Page 7

The very first Time he came a Courting.

Sarah felt her pulse speed. He wanted to speak with her aside? Could he possibly, at this late date, when two long years separated her from her lost husband, have some final message from Sebastian to impart?

Her family were so swift in their desire to grant Langworthy’s request that they nearly stumbled over each other to escape the room, Maria hitching a protesting Bash on her hip and Frances throwing back a you-had-better-tell-me-all-about-it-the-instant-he-leaves look so obvious she might as well have spoken aloud.

And then they were alone. Or alone with the dog and the cat. Sarah fought an urge to take Poppet or Outlaw upon her lap to hide behind or to occupy her, but there was no time because Mr. Langworthy picked up his chair and carried it to place nearer hers. Facing her.

She saw now the fine lines the sea and sun had etched in his still darkened skin.

And while she had earlier deemed him “pleasant” in appearance, she amended this to “pleasant at a distance.” It was not that he was bad looking, by any means, but his nearness flustered her.

When he was a mere foot away, she could see his eyes were not simply blue, but rather blue at the centers, deepening to violet at the edges.

And his hair was not simply reddish-brown, but rather a mix of brown and red with occasional strands of gold, untamed by pomade into orderly waves.

He had removed his gloves at some point, wadding them up in his hands, and Sarah could not help but observe that he did not have the typical hands of a gentlemen.

His were neither white nor smooth nor slender nor perfectly manicured; instead they were as tanned as his face, square and strong. Why, hands like that might do anything.

At the moment they clenched in slow fists, and Sarah raised wondering eyes to see a new expression settle on his features…uncertainty? That seemed unlikely in one so comfortable with himself, but otherwise she could not classify it.

“Mrs. Barstow,” he began at last, his voice more muted than it had been when engrossing the family with rollicking tales, “I am certain you must be wondering what has brought me to Iffley, beyond courtesy and the sharing of some idle stories.”

There was no use in beating about the bush.

“I can imagine only one reason,” she said, fitfully crumpling the sewing in her hands before she could prevent it. With an effort, she swallowed and stilled herself. “I—suppose Sebastian asked you to come.”

Her guess must have relieved him, for some strain in his bearing slackened. “Yes. That is exactly it. Then perhaps he already told you what he asked of me?” The thought flashed through him: Was this what lay behind her froideur ? Feminine modesty?

But when she answered earnestly, “Mr. Langworthy, I haven’t an inkling,” he heard the ring of truth.

Blast.

Well, now for it.

Briefly he recounted his receipt of Barstow’s letter whilst in prison in Ferrol and the anxiety for his family’s welfare it contained, concluding, “He asked me to come and look you up, and as he was my dearest friend in the service, he would have done as much for me, had I asked.”

“I don’t doubt it,” murmured Sarah. “And I thank you for heeding his wishes.” She then unbent another fraction.

“Indeed, I am certain he would have been honored by such a commission from you, for he spoke often of you in his letters.” (No need to mention her own response to those particular passages.) “And—you say Sebastian asked you to…ensure Bash and I were well?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, glancing away at the front windows, which had darkened as rain began to lash them.

“Well,” she tried again, when he made no further reply.

For a man who had spoken with such jolly ease only a few minutes earlier, the contrast was remarkable.

“Thank you again. I hope Sebastian would be…relieved and even pleased, to see how well provided for Bash and I am. Between my husband’s dear family, of whom you have only met a fraction—for there are two other married sisters—and the generosity of Mrs. Barstow’s cousin the baron, Lord Dere, who allows us to live in Iffley Cottage, you see how comfortably we are situated.

We lack for nothing. It is a quiet life, but one I would be ungrateful to—to—find fault with. ”

At this he grimaced, inexplicably, but said nothing.

She gave him another moment, but if not for the rain, the little parlor would have been totally silent. Any eavesdroppers must be fidgeting with annoyance, wondering what they were missing, Sarah expected. The thought made her press her lips together to hide an unexpected smile.

But this could not be allowed to drag on thus, or who knew what everyone would think? Not to mention, if Sebastian had some secret message for her—

“Sir,” she tried once more. “If this was not all, ensuring my son and I were provided for and safe from the workhouse, may I ask what you wanted to say to me which could not be said in front of the others?”

Blowing out a breath, he slapped his palms on his knees, his lips parting.

