stiffened at this abrupt mention of his silent child. ‘Physically well.’
‘And the governesses?’
‘Resigned or dismissed.’
‘Oh, dear, was that wise?’
‘Yes, when they think disciplining a frightened child will make her speak.’ He spoke grimly and felt a tic flicker across his cheek.
‘Maybe I should look for someone suitable? It’s so hard for a man.’
‘Thank you, but, no.’ He spoke too curtly, he knew.
Lady Eavensham did not take umbrage. She reached forward, patting the arm of his chair with a plump hand, her rings flickering in the firelight. ‘Be patient, dear. Heaven knows what the poor child endured in that dreadful prison or wherever he kept her.’
He flinched. The pain was physical, so sharp it winded him. He shifted, needing to distance himself, to guard his emotions even from this kind well-meaning woman.
With relief, he saw the door swing open as Kit and several ladies entered.
Three ladies, in fact, although one slipped unobtrusively towards the back of the room. Indeed, her obvious desire to remain unnoticed caught his attention. Her appearance was so jarringly drab juxtaposed to the other ladies’ finery, her hair mousy and her face kindly, but certainly not in the first flush of youth.
He felt a start of recognition. The rabbit girl, without the rabbit.
The light made the plainness of her face and gown all the more evident. Her hair was scraped into an unforgiving bun. She had high cheekbones, straight, dark eyebrows and a mouth too wide for fashion.
Lady Eavensham smiled in her direction. ‘Ah, Miss Martin, let me present you to our guests. Miss Martin is the Crawfords’ ward and lives nearby.’
The ladies turned, nodding and smiling, their movement so uniform as to appear choreographed.
‘Mr Crawford’s ward? Mr Leon Crawford, I presume. I never met him. Will he be here tonight?’ the elder lady questioned.
‘That would be difficult. He is deceased. I live with his widow, Mrs Crawford, now,’ Miss Martin replied.
Her dress, a grey muslin, looked years out of date and hung loose as though it were second-hand and poorly altered.
Yet she had something, he thought. Poise—that was it—and a certain irrepressible quality as though, despite its hardship, she found life a humorous affair. There had been a time when he might have shared the philosophy.
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance.’ Sebastian bowed.
She looked up. Her gaze met his and he saw her blink in startled recognition. Her eyes were a grey-blue, not a flat shade, but deep and intense, framed with long dark lashes.
‘Good evening, Lord Langford. I trust you have had a chance to enjoy the country air?’ Her voice, pleasantly low, rippled with mirth.
Unaccountably, he smiled.
‘Gracious, his lordship has only arrived. He is not likely to go out,’ Lady Eavensham bellowed.
‘I thought he might have been enticed for a stroll.’
‘A pleasure postponed for another day,’ Sebastian said.
‘Watch out for burglars.’ Merriment sparkled in her eyes. Her lips curved, a lopsided dimple denting her left cheek.
‘Burglars? Good gracious, we are not so ill-bred as to have burglars. Oh, I do hope the weather will improve. Miss Martin, look outside and see if the sky looks promising.’ Lady Eavensham waved her hands in the direction of the curtains. Her jewellery jangled.
Miss Martin complied, her head bent so demurely that Sebastian wondered if he’d imagined that look of devilment moments earlier.
‘Windy, but I can see the moon.’
Sebastian could see it also, peeking through fast-moving clouds. The white orb silhouetted her profile, touching her pale skin with moonlight and giving it a luminescent quality.
He wondered now if he had been entirely accurate with his initial assessment of her looks. No beauty and yet—
‘Good, we run with the hounds, you know,’ Lady Eavensham said. ‘Well, I don’t with this foot, but Lord Eavensham loves a good hunt.’
The curtains swished into place as Miss Martin turned towards the room, the movement abrupt. A flicker of distaste flashed across her countenance and her shoulders tensed under the drab gown. Sebastian wondered if she now intended to denounce fox hunting. Given the rabbit incident, he presumed it possible.
Before he could comment, the younger of the two ladies claimed his attention, leaning towards him with a breathy gasp. ‘Tell me about London. I long for it, you know, and have been so looking forward to the Season.’
Sebastian groaned inwardly. Debutantes. The curse of modern man. They hadn’t a brain between them while having an excess of pastel muslin, pale skin and manipulative wiles. He glanced towards Miss Martin, half-expecting to see another flash of wry humour cross her features.
He didn’t. Instead, her countenance held such wistful longing that he looked away. Of course, once she must have hoped for London and marriage, as did they all.
It was a sad life, he thought, then frowned. What foolishness. He had no time to worry about the emotions of country misses. With his meeting with Kit over, he should focus on how best to extricate himself from the monotony of a country weekend and return to his silent daughter.
And then there was the matter of his great-aunt’s latest foolish insistence that he should remarry. Sebastian drummed his fingers against his leg. He did not have time for debutante balls. He cast a glance towards the simpering misses.
No, he must make his aunt understand that he could not and would not give up.
All his energy and resources must be focused towards his children.
Edwin would be found.
The fox hunt was today.
That stark thought shot through Sarah’s mind the moment her alarm sounded.
Shaking off the remnants of sleep, Sarah shifted in the decadent comfort of Lady Eavensham’s guest bed and blinked blearily at the rose-print wallpaper and pink curtaining.
Of course, she’d stayed the night at Eavensham.
Getting up, Sarah padded across the rug’s thick pile and pulled open the velvet curtains. Bother. Morning sunshine flooded the chamber, turning floating dust motes molten.
She’d hoped for rain. In the happy event of a deluge, the hunt would be cancelled and she could snooze in the unaccustomed luxury of that wonderful bed.
Indeed,
