Strangers at Dawn (44 page)

“Don’t make too much of it, Max. If I’d had only myself to think about, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But there was Anne, you see.” She fell back on her elbows and smiled dreamily up at the ceiling. “But that was yesterday. A lot can happen in a few hours. A man who is willing to lay down his life for his wife can’t be all bad.”

“Sara!”

She giggled. “I feel light-headed. I suppose it’s the result of finally clearing my name. Anne is safe. And all those suspicions about my family that tore my peace to shreds have finally been laid to rest.” She sniffed back tears. “I’m ashamed of myself now for ever having doubted them. They’re dears, aren’t they, Max?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

When she giggled again, he frowned. “How much brandy did you drink tonight?”

“Let me see. Two or three glasses, but that’s only because you kept forcing them on me.”

She held up her arms as he dragged her gown over her head, then she flung herself back on the mattress. “I want the story printed in the
Courier
as soon as possible.”

“Do you indeed?” He drew back the covers and settled her between the sheets.

Her head lifted. “You can’t fool me, Max. I know you can hardly wait for me to fall asleep so that you can creep along to Peter Fallon’s room and write up your story.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Not this time around, because I know you’re on my side.” She rolled away from him and let out a soft sigh. “I feel sorry for anybody who has you for an enemy.” She growled like a jungle cat.

“Sara?”

“Mmm?”

“There’s something that’s puzzling me.”

“What?”

“If you’d found William’s body beneath the fireplace in the dower house, what would you have done next?”

She rolled back to him. “I don’t know, Max. I didn’t want you involved, but … I suppose I would have come to you eventually, and asked you to help me dispose of his remains, you know, put him in a box and bury it in the downs. But I was hoping that it would not come to that.”

He stared at her hard, then let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Well, what else could I do?”

“Nothing. I’m touched. No really, I mean it.”

When she snuggled beneath the covers, and her eyes closed, Max knelt with one knee on the bed. “Sara,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I must say something about my shameful conduct last night.”

“Mmm?” She didn’t open her eyes.

Max combed his fingers through his hair. “I was maddened because you’d given me laudanum. When I came in here? I was mad with hurt pride. I lost my head. That wasn’t me, at least not the man I recognize. I’m sorry if I frightened you, or if I disgusted you.”

He put out a hand to brush stray tendrils of hair from her face, thought better of it, and let his hand drop away. “What I’m trying to say-” he said desperately, “Oh hell. Not all men are like Sir Ivor. Damn it, Sara, I love you. You must know I would never hurt you.”

Her eyes flew open and with a gasp of outrage, she hauled herself up. “Sir Ivor!” she cried. “Don’t you dare mention yourself in the same breath as that monster. You didn’t frighten me. You didn’t disgust me, or hurt me. I thought it was beautiful. Wondrous, if you must know.”

She nestled in his arms. “What was shameful was that you didn’t finish what you started. I may never forgive you for that. Are you still dressed? Come to bed, Max. Hold me, just hold me. I need to feel the arms of a good man around me so that I can forget that men like Sir Ivor exist.”

“Sara!”

Max felt his heart swell with love and gratitude. He quickly disrobed, blew out the candles, and climbed into bed. Sara curled into him trustingly, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her arm around his waist. He couldn’t stop touching her, his hands running up and down her spine, pressing her closer to the shelter of his body.

A long while later, he grinned and said, “It was wondrous, wasn’t it?”

He looked down at his wife’s face. Sara was sound asleep.

Twenty-seven

A
FEW DAYS LATER FOUND MAX AND SARA
in Longfield’s drawing room catching up on their correspondence. They were waiting for their lawyers to arrive so that the marriage settlements could be signed and sealed. Sara was looking over Max’s shoulder, reading what he had written.

“You don’t have gout!” she said.

“It’s a code,” he replied. “My friends will know what to make of it.”

“And what does it mean?”

