THE DUKE of Cranwell was riding down from the rolling hills to the east of his home. It was a shortcut he frequently took when coming from his bailiff's cottage. It was also his favorite approach to Montagu Hall. He could see it mapped clearly below him, the square classical building constructed around a central courtyard, the lawns to the east dotted with ancient oak and beech trees and sloping to the narrow meandering river, which never seemed quite important enough for the imposing Palladian bridge that spanned it.
To the north of the house were the formal gardens-a stone pond with a fountain surrounded by carefully planned flower gardens, box hedges, and gravel walks. Beyond them was the great stone archway with its wrought-iron gates, which formed the main entrance to the house. He could never look upon the scene without feeling a rush of wonder and a humble pride that it was all his, including the land for as far as the eye could see in every direction. How could anyone own such treasures and still feel the necessity of looking for pleasure elsewhere?
He urged his horse forward again. He really should not delay. At any time now guests were going to be arriving through that archway. The Earl and Countess of Cavendish, Hannah's parents, had arrived the day before, so that he already felt as if he had a houseful. Lady Cavendish and Hannah, of course, had come from Bath with him two days before. But there were still two sets of uncles and aunts and numerous cousins from Hannah's family to arrive today, as well as his own Uncle Justin with his family. He had not invited the Saxtons and still felt guilty at the omission. They would feel slighted if they ever learned of the house party. And it seemed almost inevitable that they would. But how could he invite them when he was expecting Sarah? They knew both her and the old scandal.
And that reminded him of what he had been trying to keep in the back of his mind for a whole week. Josh, Winston Bowen, and Captain Penny, those other friends from Bath, he could quite look forward to seeing again. But Sarah! He felt impotently furious just to think what a dupe she had made of him. He was the foolish one, of course, to think that he could trust a woman who experience had taught him was untrustworthy. He should never have handed her the money just like that, with only her word to guarantee that she would keep her part of the bargain. He should have insisted on sending the bank draft to some distant destination, giving her only enough money with which to travel to that place and feed herself along the way.
What a fool she was making of him. Not only had she failed to take herself out of his life, but she had even contrived to be a guest at a very private house party in Montagu Hall. And she would probably arrive decked out in finery purchased with his money.
Cranwell turned his horse in the direction of the stables to the west of the house. Perhaps he was not being strictly fair. He had been present when the invitation to his home was first mentioned to her. And she had not wanted to accept. She had seemed to be as intent on finding some excuse as he had been. He had been completely overwhelmed by the two older ladies and even by Hannah and Fanny. Could he entirely blame Sarah for doing no better?
Then, too, she had had the added inducement of Bowen's obvious eagerness to accept. How could she go against the will of the man who had become her fiance only the day before? Cranwell frowned. When he thought about it, he could blame Bowen for the way things had turned out every bit as much as he blamed Fanny. Both knew of the former connection between him and Sarah. Both should have realized just what an embarrassment it would be for them to be thrown thus together.
But really, he thought, swinging himself from the saddle in the cobbled courtyard of the stables and proceeding to remove the saddle himself, Sarah should have thought of some excuse. When she had been alone with Bowen, she should have explained quite clearly to him why she did not wish to accept the invitation. After all, it was not as if he did not know the situation. And he seemed to be fond enough of her. Surely he would have given in to her wishes without argument if she had just made it clear to him that it would be painful to her to go to Montagu Hall. Obviously she had made no such plea. Once she had had time to think about the matter, she had decided that she wished to go after all.
But why? Did she enjoy taunting him? Did she perhaps remember his behavior in Sydney Gardens and hope to arouse his desire again to such a degree that he would make a fool of himself afresh? Did she hope to bribe more money from him in return for a promise to go away early? Did she feel a curiosity to see the home that had very nearly been hers? He could not fathom the reason. And he did not know why he tried. He had realized many times that he would never understand the devious mind that occupied the very lovely head of Sarah Fifield.
