SARAH WISHED that Lady Cavendish was not with them in the carriage on the way back to Montagu Hall. She would have liked to speak to Win and Cousin Adelaide right then about leaving the next day. As it was, she was forced to enter into the conversation as much as good manners dictated, showing enthusiasm over the picturesque setting of Salisbury Cathedral and agreeing that the excellence of his grace's chef had demonstrated itself more in the picnic fare than in all the formal meals they had taken at the house.
Winston had recovered from whatever had made him quiet during the morning. He was his most charming self, complimenting all three ladies on their appearance and their opinions, praising Cranwell for having suggested such an agreeable outing and for having gathered around him such a refined and interesting group of guests. With a smile at Sarah and a hand laid lightly over one of hers, he complimented himself on his decision to join the house party and postpone his wedding for one week.
"Would you not agree with me, my love?" he asked. "I know you were deeply disappointed last week. But will you not admit now that I was right?"
Sarah smiled back. "Yes, Win," she said. "You were perfectly right. I am very glad we postponed our wedding. This week has made all the difference."
He squeezed her hand and turned his charm back to the older ladies again.
Sarah cringed with inward horror at having to sit with Winston's hand covering hers on her knee. But she would not push it away. The situation was bad enough as it was. She certainly did not wish to provoke a quarrel with him today. And she would have to endure his attentions for only a little while longer. Tomorrow, once she had talked to George and got Win safely away from Montagu Hall, she could stop pretending, break her engagement, and tell him all that was within her heart to say. He could keep George's money. Being free of him would be cheap at the price.
Tomorrow. She felt slightly sick at the thought. She could be rid of Win for ever and that fact must make the day an occasion for rejoicing. But she would never see George again either. Never. And she had to try, to blank the thought from her mind. She would panic if she faced the naked truth.
That had been a dreadful quarrel and a totally unexpected one. She had felt so close to George since the day before and had been convinced that he felt the same way. There had seemed to be no hostility in his manner when he had joined her in Trinity Chapel. In fact, he seemed to have gone out of his way to find her and make conversation with her. She had felt a marvelous uplifting of the heart at the sound of his voice, a total awareness of him as both a person and a man.
She had let him guide her to the cloisters and had walked with him there quite consciously happy. It was not that she had formed any unreasonable expectations or hopes for the future. She had known that nothing could develop from that moment. There were far too many obstacles in the way. But that had not mattered. She had been prepared to take the moment for what it was worth. If she could only spend the remaining three days of the visit thus, in quiet harmony with him, she would be content, she had convinced herself. If they could part from each other at the end of the week without resentment or hatred, she could find the strength to face the bleak future.
And it had been so lovely there at first. The surroundings were beautiful and peaceful. They had been alone and had shared the mood of the place. For one moment she had been afraid that he was going to tell her he regretted their lovemaking. But he had not. He had merely been concerned that she regretted it. They had walked on in silent harmony, she had thought. She had been holding to his arm, the warm glow of her love for him growing until she felt she could not walk another step without telling him. It would not be so wrong, would it? she had asked herself. It was not as if she were trying to lay any obligation on him. But she had wanted him to know that she loved him, that she always had.
But he had started to speak to her first. And it was as if someone had taken a pitcher of cold water and flung its contents in her face. She had assumed that his thoughts were moving along the same lines as her own. Instead, his face was cold and set, his voice quickly matching it. And he had made those terrible suggestions about her again, assuming that she was promiscuous. Why had he always assumed that? Why had he never thought that perhaps she had sinned with only one partner before him?
She had been hurt beyond endurance. She had been on the verge of throwing herself at him to cling and plead and cry. Finally, far too late, she had wanted to tell him the whole truth. She could not bear to have him think all those hurtful things about her. She craved his good opinion, his admiration, his love.
But pride had come to her defense. For once in her life she had seen the Duke of Cranwell as a less-thanperfect human being. Perhaps it was a result of her newfound belief in herself-a belief, ironically, that he had helped her to on the previous afternoon. For once his words seemed more cruel than just, his attitude more hypocritical than moral.
And so she had lashed out at him, caused a bitter and irreparable rift between them. They had parted with mutual anger and hatred. He had not looked at her or come anywhere near -her when he had finally rejoined the group. And this was the way they would part forever the next day. She would warn him as briefly as she could about Win and his possible designs on Fanny. And that would 'be the end. He would hate her for the rest of his life as he had for the last four years. And she would have that quarrel to remember, drowning out the memory of his tenderness and passion on the hillside.
Sarah finally succeeded in drawing her hand free of Winston's by pretending that the ribbons of her bonnet needed retying. She felt more and more sick with every turn of the wheels beneath them.
