IN BROCK Street Fanny was pouring the tea that Mrs. Bergland had just brought into the salon. She insisted on doing so, explaining that it would be extremely awkward for Sarah to pour while propped on one elbow.
"And I have poured for George since I was a mere child," Fanny explained. "He has been my guardian since I was very young, and he always insisted that I was the lady of the house."
"That is most kind of you," Sarah said, "though I am sure it would do no real harm to swing my legs to the floor during your visit. My ankle really does feel very much better."
"Oh, you must not do that, Miss Fifield," Hannah said anxiously. "Papa always says that people do not look after their injuries properly and suffer all sorts of ailments later in life, like rheumatism. My friend Donald caught his hand beneath a horse's hoof two years ago and hurt it. He would not see a physician. But he has never been able to straighten out one of his fingers since. Papa says he must have broken the finger."
"Yes," Fanny agreed, "you really must behave yourself, Miss Fifield, and keep your foot up or Lady Murdoch will find out and tell Hannah's grandmama, and then she will say we are a bad influence on you and forbid us to go about alone again."
Sarah smiled. "Have you been using me as an excuse to go out unchaperoned?" she asked.
The two girls exchanged a look, and both giggled. "Grandmama's guests were almost all elderly ladies," Hannah said. "It will doubtless be a most tedious afternoon. We far preferred to come to see you, Miss Fifield."
"Of course," Fanny added with wide, innocent eyes, "we really were concerned about you, you know. It must be dreadful to be confined to a sofa for several days when you are in a place like Bath. Is it not heavenly, even if there are not very many young people here? But you will miss the ball tonight. How will you possibly stand it!"
Sarah took the cup that Hannah had carried over to her and settled into a more comfortable position. She really was enjoying the visit of the two girls, even though she knew she should not be doing so. They were so refreshingly young and eager. Even Hannah, she was surprised to notice, was not the silent, shy girl she had seemed to be when in George's company. She chattered quite freely about her home, her horse, her dog, and her childhood playmates Donald Ferris and his sister Iris. She seemed much more today the seventeen-year-old child that she was.
Fanny was every bit as exuberant as she had seemed on previous meetings. She regaled the other two with stories of mischief from school. Sarah suspected that many of the stories were grossly exaggerated versions of the truth, but she laughed anyway. Fanny also asked many questions.
"Miss Fifield," she said with the lack of tact that only a very young person could show, "you are much older than Hannah and I, are you not? What have you been doing since you left the schoolroom? Why are you not married?"
Sarah gave the girl a searching look and received a blush in return. So the girl did know. She replaced her cup carefully in its saucer.
"I lived in a small village for several years," she said, "very quietly. I tended my house and garden, and helped the vicar with some of his parish work. And I have been living with Lady Murdoch for several weeks now."
"Oh," Fanny said, "did you not find life dreadfully dull?"
Sarah smiled. "No," she said, "I was happy. I do not believe I was intended for a gay social life. I like life in the country. It seems more real."
"You are just like George," Fanny said, and had the grace to blush hotly as the words escaped her.
"I can sympathize with you, Miss Fifield," Hannah said, "but did you live entirely alone?"
"I had one faithful servant," Sarah said.
"I do not believe I could live happily without some animals," Hannah said. "I do so miss my horse and my dog. Dear Argus! And a few close friends are very important too, are they not?" She looked wistful.
"What are your interests, Miss Fifield?" Fanny asked. "You must have many if you have spent so much time alone."
"I like to walk a great deal," Sarah said. "That is one reason why I prefer the countryside. Indoors I read almost anything I can lay my hands on. I particularly enjoy works of history. And of course I do all types of needlework and such. I am netting a purse at present, but I am afraid that today I am being lazy and idle."
Fanny made a face. "Embroidery is about the limit of my accomplishments," she said. "And I would not even do that if George did not insist that I must have at least one ladylike activity. I cannot play the pianoforte because I have ten thumbs, and my voice has been compared-by my dear brother-with a rusty saw. I shall have to make a brilliant match with a wealthy old man who will dote on my youth and not mind my lack of talents."
"Oh, you have a great talent that I envy enormously," Hannah said, leaning forward in her chair and looking earnestly at her future sister-in-law. "You find it so easy to talk to other people and to hold their interest, Fanny. I can never think of anything to say. That is a great talent, you know."
Fanny shrugged. "I never think about it," she said. "My mouth opens and words come out."
The other two laughed, and Hannah rose to take Sarah's cup over to Fanny to be refilled.
"Lord Laing is your cousin," Fanny said, looking back to Sarah. "Did you grow up together?"