Cranwell turned his horse over to a groom who had appeared from the stable block on hearing his master's entry. He strode toward the house. He must bathe and change his clothes as quickly as possible so that he would be ready for the earliest arrivals. It would be strange to have Montagu Hall occupied by a large number of people.
Sarah was beginning to feel very nervous. They were in the beautiful green countryside of Wiltshire already. Lady Murdoch had declared several times that they must be almost at Montagu Hall. Around each bend in the road she expected to see it. And at each bend, when the house did not come into sight, she felt a great churning relief. How would she ever be able to face George? She felt an embarrassment and a humiliation that made her feel physically sick.
Ever since they had left Bath she had hoped that by some miracle the plan would change and she would not be forced to attend this house party. She had hoped that once at home, Win would not want to leave again so soon.
And when they had reached home, her hopes had soared. She had been afraid that her aunt would be horrified by the betrothal. But she was not. She seemed actively delighted. She had warmly welcomed Lady Murdoch, who had been clearly gratified by her reception.
And Sarah had renewed her efforts to show affection to Winston. She had smiled warmly at him whenever their eyes met, and she had always chosen a chair close to his when she entered a room after him. On one occasion, when they were strolling outside, slightly behind Aunt Myrtle and Lady Murdoch, she had sighed and told him how she wished that nothing stood between them and an early wedding. But all she had got for her pains that time was a quick caress across her breasts and a promise that he would come to her that night when it was safe. She had had to assure him again that she wished to keep such intimacies for their wedding night.
All her hopes had failed. Aunt Myrtle, in fact, had seemed to be her worst enemy. She had assured Sarah that preparing a trousseau and a small celebration for their intimate friends on the wedding day would take a great deal of time. She would find it all easier to do if she was alone. The party to Montagu Hall would, therefore, suit her perfectly. She had been somewhat dubious, it was true, when she first heard that the invitation came from the Duke of Cranwell. But Sarah, not wishing her aunt to suspect her distress, had assured her that there was no cause for embarrassment. Each was now betrothed to someone else.
And Lady Murdoch, of course, was not to be distracted from the promised delight. She was very impressed to be on friendly terms with a duke. And to be invited to spend a week in his home was the pinnacle of ambition for her, especially when that invitation included her adopted daughter. Then, of course, there was Lady Cavendish. She kept remembering items of news from the previous five years that she had completely forgotten about when the two were in Bath.
Here she was then, Sarah thought in despair, on her way to Montagu Hall, about to arrive there, in fact. Lady Murdoch sat across from her and had talked almost without pause throughout the long day's journey. Winston sat beside her, his shoulder and arm and one thigh pressed rather unnecessarily against hers. The seats of the coach were narrow, but not as narrow as he pretended. She made no move to pull away from him. There was no point. Soon now she would be married to him. She must accustom herself to his touch. She could not go through a lifetime cringing away from her husband.
Yet again as the coach swung around a sharp bend in the road, Sarah looked anxiously out of the window to see if the house were close. And this time her stomach lurched even more painfully. Only a little ahead of them was a massive stone archway with open gates leading onto a graveled driveway. She could not see beyond the wall, but surely this must be it. Only some grand mansion could be hidden behind such magnificence, she was sure.
"We are here! Sarah, dear, we are here," Lady Murdoch cried, the poke of her bonnet pressed against the window of the coach. "Just look at that statue on horseback at the top of the arch. Now, I wonder whoever could have lifted it up there."
The coach slowly negotiated the sharp turn through the archway and into the courtyard. The ornamental gardens stretched before them and, beyond them, the house.
"Well," Winston said with a whistle, "I always knew Cranwell was rich. But if this is what he owns, he must be wealthy indeed."
"Just look at that structure over there," Lady Murdoch said, pointing to the left. "It looks like a temple. A bridge, is it?"
