“Let him down carefully,” Sarah instructed Cauley as she stood beside the chaise lounge under the shade of an old oak behind the manor. One of her favourite spots, it had a view of her herb garden to one side and the flower garden to the other. In the distance bright sunshine danced on a large circular lake.
“Take care not to bump—”
“Sarah, leave the poor fellow be,” Hadleigh cajoled. His delight to be outdoors overrode any embarrassment.
“Never ye mind, m’lady, we’ll have him right and tight in a wink.” Cauley deposited his burden with deceptive ease.
Behind the party stood Darton who held a pair of crutches with an aggrieved air.
The valet turned and took both with one huge hand and laid them on the ground close to the chaise. Straightening, he eyed the blanket in Lady Edgerton’s hands. “Mr. Tarr don’t need thet. ‘Tis fair warm. There’s nary a breeze.”
“He is right, Sarah,” Hadleigh agreed. “Find some other use for the blanket.”
“Good day for a picnique,” Cauley offered.
“Darton, can our nuncheon be served here?” asked Hadleigh.
“O’course, sir,” Cauley interjected. “No trouble.”
“But I—” Sarah objected, afraid she would betray herself if left alone with Hadleigh.
The valet interrupted. “T’will be nothing at all.” He put a hand against the butler’s back and hurried him away.
Hadleigh’s gaze lingered on Sarah as she stared after the retreating servants with a hint of alarm. “I promise to do nothing that will distress you,” he assured her. He touched Sarah’s arm.
“Put the blanket aside, and draw a chair close.” When she stared blankly at him, a teasing glint came into his eyes. “Come, there are four chairs. Surely one of them will suit?”
Sarah loosed a nervous laugh. She tossed the blanket on the table and sat in the chair farthest from the chaise. His hurt puzzlement tweaked her. Sarah strengthened her resolve. The danger did not lie in him.
“My father used to fish there with Sir Rufus,” Sarah said with a wave at the lake. “He said it was a cheat the good Lord would understand.”
“Cheat?” Hadleigh asked, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
Sarah thought again how absurdly young he looked without his beard. Far younger than she.
Though his eyes were less turbulent in the light-heartedness of the moment, she saw the shadows that never left them. His weeks of pain had imprinted his features with severity. She stifled the urge to reach out and smooth those lines away.
“Sarah?”
Caught daydreaming, she twittered. “What?”
“What were you thinking? Surely you do not practice Latin names?” he half-scolded.
“Of course not.” She looked to the safer view of the lake.
Hadleigh studied her. He longed to put her at ease. “What did your father mean about a cheat?”
“He thought fishing should be done beside a stream after he tramped through fields and woods. When my brother and I were young, he often took us to his favourite stream.”
Hadleigh leaned back in the chaise lounge and crossed his arms. “You have a brother?”
Sarah looked at him as he had intended. Realizing this, a rueful smile curved her lips. “Do you also have one?”
“No, but André is like one. This brother of yours must be a younger brother. His name?”
“He is younger. But why are you so certain?” Her eyes lit with a sudden thought. “Perhaps you know him. Michael Leonard. He is an underclerk for Undersecretary Brimsley at the War Office.”
“Michael Leonard,” Hadleigh repeated. “I have never been to the War Office.” He stiffened. “Have you—”
“Written him about you? No.” Sarah’s gaze turned quizzical. “Why did you say he must be a younger brother?”
Hadleigh chuckled. A low cough followed. He grimaced annoyance. “How else could you have gotten so abominably out-of-hand? An older brother would not have let that happen.”
“Out-of-hand,” Sarah blustered, annoyed at the warmth that rose to her cheeks. “André has not done well by you, sir.”
“But he is younger than I by four years.” Hadleigh grinned. “Though at one and twenty he thinks he knows much more than I,” he added with brotherly candour.
“Then I doubt he has ever seen your white beard. Perhaps you should not have had Cauley shave it off,” she replied tartly to hide her dismay. Eight impossible years stood between them.
Hadleigh wondered at her sudden change of mood. “Are there reprehensible Leonards in the family tree?”
She shook her head and looked back to the lake. After several moments Sarah returned to his first question. “My father oft chided Sir Rufus about the lake being a cheat but it was a jest between them. Father found it painful to walk. He limped rather badly the last year of his life.
“Late one March night,” she explained, “a barking dog caused his horse to shy when he went to return from a birth. His leg broke near the knee. It was a very cold night, but the leg was so swollen by the time he was found it was difficult to set. It did not heal well. Gil unfairly blamed himself.”
“Gil?” A twinge of jealousy sharpened his tone. “Do you mean Crandall?”
“Oh, I have been remiss,” Sarah said archly. “It is Gilmar Crandall. Do not call him Gilmar though. He dislikes it.”
“You know each other well,” Hadleigh said flatly. “Has he always lived here?”
