Chapter Three
Sarah braced herself as Anne, her lady's maid, tightened the strings of her stays. If they were any tighter, Sarah feared a rib would crack. It was nearly two in the afternoon and though she had not been told why, there was great urgency by her parents to prepare for a special guest.
Sarah sighed as she looked in the mirror. The whole process of dressing was mundane, the task of getting ready seeming to be longer than each time before.
“You do look beautiful in that dress,” Anne said. “The color suits you quite well.” For as long as Sarah could remember, Anne had been around their estate, always with a friendly smile and a warm heart.
“I suppose the green is nice.” She paused a moment. Perhaps there would be a way for her to garner information from the woman. “Anne,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant as she watched Anne raise her eyebrows in the reflection of the mirror, “do you have any idea who this mysterious guest is?”
“Afraid not,” Anne replied with a shake of her head. “It must be someone important. I’ve never seen your father in such a state, and he has had some fancy guests over.” Sarah took a seat before the vanity table, and Anne’s hands deftly began pinning her hair into place. The woman was right; her father had never been this eager, at least that Sarah could recall. Her mind went through a list of people they hadn't seen in some time, and each one she crossed off the list after giving the name some thought. Everyone they knew had either been at the party the previous night or had visited at one time or another in the last few months. No, whoever this person might be, he or she was surely someone of great importance. Sarah reminded herself to be on her best behavior, for it was more than likely a business associate of her father’s. And as long as she kept him happy, he would keep his attention on his wealth and not on the daughter who was not yet wed.
As Anne busied herself with Sarah’s hair, Sarah busied her mind. What if the visitor was someone from Court wishing to meet her? Some dashing gentleman with lovely brown hair and deep blue eyes who wished to spend time with her. Or better yet, what if it was the Prince himself, in need of a princess with whom he could live out the rest of his life? Or a dashing Spanish pirate pretending to be a Lord so as to trick her father into believing he wanted to take her away to his make-believe castle in Spain, only to take her on his ship where she would live out the rest of her days by his side pillaging and plundering as they traveled the world.
Sarah came to her senses when the door opened and her mother appeared, her green gown much like the one Sarah wore. “Anne, the wonders you do with her hair; it still amazes me how beautiful you make her look,” she said.
Anne gave a small laugh. “‘Tis her hair, not my hands, that brings out her beauty,” Anne said, placing the last pin and then taking a step back to assess her handiwork.
Sarah turned toward her mother. “So, am I allowed to know who this guest is yet? Or will you keep me in the dark until the last minute?”
Her mother gave a slight nod to Anne, who quickly hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her. Once the maid was gone, Mrs. Crombly walked up and took Sara's hand in her own. “You know your father and I have always wanted what was best for you,” she said, causing Sarah’s blood to run cold. “From your education to life here, we have made sure we provided everything and more.”
“I do know that, mother,” Sarah replied, trying to hide her suspicion, which was a battle indeed. She had never been very good at hiding her true feelings, especially those which were more on the volatile side. “And I have always been appreciative of our good fortune.”
“Yes…yes, you have,” came her mother’s reply. Mrs. Crombly had always been a woman of strong words who expressed her thoughts freely, traits which Sarah had learned from her. In saying this, her current attitude seemed out of place. Her mother was at a loss for words, something that Sarah had never witnessed from the woman before. “Sometimes life brings unexpected surprises, such as the guest who is waiting downstairs for you.”
“For me?” Sarah could not imagine why anyone was coming to visit her through her parents, and without her knowledge. Her musings while Anne did her hair had only been fantasies, which continuously played in her head. The only one she knew would come true was her prince rescuing her; the rest were subject to availability of a hero to perform those acts. Thus, her confusion was great. “I am not expecting a guest. Is it a cousin I have never met or some other long lost relative?” Sarah wished her mother would come out and explain exactly what was transpiring rather than beating about the bush as she was. Oh, how she missed her mother’s straightforwardness at this moment.
“No, far from it. You see, I…there is no easy way to say this…” Tears filled the woman’s eyes and Sarah felt a cold fear descend upon her. They wouldn’t, would they? “Your hand in marriage has been spoken for. Your father…well…he gave it away last night.”
Oh, God, they had.
Thoughts swirled around in Sarah’s head. “Marriage? He gave me away without asking my opinion?”
“Well, he actually…” Her mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath, only making the fear, and the ire, in Sarah stronger. When she spoke again, her words came out in a rush, almost to the point that Sarah had difficulty understanding them. “He gambled it away at cards.” She waved her hand in the air as if swishing away a fly. “But that is not important. The important thing is the man is a great suitor, of title and wealth. I know you will be happy.”
