The Affectionate Adversary (29 page)

“Oh, lovely!” Prudence cried out. “But can you be serious about this? And what of Sarah? Mr. Locke wants her, not me!”

“No matter what he may want, he cannot have Sarah, for she is far too wealthy to marry him. You have just enough money to make the match a good one for him, Pru, and despite his rash behavior in the garden tonight, I think he is perfect for you. When he has become a barrister and has established his tea trade, he may very likely be able to use his connections to purchase a title. He has a good head on his shoulders, and he is old enough to know what he wants in life. His association with the Marston name is an excellent advantage, and you will bring your Delacroix connection to the marriage. You think he is handsome, and he certainly cannot object to you. So it seems perfect.”

“But should Miss Watson not perhaps aim higher than Mr. Locke?” Anne inquired. “There are a great many men who must admire her beauty. She might be able to win a baronet. Or even a baron.”

“Aye, or a viscount,” Prudence added.

“Men will always admire you until you lose your beauty, Pru. They will court you and fawn over you, but they will not wed you. Not the rich or titled ones, anyway. I am sorry to say, but unless Sarah suddenly decides to settle a great deal more money on you, you will have to accept someone very like Mr. Locke.”

“I admire this plan,” Prudence announced. “You have turned down Mr. Locke’s proposal, Sarah, so you cannot be too angry with me for marrying him, can you?”

Sarah tried to force a smile to her lips. “No, of course not.”

“But you do not look pleased, sister. I think you do like Mr. Locke. After all, you were kissing him—”

“I was
not
kissing him! He had come to the garden to tell me he meant to leave Bamberfield after church tomorrow. He saw that I was distressed, and he comforted me. That is what you witnessed, nothing more.”

“May I inquire what had upset you so, madam?” Anne asked. “When you returned to your room after dinner, I saw that you were greatly troubled, and it pained me to leave you.”

“In truth, I was distraught over my conversation with my sisters at our picnic today,” Sarah told her. “They accused me of being selfish by seeking my own happiness. I do not wish to be thought of in such a way. And yet I can think of no better means by which to bring myself joy than to be rid of my fortune.”

“Why not turn it over to us?” Prudence asked brightly. “I am sure Mary and I should be very happy to have it.”

“If I cannot bear such a plague myself, how could I even think of visiting it upon the two I care for most in the world? No, indeed, I have given each of you enough money to see that you are secure, but not so much that it might grieve you, as it has me.”

Mary tossed her head. “Oh, Sarah, how can you claim to suffer from your fortune?”

“You know the price our dear sister has paid in life,” Prudence spoke up. “We both saw how our father used Sarah to accomplish his ends. And then her husband took advantage of her wealth without giving her anything but his title in return.”

“A title is worth a great deal. It is one’s ticket into good society.”

“Still, Mary, I begin to sympathize with Sarah in this. If she keeps the fortune, she must remain a pawn. She could never be sure her husband truly cared for her.”

“All her friendships would be suspect,” Anne put in.

“That is true. Even Mary and I—who have always loved her—seem always to be clamoring for a greater share in her legacy. Although it is difficult not to think of the benefits of wealth, we must remember it has its drawbacks.”

“Thank you, Pru,” Sarah said in relief. “More than all that, in keeping the money, I cannot be obedient to the teaching of Jesus. Christians are not to seek riches. The Bible clearly teaches this. If we wish to enter the kingdom of heaven, we must sell all we have, give the proceeds to the poor, and follow Christ.”

“My father often preached from that passage in the Gospel of Mark,” Anne told the others. “Jesus spoke those words to a man for whom money was a barrier to heaven. The rich young ruler loved his money more than he loved Jesus.”

“But you are not like that, Sarah,” Prudence said. “You have got things the right way round—loving God at the top and your fortune after.”

“Indeed,” Mary said. “Sarah does not like her fortune at all.”

Anne glanced at Sarah. “I do believe Jesus knew that rich and poor alike would follow Him, my lady. Surely He did not expect all His disciples to be fishermen or tentmakers.”

“Besides,” Prudence said, “do you really wish to live like those cottagers in Shepton, Sarah? Too poor to have wood on your fire? Too sick to care for your children? What good can you do for God if you must struggle simply to exist?”

Sarah closed her eyes and let out a breath. “I do not know.”

“Well, I know,” said Mary. “If you are poor, you can do nothing useful at all. The right thing for everyone to do is to become as rich as possible, give tithes to the church, and enjoy the rest of one’s money as much as one possibly can. And, Sarah, the best way for you to be successful in that aim is to marry Lord Delacroix. Let Pru have Mr. Locke, for then you and he may continue your warm friendship in the ease and comfort of our family gatherings.”

“That is quite true, Sarah,” Prudence put in. “If I were married to Mr. Locke, you could remain his dear friend without causing any undue speculation.”

Mary set her hands on her hips. “That is exactly what I am proposing. Sarah and Delacroix will take their proper place as kind and generous patrons of the poor—a celebrated couple devoted to charity as well as to the well-being of their own family and friends. Mr. Heathhill and Mr. Locke will benefit from associations with Delacroix, as will Pru and I. We shall all rise in society, enjoy happy lives, and do our Christian duty by the needy. There. What do you think?”

