Regency Christmas Vows. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
roses and quite another for her to be weighed down with cauliflower and lettuce. She moved to open the door for Sarah and espied the portly figure of a gentleman just passing the gate. ‘Why, ma’am, ’tis Mr Tilbury! If you are quick to catch him up, he may escort you to the shops!’
‘Thank you for warning me, Annie,’ Sarah said serenely. ‘If I walk very slowly, I am persuaded he will lose himself ahead of me! I just pray that he does not turn around!’
Mrs Anderson shook her head as she watched Sarah’s trim figure descend the steps and set off slowly up Brock Street towards the Circus. There was no accounting for taste, but to her mind a marriage to a rich gentleman like Mr Tilbury was far preferable to being a poor spinster. Unfortunately, Miss Sheridan seemed too particular to settle for a marriage of convenience. Mr Tilbury was older, a widower with grown-up children, and if he were a little dull and set in his ways, well…
Mrs Anderson closed the door, noticing in the process that the housemaid had left a smear on the polished step. She walked slowly back towards the kitchens, still thinking of Miss Sheridan’s suitors. Bath was a staid place and could not offer much in the way of excitement, but there had been several retired army officers who would have been only too happy to offer for Miss Sheridan if she had given them the least encouragement. And then there was Sir Edmund Place—an invalid, with a weak chest, but a rich one! And there had been young Lord Grantley—very young, Mrs Anderson admitted to herself, barely off the leading reins, in fact, but infatuated with Miss Sheridan and no mistake! Old Lady Grantley had soon whisked her lamb out of harm’s way, declaring to all and sundry that Miss Sheridan was a designing female! Mrs Anderson bridled. Miss Sarah was more of a lady than Augusta Grantley would ever be!
Still, there was always hope. Cook’s sister, who was Lady Allerton’s housekeeper, had overheard her ladyship mention that a number of new visitors had been listed in the Bath Register, chief amongst whom was Viscount Renshaw, son of the Earl of Woodallan. Not just that, but his lordship was rumoured to be staying with his good friend Greville Baynham, one of Lady Amelia’s beaux…Still plotting, Mrs Anderson called for the housemaid and made some pungent remarks about the slovenliness of her cleaning.
The subject of these musings, completely unaware that her cousin’s matchmaking staff had plans for her, had purchased two very pretty pink ribbons for the bodice of Amelia’s ballgown and was just leaving the florist with her arms full of specially cultivated roses. No matter how she tried to avoid it, the events of the past hour kept flooding back into Sarah’s mind. A niece of seventeen! And she was only four and twenty herself! Frank, her senior by eleven years, had begun his womanising young. He had always been one with an eye for the prettiest maids. And who had been Olivia’s mother? Sarah paused on the street corner. Surely it had not been the doctor’s prim little wife? Mrs Meredith had been so very proper…
Aware that she was speculating in a most ill-bred manner, Sarah smiled a little. She was certain that Churchward had been shocked by her lack of sensibility when acquainted with the news! Engrossed in her thoughts, she stepped off the pavement and someone bumped into her, knocking all the breath out of her body. The roses went flying across the cobblestones. Sarah lost her balance and would have fallen were it not for an arm that went hard around her waist, steadying her.
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am!’ a masculine voice exclaimed. ‘Devilish clumsy of me!’
The gentleman set Sarah gently on her feet and removed his arm from about her with what she considered to be unnecessary slowness. He turned to gather up the scattered flowers, but he was too late. A carriage, bowling along at a smart pace, neatly severed the heads of half of them.
‘Oh, no!’ Sarah went down on her knees again to try to rescue those that were left, but even they were bruised, their petals drooping. Amelia would be furious. The red roses were the centrepiece of her decoration the following night and the florist had grown them especially for the event. With all her heart Sarah wished she had left the roses to be brought round later on the cart with the other flowers, but she had been looking forward to walking through the winter streets with such a splash of colour. She sat back on her heels, holding the sad bouquet in her hand.
‘Pray have some sense, madam! You are likely to be squashed flat if you remain in the road!’
The gentleman took Sarah firmly by the elbow and hauled her to her feet again. There was considerably less courtesy in his voice this time.
Sarah stepped back and glared at him furiously. ‘I thank you for your concern, sir! A pity you did not think of the danger before you consigned my roses to precisely that fate!’
The gentleman did not answer at once, merely raising one dark eyebrow in a somewhat quizzical fashion. His thoughtful gaze, very dark and direct, considered Sarah from her skewed bonnet to her sensible shoes, pausing on her flushed face and lingering on the curves of her figure beneath the practical pelisse. Sarah raised her chin angrily. Her experience of gentlemen was indisputably small, but she had no trouble in recognising this one as a rake—nor in reading the expression in his eyes.
His was a tall and athletic figure, set off to perfection by an elegance of tailoring seldom found in conservative Bath society. London polish, Sarah thought immediately, remembering Amelia’s description of her years in the capital and the intimidatingly handsome gentlemen who had flocked to her balls and soirées. This gentleman had thick fair hair ruffled by the winter breeze, its lightness a striking contrast to the dark brown eyes that were appraising her so thoroughly. A slight smile was starting to curl his firm mouth as he took in the angry sparkle in Sarah’s eyes, the outraged blush rising to her cheeks.
‘I can only apologise again, madam,’ the gentleman said smoothly. ‘I was so taken in admiring the beauties of this city—’ the amusement in his eyes deepened ‘—that I was utterly engrossed!’
Sarah felt an answering smile starting and repressed it ruthlessly. There was something here that was surprisingly hard to resist; some indefinable charm, perhaps, or, more dangerously, an affinity that was as disturbing as it was unexpected. The gentleman exuded a careless confidence and a vitality that seemed to set him apart. Bath was full of invalids, Sarah realised, and it was almost shocking to meet someone who seemed so very alive.
The strangest thing of all was that he seemed vaguely familiar. The combination of fair hair and dark eyes was very unusual and definitely stirred her memory. She paused, unaware that she was staring and that the quizzical twinkle in the gentleman’s eyes had changed to thoughtful speculation.
‘I beg your pardon, but have we met before, sir?’ Sarah frowned slightly. ‘There is something familiar—’
Too late, she realised just how he might misinterpret her question. She had been thinking aloud and bit her lip, vexed with herself.
The gentleman’s dark eyebrows rose fractionally and there was a certain cynicism in his drawl as he said, ‘You flatter me, ma’am! I should say that we could be very good friends if you so choose.’
The colour flooded into Sarah’s cheeks. She stopped dead, regardless of curious glances from the other shoppers in Milsom Street.
‘That was hardly my intention, sir! I would scarcely attempt to scrape an acquaintance in so ramshackle a manner, particularly with a gentleman who is an undoubted rake! Your assumptions do you no credit! Good day to you, sir!’
He was already before her as she turned on her heel to leave him standing there.
‘Wait!’ He put out a hand to detain her. ‘Forgive me, ma’am! It was not my intention to offend you!’
Sarah looked pointedly down at his hand on her arm, and he removed it at once. ‘I should have thought that that was precisely what you intended, sir!’
‘No, indeed!’ He would have seemed genuinely contrite were it not for the glint of amused admiration she could see lurking in his eyes. ‘I intended quite otherwise—’ He broke off at the furious light in Sarah’s eyes. ‘You must allow me to apologise for my deplorable manners, ma’am! And for the roses…’ He gave a wry smile to see the drooping posy in Sarah’s hand.