A Duke’s Overlooked Spinster (The Courting Season #1)

Chapter 3

Sarah gazed out of the window of the coach. Her head still pounded from the exhaustion of six days of traveling, but it was late afternoon, and she stared in wonder as the coach-horses clopped along a cobbled street. They were passing the Crescent in Bath, and her jaw dropped in amazement at the magnificent, Grecian-inspired building on her right, so long and vast and perfectly crescent-shaped, curving down the long road.

“Is it not magnificent?” she whispered to Abigail.

The older woman, sitting calmly on the seat opposite, just nodded. “It is, miss. Quite something to see, it is.”

Sarah smiled. Abigail was her ideal companion for traveling—she was completely unruffled and never overwhelmed by anything. She seemed just a little impressed by the magnificent architecture—no more impressed than by well-baked tart or a neatly-hemmed seam.

“Cousin Caroline lives just a mile outside the town,” Sarah murmured as they trotted past the building, heading out of town. “We shall be able to come into Bath often, I think.”

“I am sure they will want to show it to you,” Abigail replied. She sounded a little bewildered as to why.

The coach moved on past a cathedral, its double spires seeming to touch the gray sky, and then rolled on down the street. People were coming out of their houses—women in long dresses with brightly-colored jackets against the chilly breeze, men in dark trousers and top-hats hurrying along to their destinations. Sarah gazed out, drinking in the sight of the bustling, beautiful town. The backdrop of whitish-yellow stone caught the rays of sunshine that were shining through the clouds. She drew in a sharp breath. It was exquisite. And soon she would be at Averhill House.

Sarah was sitting stiffly upright when the coach rolled down the gravel drive half an hour later, her fingers laced together on her knee. Every muscle was tense with excitement and anticipation. She felt just a little fearful, her palms damp. She gazed up at the tall building before them. It was much bigger than she had imagined, the front facade designed in the Restoration style: all mock turrets and long rectangular windows and a triangular pediment. It was three stories high, and the front door was flanked by dark columns.

“Well, miss,” Abigail said calmly as the coachman alighted. “Shall we get out?”

Sarah swallowed and nodded. “Thank you,” she murmured as she took Abigail’s hand. She looked up towards the imposing doorway and her fear dissolved instantly as she caught sight of her cousin, who was standing by the front door, a butler in a black tailcoat beside her. Cousin Caroline was wearing a bright silk dress in orange russet, her beautiful thick reddish hair arranged in an elaborate chignon that emphasized its curliness. Her long, slim arms were wide to embrace Sarah, who took the top step at a run and threw her arms around her lovely older cousin.

“Sarah!” Caroline exclaimed, stepping back and gazing at her. “Why! You look lovely. It seems like years since we saw one another.”

“It has been a few years,” Sarah replied. “It is truly wonderful to see you.” She hugged her cousin again, blinking against unexpected tears.

Cousin Caroline was the only family member she had who still lived, and the warm familiarity of her, the closeness of embracing her, the smell of orange-water mixed with floral perfume that was her cousin’s favorite scent, comforted her in a way that she had not experienced since Papa passed away.

“Sarah! Hush. No tears,” Caroline said firmly. “Now, come inside. You must be parched and starved after so long on the road. Mr. Edgehill will show you to your chamber. I have had a room prepared for your maid as well,” she added, glancing at Abigail, who was ably assisting the butler to carry her luggage from the coach. “I must apologise for Edward—we expected you to arrive tomorrow, so he is unexpectedly away on business.” Caroline blushed, her eyes moving down as though she was embarrassed. “I must...no, come inside first. Come and refresh yourself and have some tea. I’ll have some things sent up to the drawing room for us to eat. Come in! You must be exhausted,” she added, guiding Sarah in through the front door and taking her hand, leading her up the long stone-dressed staircase.

Sarah smiled, appreciating Caroline’s fussing. She went with Mr. Edgehill to her chamber. He led her into a large room and departed.

“Whew,” Sarah murmured as she sat down heavily on a chair and looked around her.

The room was around the same size as the one she occupied at Wakeford Hall, but the white flocked-silk wallpaper seemed more sumptuous, the vast bed with its white, silky coverlet inviting after the days of poor sleep at inns.

