Chapter Nineteen
THE NEWS OF Mrs Vickery’s having committed a double murder caused such a scandal that Sarah and Lucian’s engagement announcement passed with scarcely a ripple.
Sarah was both gladdened by this and slightly put out—it was not every day the village spinster became betrothed to an earl.
Surely she deserved at least a murmur of admiration?
A raised eyebrow or two? It was only when Mary reported overhearing Mrs Canards declare that Lord Deverell’s hand had been forced by the scandal of playing quoits with her, without a chaperone no less, that Sarah felt even slightly mollified.
It was a silly test of one’s importance, but if even Mrs Canards wasn’t gossiping about you, you were truly unremarkable.
And Sarah now felt remarkable, in Lucian’s eyes at least.
She hadn’t expected that his admiration and love might change her but, even in the few days since their engagement, she felt she had grown taller with confidence.
Well, mostly, for on that morning her confidence had fled, as she faced down her nerves at meeting Rowan for the first time.
She had set off for Northcott Manor on foot, forgoing the gig for a reviving walk instead.
She had even decided to take the path by the river rather than the main road, ostensibly for the exercise, but in reality so she could stew on her nerves a bit longer.
What if he didn’t like her? Lucian had assured her that this was an impossible scenario but then Lucian did go a bit gooey, like a three-minute egg, around her.
Little boys were made of sterner stuff, as Sarah knew from her brothers. They were also territorial, loathe to change, and liable to aim a kick toward the shins if overly displeased. Sarah quite liked her shins as they were; unbruised.
She rounded the bend in the river, her mind filled with the terrible reaction she might face from young Rowan when they were introduced. The sky above was clear and a gentle breeze stirred the reeds on the riverbank. It was heaven, Sarah decided, such a pity she could not dally…
A large splash sounded out pulling Sarah from her reverie.
She glanced up and spotted a young boy of about seven, standing at the river’s edge, his face a picture of displeasure.
She watched as he lifted his arm and threw another stone onto the water.
It landed with a mournful plop and disappeared beneath the surface.
“Lud,” the boy gave a howl of disquiet.
Sarah moved forward and he must have spotted her from the corner of his eye, for he turned and offered a hasty apology.
“I would not have sworn so loudly if I’d known someone was nearby,” he said, his grey eyes solemn. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat; it was liking looking into Lucian’s eyes.
“I believe one is supposed to aim to not swear at all, audience or no,” Sarah answered with amusement, as she recovered from the shock of stumbling across her biggest fear. “Though the pursuit of perfection is a lifetime ambition few realise. What was it that annoyed you so?”
“I wanted it to skim,” the boy answered, scrunching his face with frustration, “My cousin Archie can make them skip across the water but he wouldn’t show me how to do it.”
“Well that’s wasn’t nice of Archie,” Sarah declared, setting down her basket to come stand beside him. “Here, let me show you.”
She crouched at the edge of the water and scanned the ground until she found a flattish, oval stone that felt right in her hand.
“The trick is in the wrist,” she said, straightening and giving it an experimental toss. It sailed a few feet and sank without ceremony. “Hmm. Perhaps not that one.”
Rowan gave a snort of laughter at her failure.
“One more attempt,” Sarah declared, feeling a little competitive now. She picked another, smoother stone and held it out for his inspection, then with a flick of her wrist, sent it skipping across the river’s surface.
“Gemini,” Rowan whistled, before hastily apologising again.
“Your turn now,” Sarah said, helping him select a promising stone from the bank. She gently instructed him on his posture and wrist movement, then declared him fit to begin.
Rowan scrunched up his face in concentration, flicked his wrist, and sent the stone bouncing once, twice, three times, before it sank beneath the surface.
“Well done,” Sarah cried, sharing in his victory, “Now try another.”
They spent a happy half-hour skimming stones.
Apart from the occasional oath—which was to be expected from young boys—Rowan was charming company.
He was cheerful and open, with a crooked grin and a ready laugh.
The time flew by and Sarah was having so much fun, that she near forgot she was expected at Northcott Manor.
“Lawks,” she cried, as she heard the church bells chime the hour from the nearby village. “I’ll be late for lunch.”
She caught the delighted look on Rowan’s face and offered a hasty apology for her own slip of the tongue. There was nothing children loved more, Sarah knew, than reprimanding an adult.
“I’m expected for lunch now too,” Rowan added, casting a rueful glance at all the stones they had not yet gathered.
“I’m visiting with the Duchess of Northcott,” Sarah informed him, as she picked up her basket.
“Why, that’s where I’m staying!” Rowan was endearingly surprised by the serendipity of it all.
He cheerfully offered to escort Sarah to Northcott Manor and kept her entertained on the short walk there with a string of chatter.
Sarah and Lucian had agreed that there would be no talk of marriage in front of the boy, until they had been properly introduced.
So, when they arrived—both with muddy boots and hems—Rowan made a great show of introducing his Papa to his new friend, leaving Sarah and Lucian to act as though this was their first meeting.
“I think you’ll like her,” Sarah heard him whisper solemnly to the earl.
“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Lucian agreed, ruffling his son’s hair and winking at Sarah over his head.
The gong sounded for lunch, and they all made their way into the dining room, where the entire Mifford family was already gathered.
Sarah glanced fondly around the table: Lord Chambers was checking his reflection in the back of a spoon; Lord Crabb and Lucian were deep in discussion about Mrs Vickery’s incarceration in Stroud; Mary was regaling Jane with George’s latest exploits; and Eudora and Emily were embroiled in a spirited debate about baby names
“I have always said that if I had a daughter, I would call her Belinda,” Eudora informed her sister heatedly.