The coach had followed the graveled pathway around the gardens to the forecourt before the impressive Gothic doorway that formed the north entrance to the house. Liveried footmen waited there, one coming forward immediately to put down the steps and help the travelers down. Lady Murdoch made a great bustle and to-do about descending. Sarah closed her eyes briefly as Winston vaulted out ahead of her, and took a deep breath. She could never remember feeling quite so embarrassed in her life.
Winston helped her to the ground, but she was almost instantly aware that Cranwell had come from the house and was bowing over Lady Murdoch's hand.
“,,,,,wonderful, wonderful house," she was saying. "I do not wonder the Withersmiths spoke of little else when they returned from their travels. It is so kind of you to invite us here, your grace."
"It is my pleasure, I assure you, ma'am," he replied, and turned to Sarah and Winston.
"Did you have a good journey?" he asked, shaking Winston's hand. "You must be very tired after such a distance. Do come inside. There is tea in the drawing room-or something stronger if you prefer."
He looked at last at Sarah. "Miss Fifield," he said. "You will wish to freshen up before taking tea. Come. I shall have you shown to your room."
He was unsmiling, she saw when she dared look into his face, but he was looking steadily at her and directing her to the doorway as he held his arm for Lady Murdoch's support. Her heart turned over. After a week away from him, she was newly aware of the aristocratic elegance of the man, of his attractiveness, which was very different from the obvious sexuality of Win. And now she saw him for the first time in his own proper milieu. She had seen only the outside of one part of the house, but already she knew that the property suited him to perfection. This was where he belonged. And this was where, under different circumstances, she might have belonged too.
A pointless thought, she told herself as she took Winston's arm and smiled up at him. He grinned back and raised his eyebrows in the direction of George's back. He appeared to be finding this formal welcome amusing.
Cranwell was up early the following morning and out riding before breakfast. He was eager to look at his crops, as he did every morning. They were almost ready for harvesting now. Another few days would bring the grain to full fruition. It would irk him to know that his laborers would have to begin the task without him this year. Most of his time would be taken up with the entertainment of his guests for the following week.
Benjamin Fairlie, one of Hannah's cousins, rode with him. He was not the only guest who had expressed a determination to ride with Cranwell that morning. His cousin Samuel and Josh had also been determined to get up early. But that resolve had been made the evening before. This morning the house had seemed deserted except for the servants and Benjamin, who assured him that he always rose early except when incarcerated at Cambridge.
"Why get up early, or get up at all," he had asked Cranwell, "when one knows that there is nothing to do all day but attend lectures and study books?"
Hannah's cousin was a talkative young man, but Cranwell found after a half-hour of diligent listening that it was sufficient to pay only half of one's attention to the conversation in order to make the correct responses in the right places. With the other half of his mind he could enjoy the late-summer sunshine with its suggestion of an autumn nip in the air, and assess the state of his crops.
And think. The day before had really not been as bad as he had anticipated. Only Josh had arrived later than Sarah. The house was bustling with noise and activity by the time she came, with the result that there had been no awkward intimacy. Apart from the formal greeting that he had felt obliged to extend on her arrival, he had been forced to exchange hardly a word with her for the rest of the day. And he had made sure that she was seated far from him at the dinner table.
On one point he felt relief. No one had seemed to notice any significance about her name or the fact that she was betrothed to a cousin by the name of Bowen. He had been afraid that his own uncle or aunt might make the connection, or even one of their four children, though the oldest was only twenty years old. But all six had politely acknowledged the introductions without a flicker of suspicion. And the same thing had happened with Hannah's relatives. It seemed little short of a miracle to Cranwell.
On another matter he felt less pleased. Both Fanny and Hannah had been openly pleased at Sarah's arrival and had greeted her like a long-lost friend. Hannah, in fact, had hung about her all evening in the drawing room, drinking tea .when Sarah did, crossing to the pianoforte when Sarah did, and bending over a pile of music with her to pick out something suitable to play. And even when Sarah had refused to play herself and Hannah had complied, the latter had asked her new friend to stay and turn the pages for her. The situation had been very awkward for him. Under the circumstances, he had wished to be close to his be-trothed for much of the evening. But how could he be so when being close to her meant also being close to Sarah?
