A Worthy Gentleman Page 3

  She had realised it after parting from John and going up to her room to tidy herself for lunch. Meeting him again so unexpectedly had made her heart race wildly and she understood why she had refused the Conte when he had asked her to be his wife. She had liked him. She had liked Captain Hernshaw when they met in Rome, but neither of them had touched her heart the way John Elworthy did when he looked at her. His smile made her breathless and she was certain that she could be happy as his wife—but she was not sure that he would ask her. Perhaps he would not wish to marry again. It was obvious that his heart had been broken by Andrea’s death. However, he had mentioned that his son would miss having a mother, so perhaps it was possible that he would take another wife for the sake of his son. Sarah did not know whether she was prepared to accept a man who needed a wife for his son’s sake. It might prove too painful to know that one could only ever be second-best.

  ‘You look lovely, Sarah dear,’ Arabella said as she took a seat by her on the sofa. ‘But that was a pensive expression on your face just now. Serious thoughts?’

  Sarah laughed and shook her head. ‘Not at all, Belle. I was just wondering what was for dinner. I am feeling hungry.’

  It was a lie, of course, but it covered any awkwardness. John had glanced at her once when she entered, but his face remained impassive. She had no idea whether he thought she looked well or not. He seemed intent on his conversation with Charles and did not look her way again until dinner was announced. He came to her then, a polite smile on his lips.

  ‘I believe I have the honour of taking you in, Miss Hunter?’

  ‘Oh, do you?’ Sarah said. She felt her stomach clench as she laid her hand on his arm and felt proud of herself because it did not tremble. It was difficult to know how to behave with him. He had called her Sarah when they were all staying at Arabella’s manor two years previously, and she had felt that he truly cared for her at that time. Yet now she was unsure. He was polite, and of course, John Elworthy would never be less than attentive or kind to any lady, but there was a new reserve in him. She was sure it had never been there in the past—either before her abduction or after. ‘That will be very nice, sir. We may continue our conversation about Italy.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ John said. ‘Did you attend many balls in Italy, Miss Hunter? I dare say you will be invited everywhere when you go up to town.’

  ‘We shall give a small dance of our own,’ Sarah said. ‘But Lady Tate has told all her friends, so I imagine we shall be invited out quite often.’

  ‘I am sure you will,’ John said. ‘Elizabeth and Daniel are going up at the same time. They have told me that they are giving a ball. Daniel made me promise that I would attend. It is some time since I danced with anyone…and I am not sure that it is convenient, but perhaps…’

  ‘Oh, you must,’ Sarah said. ‘I shall know hardly anyone, Mr Elworthy. I hope that you will attend and that you will dance with me.’

  ‘Well, perhaps,’ John said and gave her the gentle, sweet smile she remembered so well. For a moment the air of sadness that hung over him had vanished and he was just as she had known him when she was a young girl. ‘But I am sure that you will soon have many admirers, Miss Hunter.’

  ‘Admirers are one thing, friends are another.’ The look she gave him was so direct that John caught his breath. She was the girl he had remembered, but so much more! Italy had changed her, making her the woman she had been destined to become.

  ‘Yes, very true.’ John’s eyes focused on her face and she thought she could read regret and a faint wistfulness in their depths. ‘Yes, I think we might be friends, Miss Hunter. At least, I see no reason why we should not…’

  ‘No, of course there is no reason why we should not be friends. We always were, John. You did so much for me—and for Arabella too. I thought we were friends before I left for Italy?’

  ‘Yes…’ John hesitated as if he wished to say more, but then stopped. They had reached the dining room and he drew her chair for her, seeing that she was comfortably settled before seating himself. Discovering that Elizabeth Cavendish was on his other side, he turned to exchange a word or two with her, leaving Sarah to speak to her brother on her other side.

  It was not until the first course had been served that he spoke to Sarah again. ‘This is very good wine, is it not? I must ask Charles who his wine merchant is and where I may find him. I should like to lay a stock of this down in my own cellar.’