"And so you see," Lady Murdoch was saying when Sarah's attention returned to the conversation again, "it is just possible that these two young Murdoch brothers may be long-lost nephews of my dear late husband. I shall certainly have to investigate the matter. And if that is so, they will have a very large claim on my fortune. It would be most provoking just when I was on the verge of changing my will in dear Sarah's favor. And of course, I should much prefer to leave everything to her, for I have come to think of her as my very own daughter. However, I suppose the claims of the male line of the family have to be considered first." She sighed loudly.
"But when did you hear all this, Adelaide?" Lady Cavendish asked. "You have not mentioned it before."
"No," Lady Murdoch admitted, "I have kept it all to myself, Bertha, for a whole week. But the subject has been nagging at my mind so much that I just had to let it all out this afternoon. It is a gratifying thought, Lord Laing, to know that you love my Sarah so dearly. If you were a mercenary man, sir, this news might well tempt you to cry off." She tittered.
Winston bowed and smiled. For once he seemed to have nothing to say. Sarah looked at Lady Murdoch with a new respect. One could almost swear that the woman was telling the truth. If only she were not feeling quite so wretched, she might be having difficulty containing her amusement. Poor Win!
"You did not believe that cock-and-bull story, did you, dear?" Lady Murdoch asked Sarah an hour later when the latter had followed her to her room in Montagu Hall. "I really did not wish to distress you, dear. But I thought you would realize that I made up the story entirely for Lord Laing's benefit. I wonder if he is off on his own somewhere at this very moment wondering how he can most honorably withdraw from his betrothal. Or does honor mean nothing whatsoever to that young man, Sarah? We shall see."
"No," Sarah said, "I did not believe your story, Cousin Adelaide. But even if I had, I would not have been distressed, you know. I do not covet your money. I love you for yourself and because you have been very kind to me."
"Bless you," Lady Murdoch said. "You had better not delay here too long, dear. There is only an hour until dinnertime and you will wish to wash and change, I am sure."
"I wished to talk with you," Sarah said. "I am planning to leave here tomorrow. I hope to persuade Win to leave too. I do not know what your wishes will be."
"Tomorrow?" Lady Murdoch echoed. "Whatever has happened, my love? Has Lord Laing been unendurable again? Do I need to whisper in his ear that you are suffering from a mild attack of the smallpox?"
Sarah laughed despite herself. "No," she said, "but I learned something so disturbing about him this afternoon that I really cannot keep up the pretense for one day more. I must leave." She proceeded to tell Lady Murdoch the story that Fanny had told her earlier that afternoon.
"Bless my soul!" Lady Murdoch exclaimed. For once she was at a loss for words. "Well, bless my soul!"
"Besides," said Sarah in a rush of agitation, "I should not have come here in the first place. I told his grace this afternoon that I would be leaving. I can hardly go back on that decision now."
Lady Murdoch was very still for a moment. "I was very blind, was I not?" she said. "You must blame my age, Sarah dear. I am old and somewhat senile, no doubt. Years ago I would never have been so insensitive to other people's feelings. Until we had our little talk a few days ago, I had not noticed at all. But I have seen quite clearly since. You still love the dear duke."
"Oh," Sarah said, "it is not that, Cousin Adelaide. It is just that the situation is extremely awkward and embarrassing."
"And of course he feels the same way too," Lady Murdoch said, just as if she had not heard a word of what Sarah said. "I can always tell these things. When my eyes have been finally opened, that is."
"Oh, no," Sarah said, "it is not true, ma'am, believe me. He can feel nothing but resentment for me after what I made him endure in the past. He has shown remarkable restraint in putting up with my presence since we met again in Bath."
"His betrothal is as much of a mistake as yours, of course," Lady Murdoch continued, "though for vastly different reasons. Lady Hannah is not the right wife for him. He needs someone of far more character. Someone like you, dear. And she needs someone with more gaiety." Her brow was furrowed in concentration.
"Will you leave with me tomorrow?" Sarah asked timidly. "Or will you stay?"
"I shall do whatever you do, without a doubt, my dear," Lady Murdoch said, "especially if Lord Laing decides to leave with you, though I would by no means count on that if I were you. But you must not leave him here without saying something to his grace, Sarah dear."
"I have already told him that I wish to speak with him in the morning," Sarah said with lowered eyes.
"Oh dear," Lady Murdoch said, more to herself than to Sarah, "this is a very difficult situation. We need a plan."
"I shall go and get ready for dinner," Sarah said, "and call for a maid to pack my bags."