Sarah flushed. "After my father died, yes," she said. "My uncle and aunt gave me and my brother a home."
"Was he always so handsome?" Fanny asked. "Hannah and I think he is without a doubt the most gorgeous man we have ever seen. He even puts Captain Penny in the shade, though the captain has all the advantages of his regimental uniform."
Both girls giggled.
"Yes," Sarah said, "Winston was always extremely good-looking, even as a boy."
"I wonder you were not, — hopelessly in love with him," Fanny said. "I would have been if he were my cousin and living in the same house."
"Cousins seem more like brothers under such circumstances," Sarah said quietly.
"Anyway," Hannah added, "love really has very little to do with looks."
"Well," Fanny said, "I mean to set my cap at Lord Laing while we are here. But you must not tell him, of course, Miss Fifield."
"Have you ever been in love, Miss Fifield?" Hannah asked.
Sarah darted a look at Fanny and found the girl watching her with heightened color.
"I suppose so," she said hesitantly. "Yes. Once."
"Oh," Hannah said, her eyes wide with sympathy. "How you must have suffered. It hurts to be separated from someone you love, does it not? At least, I would think it must hurt."
Sarah smiled briefly, and her cup clattered clumsily in her saucer as she set it down.
"Yes, indeed," she said. "But how serious we are becoming. Are you to attend the ball this evening?"
"Oh, yes," Fanny said. "And I have already had my hand solicited for four dances. Of course, one of those is with that droll character Mr. Phelps. Maybe he is the wealthy old man I should ensnare into wedlock. Is he wealthy, do you think?"
The visit continued for a whole hour. Finally Hannah got reluctantly to her feet and looked at Fanny.
"We really have taken up too much of your time, Miss Fifield," she said. "Perhaps you were planning to have a sleep this afternoon. But it has been so lovely to talk with you. I hope your ankle will be better soon so that we can meet again during the days and the evenings. I am so glad that Grandmama knows Lady Murdoch. We might not have met you otherwise."
"I have enjoyed this afternoon far more than I would have liked the tea party," Fanny said. "You are so much different, Miss Fifield, from what I… You are different from what I would expect a red-haired lady to be. One expects bad temper, I suppose," she ended lamely.
The room seemed very quiet after they had left. Sarah sat listening to a bird chirping outside the window for several minutes. She should not have enjoyed the visit. She should not have allowed it to continue for so long. She should have frozen them out long ago. She could not feel guilty for having given them admittance. She had had no choice. Winston had been in the hallway when they were admitted, and he had brought them into the room himself.
She had wanted to obey George on this one issue. And even had he not given the command, her own sense of propriety made her wish to avoid contact with these two particular girls. But she had enjoyed their visit and had encouraged it to continue for a whole hour.
It was only now that she realized how starved she had been of friends in her own age range. She had never had women friends, except Mrs. Clarence, who was much older than she. And she liked these two girls. It had struck her several times during the afternoon that Fanny had been her sister-in-law for a brief time and might still be so if circumstances had only been different. She would have liked to have such a sister.
And she liked Hannah, though she had not expected to do so. The thought of the girl-or any other-with George, sharing his thoughts, his dreams, his bed, was one that she did not care to dwell on. And she did not think the woman existed who was good enough for him. No one else would ever know him or understand him as she had done for a brief time. But Hannah was a sweet and a likable girl. She was certainly not insipid, as she had perhaps appeared to be at first.
What was really disturbing was the fact that both girls seemed to like her. Sarah could not understand why that was. She had made no particular effort to appear agreeable to them. And if she thought about the matter, it seemed strange to her that anyone could like her. Their feelings certainly complicated matters. It might not be enough when she was sufficiently well to go out again to, try to keep her distance from them. What if they actively sought her out? How could she avoid the meetings without being downright rude? What would George think? Do?
For the first time Sarah began to think that perhaps she should make plans for leaving Lady Murdoch after all. Should she write again to the London papers and try to obtain a position as a governess or even as a companion? How could she do so, though? Such a move would hurt Lady Murdoch terribly. Sarah knew that she was already very important to the old lady's happiness. Should she just disappear and hope that later she could find some employment? She wanted to put the whole idea from her mind, but she was aware that she must be prepared for some such move. At any time some circumstance might force her to leave the life in which she had just been starting to feel secure.
There was another problem too, Sarah thought, suddenly remembering Fanny's announcement that she was going to set her cap at Winston. How disastrous that would be. Especially as Winston had set out to woo her. The girl's heart would be very vulnerable, and Winston seemed to have a gift for winning female hearts. He would marry her too, doubtless. She must be a very wealthy girl, and wealth was the one criterion by which Winston would choose a bride.
