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Authors: The Enigmatic Rake
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the children to leave the table. Enough that today Beth was here and was not averse to her new home.
Chapter Four
I n the following days Sarah could convince herself that it would be an easy matter to keep a distance from Lord Faringdon. The only immediate ripple on the tranquillity of her pool was a note from Judith, hoping that Sarah would be able to find the time to visit for tea in Grosvenor Square. Sarah did not comply, but penned a brief apology, citing pressure of work since Lord Faringdon was now in residence. She knew that she had made the friendship well nigh impossible by her stepping across the social divide. It hurt, but she had deliberately made the decision and must not, therefore, dwell on any regrets. Judith would realise and accept—she was not so naïve as to be ignorant or careless of the situation. In private, Sarah shed a few self-pitying tears.
Her energies were soon directed towards other matters, not least diplomatic negotiations between a number of strong-willed and self-important individuals. Lord Faringdon’s valet, a severe gentleman, was not given to personal chatter, but would hear nothing wrong of his employer, quick to depress any slighting comment with a stern frown and biting words. The Countess of Wexford’s maid, Hortense, was very different—a superior little madam, French, of course, who kept herself to herself, yet demanded the best of everything for herself and forher mistress. Celestine’s nurse, Mrs Watton, was a comfortable old body who did not regret in the slightest passing authority over her charge to Sarah. The child took too much after her mother. Not that they had seen a great deal of Marianne Faringdon before her untimely death. But even so! Blood would always out.
The gravest problem for her was the one most unlooked for. Mr Millington, the butler, developed an unexpected and completely inappropriate tendre for Sarah and followed her with a gleam in his pale eyes. Nor was he averse to glasses of port in the seclusion of his pantry. Sarah avoided him as much as possible after an embarrassing incident in the wine cellar, when the self-controlled housekeeper made her position very plain in a remarkably austere voice, which destroyed all Mr Millington’s pretensions.
The Countess of Wexford was demanding, thoughtless, selfish and patronising. She objected to being woken, but complained when her cup of hot chocolate did not arrive on the instant that she opened her eyes. Hot water was expected to appear at the very moment she required it, earning for one of the maids a sharp and quite unnecessary slap; the same intolerance was applied to the laundering of her beautiful clothes, with never a word of appreciation or a genuine smile.
Her smiles were gifted solely on Lord Joshua, offering a source of much interested gossip and speculation. Not that speculation was needed. Of course she was his mistress. What other reason could there be for a lady to be residing in the house of an unmarried gentleman, and one with such presence and address as his lordship? Fortunately, with his lordship somewhat incapacitated, the Countess was frequently away from the house in Hanover Square.
Lord Joshua proved to be an enigma, spending much time at home, nursing his wounds. The library became his personal domain where he read the Morning Post , drank brandy and wrote many letters. Millington proved to be a fount of knowledge for the household. His lordship had few visitors, but the gentlemen who called at the house did so at unusual times, often late at night. They never gave their names or left a visiting card. Quite respectable, dark-suited individuals, as might be expected from the legal profession, but Millington did not think they were connected with the law. Lord Joshua also received an inordinate amount of mail, over and above the gilt-edged invitations.
Otherwise his life was very quiet, which did not seem to Sarah to be at all in keeping with what she imagined the lifestyle of a
Chapter Four
I n the following days Sarah could convince herself that it would be an easy matter to keep a distance from Lord Faringdon. The only immediate ripple on the tranquillity of her pool was a note from Judith, hoping that Sarah would be able to find the time to visit for tea in Grosvenor Square. Sarah did not comply, but penned a brief apology, citing pressure of work since Lord Faringdon was now in residence. She knew that she had made the friendship well nigh impossible by her stepping across the social divide. It hurt, but she had deliberately made the decision and must not, therefore, dwell on any regrets. Judith would realise and accept—she was not so naïve as to be ignorant or careless of the situation. In private, Sarah shed a few self-pitying tears.
Her energies were soon directed towards other matters, not least diplomatic negotiations between a number of strong-willed and self-important individuals. Lord Faringdon’s valet, a severe gentleman, was not given to personal chatter, but would hear nothing wrong of his employer, quick to depress any slighting comment with a stern frown and biting words. The Countess of Wexford’s maid, Hortense, was very different—a superior little madam, French, of course, who kept herself to herself, yet demanded the best of everything for herself and forher mistress. Celestine’s nurse, Mrs Watton, was a comfortable old body who did not regret in the slightest passing authority over her charge to Sarah. The child took too much after her mother. Not that they had seen a great deal of Marianne Faringdon before her untimely death. But even so! Blood would always out.
The gravest problem for her was the one most unlooked for. Mr Millington, the butler, developed an unexpected and completely inappropriate tendre for Sarah and followed her with a gleam in his pale eyes. Nor was he averse to glasses of port in the seclusion of his pantry. Sarah avoided him as much as possible after an embarrassing incident in the wine cellar, when the self-controlled housekeeper made her position very plain in a remarkably austere voice, which destroyed all Mr Millington’s pretensions.
The Countess of Wexford was demanding, thoughtless, selfish and patronising. She objected to being woken, but complained when her cup of hot chocolate did not arrive on the instant that she opened her eyes. Hot water was expected to appear at the very moment she required it, earning for one of the maids a sharp and quite unnecessary slap; the same intolerance was applied to the laundering of her beautiful clothes, with never a word of appreciation or a genuine smile.
Her smiles were gifted solely on Lord Joshua, offering a source of much interested gossip and speculation. Not that speculation was needed. Of course she was his mistress. What other reason could there be for a lady to be residing in the house of an unmarried gentleman, and one with such presence and address as his lordship? Fortunately, with his lordship somewhat incapacitated, the Countess was frequently away from the house in Hanover Square.
Lord Joshua proved to be an enigma, spending much time at home, nursing his wounds. The library became his personal domain where he read the Morning Post , drank brandy and wrote many letters. Millington proved to be a fount of knowledge for the household. His lordship had few visitors, but the gentlemen who called at the house did so at unusual times, often late at night. They never gave their names or left a visiting card. Quite respectable, dark-suited individuals, as might be expected from the legal profession, but Millington did not think they were connected with the law. Lord Joshua also received an inordinate amount of mail, over and above the gilt-edged invitations.
Otherwise his life was very quiet, which did not seem to Sarah to be at all in keeping with what she imagined the lifestyle of a
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