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She was spared Guy’s company in the morning, however, for the gentlemen had gone out for an early ride and were not expected back before luncheon. Lady Woodallan, recognising a kindred spirit in Amelia, bore her off to inspect the still room, so Sarah was left to her own devices. This did not trouble her. She spent a happy hour reacquainting herself with Lord Woodallan’s extensive library collection, then turned her attention to the glass cases containing an assortment of semiprecious stones that he had collected on his travels abroad. Here was the brilliant deep blue of the lapis lazuli that had so fascinated her as a child, the pale green of the peridot and the deep amber of the tiger’s eye, flecked with gold.
The walls of the library were furnished with family portraits and Sarah paused on her way out to consider the large family grouping over the fireplace. Here was a younger Earl and Countess of Woodallan, smiling proudly as their four children played about their feet. Guy looked stiff and self-conscious in his child’s velvet suit and Sarah smiled a little. His younger sisters Emma and Clara, the latter barely more than a baby, sat on the floor at their feet, but the eldest girl stood shyly by her mother’s chair. She must have been a couple of years older than Guy, Sarah thought, and she looked grave but with a smile breaking through. Sarah frowned, trying to remember her name. Catherine. She had died when Sarah was only seven and Sarah had no clear memory of her.
Sarah moved on to pictures of Lady Emma and Lady Clara as debutantes, both fair-haired, brown-eyed and heartbreakingly lovely. The Woodallan looks were very distinctive, Sarah thought. She remembered them both with fondness as having a great sense of fun and thought with regret that it would have been very pleasant to accept Lady Woodallan’s invitation and return for Christmas, when both daughters and their respective families were expected.
That, of course, was not the only proposal that had been made to her. And there to remind her was a portrait of Guy in his early twenties. The artist had captured brilliantly the wicked twinkle in those brown eyes and the unconsciously arrogant tilt to his chin. He looked strikingly handsome and Sarah’s heart contracted a little.
She went out into the hall, closing the library door quietly behind her. The sun had come out and Sarah decided that she would take a walk before luncheon. She picked up her cloak, donned her boots and went out into the morning air.
A quick tour of the gardens took her through the parterre and downhill towards the fields that bordered the trout stream. Sarah leant over and dabbled her fingers in the crystal clear water, finding it icy. There was no danger of lingering outdoors today, for an easterly wind made Lady Woodallan’s predictions of a hard frost seem very likely.
‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan.’ Sarah turned to see Guy leaning on a five-bar gate a few yards away. He must have moved very quietly; she had not heard his approach. ‘Did you fancy sledging down the hill as we did as children?’
Sarah laughed. ‘I do not believe there is sufficient snow, my lord! The last time we tried that there were drifts five foot deep!’
‘I remember!’ Guy pushed the gate open and strode through to join her. ‘I borrowed a tray from the kitchen and found it ran faster than the proper sledge!’
‘And you finished head down in a drift and Clara screamed and screamed because she thought you were dead!’
They laughed together.
‘Perhaps we might try again when you return to Woodallan for Christmas,’ Guy said, as they turned back towards the house. ‘There is bound to be further snowfall before then. Indeed, I believe we are in for quite a cold snap!’
‘So your mother was saying.’ Sarah pushed her hands into the fur muff and shivered a little. ‘I would not wish you to forget, however, that I have made no commitment to return for Christmas!’
‘Of course.’ Guy’s smile was rueful. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sheridan! It was my own hopes that were speaking! I do most ardently wish that you will stay a little at Woodallan after your quest to Blanchland is completed.’
‘I shall see,’ Sarah said cautiously. ‘Shall we walk back, sir? It is too cold to tarry here!’
‘By all means.’ Guy fell into step beside her as they turned back up the hill. ‘What are your impressions of Woodallan after all these years, Miss Sheridan? Does it bring back happy memories for you?’
Sarah paused. They were skirting a huge oak that stood alone in the middle of the meadow. In the summers long ago she had scrambled up into its spreading branches and sat feeling the sway of the tree in the breeze. Clara and Emma had been too scared to climb so high and Lady Sheridan had scolded her daughter for being a tomboy.
‘Sometimes it is a mistake to go back, my lord.’
Guy’s hand was on her arm. ‘But if the past could also be the future, Miss Sheridan…?’
Sarah felt terribly tempted. To regain so much, to return to a place that held such happy memories…But the one thing that she really wanted—Guy’s love—was not part of the bargain. His charm and kindness to her were dangerous, drawing her in again, stirring up feelings she wanted to forget, making her vulnerable. Many, more practical than she, would settle for such an advantageous marriage of convenience. Perhaps, Sarah thought, she might have done so herself were her feelings not engaged. But the thought of Guy with another woman in his arms made her feel quite sick. If she bore his name, she could not bear to lose him.
