carriage drew away from the curb. She had had to say that Win had asked to call on her. Even Cousin Adelaide would have thought her most improper if she knew that it was Sarah who had asked Win to call on her.
She went inside the house again and into the salon, where she waited in some agitation. It was impossible to settle to any task. She wished he would come soon. She was still moving with the momentum that had carried her through the previous evening and the night, during which she had slept surprisingly well. She was holding her mind as blank as possible. When she had accomplished everything she had planned, then she would stop to think. And to feel. She dared not feel yet. That conversation. That kiss! No, she dared not think.
Fortunately, she did not have long to wait for Winston. She heard his cheerful voice in the hallway a few moments after the knock on the door and breathed a sigh of relief. She might have known that Winston's curiosity would make him prompt. She stood in front of the fireplace, facing the door.
Mrs. Bergland announced the guest and closed the door behind him. He stood there for a moment looking appreciatively at her spring-green sarcenet gown, which set off to perfection the shining red of her hair.
"Well, Sarah," he said, "you are looking quite beautiful, as usual. And to what do I owe the pleasure of this invitation?" He smiled warmly and crossed the room to stand a little way in front of her.
Sarah had to tip her head back to look up at him. He really was extremely handsome. There was not a detectable flaw in his whole appearance. Light from the window was catching his blond hair and making a halo of it. His hazel eyes were smiling into hers.
"Do you still wish me to go away with you, Win?" she asked.
His eyes lit up. "You know I do," he said. "There has always been only you, Sarah. You know that."
"Very well," she said, "I am ready to do as you wish."
He moved forward and reached for her. But Sarah held up a hand. She was not smiling.
"There is one condition, Win," she said.
"Name it," he said. "I could not deny you anything, Sarah."
"You must marry me," she said.
Winston's arms dropped to his sides again. He regarded her with his head tilted to one side. "Now, Sarah," he said, "you know that I would like nothing better. You know, too, that I cannot do so. I must marry for money."
"Then marry me for money," she said. "I think you will agree I have a handsome dowry. It should be sufficient to pay your debts here and allow us to establish ourselves somewhere other than Bath." She took Cranwell's bank draft from the mantelpiece behind her and put it into Winston's hands.
"The old lady?" he asked with widened eyes. Then he looked down at the paper and whistled. "Cranwell," he said. "How did you get this out of him, Sarah? It is a fortune!"
"Yes," she said. "You might say it is a wedding gift, Win. It is mine. He gave it quite freely. And it can be yours if you will take me away from here and marry me. You may also be interested to know that Lady Murdoch plans to make me the chief beneficiary of her will."
Winston looked up from the bank draft, folded it deliberately, and put it into his pocket. "Well, Sarah," he said softly, smiling into her eyes, "so now your behavior for the last several years becomes understandable. You really did want marriage, did you? And you have very cleverly gone about making it possible for me to offer for you. I was never sure until now that you cared at all."
Sarah smiled, her hands clenched into hard fists behind her back. "Well, what do you say, Win?" she asked.
"What can I say?" he said, closing the small distance between them and placing his hands on her waist. "I had better make this matter formal and official. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"
"Yes," Sarah said.
He stood looking down at her for a while, his smile slowly spreading until his whole face was alight. "I had almost run out of patience, you know," he said. "It has been a long wait, Sarah. And we have a great deal of lost time to make up for. I have almost forgotten what it feels like to have you. But I have never found any female with whom I liked it more."
Sarah swallowed hard and stood very still. She did not look away from him.
"And you are so much more beautiful than you were then," he said, his hands moving up to cup her breasts. He looked down at them. "You were a girl then, Sarah. You are a woman now."
She took a deep breath and braced herself as she watched his face come closer. Finally she closed her eyes and held her mouth steady beneath the soft moistness of his. She imposed relaxation on her body as his hands pressed her against the length of him and proceeded to roam and explore. She even parted her own lips eventually under the persistent probing of his tongue and allowed it entrance. And she gazed resolutely at the ceiling when his head forced her own back so that his mouth might trace a hot trail along her throat.
"Sarah," he said against her mouth again. "I cannot stand the restraints. Will that old housekeeper stay out until summoned? Can we lie down? Let me touch you. It will not take long."
