A Rake's Reward

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Sara had never seen such a house before. As the coach got closer to her aunt’s home at Darlington, it got bigger and bigger until Sara felt completely encompassed by it.

“Oh my,” Abigail breathed as the coach approached the front of the house.   

Sara could only nod in agreement.

“Is this to be your home?” Abigail asked, as if she weren’t going to live here as well. A ridiculous thought, since the middle-aged woman had lived with Sara her entire life, essentially raising her from the time she was eight when her mother died.

“Our home,” Sara answered, not taking her eyes off the mansion as it loomed over them. “At least until we leave for London. I expect my aunt’s home there will be a more normal size.” 

“I sure hope so. I'm certain to get lost here.”  

Sara laughed. “We both will!” she said, as the carriage slowed to a halt.   

Before it had even come to a complete stop, a young man was opening the door and pulling out the step so the two women could descend.   

“Welcome to Darlington,” the footman said, offering her his gloved hand. “You must be Miss Whately. Her ladyship has been expecting you.”

“Thank you.” Sara allowed him to help her from the carriage. With one last look up at the house, and a hearty prayer that those inside would not be as imposing, she followed him up the steps and through the door.

The dour-looking older man, tall and thin in a stiff black coat, standing just inside was not a hopeful sign. He was the butler, though; weren’t they all supposed to be imposing?

The woman standing next to him, with steel-colored hair, seemed to be his female equivalent. She bobbed a curtsey, but the expression on her face didn’t lighten even a touch. “I’m Mrs. Liven, the housekeeper,” she informed them. “You'll be wanting to freshen up before meeting Lady Darlington. Right this way.”

It wasn't a question, and Sara didn't seem to have a choice in the matter. With a glance behind her to make sure Abigail stayed close, she followed the woman up a grand stairway and then another slightly smaller one.

A short way down the hall, the woman stopped at one of an array of doors. As she went in, she said, “This will be your room for the duration of your stay.” 

Sara wasn’t certain she would be able to find it again, but it was absolutely lovely. Pale blue silk covered the walls. There was a dainty dressing table off to the right with a vase of lilacs on it gently scenting the room. A cozy chair perfectly placed in front of the fire. An enormous tester bed took up most of the far wall.

So much for the imposing house. Sara was certain that she had entered some sort of fairyland.

This was just the sort of bedroom she had always fantasized about when she'd been a young girl shivering with cold in her narrow, little bed in Philadelphia—for there had never been enough coal to last the entirety of the winter. Her sweet, oblivious father would scold her for not buying enough, but he'd had no idea that she’d bought all that they could afford.

What her papa would say to this amount of luxury, she could only imagine. He'd probably scoff and lecture his sister on her extravagant ways for hours, touching on all that could have been done with her wealth rather than spend it on beautiful furnishings and silk-covered walls. He would certainly have rather seen it spent on books, Sara thought with a little laugh.   

“You are Miss Whately’s maid?” the starched woman asked Abigail.  

“My companion,” Sara said, quickly.  

“Yes,” Abigail said at the same time.  

The woman looked from one to the other. She finally gave an almost imperceptible shrug and said, “There is a cot for you in Miss Whately’s dressing room.” She nodded her head toward a door Sara hadn't even noticed.

“Thank you,” Abigail gave a curtsey.

“And here is warm water for Miss Whately to wash with,” Mrs. Liven said, as the door was opened by a maid with impeccable timing.

The young woman carried in a pitcher, from which she poured steaming water into a beautiful blue and white ceramic basin.

“Should you need anything else just tell Sally,” the housekeeper said, giving a nod toward the maid who stood waiting. “When you are ready to meet your aunt, pull the bell and a footman will come to direct you to her ladyship’s sitting room.” 

But Sara was too anxious. She hardly even wanted to waste the few minutes that it would take to wash her hands, even though she knew she should. Dipping her hands into the water and giving a quick rub at the soap next to the basin, she said, “I believe I'm ready to meet her now.”  

The housekeeper raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed look at her travel-creased dress. “Very well. If you would follow me.” She waited a moment while Sara quickly dried her hands, then turned and led the way back down to the first floor. She stopped at a door just at the top of the grand stairway, where she knocked before entering. “Miss Whately,” she announced, and then stood aside for Sara to enter the room.  

