Page 30

“Of course you feel that way,” he soothed in his gentle tones. “How could it be otherwise, when your husband was already called upon to pay the highest price? There is Christian resignation, but one could hardly welcome being called upon to practice it again.”

He neither addressed nor looked at his niece as he said this, but she must have received it as a reproof, for Mrs. Dere swelled like a toad, setting down her spoon and almost roaring, “Watch what you’re doing there, boy!”

Boy?

Sarah’s confusion was dispelled the next instant when Wrigley dropped the ladle he was holding, spraying droplets over the cloth, and having already dribbled soup from the tureen to Sarah’s dish.

Wood lunged forward with apologies and a towel from the sideboard.

“Take the covers to the kitchen and don’t return until you can pay proper attention to your tasks!

” he growled at Wrigley, a command the boy obeyed with alacrity, but in the speed of his flight he clumsily juggled the soup and fish covers so that they clattered like castanets.

Maria’s and Gordon’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed mirth by this point, a shaking which increased in violence when Blodgett (who had continued to serve out the fish, oblivious to everything around him) reached Sarah’s place and, with a wet slap, deposited the fish head on her plate.

Mrs. Dere sighed. “It is enough to make one despair.”

“At least the children’s ball will be a buffet of cold foods,” Frances tried to comfort her, “with no waiting at table nor covers to remove. I myself would be happy to make the tea. The—er—new servants will only need to clean and polish before and after, and perhaps take charge of the wraps and hats and such.”

“They might have to answer the door,” suggested Maria.

“And take away the dirty dishes,” added Gordon. “Without dropping them.”

“But we will all be friends gathered, my dear Alice,” the baron reassured her.

Rubbing at her temples, Mrs. Dere said only, “At this rate I might as well have enlisted Harry Barbary.”

The rest of the dinner passed off without mishap. Wrigley returned, if not chastened, at least making no more loud mistakes; Wood directed and corrected with subtle tilts of the head, grimaces, and lifted fingertips; Blodgett shuffled around wearily.

And it might have been Sarah’s imagination, but she thought Wrigley blamed her for his earlier disgrace, as if it were Sarah’s fault that he dropped things and slopped things.

In any event, he seemed to serve her grudgingly, reserving the smallest portions for her, dropping them higgledy-piggledy on her plate, and sparing the sauces as if he feared they would run out.

Moreover, when they retired to the drawing room and tea was served, Wrigley gave even Maria, Gordon, and Peter their cups before carrying one to her!

Mrs. Dere failed to notice this irregularity, being occupied with showing Mrs. Barstow and Frances how she proposed to set the refreshments in the little adjoining parlor.

“Then we will only require a few chairs around the edges of the room for observers, and a path might be left for those who wish to refresh themselves, without having to wait for a dance to end.”

Perhaps noticing Sarah’s discomfiture, the baron came to sit beside her.

“How I look forward to this children’s ball, Mrs. Sebastian, do not you? I am only sorry dear Mrs. Terry will not be in attendance, since this was her own idea a few years ago.”

“If the Terrys return in the spring, perhaps we might have another,” Sarah suggested. She took a hasty sip of her tea, noting from the corner of her eye that, like a sleep-walker, Wrigley already began to collect the cups.

“Yes, but then we would not have Mr. Langworthy.”

“Or Dr. Rearden, I suppose, because Mr. Terry will be home to take up his duties again.”

Lord Dere regarded her shrewdly. “Would you mind, particularly, if Dr. Rearden went away?”

His question was so uncharacteristic in its pointedness that Sarah blushed. Could Mrs. Dere have planted the notion in his mind?

“Er—as much as I like Dr. Rearden, there is no substitute for Mr. Terry as our clergyman,” she fumbled, refusing to acknowledge that the baron could be hinting at any other construction on the matter.

“At least, unlike Langworthy, Dr. Rearden holds so many profitable posts that he need not risk life and limb to make his way in the world.”

“Mm.” Sarah took another sip as Wrigley rattled up with the tray and snatched Lord Dere’s empty cup from the side table.

“More, sir?” mumbled the footboy.

“Thank you, lad, no.”

Sarah thought Wrigley would move on, but instead he lingered, arranging and rearranging the wares. The baron, long used to the omnipresence of servants, paid no attention to this loitering and returned to his topic.

“Mrs. Sebastian,” he said softly, “I pray you will forgive an old man his presumption, but I would be remiss in my care for your family if I did not ask you this question.”

Sarah’s breath caught. What question?

Oh, mercy. May it not be about —

“My dear, it has been brought to my attention that—your sisters-in-law’s situations notwithstanding—that we do not often meet with eligible single gentlemen in Iffley. Now one of them will be leaving us shortly, but if he is not going with your heart already in his possession…?”

He paused, but for love or money Sarah would not, could not, reveal the state of her heart. Not even to the Barstows’ kindly benefactor. Because however kindly Lord Dere was, Sarah was certain Mrs. Markham Dere would not hesitate to beat the truth out of him.

He nodded as if she had spoken, going so far as to pat her arm.

“I have made no secret of the fact that I find him an admirable young man, and if you had told me you liked him and thought one day of marrying again, there are many things an intelligent, active fellow like Langworthy might do for income, with some assistance from friends. Many safer things.”

Tears threatened at his quiet generosity, and Sarah took a last, hurried gulp of her tea before signaling to Wrigley. “I’m finished, thank you,” she coughed.

The footboy frowned at her.

“The cup,” she rasped, holding it out. “Here—take it.”

For a boy with such keen, watching eyes, he could look awfully stupid at times. This being one of the times. He pointed. “There’s still some in there.”

“Nevertheless.” Sarah had almost to thrust the item into the boy’s hand and curl his fingers around it. But at last he took it and backed away.

Turning back to the baron she murmured, “Thank you, sir. If—it should ever come to that, I’m sure he would be appreciative.”

It was too ambivalent a reply, for Lord Dere evidently saw more than she intended.

“Do you not, then, rule out the possibility?”

“What? No. I mean, yes, I rule it out. I only meant to say, sir, that I’m certain Mr. Langworthy would value your goodness as we all do, if—ever there were occasion for it. Nothing more than that.”

“Then you do not wish for him to be encouraged…?”

The bud of panic within her bloomed. “No!” she whispered. “Please, sir. No . Leave him be. I know you mean nothing but kindness, but I wish we may not talk of this more. Please. ”

It was a case of the lady protesting too much, Sarah would think later when she was free to rehearse the conversation in her head, but thank heavens the baron was too gentle and retiring a man to insist.