But Sarah could not allow it to happen. Winston would be a terrible husband. He would surely neglect the girl for other women, and he would squander her money on gambling until there was nothing left. Perhaps he would be no worse than a thousand other husbands, but Fanny was George's sister. She could not allow it to happen. And Winston was unprincipled, he had no moral sense at all. He was totally insensitive to other people's feelings, yet equally unaware of his own insensitivity.
Yet how was she to prevent such a marriage from taking place? And did she have the right, anyway? But she knew that her uneasiness over the possibility would make it that much harder for her to leave Bath. She might be dooming the young and exuberant Fanny to a life of misery with a handsome fiend if she did.
And she was undoubtedly dooming herself to a great deal of unwanted attention if she stayed, again by Winston. He had come earlier in the afternoon, so soon after Lady Murdoch left that it seemed almost as if he must have been lying in wait outside. Of course, she was stupid to have been surprised. Although she had given him no encouragement the evening before, she should have known by now that Winston did not need encouragement.
He had come to inquire after her health, of course. And he seated himself beside her on the sofa as he had done the evening before. But he quickly moved on to other topics.
"I really am concerned about you, you know, Sarah," he said, all serious sincerity. "I hate to think of you alone here, no one to keep you company."
"Like you, Win?" she asked with a fleeting smile. "I had Lady Murdoch's company all morning. She refused to go out and leave me alone. I am not lonely."
"But the company of an elderly lady cannot be very stimulating," he said, his face moving imperceptibly closer to hers. "I shall stay with you for a while, anyway, Sarah."
"That is most kind of you, Win," she said. "If you get up and ring for Mrs. Bergland, she will bring you some refreshments, I am sure."
"I need none," he said. "You are refreshment enough for me." And he put his arm across her body and laid it on the sofa along her side so that his hand rested against her breast.
"Take your hand away, Win," she said calmly. "You know that I will not allow that."
He sighed. "Are you never going to admit that you need me, Sarah?" he asked. "If it is Cranwell you are hankering after, you must have realized by now that the situation is hopeless. He will be married to that mousy little chit by Christmas."
"Take your hand away, Win," she repeated.
"Sarah." His face loomed over hers and his elbow moved in closer against her hip. "Don't keep fighting me. You know that you need me. I do not believe that you feel nothing at all. Let me kiss you."
"I warn you, Win," Sarah said, "that if you come one inch closer I shall scream. I know that only Mrs. Bergland will hear, but you may find the situation embarrassing, nonetheless. Let me go now."
He sat up, removed his arm, and grinned at her. "You certainly like to play hard to get, Sarah, don't you?" he said. "Perhaps that is why I have never tired of you. Most females cling and whine as soon as they sense that I am tiring of them. You never did admit that you wanted me, did you?"
"No, I never did," she agreed.
He stood up suddenly and walked over to the window to stare down on the street. "Old Lady Murdoch must have plenty of blunt if she can afford lodgings on this street," he said. "Why, you are almost on the Crescent, Sarah."
She did not deign to answer.
"What has she said about her will?" he continued. "She must have given the matter some thought. Has she said anything, Sarah?"
"If she had," Sarah replied, "I would not be likely to confide in you, Win."
He turned to face her, a smile on his face. "You really have developed quite a tongue," he said. "Will you come away with me, Sarah? I would leave with you now if you were willing to go. We could travel around together until there are enough people in London to make it worth going there. I could rent a nice little house for you there. It would be far better than living here with a vulgar old lady, waiting for someone to realize who you are."
"You must be very much in debt here if you are prepared to leave," Sarah said.
"Now, Sarah," he scolded, "I was thinking of your welfare. Actually, I am quite content to stay here. I have prospects. The Montagu girl, for example."
Sarah looked sharply up at him, to find him grinning.
"Are you jealous?" he asked. "She is a very fetching little thing, you know. I would find it most amusing to engage her affections."
"You would not do so," she said.
He raised his eyebrows. "Why ever not?" he asked. "I imagine I must be considered quite a matrimonial catch since inheriting the title. And there is another on the way as soon as grandpapa decides to give up the ghost. I do not believe that her brother would object to such a match."
His eyes were laughing at her.
"Win, please," she said, realizing the hopelessness of pleading even as she began, "leave the girl alone. You have caused enough trouble in that family already."
He laughed outright. "I have caused trouble?" he said. "I was not the one who foolishly thought to get away with marrying the Duke of Cranwell, my girl. You belonged to me. You were fortunate that I was not a great deal more angry than I was, Sarah. Your face might not still be as pretty as it ever was. No, I have caused no trouble to that family. And I have no intention of causing any now. My intentions are entirely honorable."
