Chapter 12
“Oh! I do love a fine cup of tea!” Lady Marina gushed. Sarah, standing in the hallway, morning light shining down on her, tensed and instinctively moved closer to the wall. A party of guests were coming down the stairs, the sound of outdoor shoes loud on the marble-faced staircase. Lady Marina’s voice—cultured, affected—summed up what the entire group, excluding Lady Egerton and perhaps Lady Philipa, appeared to be like. They were creatures from another world—a privileged, elite world where etiquette ruled and life was a series of formalities and formalism with no substance. A refined, shallow world.
I have no place here,Sarah thought wildly.No place among these fashionable, well-to-do people.
The sound of excited chatter drew closer and Sarah opened the front door hastily, exiting as swiftly as possible out onto the front terrace. Her heart was thudding, her body filled with the urgent need for escape. The door swung shut, muffling the refined drawl of Lady Clairwood as she answered. Sarah breathed out in relief.
“I think I will spend the day sketching,” she murmured aloud to herself; a habit when she was tense. Caroline had told her that the guests would be making an outing to the Pump Rooms—an exclusive dining space where the curative waters that bubbled up from the earth at Bath were pumped and served to drink. The space was much more than another tea-house or coffee-house; it was the social heart of Bath where the local elite gathered to relax, see and be seen.
I will not feel welcome there,Sarah thought sadly as she rounded the corner, the gravel path crunching under her feet. When she had awoken, she had dressed in her best white muslin gown, embellished with lace, and styled her hair in a fashionablechignon. She had thought that she might feel sufficiently brave to join the others. But the moment she heard the guests—tittering and laughing like sparrows—enter the hallway, she decided against it. It was no place for someone like herself.
She gazed longingly over at the drive that led towards the tall wrought-iron gates. It would be grand, she thought sadly, to see the sights of the beautiful city for herself. But with guests like Lady Clairwood and her friends, she had no desire to venture far from the manor. The recollection of Lady Clairwood and how she had looked straight through her at the ball still stung, making her cheeks heat with shameful feelings.
The dance with the duke had been so beautiful, one of the most precious memories she had. And yet, Lady Clairwood’s angry glance had forcibly reminded her that he was not for her. That her dreams were not feasible. She was a spinster, the daughter of a well-off but unknown and certainly not wealthy baron. An heiress like Lady Marina was so much more suitable for the duke.
“Sarah? Sarah! Where are you going?” A voice called. Sarah spun round, spotting Caroline, dressed in a fashionable brocade gown in mulberry silk. “The coach will be here any moment,” Caroline continued. “Edward, you and I will go in the Averhill coach together.”
Sarah shook her head. The merest thought of joining the others made her feel nauseous.
“No, cousin. If you please, I would rather remain here to sketch,” Sarah said quickly. Her throat was tight and she coughed to clear it. Caroline frowned, her face a picture of concern.
“No, dear,” Caroline said gently. “Come with us. You are a part of the family. You cannot conceal yourself in the garden while the rest of us enjoy the town. I cannot let you.”
Sarah smiled, touched by her cousin’s gentle insistence.
“No, cousin,” she repeated. “You go and enjoy yourself. I will remain here. I wish to sketch the fountain. Your garden has some excellent views that I would like to capture on paper.”
“Sarah, I insist,” Caroline said firmly. Her hazel eyes held Sarah’s own, and the cheerful, coaxing note was absent from her voice. “You are my cousin and I will not have you hide away as though you were not one of us. Come, now. We will be in our own coach and we will keep ourselves to ourselves. I would much rather talk to you than to the likes of some of the guests we have here.” She blinked, a wry expression lifting the corners of her mouth.
Sarah smiled back. “You are kind, Caroline. But I feel...strange. I feel as though I do not belong.”
“That is why you belong absolutely,” Caroline said firmly. “You belong here more than anyone. You are polite and sensitive, or you would not pay any mind to the likes of Lady Clairwood and her rudeness. The merest fact that her behaviour harms you shows your graceful, refined nature. Lady Clairwood is so brazen that I doubt such rudeness would elicit anything but a fight.”
Sarah had to laugh at that remark. “Mayhap you are right, cousin.”
“I know I am,” Caroline said with just a hint of playful arrogance in her tone. Sarah giggled again.
“I cannot argue with my cousin,” she said lightly. “In this, I trust that you know best.”
“As you should,” Caroline said playfully.
They were both laughing as they walked to where the coach stood waiting, the Averhill badge picked out in gold-leaf on the door.
“Ladies! The coach is waiting,” Edward declaimed, giving a bow that would have graced a stage. Sarah giggled. “Allow me to assist. We shall depart hence and sample the delights of Bath.”
“So gentlemanly,” Caroline teased as Edward helped her into the coach. Her cheeks glowed with warmth; her face bright with a grin.
“Thank you,” Sarah said shyly as Edward helped her up. He beamed.
“My pleasure, dear lady! Now, be seated and enjoy the view. Before long, we shall be in the town.”
Sarah smiled at him, appreciating the way his clowning lightened her mood, relieving her fears. He would make a good friend, she thought warmly. She could see how the duke and himself had come to be so close while they were studying together.
Their coach departed the estate grounds, the first of a line of five coaches that would convey the guests to Bath. Sarah drew in a breath, anticipation, fear and delight a queasy mix in her stomach. The duke was somewhere in one of those coaches, and soon they would see Bath together.
The coach rattled down the road, following the slight incline that would lead them down towards the town. The buildings appeared briefly in the distance, the stonework gleaming in the morning light and Sarah’s stomach knotted with anticipation. It looked like a town from a storybook, full of magical vistas and promise.
Sooner than Sarah expected, they were rattling down a cobbled street. She held her breath, the excitement feverish as they passed ladies in long printed muslin dresses and gentlemen in top-hats. They drew to a halt outside a building with a wrought iron sign, the lettering painted in gold.
