Anne O'Brien (8 page)

There was no possible answer to this. Sarah remained silent, waiting for the blow when he would surely dismiss her.

‘Why are you my housekeeper, Mrs Russell?’

‘I fail to see the reasoning behind that question, sir.’

‘The
reasoning
, as you put it, is that it is completely inappropriate.’ He would have paced the floor if he could. He was tempted to fling his cane into the fire-grate. ‘The daughter of a baronet? Your birth is as good as mine and yet you have put yourself in a position of servitude.’ He fumed. ‘Sister to my cousin’s
wife
. Close friend of my own sister—and, God help me!—my mother. You have actually lived with Judith and Simon… And with Hal and Eleanor in New York. And yet you say that you do not see why I should object?’

But why
did
he object so much? He looked her over with narrowed eyes. There was courage there, and an apparent fragility that had surprised a need in him to offer protection. He had been touched by her history as recounted by Judith. And astounded by the strength she had shown in asserting her independence. But was that all? Whatever stirred his blood to anger, it hardly mattered, did it? Quite simply, Mrs Russell should not be employed in his household.

‘I do not like it,’ he stated as if that settled everything. ‘It is not right.’

For Sarah, it settled nothing. ‘I can no longer live on the charity of those who have been kind enough to show me friendship. I need the money and the position, sir.’

‘Never!’

‘What do you know of such things? You have never been in the position of having to find the means to feed and clothe your child.’ A hint of desperation, even of futile anger, crept into her voice until she brought it under control with the faintest sigh. ‘What should you know of such needs, my lord?’

‘No, I have not been in such a position,’ he snapped, as if that too might be her fault. He frowned at her. ‘Who was your husband?’

‘A naval officer who was killed in the last year of the war. I have a small pension only.’

‘And your family?’ A slight flush brushed his cheekbones as he remembered the background of her troubled history and the antagonism of her estranged brother. He watched as the delicate colour fled from her cheeks, leaving her paper white, her eyes stark with distress.

‘I presume that Judith has informed you of my family, my lord.’ She would say no more.

‘I refuse to allow the situation to continue, madam.’

‘Then you must dismiss me, sir.’ She hesitated one moment and then asked the pertinent question. ‘Is it my birth you cavil at, Lord Faringdon—or my name?’

Ah! So there it was, he thought. Mrs Russell would have to live with her brother’s sins and her own involvement in them for the rest of her life. ‘No, it is not your name.’ He made an effort to gentle his voice. ‘That has no bearing. I find that I
cannot
find the words to explain to Nicholas’s wife why her sister is working below stairs in my house!’

‘I can understand if it is my name,’ she persisted. ‘Faringdons have every reason not to love those who bear the name of Baxendale.’

‘Nonsense! It is simply inappropriate, given your connection to my close family, that I should employ you.’

‘Then I hope you will give me references, my lord.’ She dropped a neat curtsy. ‘It would be difficult for me to obtain another position if I were dismissed without a recommendation, particularly after only a few weeks in your employment.’

Without waiting for permission to end the interview, before distress could overwhelm her tenuous composure, Sarah turned her back and stalked from the room, leaving Lord Faringdon with his mind in turmoil.

As Sarah swept through the doorway, Olivia was coming in, dressed as if she had just entered the house. She looked after the housekeeper, who had signally failed to acknowledge or even recognise her presence beyond the, briefest, curtest inclination of the head.

‘A most unpleasant, pert woman,’ she drawled, lips curving unpleasantly. ‘Take my advice, Joshua. You had far better dismiss her and appoint someone more suitable to a gentleman’s household.’

Which was exactly what Lord Faringdon had thought he should do—but for far different reasons.

The days passed, for Sarah, with tense anxiety in the air. She continued with her duties, efficient and outwardly calm as ever, yet waiting for her final dismissal as Lord Faringdon had threatened.

Yet it did not come.

Judith sent a letter of abject apology for being instrumental in revealing her friend’s true identity to Joshua. She never should have visited. She never should have told Joshua. But it was done and Judith hoped that her brother had the sense to leave things as they were if that is what Sarah wanted.