"Why are you telling me this, Win?" she asked suspiciously. "Are you not afraid that I will tell the whole to his grace?"
"No." He laughed. "I hardly think you are likely to reopen that topic with him, my dear. And it seems very unlikely that he would believe you anyway. I imagine he has a lowish opinion of your morals. No, you will say nothing, Sarah. Of course, if you really find the prospect of my marrying the delectable Fanny so unpalatable, you can always run away with me now and take me away from her sphere."
"Oh," she said, anger flaring, "is that what this has been all about? My compliance in return for your leaving Lady Fanny alone. Is that it, Win?"
He laughed again. "Sarah, you always paint me in the blackest colors, do you not?" he said. "The situation is as I say. I want you. I want to go away with you now and spend the rest of the summer and autumn with you alone, making love to you whenever I feel the urge. That is what I want. I love you, as I have told you numerous times over the last years. If I cannot have what I want, then I shall seek the next best thing, which happens to be Lady Fanny Montagu. Of course, I shall have to offer her marriage. Either way, Sarah, I shall continue to want you. And I think that eventually you will admit to yourself that you want me too."
"You had better leave Win," she had said wearily. "I need to rest."
He had come across the room to stand over her. His face had been serious once more. "Think about it, Sarah," he had said. "If you become my mistress again now, you may not have to share me with a wife for a long time. Perhaps never if Lady Murdoch does what she ought to do. We might even be able to marry in the future. Think about it."
Before she realized his intention, he leaned down over her and kissed her firmly on the mouth. She was still shuddering and rubbing her mouth with the back of one hand when a knock came at the door and Mrs. Bergland could be heard crossing the hall to open it. Winston went out into the hallway too, and a minute later he ushered in Fanny and Hannah. He was his most charming self for the few minutes he remained before taking his leave.
Lady Murdoch was full of enthusiasm for her afternoon spent at Laura Place. But what seemed to gratify her most of all was the fact that Sarah had not had to spend a solitary afternoon after all.
"How kind it was of those girls to call on you, Sarah dear, was it not," she said, "when they might have stayed and been entertained by all the visitors who called? Not but what it would have been unpleasant for them to be here. I am sure you entertained them just as well here as they would have been there. And it is only right that they should cultivate your friendship, you being as good as my daughter, you know."
Sarah dutifully agreed that indeed it had been most kind.
"Lady Cavendish is most taken with you too," Lady Murdoch continued. "She would have called on you herself this afternoon, she said, if it would not have appeared most strange for all the hostesses to disappear from the tea party at once. But you must admit, my dear, that such a move would not have been the most decorous behavior."
Sarah most certainly agreed.
"Lady Hannah was telling his grace what a pleasant afternoon she and Lady Fanny had here," the older lady went on. "I am sure he must be gratified, dear, for that young lady does appear to be very shy and does not make friends easily."
"Oh," Sarah said casually, "was he there?"
"He came just before the young ladies returned from here," Lady Murdoch said. "I am sure Bertha was well satisfied to have a duke present in her drawing room when most of her guests were still there."
"Yes," Sarah agreed.
"He did not stay long, though," Lady Murdoch continued. "He had to take his sister to make some forgotten purchases, though I am not at all sure that any shops would still have been open. Not that I know for sure, of course, being as we always make our purchases in the morning and have never had to discover if the shops stay open late or not. I daresay they are still open if his grace thought of taking his sister shopping. He should know. Though as for that, he is no more from Bath than we are, and indeed has been here for only a few days. Is it two or three?"
Sarah's mind had wandered. Why the sudden shopping trip? Was Fanny to receive a lecture and orders never to visit her again? There seemed to be little doubt that Fanny knew who Sarah was. The girl was not practiced in deceit. She had given away her knowledge more than once during her visit. Perhaps George was hoping to have more success with his sister than with his former wife.
Sarah was not far wrong in her surmise. Cranwell had brought his coach with him to Laura Place, and as soon as he could courteously leave Lady Cavendish's party, he reminded Fanny of the gloves she had promised to help him choose. There had been no such promise, of course, but he credited Fanny with enough presence of mind to know that he wished to talk privately with her. He was quite correct.
The coachman was given instructions to drive for one hour in whatever direction he chose. Cranwell drew the velvet curtains across the windows and had no idea where the coach was actually taken.
"I recognize all the signs, George," Fanny said cheerfully. "I gather I am in for a thundering scold."
He settled into one corner of the carriage and regarded her steadily. "Then you must know on what grounds too," he said.
