Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) (13 page)

Sarah shrugged. “ 'Twas of no importance. We had a small disagreement.”

“Enough of a disagreement for you to walk home, even though I specifically told you I wanted you to use the carriage?”

“It was a beautiful day,” she defended.

Nick’s look said he didn’t believe her for a minute. “And after all she put you through today, you would still wish to drop everything and rush to her side?”

Sarah nodded, surprised that Nick felt there was a choice to be made.

“You know she’s not truly ill,” he continued. “She just wants the company.”

Sarah stood awkwardly behind her chair. “But what if she isn’t looking for attention? What if she really is ill this time?”

Nick rose and flipped his linen napkin down beside his plate. “She isn’t. But if you’re determined, we’ll go.”

Sarah tapped gently and opened the door. Dozens of candles flickered about the room creating a false illusion of daylight, but Agatha was not to be seen. Sarah entered quietly and approached the grand tester bed. At first she thought the bed lay empty and then she realized that Agatha’s reed-thin body appeared as only a slight wrinkle in the coverlet. The woman’s eyes were closed and her skin was as pale as the linens on which she rested.

“Mrs. Beaumont,” Sarah whispered gently, not wanting to wake her if she slept.

Agatha’s eyes fluttered open. “Sarah, is that you?”

From the foot of the bed, Nick rolled his eyes at the scene before him. No wonder she wants Sarah to stay with her, he thought. She’s found a completely gullible listener. He watched Sarah competently help his grandmother to sit, propping her with the dozen pillows that cluttered the bed. He noted the gentle way she handled the woman, and was suddenly, darkly envious of Sarah’s devotion.

"Nick . . .” Agatha’s call was feeble. “Would you come closer so I might see you, too?”

Nick heaved an impatient sigh but moved to the side of the bed. “Gran, you can see me just fine. Why, there’s a month’s supply of candles being burned at this very minute. In fact, with all these candles, I’m surprised that those eagle eyes of yours missed that large dust ball that Emily left under the dresser.”

“Where?” Sarah turned.

“Where?” Agatha sat straighter in her bed and cranked her neck for a better look. “That child is so lazy that it’s a miracle that this house hasn’t fallen over from the dirt she’s ignored.”

Pleased to note that his grandmother’s voice was back to full strength and as tart as ever, Nick smiled and perched on the edge of her bed. Gently, he took one of her gnarled hands within his own. “Why did you send for us?”

Agatha smiled up at him. “I need to speak with Sarah, and I didn’t want to wait until the morrow. Did you tell her?” she asked expectantly.

Nick looked at Sarah and realized the joy had again left her face. “Sarah has agreed with me that it would be best for all concerned if she was to move in with you tomorrow morning.”

“But why not just let her stay now?” Agatha asked, her steel-gray eyes widening innocently.

Nick set her hand back on the coverlet and stood. “Because I said she will come tomorrow. Now, if you are settled for the evening, we’ll make our departure.”

“Might I have a private word with Sarah before you go, Nick?” Agatha called to his retreating back. “It will only take a moment.”

Nick looked from one to the other. “Ill be down in the carriage, Sarah.” His voice was hard and clipped. “Don’t be long. Gran, I’ll see you in the morning.” Then, contrary to his harsh tone, Nick crossed the room and placed a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek before leaving.

“Sarah,” Agatha called, “come and sit.” She patted the edge of the bed. Feeling numb from Nick’s rejection, Sarah approached the bed. There was nothing Agatha could say that would make her feel worse, she thought. She was wrong.

“Sarah . . .” Agatha began sternly. “It distressed me greatly that you are acting so selfishly in this matter.”

Her eyes flew to Agatha’s face. “What have I done?”

“Can’t you see how difficult this is for Nick? Why, any other man wouldn’t care a wit about your feelings, but not my Nicky. And it distresses me to no end that you are not the least bit sensitive to his situation.”

“But what have I done?” Sarah asked again. “I asked Mr. Beaumont, but he would tell me nothing.”

“Well, of course not,” Agatha admonished, “he’s a gentleman through and through. And what gentleman is going to speak to a lady about his reputation.” Agatha watched Sarah try to absorb the story and her excitement grew. Her scheme was going to work after all. “You are a beautiful, but unmarried lady, Sarah,” she continued gently. “If you continue to live under my grandson’s roof and word got about town, Nick’s reputation would be ruined.”

Sarah’s eyes grew wide in horror. “That’s terrible,” she gasped. “But surely people would be reassured once they found out that I was just the housekeeper.”

Agatha slowly shook her head. “Sarah, no one would believe that of one as pretty as you.” Agatha waited for Sarah’s understanding, but none came. Suddenly for Agatha, the truth dawned. Sarah had no idea of what a striking beauty she was. “Sarah,” she continued, even more pleased with her choice, “haven’t you ever seen yourself in the mirror?”

