The Affectionate Adversary (23 page)

When the cottage door burst open, Sarah looked up in surprise. “Mr. Locke! I supposed you and my sister were returned to Bamberfield by now.”

Seated in a chair beside the open fire, she cradled a baby in her arms. Two small children knelt beside her as she rocked their infant sister in an effort to calm the scene of hysterics in which she had found herself earlier. Now Charles Locke stood in the open doorway, rain dripping from the thatched roof outside and thunder rolling overhead. He studied Sarah for a moment. Then he doffed his top hat and shut the door behind him.

“Sarah, may I ask what on earth you are doing?”

“I am singing.” She lifted her chin. “As you mentioned, I sang to you once—when you were as ill and troubled as these children.”

His blue eyes turned to the little ones who had pressed smudged faces up against her white skirt and wrapped scrawny arms around her legs. “We are expected at tea,” he reminded Sarah. “I believe Mrs. Heathhill anticipates our return within the hour.”

“Perhaps she does, but Mary can always find other ways to pass the time. If you wish, Charles, you may certainly go on to Bamberfield and take your tea. Send a carriage for me before dusk.”

“But that is many hours!”

“Indeed, and I have many baskets to deliver.”

He set his hands on his hips and exhaled a long breath. “My late mother often occupied herself in walking through our local village to distribute blankets and food. It was I who first informed her of the hungry cottagers, and she often took me along to carry the baskets for her. In this Christian deed, my mother discovered much joy and fulfillment. In bringing you here, I had hoped you might find the same.”

“At this moment, I feel only dismay,” she said, recalling the utter havoc she had observed upon first stepping into the room. “When I entered this cottage, baby Annie was wailing and the other two were in an uproar. Young Tommy had made every effort to comfort the baby, and having failed, he had become completely distraught and was threatening violence. Dear little Polly here was shrieking and weeping and racing about in an attempt to spare her sister from their brother’s wrath. None of them had eaten since dawn, and their fire had gone out. I calmed the baby with a spoonful of treacle from the basket, while Polly and Tommy assisted me in lighting the kindling. We sliced the pickled tongue and the bread, and as soon as the kettle is hot, we shall all feel much better.”

The small girl with a matted tangle of golden hair gazed up at Sarah. “Aye, Mrs. Carlyle,” she said around a mouthful of bread. “And then we shall have lemon drops.”

“Yes, we shall,” Sarah confirmed. “You see, Charles? I certainly could not leave until calm had been restored.”

“Why do you tell them your name is Mrs. Carlyle? You ought to—”

“Oh, Charles, they can hardly care about titles. All they want is a full belly and some tender care.”

“But where is their mother?” he asked. “Surely they have a granny or an aunt to look after them?”

“They do not, for all their relations labor at the village mill. Even the older children are employed. Tommy himself expects to begin working there next year. That will leave Polly to look after the baby by herself.”

Charles frowned. “Children tending a baby? That is fraught with peril.”

“I believe the family must have no other option.” Sarah swung around and set the drowsy infant into a makeshift crib near the fire. As always, a mixture of anger and sadness poured through her when she thought about her past life. “It seems my late husband was not a very good landlord. Nor has his nephew been inclined to attend to the needs of his tenants. I intend to rectify that situation immediately.”

Charles smiled. “This is the Sarah I once knew. High-minded and resolute, yet tender and kind. I believe Lord Delacroix must certainly fail at any attempt to defy you, madam.”

Warming at the tone in his voice, Sarah observed Charles lifting the kettle from the fire. As he poured boiling water into the chipped teapot, the leaves swelled and spun about. Watching them brew, she recalled Charles discussing his plans to build a tea empire, and she wondered if he ever doubted them. Did he believe his aim of making a fortune in trade had some valuable purpose in the great scheme of things?

Of course he intended to honor his family name and lineage with this achievement—but his ancestors were dead men after all. He would make his father proud, but to what end? So that James Locke, like her own father, might purchase a house in Belgravia and strut among the
ton
? Vain men, to hold such empty ambitions!

Charles planned to have a large house and servants and money to spend on a fine education for his children and sumptuous parties at Christmas. But could he truly enjoy such pleasures knowing, as he did, that countless other children labored in mills and babies were abandoned by their mothers? Sarah had great difficulty reconciling her wealth with her faith in Christ. Would Charles fare any better, especially if his fortune was earned by the sweat of his brow?

“Here, Polly,” Charles said, handing the little girl a mug. “And Tommy. You remind me of a lad I once knew aboard a fine merchant vessel named the
Tintagel
. I think of Danny very often. He was a strong, brave boy who became my friend as well as my protector. You must do your best to be patient with your sisters and look after them. They need your help, for they have no one else to guard and defend them. Do you understand me, young Tommy?”

“Aye, sir.” The boy nodded. “I shall do me best.”

“Very good. Take small sips, now, for the tea is hot. Sarah, will you have a cup?”

“Will you?” she asked. “Or does Bamberfield beckon?”

“Bamberfield is nothing to me.” He drew a stool to the fire as he handed Sarah a mug of tea. “I should rather sit with you in a humble cottage than be anywhere else on earth. But you must recall that your sister waits in the carriage.”

“It can do her no harm to linger. Pru is accustomed to idleness.” Sarah took a sip and closed her eyes in pleasure. “Mmm. Charles, I do believe you make the best cup of tea I have ever tasted.”

“It is the open fire,” he said. “The smoke flavors the brew.”

