it and forget about it for another seventeen years!’
‘What made you change your mind, sir?’
‘Two things,’ the Earl said bleakly. ‘Firstly, your mother told me plain that it was my bounden duty to help my goddaughter. And then, of course, Sarah arrived here.’ He met his son’s eyes. ‘When I realised that she was prepared to do what I was not, for the sake of her brother’s child, I felt ashamed. And also…’ a smile warmed his voice for the first time ‘…she is all the things that Frank Sheridan was not. She is good and true and brave, and I do not believe we should let her go to Blanchland alone!’
Guy got up to put another log on the fire. He stirred it to a blaze before he replied. ‘How much of this story do you think Miss Sheridan knows, sir?’
‘Very little, I imagine,’ the Earl said. ‘Jack Sheridan swore that neither he nor his son would ever burden Sarah with the tale, nor do I think they would bring shame on Catherine’s name in such a way. And that is why—’ he leaned forward, suddenly urgent ‘—you must find Miss Meredith before Sarah ever sets eyes on her!’
Guy frowned. ‘I collect that you do not wish Sarah to be aware of my sister’s part in this?’
‘Absolutely not! No one must ever know! It must remain a secret!’
Guy shook his head slowly. ‘I do not like the sound of this, sir. You must be more plain. What is it that you wish me to do?’
The Earl brought his fist down hard. ‘Find the girl! Buy her off! Persuade her to go away! The difficulties she finds herself in may well be pecuniary and she may be open to persuasion! Do whatever you have to, to keep the matter a secret!’
Guy looked at his father in bafflement. ‘You set me a strange task, sir,’ he said wryly. ‘I have never seen you act in such a way before. Are you sure that this is what you truly want? And as for deceiving the woman I wish to marry before the knot is even tied—it does not augur well for my future happiness!’
‘And yet I must ask it of you, Guy,’ his father said, fixing him with his fierce, dark gaze. ‘It must be done. Catherine’s memory must not be despoiled.’
They talked long into the night but Guy was unable to persuade his father to change his mind.
It was impossible to travel on to Blanchland the following morning. The rain of the previous day had frozen in deep ruts overnight, making the roads impassable.
‘Another day and the frost will be hard enough for you to travel,’ the Countess said cheerfully as she came to Sarah’s room to acquaint her with the news. ‘Or else it will thaw again and you can be on your way! But for the meantime, Sarah dear, I am very happy for you to prolong your stay!’
Sarah herself had mixed feelings. Having got so close to her destination, the waiting was hard to bear. Then there was the prospect of another day in Guy’s company when she would far rather put some distance between them. And then there was the fact, which she would admit only to herself, that although half of her wanted to run away from him, the other half found him all too attractive.
She was spared Guy’s company in the morning, however, for the gentlemen had gone out for an early ride and were not expected back before luncheon. Lady Woodallan, recognising a kindred spirit in Amelia, bore her off to inspect the still room, so Sarah was left to her own devices. This did not trouble her. She spent a happy hour reacquainting herself with Lord Woodallan’s extensive library collection, then turned her attention to the glass cases containing an assortment of semiprecious stones that he had collected on his travels abroad. Here was the brilliant deep blue of the lapis lazuli that had so fascinated her as a child, the pale green of the peridot and the deep amber of the tiger’s eye, flecked with gold.
The walls of the library were furnished with family portraits and Sarah paused on her way out to consider the large family grouping over the fireplace. Here was a younger Earl and Countess of Woodallan, smiling proudly as their four children played about their feet. Guy looked stiff and self-conscious in his child’s velvet suit and Sarah smiled a little. His younger sisters Emma and Clara, the latter barely more than a baby, sat on the floor at their feet, but the eldest girl stood shyly by her mother’s chair. She must have been a couple of years older than Guy, Sarah thought, and she looked grave but with a smile breaking through. Sarah frowned, trying to remember her name. Catherine. She had died when Sarah was only seven and Sarah had no clear memory of her.
Sarah moved on to pictures of Lady Emma and Lady Clara as debutantes, both fair-haired, brown-eyed and heartbreakingly lovely. The Woodallan looks were very distinctive, Sarah thought. She remembered them both with fondness as having a great sense of fun and thought with regret that it would have been very pleasant to accept Lady Woodallan’s invitation and return for Christmas, when both daughters and their respective families were expected.
That, of course, was not the only proposal that had been made to her. And there to remind her was a portrait of Guy in his early twenties. The artist had captured brilliantly the wicked twinkle in those brown eyes and the unconsciously arrogant tilt to his chin. He looked strikingly handsome and Sarah’s heart contracted a little.
She went out into the hall, closing the library door quietly behind her. The sun had come out and Sarah decided that she would take a walk before luncheon. She picked up her cloak, donned her boots and went out into the morning air.
A quick tour of the gardens took her through the parterre and downhill towards the fields that bordered the trout stream. Sarah leant over and dabbled her fingers in the crystal clear water, finding it icy. There was no danger of lingering outdoors today, for an easterly wind made Lady Woodallan’s predictions of a hard frost seem very likely.
‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan.’ Sarah turned to see Guy leaning on a five-bar gate a few yards away. He must have moved very quietly; she had not heard his approach. ‘Did you fancy sledging down the hill as we did as children?’
Sarah laughed. ‘I do not believe there is sufficient snow, my lord! The last time we tried that there were drifts five foot deep!’
‘I remember!’ Guy pushed the gate open and strode through to join her. ‘I borrowed a tray from the kitchen and found it ran faster than the proper sledge!’
‘And you finished head down in a drift and Clara screamed and screamed because she thought you were dead!’
They laughed together.
‘Perhaps we might try again when you return to Woodallan for Christmas,’ Guy said, as they turned back towards the house. ‘There is bound to be further snowfall before then. Indeed, I believe we are in for quite a cold snap!’
‘So your mother was saying.’ Sarah pushed her hands into the fur muff and shivered a little. ‘I would not wish you to forget, however, that I have made no commitment to return for Christmas!’
‘Of course.’ Guy’s smile was rueful. ‘I am sorry, Miss Sheridan! It was my own hopes that were speaking! I do most ardently wish that you will stay a little at Woodallan after your quest to Blanchland is completed.’
‘I shall see,’ Sarah said cautiously. ‘Shall we walk back, sir? It is too cold to tarry here!’
‘By all means.’ Guy fell into step beside her as they turned back up the hill. ‘What are your impressions of Woodallan after all these years, Miss Sheridan? Does it bring back happy memories for you?’
Sarah