Sara suddenly found her stomach clenching into knots. All of the worries she’d contemplated for hours on the ship to England assailed her: What would her aunt be like? Would she be a replica of her father? Would she be completely different? Would she be kind? Preoccupied like her father? Stern and imposing like her house?

Sara simply had no idea what to expect from her father’s older sister. She’d never even corresponded with Sara and had written only occasionally to her own brother. All Sara knew about her was that she had somehow correctly calculated her age, determining that she was old enough to be presented to society. Somehow she had convinced Sara’s Republican-minded father to send her to England to make her debut. She could not imagine what her aunt had said to convince him to do so, but whatever it was, it had worked because here she was.   

As she walked through the door, she had an impression of a light, airy room with bright yellow walls dense with paintings, but her eyes were fixed on the lady who bustled toward her, a broad, welcoming smile on her face.

There was such a feeling of warmth and welcome in the woman. Sara could breathe again, and did, although she tried to keep it from being too obvious.

Lady Darlington’s gray silk morning dress, cinched just below her bosom by a wide lavender ribbon, bespoke her dowager status, but the rich chestnut curls that framed her face gave her a very young look. And, with a rush of relief, Sara saw in her face echoes of the features of her own beloved father, as well as what looked to be an ever-present smile that was also very much his.

She took Sara’s hands in her own and pressed her cheek to hers. Sara inhaled the scent of roses—such a refreshing change from the damp smell of the carriage or the past months of salty sea.

“Welcome, my dear Sara! Welcome to Darlington! Welcome to England!”

Months of on-board practice had Sara automatically sinking into a proper curtsey.   “It is an honor to meet you, ma’am,” she said, exactly as her father had instructed her just before she’d left.  

 “Ma’am? Why, we’ll have none of that! It is Aunt Deanna to you.” Her warm smile reassured Sara that everything was going to be all right.

Unfortunately, her relief didn’t last long—only long enough for Sara to remember all of her father’s admonishments to make a good impression on her aunt. If only she knew how.  She gave her aunt the best smile she could manage, considering her nerves had dropped right back into the pit of her stomach.

“I must admit to you,” Lady Darlington said, holding Sara at arm’s length and searching her face, “I have been exceedingly nervous all day at the prospect of meeting you. Is that not right, Alton?”

She turned to face a middle-aged gentleman who had been standing by the window. Sara hadn’t even noticed the man until her aunt had spoken to him, but now he came forward. He looked exactly as Sara imagined all gentleman farmers would look, wearing buckskin breeches, a blue coat of superfine and a simple white neck cloth tied carelessly under his chin. He too wore a large welcoming smile, but he stopped short of Sara and bowed formally. She curtsied in response.

“Indeed, Miss Whately,” the gentleman said, a broad grin covering his well-lined face. “Your aunt has been flitting here and there, unable to stay in any one place for more than a minute all afternoon.”

Lady Darlington giggled. “Oh dear, how true, how true.”

“Deanna, will you not do the honor of introducing us? I know who Miss Whately is, but I believe she must be wondering who I am.” The severity of his words was softened by the crinkles of a smile around the corners of his mouth and eyes.

“Oh, of course, how forgetful I am!” Lady Darlington turned to her niece. “Sara, may I present my very good friend and neighbor, Justin, Baron Alton?”

Sara curtsied again. “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure is mine. I hear you are come from the wilds of America,” he said with a grand gesture and laughter in his voice.

Sara returned his smile, but wasn’t certain if he was serious or making some sort of joke. She answered carefully. “Not the wilds, sir. I have come from Philadelphia.”

“Ah. Please do forgive me. I did not know from whence in America you had come. I must warn you that not many people here know the degree of civilization that has been established in Philadelphia.”

“Have you been, sir?” Sara asked, now intrigued.

“Alas, I have not had the opportunity. But I have heard and read a great deal.”

Her aunt put a stop to what could have become a difficult, if not contentious, conversation by giving a gentle pull on Sara’s hands, guiding her toward the sofa. “You must be exhausted. Tell me how your journey went.”

Now here was her opportunity to make a good impression. Sara knew exactly how to impress her father; his sister was bound to be the same.  “It was fine enough, ma’am, until I reached Portsmouth. Then I had a rather disagreeable encounter with a viscount.”