Sarah turned away abruptly and walked on.
‘There is something I need to tell you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said, after a moment. ‘It concerns your trip to Blanchland. Would you care to discuss it here, or wait until we are back in the house?’
‘Perhaps it would be better to talk as we walk back, my lord.’
‘To avoid another uncomfortable tête-à-tête?’ Guy gave her an ironic smile. ‘Have no fear, Miss Sheridan! Even I am not so lost to all sense of propriety as to try to seduce you in my parents’ house! However, if you wish, we shall talk of it now. The cold air is death to strong passion, after all!’
Sarah blushed angrily. ‘Did you have some material point to make, my lord?’
‘Indeed!’ Guy stretched lazily, then drove his hands into his coat pockets. Sarah hastily averted her eyes. Such blatant masculinity at such close quarters was decidedly unsettling.
‘I have to tell you that I am to accompany you to Blanchland,’ Guy continued. He smiled at Sarah’s evident annoyance. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sheridan, but my father wills it so and I am sure you would not wish to disappoint him!’
‘I thought that you said you would not tell your parents of my destination,’ Sarah said crossly. She regarded him with suspicion. ‘There is something very strange about this, my lord! Do you care to explain?’
‘Very well,’ Guy said obligingly. ‘I believe that you received a letter from your late brother asking you to offer your aid to a certain young lady. The request necessitated you travelling to Blanchland. My father received a similar letter asking that he offer you all support in your search. Unfortunately he is too ill to undertake the obligation, so he has asked me to do so in his place. So I will be journeying to Blanchland with you, Miss Sheridan!’ He held the gate open for her to walk through into the gardens. ‘I am sure you cannot be pleased—’
‘No, indeed! It is most unfortunate!’
Guy’s ironic smile deepened. ‘Thank you, Miss Sheridan!’
‘Oh!’ Sarah caught herself. ‘Indeed, I am very grateful to Lord Woodallan for offering me assistance, but truly there is no need—’
‘You waste your breath if you seek to dissuade me, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said drily. ‘My father is adamant and I must do as he wishes.’
They walked on a little in silence. The winter wind was chill with an edge of sleet to it now.
‘If you were to consult your own inclination rather than your duty—’ Sarah began.
‘Then the answer would still be the same. I am at your disposal!’
Sarah gave an angry sigh. ‘Frank should not have burdened Lord Woodallan with such a commission!’
‘I agree with you,’ Guy said readily. ‘I also believe that your brother must have felt he had placed you in an invidious position, not to say an irregular one! He was appealing to Lord Woodallan as your godfather and the person who could offer you protection. Had he known that Blanchland had become a house of ill fame I am persuaded he would never have laid such a charge on you!’ He shrugged. ‘As it is, I am astonished you accepted the obligation!’
Sarah pulled the brim of her bonnet closer about her face to protect her from the sting of the wind. ‘I know it must seem most singular,’ she admitted, ‘and, to own the truth, I did not wish to do so! But Frank has asked it and the girl is my niece whether I like it or not, so…’ Her voice trailed away. She was not sure whether she was glad or otherwise of Guy’s support in the matter. Had it been Lord Woodallan, as Frank had intended, she would have accepted his help unequivocally. But Guy was a different matter and now Frank’s actions had made it impossible for her to keep him at a distance.
‘How do you intend to present your case to Sir Ralph?’ Guy asked, watching lazily as doubt and worry chased each other swiftly across Sarah’s expressive face. They were approaching the door of the house now. ‘Do you intend to reveal the whole to him?’
Sarah bit her lip. Guy seemed to have a talent for hitting on precisely the matters that concerned her. She still had not decided how to tackle that problem, uncertain whether to take Sir Ralph into her confidence or not. Sarah’s heart sank as she realised how ill prepared she was for the whole venture. What thoughts she had had since leaving Bath had been all to do with Guy himself and nothing to do with Olivia Meredith at all!
‘I have not really decided…’ She knew she sounded vague. ‘I confess I need more time to fashion a tale…Oh, dear,’ she finished, despairing, ‘was there ever such an ill-thought-out enterprise!’
Guy’s lips twitched. ‘My dear Miss Sheridan, can I not persuade you to change your mind, even at this eleventh hour? Despite my reluctance, I am willing to stand your friend and go to Blanchland on your behalf!’