Winston was surprisingly easy to persuade. Sarah did not have a chance to talk to him until after dinner, though she realized that the dinner table would not have been the right place to discuss such a subject anyway. When she entered the drawing room prior to the meal, it was to find Fanny, flushed and bright-eyed, in close conversation with Win. He was looking equally pleased with life. When dinner was announced and Winston, without a glance in her direction, offered his arm to the girl, Sarah found Joshua Stonewall at her elbow, bowing and offering his escort. He did not say anything, but Sarah could guess his feelings from the tight set to his lips and the meaningful glance he cast in Win's direction.
She took the initiative when the gentlemen joined the ladies after their port. The drawing room was crowded, as a musical evening had been arranged. Lady Wright had spent a couple of days finding out the musical talents of all the guests, with the result that there were to be enough pianoforte recitals and vocal solos and duets to last for an hour or more. Fanny was even to play on the violin, though she protested that she occasionally sounded little better than a cat in pain.
Sarah touched Winston on the arm as he was taking a cup of tea from Lady Cavendish. He smiled broadly when he saw who it was.
"Could I talk to you, Win?" she asked.
"It would be my pleasure, my love," he said. "But if it is a private matter, I am afraid we will be hard pressed in here."
"Yes," she said, "you are right. Shall we walk in the cloister, Win?"
His smile broadened to a grin. "That is a suggestion after my own heart," he said. "Might we leave before Lady Murdoch takes her attention away from that Tenby chit? If she sees us, we will very soon have a large escort."
He put down his cup, and Sarah led the way from the room. Only one side of the lower cloisters was frequently used. The other three sides led to the library, Cranwell's study, some offices, and other rooms not in daily use. Sarah and Winston had the dimly lit corridor to themselves. Their footsteps echoed on the bare flagstones.
"What is on your mind, love?" Winston asked, drawing her arm through his and lowering his head until it was intimately close to her own.
"I want to leave here tomorrow, Win," she said. "I do not wish to stay until the end of the week."
"Are you not enjoying yourself?" he asked. "I must confess that I find the company quite congenial."
"I do not belong here, Win," she said. "I came to please you and Lady Murdoch. But I cannot stay any longer." She prepared to do battle.
"If that is how you feel, love," he said, covering her hand with his own, "then by all means we shall leave."
"Do you mean it, Win?" she asked, brightening.
"But of course," he said. "Anything to please you, you know."
Sarah was smiling. "May we leave in the morning?" she asked. "I hate to delay once I have decided something.
"Whenever you like," he said indulgently. He smiled down into her face, his teeth very white in the semidarkness. Only a few candles burned in the wall sconces. "Now, what do I get as a reward, Sarah?"
"Oh, don't be absurd, Win," she said, keeping her tone light. "We will be married soon."
"Somehow," he said, standing still and turning to her, "that thought does not offer too much comfort at the moment. What about tonight, love?" He was still smiling. He backed her slowly against the inner wall of the cloister.
Sarah did not feel frightened. There were numerous people fairly close at hand. But she did feel revulsion. She would feel that old nausea, she knew, if he came one inch closer. But she must not antagonize him. It would be better for everyone if she could draw him away from the house tomorrow without fuss.
He came several inches closer and put one hand against the wall beside her head. "Come to bed with me now, Sarah," he said. "No one will know. They are all too busily occupied in the drawing room. I want you, and I don't think I can wait any longer."
She smiled and deliberately spread her hands over his chest. "No, Win," she said, "not bed, please. Just one kiss?"
His eyes burned into hers. He leaned against her so that his full weight pressed her to the wall. His mouth, hot and open, came down against her neck where it joined her shoulder, and his hands moved to cup her breasts and squeeze them painfully. She gritted her teeth as she felt a sharp pain against her neck. He had bitten her!
She forced herself to stand there and endure, though she was very close to panic. She concentrated on keeping her breathing even. His mouth moved up to cover hers, open still and wet against her closed lips. She could feet her stomach muscles tense. How long must she endure this before she could decently push him away from her and smile fondly at him? His knee was pushing persistently between hers so that she had to move her feet apart to keep her balance. She found herself straddling his leg, which was pushing slowly upward against her.
Now, Sarah thought, trying to hold on to her control. Now I may tell him that this is far enough.
"Blast!" Winston hissed against her mouth. He raised his head and lowered his leg before she had begun any resistance.
She saw why immediately. Cranwell was quite close to them. He had clearly just drawn to a halt and looked quite startled for the moment.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I am on my way to the library. I had no idea there was anyone out here.".
Winston smiled lazily. He had not moved away from her at all, Sarah noticed. His body still pressed her to the wall; his knee was still pushed between hers. "You have damnable timing, Cranwell," he said. "Is there nowhere private in your home or on your estate where a man might take his lady?"