“Cards? I do not understand, Mother…” Then it hit her. She did understand. Her father had gambled away her hand in marriage, and her soon-to-be husband was now waiting for her downstairs. There were no words to express how she felt, but the thoughts of being betrayed came to mind. “I was a stake in a game of chance?” she whispered, her own words haunting her. This was never a story she expected to be told about her. Then she gasped. How many people knew? Ordinarily what others thought of her did not matter, but something such as this could be devastating to say the least.
“Only the four of us know,” her mother said as if hearing her thoughts, “and it will forever remain that way. Now come, we can discuss this further at a later time. As for now, we must go downstairs.” She patted Sarah’s hand. “And do not worry; you will be pleased with the man who chose you.”
A numb feeling spread through her, and with a nod Sarah moved mechanically after her mother, her footsteps seeming to echo in the otherwise quiet hall. It was as if the staff had run away in fear, the man she was going to marry having scared them all away. Each step closer to the sitting room brought Sarah closer to her fate. The thought of her prince who would whisk her away was now gone. The man on the other side of the door would take that place.
Just before Mrs. Crombly opened the door, the fog lifted from Sarah’s mind and she made a silent promise. This man, whoever he was, would never have her heart. That was one thing that could not be bought or sold, and she swore she would not fall for the man, whoever he may be.
The door swung open, and Sarah heard her father’s laugh. He sat in his favorite chair, which sat closest to the fireplace and also faced the door so he would be able to see anyone coming into the room. Across from him on the long sofa sat a dark-haired man, his back to her. For the few moments before the women were noticed, Sarah studied him. He sat straight and appeared tall. His hair was a bit on the wild side, though it had been brushed forward. The image that came to mind of what the face might look like was one of Edmund Lenthal Swifte or Beau Brummell, neither of whom Sarah had met, of course, but she had seen prints of their portraits in various publications. They were at the height of the day’s fashion and were quite handsome. She would be lucky indeed to be wed to such a handsome and wealthy man.
She almost snorted but contained herself. Wed? She was sold into slavery was more the case. These men and their need to control anything and everything a woman did. Yet, if he was handsome, perhaps she could learn to love him…
However, all thoughts of a handsome Beau or dashing Edmund came crashing down around her when the man turned. Her eyes went wide and she brought her hand to her mouth to stop the scream that threatened to escape her lips.
It was he, the tormentor, James Foxworth.
“There she is,” Mr. Crombly said, a smile on his face as she and her mother entered the room. Or rather as Sarah’s mother pushed her into the room.
James dipped his head to first her mother and then to Sarah. On his face was the proud smile of an arrogant rich child who had once again received what he wanted—and expected. Although his eyes appeared warm, she knew his heart was cold. He was well versed on how to put on an act; she had learned that lesson long ago.
“Miss Crombly, it is lovely to see you once again,” he said. Any other time, and with any other man, she would have raised her hand for him to kiss, but not now, not for him. She remained silent, not allowing him the pleasure of her words. He stood straight, his hands clasped behind him.
“Well, there is much to discuss, is there not?” Mr. Crombly said, letting out a small nervous laugh.
James nodded and then turned to Sarah’s father. “Indeed there is, though I have a small favor to ask, if I may.”
“Of course,” Mr. Crombly replied. “Anything. Just name it.”
“I always loved your gardens as a child. May I ask if I might escort Sarah around them, with you and Mrs. Crombly enjoying them, as well, of course.”
Sarah clenched her fist. The cheek of him! He never liked the gardens and always sought to destroy any beauty within them.
“Is that acceptable, Sarah?” James asked, that same arrant smile on his face that she remembered from so long ago.
She struggled to find words to tell him no, that it was not acceptable. That she would rather pull her hair out than attempt to enjoy a stroll with him around the garden.
“She is so excited, she is speechless!” her father said before she could form the words of objection. “Come, let us go at once.”
This was a position she hated above all—to have someone other than herself speak for her. And yet, here was her father, doing just that. Well, as far as she was concerned, she would remain quiet—a vow of silence, if you will—and let the dastardly James Foxworth figure out what to do with her then.
***
The sun shone brightly without a cloud in the sky, and Sarah thought its heat would cause her to drop dead. Or perhaps it was the heat radiating from the man walking beside her. She glanced over her shoulder; her parents were far enough back that their conversation could not be heard, a safe distance for her to speak her mind, which she planned on doing. She was never very good at silence anyway.
However, before she could utter a word, James spoke up. “Buckthorn House has beautiful gardens and lavish surroundings that rival those of Greystone Estate. I believe you will find it to your liking.”
“You have no idea what I like, and it is rather rude of you to presume that you do,” Sarah said in a level tone.
“That is true, I suppose,” he said. “My apologies for speaking so.”
Sarah found his feeble attempts at making conversation to be aggravating, and she wished he would simply walk beside her in silence. He was making it even more difficult for her to speak her thoughts because they were becoming muddled in his company.