“A viscount? I don’t understand,” Lady Darlington said, c*****g her head a touch.

Sara gave a giggle as she recalled the confrontation. “It was quite incredible. This man behaved in exactly the way I had been warned an English gentleman would act. First, he expected me to simply give up my post chaise—the last one available—simply because he had a title. Then, when I refused, he tried to intimidate me with his size. He was enormous! He quite filled the entire private parlor I had secured for myself. Finally, when that failed, he turned on his charm. Clearly, he expected me to just give in to him because he was handsome!” Sara couldn’t help but truly laugh as she remembered how ridiculous the man had been.

“Lud! What a picture you paint, my dear. What did you do?” her aunt asked.

“Why, I told him precisely what I thought of him and his grand title. Then I sent him on his way. After having met this pompous gentleman with his lofty pretensions, I must say, I was never so proud of my papa for having stopped using his title. The nerve of these English noblemen! They all think that they’re better than everyone else simply because of the happenstance of birth.” She laughed just at the thought, inviting her aunt to join her, but Lady Darlington was looking confused.

“I believe, Miss Whately,” Lord Alton said gently, “you will need to remember that I, your aunt, and nearly everyone you are going to meet will be of the nobility. I believe it would be best if you set aside your father’s Republican ideals and remember where you are and with whom you are speaking.”

Sara’s eyes widened. Clearly she'd made a major miscalculation. She sank back down onto the sofa, unable to speak a word or look either of them in the eye.

Lady Darlington reached out and patted Sara's hands, which sat clenched in her lap. “Now, now, my dear, do not look quite so stricken. I’m certain you didn’t mean anything personally.”

The lump in Sara's throat made it impossible for her to say anything, but she shook her head. She'd only wanted to make a good impression, and instead she'd done just the opposite. She didn't know what to do.

“No, of course not,” her aunt continued. “Although, I am afraid Lord Alton is right. Who knows what nonsense your father has filled your head with, but you must forget it all now that you are here and to be presented to society.”  

All of her father’s lectures now rang in her ears. How could she simply forget lessons she’d heard again and again throughout her entire life? An Englishman’s title was meaningless unless backed by responsible behavior such as taking care of one’s property and looking after all those who lived and worked there. Proper behavior and participating in government—these were the marks of a responsible nobleman. Not using one’s title to get things. Not strutting about society as if they hadn’t a care in the world and ignoring all save themselves and their pleasures. How many times had she been lectured thus?

And now, here she was among the nobility she’d been warned of where she would be forced to be polite to such poppycocks, to dance and socialize with them—perhaps even marry one! No, she could not believe that her father had wanted that for her. She simply could not believe… and yet he’d sent her here to be presented to society by her aunt.

But it was clear that Lord Alton was correct. She would not forget everything her father had taught her, but she should, at the very least, keep a sharp hold of her tongue.

She turned to the gentleman. With a deep intake of air, she said, “I must beg your pardon, my lord. My father has indeed taught me well his Republican ideals, and yet he sent me here to be brought out by my aunt. The juxtaposition in his thinking still baffles me. The only reasoning I can imagine is that he did this so that I could learn. Clearly, I have just had my first lesson.”

Lord Alton’s expression softened immediately. “You are an intelligent young woman, Miss Whately. I think you’re going to do very well.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, grateful he had no hard feelings.

“Of course she’s going to do well,” Aunt Deanna scoffed. “Naturally she is intelligent. She is my niece!”

Lord Alton burst out laughing. He looked for a minute as if he might say something, but then quickly changed his mind. “Indeed, my sweet Deanna, indeed.”

“But who was this viscount?” Aunt Deanna said, getting back to what was clearly more important to her. “You don’t remember his name?”

“No, ma’am. Only that he had black hair and slashing black eyebrows over the most striking gray eyes, and a smile... Well, he was very handsome.” Sara felt her face heat once again, only this time, not from embarrassment. “Oh, and he clearly felt himself to be very important, saying that he had just come from India and had pressing matters of state to which he had to attend. Although, I’m certain he was just saying that to get me to give him my post chaise.”

“India?” Lady Darlington turned to Lord Alton. “Justin, you don’t... you wouldn’t think it was...”

Lord Alton was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Lady Darlington’s as they shared some unspoken communication. “Yes, Deanna, I am sorry, but it does indeed sound like it was.”