“He came to Lewes ten years ago. A friend of father’s in London knew he wanted someone to take over his practice and suggested Gil.” She hesitated, then continued, “Father died just a little over two years after he took Gil as partner.”
Sarah’s nervous fingering of her wedding band drew Hadleigh’s gaze. “You married Sir Rufus shortly after your father’s death?”
Rising, Sarah took a few steps towards the lake so that her back was to Hadleigh. “Yes, he knew I had nowhere to go and only a small inheritance. My brother was still at Oxford and—and Amabelle needed a mother. It was a kindness on his part.”
Sharp steps rapped across the flagstone path that led from the house. Sarah broke off, relieved. Then she saw a belligerent Elminda bearing down on them.
“I did not believe Darton. You out here with that person,” Elminda motioned at Hadleigh, “and Molly not with you. Lady Edgerton, I have warned you oft about local gossip.”
Sarah stepped protectively towards Hadleigh. “It is kind of you to call, Elminda. May I present Hadleigh Tarr?
“Mr. Tarr, my sister-in-law, Miss Elminda Edgerton.”
Hadleigh saw the stern disapproval and flashed a tight smile. “Good day, Miss Edgerton. I apologize for being unable to stand. I hope you will forgive me for that solecism.”
The Oxford accent and the gaunt face, which told of his suffering, gave Elminda pause. Then she recalled a past suiter, Mr. Harrowood. He, too, had been well spoken and had proven a penniless inheritance-seeking schoolmaster.
She turned to Sarah. “The vicar sends greetings and the wish that you will attend Sunday services.”
Sarah motioned to a chair and sat. “Darton and Cauley will bring a light nuncheon soon, Elminda. Would you join us?”
“Yes, please do,” Hadleigh added. “Lady Edgerton lacks company other than mine.”
A haughty assessing stare travelled from Sarah to Hadleigh and back. Elminda arched a brow and spoke as if only her sister-in-law were present. “Surprisingly shrewd of you to invite me, Sarah. But I refuse to give cachet to so irregular an arrangement. You should have removed this person from Sir Rufus’ home weeks ago.”
Warming to her subject she added, “Squire Buckley said all along that the fellow should have been held at Lewes until it could be discovered just who and what he is. Neither the squire nor I believe this fustian that he does not recall what occurred or who he is. I, for one, am tired of defending you.”
Her sharp demeaning tone angered Hadleigh. Her words alarmed him. What had Sarah dealt with these weeks past besides his care? He saw Sarah gaze at her sister-in-law with her usual calm and bit his tongue to still a retort.
“Elminda, I have apologized. Please take nuncheon with us,” Sarah placated.
“I will not partake of any meal while he is in this house. You do no honour to my brother’s memory, Sarah. I am most distressed. This man is just another money-grasping Harrowood.” She speared Hadleigh with a glare. “You will not have a single penny of my brother’s fortune.”
Hadleigh’s features turned cold. “You are most presumptuous, madam. Indeed, what reason would I have to wish for any of it?”
Blinking at this unexpected reproof, Elminda fixed her gaze on Sarah. “If you have no consideration for your consequence or reputation, think of your stepdaughter’s.”
“Elminda,” Sarah objected and stood.
“Come to your senses before Amabelle returns home. Rufus would not appreciate your having so little care for his daughter’s reputation.”
“There is no reason to be concerned about Amabelle.”
“I warned Rufus how it would be,” Elminda retorted. “I have done my Christian duty by you too many times. Do not come to me when it plays out just as I have warned you it will.”
Lifting her chin, Miss Edgerton cut Tarrant and sailed back the way she had come, skirts billowing behind her.
“Good God,” Hadleigh exclaimed. “How long have you had to suffer that dragon? How can you be so—so calm at such an affront?”
Sarah sighed unhappily. “With my sainted patience.”
“Sainted patience?” Hadleigh gaped at her sombre nod, then saw her sheepish look. He let loose a bark of laughter.
Sainted patience, her husband’s words. She could only wish it were the truth and not at times pretence. Sarah turned toward the house. “I should go after her.”
“Why? To tell her I am not in the house at the moment?”
An unladylike gurgle of laughter bubbled up.
“Cauley manhandling that harridan must have been quite astonishing.” Hadleigh assumed an aggrieved expression. “And I missed it. Of course, I would not feel its loss if I, ah, had the patience of a—what was it? A saint?”
Sarah burst out laughing.
Hadleigh joined her. He revelled in the warmth that flowed through him. Then he coughed. With a shake of his head he set aside a frisson of anger. “Do not apologize to that ... to Miss Edgerton. She owes you one for her insufferable behaviour.” He turned and eased his left leg off the chaise.
“What do you mean to do?” Sarah asked.
