A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер
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of a youth primarily obsessed with practical jokes.
‘I do not doubt it, sir! Pray do not furnish me with the details, it would not be at all proper!’
‘But then I am not at all proper,’ Guy said ruefully. ‘Though, to my regret, I believe you to be a very pattern-card of correctness, Miss Sheridan!’
‘So I should hope! Pray do not pursue this line of conversation, sir!’
‘Must I not?’ There was a look of limpid innocence on Guy’s face. ‘I was presuming that our previous acquaintance would allow a certain informality—’
‘Informality!’ Sarah realised that she had raised her voice when she caught Amelia’s look of curiosity. She hastily dropped her tone again. ‘You presume too much, my lord!’
Guy shrugged, gracefully conceding defeat. Sarah had the distinct impression that it would only be a temporary reversal. She cast around for a safe change of subject. Genteel Bath society had scarcely prepared her for dealing with so flagrant a flirtation. She plumped for something she hoped would be innocuous.
‘I understand that you had been abroad for some years, sir. Your family must be eager to see you after all this time.’
Guy took her lead courteously, though there was a flash of amusement in his eyes that told her he knew she was trying to deflect him.
‘Yes, indeed,’ he said agreeably. ‘I was serving with Wellesley in the Peninsula for four years and only returned because my father’s health has deteriorated and he needs my help at Woodallan.’
‘I am sorry to hear of the Earl’s ill health,’ Sarah said, concerned. ‘I hope that it is not too serious?’
For once the humour dropped away from Guy’s expression and he looked sombre. ‘I hope so, too, Miss Sheridan, but I fear the worst. It is very unlike him to admit that he needs my help, but he has intimated that he wishes me to take on more of the running of Woodallan and the other estates…’ He made an effort to try for a lighter note. ‘No doubt my mother will be glad to see me back—she has been cursing Bonaparte these four years past for prolonging the war!’
‘It is several years since I saw your parents, although your mother and I still write,’ Sarah said, with a smile. ‘She told me in her last letter that she had high hopes of your swift return. She is kind—she sent me a very sympathetic letter when my father died.’
She looked up, to see Guy watching her. For all his levity, those dark eyes were disconcertingly perceptive. ‘It must have been a difficult time for you,’ he said gently. ‘You must have been very young, no more than nineteen, I imagine? And then to lose your brother and your home in such quick succession…’
Sarah’s mind immediately flew to Blanchland again. It seemed strange that she had so completely forgotten about Frank’s letter during the past few minutes. She had lost a brother, but it appeared that she had gained a niece. What sort of a girl would Miss Olivia Meredith prove to be? Her letter had been very neat and proper, the writing of a young lady educated at one of Oxford’s more select seminaries. But how to find her? She had to concoct a plan…
Sarah realised that Guy was still watching her, his searching gaze intent on her face. It made her feel oddly breathless.
‘I beg your pardon. I was thinking of home…’ She tried to gather her thoughts and steer away from further confidences. ‘Yes, I thank you…It was a difficult time.’
‘And now you reside with Lady Amelia?’ Guy smiled, looking across at where Amelia and Greville were engrossed in conversation, her chestnut curls brushing his shoulder as she bent forward confidingly. ‘I imagine that must be quite amusing!’
Sarah laughed. ‘Oh, I have been most fortunate! Amelia’s society is always stimulating and she has been as generous as a sister to me!’
Guy lowered his voice. ‘Do you think she will ever put Grev out of his misery and accept his suit, Miss Sheridan?’
It was a surprisingly personal question. Sarah raised her eyebrows a little haughtily and saw him grin in response.
‘I beg your pardon, Miss Sheridan, if you think me impertinent. I am only concerned for my friend’s future happiness, for I know he holds Lady Amelia in high esteem. But perhaps you think me presumptuous—again?’
Sarah unbent a little. ‘There is nothing I would like more than to see them make a match of it, my lord. I have been promoting the alliance these two years past! Alas, Amelia is not susceptible to my arguments!’
‘Nor to Greville’s, it would seem,’ Guy said, shifting a little in his chair. ‘And you, Miss Sheridan? No doubt you have many suitors! I should be glad to have happy news of your own situation to take back to Woodallan with me!’
If the previous question had been bold, this one took Sarah’s breath away. Once again there was a teasing light in his eyes, daring her to give him the snub he deserved.
‘I shall be happy for you to tell your family that I am in good health and spirits,’ she said, with a very straight face, ‘and to give them all my very best wishes!’
Guy did not seem discomposed. His smile broadened with appreciation. ‘I shall take that as encouragement for my own hopes then, ma’am!’
‘You should not do so, my lord,’ Sarah said crushingly. ‘I had not the least intention of encouraging you!’
‘I was thinking that the gentlemen of Bath must all be slow-tops,’ Guy said, apparently undaunted by her coldness, ‘but now I perceive that you are very high in the instep, Miss Sheridan! Your good opinion is not easily gained!’
‘Certainly not by an acknowledged rake who carelessly destroys my roses!’ Sarah said coolly. ‘Pray do not repine, however, my lord! There are any number of young ladies in Bath who would be delighted to flirt with you!’
‘Minx!’ his lordship said, with feeling. ‘I have to tell you that I have no interest in them, Miss Sheridan!’
‘Indeed?’ Sarah hesitated over administering yet another 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