Then at last she pushed against his shoulders. "No, Win," she said. "This time I want everything to be as it should be. After we are married, I will be yours. You may have me then whenever you want. It will be your right. But not until then."
"Tease!" he said. "You always were a tease, Sarah, inflaming me to the point of madness and then pretending reluctance so that I almost had to force you. Very well. I shall be patient. But not for long, mind. I want you in my bed very soon."
"Yes," she said. "I want it to be soon too, Win. I want us to leave here within the next few days."
"There is no particular hurry now," he said. "With this"-he tapped the pocket in which he had deposited the bank draft-"I shall be able to hold off the worst of my creditors here. But if I must take you away before you will allow me to possess you again, then go we must." He smiled cheerfully and kissed her slowly on the lips again.
"I think you should go now, Win," Sarah said. "I have much to do. I have to pack my trunks and break the news to Lady Murdoch. She will be very pleased, by the way."
"I shall charm her out of her mind," Winston said with a grin. "She must be convinced that that change in her will should be made without further delay."
"Yes," Sarah said. "Come this evening, Win, to escort us to the Upper Rooms. It will be a suitable occasion on which to announce our betrothal to our acquaintances."
"It will be my pleasure," he said. "Until tonight then, Sarah. One more kiss?"
Sarah held up her mouth to him once more. No, she could not do this, her mind was screeching at her. There must be some other way. Somehow, before the day appointed for their wedding, she would think of something else.
The Duke of Cranwell was seated at dinner in Laura Place. They had all finished eating, but it was not a formal meal. The ladies had not left him to his port. They were all drinking tea at the table instead of having adjourned to the drawing room to do so.
"I really would have liked to stay here longer, George," Fanny was saying. "I am just getting used to having so much to do each day and so many different people to meet."
"But it will be lovely to be in the countryside again," Hannah said. She looked anxiously at Cranwell. "And you did say, your grace, that you would send for Argus?"
"Yes, indeed, my dear," he said. "One more dog at Montagu Hall will scarcely make any difference at all."
"But it will to me," she assured him.
"Well, your grace," Lady Cavendish said, "I was fully looking forward to a four-week stay in Bath. It is my yearly habit. But I must admit that it is a most splendid idea to adjourn to Montagu Hall for a formal betrothal party."
"Yes," Fanny agreed, "that idea has my thorough approval, George. Sometimes I wonder why we need to live in such a spacious mansion, since other people rarely see it. You hardly ever entertain even for dinner. But there should be quite a houseful for once if you invite all our relatives and all Hannah's. All the ones within reasonable traveling distance, of course."
"I have been thinking ever since we arrived here that perhaps I should have organized something more formal to mark our betrothal," Cranwell said. "But I am not sorry we came. It has been a good experience for Fanny and Hannah, I believe, to see something of society here. But when I first spoke of this yesterday afternoon, I had decided that the house party would be more the thing."
"Very right.and proper," Lady Cavendish said, "and we still have almost a week to enjoy Bath. Shall we stroll along by the river for a while before resting in preparation for this evening?"
It was an hour later before Cranwell was free to walk back to the White Hart. It was tempting to wander around the streets of the city, in the fresh air, but it was so hard to avoid meeting acquaintances here, and really he was in no mood for making polite conversation. He would order a light tea to be sent to his private parlor and spend a couple of hours with a book before getting ready to go to yet another ball at the Upper Rooms. How could people come here year after year and spend several weeks doing the same things day after day? The monotony was beginning to tell on his nerves.
He would be glad to get away next week, though now, of course, there was not the necessity to do so that there had seemed to be yesterday when he had made the suggestion. Sarah would be gone within a few days, if her promise was to be relied upon. After that, he would no longer have to dread going out-of-doors and taking Hannah and Fanny about with him. But he was not sorry that he had spoken up before Sarah had had a chance to talk to him. It was as well for them both to be away from here. There were many memories that were best forgotten as soon as possible.