  ‘It is Italian, I think,’ Sarah replied. ‘The Conte di Ceasares was an important winegrower in the district and he taught me many things about wines. I believe I am not wrong about this, though it was not grown in Tuscany—perhaps it comes more from the north of the country.’

  ‘You seem to have known the Conte very well?’

  ‘Yes, he was our close neighbour. We actually stayed in a small villa he owned. It belonged to his family and he sometimes allows others to hire it for a while. We were very lucky to stay there. It was beautiful, though not as magnificent as the Conte’s own villa.’

  ‘He is, one imagines, quite wealthy?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Sarah agreed. ‘And very kind and a good friend to us.’

  ‘You were fortunate,’ John said. ‘One hears of travellers who return less than satisfied with the conditions they discover on their travels, but you seem to have been well served.’

  ‘Yes, we were,’ Sarah said. ‘I do not think Mama would have stayed so long otherwise. She came home to visit Arabella and Charles, of course, and to see her grandson. We shall stay for the birth of their second child, but I think Mama might wish to return to Italy for the winter sometimes. She likes Italy very well.’

  ‘And you—will you return?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ Sarah said. ‘I have many friends there, of course—but it depends on…’ She shook her head because she simply could not answer his question without giving too much away. ‘I confess that I like the climate. England can be very cold in winter.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ John agreed. ‘Their winters are far less harsh than our own, of course, especially in the south, I believe.’

  ‘Oh, yes, considerably better.’

  Sarah was aware of a slight restraint on his part. He lapsed into silence and then turned to speak to Elizabeth again. After a few moments he laughed, and Sarah was a little envious of his ease of manner with the countess. It was obvious that they were good friends. She wished that she might have been as easy with him, but they exchanged only a few words throughout the rest of the meal, discussing the various dishes and complimenting Arabella on her chef.

  Sarah was a little relieved when the ladies left the gentlemen to their port. John was clearly not entirely comfortable in her company and she thought it a shame—she had hoped for something more.

  ‘How do you find it here in England?’ Elizabeth Cavendish took a seat next to Sarah and smiled at her. ‘I expect you will miss Italy. It is very beautiful. Daniel took me there on our honeymoon. I loved it. We talk of going back again one day, but I should like to have a daughter first. Once our family is complete, then we may travel more.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Arabella is taking great care. She would have liked to come to London with us, but has decided against it because the doctor warned that she ought to take things easily. Being shaken for hours in a carriage is not exactly a good idea when a lady is with child.’

  ‘No, you are right,’ Elizabeth said. ‘We are coming up at the same time as you go to town, Sarah. We have decided to give a ball for our friends. My brother was married last year and this is the first time we shall all be together again. We decided to make the most of it—in case I cannot go up to London next year.’

  ‘It will be nice to have some acquaintance there,’ Sarah said. ‘I have been used to having friends in Italy and I shall feel a little awkward at first, I think.’

  ‘Oh, I dare say you will soon make many acquaintances,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘But we must meet often, Sarah. I shall be delighted to take you into my cir
cle, though we are rather inclined to be bluestockings. I hope you like to read?’

  ‘Yes, indeed I do,’ Sarah replied, her face lighting up. ‘I love poetry, though I do not mind novels—but poetry is my first love, and music, of course.’

  ‘Do you play the pianoforte?’

  ‘Yes, a little,’ Sarah replied. ‘I play the harp as well, but I think I prefer the pianoforte.’

  ‘Then we shall be good company,’ Elizabeth said. She wrinkled her smooth brow. ‘Tell me, was John in spirits at dinner? I have been concerned for him recently. It was difficult to persuade him to come with us on this visit. He spends too much time alone these days. Daniel and he are such friends, but even he sees less of John than he would like. Before he married he visited us almost every week.’

  ‘I dare say he has been grieving,’ Sarah said. ‘He has had an unfortunate loss.’

