The Affectionate Adversary (16 page)

“Then your aims are not my own, and you comprehend me no better than do my sisters or Lord Delacroix. The things of God are foolishness to the world. To everyone, it is unthinkable that I should give away my inheritance. Prudence, Mary, Delacroix—and now you—all go to great lengths to dissuade me from what appears senseless. Perhaps even insane.”

“I do not think you have lost your mind,” Charles said, turning to the window in an effort to keep the other two in the room from hearing. “I believe you are just in your desires, my dear Sarah. There is much reason in what you propose. In fact, since our words aboard ship, I have searched the Scriptures myself in an effort to understand what God teaches on the matters of wealth and social advancement.”

“You have?” Her brown eyes misted as she stepped closer. “Oh, Charles. How do you get on?”

“With difficulty. I find much contradiction, for in one passage God blesses those He loves with land and crops and great wealth. Yet in another passage, Christ points to the birds of the air and the flowers of the field and tells us to trust God to feed and clothe us. Once, Christ praises the man who takes his talents and multiplies them, and He censures the one who buries his money. But elsewhere, Christ orders His disciples to go out to preach with only the clothes on their backs. It is a theological matter not easily understood, Sarah, and I wonder that you have worked it all out for yourself. If indeed you have.”

“I have had no need to work it out, for I have seen it enacted before me like a great, tragic pageant. My father gave his all to gain wealth and prestige. My husband did the same. Both are dead. What good did their labors do them? None at all. What have money and the name Delacroix done for me?

Nothing good whatsoever. How one makes use of wealth is not a theological matter but a practical one. Christ clearly instructed us not to lay up treasures on earth but only in heaven. That is what I mean to do, Charles.”

“Then why not do it in England? Your poor sister is nearly mad with anguish over you. And Lord Delacroix suffers great concern for your well-being. Stay here and relieve their agonies. Surely you cannot find Scripture that insists your money go to beggars in India.”

She looked down at her hands. “I do not wish to stay in England.”

Unable to hold back, Charles touched her arm. “Sarah? Why can you not stay? Why must you run away again from those who love you?”

“Charles, please go now; I beg you. I have heard what you say, and you may assure Delacroix and my sisters that I do take their feelings into account. You have accomplished your aim in coming here. Please … please … leave me in peace.”

“Dearest Sarah,” Charles said, “do not think ill of me when I tell you that your presence gives great pleasure to many. You believe that your sisters’ primary desire has been the size of their share in your father’s estate. You suspect that Lord Delacroix and your society want your company only because it may somehow benefit them. But you are mistaken in this. You have much to offer your family and friends. I knew you once when your character was unhindered by the trappings of wealth and prestige, and you saw my honest response.”

Unwilling to leave her until he had said all that pressed him, Charles lifted his chin. “I loved you, Sarah. My feelings are unchanged. Though you choose to believe I am capable only of selfish actions, I know my heart. I adore you, as do many others. Stay in England, then, and accept the genuine affection due you. If, as you say, you cannot trust me, then permit me to prove myself to you. Allow me to be your friend, and you will observe my constancy. But if you can no longer bear to see me, I shall say nothing more and be gone from your life forever.”

Lifting a hand, she tucked a tendril of brown hair behind her ear. Her eyes, which had softened as he spoke, now focused on the bustling street outside Trenton House. Now she turned to him. “How am I ever to know the difference, Charles? How can I tell what distinguishes genuine affection from false flattery? How can I be sure that the words and actions directed to me arise from real compassion and not from concealed greed?”

She shook her head in frustration as she continued. “In London, I am not Mrs. Carlyle. I am Lady Delacroix, and I am expected to dress and behave accordingly. Everyone here knows of my fortune, and how can they remain unaffected by it? I must attend this ball and that dinner. I must call on this countess and that marchioness. I must go to court and make my presence felt among the royals at St. James’s. Laces and silks and satins will always adorn my gowns. The jewels my father and husband bequeathed me are required to be worn. Everywhere I go, I shall appear as Lady Delacroix, and I shall be Lady Delacroix. And then all my hope of happiness will be lost forever.”

Charles contemplated Sarah’s words, knowing she spoke the truth. The
ton
would be unable to see beyond her title and wealth. Even Lord Delacroix, who had professed such prodigious care for Sarah, had made it clear to Charles that his greatest worry was her determination to rid herself of her father’s money. He wanted a share of it. Her sisters wanted their portion.

And Charles? He wanted the money, too, of course.

How could he deny it? He had come to Trenton House intending to apologize, to convince Sarah to stay in England, and eventually to receive compensation for his efforts from Delacroix. Charles was no better than the rest of them.

Though he did love Sarah as much as before, the knowledge of her fortune had affected him. Could he ever see her again without thinking of it? Could any friendship between them remain untainted?

Unresolved on the matter, he bowed. “I cannot teach you how to discern truth from falsehood,” he said. “I can only beg you to remain in England. And now I must take my own leave of you. May God be with you wherever you go, dearest, loveliest lady. Good day.”

