The Affectionate Adversary (25 page)

But where did one enter? Nothing but the soaring stone wall met his eye from end to end. He considered calling her name, but he knew he would startle her. If he went back into the house, he might miss her entirely. Only one option presented itself, and Charles did not hesitate to take it.

As he dashed to the wall, he threw off his coat, yanked the links from his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves up each arm to the elbow. Pausing only a moment, he sized up the barrier.

A stone jutted from the wall there. Another not far above it. An easy effort, drawing the thousand such ventures he had undertaken as a boy.

Forgetting his recent injuries, he reached the first foothold, grasped a craggy rock with his fingertips, and began the ascent.

  
Twelve
  

They were wrong. Prudence and Mary had no idea what they were saying. Sarah …
selfish
? Impossible!

Distraught at the very idea, Sarah had been consumed by their hurtful comments all the way from the picnic site back to Bamberfield this afternoon. She could hardly concentrate on Delacroix’s prattle throughout dinner. Afterward, the silly chatter and games around the fire had nearly driven her mad. She had hardly been able to wait until Delacroix dismissed the ladies. As her sisters wandered off to bed and the men gathered in the billiards room, Sarah dismissed her lady’s maid and fled to the walled garden where she had taken such solace during her marriage.

In anguish, she had walked up and down its pathways for what seemed like hours. How could it be selfish to give away her fortune? It was not selfish! Surely it was the height of generosity and charity. Such benevolence could only arise from a spirit of humility, selflessness, and godly kindness. How could anyone deny it?

Yet neither could Sarah deny some truth in her sisters’ accusations. Although she had cared for the blind girls in China and the illiterate heathen hordes in India, Sarah’s behavior at the cottage in Shepton had revealed the dark depths of her heart. She was willing to donate her money to the needy—but she hesitated to give of herself. What guilt she had felt as Charles stood talking to the ill woman while she and Prudence hung back by the door, too fearful of polluting themselves to enter and minister to that poor family.

Truly, Pru and Mary had spoken aright when they accused Sarah of selfish aims. She wanted peace, pleasure, and happiness—and she viewed the riddance of her fortune as the only path to that end.

Sarah knew she ought to do as Pru had suggested and wed Delacroix. Such a marriage made perfect sense. Equals in society, they would bring joy to all their friends and relations by reuniting title, fortune, and estate under that respected name. Delacroix himself was handsome and affable enough to please any woman, and unlike his uncle, he would want children. An heir would be vital to the success of his line, and who could deny his desire to continue it?

Though he had been a roué in his youth, Henry Carlyle, Lord Delacroix, was nearing thirty and must be thinking of his future. It was entirely possible, as both Sarah’s sisters insisted, that he meant to reform himself, settle down, earn an honorable reputation, and become a gentleman of great esteem and moral principle. Mary and Pru liked him. Even Charles thought he would make Sarah a good husband.

At the thought of Charles and Pru conspiring together inside the carriage at Shepton, Sarah halted her steps and swallowed at the large lump wedged in her throat. How could the man be so wicked? And why was she such a fool as to believe every word he spoke? Within the space of five minutes, he had instructed Pru to encourage her sister to marry Delacroix … and then he had proposed to Sarah himself! What could he have meant by such irrational and impetuous behavior?

His goal was clear. Charles would ensnare Sarah if he could. If not, he would see that she married a man with whom he had influence. Delacroix and Charles shared the same friend in Sir Alexander, the future duke of Marston. The two men were now friends themselves! No doubt Charles hoped to involve Delacroix in his tea scheme. Oh, it was too much.

Sarah was nothing but a plaything. A puppet. Men toyed with her. Even God tossed her to and fro. How was she to bear another day of this torment? Why would God not lean down, pluck her out of the morass, and set her feet on solid ground?

“Sarah! Sarah, look up!”

At the voice from on high, Sarah nearly leapt straight out of her slippers. She gave a little cry and grabbed a trellis for support as she searched for the source of the call.

“Sarah, it is I. Upon the wall.”

In the gleaming moonlight, she distinguished the crouched figure of a man perched above her on the stone parapet that surrounded the garden. At once, she recognized the broad shoulders and shock of unruly hair.

“Mr. Locke, what on earth—?” she cried out. “Is it truly you?”

“The very man.” So saying, he climbed down into the garden and vanished in the shadows beneath the wall.

Sarah gripped the trellis. “Charles Locke,” she called in a soft voice. “Upon my word, you are a rogue, sir! What were you doing on the wall? How long have you been there? I declare, you must go back into the house at once, for I am unchaperoned.”

“Impossible, dear lady. I have come to you precisely because you are alone.”

Now he emerged into the moonlight, and she realized he stood no more than two paces away. Looking for all the world like a handsome prince come to rescue a maiden from her oppression, he was all dark hair and bare arms and white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. And blue eyes. Very blue eyes that captured the starlight and twinkled like candles as he gazed at her.

Holding tight to the trellis, Sarah squared her shoulders against him. She would not give way. Nothing he could say or do would soften her heart. She knew the truth. He was deceitful. Vainly ambitious. Heartless.

