The Affectionate Adversary (14 page)

Perhaps it really was possible that she cared nothing for her so-called “great, vast, and magnificent fortune.” Despite her jewels and fine gown, maybe she really did want to give away everything—and even now, as he and Delacroix stood arguing, she was preparing to do just that.

The diamond-and-pearl necklace Charles had so maligned at the reception might mean nothing to her, he realized. No wonder she had taken such offense at his accusation. Perchance she
would
sell it to build a school in China! Her silk gown and coiffed hair held no joy for her. Those who bowed and curtsied before her might actually bring her no pleasure at all. Unlike everyone Charles had ever known, maybe Sarah really did not want to be rich, and so she would give the money away. Perhaps she had not desired her aristocratic title, and so she had discarded it in favor of her real name.

Sarah Carlyle. That was who she was—and that was the woman he had loved with such desperation.

“I shall go to her,” Charles said. “I can make no apology—written or spoken—until the lady explains herself to me.”

“Very well,” Delacroix agreed. “I shall take you to her at once. You must assure the baroness that you meant her no insult. You must encourage her to abandon her travel plans and to make her home in England for a year or two at least. Above all, Mr. Locke, you must stop her from giving away all that money!”

Charles paused in reaching for his hat. “Stop her from giving away her money? And how am I to do that when it is the aim of her life? Surely you cannot mean for me to bring Lady Delacroix further unhappiness.”

“No, of course not, but she is mistaken in her understanding of how things ought to be!” Delacroix declared. “You must try to correct her. Help her to see that her fortune may be put to productive use here in England. She will listen to you, Locke, for I believe—indeed, her sisters swear it is so—that she truly cares for you. We are all of us most distraught over this inexplicable and misplaced affection. And you must agree that such a match is insupportable. Nevertheless, Lady Delacroix’s high esteem for you coincides perfectly with her disdain for wealth and position. The material point is that she
can
do better in all ways, and she
will
do better. You must convince her of this!”

The ignominy inherent in the man’s words provoked an ire that spilled through Charles’s chest in a flood. “Upon my honor, sir, I am no peasant! Lord Marston’s son is my close companion, and I am far from—”

“Sir, take no umbrage at my words!” Delacroix cut in. “I do not mean to disparage you or your friends. But surely you are a reasonable man and can see that Lady Delacroix is far above you in rank and privilege. Any connection between you is impossible. Believe me, were such an attachment at all imaginable, her sisters and I would assist you in securing her hand at once. Yet I do not expect you to expend your efforts on our behalf without recompense. Certainly not! If you can convince Lady Delacroix to accept her lot in life and to understand that she may use her privileged position to the benefit of others here in England, then you may be assured of our support in your proposed enterprise.”

“Charles!” his father cried out. “The tea company! He speaks of financing our trade!”

Immobilized, Charles studied the golden-haired aristocrat who stood before him. Lord Delacroix was right. Any formal attachment between Charles and one of the wealthiest women in England would be unthinkable. Marriage was impossible. Although he was a gentleman, he could claim no aristocratic lineage and no fortune. Without one or the other of these, he had nothing upon which to base a claim to an elevated woman’s affections.

Perhaps Sarah did care for him, but she had told him her- self that she did not love him. She did not know what love was. Charles had to admit that not even the strongest affection could lead her to make a match so unfortunate. She would have to be a fool, and she certainly was not that. In fact, he could not be completely sure that her determination to give away her wealth was as ludicrous as he and others had claimed. Since debarking the
Queen Elinor
, he had searched his Bible for teachings on wealth and the quest for material gain. Many passages supported Sarah’s contention that the love of money was the root of all evil.

On the other hand, how could a reasonable person even think of giving away all his possessions? How could anyone possibly expect to find happiness as a pauper? Charles was as close to that station in life as he ever hoped to come, and he certainly was not elated by it. In fact, just the opposite. Lack of wealth and social stature had penalized him and every member of his ancestry.

Perhaps, as Christ had told the rich young ruler, ridding oneself of wealth could bring eternal life. But it certainly could not bring any joy in this earthly life. Sarah was wrong in her understanding, and the image of her standing bereft on some street corner in Calcutta—miserable, hungry, and desperately unhappy—clutched at Charles’s heart.

Delacroix’s offer held more than a little attraction. If Charles could speak humbly to Sarah as a dearly cherished friend, perhaps she would agree to disperse her money in a more reasonable fashion. Perhaps she would keep some of it for herself and award greater sums to her sisters and friends. And then—if Delacroix was a man of his word—a reasonably large measure of it would be entrusted to Charles.

Why should he not receive enough money to build his tea enterprise? He had suffered much pain over Mrs. Sarah Carlyle. If his words could mollify the baroness and enrich him, then all the better for both of them.

He donned his hat and took up his cane. “To your carriage, then, Lord Delacroix,” he said. “For I believe we shall be just in time for tea.”

  
Seven
  

The lady’s maid pushed a pin into Sarah’s hair, grazing her scalp and eliciting a yelp of pain. “Have a care, please, Anne!”

“Beg pardon, my lady.” The maid dipped an apologetic curtsy. “This braid will not stay in its place.”

