The Affectionate Adversary (33 page)

Sarah closed her eyes in humiliation. Oh, she was a fool. Now she knew beyond any shadow of doubt that she loved Charles. And despite all her harsh words and cruel rejections, he still loved her. Yet they could never be together.

“I have told my sisters I shall marry Delacroix,” Sarah said, “and I must keep my word.”

“Does he know? Have you spoken to him about your intent?”

“No, but I have no doubt he will favor the attachment at once. Clearly, a union between us is his aim. Though he has not made me a proposal, he gives me his entire attention whenever we are together.”

“He calls upon you here at Trenton House at least once a day.” Anne’s voice held a wistful tone. “I should not be surprised if Lord Delacroix will come again this afternoon.”

“Aye, smiling and telling little jokes and posturing before me. I shall laugh and be polite and accommodating.”

Sarah gazed out the window, imagining the effort such an act would require. Though she might feign interest and pleasure in the company of her sisters and friends, she was heartbroken at the turn her life had taken.

“Hello the house!” Prudence sang out from the foyer. “I am home at last, and whom do you suppose I should find coming up the stairs just as I arrived? It is Mary! Sarah, are you there?”

Both women stepped into the drawing room just as Sarah turned from her perch beside the window. “Dear sisters—how happy I am to see you looking so well. Anne, will you send for our tea at once?” As her maid hurried away, Sarah left the settee. “But you are both very wet. Pru, your skirts are six inches deep in dirt.”

“Upon my word, the streets are a veritable river!” Prudence skipped to the table near the fire and dropped a portfolio upon it. “There! What do you say to that?”

“Are these the pictures of new bonnets?” Sarah asked.

“The bonnets are there, but atop them is something of far greater importance!” She swept up a damp copy of
The Tattler
and displayed it for her sisters. “Miss Pickworth has printed my letter—and she has given me an answer!”

“No!” Sarah and Mary cried at once, both rushing for the newspaper. Prudence whisked it away and motioned them to be seated. Opening to the pertinent page, she cleared her throat.

“
‘The Wealthy Widow and her Affectionate Adversary,’” she read aloud. “I shall not trouble you with the details of my letter though, I flatter myself, it was very well written. I cannot think why Miss Pickworth cut away half of it and summarized the rest. At any rate, here is her answer:

“While lasting love is rare in this world, it is not impossible. Clearly, the wealthy widow has lost her heart to this proud and principled pauper. She adores him. More meaningfully, he loved her long before he learned of her reservoir of riches. His love is genuine.

“While Miss Pickworth is loath to discard the stringent strictures of society, she believes there must be exceptions to every rule. Let our wealthy widow wed her worthy wooer. Let our affectionate adversary abandon all his ambition.

“May her riches become his. May his aims in life become hers. And may the ton turn warm welcomes and wholehearted best wishes upon this praiseworthy pair.”

“Miss Pickworth believes I should marry Mr. Locke?” Sarah asked.

“You must have written your letter in a very opinionated manner,” Mary said. “Did you mention Lord Delacroix?”

“I did. But she says nothing about him at all.” Prudence handed the newspaper to Sarah. “Miss Pickworth, who never hesitates to point out the slightest flaw in anyone, approves of Mr. Locke. Can you credit such a thing?”

“I am all astonishment,” Sarah said. She passed the column to Mary. “Miss Pickworth has admonished the
ton
to accept such an unbalanced match.”

“
‘Proud and principled pauper,’” Mary read. “Well. That makes Mr. Locke sound almost romantic. As though he were some sort of Robin Hood.”

“He
is
romantic. He is as handsome as anything, and if he did not love Sarah so dearly, I should try even harder than I have to win him for myself. Indeed, I am quite taken aback by her answer, for were Sarah and Mr. Locke to follow Miss Pickworth’s advice, I should be left with no one.” Prudence snatched the newspaper and folded it up again. Recovering her aplomb, she waved the paper in front of Mary’s nose. “I told you Miss Pickworth would publish my letter.”

Sarah had to laugh. “Surely this day cannot provide any greater surprises! Pru, we must study your bonnets as soon as may be. But you ought to go upstairs first and put on a dry gown.”

“Nonsense! I want to hear Mary’s news. Do tell us everything, dearest! Is it about Delacroix? or Sarah? Or do you have some news of Charles Locke, our ‘principled pauper’?” Prudence glanced at her eldest sister. “I have heard nothing at all about him since we left Bamberfield, and that is nearly two weeks! I am thinking of calling on him.”

“Prudence!” Mary scowled at her younger sister. “You will do nothing of the sort.”

“How are we to ‘warmly welcome’ the man if he supposes our whole family has turned against him? You ought to send your husband to make amends. Mr. Heathhill has the perfect demeanor to mollify the situation.”

Mary flushed with pride. “I shall speak to my dear husband this very evening. We have discussed the situation at length, and you must know … he agrees with me that Mr. Locke ought to be more than willing to marry Prudence. Both of you would benefit greatly from the arrangement.”

“Miss Pickworth would not agree on that account.” Prudence turned to Sarah. “And what about you? Will you allow Mr. Heathhill to tell Delacroix of your willingness to wed? Or do you change your mind on this?”

Sarah knotted her hands in her lap. “I shall speak to Delacroix about a marriage myself when the time is right.”

“You? Propose to him?” Prudence gaped at Sarah.