"Oh," she said, "I suppose it is because I visited Miss Fifield this afternoon."
"Why did you do so, Fan?" he asked.
"I am intrigued by the fact that she was my sister-in-law," Fanny said, looking her brother straight in the eye. "I wish to get to know her."
"You know that such a wish is most improper," he said.
"Why?" Fanny had a disconcerting way of turning aggressor when she was being scolded. Cranwell always dreaded their not-infrequent confrontations. "Just because she is a divorced woman, George? You are a divorced man, but no one ever suggests that it is improper to associate with you."
"I am afraid that is just the way our society works," Cranwell said.
"Well, it just does not seem fair to me," Fanny said.
Cranwell sighed. "Fan," he said, "we have had similar arguments to this one numerous times recently. You are a woman now, and you must learn to live with the fact that life is not always fair. It is only children who expect it to be so."
Fanny's jaw tightened. "So," she said, "the only reason I am to avoid Miss Fifield is that she is divorced?"
"There is also the fact that she is my divorced wife," her brother added. "That makes your association with her doubly imprudent, Fan."
"Give me another reason," she said. "You would never tell me what happened, George. You always used to say that I was too young to understand. Well, you just said that I am a woman now. Tell me what happened. Perhaps then I shall see good reason to do as you say."
"I am still your guardian," Cranwell said, his face setting into hard lines. "I do not have to give reasons for you to do as I say."
"Nonsense," Fanny said. "We are not living in the Middle Ages. And what will you do to me anyway if I disobey you? You gave up spanking me when I was twelve years old."
"I prefer not to live by threats," her brother replied. "Please do as I say, Fan, just because I am your brother and your guardian."
"Oh," she complained, "it is not fair. When you get serious and reasonable like this, George, it is so hard to resist you. Your manner is designed to put me so much in the wrong. But I must resist you on this. I met Miss Fifield this afternoon and I liked her greatly. She has a dignity and a maturity that I admire. And until she started to live with Lady Murdoch a mere few weeks ago, she lived quietly in the country, reading and walking and doing needlework. At least, that is what she said, and I see no reason to disbelieve her. What did she do that was so heinous?"
Cranwell swallowed and stared at the empty seat across from him. "I cannot discuss it," he said. "I can only say that it was something I could not forgive and felt that I ought not to forgive."
Fanny was silent for a while. "I am sorry, George," she said, "but even for you I cannot judge another person harshly without having observed for myself or been given proof that I should do so."
"I see." Cranwell's voice was tight and cold. "You will not avoid her, then?"
"No," Fanny said. Her voice was small and not at all triumphant. "I cannot, George. I am sorry. You loved her once, did you not? I think you must have, for I remember how unhappy you were for a long time afterward. There must have been something to love, or I do not believe that you would have felt as you did."
They rode side by side in silence for long minutes, both unhappy and unyielding. Cranwell spoke first.
"You took Hannah there too," he said. "That I find hard to forgive.", "It was her idea to go," Fanny said. "What was I to do? Tell her?"
"My God!" he said passionately. "Think about it, Fan. My divorced wife and my intended wife in a room together, becoming friends."
"I cannot be expected to do anything to prevent that," Fanny said. "Hannah is a person in her own right. I am not even any older than she — is, to be giving her advice."
"You are right," he said abruptly. "It seems that I have been inactive for several days hoping that other people would solve the problem for me. Sarah has let me down. You have let me down. It is time I did something myself."
Fanny waited to be told what it was he planned to do. She sat looking at him expectantly for several minutes. But she waited in vain. The Duke of Cranwell propped one foot on the seat opposite, rested an elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, and withdrew into deep thought.
She was clearly more dangerous than he had realized. She was weaving her spell around Fanny and Hannah just as skillfully as she had manipulated him years ago. Hannah had been more talkative for a few minutes after returning from the visit to her than he had ever known her to be. And the talk had been all admiration for Sarah. And Sarah had convinced Fanny that she had lived an exemplary life in the last several years. Fanny was growing to like her even though she had every reason not to do so. A night before, Sarah had even drawn sympathy from him for a few unguarded moments.
Why? Why would she wish to ingratiate herself with his connections? Was it merely that she took fiendish glee in upsetting his life? Was she trying to wreak some sort of vengeance for the unpleasant publicity he had caused her through the divorce? He would probably never know the answer. People of such devious minds as Sarah's totally eluded his understanding. And it was very easy to be deceived by such people. That was what made them so dangerous.
He would have to do something to remove Sarah Fifield far from his presence and that of his sister and his fiancee. And he must act soon. No more hesitancy and halfhearted hopes that the problem would solve itself.