Looking across at him, she could not refrain from unburdening the concern that filled her heart. “How are you these days, Charles?”

“I believe I am about the same as ever. Making plans. Pressing on toward the goals I have set. And adoring you, dearest lady.”

Always surprised at the openness with which he expressed his affection for her, Sarah reached out and stroked little Polly’s head. The children were engrossed in their meal, and the baby slept. Outside the rain fell, Pru waited in the carriage, and Mary took tea with her husband and Delacroix. But here … now … it was just Charles and she. The two of them. Together.

“And you?” he asked. “Are you happy, Sarah?”

“I have a measure of joy. I know I am doing what I must. My sisters provide me the comfort of family. I find it challenging and interesting to assist my attorneys and bankers in establishing endowments and trusts. It is pleasing to know that my fortune does good. And now, you have taught me how to step into the midst of poverty and find fulfillment. So, I am better prepared for the future that awaits me. I thank you for that, Charles.”

“Sarah, you cannot mean you wish to live as these cottagers do.”

“How else? Until I have been fully obedient to Christ, I cannot be at peace.”

“Why have you no peace, dear lady?”

Sarah glanced at the sleeping baby and then at the two drowsy children who had satiated themselves on meat, bread, and sweets. How could she burden Charles with all that encumbered her? Dare she trust him? Would he understand?

She studied his eyes, filled with such tenderness that she could have no doubt whatsoever of his deep affection for her. And yet, she knew she
must
doubt him. His aim was wealth, and she could provide that so easily. Her fortune must surely be more alluring than she herself could ever be. Though his appearance gave every evidence of honesty and truth, she must never encourage Charles Locke in his designs on her. One false step, and she might be forever bound beneath a yoke of woe.

“I have told you enough of my past life to answer your question,” Sarah told him. “My father’s vain ambitions led me to marry a man with equally shallow aims. King Solomon in his wisdom wrote of man: ‘As he thinketh in his heart, so is he.’ I have learned that one’s dreams give life to one’s actions. My goal is peace and happiness, and my decisions must conform to that.”

“Do you see no way to happiness other than giving away your fortune?”

“I do not, sir. And I believe my view is supported by every teaching of our Lord.”

Charles ran his eyes from her face to the babe in the crib to the two children at Sarah’s feet. Then he met her gaze again. “Sarah, why can you not find happiness in the prospect of marriage and children? Clearly you are meant for that purpose. Does our Lord not also teach of this? Is this not intended as the role of women?”

As greatly as Sarah desired to agree with him, she could not. “In the apostle Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth, he instructed the believers that the unmarried and widows ought to remain as he was—alone and without attachment. Although Paul allowed that unmarried women should wed, bear children, and guide the house, he preferred that all Christians be alone and devoted entirely to the church.”

“We should have great difficulty populating the world with new Christians in that case,” Charles said lightly.

“New Christians are not created by being born into a Christian family, sir, no matter what you may have been taught. If we wish to enter the kingdom, we are to be born of the Spirit. That is a new birth altogether, and it is the only one that truly matters to God.”

Charles shifted in the rickety chair. Observing his discomfort, Sarah could not refrain from adding a little kindling to the flame. “Do you read the Scriptures, Charles? You once told me you had searched them in an effort to better understand Christ’s teachings on material gain. Pray, tell me, have you kept up your pursuit of spiritual enlightenment?”

He shrugged. “I am wholly employed reading English common law at the moment, madam. You have known from the beginning that I am not a pious man. I believe in the teachings of the Bible, but I do not make any great study of that book. I am not bound for the clergy but for the law and the trades. Can you abuse me on this account?”

“Indeed I can. If you do not study the Bible, how can you know what you believe?”

“I know very well what I believe.” He stood. “I believe a woman ought to be the loving wife to her husband and the keeper of her home. If God should will, I believe she ought to bear children and be a godly, loving mother to them. I believe a man ought to work hard with his own two hands and the good mind that God has given him in order to provide for his family. And I believe that you, Sarah, were meant to marry me.”

At her gasp, he paused for a moment. Then he went on, his eyes like blue flames that burned brighter with every word he spoke. “I believe you love me, Sarah—or you would if you permitted yourself to explore your own feelings instead of keeping them bottled away. And I know I love you. All my beliefs are firm, unchanging, and perfectly in tune with the teachings of Scripture. If you wish to continue challenging me, so be it. I shall duel it out to the finish, for I am resolute.”

Unable to make any response at all, Sarah simply stared at the man. How many marriage proposals would he make to her? How often must he tell her he loved her before she could allow herself to believe him?

Observing her consternation, he tipped his head and held out a hand. “And now, dearest lady, it is time we left these children to their slumber and returned ourselves to Bamberfield. I shall send the footman back to Shepton to distribute the rest of the baskets.”

Torn between flinging more Bible verses at him and falling into his arms, Sarah managed to collect her wits and let him escort her from the cottage. The rain had slowed to a mist, and steam rose from the thatched roofs around them.

As Sarah lifted her skirts to step into the carriage, she ventured a glance at Charles. “Mr. Locke, you are infuriating,” she said in a low voice.

He smiled. “And you are delightful.” Then he leaned closer, putting his lips near her bonnet. “Marry me, my darling Sarah, and I shall make you the happiest woman on earth.”

Lest she make some heedless response, she ducked her head and slipped into the carriage. Her sister then commenced such a harangue that neither Sarah nor Charles could say a word all the way to Bamberfield.