The Affectionate Adversary (8 page)

“Charles, please,” Sarah implored, her eyes meeting his. “Whether you work in a bank or direct a tea enterprise matters not to me.”

“Yet you have not seen the whole of my plan.” He turned the paper toward her. “My father’s house on Threadneedle Street sits alongside a piece of valuable land that is currently available for purchase. Once I am established in trade, I intend to buy it. There I shall build a warehouse. I also expect to extend the dimensions of the house itself, for I know that a man of property requires abundant space for his family’s comfort. Entertaining associates in one’s home is necessary to a successful merchant or banker, and several drawing rooms will—”

“Charles, stop at once,” Sarah cried, clapping her hands over her ears. “I do not care for banks or warehouses or drawing rooms. Business ventures and grand houses have no meaning to me whatsoever.”

“Then what is it that you desire? Tell me, Sarah. I am determined to have you and to make you happy.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed at him. “Oh, Charles … if only you knew how very happy you make me already. Your love for me is a blessing I never expected in all my life. But I cannot accept it.”

A hardness came over him, filling his chest with steely resolve. “What objection can you have? What barrier can stand between us? Tell me, and I shall overcome it, Sarah.

I am not deterred by anything you will say, for my love is too strong to be denied.”

As the tears welled in her eyes, she slipped her hand into her bag and withdrew a white handkerchief. Pressing it to her cheeks, she attempted without success to stem the flow. “I have made a promise,” she mumbled into the wad of fabric. “I am … committed to a vow.”

“You are attached to another man?” He slumped back in his chair momentarily. The very idea was unthinkable. He leaned forward again and took her hand. “Already engaged? Break it off! I shall see that it is done without embarrassment to either party, Sarah. Surely you do not doubt I can accomplish such a thing. Who is he? Tell me his name at once, and I shall make arrangements directly we go ashore.”

“It is not a man,” she sniffled. “Not an attachment. I have made a vow. I am determined … absolutely committed in my heart …”

“Sarah.” Unable to bear the sight of the woman so distraught, Charles folded her hand in both of his. “Sarah, please—”

“Do not touch me!” she exclaimed, pushing him away. “I cannot marry you, Charles, and you must accept it. I am not able to spend my life as your wife, for I have another occupation to attend. Not only that, but I abhor everything that you most desire.”

“What can you mean?”

“This!” She snatched up the sheet of paper on which he had penned his plans. “Trade and enterprise and schemes to make money are nothing to me. In fact, I deplore any goal of financial gain. My sole object in life is to rid myself of such earthly encumbrances and devote my whole being to the pursuit of heaven. It is God I wish to please, not man. I do not want a house or servants or fine gowns. I cannot abide a husband who desires to spend his days laboring to increase his wealth.”

She handed him the page. “Forsake your assets and your material pursuits, Charles. Abandon your dreams. Join me in my mission to reduce myself to nothing more than a vessel that God can use for His glory. Then—and only then—can I become your wife.” Shaking her head, Sarah buried her face in her handkerchief.

Charles stared in such shock and dismay as to be nearly overwhelmed. Forsake what few assets he had left? Abandon his dreams? What could she possibly mean?

“Sarah, speak plainly,” he insisted. “If you wish to give away your father’s legacy, I support your endeavor. You must follow your heart in this matter, and I would by no means suspend your efforts to be obedient. If God leads you to support various ministries and missions, then you must do so. Act with my blessing and encouragement. And be assured that without hesitation, I shall do all in my power to restore to you a lifestyle befitting your place in society.”

“That is precisely what I do
not
want!” she cried. “You cannot possibly understand the suffering I have known, Charles. My greatest joy has been this journey, for at the Christian missions in Asia I found people who truly live the teachings of God. I wish to be poor. I wish to have nothing. If I wear rags and sleep in a hovel, I shall be content. Any man who would have me as his wife must feel the same.”

“This is absurd. Surely you cannot mean to divest yourself of every last farthing and live as a beggar.”

“Indeed I do.”

“But why? Did not God place ambition in the heart of every man? Surely it cannot be wrong to work hard and improve oneself to the end of providing for a wife and children.”

“Is that ever enough? No, Charles, for you have said as much yourself. When you find work, then you intend to purchase land, and then build a warehouse, and then add rooms to your house, and then hire servants.”

“Aye, and buy a ship and establish a trade and live as well as I possibly can. Is that a sin?”

“Yes, it is. It is greed. And greed leads to corruption. And corruption ends in utter depravity and evil. Again and again, Christ spoke against such wickedness.”

She drew down a ragged breath and pushed herself up from the table. “If you wish to marry me, Charles Locke, you must divest yourself of every ambition and surrender every dream. You must leave your father, your house, your possessions, all that you have and desire the most. You must accompany me on my missions of ministry, and you must be willing to abandon all earthly glory in exchange for the joy that only heaven can bring. Will you do this, Charles? Can you?”

Rising to face her, he rested one hand on the table for support. “Sarah, be reasonable, I beg you. Do you love me? If you do, then marry me. At this moment, that is all that matters.”

“You will not give it up, will you?”

“My ambition? No, and why should I? I was not born with a brain and two strong hands only to live as a beggar on some street in China.”

“We are told to take up our cross and follow Christ. We are instructed to sell all we have and give everything to the poor. That is the teaching of our Lord and Savior.”

“Perhaps I do not know Him as well as you, Sarah, but I cannot believe—”

“You cannot believe, and you do not believe,” she said hotly, tears streaming down her face again. “And that is why I can never marry you, Charles. My mind is settled. Please do not speak of it again.”