  ‘Yes, though I am not sure if…’ Elizabeth shook her head as if she had said too much. ‘I know that he has been grieving, but it is more than a year since Andrea died. He cannot keep himself shut up from the world for ever. He blames himself, of course, but it was not his fault.’

  Sarah would have liked to ask more, but at that moment the gentlemen came into the room and she did not like to push for more information. Now was not the time. She would ask Elizabeth what she meant another day.

  Arabella was beckoning to her. Sarah got up and went to her, agreeing to a request to play for them. Sitting down at the pianoforte, she began to play a sonata by Mozart that she was very fond of, her face assuming a dreamy expression as she was carried far away. Sarah was smiling as she thought of an evening in Italy when she had played this piece. It was the night when Conte di Ceasares had first proposed to her.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ a voice asked and she discovered that John had come to stand by her side. ‘You look as if you are lost in the music.’

  ‘Yes, I was,’ she said and stopped playing, for she had reached the end of the piece. ‘Do you not love Mozart’s work? I think he was so wonderful, but his own people did not appreciate him until it was too late.’

  ‘Too often the case,’ John said and reached over her to play a few notes himself. Sarah smiled and let him play for a moment before joining in again.

  ‘You enjoy music, sir. Do you often play?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ John said. ‘Perhaps we may perform a duet one evening, Miss Hunter?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’ she said. ‘We must practise together before we play for others, I think.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said and smiled oddly. ‘But I have interrupted you. Please continue.’

  ‘I think Arabella has sent for the tea tray,’ Sarah replied and stood up. ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said. ‘Excuse me. I am promised to Charles for a game of billiards. I shall hope to see you in the morning, Miss Hunter.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said. ‘Goodnight, Mr Elworthy.’

  She watched as he, Charles and Daniel left the room, before taking her seat close to Arabella so that she could help to pass round the tea.

  ‘John plays the pianoforte very well,’ Arabella said to her. ‘I have not seen him take an interest for a long time, but he certainly enjoyed your playing, Sarah.’

  ‘Oh, I am not as proficient as many ladies are,’ Sarah said. ‘But I like to play sometimes.’

  ‘So does John,’ Arabella said. ‘It is a pleasure you share, Sarah.’

  She looked very happy about something, which made Sarah wonder exactly what was on her mind.

  Chapter Two

  Sarah was sitting in the rose arbour reading a book of poetry when John came upon her the next morning. He paused as if fearing to intrude, smiling hesitantly when she looked up and saw him.

  ‘I did not wish to disturb you, Miss Hunter. Forgive me. I shall go.’

  ‘I hope that you will not,’ Sarah replied and closed her book. ‘It is very peaceful here. I sometimes sneak away to read for a while, but I am not averse to your company, Mr Elworthy.’

  ‘Are you escaping from someone?’ John asked and smiled as he sat down on the wooden bench next to her, being careful not to crush her gown.

  ‘From my mama,’ Sarah confided with a naughty look. ‘It is very wicked of me, but I could not resist. Poor Mama is in a cross mood this morning. She had a letter from one of her friends in Italy and something in it upset her. I do not know what. She has been scolding me for not making more of my chances while we were there.’

  ‘Your mama would perhaps like you to be married?’ John’s eyes were steady on her face.

  ‘Yes…’ Sarah felt her cheeks getting warm. ‘She thinks it is time that I put the past behind me. Indeed, I think I have done so, but…’ She shook her head. ‘It is not that I do not wish to oblige my mama, but she is too impatient and I need time.’

  ‘Perhaps you still think that you would rather not marry?’

  Sarah was silent for a moment, her head bent, cheeks pink. ‘No, it is not quite that, sir. Just that, as yet, no one that I would wish to wed has asked me.’ She turned her head as she felt his eyes on her, afraid that she might betray herself and pretending interest in a rose that was still in a tightly formed bud.

