sensibly did not press for an explanation, but gathered her cousin into her arms without a word. Eventually Sarah’s sobs subsided a little again and she looked up.
‘Has he gone?’
‘He? Who?’
‘Lord…Lord Renshaw…’
Several things became clear to Amelia at the same time. ‘Yes, he left about an hour ago. I did not see him, but Grev said that he had gone. Was he with you before that, Sarah?’
A nod of the head was her only reply. Amelia’s thoughtful gaze took in her cousin’s tumbled hair and the blue dress that was lacking a piece of material it had certainly started off with. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Here? He was with you here?’
Sarah nodded again.
Amelia glanced from her cousin to the bed. Try as she might, she could not keep the horror out of her voice. ‘Oh, Sarah, surely he did not make love to you—?’
Sarah made a noise that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. ‘No, it is not as bad as that!’ She pushed the damp hair back from her face. ‘Not quite, but nearly…’ Slowly the story of the encounter came out, with Amelia sitting quite still and quiet as she listened.
‘I felt so dreadful,’ Sarah ended bitterly. ‘I had told him that he had misjudged me, and then I behaved like the veriest trollop! Is it any wonder that he treated me like one? When he said—’ She broke off on a sob, swallowed and started again, ‘He made it all sound so sordid, Amelia, and that is exactly how it was!’
‘You must not blame yourself,’ Amelia said carefully, after a moment. ‘I knew that you were more than a little in love with him, whatever you said before! Lord Renshaw had no right to speak to you as he did and, despite his reputation, I had not really thought that he would—’ She broke off. ‘Truly, the man is unforgivable!’ She passed her cousin another handkerchief and patted her hand encouragingly.
Sarah blew her nose hard. ‘Oh, dear, this is a terrible! To offer me carte blanche—’
‘A poor reflection on Lord Renshaw rather than on yourself, my love!’ Amelia said stringently. ‘Pray put him from your mind. I doubt we shall see him again!’
Sarah thought that this was probably true. The idea gave her so much pain that she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying again. Yet if it was distressing to think of never seeing Guy again, it upset Sarah even more to think of the opinion of her that he would carry away.
‘Will you still go to Blanchland, Sarah?’ Amelia was asking carefully. ‘Unfortunately, it is true that everyone is talking about it. I swear I told no one, but I wonder if the servants overheard—’
‘Probably,’ Sarah said tiredly. She got up and moved to turn up the lamp. ‘Let people talk! I still intend to go tomorrow!’
‘Sarah!’ Amelia seemed uncertain whether to be glad or sorry that her cousin’s familiar determination was reappearing. ‘You cannot! Oh, surely you must see that it is impossible now! If you stay here and we put it about that it was all nothing but malicious gossip, the outcry will soon die down—’
‘You mistake, Amelia.’ Sarah was already pulling a couple of canvas bags from the cupboards, her actions showing a feverish energy. ‘I intend to go, now more than ever! I will not have the likes of Guy Renshaw standing in judgement on me!’
Sarah rose early after a night with almost no sleep at all. Amelia had left her with a kiss after spending a fruitless half hour trying to persuade her cousin to change her mind. The more Sarah thought about it, the more her conviction grew. The misery she had felt at Guy Renshaw’s stark contempt was hardening into anger now, humiliation turning into a burning fury. She was angry with herself for falling into his arms and confirming his opinion of her, but she was even more angry that he should ever have doubted her virtue. In the dark shadows of the night she had painfully admitted to herself just how much she had liked him. So much had been built upon so little: the roses, a couple of conversations, one waltz. And now she would have to learn to forget him.
With a heavy heart, Sarah dragged her bags to the bedroom door. If she was lucky, she could avoid Amelia, who always got up late on the morning after a ball. She could not bear another scene. She would take a hack down to the Angel and get the coach to the Old Down Inn and from there…
Sarah went out onto the landing, intending to tiptoe downstairs and find herself some breakfast before she left. She averted her gaze from the spot at the top of the stairs where she and Guy had had their encounter the previous night.
Far from being quiet, the house seemed very noisy. The shutters were flung back and servants were scurrying about in a frenzy. As she descended the stairs Sarah could see two large trunks, neatly bound with red rope, standing by the front door. Chisholm, looking as harassed as Sarah had ever seen him, was taking down what seemed like an endless list of instructions from his employer. Sarah stared in disbelief.
‘…and cancel my attendance at Mrs Chartley’s breakfast, if you please, and the card party at Colonel Waring’s and any other invitations I have forgotten!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘And make sure that any invitations from Mrs Bunton and Mrs Clarke are returned unopened—’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Amelia, looking fresh and radiant in a coffee-brown travelling dress and matching hat, turned to see her cousin watching her in amazement from the top of the stairs.
‘There you are, Sarah! At last! Hurry and take some breakfast! Oh, and Chisholm—’ her voice hardened ‘—if Sir Greville Baynham calls, pray tell him that I have left town and that his friends are not welcome in my house again—’
‘Oh, Milly, you cannot do that! It is not Greville’s fault!’ Sarah recovered the use of her voice and hurried down to her cousin’s side.
‘No matter!’ Amelia’s chin was set defiantly. ‘Sir Greville is to blame for having such poor taste in his friends! Now, are you almost ready, my love?’
Sarah watched bemusedly as two footmen threw open the main door and staggered out to the carriage under the huge weight of Amelia’s baggages.
‘Yes, but…what…?’
‘I knew that I could not persuade you to change your mind,’ Amelia said, seizing her arm and steering her towards the breakfast parlour, ‘so I have changed mine! Dearest Sarah! I am coming with you!’
‘Seems to me you’ve made a dashed mess of things, Guy,’ Greville Baynham said frankly, helping himself to a large plate of devilled kidneys. ‘Didn’t even give the poor girl a chance to explain!’
Guy stared gloomily out of the breakfast-room window. He had spent the best part of the night playing high and drinking deep, and this morning was left with a vicious headache and a feeling of sick disgust. At the back of his mind was the thought that Greville was very probably correct.
In his salad days he had tumbled into love several times with females who were either unsuitable or ineligible or both. It had not