Abigail helped her to restyle her hair and change out of her travel-worn dress into a fresh one; a muslin dress in white with a small pattern of pale green leaves. She thanked Abigail and then walked slowly down the hallway in the direction that she had seen Caroline go. She found a doorway and peered around it. Furniture with fashionable spindle legs stood about—four upholstered chairs and a low table—and in the corner there was a vast pianoforte. Shelves lined one wall, and a writing desk faced a long rectangular window. Drapes in pale velvet framed the windows and a fireplace stood on the right, a fire lit in the grate. Caroline was in the corner, standing near the window, looking out. As Sarah came in, she turned.

“Oh!” Caroline smiled. “I did not hear you enter! Come and sit down, do. We have tea, and raisin loaf, and cream cake. There’s not much food, since Edward has not yet returned, and he is the one with the vast appetite.”

Sarah grinned and settled on the chair her cousin proffered. Caroline poured tea for her and Sarah sipped it gratefully.

“I expect Edward back after tea,” Caroline told her. “He will be ever so pleased to meet you.”

“I will be glad to meet him, too,” Sarah replied softly. She had not attended Caroline’s wedding, since Father had not wished to make the long journey in the coach, and he had refused to spare Sarah for so many days.

They chatted about the journey and the weather and life at Averhill House, and then Caroline leaned towards her conspiratorially.

“I must tell you a secret—only Edward knows. I am expecting a baby.”

“No!” Sarah beamed, a shriek of joyous excitement escaping her lips. “Congratulations, Caroline! How wonderful.” She stood and embraced her cousin, her heart twisting just a little with pain. Caroline was two years her senior, and she was soon to be a mother. Sarah would not have that chance. She was five-and-twenty and unwed, and it was too late for Seasons and parties and meeting people. She had missed the opportunity of children of her own. She smiled at Caroline, hiding her grief.

“I confess that I feel a little ill now and again,” Caroline replied, gesturing at the food, which she had not touched. “So, I hope you will do justice to Mrs. Headley's cooking for me.”

Sarah smiled. “I will try,” she answered.

“No need,” a voice said from the door. “I am hungry enough to eat five loaves. Is that my dear wife’s cousin who I see?” the gentleman added.

Sarah stood, seeing a wide smile light up her cousin’s face. A tall man stood in the doorway, with dark brown hair, hazel eyes and a long, thin face that was lit up with a grin. He was wearing a dark blue tailcoat and dark brown riding-breeches, and he bowed to Sarah, his eyes twinkling.

“May I have the honour of presenting my cousin, the honourable Miss Sarah Brooke, to you?” Caroline said a little teasingly. “Sarah, dear, I present you Edward.”

“Good day, my lord,” Sarah replied, curtseying. The tall man grinned.

“No need for titles, dear Miss Sarah. We are family, after all.”

Sarah liked him instantly. He was warm and lighthearted and seemed affable and gentle. He went to Caroline, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “How are you, my dearest?”

“Well. Very well,” she told Edward with a smile. “A little lightheaded, and I have no appetite, but neither of those is anything unusual at this time.”

Edward beamed. “Well, I have enough appetite to make up for three people’s lack of appetite.” He settled himself on a chair on Caroline’s left. “We’re quite informal here,” he added to Sarah, grinning warmly.

Caroline laughed. “I suppose we are,” she added, pouring tea for Edward.

“We shall all be on our best behaviour this evening, though, eh?” Edward asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes. Quite so. Oh, yes! It slipped my mind to mention it to you,” Caroline replied, turning to Sarah with a slight frown on her brow. “We are expecting a house-party of guests the day after tomorrow. Some of them will be arriving in Bath this evening, and we will be hosting them for tea. I trust that is not inconvenient?” she asked, smiling apologetically.

Sarah looked at the table, shock slamming into her like a fist in her chest. A house party of guests! After years of quiet and solitude, the thought of having the manor invaded by people was terrifying.

“How many guests?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, a dozen. Maybe a few more?” Caroline glanced over at Edward. “Of course, there will be more when we host a ball or two, as we will have to—we need to entertain the dozen guests, now, do we not?” She smiled at Sarah in what Sarah guessed was meant to be a placatory way.

“A dozen?” Sarah gaped. She felt lightheaded suddenly. Her stomach twisted with nerves, and she felt abruptly weak, as though she might pass out. After six days of travel, the shock of hearing that she would not be spending the month alone with Caroline and Edward was quite overwhelming.

“Sarah, dear. Are you feeling quite well?” Caroline asked gently. Sarah shook her head.

“No. Excuse me, cousin. But I think I have to lie down.”