He had been right on one point. She had worn a particularly handsome gown during the evening, clearly a new purchase. Its jonquil color had looked startlingly vivid with her bright hair. The jaconet fabric had seemed very expensive. And she had certainly attracted attention. Josh had almost fallen over himself to lead her in to dinner and sit next to her. He had reached her side only a moment before Allan Wright, another of Hannah's cousins, had arrived on the same errand. Wright had led in Barbara Tenby, Cranwell's own cousin, but he had been careful to seat himself to Sarah's left, with Barbara on his other side. Benjamin had been making sheep's eyes at her too during the evening, even though he was considerably younger than she.
Bowen had behaved with perfect propriety, Cranwell had noticed with satisfaction. He had not hung around his fianc6e's skirts all evening, but had conversed with the utmost charm with all the aunts and with Lady Cavendish and Lady Murdoch, all of whom seemed to dote on him. And when he had finally joined Sarah and Hannah at the pianoforte and Sarah had wandered away, he had stayed with the greatest good humor to turn pages for Hannah and even to join her in the singing of a duet. A very well-bred young man, Cranwell concluded. It was a pity that his early attentions to Fanny had been mere gallantry.
"And sheep are very wasteful of land," Benjamin was saying at his side. "I keep telling Papa that if he would just sell the flock and enclose the land, he could more than double the amount of corn he plants. Our land would be far more profitable, and moreover, we would have work for far more laborers, and the drain of manpower to the factories would be eased. But it is very difficult to fight against tradition, you know. Papa is very much a traditionalist."
"Quite," Cranwell said. "And there is something to be said for custom, you know. Change that comes too fast often proves to have been unwise."
His thoughts returned home. He had promised to take his guests on a tour of the house later in the morning. It was years since he had personally shown off its treasures to anyone. His housekeeper had instructions to show the state apartments and the cloisters to the occasional summer traveler who came to ask for a tour, but on such occasions he deliberately kept well out of the way. The visitors were told merely that he was from home. On rare occasions he came face-to-face with these visitors, but he always escaped after an exchange of bows and the barest civilities.
He was not looking forward to the morning. In his experience, people were interested in the general splendor of his mansion but quickly lost that interest as soon as one tried to explain details to them. His treasures were too precious to him to be treated as mere spectacles. However, Lady Murdoch had been very loud in her entreaties that he give the tour, and Hannah's two aunts and one uncle had been almost equally eager. He hoped that everyone would not want to come. He hoped that Sarah would stay away.
For her part, Sarah had been carefully planning her day since she had got up early enough to see George and young Mr. Fairlie ride off to the west. They had said the night before that they were going to inspect the fields. A few of the other gentlemen had planned to join the ride, but there were unmistakably only two riders this morning.
She was safe for at least an hour or two, she estimated. And she sat down at the dressing table to brush the tangles from her long hair before washing with the warm water in the water jug, which a maid must have brought quite recently. She would go down as soon as possible and have breakfast early, she decided. Then she would try to slip outside before anyone else was about, or at least before George returned from his ride. She would find somewhere secluded to walk, perhaps up in the hills she had seen to the east of the house the previous day. And she would stay out until she judged it time for luncheon. The glorious weather would make her absence seem quite natural. And she would miss the guided tour of the house that George had promised the evening before.
Sarah got up and began a hasty toilet without ringing for the maid who she had been assured was assigned to care for her. Her hair she twisted into a simple knot high on the back of her head. She pulled on a plain blue calico dress and laid a gray wool cloak and straw bonnet on her bed ready to be put on as soon as she had finished breakfast.