Sarah blushed. “Actually I have. There is one almost as big as myself in the room Mr. Beaumont has lent me.”

“And do you like what you see?” Agatha prompted.

“Mirrors make me uncomfortable,” she said, not sure what Agatha was hinting at. “It’s like watching a person who’s watching me.”

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that you are beautiful. Now, I ask you, what decent father is going to let Nick come to call when he finds that Nick has a beautiful, unmarried woman living under his roof? I know that there is nothing between you and my grandson, and you know that there is nothing there, but how are you going to make a caring father believe what already strains the imagination?”

Sarah felt the lump again settle in her stomach. “Why didn’t Mr. Beaumont tell me that my presence was causing such a problem?” she whispered in anguish.

Agatha hushed her and patted her hand. “He’s too much of a gentleman to speak of his own feelings about the matter,” she said softly. “And I know that you’ll agree with me when I say that since he won’t put himself first, the task is up to us even if it means doing things that we find uncomfortable.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of things?”

“I’d never ask you to tell a lie for my grandson,” Agatha said firmly. “But if Nick should tell the story that you are related to a friend of the Beaumont family, in order to protect his good name, I would hope that you would not embarrass him by demanding to share the truth.”

Completely taken aback that she had caused Nick such hardship, Sarah struggled to find a way to make amends.

“And it might become necessary for you to accompany Nick to social functions,” Agatha continued. “As a friend of the family and living under my roof, society would think less of my Nicholas if he wasn’t to provide you with proper escort. It wouldn’t have to be often,” Agatha hastened to add. “Only enough to reassure those who would wish to question.”

For a long moment Sarah sat in silence, trying to find a way around Agatha’s words. But the more she thought, the more the soundness of the woman’s reasoning rang out. Nick Beaumont’s reputation rested in her hands, and if it meant turning a blind eye to the truth, then she’d do it. The man had saved her life, she owed him at least that much.

“So you now understand my concern?" Agatha prompted.

Sarah stood and straightened her shoulders to settle her new burden. “You may depend on me,” she said firmly.

Chapter Eleven

Sarah awoke to the sound of songbirds outside her window. Their cheerful notes chipped away the darkness, allowing the first rays of the morning sun to spread their beauty across the Virginia sky. For a heartbeat she lay motionless. Then, as her senses registered the thick feather softness of her bed and the smooth pillow beneath her cheek, a deep, contented smile curved her lips and she stretched.

“Nicholas Beaumont,” she whispered to the empty room. Sarah flipped over onto her back and pulled the covers to her chin. She had been at Agatha’s for a full week, yet thoughts of Nick were still the first to greet her when she rose to face the day, and memories of him were always the last to leave before she surrendered to sleep at night. Sarah tossed back the covers. She shivered as her bare feet danced over the cold floor, for it was still too early for the maidservant to bring the fire. She could have lingered, warm beneath the quilts, but today Nick was coming.

Quickly, she poured cold water from the porcelain pitcher into the bowl and washed the sleep from her eyes. She rubbed a crushed mint leaf over her teeth, then, using the new tortoise shell comb that Nick had given her, Sarah unbraided her hair and made short work of the tangles. Ignoring the looking glass that stood to the side of the dresser, she re-twisted her ebony locks atop her head, secured it with her pins, and then replaced her lace cap.

A woolen jacket and skirt of deep orchid had been carefully laid over the chest at the foot of her bed. And as Sarah stepped into the skirt and pulled it up over her nightrail, she couldn’t help but think that the fabric was too fine to wear for everyday purposes.

But this isn’t every day
, her mind sang as he slipped her arms into the long, fitted sleeves of the jacket.
Nick is coming today
. She pinned the bib of her white apron into place, then with nimble fingers tied the laces in the back. Her hand smoothed down the front of her skirt, and her smile grew as she noticed the delicate lace that now graced the apron’s edge.
Dear Madame Rousseau, she thought with affection. You always strive to do something extra
.

Turning back to the bed, Sarah tidied the coverlets and fluffed the pillow. By the time Tanzy appeared bearing hot coals to rekindle the fire, the room had been straightened and Sarah was on her way downstairs. She loved these early hours of the morning, for they belonged to her alone. Agatha’s servants were already about their tasks, and as Sarah strolled thought the herb garden, she could listen to the low, sweet song of Mrs. Hempsted as she prepared the morning meal or the rhythmic thump of the axe as Oscar split logs for firewood. Birds sang from the treetops, and as the sun broke through to officially claim the day, Sarah felt enveloped by a peace she had never known. But her peace was short lived as memories of Salem intruded.