Cranwell appeared to have recovered from his shock. "I shall be inside the library within thirty seconds, Bowen," he said, "and I do not expect anyone to follow me. Please feel free to carry on your… er… conversation."
He walked past them without another glance. His footsteps echoed on the stones until he turned and left the cloisters through an archway. Sarah could not understand why she had not heard his footsteps coming.
Winston was gazing down into her eyes. His own had lost their customary charm. They looked almost cold, although he was smiling.
"I hope he got the message this time," he said. "I think he can have hardly missed it. Do you?"
"What message, Win?" she asked. Her heart felt like lead inside her.
"The message that you belong to me, love, body and soul," he said very distinctly. "I think sometimes that you have forgotten that, Sarah. I don't know quite what game you are playing, but you cannot win it, you know. You will always be mine, no matter what. You gave me your body years ago, and it belongs to me for all time. Don't forget that. Cranwell won't, you know. Have you really hoped that he will take you back? The man has far too much pride to take someone else's leavings. And that is all you are, after all, Sarah. My leavings. Sometimes you act as if you think you have the upper hand. You enjoy teasing. But I can have you whenever I want you, my love. Body and soul. Of course, you are welcome to your soul. I shall be quite contented with your body."
Sarah's lips had compressed into a thin line. Her eyes had hardened. She glared into his unflinchingly. "Oh, there you are wrong, Win," she said quietly but very deliberately. "There you are wrong. I do not belong to you. Once my body did. But you gained possession of that through lies and threats and force. You have never possessed even one corner of my heart or even of my liking or respect. All you ever told me to gain power over me was untrue. You are a liar and a cheat, Winston Bowen, a cruel, heartless fiend. But you have lost your power over me. It is only my respect for my former husband that keeps me civil to you. We will leave here tomorrow, and I shall be free. Free never to set eyes on you again."
He looked at her measuringly for a long moment, his face serious. Then he grinned. "Well, well," he said, "the cat has claws. I don't think I like you any the less for the fact, Sarah. I shall enjoy the taming of you. A little violence always adds excitement to lovemaking, I have found from experience. But tame you I shall, my girl. I dare you right now to scream and summon the attention of all those respectable people in the drawing room and of your stuffy lover in the library. Let me hear you, Sarah."
He put his palms flat against the bare flesh above the rather low decolletage of her gown, fingers outward, and swiveled his hands until his fingers were down inside her dress, curved beneath her breasts. His touch was quite ungentle. His eyes did not look away from her own.
"I am sure you have more packing to do, Sarah," he said. "Go and do it. I am no longer in the mood to enjoy your body tonight. But the time will come. Soon. And whenever I wish it. Is that clear, my love?"
Sarah swallowed. She held his eyes, refusing to flinch.
He stood looking down at her for a long while, his knee still holding her immobile against the wall, his hands still clasping her naked breasts.
He smiled finally, the full force of his charm in his dancing eyes, crinkled at the corners, and the curve of his lips. "Good night, my love," he said, and he kissed her warmly and lingeringly on the lips. When he lifted his head, he also withdrew his hands slowly and one at a time from inside her gown. And he put those hands against the wall on either side of her head and slowly eased his weight away from her.
She said nothing. She continued to look directly at him, her face expressionless. Finally she turned and walked back the way they had come. She forced herself not to run, but all the time her back bristled, almost as if she expected to feel a knife blade against her spine at any moment.
The Duke of Cranwell was sitting in his library, behind the large leather-covered desk. He was methodically dipping his quill pen into the inkwell and doodling with it on the blotter before him. The ink spread out into satisfying blobs on the pink surface of the blotter. He had been sitting in the library for most of the time since last evening.
He had left a few times, of course. He had gone back to the drawing room the night before, feeling the obligation to appear at least to say good night to his guests. And he had gone to bed at some time during the night, though he might as well have stayed, for the amount of sleep he had had. But he had been back here early. He had not even ridden out this morning. The harvest could proceed quite effectively without his supervision.
He had seen her leave the drawing room the evening before and had assumed that she was going walking in the garden with her fiance again. He had certainly not expected to come upon them in the cloisters. He had left in order to steal an hour alone in the library, his favorite retreat. He had wanted to sort out his thoughts and feelings, which had been in a whirl since the afternoon.
Afterward, he had wished that he had stayed in the drawing room and listened to the music. He had been justly punished for abandoning his guests. Of course, he had already been imagining what they were doing together out in the garden. But it is one thing to imagine and quite another to witness for oneself, he had found.