Sarah waited again.

And waited. But nothing emerged.

What was it? Now impatience seized her, touched with vexation.

Out with it, man! What could Sebastian possibly have told Mr. Langworthy, that the latter hesitated to speak it?

What other sort of thing might her husband have kept back, unwilling or unable to tell his own wife?

And, equally important, why should Sebastian leave those final words with this person?

Why entrust them to another, if they were ultimately intended for her?

Only look how long it had taken his chosen Mercury to deliver his message—over two years!

Unless—

Fear opened like a trap door beneath her.

Unless—dear heaven!—it were a confession of some sort.

Something Sebastian had not dared to tell her while he lived.

Something more disturbing than those selected stories edited for her eyes.

But—but if it were such a thing, a revelation of some hideous, unknown act of which she was ignorant, why would he not then take it to the grave with him and leave her in peace?

There is another child.

Another family.

In seconds, fear blossomed into certainty, and Sarah could wait no longer for this Mr. Langworthy to collect himself.

“Tell me at once,” she commanded, shooting to her feet. “You must. Whatever he charged you with. Please. Do not keep me in suspense but let me know all.”

It was her sudden motion which finally jogged him from his paralysis. Noting how she wrapped protective arms about herself, he sprang to his own feet, extending a hand which almost, but did not quite, touch her elbow.

“Mrs. Sebastian, do not distress yourself. I will make a clean breast of it.”

“Dear Lord,” she breathed, her hands moving to take hold of her throat.

But then, to her astonishment, he collapsed against the mantel with a bark of laughter. “Confound me for a blundering fool! No, no—don’t look like that, Mrs. Sebastian. It’s nothing like that! Nothing of that nature. Oh, mercy.”

“Then speak!” she cried, flushing crimson. Her hands fell to her sides, but she was horrified to find she would have liked to hit him for laughing at her discomfiture. Worse—for guessing immediately where her thoughts had tended. How could she have wronged Sebastian so, even in thought?

Her unspoken anger must have communicated itself to him nonetheless, for his brows rose in mock dismay, and he held up placating palms. “I will obey. I had better, if I hope to return to the rectory unharmed. In short, the matter is this: Sebastian asked me not only to discover whether you and his son were cast ‘homeless, hopeless, friendless’ on the world, but also to do what I could to ensure you never would be.”

“Yes, so you have said, and so I have reassured you,” she said tightly. “Which part of my answer do you still not understand?”

“Oh, pardon me for being unclear,” he replied. “I understand you. That wasn’t the difficulty. And I hope you will understand me, once I stop talking in circles. Which I will this very instant. Ahem. That is, in a word, Mrs. Sebastian, will you marry me?”

“Wh-what? Will I what? ” she choked, certain she must have misheard him.

“Er—marry me.”

The turnabout was so unforeseen, so precipitate, that Sarah could only stare at him.

And so astonished was she that her mouth hung agape for a full five seconds before she became aware of it and snapped it closed.

If he had indeed announced that Sebastian had shamefully fathered a child in Spain, Sarah did not think she could be more amazed.

“What—? Is this—one of your pranks, Mr. Langworthy?” she asked, breathless.

“Pranks?”

“Yes. Pranks. Such as you would often involve my husband in. Is it a joke?”

“Do people often joke with you, Mrs. Sebastian, by proposing marriage?”

“I—I— no!” she sputtered.

“And I don’t know what you mean, saying I would involve Barstow in pranks, as if he had not been himself the fomenter half the time.”

But she was shaking her head and not even listening. “Keep to the point, I entreat you, sir.”

“Certainly. Though if it were not beside the point, I would make the point that you were the one who led us astray.”

This little raillery proved too much for her, however, and she went up like a rocket, Langworthy would recall later.

Like a whizzing firework. Her mild eyes sparked, and she glowed with indignation.

He could not even say why he was teasing her, except that her nun-like air made it impossible to resist.

See? he demanded of no one in particular. She is not as perfect as Barstow boasted. If I am not deceived, a mighty temper lies under that smooth surface.

“Mr. Langworthy,” she bit out, spinning on her heel and resuming her seat, “do you or do you not have any particular message from Sebastian to me?”

“But I’ve just delivered it,” he said meekly.

“What can you possibly mean, sir?”