The Blanchland Secret. Nicola Cornick
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set-down to him in a single day. She had the feeling that it would be inviting trouble.
‘Naturally I do not include you in their company, ma’am! Will you dance with me at your cousin’s ball tomorrow night?’
Sarah raised her eyebrows again. There was no doubt that Viscount Renshaw possessed a most persistent and provocative disposition, and that he was deliberately trying to incite a reaction.
‘It is not certain that I shall attend, sir,’ she said, still cool. ‘I have other plans—’
His eyes danced with a secret amusement. ‘Oh, surely you would not disappoint your cousin, ma’am? Shall I appeal to her to persuade you?’ He glanced across at Amelia and Greville, still deep in conversation.
‘Pray do not disturb them,’ Sarah said hastily, aware that her colour had risen again. It was an understood thing that she would be present at Amelia’s ball, for it would be the highlight of Bath’s winter season. She suspected that Guy had guessed as much. His amused gaze rested on her face, moving over each feature with slow deliberation. Sarah felt inordinately uncomfortable under that observant scrutiny.
The clock chimed.
‘Oh!’ Amelia got hastily to her feet. ‘I do beg your pardon, gentlemen! I am promised to Mrs Chartley’s card party! Pray excuse me or I shall be very late!’
Greville and Guy stood up, Greville offering his escort to Amelia, who accepted prettily.
Guy took Sarah’s hand and pressed a kiss on it. ‘I am sure we shall see you this evening, Miss Sheridan. Do you go to the dance at the Pump Room?’
‘Oh, yes, we shall be there!’ Amelia said cheerfully, seeming blissfully unaware that her cousin was about to deny it. She gave Guy Renshaw a melting smile. ‘It is the last public dance of the year, you know! But how charming to be able to see you again so soon, Lord Renshaw!’
Guy bowed. ‘The pleasure will be all mine, Lady Amelia! Your servant, Miss Sheridan!’
They all went out together. Sarah watched from the window as the Viscount parted from Greville and Amelia with a casual word and a smile. She was aware of a certain conflict inside her and a faint disappointment. Guy Renshaw was a charming man and he had made his admiration for her very plain, but he was also a dangerous flirt who probably did not mean a word of it. It would be very foolish to read anything into his behaviour and even more imprudent to allow an unexpected physical attraction to disturb her.
Besides, he would be leaving Bath in a couple of days and so would she. Abruptly, Sarah remembered her commitment to visit Blanchland, and felt depression settle on her. She did not want to see what Ralph Covell had done to her beloved family home, nor to become embroiled in the problems of Frank’s natural daughter, nor to ruin her own reputation in the process. Amelia was quite right—she must be mad. And Churchward had even offered her a way out by suggesting that an agent could represent her interests, yet for some reason she had chosen not to take it…
Sarah felt the beginnings of a headache stir. Since she had resolved on this rash course of action, she must at least plan how to accomplish it with a minimum of fuss. Blanchland was less than a day’s journey from Bath, and if she were fortunate she would be able to find Miss Meredith quickly, discover the girl’s difficulties and instruct Churchward on the best way to resolve them. The whole matter could be decided in a week—ten days at the outside. And no one need ever know.
The presence of Viscount Renshaw and Sir Greville Baynham caused quite a stir at the Pump Room that night. Sir Greville, whose family home was a few miles north of the city, had always been a universal favourite, with several young ladies expressing themselves willing to console him if Lady Amelia refused his suit. The Viscount caused an even greater commotion, being fortunate enough to be rich, handsome and heir to an Earl into the bargain.
It was a clear, starry night, and Sarah and Amelia had walked the short distance from Brock Street to the Pump Room, enjoying the fresh chill of the night air that brought the colour to their cheeks and made their eyes sparkle. As they handed over their cloaks and Amelia cast a thoughtful look over her cousin, Sarah saw her smile of approval.
‘How pretty you look, Sarah! I would not have dreamed of saying anything before, but I am so glad you have cast off that hideous half-mourning!’
She saw Sarah’s expression and added hastily, ‘I know you were a most devoted sister to Frank, my love, but surely you are too young to wear black forever?’
Sarah could feel her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile. Milly could be amazingly tactless at times.
‘I know the black was ageing,’ she agreed mildly, ‘but surely the lavender became me a little?’
Amelia looked contrite. ‘Oh, sweetly pretty, my love, but for a whole year? And even then you habitually chose drab colours that are nothing to this delicious rose tint you are wearing now!’ She cast her cousin a sideways look. ‘I did wonder whether the advent of Viscount Renshaw was the reason for your sudden—’
‘Oh, look, Milly, it is Mr Tilbury and his sister!’ Sarah was aware that she had never shown much inclination for the Tilburys’ company before now, but felt she had to distract her cousin. Amelia, however, was far too determined for that.
‘Yes, I fear we will be in for much the same company as ever tonight, especially with it being the end of the season! As I was saying, it is fortunate that Greville has brought that charming man, Guy Renshaw, with him! I declare, Bath society seldom offers the opportunity to meet so prodigiously attractive a gentleman!’
Sarah knew that she was blushing and prayed that it could be put down to the heat of the room after the cold outside. She would never have admitted to Amelia that she had spent twice as long as usual at her toilette and agonised between the rose pink and the aquamarine silk. Sarah had been aware of a growing sense of anticipation all afternoon, and found that she was feeling quite nervous as she and Amelia entered the ballroom. She experienced an altogether unfamiliar sensation of breathlessness, her heart suddenly racing and butterflies fluttering frantically in her stomach. Her slender fingers tightened on her fan. This was ridiculous! Good gracious, she was very nearly in a fit of panic, and all because of Guy Renshaw, who had once put a toad on her dining-chair!
She could see Guy across the ballroom, deep in conversation with Greville and attracting considerable attention from the female guests. The reason was not hard to seek: the classical good looks of the Woodallan family, combined with the immaculate black and white of the evening dress, made him look extremely handsome and ever-so-slightly dangerous.
‘Half my female acquaintance have already heard that the Viscount called on us earlier and have begged an introduction,’ Amelia was saying, with a giggle. ‘I declare, we have not seen so much excitement in an age!’ She linked her arm through Sarah’s and the cousins walked slowly down the edge of the ballroom.
‘Greville looks very handsome tonight,’ Sarah observed, giving Amelia a meaningful look. ‘Not even Lord Renshaw can put him in the shade!’
‘Oh, Grev looks very well,’ Amelia said, so carelessly that Sarah wanted to shake her, ‘and I am very fond of him, of course, but in a brotherly sort of way!’
‘A favourite brother, perhaps,’ Sarah said tartly.
Amelia cast her a look from under her lashes. ‘Oh Sarah, do I treat him so badly? I do not mean to!’
‘You know you do not value him as you ought! Greville would never lose all his money at cards, or drink himself into oblivion the way your late husband did—’
‘No…’ Amelia sighed soulfully ‘…Alan was such exciting company!’
Sarah sighed. In her opinion, Alan Fenton had been a wastrel with nothing to commend him, and she could never understand why Amelia appeared to value his dashing looks over Greville’s integrity. They were almost upon Sir Greville now and she saw the glad light that sprang into his blue eyes as he looked at Amelia. It was too bad.