For a moment, Sarah was tempted. To wash her hands of the whole matter was very appealing, but she had not persisted this far in order to turn back now.
‘Thank you, sir. It is a generous offer, but I feel I must go myself.’
‘You are very obstinate, Miss Sheridan!’ Without warning, Guy stopped and took her hands in his. ‘Obstinate, difficult, determined to cause a scandal—’
‘I will thank you to be quiet, my lord!’ Sarah was pink with indignation. She dropped the muff and could not free herself to pick it up again. ‘Let me go! Someone will see us!’
Guy shrugged. ‘Very probably! I cannot say that the thought disturbs me!’
‘Oh!’ Sarah tried disengage herself again. Guy refused to let go.
‘You yourself,’ Sarah said furiously, ‘are arrogant and high-handed—’
‘I believe you have already told me, Miss Sheridan!’ Guy was smiling down at her with the wicked amusement that always made Sarah’s pulse race.
‘If you are to accompany me to Blanchland, I trust that you will behave with decorum, my lord!’
‘I think that that is very unlikely. You had best be prepared for the worst!’ Guy turned her hand over and pressed a kiss on the palm. ‘Do not forget,’ he said caressingly, ‘that I still have to persuade you to accept my hand in marriage. I shall be doing my utmost to convince you!’
Sarah wrenched her hands away, knowing she was trembling violently. It was intolerable that he should have such an effect on her!
‘Pray do not persist in this ridiculous jest, my lord! We both know you cannot mean it!’
‘Never more serious, I assure you, Miss Sheridan! As I said yesterday, you will have time to become accustomed to the idea.’ Guy was laughing at her. ‘What you will not have is the chance to refuse me!’
Sarah drew breath for a scathing retort but broke off as the door swung open to reveal the butler, his expression as wooden as the door panels. ‘Luncheon is served, my lord. Miss Sheridan,’ he bowed politely, bending to retrieve the muff, ‘allow me, madam—’
But he was talking to thin air. With a fulminating glance, Sarah had stalked off, leaving Guy still grinning as he watched her indignant figure walk out of sight.
After lunch the sleet turned to light snow that lay like icing across the parkland.
‘Oh, how pretty!’ Amelia exclaimed, as she stood by Sarah in the library and looked out across the hills. ‘If it continues like this, I fear we may have to stay some time!’
Sarah looked exasperated. ‘It is only five miles to Blanchland, Milly! If the worst comes to the worst, I shall walk there tomorrow!’
Amelia’s face fell. ‘Would you not prefer to stay at Woodallan, Sarah? It is so pleasant—’
‘Of course I would rather stay here!’ Sarah said crossly. ‘How could I possibly favour Blanchland over this? The fact is that I have lost a week already since the letter arrived and—’
She broke off, remembering that Amelia was not party to the letter’s contents. Amelia gave her a curious look.
‘Is time a material factor then? I had not realised.’
‘No, I am sorry.’ Sarah looked shamefaced. ‘I did not say…’
Amelia pressed her hand. ‘Time enough for you to tell me all about it when you are ready.’ She gave Sarah a penetrating look. ‘I understand, however, that Lord Renshaw accompanies us?’
Sarah felt the telltale blush creep into her cheeks. ‘So I am told. It was not at my instigation!’
Amelia raised her eyebrows. ‘On his own inclination, then—’
‘No!’ Sarah realised she sounded too vehement and tried to calm down. ‘That is, he tells me that Frank wrote to Lord Woodallan, asking him to help me in my quest. Unfortunately, the Earl is too ill to accompany us, so…’ She shrugged.
‘So Lord Renshaw comes instead!’ Amelia frowned. ‘Are you sure about this, Sarah? It sounds all a hum to me!’
Now it was Sarah’s turn to frown. ‘Whatever can you mean? Of course I am sure!’
‘Only that it seems a little odd. I am not sure why, but…’
‘Yet it must be so. Guy—Lord Renshaw,’ Sarah corrected herself meticulously, ‘knew of the purpose of my visit, and that can only have come from Frank’s letter.’
Amelia shrugged lightly. ‘As you say, my love. I must surely be making a mystery out of nothing!’ She moved across to the writing box. ‘Now, since it is not really the weather to go out, I shall write some letters.’
‘I’ll sit with you and read a book,’ Sarah said, selecting one from the shelves. She settled in an armchair beside the roaring fire, and for a time there was no sound but for the pages turning softly and the scratch of Amelia’s nib on the paper. Sarah, however, was hardly concentrating. Amelia’s words had raised some doubts in her mind, yet she was unsure what it was that disturbed her. Never mind—tomorrow she would reach Blanchland at last and unravel the mystery of Olivia Meredith.