I do so long to be home
, she had told herself over and over, for thoughts of Samuel and Elizabeth worrying about her had grown to the point that they were almost more than she could bear.
But once they know I’m safe
. . . Sarah thought about the home that she had grown up in. Even with the lean-to addition her father had so skillfully added off the kitchen, her house was not much larger than the brick cook house that stood in Agatha’s backyard. Her vegetable and herb garden might be small by Virginia standards, but it depended upon her alone to tend it.

Sarah breathed deeply of the fresh, dewy air. She wanted to be back among her own things, to listen to people that said what they truly meant, not more or less, to walk down the road, wave to a neighbor, and not see clothing that would have shocked the devil himself. Yes, she definitely wanted to be home. But why then, she wondered, did the realization that she would soon be returning to Salem bring no comfort?

Her steps slowed as she strolled the brick path around the hedges. To her relief, the dinner invitation with the Bellinghams had been politely turned down, yet her days and nights were more than full. Where at Nick’s she had been idle, Agatha had constant needs. Sarah plucked a spring rose, breathed its scent, and thought of Agatha. She had become the grandmother she had never known. Full of complaints and absurd notions, the old woman had wormed her way into Sarah’s affections and now firmly commanded a corner of her heart. How she would manage to say good-bye was a question she could no longer answer. And Nick . . . Her chest drew tight. Would she ever be able to face the day knowing that Nicholas Beaumont would not be part of it?

Never had she met a man so fascinating. Witty and well read, he had been to places she had never even heard of. He came to visit his grandmother often, and Sarah found herself constantly watching the clock and listening for the sounds of his rich voice in the foyer; then her heart would skip a beat as his footsteps sounded up the stairs.

Always, he would go straight to Agatha and place a kiss on her cheek. But when he turned and their eyes met in greeting, her stomach would fill with butterflies.

“Miss Sarah, you out here?”

Sarah turned to the sound of Mrs. Hempsted’s voice. “Yes, I’m coming,” she called.

Mrs. Hempsted stood in the open door to the cookhouse, scowling at the rising sun. Her hair was covered by a bright-red bandana and her face was already shiny from the heat of the morning fire. “Do you think you’ll be wanting some chicken to go with that ham and beef for this afternoon?”

Puzzled, Sarah looked at the woman. Nick’s grandmother was the one who set the meals. “Did you wish me to ask Mrs. Beaumont when she rises?”

Mrs. Hempsted placed her hands on her ample hips. “If I wanted to know what Miss Agatha wanted, I would ask Miss Agatha. Now since Mr. Nick isn’t here I thought I would ask you.”

Sarah felt her heart leap. Nick must be coming earlier than usual. “Mr. Beaumont is dining with us this afternoon?”

Mrs. Hempsted heaved a great sigh, then eyed Sarah with a critical stare. “Mr. Nick asked me to ready him a basket for an afternoon picnic. And since I can’t see him carting Miss Agatha clear across country, you must be the one he’s taking. So do you want some nice roasted chicken to go with the ham and beef? I’ve made my special buttermilk muffins that Mr. Nick is partial to, and there’s pickled asparagus, and cabbage with onions. The chicken soup will be ready shortly, and I cut some thick wedges of Mr. Nick’s favorite cheeses.” She counted the items on her fingers and found them wanting. “We also have apple fritters and a nice boiled pudding, and I think some good stewed calf’s feet would be pleasing. Then for a sweet, I’ve got fresh macaroons and my special butter pound cake. That’s a favorite with Mr. Nick,” she confided. “There are some oranges left from the batch he had sent up from the docks, and I’ll put in a good selection of his favorite jellies.”

Sarah struggled to keep her mouth from gaping open. She would never become accustomed to the grand displays of foods that were served at each meal. “All that for one afternoon?” her voice squeaked.

Mrs. Hempsted brushed her hands against her apron. “Mr. Nick’s got to keep his strength up. He’s a hard-working man. So what shall it be, a little roasted chicken to round it out?”

Sarah could only shake her head and wonder how many other people Mrs. Hempsted had rounded out besides herself. “You really think that much food is necessary?”

The cook folded her arms across her generous bosom. “Maybe more but not a drop less,” she stated. “Miss Sarah, I mean you no disrespect, but you gotta learn how to care proper for a southern gentleman. They get real testy if you don’t feed them right.”

Sarah’s heart raced with the thoughts of caring for one southern gentleman in particular. And if Mrs. Hempsted was right, he was coming to fetch her for a picnic.
Now,
she thought desperately
, if I can just find out what a picnic is before Nick arrives.

A picnic, Sarah learned a short while later, was an excursion with food. But exactly why people would want to take their meal and eat it out of doors when there was a perfectly good table to sit at inside remained a mystery. Excited and relieved at the same time, her hands trembled as she placed Agatha’s breakfast tray over her lap and smoothed the covers into place.

