Free Lady Sarah's Redemption by Beverley Eikli Page B

you are let loose to injure other innocent parties.”
    Sarah’s thoughts were in such disorder it was a relief to have half
an hour to herself before putting the children to bed. Snatching her shawl from
the hook on her bedroom door she made for the ornamental lake.
    Would Mr Hawthorne really let her go so easily when she knew he
reciprocated her feelings? Dismay replaced her confidence as she wondered if he
considered she were the one to have
exhibited a certain laxness by not pulling out of his embrace earlier. Surely
not? He’d made it clear he regarded himself entirely at fault. He’d also made
it clear, whether he later chose to refute it or not, that he found her
entirely irresistible.
    Yet he’d offered to let her go, as if he cared neither way.
    She would not go. She’d been at Larchfield nearly three weeks but
her task was not finished. Caro’s birthday was coming up and Sarah needed to
see her through it. After that it would be time to leave. But she’d return …
    And she’d return as Lady Sarah Miles, Mr Hawthorne’s equal, with a
thoroughly convincing reason for having done what she’d done.
    “Miss Morecroft.”
    She turned, her heart lurching at the familiar voice.
    Burnished by the setting sun, Mr Hawthorne looked like a mythical
creature emerged from the waters of the lake. But though Sarah managed a smile
of polite enquiry, he exhibited no answering pleasure.
    “My apologies for my behaviour in the drawing room this morning,” he
began. He ran one finger inside his cravat, as if it were tied too tightly. “It
was unpardonable that the apology should have been prompted by you when I had
every intention of offering my sincerest regrets, in person.”
    “I had no right to wear your wife’s dress,” said Sarah, lightly,
trying to make it easier for him.
    “You must not think that I-”
    “Oh, it has occasioned no alarm or dread on my part, sir.” Sarah
wished his brooding look really did inspire the pique she now strove for,
rather than making her want to kiss and stroke the lines of strain away from
his face. She went on in the same unconcerned tone, “For I cannot for one
moment think that it was desire for a mere governess which prompted your
uncharacteristic behaviour.”
    Frowning, he advanced a few feet. “The ‘mere governess’ as you term
yourself, should feel properly protected. Do not imagine I am in the habit of
preying on the vulnerable members of my household.”
    Her heart thundered but her voice was soft. “Let us walk,” she
suggested, stepping onto the worn path that led towards the wood. He hesitated,
then fell into step beside her.
    “You are very like your father, Miss Morecroft,” he observed. “You
have his fearless spirit.”
    “Tell me about him.”
    “Our golden youth?” His tone was ironic. “I’ll happily recount those
halcyon days if you promise not to press me further, Miss Morecroft. Godby was
closer to me than my own brother. But boys become young men, and life becomes
complicated.”
    They halted in a copse shaded by leafy elms. The air was damp and in
front of them was a grotto, overhung with ferns. Dominating the small cleared
space was a memorial stone dedicated to Venetia and Hector Hawthorne.
    “Venetia died seven years ago, yesterday,” he said, clearly glad to
change the subject as her gaze went to the posy of flowers at its base. “I
gather Caro didn’t mention it?”
    Sarah evaded his look. “She mentioned it.”
    “Since Caro turned twelve she’s refused to accompany me here. She
says she hates her mother. Can I ask you what she said to you?”
    Weighing up whether to spare him the truth, Sarah stared at the limp
dewdrops upon the woodleaf floor. Everyone at Larchfield had remarked upon the
anniversary yesterday. Seven years after her death Lady Venetia and her
powerful influence over her husband – amongst other men – continued
to provide the servants with a rich source of gossip.
    When it was clear he intended waiting for her