“There will be much that will need doing in the months ahead. I trust you would like to help in preparing the house? You will be the Lady of the house, so you may do whatever you please to transform it to your liking.”
“Add whatever decoration you will. Perhaps you would prefer axes and ropes; they should reflect your barbarian nature.” She smiled in triumph at her barb and found herself looking forward to a good vocal bout with this man. Her victory would be oh, so sweet.
However, he did not respond, which only increased her anger.
“Very well, then, what do you prefer?” he asked, ignoring her words altogether.
This surprised her. “Pardon?” She had expected him to argue with her or return her rudeness, and she was more than a bit disappointed he had not taken up the fight.
“Well,” he said as they rounded a corner, a large flower bed displaying a variety of flowers that only made the romantic surroundings even more insufferable, “you pointed out rightly that I know nothing of you. The Sarah Crombly I knew from years ago loved to read. Do you still?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. My father’s library has grown as has my taste. From books on history to tales from the African continent, I devour them all.”
“Then you will be pleased at my library. It offers the finest books on travel, poetry, and science.”
“Science?” Sarah said in awe. Now there was a subject in which she could immerse herself. Then she scolded herself inwardly for allowing the word to escape, or more the tone of interest she used. Just because she was going to marry this man did not mean she had to indulge him with her likes and dislikes. Let him figure it out through careful observation and study, just as she would have to.
“Indeed. And, of course, you are welcome to any of them as you please.”
There it was, the domineering attitude she had expected. It did not surprise her in the least, and she smirked at his attempt to cover his superiority by making it sound like an offer. As if she needed his permission to use his library. Perhaps other women would be fooled by his behavior, but she was not just any woman.
“Ah, here we are,” he said, stopping in front of a large rose bush, the petals on each flower a bright yellow, their blooms magnificent. “It seems like forever since I was last here.” He shook his head slightly, then turned to her, a smile on his face
She knew what a brute he was; however, she felt her cheeks heat up once again nonetheless. It had to be his eyes. Perhaps it was a trick he had learned while abroad to lure a woman into his grasp. Try as she might to fight it, the grasp of those eyes pulled at her, threatening to pick her up off the ground and fling her into his arms.
She fought off the indecent thoughts that tried to take over her reasoning. “To be honest, I had forgotten all about you until last night,” she said, finally coming to her senses and turning away, possibly only a moment before he was able to sweep her off her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief. It had been much too close for her comfort.
“I am surprised to hear that,” he replied as he quickly moved up next to her once again. “I must admit, I thought of you often. Every day, in fact.”
“Is that so?” Sarah asked, allowing herself to be entertained by more of his lies. At least he was somewhat diverting—much more so than the other suitors she had, many who went on and on about the expanse of their fathers’ estates or whatever business venture they were entertaining at any given moment.
“So many nights I wondered where you were, what you were doing. To be honest, I feared that a man had already taken your hand in marriage. And to my delight I found out you were still available.”
Sarah stopped walking and turned to face him. Once she ascertained that her parents were still a good distance away, she glared at him, giving him the most reproachful look she could muster. “So, did you dream of wooing me by announcing a marriage I did not want?” she hissed at him behind a fake smile so her parents would not suspect what she was saying. “Do you think so lowly of me that I am to be wagered at a game of chance?”
“It was not like that,” he gasped. “If I could just explain…”
“I care not to hear any more of your lies. You are still the same spoiled boy who left these gardens over eight years ago.” How she wanted to tell him it was not only the flower that he crushed that day, but also her heart. That despite what he had done that day, and regardless of the fact that he had left for school the following day without so much as a word and was gone for years, despite all that had happened, he had remained on her mind every day since.
The feelings he had supposedly felt for her, her feelings for him, he had reduced it all to a wager in a game. Nothing lowlier in the world could be brought upon her. Once again, James Foxworth had stepped on her heart. If he had taken time to know her again, win her over as a man should win over a woman—without cards involved—she might have found it in her heart to forgive him and give him another chance. Yet, she found herself unable to put into words her loathing for him at this very moment. For the first time in her entire life, she was unable to form a thought in her mind or a word on her tongue, her anger was so great.
He did not seem to notice, which only made her ire grow. “In two days I will have you over for dinner at my estate, which will be yours as well soon enough. I know you are not happy with me, but give it some time, Sarah. You once told me when we were young that everything deserves another look to be appreciated. Do you still believe the same?”
She looked over at him, wanting to strangle him for using her own words against her. Very well, if he wanted her to see his estates, then by all means she would.
“It sounds lovely,” she said in such a sweet tone she doubted either of them would need sugar for their tea for the next year. “I cannot wait.”
And how she could not wait. She would make it a night to remember.