“Of course. Of course, my dear. It’s from travelling. It wears one out. Exhausting. Not so, Edward?” Caroline asked, standing and coming over to Sarah’s chair. “Let me help you to your room.”

“Thank you,” Sarah murmured distantly. She took Caroline’s hand, her anger at her cousin fading as she led her back down the hallway to her chamber. If she had known, she would never have accepted the invitation. But it was not Caroline’s fault that it slipped her mind to tell her.

“Now, you rest,” Caroline said gently. “I’ll fetch you when the guests arrive.”

Sarah’s fear sawed through the misty haze in her brain. “No, I would prefer to remain here. I feel too ill,” she added quickly.

“Oh. I am sorry, my dear,” Caroline murmured gently. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to ring the bell. And if you feel better, you may wish to accompany us.”

“Yes, thank you,” Sarah said a little tightly.

She tried to rest on the bed, but she felt too tense and agitated. After two minutes of trying to lie still, she sat up and went to the door. Her art supplies—her sketchbook and pencils—had been in her art satchel. She itched with the need to draw. It was the only thing that calmed her when she was scared or unhappy. She searched briefly and then hurried downstairs to the coach. Her art satchel had been tucked under her seat, where it must have stayed. Abigail must have forgotten it there.

Nobody was in the hallway when she reached the front door, and she hurried out. It came to her as she walked briskly around the corner that she did not know where the coach-house was, but she guessed it had to be around the back of the house. She walked briskly down the gravel path, ornamental borders of white flowers on her right, the air thick with the scent of flowers and damp lawns.

The clean, straw-like scent of horses guided her towards the stables. Men were cleaning out the stalls, and they looked at her confusedly as she rushed past. She blushed, realizing she had to look a little odd. It was cold outside, despite the sunshine that occasionally broke through to shine on the wet landscape, and she had rushed out without so much as a jacket.

“Miss!” Mr. Harwell, the coachman, sounded shocked to see her as she rushed to the coach-house.

“I forgot my art satchel,” she replied. She retrieved it, clutching the white ribbons in her hand and then shutting the door of the coach. She hurried back the way she had come.

“Oh!” she gasped in shock as a small child, around the height of her waist, ran straight into her. She looked down at him, regaining her balance. Her satchel had flown from her fingers in the collision, and it landed on the lawn. She forgot her shock for a moment in studying the child.

He was wearing a small blue velvet tailcoat and breeches, his blond, curly hair tousled by the wind. His blue eyes were wide with shock as he looked at the satchel, which had flown open, her sketches bursting out of it to flutter down like feathers onto the gravel path. The child had a small, neat face with pointy features, and he gaped in surprise.

“Sorry, Miss!” he exclaimed in a small, cultured voice. “I am so sorry.”

Sarah shook herself, her daze rapidly evaporating in the face of the child’s fear. She crouched down before him on the path.

“It’s all well,” she said gently. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No,” he stammered. “I am not. Your pictures...” he trailed off, his expression horrified as the sketches settled on the wet grass, the pages quickly becoming damp.

“It’s all well,” Sarah said gently, reaching out to take his hand without even thinking about it. “We can gather them up and then we’ll take them inside and put them by the fire to dry. Then they’ll all be well. See?” She picked up one of the sketches that had landed near her. It was one of the coaches that she had done when looking out of the inn window on the second day of their journey.

“I can help,” the little boy said. Sarah guessed he was seven or eight, though he was tall, but slight of build. He bent down on the path, heedless of his white stock, and started to collect the drawings.

Sarah hurried to collect most of them from the lawn, frowning as she tried to deduce where the child had come from. Her cousin had made no mention of a boy at the manor, and he was too richly dressed to be a servant’s child.

“Here! We have them all, now,” Sarah said confidently, taking some of the sketches from the little boy, but not all. “No harm done. See?” she added with a smile. She stuffed the wet sketches into her satchel, bending to collect her pencil from the path near her feet. As she did so, a woman rounded the corner.

Sarah barely had time to take in her appearance or hear her incoherent shouts of anger, because another person had also run around the corner towards the boy. He was a man—tall, with dark blonde hair and an athletic build. He was wearing a brown tailcoat, a high-collared shirt and cravat and brown breeches. Sarah barely noticed; his slim, strong-jawed face capturing attention, and, beyond even that, his sapphire eyes, that were widened in surprise. Staring at her.