FIVE
Once again, as Sara approached her aunt’s house, the door opened of its own accord.
“Lady Darlington wishes to see you immediately, Miss Whately,” Coddles said as if pronouncing a death sentence.
Sara thanked him and then went up to the drawing room where her aunt was sitting at the sofa writing something.
“Oh, Sara, thank goodness you are back.”
“I was just out for a ride, Aunt Deanna,” Sara said, coming over to her.
“Yes, well, there is simply too much to do. Packing and getting everything ready for our move to London . . . and then we have to be ready to leave in only three days!” her aunt looked like she was ready to burst into tears of frustration.
Sara sat down at the edge of the sofa next to her aunt and put a comforting hand on her arm. “Aunt Deanna, I have been running my father’s household for years. If there is anything I can do to help, I will be more than happy to do so.”
Aunt Deanna smiled at her and patted her hand. “I was hoping I would be able to count on you.”
She sighed and then handed Sara the paper she had been writing on. “This is a list of all that needs to be done.”
Sara looked down the list of about fifteen items.
“Aunt Deanna, if you would make most of the decisions as to precisely what you would like to take with you, I will see that it is all packed and loaded.”
Aunt Deanna looked very relieved. “Thank you, my dear. With your help, we will be ready to leave so much earlier than if I had to do all of this by myself. In fact, I am certain that I would not be able to do it.”
Sara spent the next three days tirelessly seeing to the packing of the household. Initially, there were a few discreetly raised eyebrows among the staff. But her good cheer, self-confidence, and obvious knowledge quickly won them over. Very soon the maids and footmen were naturally coming to her, rather than to Lady Darlington, with their questions and problems.
Sara, on her part, was shocked at all that her aunt expected to take with her to London. Furniture, household goods, food, and much of her aunt’s extensive wardrobe had to be all carefully packed and loaded into wagons and carts. Inventories of the silver and linens had to be seen to. And finally, instructions for a thorough cleaning of the house by the remaining staff, which would take place after they had left, had to be arranged.
On their last evening after dinner, her aunt sat back, satisfied. “Thank you so much for working so very hard, Sara. I can hardly believe that everything is ready for our journey so quickly. Without your assistance, my dear niece, I am sure I would not have been able to accomplish so much in such a short period.”
Lord Alston, who had stopped by to judge if they were in fact ready to leave the following day, concurred. “Miss Whately, I have to say that I have never seen your aunt packed and ready to move to London so quickly. It surely must be your good influence and work that has produced this miracle.”
Sara shook her head. “Oh no, sir. Indeed, it was Aunt Deanna’s excellent organization. I merely followed her orders and saw that things were carried out as she wished.”
Lord Alston winked at her and then nodded gravely. “As you say.”
Sara could not help but smile back, but refrained from giggling.
Reath sat back in his desk chair and rubbed the back of his neck. He had been poring over these account books for the entire morning. It was incredibly dull work, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it. The steward had been running the estate entirely alone for long enough that he certainly would know what he was doing. Lipking, however, had felt adamant that the books be looked over for any irregularities. Reath couldn’t find any.
If anything, the steward had not spent as much money as he should have in maintaining the estate. All of the tenants’ homes needed new roofs, one field needed draining; and, during his tour of the house the two days previously, Reath had seen a number of windows with broken glass. And, from unfortunate personal experience, he knew that the chimneys were in desperate need of cleaning.
The tour of the house had been rather uncomfortable, in more ways than one. Mrs. Tate had led him throughout the entire house—from the cellars that had enough space in them to hold the finest collection of wine anyone could want, to the attics that had probably once been filled with nearly a century’s worth of things saved from the Wynshams, who had owned this house since Tudor times.
It was not only the age of the house that disturbed him, however. It was the beauty of it as well. The old marble staircase that rose majestically from the entryway with its intricate wrought iron railing. The ballroom that reminded him of the grand rooms his father had told him about from his visit to Versailles and the court of Louis XVI. But most of all, there had been the echoes, in his mind, of children’s laughter in the nurseries and through the long hallway of the gallery. He laughed at his fanciful imaginings, but in his heart he knew that this was just the type of home he wanted for himself.