Without waiting to hear her speak again, Charles turned away and made for the door. His chest ached from the strain of the encounter. Though he had made the journey without his cane, he now felt the need for its support.

Had he spoken the truth to Sarah, or had he lied? Did he love her for who she was? Or did he desire her money? Could she find happiness in London, or was she better off roaming the world and dispensing the gifts with which God had blessed her?

He made his brief farewell to Miss Watson and Lord Delacroix and then stepped into the foyer. As he donned his hat and coat, Charles knew he must not see Sarah again. He must leave her as he had loved her—pure and untainted by any wrongful desire. If he came into her presence once more, he would be assailed by the same sins that so beset all who tried to love her—covetousness, greed, jealousy. He was not good enough for her. He never could be.

  
Eight
  

“It is quite unfair! I never have seen the man, and you have seen him twice.” Mary fanned herself crossly. “And do not look at me askance, husband, for I have every right to judge for myself whether Mr. Locke is handsome.”

“He is terribly handsome,” Prudence said. “No one could ever contradict me in that.”

Sarah poured out her third cup of tea and tried to endure the annoying chatter of her sisters. Not five minutes after Charles Locke went away, Mary and her husband had arrived at Trenton House. The conversation immediately took a shrill turn as Prudence admired and esteemed their recent guest, while Mary pouted at having missed yet another opportunity to evaluate the man herself.

Mr. Locke was all the talk of the
ton
, Mary informed the others, for his adventure with the Malabar pirates had inspired and amazed everyone at the Marston reception. All the gentlemen thought him brave for having fought so boldly. Indeed, they came very near to actually envying his grievous wounds. All the ladies considered him prodigiously tall and well formed, as handsome a man as ever was seen, and certainly not beneath their interest despite his father’s having been nothing more than old Lord Marston’s steward.

“I found him rather dark,” Delacroix observed. His own heritage had disposed him to the fair complexion and blond hair of his Saxon ancestors—never mind his decidedly French title. Sarah observed that her nephew by marriage had outfitted himself today in an elegant gray tailcoat with two rows of pearl buttons, a fine high neckcloth, and a pair of silk breeches. His appearance had put to shame Charles’s common black suit with its green waistcoat and straight trousers. Perhaps Delacroix had intended it that way, for he now seemed determined to malign the man he had so lately claimed as a friend.

“Did you not find Mr. Locke uncommonly tan, Miss Watson?” he asked.

“He has been at sea, sir,” she retorted. “Of course he is tan. He will get over it, no doubt, though I do think his being so brown shows his eyes to good advantage. They are very blue, Mary.”

“Oh!” She crossed her arms. “Why could we not have arrived sooner? But of course my husband
must
speak to his butler on matters of great import.”

“Yes, I must,” John Heathhill spoke up. “We are near to an insurrection among the footmen due to the many dinners my dear Mrs. Heathhill has insisted upon hosting in these past weeks. Our attendants have had so few nights off as to put them at the verge of revolt.”

“They are all drunkards,” Mary said. “If you had employed better footmen, Mr. Heathhill, they would understand that your wife must give dinners during the season. The servants will all have time away when we go into the country again.”

“I think we should go into the country next week,” Prudence spoke up. “Delacroix will have us at his house at Bamberfield, will you not, sir? And you must invite Mr. Locke to be one of the party, for then Mary may observe him herself and cease complaining that she has been treated unfairly.”

“I should be very happy to open the country house to our party,” Delacroix concurred. He turned to Sarah. “What do you say to it, madam? Will you accompany us to Bamberfield, or do you still mean to pack yourself off to India?”

Sarah set her cup back into its saucer. How could she explain what had come over her during her conversation with Charles? It had been strange and wonderful—almost as though God had spoken to her through him.

In Charles’s eyes, she had read real concern. His face had been consumed with her, as if he could not bear to turn away for even a moment. His words rang with honesty and truth. Everything about him—from the touch of his hand on her arm to the tone of his voice—had given Sarah clarity concerning the most troublesome aspect of her situation. Through Charles’s behavior toward her, she at last had realized how to distinguish genuine affection from flattery. She must simply look steadfastly at the one who spoke. Who could meet her eyes and yet deliver a stream of falsehoods? Who could gaze into her face without revealing ingenuousness?

Peace had descended upon Sarah even as Charles walked away from her. He did care. He would not lie to her. Though he could not give himself to her aim of poverty, yet he could be her friend. And that was enough. More than enough.

“I believe I shall stay in England for a while longer,” Sarah informed the gathering. “I should very much like to spend Christmas at home. And I have missed the arrival of spring these past two years. Perhaps I shall delay my journey until next summer.”

“Sarah!” Prudence threw herself from her chair onto her sister’s neck. “Oh, I am so happy to hear this news! Good for Mr. Locke! He has convinced you to stay with us after all. There, Delacroix, what did I tell you? She adores him, and nothing he can say is ever wrong.”

“Prudence, upon my word, you are too silly!” Sarah exclaimed. “Mr. Locke merely discussed my situation in a reasonable manner, and I began to understand the sense in what he said. That is all.”