Anne O'Brien – Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow (страница 42)
‘Joshua… ‘ At first she could not find the words.
‘Sarah!’ He allowed himself a smile.
‘You cannot do this. You must not.’
‘Of course I can. It is my right and my pleasure. You are my wife.’ Perhaps for the first time, the force of the words struck home.
‘Joshua… it is too much.’
‘It pleases me. You must allow me to be pleased.’
‘But a house! My very own house… ‘
She sank to the seat beside her as if her legs had not the strength to hold her.
‘It is for yourself and John. Whatever happens in the future, you will have your own home in your own name, independent of the estate. To live in or to sell, as you see fit.’
Sarah promptly shocked both of them by abandoning the document in her lap and covering her face with her hands.
‘Oh, Sarah.’ He sighed. What did he have to do to bring her troubled soul some degree of happiness and contentment? ‘It is not worth your tears. I had hoped that it would please you and give you some security.’
But he could not say that, could not even admit it to himself, when his impulse was to tighten the bonds rather than loosen them.
But his instinct at this moment was to take her into his arms and dry her tears with his lips. To tell her again that she need not fear the future, or his reputation, or the terrible scandal that hedged them in—whatever it was that robbed her of comfort. He wanted her to smile at him again as she had when she had walked into the hall, a smile of sheer delight. But he held back from her, aware of his own vulnerability for perhaps the first time. If she refused this gift, it would be like a slap in the face. He did not wish to contemplate that. She might fear her dependence on him. But he was beginning to realise that his happiness was fast becoming dependent on her. And he dare not approach her, for fear that she reject him as well as his gift.
‘Sarah. Please do not cry.’ He raked his fingers through his hair in a typically Faringdon gesture. ‘I did this to make you happy, not to deluge you in grief. You can refuse it if you wish. But, indeed, I hope that you will not.’
‘Yes… no! I know why you have done it. I am so overcome.’ She looked up, a wavering smile on her lips, her lashes spangled with tears as she wiped them away her hands.
What an amazing man. He had given her a house of her own. Her own house—her mind repeated it again and again. A little town house in one of the streets off the Park. Bought by him in
He had put her future here into her own hands. What did he deserve from her? It was time that she grew up, that she stepped outside her fears and foolish insecurities.
So Sarah rose to her feet, pressing the document to her heart for a moment before laying it aside on the table. Wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. Then walked toward him quite deliberately. Stood before him. Watched the uncertainty on his face. Raised her hands, again quite deliberately with no tremor, to frame his face, aware of the flash of surprise in his eyes as she did so. Then placed her lips on his. Very gently, the merest breath.
‘Thank you, Joshua. What a marvellous gift. How could I ask for better? I could not possibly refuse it.’ She kissed him again, astonished anew at her courage in making so personal a gesture. In the cold light of day. In the withdrawing room.
The tension eased from his face, the harsh lines softened. His smile reflected hers. It was all the encouragement she needed. She kissed him one more.
‘Sarah.’ His voice was low, a little rough with emotion. ‘Do you realise that you have kissed me three times of your own volition?’
‘I know.’ Her smile deepened. ‘And I can make it four.’
And she did.
Later Joshua was free to heave a sigh of relief that his plan had come to a satisfactory fulfilment. Whatever happened in the future, Sarah would have her own home, over and above the settlement made for her in the legal jointure at the time of their marriage. Because it had to be faced. Sarah was unaware of the dangers, and it was his intention that she remain so, but dangers there undoubtedly were. If Wycliffe was talking of assassinations, political murder… Joshua thought about his last visit to Paris, his expression grim. It had ended in his ignominious sprawl over a balustrade with immediate pain and inconvenience, but no lasting damage. It could have ended quite differently if his assailant had been intent on taking his life. He had been careless, thoughtless of his safety. Next time—if there was to be a next time—he would be prepared against so overt an attack, but he might not be so fortunate in the outcome. It was the price he might be called upon to pay, becoming involved with those who would destroy the peace and stability of Europe. He had always accepted that. If death awaited him in the sumptuous rooms and clipped gardens of Paris and the Tuileries, so be it. But Sarah would not suffer. A grim tension settled about his mouth.
And Sarah must not know.
It was new and overwhelming and Sarah, as she admitted in the secrecy of her heart, adored every minute of it despite having no familiarity with it or acquaintance there of her own. The city was so
Sarah had little time to sit and think. Even to miss the children, which she did, of course, when she came upon something that would reduce John to astonishment, such as a splendid parade of the lancers of the Garde Royale, or would attract Beth’s wide-eyed interest. But Lord and Lady Joshua Faringdon were in demand. As soon as it was known that the English lord had returned to Paris, they received one invitation after another to soirées and balls, intimate At Homes and Court receptions. Particularly the formal receptions at the Palais Royal in the Tuileries Gardens. Sarah made her curtsy here to Louis XVIII, his brother Charles, Comte d’Artois, and Louis’ nephew, the Duc de Berri, who, with his young Duchesse, were at the centre of a lively circle who enjoyed life to the full. The Faringdons were soon drawn into the set who danced and feasted and discussed matters of triviality or importance from dawn to dusk. Sarah found it easy to admire the pretty Duchesse who remained cheerful despite her agonising failure to bear her lord, whom she so clearly adored, a son.
It was, as Joshua had told her, the time of Carnival, the days of mad revelry before the onset of the abstinence of Lent. Days of feasting and dancing, in private houses and in the streets, days and nights when no one slept. When visits to the opera or the open-air boulevard entertainments became the priority for the aristocracy. When even King Louis joined the procession of carriages and the masked revellers through the streets of the capital and the de Berris were frequently to be seen at the public festivities.
In Paris the shops were without doubt magnificent. Even Sarah could not but be entranced by the richness and beauty as she strolled along the rue Vivienne or the Champs-Elysées to the Tuileries Gardens. She could hardly wait for Theodora to join her. Meanwhile she strolled with Joshua when he visited Galignani’s famous bookshop and reading room to meet and exchange news with any number of English visitors, as well as read the English newspapers and magazines delivered daily.
Although she would never speak of it to him, it could not but impress her how graciously Lord Joshua Faringdon was received. How much at ease he was. She could not but admire his address and presence as he introduced her to the Parisian