“It means,” he looked up at her and smiled, “that my footloose days are over. I’m well and truly shackled.”

“That’s odd,” she said, “I feel just the opposite. Marriage to you has freed me of all my chains. I’m the happiest woman in the world.”

“Go back to reading your letter, Sara, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

She laughed and went to the window seat, where she curled up and spread open her letter. “It’s from Bea,” she said. “I wrote to her right away and told her about Sir Ivor. This is her reply.”

Max turned in his chair to get a better look at Sara. To say that he’d come down with a bad case of gout was the only way to explain to his friends how the love of his life affected him. He was no poet, and if he told them how he really felt, they’d think he was a sap.

“Well?” he said. “What does Miss Beattie say?”

“Mmm?” Sara looked up. “Oh, you know Bea. She thinks you’re Prince Charming. She always knew that you were right for me, that sort of thing. She’s not even shocked to learn that you’re the
Courier’s
owner. She says that God works in mysterious ways. Well, we can vouch for that. I told her we’d be making our home in London, and she says that as soon as we’re settled, she’ll come for a visit.”

He said softly, “You don’t mind making your home in London? I know your heart is here.”

“Now, that’s a silly thing to say. My heart isn’t here.”

“Where is it, then?”

She folded Miss Beattie’s letter and slipped it into her pocket, then came to him. Taking his hands in hers, she placed them on her heart. “Wherever you are, that’s where my heart is.”

He brought her hands to his lips and turning them over, kissed her palms tenderly. “Oh, my dearest love–”

He broke off when the door opened. Anne slipped into the room. “Max,” she said, “Drew would like a word with you. He’s in the library.”

Sara looked at the clock. “Have the lawyers arrived?”

“No,” said Anne. “Drew wanted to talk to Max first. And I want to talk to you, Sara.”

Max rose. “I was expecting this.” Then to Sara, “Prepare yourself for a shock, Sara. You’re not the happiest woman in the world.”

“What?”

Max left, and Sara studied her sister. Anne’s color was high; her eyes were sparkling. She approached Sara with slow, halting steps.

“Oh Sara, I’m going to marry Drew,” she said. “He still loves me. After all these years, he still loves me. I’m so happy, I can hardly bear it. Say you’re happy for me, too.”

Sara stared at Anne without blinking. At last, she let out the breath she was holding. “Of course I’m happy for you, but don’t you think that this is rather sudden? How long have you loved him?”

“Oh, since I was about three years old. Is that long enough for you?” Anne smiled into Sara’s bewildered eyes. “Love isn’t always easy, Sara, as it is for you and Max. Nothing went right for Drew and me, but at last we can be together. Don’t begrudge us our happiness.”

Sara said reverently, “Oh, my love, I never would, I never could. You deserve to be the happiest woman in the world. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“Sara, it’s not tragic! Don’t cry!”

“I never
cry,” said Sara, and wept in her sister’s arms as though her heart would break.

T
HE LATEST EDITION OF THE
COURIER
AR
rived that evening by special messenger, straight from the presses in London, and set the whole house in abuzz. There were enough copies for every member of the family, and Peter Fallon took it upon himself to deliver them.

Simon was the first to read it and he went tearing along to his brother’s room. A few minutes later they dashed to their mother’s room to find Constance dressing for dinner.

She took the paper that was thrust under her nose and read the headline. “Sir Ivor Neville Arrested for Son’s Murder.”

“Not that,” said Simon excitedly. “Read on. The third paragraph.”

Constance complied. “Sara Carstairs, who was acquitted of William Neville’s murder three years ago, found the secret chamber in Sir Ivor’s house. With her was her husband,
Lord Maxwell Worthe, the
Courier’s
publisher and heir to the Marquess …” her jaw dropped, “… of Lyndhurst.”

She looked at her sons. “What does this mean?”

“It means,” said Martin, “that it really was a love match and Max is not a fortune hunter.”