“It is a brilliant plan,” Prudence cried, stepping off the bed and hurrying across the room to throw her arms around Mary. “And I think you are the dearest, wisest, and cleverest of sisters. Let us all see the good in this! We shall have homes in Belgravia—if Sarah will be kind enough to give Trenton House to Mr. Locke and me—and we can all come to Bamberfield for riding and picnics whenever we wish, and Mary will plan wonderful parties and balls for us every weekend, and everything will be absolutely marvelous. We shall be a family again, even better than we were long ago in Cheapside, because Sarah will be with us every day and not sent away to school. And our children will grow up together with proper mothers and fathers and governesses. And we shall all have love and happiness and contentment and joy! Oh, my darling sisters, what a happy, happy night!”

As she and Pru spun around and around in giddy pleasure, Mary laughed and clapped her hands. “Please say yes, Sarah!” she cried. “Please be happy along with us!”

Her heart welling with an unbearable mixture of longing and pain, Sarah slipped out of the bed and embraced her sisters. More than almost anything, she wished to fulfill their dreams. She wanted to be faithful to God and not a selfish, willful woman.

Yet somewhere in the farthest recesses of her soul, a blue-eyed man’s words whispered to her:
“I loved you when you were Mrs. Carlyle, and I love you now. I am convinced that nothing can end my love for you.”

Truth? Or lies? Sarah clung to her sisters and allowed her tears to spill over at last. As Prudence pulled a damp hankie from her sleeve and began to dab, Sarah softly kissed each girl on the cheek.

“Give me tonight,” she said. “Allow me the time to think and pray. Tomorrow I shall give you my answer.”

With fond hugs and warm wishes for a peaceful sleep, Mary and Prudence at last left the room.

Anne rose quietly to bid her mistress a brief farewell. “My prayers will join yours,” she added; then she whispered a Bible verse: “‘All things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.’”

“It is the believing that is difficult,” Sarah confessed.

Anne smiled in acknowledgment, took her mistress’s hand, and squeezed it briefly before crossing the room. As the door shut behind her lady’s maid, Sarah went to the window and gazed down on the garden where Charles had held her in his arms. She could almost see him, almost hear him. But he was gone now, back to London and his father and his studies. Back where he belonged.

Stepping away from the window, Sarah released the ties that held the curtains apart and watched as the heavy brocade swung down into place.

  
Fourteen
  

Charles sat at the window, its diamond-leaded panes pushed open to admit the afternoon light. No matter how often the maid cleaned the glass, the soot from London’s many coal fires quickly blackened it again and made reading almost impossible. As he tried to absorb the book of English law in his hands, Charles shivered. The house felt cold and musty as the bustle of London rattled by on the streets outside. He had lit a fire in the book-lined library, but he could not find warmth in its merry glow.

Charles knew he would never see Sarah again, and he must accept it. The evening he had climbed over the garden wall at Bamberfield and had been exposed by Delacroix had sealed his expulsion from her life. But he had intended to separate himself from her the next day after church anyway—so why did he feel so bereft?

They had conversed. He had told Sarah everything on his mind. She had confessed her own thoughts. And, despite their discovery and the ensuing fracas, the event had ended with no loose end left untied.

Sarah knew he loved her. He knew she did not love him. She would never choose him. She hardly trusted him. Nothing he could say now might change that. Her faith, her wealth, her sad childhood, her unfortunate marriage, her sisters, and even Delacroix all stood in the way.

Men, she believed, meant to make use of her. She was right. Even Charles, who had adored her on board ship when he fancied her a lady of common means, would happily unite himself not only to Sarah but to her money. But that was a moot point now, and he must accept his destiny.

“I go to call upon my cousin, Mr. Brampton,” Charles’s father said as he stepped into the library. James Locke wore a black frock coat and black trousers. Together with his white cravat and somber gray vest, they made him appear as bleak as his outlook. “Perhaps Brampton will have some advice for us upon this woeful turn of events. His son is a banker, you know, and he hears many things. He may be able to give us information on the damage done to your reputation last weekend. I confess, I never thought I should live to see the day when my only son—in whom my dear wife and I had such hopes—would be expelled from society.”

Charles set the law book upon the stack of reading matter at his side. “Father, I was not expelled from society. Delacroix asked me to leave Bamberfield House; that is all.”

“All? That is as good as a discharge from the
ton
. You will never be asked to another ball or reception; I am sure of that. And I sincerely doubt that even Sir Alexander will want to be associated with you. You have ruined yourself entirely.”

“Why should I care what I have done?” Charles asked in exasperation. Over the past week, they had discussed the situation too many times to be endured. “You despise the aristocracy with their airs and prejudices, Father. Why would you wish me to join them?”

“You know the answer to that question very well, and yet you continue to taunt me with it. No man can enrich himself in this country without the proper connections. And by your unseemly behavior toward Lady Delacroix, you have severed yours.”