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riding, meandering through the gardens, and one bunch had even commandeered several carriages for a picnic at the lake.
Just then, her hostess emerged through the French doors and blazed a trail through the guests. Sarah enviously studied her, trying not to be overly conspicuous. A beautiful woman, ten years Sarah’s senior, Pamela Blair had been the fourth wife of an elderly earl, but also his favorite, and thus, upon his death, he’d graciously bequeathed several valuable properties and a significant income with which to enjoy them.
She regularly entertained huge groups, and her soirees were invariably the rage, with people begging invitations whenever she was having a particularly interesting masquerade or banquet.
Tall, blond, slender, and graceful, she murmured hellos and conversed with old friends. Eventually, she reached Sarah, and the two women chatted, while casually regarding the competitors in the yard.
As a girl of seventeen, Sarah had met Pamela during her failed debut outing, but they’d not crossed paths since that dreadful debacle. Pamela had been twenty-seven years old, already a widow, and Sarah much younger, so they’d not formed a confidential association. Nevertheless, Sarah had discovered her to be direct and forthright, which had been refreshing in view of how ghastly her brief excursion had been, and she retained fond memories of the woman who’d never been judgmental or cruel during a period when Sarah had been so terribly out of her element.
Pamela was amiable but detached, welcoming but not inordinately so, absorbed but not acutely. There was a coolness that kept others at a distance, especially someone like Sarah who had never made friends effortlessly, yet Sarah trusted the older woman and suspected that the fickle members of High Society preferred her fellowship for the same reason. She had a reputation for being loyal, reliable, and discreet, admirable qualities in a small, elite community where everyone attended to everyone else’s business.
Pamela inquired after Sarah’s family, her brother, their Yorkshire estate. As Sarah was uninformed as to Pamela’s private life, she had difficulty making chitchat in return, so she stuck to flattering observations about the weather, the festivities, the company.
When Pamela quizzed her about the adequacy of her accommodations, Sarah finally found the opening for which she’d been waiting.
“Do you happen to know who’s been assigned the suite next to mine?”
“Why?” Pamela laughed softly. “Were they keeping you awake?”
“No, nothing like that. I just noted a gentleman when he exited.” She was dying to simply speak the name Michael Stevens aloud, but she was a horrid liar, and she couldn’t fabricate an acceptable story as to how they might have met. “I recognized him from somewhere, but I wasn’t positive of his identity.”
“Hmmm . . .” Pamela brooded, pondering the arrangements of the sprawling mansion. “I didn’t realize there was anyone in that room. Once Hugh advised me that you were coming, I intentionally gave you a quiet chamber away from the gaiety. Some of my companions can be . . . rambunctious . . . in the night, so I figured you’d relish the additional privacy.”
“I do,” Sarah agreed, while theorizing as to the woman’s definition of
rambunctious
. “Thank you.”
“What did this mystery man look like?”
“Handsome. Broad shouldered. Dark haired.” Morewistfully than she intended, she added, “He has the most spectacular blue eyes.”
“Well . . . that would
have
to be Michael Stevens. He definitely has eyes that prompt a woman to fantasize about things she oughtn’t.” Pamela chuckled, then leaned over and patted Sarah’s hand. “I wasn’t aware that I’d situated him near you, but trust me, dear, you’re not acquainted with him. Nor should you be.”
“Now I’m absolutely intrigued.”
“To put it bluntly, Sarah”—Pamela stared out at the yard for a lengthy
Just then, her hostess emerged through the French doors and blazed a trail through the guests. Sarah enviously studied her, trying not to be overly conspicuous. A beautiful woman, ten years Sarah’s senior, Pamela Blair had been the fourth wife of an elderly earl, but also his favorite, and thus, upon his death, he’d graciously bequeathed several valuable properties and a significant income with which to enjoy them.
She regularly entertained huge groups, and her soirees were invariably the rage, with people begging invitations whenever she was having a particularly interesting masquerade or banquet.
Tall, blond, slender, and graceful, she murmured hellos and conversed with old friends. Eventually, she reached Sarah, and the two women chatted, while casually regarding the competitors in the yard.
As a girl of seventeen, Sarah had met Pamela during her failed debut outing, but they’d not crossed paths since that dreadful debacle. Pamela had been twenty-seven years old, already a widow, and Sarah much younger, so they’d not formed a confidential association. Nevertheless, Sarah had discovered her to be direct and forthright, which had been refreshing in view of how ghastly her brief excursion had been, and she retained fond memories of the woman who’d never been judgmental or cruel during a period when Sarah had been so terribly out of her element.
Pamela was amiable but detached, welcoming but not inordinately so, absorbed but not acutely. There was a coolness that kept others at a distance, especially someone like Sarah who had never made friends effortlessly, yet Sarah trusted the older woman and suspected that the fickle members of High Society preferred her fellowship for the same reason. She had a reputation for being loyal, reliable, and discreet, admirable qualities in a small, elite community where everyone attended to everyone else’s business.
Pamela inquired after Sarah’s family, her brother, their Yorkshire estate. As Sarah was uninformed as to Pamela’s private life, she had difficulty making chitchat in return, so she stuck to flattering observations about the weather, the festivities, the company.
When Pamela quizzed her about the adequacy of her accommodations, Sarah finally found the opening for which she’d been waiting.
“Do you happen to know who’s been assigned the suite next to mine?”
“Why?” Pamela laughed softly. “Were they keeping you awake?”
“No, nothing like that. I just noted a gentleman when he exited.” She was dying to simply speak the name Michael Stevens aloud, but she was a horrid liar, and she couldn’t fabricate an acceptable story as to how they might have met. “I recognized him from somewhere, but I wasn’t positive of his identity.”
“Hmmm . . .” Pamela brooded, pondering the arrangements of the sprawling mansion. “I didn’t realize there was anyone in that room. Once Hugh advised me that you were coming, I intentionally gave you a quiet chamber away from the gaiety. Some of my companions can be . . . rambunctious . . . in the night, so I figured you’d relish the additional privacy.”
“I do,” Sarah agreed, while theorizing as to the woman’s definition of
rambunctious
. “Thank you.”
“What did this mystery man look like?”
“Handsome. Broad shouldered. Dark haired.” Morewistfully than she intended, she added, “He has the most spectacular blue eyes.”
“Well . . . that would
have
to be Michael Stevens. He definitely has eyes that prompt a woman to fantasize about things she oughtn’t.” Pamela chuckled, then leaned over and patted Sarah’s hand. “I wasn’t aware that I’d situated him near you, but trust me, dear, you’re not acquainted with him. Nor should you be.”
“Now I’m absolutely intrigued.”
“To put it bluntly, Sarah”—Pamela stared out at the yard for a lengthy
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