The hall clocked chimed the hour of noon Agatha stared at her grandson. “I want to go, too,” she pouted.

“Maybe next time, Gran,” Nick said, grinning at his fragile grandmother and the huge tray of food before her. “Besides, I would have thought that the very idea of a bumpy carriage ride would be enough to make you shudder.”

Agatha poured molasses, thick and dark, over her cakes then speared one of the pieces Sarah had already cut. “Go ahead then.” She chewed noisily. “Leave an old woman like me alone to her own devices. I’m sure I’ll not find the afternoon too boring with no one to talk to but myself. You just go ahead and have a good time. Don’t give me a thought. It truly doesn’t matter that I’ll probably never see the river again before I die. You two young people just go off by yourselves and enjoy the peace of the afternoon. Don’t even think that I might be lying dead in my bed before you return. You just go and have a good time.”

Torn between desire and responsibility, Sarah took a step toward the bed and gave Nick a beseeching look. “Mr. Beaumont, I think we should go another day.”

Nick took in the good color of his grandmother’s cheeks. His mind was made up. He’d been looking forward to this interlude alone with Sarah ever since he had conceived the idea.

“I’m sure you’ll live through the afternoon.” He placed a kiss on top of her snow-white hair. “If for no other reason than to question Sarah when she returns. Sarah,” Nick reached for her hand. “Come.”

Agatha struggled to hide her glee. The sparks between them were almost visible. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “You go, Sarah.” Her voice was faint. “It’s enough for me to know that you would have stayed with me if you could have.”

“Mr. Beaumont . . .” Sarah turned to stand her ground. She knew Agatha wasn’t dying, but regardless of what anyone thought, the woman was ill. “I think we should . . .” Her words never finished, for as she turned, Sarah was sure she saw Agatha conceal a smile.

Completely confused, she made no protest when Nick touched her arm and motioned her to the door.
She wants us to go
, Sarah thought as she made her way down the stairs,
but for some reason she doesn’t want us to know that.
For long moments she pondered the situation, but the answer continued to evade her.

Feeling absurdly pleased with himself, Nick maneuvered the carriage off the main road and established a leisurely pace for the horses. He had hoped sending Sarah to his grandmother’s would be a good idea, but never would he have guessed the magnitude of her effect on Gran’s household. “Joyous” Luther had called her, and now everyone at his grandmother’s walked with a lighter step and seemed surprisingly pleased with themselves. While at his own home, Wadsworth’s chin was in constant danger of scraping the floor and Mrs. Killingham, who had been with him for more than fifteen years, suddenly couldn’t remember his likes in food. Twice in the seven days that Sarah had been gone, the woman had served him shirred calves’ brains.

The sun grew warm upon his back, and Nick flexed his broad shoulders. He had never anticipated that seeing Sarah alone would become such an impossible task. As the days had slowly dragged by, he realized he was becoming jealous of an old woman too frail to climb from her bed without aid. He shook his head and flicked the reins.
Well, no more
, he thought.
This afternoon is ours and I plan to make the most of it.

Sarah sat beside Nick on the driver’s seat and enjoyed the bright splashes of yellow and pink wildflowers that dotted the roadside. The sun had passed its zenith and blazed down in all its glory. But the massive oak and pecan trees that lined the road lent shade, and a gentle spring breeze refreshed them as the carriage continued on its way.

When they reached the stream, Nick drew the carriage to a halt. “I have a surprise for you.” He reached into the deep pocket of his coat and withdrew a small package.

Sarah accepted the gift with a quizzical smile. “Why have you done this?”

Nick took in the sparkling color of her eyes and wished his answer might be different. “It is not from me.”

Carefully, Sarah peeled back the paper to reveal a hand-stitched brooch about the size of a shilling. “Mr. Beaumont!” she gasped with delight. “ 'Tis beautiful. Look at this delicate stitching.”

Nick’s smile deepened at her pleasure. “Catherine Richardson made it for you. Wadsworth found her hovering at the back door this morning.”

To Sarah the value of the brooch increased tenfold. “She made it herself? I thought she might be clever with a needle, but I had no idea the girl possessed such talent.” Carefully she pinned the brooch onto the high neckline of her gown. “Do you know anything of the Richardsons?” She turned to Nick. “The children seem so nice, but their needs are many.”

Nick shook his head. “I think they live down near Blanchard’s orchard, but I’m not certain. As for Mr. Richardson, I don’t believe I’ve ever met the man.”

Sarah considered this bit of information and silently resolved to look into the matter more closely.

Nick soaked in the tranquility of their surroundings. “I’m glad I thought of this.” Water rippled gently in the background to mingle with the constant melodies of the birds.