It was a home. Not at all like the formal house where he was raised, where one did not raise one’s voice in laughter or exuberance of any kind. Wyncort was warm, even without so many of its paintings, decorations and furniture, for the walls themselves spoke of the laughter and the love that had lived within them. Where Rathergreen Hall was modern and stately, Wyncort was old and comfortable. It had a history and it was a happy one.
Someday, Reath thought to himself, leaning back in his chair. Someday he would own a home like this, where the sound of children’s laughter would ring throughout the house.
He looked down at the books in front of him. But not now, and not this home. This home belonged to someone else, and he was determined to return it to them. Besides, he was quite happy with his bachelor status and had no desire to get caught in the parson’s mousetrap just yet.
Lipking came into the room bearing more books. “These are from the past three years, my lord.”
“No.”
“I am sorry, my lord?” Lipking said. He had been about to put the books down on a corner of the desk, but stopped with the books in midair.
“I said no, Lipking. I am not going to look at any more books. My neck is aching me, and after having examined the books for the first seven years, I can see that Mr. Stright has been perfectly honest in his handling of the estate’s finances.”
“Ah. Well, then perhaps you will wish to see these tomorrow?”
“You are not understanding me, Lipking. I trust Stright. You may examine those books if you wish, but I will not.”
Lipking looked distinctly crestfallen. “I am simply trying to ensure . . . ”
“I know what you are doing, Lipking. It is all that is admirable. And I understand the necessity of examining the entire estate from top to bottom. I, too, want to return the property in perfect order, but I cannot do everything at once.” Reath stood up and stretched his legs by walking to the shelf with the wine decanter and poured himself a drink. “Already, I have wasted nearly an entire week here.”
“I would not call the time you have spent a waste, my lord. A lot of very necessary work has been done.”
“Yes. I suppose so, but that doesn’t change the fact that I should have been in London trying to get in contact with Lady Darlington.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I will leave first thing tomorrow morning. With luck, and my father’s excellent horses, I should arrive in town by afternoon. If there is more business you wish for me to attend to here, it will have to wait until I can return.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Reath looked over a Lipking, who wore a distinctly crestfallen look on his face.
Reath couldn’t help but laugh. He walked back and slapped the little man on the back in a friendly way. “Don’t look so downcast, Lipking. I promise to return as soon as possible.”
“Oh, yes, my lord. I am sure that you will. But I, like you, would like to get this business done and over with.”
Sara was too excited. She wanted to see London now, today. She and her aunt had arrived at Lington House the evening before, but her aunt was refusing to stir from her room until noon.
“I am sorry, my dear, but it is simply not done in town,” she had said from her bed.
Sara watched, helplessly, as her aunt slowly nibbled at her piece of toast and looked through the enormous stack of invitations which rested beside her on the bed. There had been so many that they had toppled off her tray almost as soon as the maid had set it down. Now Lady Darlington was happily making piles all around her—one to respond favorably to, one to send regrets (this was the smallest pile), and one that she had yet to decide upon.
“How could you possibly get so many invitations so quickly, Aunt?” Sara asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
Lady Darlington looked up, a quizzical smile brightening her face. “Why would I not? I have let it be known that I am bringing a young lady to make her come out. I imagine there are quite a few people who are wondering who this mysterious Miss Whately is.” A frown marred her beautiful face. “Actually, I have not yet figured out just how we are going to establish you. I had meant to ask Alston to think of something.”
“What do you mean?” Sara asked.
“Well, people will want to know who you are. How confusing it is that my brother took his wife’s name when they moved to America, instead of her taking his. I simply do not know how to explain it.”
“Then do not. Must we explain our relationship at all?”
“Oh yes. Why, your lineage is extremely important when you want to marry. Any young man’s family will want to know—no, demand to know—who your family is. Lineage is everything.”
“Well, why don’t we just say nothing—or say that we are cousins and leave any explanations for later when the need arises?”