All the color left Lady Darlington’s face.

“Are you all right?” Sara asked. She grabbed a magazine from off the table next to her and began waving it in front of her aunt’s face.

“Yes. Yes, my dear. You are very kind. I just felt a trifle dizzy for a moment. But I shall be better directly, I assure you.”

Lord Alton sat down on her other side, concern filling his eyes. “Deanna, do not worry so. He will do nothing.” He gently took her other hand and patted it.

“No, I am not worried about him—but society?”

Lord Alton frowned for a moment. “Their memory is not so long, I assure you.”

“I do hope you are right.” She took a deep breath to compose herself. “Now, Alton, if you will be so kind as to leave. Sara and I are going to sit and have a nice little coze, just the two of us.”

A small smile formed on Lord Alton’s face as he rose. “Miss Whately, do you also have a habit of telling your friends what they may and may not do, and when they must leave your presence?”

“Yes, I must admit that I do,” Sara replied, giving a little laugh at his pretense of being put out.

“Of course she does! And I am sure we will find that we have many more things in common if you would only go away so that we may discover them,” said Lady Darlington with what Sara could only think of as a coquettish smile.

She shooed Alton away with a gesture. “On your way out, tell Coddles to send in some tea.”

Coddles? The uptight butler’s name is Coddles? Sara nearly let out a burst of laughter, and then choked trying to hold it in.

Lord Alton, perhaps thinking that she was laughing at her aunt’s dismissal of him, gave her a wink and then both of them a small bow before leaving.

Lady Darlington turned back to Sara. “There. Now that that man is gone, we can finally talk.”

“He is a very close friend of yours, ma’am?”

“Justin? Oh yes, of course. He and I have been friends for years. He was with me when Darlington died. Don’t know what I would have done without him all these years, honestly.” Her aunt surreptitiously wiped at the corner of her eye with her handkerchief. “But enough about him. And I want you to forget all about that horrible viscount, Portsmouth, and your journey. Just tell me about yourself.” She took Sara’s hands in hers again and looked at her expectantly.

“I... I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am.”

“Well, first of all you must stop calling me ‘ma’am’. And tell me about your father. How is he? I can never tell from those letters he writes. They are so...so literary. I can’t make head or tail of what he is trying to say, if anything.”

Sara smiled. Her father’s writing style was, in fact, very difficult to decipher. Sara had been reading her father’s writing her whole life and so was used to it, but she could clearly see how her aunt would have trouble.

“My father is well, thank you. I left him in the care of our neighbor, Mrs. Cartwright. We have no housekeeper, you know, and I took our only maid with me for he would not hear of my traveling alone.”

“Absolutely correct. You cannot go anywhere alone, my dear, but I am sure you know that,” her aunt concurred.

Sara was silent for a moment. Surely, her aunt meant she could not go on long journeys alone. She was used to her freedom when going out shopping near to her home in Philadelphia. She turned her mind back to her father.

Gently pulling her hands away from her aunt’s grasp, she clasped them tightly together in her lap. She had never felt so worried before, but had never been away from her father either. It was a completely helpless feeling she did not like at all.

Thousands of miles away, she was completely unable to ensure that her papa was being properly taken care of. Even if she were to write to see how he went on, it would take weeks, if not months, for a letter to reach him—if it did at all, with the hostilities growing between America and Great Britain. She still felt an enormous amount of relief that she had reached British shores safely.

“I do hope he is all right. He is rather lost in his work most of the time. He probably would not remember to eat or sleep if someone were not there to remind him.”

“Do not worry, my dear. I am sure he is fine.” Lady Darlington patted Sara’s hand. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Sara swallowed hard and pasted a smile on her face. “It is all right. I am being silly, of course. I am sure he is greatly relieved to be out from under my thumb and is enjoying his newfound freedom.” The words came from her mouth but not her heart.

Lady Darlington stood up. “I believe I have been terribly selfish, Sara. You must be exhausted from your trip, and here I have kept you gabbing. Let me show you to your room so that you may rest a spell before supper.”

“That is not necessary, Aunt, I assure you...” Sara began.

“Pish-tosh! There is no need to stand on formality with me, my dear. I am your family. I can see in your eyes that you are ready to drop.”