The Incomparable Miss Compton (3 page)

“I’m sure your aunt’s mind was eased knowing you were here with Persephone,” Lady Prestwick said, bringing Sarah‘s attention back to the conversation at hand. Lady Prestwick’s obvious sincerity warmed Sarah’s heart, and she found herself smiling.

“You seem devoted to the girl,” Lady Wincamp put in. “I imagine you won’t know what to do with yourself once she’s wed.”

Sarah kept her smile in place from long practice. There was no reason for anyone to know that she was not the devoted older spinster everyone believed her to be. She was relieved when another couple presented themselves to Lady Prestwick and her formidable aunt and made her escape to search for Norrie.

In truth, she reflected as she circled the dance floor, watchful for her friend, she had once doted on Persephone. Some people would doubt that. There was such a difference in their ages and circumstances. She had been twelve when her cousin had been born, shortly before Sarah’s parents had died in a carriage accident. Sarah had long ago walled off the pain that came with remembering that dark time. She had been plucked from a loving home and thrust into the guardianship of her mother’s younger sister, Persephone’s mother Bella. Aunt Belle had had little time for Sarah, unfortunately, for Persephone, her only child, was rather sickly. Before Sarah could even accustom herself to her loss, she had been sent to the Barnsley School for Young Ladies in far off Somerset. It wasn’t until Sarah’s disappointing come-out six years later that she had spent any time with her aunt.

The dance continued, with some of the dancers showing signs of fatigue. The gentleman dancing next to the duke was fanning himself with one gloved hand and his partner’s dark curls were wilting down one side of her reddening cheek. Persy, however, looked as dewy and fresh as the moment she had entered the set, pausing to flutter her thick lashes up at the duke, who barely remembered it was time to turn.

No, Sarah was nothing like her cousin. She had never mastered this art of pretending to give her heart.

“So she‘s settled on the duke, has she?”

Sarah turned to find her friend beside her. Eleanor, Countess of Wenworth, was a tall, elegant creature with silky light brown tresses and speaking deep blue eyes. Her Mexican blue gown was square cut across her slender bosom, draping in sweeping folds to the white satin underskirt peeking out near her slippered feet. The only child of a long-dead soldier, she had been the charity case of the Barnsley School, kept on by a scholarship from the Darby family, who held the Wenworth title. Against all odds, she had met and married the second son, Justinian Darby, becoming his countess when he ascended to the title. Although she was two years Sarah’s senior, Sarah was grateful that she had befriended her when Sarah had arrived at the school. They had been friends ever since.

“Thank goodness you found me,“ she told Norrie now. “I was about to give up hope in this crowd.“

Norrie smiled. “I feared I wouldn’t find you either, but then I remembered I merely had to find the largest knot of gentlemen, and there I would find Persephone. And where I find Persephone, I shortly find you.“

“Only until she accepts the duke,“ Sarah promised her.

“And then you will accept that position I have offered to lead our dame school?“ Norrie prompted.

Sarah nodded. “With great relief. I would have left Suffolk sooner if I hadn’t been worried for Aunt Belle. But the physician says she will be up and about by fall. Besides, I know you will understand me, Norrie, when I say I’m heartily sick of having to be grateful for everything I own. Gratitude is a lovely thing when you know the gift is given in love. But when it’s given out of pity or a sense of duty, I cannot abide it. It becomes a weight, a burden. I have far too many burdens right now.“

Norrie reached out a gloved hand to squeeze hers. “I understand completely. You will remember how Miss Martingale was wont to remind me, and anyone else who would listen, that we must remember our places. I have come to believe that we must each find what that place is, and not let others dictate it to us. But I must disagree with you that you have had to receive too many gifts of duty. Surely your aunt owed you more than that one aborted Season years ago.”

Sarah shook her head, watching as the dance ended and the duke requested another. Persephone hesitated only a moment, glancing back over her shoulder as if to find Sarah. More likely she wanted to see who else was in line to partner her.
Accept, accept
, Sarah willed in her mind. To her relief, her cousin shrugged a slender shoulder and laid her hand on the duke’s arm. Sarah took a deep breath as the music started again.