Simon made a face and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “What this means, Martin,” he said, “is that we won’t have to go to hard-hearted Sara when we’re under the hatches. We’ll go to Max. He’s a soft touch. And he has more money than Sara.”

Constance was unconvinced. “I’ve heard of the Lyndhursts. Don’t they live in that broken-down castle between Winchester and Aylesford? They may have a tide, but I never heard that they had any money.”

“That’s how old money likes it,” said Simon, adopting his man-of-the-world pose. “Trust me, Mother. At Oxford, we all know about Lord Lyndhurst. If it weren’t for him, half the colleges would shut down for lack of funds.”

Martin let out a low whistle. “You mean, Max’s father is
that
Lyndhurst?”

“Of course! From what I’ve heard, he and Lady Lyndhurst are both slightly dotty.” Simon touched his index finger to his head. “You know, eccentric, but they’re old blood and old money just the same.”

Constance reached for her handkerchief and blew her nose. “Max was here earlier, and said that we should all have a Season in London, but I refused. Without Lady Neville to sponsor us, I didn’t see the point.”

“Lady Neville!” Simon looked astonished. “She’s not in the same league as Lady Lyndhurst. If I were you, I’d tell Max you’ve changed your mind.”

Martin said, “Weren’t the lawyers going to meet this afternoon to draw up marriage settlements?”

“So?”

“I was just wondering what Sara has decided about our future. Maybe she’ll tell us at dinner.”

There was a knock on the door and the maid entered. “Lord Maxwell,” she said, “would like to see you
all
in the library.”

Constance looked around for her stole, and when she looked up, she found that she was alone.

S
IMON
ENTERED THE LIBRARY BRANDISHING
the
Courier
above his head. “Sara,” he called out, “you’re a heroine. Have you read this piece in the
Courier?”

“I didn’t know it was here.”

“And shame on you, Max,” Simon went on, “for letting us all make fools of ourselves.”

“Simon,” said Constance, “sit down and hold your tongue.”

Max waited until the whole family had assembled. Peter Fallon would be joining them for dinner, but this was family business, and only family members were invited, and that included Drew Primrose.

Max stood with his back to the fireplace. When everyone was seated, he nodded to the footman on duty who handed round a silver tray with long-stemmed glasses of iced champagne.

“Champagne?” Lucy’s eyes were as big as saucers.

“This is a special occasion,” said Max. “I have an announcement to make. Anne and Drew are going to be married just as soon as it can be arranged.”

There was a stunned silence, then everyone began to speak at once and to offer their congratulations. Max glanced at Constance. He’d had a word with her earlier to prepare her for the announcement, but Drew had got there before him. She didn’t disappoint him. Her smile was serene; her congratulations seemed sincere. Anne and Drew looked relaxed and happy. So far, so good.

Max raised his glass. “To Drew and Anne,” he said. “Long life and happiness.”

“To Drew and Anne,” everyone chorused. “Long life and happiness.”

Max nodded to the footman, who then left the room. “There’s another reason for celebration,” said Max. “Today my wife feels that she has fulfilled a sacred obligation, but I’ll let Sara explain it in her own words.”

Sara looked at each of her siblings in turn. Her face glowed with happiness. “Before he died,” she said, “Father asked me to take care of you all. Today, when Max and I signed our marriage settlements, I felt a great happiness, knowing that I’d carried out Father’s last wishes.” She smiled at Max. “Perhaps what I did wasn’t wise, but it was right. Thank you, Max, for allowing me to do it.”

All eyes expectantly turned to Max. “What it amounts to,” he said, “is that your father’s fortune will be divided equally amongst his children and stepchildren. And I’d just like to add that Anne is in favor of this arrangement.” He paused then went on, “But before you all get carried away with grand schemes on how you will spend your share, let me warn you that I and my father, Lord Lyndhurst, will be your trustees until you each reach your twenty-fifth birthday. That’s when you’ll get your capital and it will be intact. Do I make myself clear?”