A Worthy Gentleman. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
were all very well in their way—but was it his neglect in making their marriage a true one that had driven Andrea to take her life? Or was there some reason of which he had no knowledge?
Only when he had settled his own mind would he be able to think of making plans for the future.
Chapter Three
‘I am sorry you are not coming with us,’ Sarah said as she kissed Arabella’s cheek that morning. ‘I shall miss you, but I understand why you would rather remain here.’ She glanced at her mother, who was ordering the servants about unnecessarily and hovering in a flustered manner as their baggage was stowed on the coach. ‘I dare say you will be glad to have your home to yourself again, Belle.’
‘No, not at all,’ Arabella assured her with a smile. ‘Mama does fuss a little, I admit, but she means well, Sarah. I know she is anxious for you to marry, but it is because she wants you to be happy—truly happy. And I think you are not.’
‘I am happy enough,’ Sarah told her, avoiding her sympathetic gaze. ‘But I shall not be happy if Mama pushes me into marriage with a man I do not love.’
‘Charles will not allow that, I promise you,’ Arabella said and kissed her cheek. ‘If your mama is difficult, tell us, Sarah. Charles will stand by you, though it is his dearest wish to see you happily settled—but only with the gentleman of your choice.’
‘Thank you, you have been so kind,’ Sarah said. ‘If it were not for you and Nana, I might have died when I was so ill. You took me in when I did not know my own name and made me want to live again.’
‘We are as sisters,’ Arabella said and smiled at her. ‘I know your heart as well as you do, Sarah. I shall not embarrass you, but you must not give up hope, dearest. John is in some kind of trouble at the moment but I am sure that he still cares for you.’
‘Oh, Belle…’ Sarah’s throat was tight with tears. She embraced her sister-in-law once more and then turned as her mother called to her impatiently. ‘I am coming, Mama.’
Their farewells over, Sarah climbed into the carriage after her mother and waved to Arabella from the window. Charles was standing by her side, his arm about her waist. He lifted his hand in salute, then looked down at his wife, bending his head to kiss her briefly on her forehead. They were smiling at each other, lost in their own private world. Sarah sat back against the squabs, a little sigh issuing from her lips.
‘Charles might have come up with us,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘I am sure Arabella would not have minded.’
‘He will come in a few days,’ Sarah said. ‘We do not need him, Mama. We managed well enough in Italy, if you recall.’
‘In Italy we had the Conte to look after us,’ Mrs Hunter said with a touch of asperity. ‘Such a perfect gentleman, such exquisite manners—’
Sarah played with the strings of her velvet reticule. Her mother had not stopped talking about the Conte di Ceasares, and the chance Sarah had wasted, since his letter had arrived.
‘He was very kind,’ Sarah admitted. ‘But I did not love him, Mama. Surely you wish me to be happy?’
‘It is because I wish you to be happy that I am reminding you of what you have lost. You are such a stubborn girl,’ Mrs Hunter said. ‘Well, I am giving you your chance. If you do not take it, you will have only yourself to blame if you sink into a lonely old age, reduced to caring for your nephews and nieces. I shall not always be here for you.’
‘Oh, Mama,’ Sarah said with a smile. ‘You will live for many years yet, I hope.’
‘That is as may be,’ her mother said. ‘Think about your situation if you do not marry, Sarah. Do you always wish to be a guest in other people’s homes? Surely you wish for a home and children?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said. ‘But please allow me time to make up my mind, Mama. I do not wish to make a mistake about something as important as marriage.’
Mrs Hunter gave her a meaningful look. ‘Time is shorter than you think, Sarah. You will be one and twenty in a few months; if you are not careful, you may find yourself left on the shelf.’
Sarah did not answer. She turned to glance out of the window. They had left the estate now and were travelling through open countryside. The moors at this point were wide and slightly undulating with only a few scrubby bushes and stunted trees on the horizon. She glanced back at her mother, who had closed her eyes and, being an indifferent traveller, was possibly already wishing that they were at the end of their journey.
In her heart Sarah knew that her mama was right. Her life would be as empty as the bleak moors if she did not marry. It was perhaps her duty to keep an open mind on the subject of marriage.
‘It is so good to see you again,’ Lady Tate said, giving Sarah a kiss on her cheek. ‘Both Tilda and I have been looking forward to your visit.’
‘Is Tilda here?’ Sarah asked as the housekeeper helped her off with her travelling cloak. ‘It seems ages since you left Italy to come home, Aunt Hester. Arabella sends her love, as does Charles. He is coming up for a few days soon, but Arabella does not wish to travel at the moment.’
‘I had a letter from her,’ Lady Tate said and smiled. Although Sarah was not actually her niece, she had always loved her and they were very close. ‘I shall go down to the country in two months’ time and stay for her confinement.’
‘Sarah, my dearest…’ Tilda came out into the hall then, and Sarah went to greet her as Lady Tate turned to Mrs Hunter. ‘You are here at last. It seems an age since we were together in Italy.’
They embraced and then Tilda accompanied Sarah up to her room, chattering about various invitations that had already come in. Lady Tate had let it be known that her great friend Selina Hunter and her daughter Sarah were to visit her, and, as the Season was just beginning, the cards had begun to pile up.
‘It is good to see you,’ Sarah said. ‘I am glad to see that the scars have healed considerably, Tilda.’
Tilda put a hand to her face and smiled wryly. ‘I was never a great beauty, my dear. The smallpox has not ruined my chances of a great marriage, for I never had any. I am just so grateful to be alive—and I owe that to you, Sarah. Had you not cared for me so devotedly, I am sure I should have died.’
‘I dare say one of the maids would have done all I did,’ Sarah replied modestly. ‘But I did not wish to leave you to a stranger’s care, Tilda.’
‘It was fortunate for me,’ Tilda said. ‘A servant might have cared for me, but not as lovingly, my dear. I shall never forget your kindness and, if ever I may be of service to you…’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah said and shook her head. She did not wish Tilda to feel obliged to her. ‘But I do not think there is anything I need—except a suitable husband. Mama is still cross with me because I refused the Conte in Italy—but though I liked him very well, I did not love him.’
‘There was someone else,’ Tilda said and frowned. ‘Mr Elworthy married, did he not? I think he is a widower of some months now.’
‘Yes, I have seen John,’ Sarah said and her eyes clouded with disappointment. ‘I believe he is still grieving for his wife.’
‘I do not think it was a love match between them,’ Tilda said and looked thoughtful. She had heard some disturbing rumours concerning Mr Elworthy quite recently, but did not know whether to believe them. She would certainly say nothing to Sarah for the moment. ‘It may be that he thinks you still prefer not to marry, my dear.’
‘Perhaps…’ Sarah wrinkled her smooth brow. ‘Yet I do not believe he can have thought that…Perhaps it is just too soon.’ Perhaps she had misunderstood him and he had never cared for her as more than a friend.
‘Too soon for propriety? Yes, he may think that, because he has always been