“Yes,” her aunt said hesitantly, trying to think this through. “Yes, I suppose that is what we will have to do until Alston can think of something better.”
Lady Darlington went back to sorting her invitations with a clear conscience, while Sara watched silently. After a moment, Lady Darlington looked up once again at her niece. “Is there something else, Sara?”
“May I go out—just for a walk?”
“Oh no, my dear, not now. We shall go out shopping for your wardrobe later this afternoon, I promise,” her aunt reassured her.
Sara frowned, but knew that she had no other choice. Her father had told her again and again that she was to ask her aunt’s permission for everything and not to argue with her. It was going to be very difficult to keep her promise. She was simply too used to being her own mistress to sit docilely at home until her aunt was ready to take her out.
Leaving her aunt’s room, she wandered aimlessly through the house. She had been up since seven, as was her habit, and had had difficulty keeping herself busy. She had written her father a long letter detailing her adventures so far, with the exception of her excursion to Wyncort—she was not sure he would appreciate her trespassing on what was now someone else’s property. She had also followed her natural inclination to try to manage the household, but did not want to look like she was going around her aunt’s authority, so she had simply asked the cook if her aunt had given him instructions for the menu for the week. The imperious French chef her aunt kept in London had looked so affronted at her audacity that Sara quickly decided to abandon her idea to help in that direction. Finally, from absolute boredom, Sara had started a sewing sampler from a pattern she had found in a magazine in her aunt’s drawing room.
She wished she had been allowed to bring her aunt’s horse so that she could go out riding. She had grown very fond of the morning rides she had been able to take each day at Darlington.
Tomorrow, she assured herself, she would see to renting a hack to ride about town. But she needed her aunt’s permission to do that as well.
She sat down in the drawing room once again with her sewing. Jabbing her needle into the material in frustration, she managed to pierce it straight into her finger.
It was not until two o’clock that her aunt declared herself ready to venture out. Sara was so grateful to get out of the house that she nearly ran to their waiting carriage.
“Really, Sara, do please try to behave with a little more decorum,” her aunt reprimanded her gently.
They drove the few blocks to Piccadilly, where her aunt’s modiste had a small shop. Sara thought it rather odd to drive such a short distance when she and her aunt could have walked it with ease, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“My young cousin will need a complete wardrobe. Everything from top to bottom, inside and out,” Lady Darlington announced, much to the surprise of both Sara and the modiste.
“But I thought I was simply going to get one or two dresses, Aunt Deanna,” Sara protested.
“No, no, that would never do. I have seen your wardrobe, such as it is, and you will need everything new. I can’t imagine what your father must have been thinking to allow you to go about in such clothes.”
Madame Dupres, as the modiste called herself, was naturally thrilled, and had begun walking around Sara examining her size and coloring. “Eet weel be my plaisure, Lady Darlington, my plaisure,” she said in her obviously fake French accent. “Zuch a beeootiful young lady. Zuch air! Zuch skin! Just like er beeootiful cousin, non?”
The two older ladies then moved to a worktable, which was quickly covered with bolts of fabric and scattered with fashion plates and sketches.
Sara watched and listened for a short while, but since she was not consulted on any of the decisions, she quickly grew bored. Her frustration from earlier in the day returned in full force. But this time, Sara decided to do something about it—with or without her aunt’s permission.
Unnoticed by anyone, Sara quietly left the shop to look in the window of the bookstore a few doors away. It was a completely harmless activity and she was sure she would return before her aunt even noticed she was gone. But a tour guide of the great homes of England, displayed in the window, distracted her and led her mind to thinking about Wyncort.
She had to find a way into that house, she thought as she began to walk again. Now that she was in London, miles away, it was even more difficult. The only thing was to try to return to Darlington, but how? What if she pretended to fall ill or . . .
Sara felt a shiver go down her back. Someone was watching her. She looked up from her reverie to find herself being inspected by a group of men sitting in the bow window of the building across the street. Her pace slowed as she passed and curiously stared back at the men.
If she had not turned her head just when she did, she would have walked straight into the extremely tall, well-dressed man standing directly in front of her.