“No, I have always said I’d name my first daughter Belinda,” the marchioness shot back, with equal indignation. “You’re copying me.”
Beside them, Jane cast a swift, alarmed glance between the pair and hastened to diffuse the tension.
“I don’t think you need to worry yourselves over girls’ names,” she said lightly. “As a family, we’ve only managed to produce boys so far for the next generation.”
Sarah had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the identical looks of horror that crossed Eudora and Emily’s faces. The idea of the Mifford girls producing only sons was, clearly, unthinkable.
“I expect I’ll have the first girl,” Eudora declared quickly—and rather smugly—once they had both grappled with the idea.
“No, I will,” Emily said confidently, as she stroked her high bump. “I’ve been dreaming of flowers for weeks now; Mrs Bridges says it’s a sure sign I’m carrying a girl.”
“Speaking of Mrs Bridges,” Jane interrupted, “Flora handed in her notice at Crabb Hall this morning.”
“She did?” Sarah gasped; with all the drama of the murders and the excitement of the engagement, she had forgotten about poor Mrs Bridges and her granddaughter.
“Yes,” Jane confirmed with a nod, smiling across the table at her husband. “It seems she has come into an inheritance.”
With the whole table’s attention, Jane gently explained the circumstances of Flora’s birth. Her mother had fallen in love with Mr Gardiner’s son, though the crotchety landowner had forbid a match between the two—he believed the daughter of a local-healer woman too lowly a bride for his offspring.
“So they eloped,” Jane said, a little starry-eyed with the romance of it. “They moved to Bristol, where young Mr Gardiner purchased a commission in the navy to support his wife and child. Alas, his young life was cut short during a skirmish off Cape Santa Maria.”
Sarah noted Lord Crabb’s wince; though his sea-faring days were far behind him, she guessed he could picture the true circumstances of Mr Gardiner’s death better than most.
“Young Mrs Gardiner carried on, managing on her widow’s pension,” Jane continued, “Though she fell ill when Flora—or, Florence, as she is christened—turned three. She returned to Plumpton with Flora in tow for her mother to help care for her. I believe Mrs Bridges sought some financial help from Mr Gardiner, but he refused.”
Sarah gasped at the cruelty of it; she could not imagine the hardness a heart would require to refuse help to the mother of your own blood.
“When Mrs Gardiner died, Mrs Bridges raised Flora without any financial assistance from her father’s family,” Jane continued, a note of bitterness in her tone.
“She didn’t tell Flora of her true parentage, for fear that she would feel ashamed at being cut by her own blood.
By the time Flora was grown, the secret had become a weight around Mrs Bridges’ neck and she was worried the girl would resent her for it. ”
“But Mr Gardiner left her everything,” Emily interrupted, eager for the tale to have a happy ending.
Mr Mifford cleared his throat, his expression thoughtful.
“Some men reach the end of their lives and find their hands empty on their deathbed. No one to comfort them as they slip from this life to the next,”he sighed. “They look to make amends at the eleventh hour and hope it will count for something.”
He paused, folding his hands on the table and glanced around at the guests.
“It is not my place to say whether it did, in Mr Gardiner’s case. But I will say this; kindness offered late is still better than none at all, though it cannot always mend what was broken.”
Sarah suddenly remembered that Mr Mifford had sent Mr Treswell to Mrs Bridges, with a vague suggestion that she might know something.
The kindly vicar had obviously counseled Mr Gardiner through his illness, and had carried the man’s secret shame—along with the hope that it might one day be set right.
“I expect Flora will have a bevy of suitors lining up for her hand, now that she has a sizable fortune to her name,” Mrs Mifford interjected, her eyes alight with excitement.
“One bad apple can spoil a silver lining,” Charlotte offered sagely.
There was a short silence as everyone attempted to unravel her meaning, then Mary patted her hand.
“Very wise, dear,” the duchess said firmly.
The rest of the luncheon passed in a cheerful muddle of talk and laughter, punctuated by only the occasional squabble.
Afterwards, the party strolled into the gardens, where the midsummer roses were in full bloom and the air hung with the scent of lavender.
It wasn’t long before Sarah and Lucian found themselves wandering away from the group, drifting down a shaded path that led to a quiet alcove.
“I spoke with Mr Mifford and he’ll read the first of the banns this Sunday,” Lucian murmured, as he drew her close.
“Three weeks feels like an age away,” Sarah sighed, as she leaned against him.
“I have offered to elope several times since my first proposal,” Lucian countered, with a mischievous grin. “And my offer still stands.”
“It’s better this way,” she said, though she still gave a sigh at the lengthy wait. “Rowan needs to get used to the idea of me.”
She hesitated and glanced up at him shyly from underneath her eyelashes.
“I do think he likes me,” she confessed, her heart fit to burst with happiness. The final piece in the puzzle of their future life had slot right into place.
“He’d be a fool not to,” Lucian whispered back.
He then drew her into a kiss, that sent her heart skittering and her whole body aching with need. Just as things were becoming quite blissfully romantic, a loud, exaggerated groan rang out from behind them.
“Zounds, Papa,” came Rowan’s disgruntled voice. “She was my friend first.”
Before either of them could respond, the boy marched over, took Sarah firmly by the hand, and began to tow her back toward the lawn to play a game of battledore.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder at Lucian, who stood abandoned but beaming as his son abducted her.
As she let herself be led away, Sarah felt the last of her doubts melt. She had a whole new life ahead of her and a ready-made family to share it with. Quite the achievement, she thought, for the town’s dustiest spinster.