She could not resist one last look around her room before leaving it. She was as enchanted now as she had been the afternoon before, when the late sun had been slanting bright rays through the window and across the bed. If she did not know better, she would have felt that it must have been handpicked for her. The Chinese wallpaper was covered with brightly painted birds and flowers so that she felt as if she were in a garden. The bed was surmounted by a dome from which hung green-and-silver silk hangings looped against the four bedposts. The carpet too was green. She had fallen in love with the room as soon as she saw it the previous day.
When she descended to the breakfast room, Sarah found that she was indeed the first to arrive, although the sideboard was already covered with an appetizing array of hot foods. Unfortunately for her, though, she did not long remain alone. Both Captain Penny and Winston joined her there before she had eaten more than a few mouthfuls.
Captain Penny bowed and wished her a cheerful good morning.
"Good morning, my love," Winston greeted her, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. "How do you always contrive to look so fresh and lovely even early in the day?"
Sarah did not try to answer so unanswerable a question. "Good morning, Win, Captain Penny," she said. "I was beginning to fear that I would have to eat breakfast in lone state."
"Why so early, Sarah?" Winston asked. "I thought you would have stayed abed until midmorning, at least, like the other ladies."
"I am planning to take a walk," she said cheerfully. "This weather is too lovely to be missed."
Winston raised his eyebrows and smiled. "You are not going to miss the tour of the house, are you?" he asked. "I thought you were keen on all this old stuff, Sarah."
She shook her head. "Perhaps another time," she said.
"In that case," Winston said, seating himself beside her and putting his heaped plate down on the table, "I shall walk too, love. There seem to be endless miles to explore around here. Perhaps we should eat as quickly as possible and leave before anyone else gets up. We may be hopelessly delayed if someone else decides to join us." His thigh, as if by accident, made contact with Sarah's beneath the table.
"I hear that this house is particularly splendid," Captain Penny said. "The present duke has spent years, I have heard, acquiring new treasures and renewing and reorganizing what was already here. And it is quite a privilege to be given a guided tour. Apparently those visitors who dare to knock at the door are shown certain designated apartments by the housekeeper. But his grace is the man who knows everything there is to know about the building and its contents. I should hate to see you miss such a treat, Miss Fifield."
"Miss it!" The words were spoken by Joshua Stonewall, who had just entered the breakfast room. "Who is going to be such a philistine as to miss the show? Miss Fifield? Quite out of the question. Can't allow it. Laing, order your betrothed to join the viewing party. Whatever else she had planned for this morning can wait." He grinned and crossed the room to the sideboard.
"How can I fight such opposition?" Sarah said lightly. "It seems that I am to be subjected to this guided tour after all."
"Take my advice, Laing," Joshua said, beginning systematically to heap his plate with a sample of everything before him. "When you want females to do a certain thing, be firm about it. They invariably fall into line." He chuckled at his own humor.
Sarah ate on, her appetite suddenly lost. For a few moments she had felt utterly caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. If she stayed, she would have to follow George around, listening to his voice, viewing the house that might have been hers. If she went walking, she would have to fend off the advances of Winston, and in the secluded setting of Montagu Hall and its grounds, she would almost certainly lose. She had been forced to choose the lesser of two evils. But an evil it was nonetheless. Lord and Lady Wright and Lady Murdoch entered the breakfast room together at that moment and the conversation became lively and general.
"You have been put in the Chinese bedroom, have you not?" Hannah asked Sarah half an hour later, when the latter was still in the breakfast room, drinking a second cup of coffee. Winston had left with Captain Penny to find the billiard room.
"Yes," Sarah said, "and it is quite lovely."
"May I come up with you and see it?" Hannah asked. "Fanny has been meaning to show it to me for days, but always something has prevented her from doing so. She says it is the loveliest room in the house."
"I would not be surprised if she is right," Sarah agreed, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. "Shall we go now?"
