Page 34

Of course he didn’t love me when he offered for me , she thought.

How could he, when he had only just met me?

And he had made no secret of coming to Iffley straight from Mary Pence’s rejection of him.

Sarah remembered how tetchy and changeable Mr. Langworthy had been at their first meeting.

There was no denying he had been troubled in spirit.

There was no denying that, however offensively Wrigley put it, truth lay beneath the boy’s words.

But that did not mean Sarah ever had designs on the man—how could she, when, until Mr. Langworthy told her, she had no idea of the commission Sebastian gave him? It was so unjust to accuse her of trying to steal Mr. Langworthy’s heart! So very, very unjust!

Especially because, all to the contrary—

Especially because he had somehow stolen hers.

Wrigley watched her, unblinking.

Releasing herself slowly, Sarah gave her dampened skirts a twitch and then smoothed them. She could not bring herself to thank the boy for his services—not when it was obvious that he had interfered with her on purpose—but she gave one crisp nod to the wall over his shoulder and started past him.

“Wait!” Wrigley called after her.

Though she did not turn, Sarah paused.

“Are you still going to try to catch him, then?”

Swallowing carefully through a tightened throat, Sarah said only, “I had not been trying in the first place.”

Her return to the drawing room was greeted with enthusiasm, and Mrs. Barstow and Frances hastened to assure her that the stains were much improved and would be gone altogether once Reed had done with them.

She felt, rather than saw Mr. Langworthy’s eyes upon her, but Wrigley’s accusations still rang in her ears, and she could not bear to look at him.

“I’m your partner for Christchurch Bells,” declared Peter Dere, bounding over to claim her and sweeping her a bow which made her smile in spite of all. “This is my favorite one, Mrs. Sebastian, because of all the galloping and clapping.”

The dance did involve a great deal of galloping and clapping, besides constant turning with one’s partner and one’s corner, so even had she wanted to talk to Mr. Langworthy or to observe him furtively, to determine if he too thought she had set her cap for him, the whirl of Christchurch Bells made it impossible.

But though she would not look at him, Sarah was terribly conscious of his approach as she and Peter progressed up the set.

And of the blank of his face turned toward her whenever he passed through her field of view.

And then Mr. Langworthy was on her corner, taking her hand for the turn. He pressed it.

“Look at me. What happened?” he uttered through unmoving lips. At least, that’s what she thought he said, but then he must release her to turn with Maria, and more clapping and galloping ensued before away they went.

She did not have long to puzzle over what he might or might not have said because only a few times later through the pattern, when she and Peter were in the galloping circle with Anna Chauncey and Tommy Wardour, galloping, galloping, a cry came from further down the set, and there was Mr. Langworthy grimacing and hobbling away.

The music jangled to a halt, and a clamor arose. “Mr. Langworthy, have you injured yourself?” “Mr. Langworthy, did I tread on you?” “All right there, Langworthy?”

He sank into a chair along the wall, holding up a hand.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing. I only turned my ankle or something.

Forgive my clumsiness, Miss Maria, and do go on, everyone.

I will just slip away to rest it a minute and see if I can—untwist it.

Pardon me again, Miss Maria.” And with that, he limped from the room.

Mrs. Dere snapped her fingers for Wood to follow him, and the set re-formed for Christchurch Bells, with Maria left to observe. “We will begin from the beginning, Mrs. Chauncey,” said Mrs. Dere.

Their accompanist cheerfully played the introduction again, and the company set off once more into their galloping and circling. Nor was Sarah sorry for the repetition because she had not a thought to spare for the steps.

He recognized Wrigley . Mr. Langworthy’s twisted ankle is a pretense to seek him out and ply him with questions about Mary Pence.

But what questions?

How in love with Mary Pence did Mr. Langworthy remain?

Perhaps he was passing a message to Miss Pence via her servant, telling Wrigley, as he had Sarah, that he had obligations in Iffley to fulfill before he could return to Portsmouth.

Or, contrarily, that he meant to return almost on the instant.

Perhaps he had taken Sarah’s advice to heart and hinted to Wrigley that he was prepared to forgive and forget.

In any case, she should be glad for him. For the resumption of his naval career and the resumption of his suit.

And how much better for him if there were no delay in either.

But Sarah thought she might choke on her own attempt to be generous. She imagined Mr. Langworthy again in his lieutenant’s uniform, his spritely, dainty, mischievous bride on his arm, beaming up at him as his fellow naval officers cheered—and felt only desolation.

At last, when every couple had progressed the length of the set, Mrs. Chauncey’s pace slowed, signaling the end of the dance, and Wood reappeared in the doorway.

“And how fares Mr. Langworthy?” Mrs. Dere asked. “Will he be able to rejoin us?”

“He sends his deepest regrets, madam,” answered the footman, “and wished me to tell you how much he enjoyed the occasion, but he thought he had better go home and rest.”

“Go home?” she echoed. “Did you tell Harker and Ogle to bring up the carriage?”

“I offered, but he said no,” explained Wood. “He said the walk would do him good. Stretch his ankle out, or something of the sort.”

“Whoever heard of such a remedy for a sprained ankle?” she demanded, frowning at the servant as if he had proposed it.

Wood bowed. “He said Wrigley might assist him. Act as a crutch.”

This was too much for Mrs. Dere. “Wrigley is more likely to break his ankle off altogether!” she snapped, ire darkening her lovely features much as “thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud” wreathed the heights of Mount Sinai when the Lord descended upon it.

“If Mr. Langworthy was capable of walking back to the rectory, he was capable of walking through the figures of a few more dances, I daresay, rather than to so inconvenience his remaining partners.”

“Now, Alice,” soothed the peacemaking baron. “If Mr. Langworthy required assistance making his way home, I hardly think him capable of dancing. Nor could Wrigley help him there. If anything, it showed consideration toward us, to only avail himself of Wrigley’s help.”

There was no denying Perryfield could spare the incompetent footboy better than any of the other servants—indeed, removing the lad might even be deemed a favor.

Seeing all her guests uneasy and waiting for her instructions, Mrs. Dere threw up her hands.

“I suppose if Mr. Langworthy chooses to abandon us and subject himself to Wrigley’s ministrations, that is on his head,” she huffed.

But her che sera sera dismissal only succeeded in rousing Lord Dere’s further concern. “Perhaps I had better send Harker after them with the gig,” he suggested, “for they will make slow progress.”

Her bosom rose and fell in silent wrath.

Another servant to be wasted and inconvenienced by this inexplicable behavior?

Not to mention the trouble of hitching up the gig, when soon there would be guests to drive home?

Moreover, there would be delay, with the horse having to be unhitched from the gig and re-hitched to the coach and—heavens, what a nuisance!

But she beat all this down with the good manners engrained in her.

With only a tight smile she said, “Very well, Uncle. Mrs. Chauncey, shall we have Childgrove next?”