Sarah read the letter, silently accepting her friend’s apology. It would have happened eventually, she supposed. There was no point in dwelling on it or wishing for what could not be.

But she would continue to fulfil her duties so that Lord Faringdon should never have the excuse, whatever her family history, that she had failed to run his London home in a manner suitable to the establishment of a gentleman. If he dismissed her, it would be on his own unjustifiable whim. He must never be able to fault her application, particularly her responsibilities to the two children who were benefiting from regular lessons and regular routine. Beth continued to thrive and learn, to mother John, who regarded her with innocent worship in his blue eyes, even tolerating her sometimes sharp comments and quaintly adult remarks.

With the onset of a period of better weather, Sarah released the children after lunch to play in the railed gardens of Hanover Square. Something Beth had to learn to do, to laugh and to run as a child. Sarah doubted that the little girl had ever played in her life.

So the days were full for Sarah. She went to her bed at night in a state of utter weariness that allowed her to sleep without dreams. Which was a blessing indeed, she admitted as she rose early to secure her pale curls into a plain and serviceable knot beneath her lace cap and don her severe gown. Anything was a blessing that helped keep her mind from dwelling on the one man who caused her heart to flutter wildly and her breath to catch in her throat. Perhaps it would be better if she were dismissed, she thought in a moment of low spirit. Would it not be better if she no longer had to see him—every day unless she could deviously arrange it otherwise—and did not have to school her reactions to him to one of polite competence and self-effacement. Then there would be no possibility of his ever guessing…

But of course, she admitted, as she buttoned her unadorned bodice, reflected in the glass, he would never see her in the role of
lover
—she hissed at her reflection, at her immodest visions—or ever see her as anything other than housekeeper. Then she swept her image a mocking curtsy. Certainly not when he had the Countess of Wexford to amuse him and warm his bed.

Sarah flushed at her thoughts. She had no intention of sharing Lord Faringdon’s bed. How could she allow her mind to drift into such fantasies? Ridiculous! She was nothing to Lord Faringdon and nor did she wish to be. With firm steps she made her way down to the kitchen before her heart could betray her further.

She did, however, notice that he watched her.

Because Joshua had been left in a critical state of indecision, as he had stated, how could he explain to Nicholas and Theodora if he continued to employ Thea’s sister in a menial position in his household? But if he dismissed her, he was damnably sure that she would simply take a position elsewhere—and perhaps not a very suitable one. He knew of the
fate of both housekeeper and governess in some households—neglected, imposed on, treated with such lack of respect as to be an insult. He could not accept that for Sarah Russell. But he recognised determination when he saw it. She would take up any position that enabled her to walk her own path and care for her son.

Nor was there any way in which he could make life easier for her under his own roof without being inappropriately obvious.

He did what he could, but quickly discovered that if she suspected any degree of preferential treatment on his part, she retaliated. He saw her with the children taking the air in Hyde Park, noting that she looked chilled to the bone in a velvet spencer not at all suited to the suddenly changeable weather. Without thought beyond her comfort, he arranged for a warm coat, styled very much in the fashion of a gentleman’s greatcoat with little epaulettes, discreet frogging on the front and in a flattering deep blue velvet, to be delivered to her room with a note explaining his desire that she should not die of cold when taking his daughter for exercise in the Park. The coat was returned with an equally polite note. Mrs Russell thanked his lordship, but had no need of such a garment. She had her own coat and a voluminous cape for cold weather if he was at all concerned. Lord Joshua Faringdon swore at the intransigence of women, but could hardly force her to wear it!

He tried again. When he discovered her intention to visit Judith on a particularly damp afternoon, taking John with her, he ordered the barouche to be available for her at the front door. Sarah stared at it in disbelief and ordered its immediate return to the stables. They would walk. The exercise would do them good.