The girl looked around her with obvious pleasure when they got upstairs. "Oh yes," she said, "it is quite different from any of the other rooms. How pretty it is.”
She sat down on the bed and absently played with the large button at the top of Sarah's cloak.
"Do you like this house?" she asked. "Of course, you have not seen much of it yet. His grace took Grandmama and me all over it the day after we arrived. I find it rather oppressive. It is lovely, of course, but it is really not my idea of a home."
"The architecture is magnificent," Sarah said. "I love the classical lines. They are so simple yet so elegant. And it appears to be made for the setting."
"Rather the setting was made for it," Hannah said. "That man they call Capability Brown planned the grounds as far back as the hills, I believe. His grace says that everything was carefully laid out so that one sees a picturesque scene from any angle or distance from the house."
Sarah smiled. "I am looking forward to seeing the state apartments," she said. "Shall we go down?"
Hannah made no immediate move to get up from the bed. "It is all very well to admire the building as a visitor," she said, leaning forward and looking at Sarah with wide eyes. "But can you imagine being mistress here, Miss Fifield? I shall be overwhelmed. I shall not be able to manage at all."
"You are nervous," Sarah said. "But you have been brought up in a large house. I am sure you will find that you will be far better able to cope than you expect."
"Oh, but I shan't," Hannah said, her face tense. "I feel like the merest child here, Miss Fifield. And he scares me. He is always go correct and so serious. And he seems so old. I am terrified when I realize that I shall belong here in just a few months' time."
Sarah bit her lip. "I do sympathize with you," she said. "You are very young to be faced with such responsibility. But I am sure that his grace is not as formidable as you think. He is a kind man, Hannah. He will have patience with you and will not expect the impossible."
"Oh," the girl said, jumping to her feet and crossing the room hastily to look out of the window, "I am terrible, am I not? I should not burden you with my worries. And I should not murmur a complaint now that I am betrothed to his grace. I should keep it all to myself. Do please forgive me."
Sarah busied herself putting away the cloak and bonnet she had laid out earlier. "Don't apologize," she said. "Sometimes one needs another person in whom to confide. I know how it is to feel all alone. I wish you would feet free to talk to me whenever you wish. You may be assured that what you say will go no further." She spoke with the utmost reluctance.
"Oh," Hannah said, turning, her eyes bright, "you do understand. I knew you would. I sensed that about you. Is not that silly?"
"Not at all," Sarah said with a weary smile. "What do you want of fife, Hannah?"
The girl shrugged. "Nothing grand," she said. "Pomp and ceremony scare me. I never know what to say or do. I always feel most comfortable at home and with my friends."
"The ones you mentioned to me in Bath?" Sarah asked.
"Did I?" Hannah said. "Donald and Iris Ferris. I grew up with them. I never expected to be parted from them. That was very silly of me. They are so easy to talk to." She sighed.
"Perhaps other people will be too, if you give them a chance," Sarah said encouragingly. "You find me easy to talk to, after all…"
"Oh yes," the girl said. "And Lord Laing. How fortunate you are, Miss Fifield, to be betrothed to him. He is always friendly and always smiling. I can talk to him too. I was telling him about Donald and Iris last night, and he said that it sounded as if I have a close relationship with Donald like he had with you. He understands, you see. The connection has had a happy ending for you, though, has it not?" She sounded wistful.
Sarah did not know what else to say. She felt desperately sorry for Hannah, and she could understand perfectly how the girl must feel with no one in whom to confide. She had been too long in the same predicament herself not to sympathize. But how could she become the intimate confidante of George's fiancee? It was an impossibly embarrassing situation. And how could Hannah be unhappy when she was engaged to marry George!
"Would you like to come to the stables and see Argus?" Hannah asked, brightening visibly. "He has to stay there. His grace said I might bring him into the house even though none of his dogs are allowed in. But Papa said no, and Grandmama backed him up. She says that dogs make her sneeze."
"Yes," Sarah said, "let us go."