Dinner was another very pleasant meal and was followed by charades and card-playing before bedtime. Lady Woodallan was chatting to Amelia as they ascended the stairs and it was completely by chance that Sarah, trailing a little behind, heard the conversation between father and son in the hall below.
‘You have told her that you will go, then,’ Lord Woodallan was saying as he lit the remaining candles to see them up to bed.
‘I have, sir.’ Guy sounded a little grim.
‘But not the rest? Not about—?’
‘No. It is as you wished.’
‘Good.’ Woodallan sounded relieved. ‘Then you will see to it, Guy. Find Miss Meredith—and make sure that Miss Sheridan does not—’
Guy glanced up at that moment and Sarah shrank back into the darkness at the top of the stairs. Her mind was racing as she puzzled over what she had heard. So what Guy had told her was true, but only up to a point—his father did want him to accompany her to Blanchland, but not simply to give her his aid! Apparently he had his own reasons for wishing to find Olivia, and she was not to be made aware of them…
‘Sarah!’ Amelia called, a little impatiently. ‘Where are you? I am waiting to say goodnight!’
She yawned widely as Sarah hurried up the remaining few steps, then gave her cousin an affectionate peck on the cheek. ‘Sleep well, my love!’
But Sarah tossed and turned for over an hour as she tried to work out what connection the Woodallan family might have with Olivia Meredith and, more importantly, why she should not be privy to it. Her musings shed no light, however, and in the end she fell asleep, to dream that she was chasing a fair-haired girl across the park at Blanchland, but, just before she reached her, the girl disappeared.
Chapter Six (#ulink_975ff11b-0eac-5609-9155-6ac95891f190)
Blanchland stood on the top of a rise, surrounded on three sides by a woodland of tall pines. As the carriage drew nearer, all the occupants could see that it was a supremely elegant house of pinkish stone with a small gold cupola on the roof, where Lord Sheridan had once housed the telescope he had used for astronomical observations. In the morning sunlight, with the bright white fields as a backdrop, it looked very beautiful.
Just seeing the house again almost brought tears to Sarah’s eyes. She blinked hard to keep them at bay and set her mouth in a determined line.
‘I had almost forgot how pretty it is…’
They drove through Blanchland village, huddled at the bottom of the hill, and started the climb to the gates of the house. It was very quiet. The frost glittered in the sun but no one moved in the still landscape. Sarah repressed a shiver.
She knew that Guy was watching her and the sympathy she could see in his eyes made her feel dangerously close to breaking down. As Amelia leant forward to speak to Greville, forgetting for a moment her antipathy to him, Guy bent close to Sarah and touched her gloved hand. The fleeting contact gave her both comfort and confusion.
All had gone to plan that morning. They had left Woodallan early, sped on their way with the Earl and Countess’s good wishes and pressing invitations to return for Christmas. The Earl had shaken Guy’s hand and wished him luck, and Sarah had searched the face of both men for some clue to Guy’s secret errand at Blanchland, but there was nothing. Her doubts gnawed at her and added to her disquiet, but there was nothing she could do until the time Guy chose to tell her—or she dared to ask him.
Now that she had almost arrived, Sarah was prey to mixed feelings. Just seeing her old home again was emotional enough, but she was apprehensive as to what she might find there. Would Sir Ralph have ruined it beyond repair? Would he throw them all out into the snow—or worse, would he be indulging in some loathsome orgy? There was only one way to find out…
The silence, as they drew up on the forecourt, was almost sinister. All the windows of the house were shuttered and nothing stirred.
‘Perhaps no one is at home,’ Amelia said hopefully. ‘It seems deserted. Perhaps we should go back to Woodallan—’
‘We only left there a half-hour ago!’ Sarah said firmly. She stepped forward and rang the bell hard. They all heard it echo distantly before the silence settled again. The horses stamped impatiently on the gravel and Sarah jumped. Her nerves were on edge and she knew she was not the only one. Greville was looking grim and exchanged a quizzical look with Guy, and Amelia was shivering and peering around fearfully, as though she expected satyrs to jump out of the nearby bushes.
‘Oh, good, there is no one here! Let us go at once! Sarah—’
Sarah turned the door knob. The door was not locked and opened with a creak of protesting hinges that sounded loud in the morning quiet. Amelia gave a little shriek.
‘Oh, how Gothic! I declare, I will not set foot inside!’