“I saw you when I was looking down from my room,” he said now, advancing a pace. Too close. He lifted his head and pointed at the glow of the lamp from a window on the second floor. “It is just up there. I was thinking of a walk in the garden myself when I noticed you here.”

“How convenient.”

“Indeed, for I wished to tell you that I mean to take my leave of Bamberfield directly after church tomorrow morning. Though I admire the house and grounds, I feel I cannot depart too soon.” He held out his elbow. “Shall we walk, madam?”

“If you spied me from your window, sir, I am certain we may be seen by any number of the guests. I shall walk alone, thank you.”

With that, she placed her hands behind her back, knotted her fingers firmly together, and stepped out into the grassy path. He would not sway her. Neither his friendly demeanor nor his honest air would topple her defenses. And she certainly would not believe a single word from his mouth.

“Delacroix had the best intentions in inviting me to his country house,” Charles continued, as if unaware of Sarah’s grim regard for him. “As did your sister, for her letter to me revealed great compassion for your well-being. But I have come to understand that I cannot be the means of easing your present distress, dear lady. I fear I only add to it by my presence.”

“You do, sir. Very much so, and I pray you will not continue shouting our conversation to the world.”

She could see him glance at her, but she kept her focus trained on the wall in the distance. “I was assigned,” he went on, lowering his voice, “to join your party in the effort of accomplishing two objectives. Miss Watson wished me very much to lighten your spirits. And Lord Delacroix hoped that I might encourage you to see the great benefit it would bring to you, to your family, and to himself, of course, were you to find it in your heart to marry him.”

She paused and turned to him. “Then you admit that you plotted against me in this way?”

“If seeking to make you happy and to secure the contentment of your sisters may be called a plot against you, then, yes, I am such a scoundrel. But I beg to defend myself on that count.”

Furious, Sarah swung away and started down the path again. “How can you expect me to accept any possible explanation for your effort to waylay my own aspirations? Were I to wed Delacroix, then I must hand over to him all my fortune, stay in England forever, and endure yet another unhappy marriage.”

“Which is precisely why I am taking my leave of this place tomorrow. When I departed London yesterday, I believed I might bring myself to advocate such a match. I reminded myself that Delacroix is young and healthy and capable of providing you the security of a home and the joy of a family. He is your equal in rank, and your sisters admire him. Desiring to keep you in England and see that you are safe and well, I convinced myself that Delacroix might ensure that aim. And so I came to Bamberfield.”

Sarah wished rather than believed Charles to be speaking the truth. Thus far, the explanation of his behavior toward her gave every evidence of honesty. Yet how dare he presume to the role of matchmaker? And what had prompted him to tease her with his own proposal of marriage?

No, he was a cad. There could be no other view on the matter.

“You are here,” she said calmly, “and tomorrow you go. I cannot see that giving me this information necessitated a climb over the garden wall. Such valiant exertion might be better placed elsewhere.”

Charles laughed as he leaned forward and tested his leg. “Perhaps. But I considered the opportunity of speaking to you alone as worth every effort I might put to the task.”

“Thus far, you have told me what I knew already. My sister informed me that you had talked with her. She said you urged her to speak to me on Delacroix’s behalf. I cannot think why you suppose I should ever want to marry a man whose sole aim in life is the accumulation of material riches. As you know very well, I have turned down an offer of marriage from one such man already.” With that, she faced him directly. “Mr. Locke, may I speak frankly?”

“You always do, my dear Sarah. But I must ask that you first hear me out. After all, I did risk life and limb to talk with you.”

“Well, I—”

“No, no, it is clear you think ill of me, and rightly so. I have behaved toward you in a most ungentlemanlike manner. Your presence elicits the basest impulses of my heart, I fear. I cannot be in the same room with you for even a moment before I begin to dwell upon your beauty, your gentle hands, your lovely eyes—”

“Mr. Locke, your flattery falls on deaf ears. Any man who could use my sister to press me toward an unwanted admirer is abhorrent to me. That the same man would propose marriage to me with his very next breath is—”

“Is evidence that he is hopelessly in love with you and can say or do nothing to contradict his own feelings. I have loved you from the moment I saw you aboard the
Queen Elinor
. Despite all my best intentions, despite the reasonable advice of my father, despite the obvious unsuitability of the match, I have been unable to prevent myself from loving you. I loved you when you were Mrs. Carlyle, and I love you now. I am convinced that nothing can end my love for you, nor can I advocate the aims of any man other than myself. Yes, Delacroix would be better for you. Yes, he would provide for you and secure your comfort. I am nothing. I have no money, no name, and no hope of a grand inheritance or a sudden elevation to knighthood. I certainly cannot afford to purchase a title for myself. I have nothing but my ambition—an aspect of my character that you clearly despise. And yet even the knowledge that you hate me cannot deter my love for you. I cannot conquer it, no matter how I try. This is why I must leave Bamberfield tomorrow, and this is why I shall never see you again.”