“I think Aunt Belle did me more of a favor than she knew,“ she confided to Norrie, continuing to watch her cousin. “I hated the Season back then. It is only bearable now because I am firmly on the shelf at nearly thirty. London and all its pleasures seemed huge and terrifying at eighteen. The people I met were far more intelligent and polished than I could ever hope to be. I was fumble-footed and tongue-tied, and the gentlemen fled from me in disgust.”

“Somehow I doubt that,“ Norrie replied. “I would rather believe that your aunt pressured you to leave. I’m sure she missed Persephone. From your letters, I take it she feared for the girl’s very life. To this day she cannot remember that your cousin is safely grown.”

“You didn’t know Persy when she was little,” Sarah reminded her. “My cousin was tiny and fragile, like a fairy child with her huge violet eyes and blond hair. She seemed fated to catch every chill. She could not even look at a field of hay without convulsing in a fit of sneezing. Her first attempt to mount a pony, and a very small spiritless one at that, resulted in a broken arm. A single bite of strawberry raised angry red welts. Uncle Harold had no idea how to respond to her, and Aunt Belle was constantly having hysterics from worrying.”

“And so Sarah came to the rescue,“ Norrie guessed. “I know your tender heart, Sarah, for all you try to hide it from the world. Besides, you are far sturdier than your cousin, both in body and in spirit. You tried not to brag in your letters, but it was clear to me that you were the one managing the household. You were the one who took the night watch when Persy lay with a fever. You administered the vile-tasting medicine when Persy refused it from all others. You entertained her when she was once again confined to her bed for days. And you were the one to convince your aunt that the girl should receive tutoring so that she could learn to be a proper young lady.”

“I was so pleased when Aunt Belle agreed to send her to London to school,” Sarah mused with a smile. “She missed so much, Norrie, not being with her peers. I knew it was the right thing to do.”

“And now she shall have her day,” Norrie replied, turning her gaze to the dance. “And you shall have yours, Sarah. You cannot tell me you didn’t enjoy this last year when you could do more than be Persy’s shadow.”

Sarah felt her smile deepen. “Yes, I enjoyed working at the Dame School in our parish. I know I enjoyed being with Persy when she was young, but I find I like children in general. They have such inquisitive minds. And they ask the most fascinating questions. They make me think beyond myself.”

“You should have children of your own,” Norrie told her sternly. “I warn you, Sarah. Should you take that position at our school, I will be merciless in bringing forth gentlemen to petition for your hand.”

Sarah shuddered theatrically. “And they will likely all be old, fat, lecherous widowers with a dozen children at their feet. No, thank you. I do not give my heart so easily. Besides, if I am to spend my life caring for other people’s children, I’d rather have my independence.”

Norrie shook her head. “I have much better taste, I assure you, than to try to pair you with some flatulent farmer. But you will soon find that if you allow me to spirit you away to Wenworth Place.”

“If only Persy could be settled,” Sarah replied with a sigh. “No one would dispute she is the reigning belle of the ton, as I predicted. You should see the mountain of cards we receive daily, inviting her to ride, to dance, to attend the opera, play, or musicale. Lovelorn swains crowd our sitting room; flowers from admirers choke the entryway. She is infamous.“

“And becoming more so,“ Norrie remarked. “How many offers has she refused now?“

Sarah sighed again. “Three besides Count Rogan. She claimed the Marquis of Atwich was too old and stodgy. She threw away Lord Sombly because he only had eight thousand pounds per annum. And she rejected the Russian ambassador because she was certain no one would ever see her in St. Petersburg.”

“Well, the duke is hardly old or stodgy,“ Norrie countered. “He is rumored to be worth twenty thousand pounds per annum. I will grant you he prefers his estates to town, but surely he will come up for the Season each year. She must accept him.”

“I wish I could be certain of that,“ Sarah replied. “She needs to marry well, Norrie. Aunt Belle will suffocate her, and her father hasn’t much use for single females at home. He all but told me to look for a position while I was here in London, as he cannot be expected to care for me indefinitely.“

“Nipfarthing,“ Norrie complained. “As if your keep cost him anything, the way he worked you as a servant.“

“Be that as it may,“ Sarah replied sternly, although her heart was warmed by her friend’s loyalty, “Persy must wed. We must find a gentleman who is handsome, charming, and wealthy enough for Persy’s taste, but sensible enough to curb her tendency toward self-absorption. Given Persy’s girlish nature, he had also better be kind and not too intelligent. To my mind, the duke is perfect.”