“It is not unheard of,” Mary informed her. “Sarah is above Delacroix in title and fortune, and it is her place to decide whether she will marry or not. Indeed, she is actually condescending to wed Delacroix, for if she chose, she could set her sights upon someone of higher rank.”

“Or I could remain unattached.” Sarah laid out the possibility like a silk shawl, a thing to be studied and examined but treated with great delicacy. “It is not so long ago that I had planned to live out the rest of my life alone, and that situation could hardly hurt either of you.”

“But to be put on the shelf forever?” Prudence asked.

“I shall hardly be on a shelf, dearest. I am in a most enviable position.”

“But what about children? heirs?”

“You and Mary can see to that.”

“Do you mean this, Sarah?” Mary asked. “Do you now reverse your previous statement to us that you would wed Delacroix?”

“I am considering it—that is all I can tell you.”

“It is Miss Pickworth,” Prudence said. “Her advice is always on the mark.”

“I had been thinking of this long before I heard Miss Pickworth’s pert counsel.”

“But what about the money?” Prudence blurted out. “Will you also go back to your plan to give it all away?”

“I have come to believe that you and Mary were correct in your estimation of my former aims. Though it seems odd to say it, I
was
thinking selfishly when I planned to give away my fortune. I see now that I cannot deprive you of my company or my money without compromising your own contentment. And so I must assure you that I shall stay in England and provide for both of you and your families.”

“But you need not provide for Delacroix? Is that what you are saying?”

“I am not certain on that account, Pru. Marriage to him might be best for me. I should very much like to know the love of a husband and children. But …” She reached out and laid her hand over Mary’s. “We are delayed too long on this. What is your exciting news, sister? Prudence and I are all eagerness to hear it.”

Mary pursed her lips, turning pinker than ever. Then she began to blink rapidly, and at last, when Sarah feared Mary might begin to swoon, she burst out, “I am in the increasing way!”

“A baby!” Prudence exclaimed. “Oh, Sarah, do you believe it? We soon shall have a niece or a nephew!”

“This is wonderful news!” Sarah cried out. “I am delighted for you! Dearest Mary, how could you not have told us the moment you came in the door? This is too, too delightful!”

As the three sisters embraced, Anne directed two maids and a footman into the drawing room; they were bearing trays of tea and cakes and other small dainties. By now, Mary was weeping, while Prudence kept exclaiming in joy, thus informing all the servants in the most inappropriate manner.

But who could not rejoice at such news, Sarah thought as she dabbed her handkerchief on Mary’s damp cheeks. The Heathhills had been married more than three years with no sign of a baby. Mary had confessed in her letters that she began to despair of ever becoming a mother, while Pru had fretted that Mary grew more and more despondent over this serious shortcoming in her happy marriage. And now it was all come to this delightful result.

“Mr. Heathhill is beside himself with joy,” Mary told her sisters. “He treats me as though I am a china doll, tenderly assisting me in every way. And, of course, I have had to order new clothes and undergarments, but he has made not a single objection. Instead, he goes about the house whistling and fancying himself the very luckiest of men.”

“As he is,” Sarah assured. “Have you any idea of the month when we may hope to be blessed?”

“April, I believe.” She looked at her sisters and burst into tears again. “Oh, do you believe it? Next spring I shall present my dearest Sarah and Prudence with the beginnings of a new family! We shall all be as one—here together in London. It will be better than we ever dreamed possible in our former life, for we three shall be mothers, and our dear husbands will be fathers, and our children will be rich with such happy, happy relations.”

“We shall all be good mothers,” Prudence announced, her own tears falling. “I mean to be the kindest, the most attentive, and certainly the most loving parent any child could wish for. And I shall not send my babies away to wet nurses, no matter what my husband may wish. I shall keep them at home with me and see to the task myself.”

“Aye, as shall I,” Mary pronounced. “I have told Mr. Heathhill already that if he has any intention of sending our children off to boarding school, he must abandon it at once. They will all be taught privately at home, or they may go to a day school in town. I have vowed never to repeat the terrible situation that was foisted upon us, with our dear Sarah put away in an attic while Pru and I learned our alphabet and numbers at home.”

“Never!” Prudence concurred, turning to Sarah and wrapping her arms around her. “Never will such a thing be done to my children as was done to you. Oh, Sarah, please say you will always live near us. Let us all be loving mothers and the dearest of sisters and the very happiest of—”

“Excuse me, Lady Delacroix.” Sarah had not been aware of her maid’s presence nearby until Anne spoke up. “I am sorry to interrupt, madam.”

Sarah drew back from her sisters. “Yes, Anne? What is it?”

“A gentleman has come to call upon you, madam.” A footman stepped forward and held out a silver tray. Anne glanced at Mary and Prudence. “Forgive me for disrupting your glad tidings,” she said, “but we have kept him waiting for some time.”

“It is all right, Anne. In our joy, we have ignored you entirely; I am sure. Please send Lord Delacroix in, for he will be happy to hear our news.”

“I beg your pardon, but your caller is not Lord Delacroix, madam,” Anne informed her. “The gentleman is Mr. Locke. Will you see him?”

Sarah glanced at Prudence and then at Mary. Both her sisters had stiffened and sucked down gasps, as if stricken by a chill wind. Taking the card from the tray, Sarah read the name. It was indeed Charles. He had come.

“Yes, Anne,” she answered. She smoothed down her skirts. “Do send Mr. Locke in.”

  
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