ask no more of you than affection.’ For a moment his eyes beseeched her, then, as he saw the answer in her face, his expression became cold, withdrawn. ‘Very well, madam. I shall send you what you need. I do not expect to hear from you again.’
Sarah sank back into her elegant elbow chair, her hands to her face as the door closed behind him. He was still angry and bitter, blaming her because she had given into her husband’s blackmail.
If only she had been stronger. How different her life might have been if she had been brave enough to leave her husband and go with Henry, as he had begged her.
Her marriage to Manners had been a disaster from the start. Her husband had never loved her. He had had a mistress in London and spent all his time with her. Once Sarah had given him his heir, he had not bothered to visit her bed again. Lonely and unhappy, she had turned to a young man who gave her everything she lacked from her husband. Henry had been the most generous of lovers, sweet and giving.
At the time of their affair he had not yet inherited his uncle’s title and had had little in the way of fortune. He was also three years her junior and on the verge of making his career in the army. Lord Manners had known at once that her child was not his. He’d forced her to reveal the name of her lover and then threatened to ruin Henry if she went off with him. She had been forced to break off their affair and to give up her lovechild as soon as she was born. Her daughter had been snatched from her arms only hours after she had given birth, taken from her cruelly by her unforgiving husband. Lord Manners had never told her where the child had been taken; even after his death, he had tried to keep the secret from her.
He had inserted a clause in his will to make certain that she could not find her daughter. If she made the attempt, she would give up the right to live in the Dower House at Trowbridge and she would lose her jointure. She would have nothing left but the fortune her grandfather had left in trust for her, which her husband had refused her for as long as he could. Now that he was dead, half the capital and the income was hers entirely, the remainder of the capital to be divided between her children on her death. Her son had not known of the existence of a half-sister until he read the will, and he had accused her of vile things before storming out of the house and taking himself off to London.
Her husband’s vindictiveness had not hurt Sarah; she had long ceased to care and nothing he did could surprise or distress her. She would be sorry to leave the house she had moved to after his death, for it was pleasant and enabled her to see her son on the rare visits he paid to his estate. However, she had no intention of letting her husband’s unkindness stop her at least trying to discover the whereabouts of her lovechild.
A smile touched her lips. She had loved Henry and in those days he had loved her deeply. The tales she had since heard of him had been distressing; her husband had made certain she heard of the worst of his excesses, but the young man she remembered was still dear to her.
She had reached her decision with the calm deliberation that was her way these days. She would use some of the capital to purchase a house in Bath, a city that suited her much better than London and where she still had a few friends. Then she would try to find her daughter and be damned to the consequences.
‘I am sorry, Eliza,’ Ted Wright said as she looked at him expectantly. ‘There was nothing for you at the reception office again today.’
‘Oh…’ Eliza sighed. It had been ten days now and she was beginning to think that she would never receive an answer to her advertisement. It seemed as if she might have to go into Norwich and ask at the employment agency for domestic servants. Perhaps she had set her sights too high and would have to settle for something more menial. ‘Thank you. I had hoped, but I suppose these things take time.’
‘You may need to put in a second notice, but there is no hurry, Eliza. You are very welcome to stay with us for as long as you please.’
Eliza thanked him, but her spirits sank a little for she did not wish to be a burden to her friends for too long. She would wait one more week, then, if she heard nothing, she would look for employment through the agency.
Lady Sarah looked through her post when it was brought up to her by her maid and sighed. Most of it would be invitations to dine or attend the theatre or some other function. She had been in Bath for just three weeks and already she was inundated by invitations. It was very kind and generous of her friends, but she was used to a quieter life and uncertain whether the new social circle she had found here would suit her on a permanent basis.
She could return to the Dower House and give up her search for her daughter, but that would be to admit defeat. She had been waiting for a letter these past several weeks, but so far the lawyer had not replied to her request for details of her daughter’s whereabouts. He was being very stubborn and she could not think why.
She opened the newspapers that had been delivered that morning. The Times was always a day late, because it was sent through the post from London, and the local paper had lain unnoticed on her dressing chest all the previous day. She had spent the whole day visiting and had decided to keep to her bed a little longer this morning.
She poured a cup of the dark chocolate she enjoyed, sipping from the delicate cup that was part of a Dresden breakfast set. The chocolate was a little bitter, but she preferred it to tea or coffee at this hour. Sipping its richness, she opened The Times and turned to the page she was interested in. Although her maid, who had been with her for years, had been perfectly adequate for her needs in the country, Sarah had become aware that she required a companion here in Bath. She had hoped to find her daughter and ask her to stay, but as yet that was beyond her, though if the lawyer did not soon answer her letter she would employ an agent to find the child… girl. Her daughter would be twenty by now.
Running her finger down the list of young women searching for a position as a companion, Sarah stopped at one that appealed to her.
The headline read:
Sensible young woman recently bereaved seeks a position as companion.
I have nursed my mother and am well able to make beds comfortable, prepare tisanes and read in a pleasant voice. I can cook, embroider and mend and I do not mind light cleaning in the house. I am happy to run errands and look after an invalid. However, I have no previous experience of employment in this field.
Sarah smiled as she read the few lines. They seemed to speak from the heart and told her that the writer had never applied for a position before. The advert was a little naïve, perhaps, but that made it all the more appealing.
Sarah was not yet in need of a nurse, merely someone to run her errands and accompany her to the Pump Room and other functions. The young woman who called herself Eliza Bancroft seemed eminently able to fulfil that duty, and, if Sarah’s health grew worse, might be just the person she needed.
She was not going to give up the search for her daughter. Sarah was quite firm about that, but she saw no reason why she should not employ a companion in the meantime. She could afford it; she had the income from her grandfather’s estate. Because her husband had withheld it from her for so many years it had grown to a considerable amount. She had been quite shocked when her lawyer told her how much the accumulated capital was. Had her husband been able to touch it, she was sure he would have gambled it away to spite her, but her grandfather had been a canny Scottish gentleman. He had made sure that the capital and income could not be accessed by anyone but Sarah, or her children if she were dead. How that must have irked her husband. He had the power to prevent her from benefiting from the money while he lived, but he could not take it for himself.
Well, she had it now and no one to gainsay her. As yet her son, Howard, had not run through the fortune his father had left him, though