  The silence stretched between them for a few moments, and then John spoke words that sent a chill of ice into her heart. ‘I dare say you will meet someone in London. A gentleman of good birth and fortune who has a whole heart and will fall in love with you the moment he sees you.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ Sarah said. She felt that the tears were very close and got quickly to her feet. ‘Excuse me, I must see if Mama has come down yet. I believe she has arranged for us to have a fitting with Arabella’s seamstress this morning. Some of the gowns we ordered in York were not well finished.’

  ‘Sarah…’ John spoke to her retreating back, silently cursing himself. He thought that perhaps he had hurt her, which was the last thing he had intended. Once he would have responded very differently to such an invitation, for he believed it had been a gentle hint that he might find favour in her eyes. ‘Damn! Damn it! Why did I not just walk away? Forgive me, Sarah. I am not worthy…not worthy of you…’

  John turned away from the house, striding out towards the woods. It was his intention to fetch his curricle and horses, which had been stabled at the inn in the village. The blacksmith would have done his work by now, and John meant to take his leave of Arabella and the others as soon as he decently could. If it were possible he would leave now, make some excuse, but it would offend his friends. He could bear it for a day or so longer, though it almost wrenched the heart out of him when Sarah looked his way and he saw hurt mirrored in her lovely eyes. Would that he could turn back the past two years! He ought to have followed Sarah to Italy as had been his intention, but he had lingered, uncertain of his reception, and then it had been too late.

  If only he had walked away from Andrea that day…if he had not listened to her pleas for help…but it was useless to look back. He had married her, given his name to her child, stood by her—and all to no avail. She had taken her own life while in a fit of despair and the sight of her lifeless body as it was taken from the river had nearly destroyed him. He had failed her. Andrea had begged for his help, but he had failed her. And now his guilt haunted him like a dark shadow at his elbow. He had nightmares, which woke him sweating with fear, and he had begun to imagine things; sometimes he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him—it was as if his late wife were haunting him.

  He had ordered that her personal belongings be packed and taken to the attics, but small things kept reappearing, tucked in amongst his own clothes as if placed there on purpose to remind him. A kerchief had been under his pillow when he went to bed the night before he left Elworthy House, and a few days earlier he had discovered her prayer book in his dressing chest; another time he had smelled her perfume in his room. It had been so strong that he had almost believed she was there.

  He did not believe that he had plac
ed any of the items where he found them. He had questioned his housekeeper about them, but the woman denied all knowledge of Andrea’s things, except to say that they had been taken to the attics. Indeed, she had gone so far as to say she was certain the prayer book had not been in the dressing chest the previous evening when she had placed some clean linen there herself, and she had looked at John curiously as if suspecting that he had put it there. But John was certain that he had not done anything of the kind. Yet how could it have come there…unless Andrea’s unquiet spirit was haunting him?

  Surely not! John did not truly believe that such a thing was possible. He knew that he had failed Andrea, but he had not been deliberately cruel—so why was he being punished for her death? She had taken her own life by walking into the river. It was true that he had been a little irritated with her earlier that day, but he had apologised almost at once for his brusque manner. Had it really been a few cross words that had driven her to take her life? Or was it something more? Perhaps she had guessed that his feelings for her could never be more than kindness?

  They had known each other since they were children, their parents friends and neighbours. After John’s father died, Sir Andrew Walton had offered to help John put his estate in order. He had not needed his help, but he had remembered the kindness given and when Andrea had turned to him in her distress, he had done what any decent gentleman would do. Rather than let her face the shame that a wicked rape had brought upon her, he had asked her to marry him, and she had gratefully accepted. Indeed, he knew that she had hoped for it when she came to him.

  After he had married Andrea, John had tried hard to put Sarah out of his mind, but he was afraid that his wife had sensed his heart was not hers to command—that he would never love her as a man ought to love the woman he had married. John had been kind, but she had been suffering from the sickness brought on by her condition when they wed, and he had left her to sleep alone that night. After the birth, when she recovered, she had told him that he might join her in her bed, but he had told her that she was not yet well enough and she had not asked again. Somehow they had drawn apart as the days and weeks passed, and Andrea had retreated into a silent world of her own.