Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow. Anne O'BrienЧитать онлайн книгу.
participate in the social world with balls and soirées and breakfasts, but she had the distinct impression that someone was watching her. That since they had taken up residence in London again, she was actually being followed. It crept up on her as the days passed. And Sarah could not deny it, however much she might argue against the sense of it, but she felt the force of invisible eyes focused on her. A presence that did not wish her well. The sensation touched her skin with a faint shiver of fear.
Considering that she was surrounded by people, she lectured herself, it was a ridiculous presumption. Her new family, the servants with whom she had once worked. The ton who noted the return of the Faringdons with interest and idle speculation at the sudden marriage. But still Sarah felt the brush of more than interested eyes when she took the children into the gardens in the Square, when she visited Hookham’s Lending Library, when she gazed in the windows in Bond Street or walked to Grosvenor Square to visit Judith or Thea. Even in the crowds of Hyde Park at the fashionable hour when Joshua drove her round in his curricle.
The tingle of being spied upon would not go away.
Foolish! She was quickly impatient with herself. Of course it could not be so. Yet she was still uneasy and sought for reasons why it might be, why someone might have an interest in her. There was certainly one possibility that came to mind with a terrible clarity. Was it Edward? Sir Edward Baxendale, her brother, who lived in genteel, resentful and bitter poverty and had proved his willingness to take any action, however disreputable, to increase the funds at his disposal. Now that she had married a man in possession of a fortune, Edward might see an opportunity to make new demands on her. If that were so, she could not possibly tell Joshua of her suspicions. She would do nothing to resurrect old memories.
But if it were Edward, why did he need to have her followed? Why not simply write and demand money, a brother’s begging letter to his wealthy sister? It just did not make sense.
So it was all in her imagination. And she saw no need whatsoever to tell Joshua of her fears.
Until one afternoon when they were returning to Hanover Square with Beth and John in their landau, taking advantage of the mild sunshine after a week of rain. As they drew up before the steps, Sarah quickly turned her head, her attention caught by the smallest of movements. Was that a shadow of a man within the darker shadows of the trees and ornamental bushes behind the iron railings? Did he draw back to merge with the deeply dappled light as they came to a halt?
‘What is it?’ Joshua asked, aware of the sudden stiffening of her spine, her fixed gaze.
‘Nothing really. Just a…’ Her eyes continued to search the gardens.
‘Tell me.’ Was that the slightest edge to his voice?
‘I just had the sensation that someone was watching me…us.’ Her glance back again over her shoulder toward the garden could not but betray her anxiety. ‘Do you think it could be so?’
‘No.’ His hesitation was so slight as to be indiscernible. He smiled briefly, touched her hand fleetingly. ‘Just chance—there is nothing to hurt you here. Put it out of your mind, my dear.’ Joshua deliberately smoothed the crease from between his brows, intent on preserving an untroubled exterior. So Sarah was being followed, was she? There was only one man who might be involved in such an activity towards himself and his family. He would think about it and its implications when alone; they did not immediately spring to mind. But he would take steps to stop it if it became necessary.
‘Of course. How foolish I am.’ Sarah returned his smile in apology. Besides, she was wary of saying more for fear of sharp-eyed, sharp-eared Beth picking up the conversation. And Joshua, in truth, probably had the right of it.
The moment passed.
But as Sarah and Beth climbed the stairs together, Joshua having taken John with him to oversee the stabling of the horses, the little girl leaned close.
‘I saw him too, Mama. A man in a dark coat.’ Then ran on ahead.
Which consolidated all Sarah’s fears.
* * *
And then the rumours started.
Gently at first. Softly. Whispered in withdrawing rooms throughout fashionable London.
Then more loudly, insistently. Behind fans, sly hands, turned heads. In Hyde Park. At Almack’s. At private parties. Wherever the ton met. Eyes glinting in greedy interest, a delectable scandal to enliven the most tedious of gatherings. No one knew whence the information came, but everyone was prepared to discuss and speculate and claim that, of course, they knew it to be true beyond doubt. They had always known that there was room for suspicion when that name was spoken…
The details of the scandal were fairly complete from the very beginning. But embroidered with possibilities as the days passed. Until the nasty little rumours came perforce to the ears of Judith and Lady Beatrice, as such rumours must, when they attended a select little soirée at the home of one who might have been considered a friend. She was quick to acquaint them with the details. Horrified, Lady Beatrice Faringdon and the Countess of Painscastle held a council of war in Grosvenor Square on the following morning to compare notes and discuss their response. Considering the dangerous aspect of the content, and their close connection with the main target, the scandal could not be ignored.
The first Lady Joshua Faringdon, those in the know stated, a French lady of considerable charm and elegance, was dead. Nothing new or of moment here. Had died some years previously in France. But not of some virulent and fatal disease as all had been led to understand. Would you believe it? She had been murdered.
But who had committed the foul deed?
Well, who, of course? Did it need to be spelled out?
It had been heard on very good, but unnamed, authority that the lady was involved in a passionate love affair with an aristocrat at the Bourbon Court where she had been murdered in a fit of uncontrolled fury by her jealous husband. Lord Joshua Faringdon. A pistol shot to the heart, no less. Her husband had then summarily disposed of her body, leaving everyone in England to believe that she had sickened, been buried and grieved over in France.
‘I don’t believe it!’ stated Judith unequivocally after discussing the outrageous suggestion with her mama. For once the teacups sat neglected between them, the elegant little plate of macaroons abandoned.
‘No. Of course not.’ The far-from-doting mama might believe much of her son but not murder. ‘It is impossible to even contemplate so disgraceful a possibility.’
‘But where would such a rumour begin?’
‘I have no idea.’ Lady Beatrice fixed her daughter with an expression of deep concern. ‘And you must admit, Judith, there are some difficult areas here for the family.’
‘What? Surely, Mama, you will give no weight to this terrible accusation? You might suspect Sher of being too thoughtless with the family name and we know for a fact that he has had any number of mistresses under his protection—there is no need to frown at me! Everyone knows it—but murder!’
‘Of course not, Judith! Try not to be foolish. But think. A sudden disease to strike down a healthy young woman. We were not there. Have we ever seen the grave? No, we have not. Does Joshua ever talk about it? No, he does not. The whole affair gives me an uneasy feeling.’
‘Sher would never murder his wife. He would not murder anyone! I will accept no truth in it.’
‘Neither will I. But I wish your brother would not play his cards quite so close to his chest!’ Lady Beatrice could envisage her next meeting with some of her fashionable associates over a glass of ratafia and did not enjoy the prospect. ‘It is difficult to know what to say when one is as much in the dark as the town tabbies.’
‘A ridiculous suggestion!’ was the only opinion given by Nicholas when he and Theodora called at the Painscastle residence and were drawn into the discussion. ‘You cannot possibly give it any credence.’
‘Will you talk to Sher?’ Theodora asked of