So saying, she spun away from him and ran across the deck to the stairs that led below. He frowned at the empty chair. Beauty, intelligence, wit, joy—everything he could desire in a wife. And more. She had believed in him. She had told him he could succeed. He would recover. He would follow his dreams. But
she
was his dream!

Where had such a reversal originated? Once she had told him that she believed he could be healed and do anything he desired. But she now insisted that he surrender every goal in life. Who had planted such ideas in her brain? such ravings? such mournful recitations of misery and the need for abandonment of all human pleasure?

His hopes dashed, Charles limped across the deck and leaned on the rail. He was a man without health. Without wealth. And without love.

Yet he would not succumb to doubt and fear. He would survive. He must.

“Sarah, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings,” Mary said, “but you are an absolute idiot.”

“Sister!” With a cry of exasperation, Sarah rolled her eyes. “How dare you say such a thing?”

“I agree with Mary,” Prudence announced in a calm voice. “Dear Sarah, your whole life stretches before you, and what do you mean to do with it? Give everything you own to the poor. Forsake the one man who truly loves you. And go to India to live as a beggar. There can be no other way to look at the situation: you are quite out of your wits.”

“I am perfectly sane, and I should very much appreciate the support of the family I hold dear.” Sarah crossed her arms and leaned back in the silk-upholstered chair.

Two evenings after Sarah’s arrival in London, the three sisters were gathered for dinner at Trenton House, the family residence. Situated on the exclusive Cranleigh Crescent in Belgravia, the residence had been their late father’s pride and joy. At the start of each social season, London’s
ton
raced from their country manors back to the large, ornately furnished town houses that lined Belgrave Square and its adjoining streets. Sarah’s father had coveted a home in Belgravia, but Mr. Watson’s heritage as a tradesman had relegated him to nothing better than the ancestral family house on Gracechurch Street in Cheapside.

Only after Lord Delacroix became his son-in-law had Mr. Watson been welcomed into the
ton
, whereupon he promptly purchased Trenton House, just across the crescent-shaped park from Delacroix House. He filled it with the finest of furniture, carpets, draperies, and art. He hired a phalanx of servants to heed his every whim. And then—at the very peak of the power, wealth, and influence he had so craved—he died.

Newly married to Lord Delacroix at the time, Sarah had taken on the responsibility of maintaining her father’s house-hold, along with the baron’s London home and his country estate at Bamberfield. After her husband’s death, she had considered selling Trenton House, but her youngest sister still needed a place to live. During the two years of Sarah’s absence abroad, Prudence had presided over Trenton House. Now she was eager to surrender her duties, for they had proved more onerous than she expected.

On Sarah’s return to London, Prudence had begged her elder sister to live with her at the imposing edifice on Cranleigh Crescent. Henry Carlyle, the new baron, was living at Delacroix House, after all, and he was not likely to welcome the dowager Lady Delacroix into a home he had come to call his own. Delighted to be with her sister, Sarah had sent her trunks to Trenton House, where she and Prudence eagerly greeted Mary for dinner.

“First of all,” Sarah informed her dear sisters who had just pronounced her quite out of her mind, “I do not intend to give everything to the poor. In fact, I mean to settle a sum upon each of you.” “Ooo, how much?” Prudence cried, leaning forward. Her green eyes lit with a bright fire. “The thousand a year you gave me is certainly sufficient, but you received the whole of the legacy, Sarah—which I must tell you I never did think was fair.”

“Sarah is eldest, and it is hers by rights,” Mary stated. “Besides, she endured much more suffering than we did—and she deserves the money. Father could hardly have settled any great sum on you, Pru, for you are too foolish to manage it properly. I rely on my dear Mr. Heathhill to look after me—though I certainly could not object to any addition to my husband’s accounts.” She, too, leaned toward her sister. “How much, Sarah?”

Sighing, Sarah gazed at her sisters with a mixture of love and exasperation. Mary, younger than she by little more than a year, was a small, pretty creature with pert features and a heap of brown hair studded with every manner of jewel and ribbon to be found in the marketplace. She adored expensive gowns and enjoyed attending the events her society offered. Mary had informed Sarah that in the past two years, she and Mr. Heathhill had attended court at St. James’s no less than five times—an astonishing honor.

In contrast to her sister’s petite frame, Prudence enjoyed the benefits of ample feminine curves and features equally sumptuous. Her olive green eyes seemed to fill her whole face, and her lips wore a natural pout that had enchanted men from the moment she was allowed out into society. At every ball, her dance card filled before the musicians struck the first note. At picnics, she could hardly be seen for the sea of eager gentlemen swarming her like bees around a glorious flower. Even at church, Pru attracted so much male attention that she was obliged to linger a full half hour after her sisters had gone away to luncheon. Flattered and admired by one and all, the young lady could hardly think beyond the next beau who sought her favor. And she hardly tried.

“I believe ten thousand pounds should do you each very well,” Sarah stated. “I shall have my steward draw up the papers to that effect directly.”

“Ten thousand! Oh, thank you!” Mary exclaimed, leaping from her chair and throwing her arms around her sister. “I am delighted at this news, and I assure you I shall make good use of every tuppence!”

“Aye, buying bonnets and slippers.” Prudence giggled. She joined Mary, kissing Sarah lightly on the cheek. “You are a dear sister, and I thank you for remembering us. This evening when you began to talk about your journey, I confess, I feared you must be so much altered that you had forgotten Mary and me altogether.”