“Then put it in another place, I beg you.”

“But, madam, this braid is meant to cross the other one that I have just pinned up. Miss Watson says that the butterfly clip must go at the exact point where the two braids cross or the style will be imperfect.”

“I am not Miss Watson, Anne, and I am perfectly happy to abandon the butterfly clip altogether. In fact, I should be quite content to put the whole lot of my hair into a bun at the back of my head as it was when I arrived in London.”

In the mirror, Sarah could see the young maid’s bottom lip begin to tremble and her nose turn pink. Oh, dear. Now she had offended poor Anne, who wanted nothing more than to please her mistress and be rewarded with her wages at the end of the week. The young woman had come to London from her home in Nottingham just as Sarah returned from her travels. Anne Webster was no ordinary maid, for her father had been a noted rector, and his daughter was educated and well mannered. Had the Reverend Webster not assisted his parishioners in smashing the lace machines that threatened their livelihood, he would not have been thrown into prison, and his daughter would not have been faced with a precarious future.

As it was, Sarah felt blessed to have Anne’s assistance. Though untrained in the art of hairstyling and not completely familiar with the requirements of a lady’s maid, Anne Webster was a capable and resilient young lady. More important, she was pleasant natured and eager to learn. In fact, not many days had passed before Sarah had made up her mind to do all in her power to improve Anne’s lot in life.

“I do very much like the way you style my hair,” Sarah told her in a softer voice.

The maid brightened considerably at this compliment.

“I believe I am quite plain, though,” Sarah continued. “My hair and eyes are plain, and my heart is plain as well. I do not mind at all. Plainness can be a great attribute, Anne, for vanity is a wicked trap.”

“If you please, madam, I do not think you plain. You are attractive in the ways that matter most. Miss Watson is not plain either, for she has many virtues.” Anne’s eyes nearly crossed as she worked to insert the butterfly clip between the two braids. “She is lovely and also kind.”

“That is true,” Sarah conceded. “My sister is beautiful outside and in. I cannot think of a happier combination of merits or a better person upon whom to bestow them. God is wise indeed.”

“There!” Anne said. “Now for the beetles!”

The maid reached into a tray of enameled and gilded insects. Such baubles were all the rage in London this season, Sarah had learned to her dismay. As Anne took out a small blue beetle, a soft knock at the door announced another maid.

“Yes, come in,” Sarah called out. “We are nearly finished here. Has my sister arrived for tea?”

The plump maid hurried forward and made a brief curtsy. “It is not Mrs. Heathhill, my lady. Two gentlemen have come. It is Lord Delacroix and his friend Mr. Charles Locke.”

“Who?”
Sarah pushed up from her dressing table, knocking the blue beetle from Anne’s fingers and upsetting three vials of
eau de parfum
. “But I do not wish to see Mr. Locke! Lord Delacroix has done this. Oh, I cannot believe it. Insufferable man!”

“Do you speak of Lord Delacroix as insufferable, madam?” Anne asked.

“Yes! No! Both of them! How dare they conspire against me in this way!” Sarah clenched her fists in frustration. She would have no choice but to greet the men. But, oh, how infuriating!

Since the encounter at the duke’s reception, Delacroix had not ceased in insisting that Charles Locke must be made to apologize for his rude accusations. Prudence and Mary had agreed with him. Nothing Sarah would say could mollify any of them, and now it had come to this! She would have to see Charles again and look at him … and remember … and regret….

“Polly, please tell the two gentlemen I shall be down momentarily,” she said, her stomach in knots. “Instruct Cook to put on more tea. And take the men’s hats but not their coats, for that will show them that I mean for them both to go away as soon as possible.”

“Madam?”

“Oh, take their coats, too!” Hands fluttering, Sarah rushed to her closet and flung open the door. “Anne, where is my sister? I must make Prudence do all the talking, for I cannot bear to hear what either of those thoughtless louts has to say. Oh, dear, this pink shawl I have on is far too happy for him. Where is Pru?”

“Your sister went into the garden to cut lavender,” Anne replied. “Shall I send for her?”

“No, but make certain she is in the drawing room before me, for then she will have engaged the men in conversation already. What do you think of this blue shawl, Anne? Is it not more severe than the pink?”

The maid blinked. “It is very nice, my lady.”

“Nice? Then what of this brown one? It is dull enough, I think. Yes, it will do nicely.”

“You wish to appear dull, madam?”

“Very dull. And severe. And disinterested. Perhaps the gray one would do better?”

“The brown is quite severe. And terribly dull.”

“Good.” Sarah tossed the filmy pink lace shawl she had been wearing onto a chair and pulled the brown one over her shoulders. “What do you think now, Anne?”

The maid pursed her lips. “You look very … dull?”

“Excellent.” Sarah paused for a moment, trying to calm herself. She ought to pray. This was the time she needed God’s guidance the most. He had allowed Charles Locke into her life for a purpose, and that purpose was clear. The man had been intended as a test. Could Sarah keep to her resolve? Would she be obedient to her understanding of biblical truth? On the ship, she had successfully warded him off. At the reception, God had revealed the man’s true nature to Sarah. And now she must face him with solemnity and grace, dismissing him from her heart once and for all.