Norrie bit back a smile at that. Sarah watched His Grace bow to her cousin as the dance ended. The warm smile and glow in his eyes told her he was entranced, like nearly every other man in the room. While Persy did not look nearly so delighted, still the girl had to be mindful of the opportunity the duke presented. If only the girl would settle on the fellow!

It was then she noticed a handsome blond fellow moving toward the parting dancers. He was accompanied by an imposing gentleman with hair nearly as black as Lady Prestwick’s, although much less tidy.

“Who is that?“ Sarah asked with a frown, watching as him stride across the polished floor, legs long and strong.

Norrie frowned as well, following her gaze. “The charming blonde is Lord Prestwick, our host. And the dark-haired brute beside him is, if I am not mistaken, Lord Breckonridge.”

“Really?” Sarah looked closer, noting the powerful build, the determined carriage. “He looks more like the town bully than the orator I fancied. I’ve read reprints of his speeches in
The Times
.
He’s quite brilliant. What on earth could he want with Persephone?”

Norrie shook her head. “What do any of them want with Persy?”

Sarah started. “You don’t honestly think he could be interested in courting her?”

“I doubt he wants her to vote on an act of Parliament,“ Norrie countered.

Sarah watched her cousin dip a graceful curtsy as Breckonridge bowed over her hand. He certainly did seem to be taking an interest. And Persy was simpering.

“But he cannot be serious,“ she protested. “She couldn’t be more than a bon bon to him. He’d have her for lunch and still be hungry.”

“Perhaps the gentleman is fond of bon bons,“ Norrie said darkly.

She seemed to have the right of it, for the gentleman in question was now smiling over something Persephone had said. The duke beside her was glowering. Lord Prestwick was grinning. Sarah felt a chill crawl up her spine.

“Do you think Lord Breckonridge could possibly be the man Persy needs, Norrie?” she asked.

“I wish I knew,“ Norrie replied. “Justinian has only spoken of him a few times, mostly in regards to some doing in Parliament. From what little I know, he appears to be a good man at heart, loyal to his party. Yet he is a determined man, used to power. He appears to be absolutely devoted to his career. Persy would never take first place in his affections.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Persy, take second place? The match is doomed.”

“Yet if she dallies with him,” Norrie pointed out, “she may lose her chance with the oh-so-eligible duke.”

Sarah knew the signs by now. Already Persy had turned so that the duke was behind her, as if she had dismissed him. Her warm smile was all for Breckonridge. The duke had paled.

“I must stop this,“ she murmured to Norrie.

“Sarah to the rescue,“ Norrie muttered, but Sarah ignored her to hurry across the ballroom. Couples were once more lining up for the next set. She must stop Breckonridge before he took the floor with her cousin. Ahead of her, Persy was tittering and batting her lashes to effect. Lord Prestwick was regarding her bemused, and the duke’s jaw was a tense line. Malcolm Breckonridge wore the slightest of frowns, but he bent his dark head closer as if to hear what Persy was saying.

Sarah stepped boldly up to the group and laid her hand on Lord Breckonridge’s arm. Beneath the black evening coat, she could feel the hard muscle. She swallowed.

“My lord,” she said over brightly.

He turned to face her, and she found herself being regarded by eyes nearly as black as his hair. Up close, his face was as strong as his carriage. He was a handsome man, she decided, watching the play of light and shadow across the craggy planes. The black hair held a hint of silver at the temples, but the gleam in his dark eyes belied any lessening of youthful energy. Power, held firmly in check, seemed to coil through him like heat from a carefully banked fire. He would never be noted for the tragic glory of Lord Byron or the quiet command of Wellington. No, this man would be a silent power, more subtle, more deadly. She had a feeling that he carried his thoughts deep, and woe betide the one who made him display his passions openly. She forced a smile to remain on her face.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, my lord,” she warbled, while Persephone frowned at her and the duke and Lord Prestwick eyed her curiously. “I am ready for that dance you promised me.”

She held her breath as Breckonridge’s sharp eyes narrowed. His gaze raked her from top to bottom, and, despite herself, she felt her color heightening. Just as she thought he would give her the cut direct for her audacity, he snapped a bow.