He was upon them before he had even realized they were there. And Bowen must have heard him at about the same moment. Certainly he had been treated to a full display of a very intimate embrace. They had been all but making love there against the wall. Bowen's hands had been all over her breasts, his leg thrust between hers.
It was only afterward, when he was inside the library, his back pressed against the closed door, his eyes closed, that Cranwell had realized that they had not even broken their embrace while he stood there. It was almost as if they were proud to be caught thus. Their behavior had been quite indecorous. The least they could have done was to break apart when they saw him. For the first time he had felt some disgust with Bowen.
And for Sarah? Could she not at least have taken her lover to her bedroom, where other people did not stand in danger of coming upon them? What if Hannah had been with him? Or Fanny?
Finally he had pushed himself away from the door and sat in the chair before the fire. He had felt vicious with self-loathing. He had allowed his life to be turned upside down again by Sarah Fifield. He had fallen in love with her again. He had lost interest in his marriage plans. He had even come almost to believe in her, despite all the opposing evidence. Even this afternoon, after she had left him, he had been filled with contrition. She had almost convinced him with her talk about his dual morality. He had almost believed her when she said that she had never deserved that ugly label he had put on her.
He had certainly suffered agonies of misery and remorse during the return journey to Montagu Hall. He had been torn between the sensible course of allowing her to go the next day and the irrational one of begging her to stay.
And then this!
And now, the morning after, he was still sitting here inactive, furious and disgusted with Sarah, longing to be told that she was ready to go so that he might at last be rid of her… desperate with panic at the knowledge that within a few minutes, an hour at the most, he would be saying good-bye to her forever.
There was not an inch of room left on the blotter. It was totally saturated with ink. He flung the pen down, not even bothering to pick it up again when it landed on the bare leather of the desktop. He put one hand across his eyes and massaged his temples.
There was a knock at the door. Cranwell looked up sharply. "Come in," he called.
There was a pause before the door opened hesitantly and Sarah appeared there. She was dressed for traveling in a plain woolen dress and half-boots, though she had not yet put on a cloak or bonnet.
"I told your butler not to announce me," she said timidly. "May I speak with you for a minute, your grace?"
Cranwell had risen to his feet. He came around the desk now and crossed the room to her. She stood aside as he reached out to close the door.
"Come and sit by the fire," he said. "It is a cold day."
"Yes," she said, and meekly took the chair that he indicated. He took the one across from her. His face looked pale and set, she noticed as she glanced at him.
"Lady Murdoch and I are ready to leave," she said. "I have not seen Win yet, but he said he would be ready to leave this morning. I expect him down at any minute."
Cranwell merely looked at her.
"I want to thank you for your hospitality," she said. "You have been very kind-"
"Sarah," he interrupted, "I think we can dispense with such meaningless small talk, don't you? You said you wished to talk to me. About your betrothed, I believe?"
"Yes," she said. Her voice was shaking. She felt as if she had been running for several miles.
"Well?" he prompted after she had stared at him silently for a while.
"I wanted to tell you she said. "That is, I think you ought to know… and Lady Murdoch has urged me to tell you too." She stopped.
"Tell me what?" he prompted.
"I… I don't know if there is really any need," she said. "That is, perhaps my fears are groundless, and-" Cranwell jumped impatiently to his feet. "Sarah," he said, "will you please just tell me- What now?"
These last words were spoken irritably as there was a hasty knock at the door. Whoever was outside did not wait for an answer but swung the door inward without a pause. Joshua Stonewall's head appeared around it.
"Ah, Cranwell," he said, coming right inside the room. "Sorry to interrupt you, old boy, but this can't wait."
Sarah rose hastily to her feet, but Joshua held up a restraining hand.
"No, Miss Fifield, don't leave," he said. "Normally I would speak privately to Cran, but this seems to concern you as well."
Sarah sat down again and looked at him with a puzzled frown.
Joshua looked hastily from one to the other of them. "Cran," he asked, "do you have any idea why Lady Hannah would have been driving off with Winston Bowen in a hired carriage?"
There was silence for a moment. Then Cranwell moved.
"I suppose there could be any number of reasons, Josh," he said. "Perhaps Hannah has some purchases to make in the village and Bowen has been kind enough to convey her there."
"She had a large valise with her," Joshua said. "And they did not drive away from the house, Cran. They were walking when I saw them, beyond the river and behind the trees. I was about to hail them when they turned off the path and scrambled up to the road. I thought it extremely peculiar. Then I saw that there was a carriage waiting there. They climbed inside, and it drove off."
The other two occupants of the library stared at him. He looked at them apologetically.
"I am sorry, Miss Fifield," he said. "I hope the explanation is as simple as Cran suggests.