Hadleigh lowered his thickly bandaged right foot to the ground and looked up at Sarah. Her sensuous jasmine fragrance almost undid him. “What gossip was she referring to, Sarah?” he asked. He watched a blush rise.
“It is nothing.” Sarah shook her head. “Please—”
Hadleigh held out his hand. After a long moment Sarah laid hers in it. He drew her closer, looked up at her contritely, and then kissed her hand. “I am sorry to be the cause of such abuse. But, Sarah, do not ever let her speak to you like that again.” Her gentle, sad smile rebuked him.
“You will leave in a short time but I must remain here until Amabelle marries. Elminda lives very near. It would be too awkward for us to be on bad terms.”
“Then I shall apologize—or make her.”
Sarah stepped closer and laid her free hand on Hadleigh’s cheek. “That is—is a very kind thought, Hadleigh. I thank you for it.”
“It is not kindness, Sarah,” he answered curtly. He put his hands on her waist and pulled himself upright. “Let me speak with her.”
Sarah put an arm about Hadleigh to steady him and for a few seconds leaned her head against his shoulder, one hand over his heart. She breathed in the starched crispness of his lawn shirt that mingled with his sandalwood aftershave. At the rapid beat of his heart beneath her hand, her own leapt. Warmth began to rise deep inside her.
Hadleigh looked down at the crown of autumn brown. All his good intentions fled before the warmth that flowed through the thin fabric of her day gown beneath his fingers. An intense awareness of her scent, a mixture of the exotic and the herbal, gripped him.
His breath caught, his body’s reaction was instantaneous. Hadleigh heard Sarah catch her breath. His hand left her waist of its own volition and went to her chin. He tilted her face up. The desire he saw in the depths of her eyes spurred his.
We both want this. I need this, he thought, and captured her lips.
For a moment Sarah stood very still, tightly in check. His lips moved across hers gentle as a butterfly. She lost herself in the heat their movement aroused. When his tongue traced her lower lip, she opened her mouth eager to taste him.
A door slammed.
Hadleigh pulled back. He sank down on the chaise, but captured Sarah’s hands. “I did not—” he began.
Sarah shook her head. He is far from recovery. He is away from everyone who would give him the love and reassurance he needs. I am the older. I must be the wiser. She refused to acknowledge that the kiss had changed everything.
Hadleigh pressed a kiss into her palm. “I—”
“Do not say anything.” Sarah laid a hand against his cheek and tried to master her heart.
A young lady came out the walking hall’s outer door as they gazed at one another. Observing them holding hands, she halted.
Amabelle Edgerton at seven and ten years had just finished her third year at Mrs. Bailey’s Academy for Young Ladies of Quality in Bath. Amabelle possessed a slender yet curvaceous figure. Her locks were brilliant golden curls. Her complexion had often been the subject of poems by her young swains. With blue eyes that sparkled, a pert nose, and high cheekbones attractively enhanced by a sociable smile, she was a beauty. This, and being Sir Rufus’ only child, had made her the centre of attention from birth.
Amabelle harboured no dislike for her stepmother. At ten, the young girl had been prepared to do battle when her father had unexpectedly remarried. But Sarah had not tried to be a mother. She acted like a much older sister, kind and generous. They had reached an amicable understanding while Sir Rufus lived and it continued.
The decision to go to school in Bath was prompted by Amabelle’s desire to learn the ways of and go among the haut ton who frequented the Pump Room in Bath. And in doing so, partake in the entertainments in Bath’s Assembly Rooms.
She had arrived just as her Aunt Elminda left and had received a copious, if slanted, account of Sarah’s recent activities. She purposefully chose the walking hall so that she could better assess the stranger who caused all the excitement.
Sarah, Amabelle noticed, had lost weight. Her colour was high and her hair dressed far more attractively than the young woman had ever seen it. The thin starkly handsome stranger with her piqued Amabelle’s interest.
The Manor will not be as dull as I feared. I shall forgo my campaign to go to London for a time. Amabelle ran a hand over the artistic arrangement of her curls.
When the gentleman brought one of Sarah’s hands to his lips in an intimate manner, Amabelle was stunned. How could a man, especially one so very interesting and much younger than her stepmother hold the dowdy middle-aged woman in any degree of affection?
Amabelle had been shocked when she had discovered that her stolid stepmother corresponded with Rupert Hale, but had accepted his interest. He was, after all, older than Sarah and spoke of nothing but medicines.
When she saw Sarah lean close to the gentleman and caress his cheek, Amabelle put a hand to hers. A militant gleam glinted in her eyes. She pinched her cheeks and rubbed her lips to enhance their colour. An innocent smile assumed, she tripped lightly forward. “Dear, dear Stepmama, I am home.”
Sarah jerked free and stepped away from Hadleigh. She did not know whether to be upset or relieved at the interruption. Nor did she know what to make of Amabelle’s odd greeting.