All he could do was what Mrs Russell could have arranged for herself. Which gave him no satisfaction whatsoever. He insisted through Millington that fires be lit in the lady’s rooms and the schoolroom, with hot meals for herself and the children, both at lunch time and in the evening. A ready supply of paper and pencils and books and free access to his library. She need
never ask for anything. But, of course, infuriating woman that she was, she never did.

For her life below stairs, she would have to fend for herself, but even here he was tempted into gallant and high-handed decisions to remove some of the burden from the lady’s slight shoulders. He need not have bothered, he realised with gritted teeth. He was soon left under no illusions when he went too far. After much thought, he arranged for Mrs Russell’s responsibilities to be shared by other members of the staff to allow her a full day of leisure every week rather than the usual afternoon at the end of every fortnight. Within less than an hour he found himself facing a highly displeased Mrs Russell in the breakfast parlour. Her voice never rose beyond its usual cool, light timbre, but the emotion that she brought with her into the room was inflammatory.

‘I find, to my amazement, that I have been relieved of all my duties for today.’ A pause. ‘My lord,’ she added.

‘Correct.’ He could not read her face, so tried for the non-committal.

‘I am due to only half a day every fortnight.’

‘Today you are at liberty, Mrs Russell.’

‘I do not need it. It is unfair on your staff who have to take on my work. And who will teach the children?’

He had not thought of that. ‘The children can spend some time with me.’
God help me!
‘Surely you can find things to do with a whole day at your disposal?’

‘That is not the point at issue, my lord.’

‘As your employer, it is in my power to decide when and how you work.’

‘I am your housekeeper and your governess.’ Her eyes flashed like sapphires in a candle flame. Flashed with temper. He could now read her face perfectly. ‘My terms of employment were agreed with the Countess of Painscastle before you took up residence. I need nothing but the terms on which I first came here. I shall take the afternoon on Wednesday as arranged. My lord!’

Without waiting for a reply, she dropped a curtsy, picked up his empty plate from the table, turned on her heel and left him to enjoy his cooling cup of coffee.

Behaving just like any other servant in the house! Damn the woman! But, by God, she had been magnificent. And astonishingly beautiful when she allowed her fury to break its bonds.

Lord Joshua Faringdon, used to ordering matters to suit himself, might not have felt quite so dissatisfied with events if he had known the lady’s reactions to his chivalry. In a moment of idiocy before returning the splendid coat laid out for her, she had buried her face in the blue velvet—before dropping the soft fabric as if it burned her hands. It was lovely. She could not allow it. Must not. But it hurt to throw his gestures back in his face—such as dismissing the barouche when he had been so thoughtful. But then, she did not know what his motives might be.

Neither, to be fair, did his lordship.

But one thing he could do over which she had no jurisdiction. The time had come. The Countess of Wexford, he decided, had long outstayed her welcome. Wycliffe had been instrumental in her presence to strengthen his cover as a dilettante. He had seen the value of that on his return to London when gossip over his immoral ways had run rife, but enough was enough. Nor, suddenly, for some inexplicable reason did he wish to appear quite so unprincipled and lacking in moral decency. He could no longer tolerate her attentions, her clear designs on his time and his interest. Certainly he did not appreciate her heavily patronising manner toward Mrs Russell, a manner that had been allowed full expression since the incident of the French banquet.

It was more than time that their paths parted.

He needed an opportunity to suggest that the lady leave. And if one did not present itself, then he would have to end the situation as carefully and discreetly as possible.

The former did not arise, so he was driven with some distaste to the latter, after making some thoughtful preparations.

‘I have seen so little of you, my lord.’ Olivia Wexford entered his library on the following evening, where he was sitting with a glass of brandy and a recent edition of the
Gentleman’s Magazine
. A provocative swing of expensively gowned hips advertised her deliberate intent. The neckline of the emerald silk was cut low on her bosom and, unless he was very much mistaken, her lovely face was enhanced by the use of cosmetics. Her mouth, deliciously red, settled in an inviting pout, her heavy perfume invaded his senses. His lordship felt a sudden urge to retreat in disorder, but stiffened his resolve.