He was still burning with shame from the night before. What, in heaven's name, had possessed him? If he had had any doubts about her in the past few days; if he had begun to suspect that perhaps she had changed her way of life and was trying to put the past behind her, last night must have completely disabused him. She had quite coolly blackmailed him, extorting from him an enormous sum in return for her removal from Bath. He was a very wealthy man; yet what he had given her would make a noticeable dent in his fortune. And she had taken it without a qualm after having already squandered the not-inconsiderable sum he had given her a mere four years before.
And even apart from the blackmail there had been her manner as she spoke to him. He had never had a whore, but Sarah's manner the night before fit perfectly the way he imagined that such a woman would behave. She had been brightly flirtatious while robbing him of a small fortune. And she had laughed at him when he had tried to plead with her to change her way of life. With the promise of the sum she had asked for already given, she had coolly told him that her life was none of his concern.
He had been disgusted with her, horrified, repelled. And what had he done? He had kissed her! He did not know what madness had possessed him. There she had stood, the woman of loose morals whom he had married and divorced, and all he had seen was Sarah, the beautiful, cultured, vibrant girl he had wanted to spend his life with. And he had kissed her and held her to him. He had wanted to take her into his own body. He had wanted to hold her safe from all the evil that threatened her.
Damn! He had loved her all over again for those few mad minutes.
Cranwell entered the inn and climbed the stairs to his rooms without pausing to speak to anyone. He entered the parlor, threw down his hat and cane, and rang for Peters to send for tea. He sat down in front of the fire that was burning in the hearth and stared into the flames. He did not pick up a book.
It was certainly a good thing that she was leaving. He wished it could be sooner than in a few days' time. This morning there had been all the awkwardness and embarrassment again of trying to avoid her in the Pump Room. Tonight, doubtless, she would be at the rooms, and the two elderly ladies would take for granted that she would join him and the two girls in the ballroom while they took tea. And tomorrow the same thing would happen all over again.
He wondered sometimes if he had any moral fiber at all. Why was it he could be attracted so powerfully to a woman like her? He could perhaps be excused for his early attraction. She was, after all, an excellent actress. He did not believe that even the most worldly-wise cynic would have seen through her mask before he married her. But why had he wanted so desperately to forgive her and return to her after that? And why did he now find his mind absorbed with her when he was here with his new fiancee four months before his wedding? Why had he kissed her?
Perhaps he really was not worthy of Hannah. She was young and very innocent. She deserved better than a man of weak will and low tastes. Yet it was too late to think that way now. He was as good as married to her already. He must just make sure that once Sarah was gone, and once he had left Bath, he put this shameful episode in his life completely behind him. There was a house party to host at Montagu Hall, an activity he would not normally relish. But now he would almost welcome the necessity to be constantly busy and constantly in company.
He would have to purge his mind of Sarah Fifield before he made Hannah his bride. He must be able to offer her a whole and unsullied heart.
What was Sarah going to do? he wondered. He wished there was some way he could have insisted that she use that money wisely. As it was, she had enough to set herself up in some style and entertain any number of people. He shuddered, though, at the thought of the type of visitor she was likely to attract. Once her identity became known, as it surely must sooner or later, there would be only one type of man who would frequent any home of hers. And for only one reason, too.
Cranwell swore into the flames at which he stared. When he thought of other men touching her, making love to his Sarah, he was ready to do dreadful violence. The trouble was, there was nothing and no one on whom to wreak that violence. If he were at home already, he could go out onto his land and find some hard manual work with which to punish himself. As he had done many times in the previous four years.
But her life was her own business, of course. She had been quite right about that the night before. If she chose to spend her youth in promiscuous pleasures, then there was nothing he could do to stop her. He must put her from his mind.
He wondered again fleetingly why she had practiced such deception to trap him into marriage, only to be so openly honest with him afterward that he had divorced her. Had she been so repulsed by him that she could think only of being free of the marriage? Had she not expected him to react so decisively? Had she hoped to live in style for the rest of her life, the Duchess of Cranwell, without the necessity of living with him?
He closed his eyes and shook his head wearily. Sarah Fifield was like some disease raging through his mind and body. He could not shake off the thought of her. He put his head back against the rest of the worn leather chair and kept it there. He kept his eyes shut. He willed sleep to bring him merciful unconsciousness for an hour at least.