Watching the young woman approach with annoyed resignation, Hadleigh tried to grasp what had just occurred between Sarah and him. He saw Sarah’s momentary surprise when the young woman clasped her in a warm embrace and brushed a kiss on her cheek.
“I am so very glad to be back at the manor, Stepmama,” Amabelle gushed in her best Assembly Room manner. She took Sarah’s hands. “You are a bit pale, Stepmama. Come, we must go inside.” Then, pretending she just now saw the man on the chaise lounge, Amabelle gasped.
“Oh, Stepmama, I am sorry. I did not see your guest. “My pardon, sir,” Amabelle prattled. She blushed prettily as she sank into a curtsy.
Never had Sarah had so strong a desire to box the girl’s ears. But knowing her stepdaughter, she put on a smile. “It is good to have you home again, Amabelle. Of course you did not disturb us, child. Let me introduce our guest. Hadleigh Tarr, may I present my stepdaughter, Miss Edgerton. Amabelle, Mr. Tarr.”
After they exchanged greetings the young woman reproved her stepmother. “But, Stepmama, you will give Mr.Tarr a wrong notion of me.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I may be far from your three and thirty years but surely, since I shall be nine and ten this fall, I am no longer a child?”
Hadleigh’s gaze sharpened at the young woman’s innocent smile. He saw Sarah blanch and sought to draw her stepdaughter’s attention to spare her. “Did you have a comfortable journey?”
Amabelle fluttered to the table and with slow delicate movements unfastened her chip straw bonnet’s large bow. She threw a glance at the gentleman to let him gain the full measure of the effect of the blue ribbon which matched her eyes and then removed the bonnet with extreme care.
A surreptitious glance took in the crutches, the odd footgear on his left foot, and the ponderous bandage on the right. Amabelle brushed past Sarah and drew a chair close to the chaise and sat. “I know Stepmama has taken very good care of you, Mr. Tarr. She takes care of everyone.”
Amabelle sniffed and sighed expressively. “Even stable boys. I wonder that Mr. Crandall does not complain at her lack of propriety,” she continued. “But then he once had a tendre for—” She blushed, lowered her gaze.
“Mr. Crandall has asked about you often, Amabelle,” Sarah interrupted dryly. “He will be delighted you are home.”
“Yes,” the younger woman sighed, “he has always taken such a fatherly interest in me. Is not that kind of him, Mr. Tarr?”
Hadleigh looked from Sarah to Amabelle. He tried to read between the words and looks. He was practised in dealing with beautiful misses newly out of the schoolroom. If one discounted her ill manners, she was much like André’s sister, Leora. “One must be careful in judging where another’s interest lay.”
Hoping to direct the conversation to safer ground, Hadleigh added, “Lady Edgerton, your stepdaughter is very pretty. She reminds me of a young cousin. Leora is seven and ten and plans to take London by storm next season.”
“Why, Mr. Tarr,” Sarah warned. “You recall someone else?”
Hadleigh put a hand to his forehead. “I —” He rubbed his brow, his expression pained. “I think she is André’s sister.”
The interruption narrowed Amabelle’s eyes. “If I am able to convince Stepmama to take me to London perhaps I shall meet your cousin,” she commented. “Do you and your wife live there?”
Tarrant ignored her question. “Some say London stimulates. I must admit there are many attractions.”
“Have you shown them all to your wife?” she persisted.
“Amabelle,” Sarah warned.
“I do not ... recall if I have a wife.” Hadleigh leaned back with feigned exhaustion. “Miss Edgerton, may I impose on you? Could you please see what keeps our nuncheon?”
“I would be delighted to do so,” Amabelle said with a coy smile. How did one not recall a wife? “I shall see you are served at once.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod. When Amabelle was gone he turned to Sarah. “Thank you. I must guard my tongue around that young miss. If Amabelle is as daring as Leora, I do not envy you her guardianship.”
Laughing, though she knew not whether from relief or concern about what her stepdaughter had seen, Sarah rose. “Amabelle means no harm. She is somewhat spoiled but her nature is sweet. You just witnessed finishing school lessons.”
“Sweet as long as she is not crossed?” Hadleigh asked rhetorically. “No, do not puff her up for me.”
His gaze turned serious and searching. “Sarah, we must talk.”
“Yes,” she forced lightness, “you have not said where you mean to go when you are able to leave.”
Hadleigh’s heart sank at her evasion.
Sarah looked over her shoulder and saw Amabelle followed by Darton and a grim Cauley bearing a cold collation.
“Let me assist you, Mr. Tarr,” Amabelle bubbled when she joined them.
“No. Please sit with Lady Edgerton,” Hadleigh told her.
Sarah put her arm through her stepdaughter’s and held her fast. “Do tell me about your journey home, Amabelle. Did you spend a night with Miss Garnet’s family?” she asked, and guided her stepdaughter to the table.