Page 3 of One Waltz with the Viscount

Chapter Two

Sarah watched the expression on the man’s face change from mild interest to intrigue. It was a fascinating story she had to tell, at least it would be if she wasn’t so closely involved.

‘May I sit, Mr...’ She motioned to the comfortable chairs positioned in front of the fireplace.

‘Routledge,’ he said. ‘Lord Henry Routledge.’

She nodded, trying not to feel intimidated. There were not many titled gentlemen strolling around the streets of St Leonards where she and her sister had grown up. Her mother had raised them as well as she could within her limited means. She had given Sarah and Selina the education they would need to provide for themselves once they reached adulthood, teaching them to speak French and read Latin as well as play the piano and sew. Yet she could not prepare them for an interaction such as this.

‘Shall I start at the beginning?’

‘Please,’ he said, reclining back in his chair as if he had all the time in the world. She wondered about this man who seemed to prefer hiding away from the festivities downstairs, talking to her rather than returning to the dancing and the debutantes. He would be popular, there was no doubt about that. He had a title and probably the fortune that came with it, and he was charming. It was the easy charm of a man who had grown up confident in himself, knowing he would one day be one of the privileged few. When he smiled it was half indulgent, half knowing and even Sarah, who thought herself immune to most men’s charm, found herself leaning in, wanting to be that little bit closer to him, to bask in the warm glow that surrounded him.

She realised she’d been staring. He was smiling at her and she wondered if he thought her just another of the simpering girls that batted their eyelashes and tried to get his attention.

Quickly she sat a little straighter, forcing a serious expression onto her face, crossing her hands one over the other in her lap.

‘My sister Selina and I were raised by our mother. For most of our lives we were told that our father had been an officer in the army and he had died in a skirmish when we were young. Neither my sister nor I remember our father.’

‘He didn’t die?’

Sarah bit her lip. It went against everything she’d learned to reveal such a family secret to a stranger, but she had no choice. The truth was mortifying and would result in scandal if it were widely known, but she would have to tell Lord Routledge—or risk being hauled in front of a judge, accused of breaking into the Shrewsburys’ home.

‘My mother, God rest her soul, passed away six months ago. As we sorted through her personal papers we found letters sent to her from her lover. We were able to work out our father had not been in the army, and he had not died in a skirmish. From the scant details we gathered he was a gentleman.’

She risked a glanced at Lord Routledge and saw his expression had turned serious. He nodded slowly. ‘Unfortunately it is not an unfamiliar story. A gentleman gets a young woman pregnant and then refuses to marry her, because of family expectations or the need to marry someone from his own class.’

‘My mother was the daughter of a vicar. Her family was respectable, but from the letters in my mother’s possession it was clear they wanted nothing more to do with her after she met our father.’

‘You were born out of wedlock?’

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, hating the question. For twenty-two long years her mother had kept this secret, in the hope that Sarah and Selina might be able to avoid scandal and make good matches with decent young men. It felt like a betrayal of her memory to openly admit the truth.

‘We are not sure. There was some suggestion of a small wedding ceremony in one of the letters, but it is hard to tell. It is deliberately vague I think.’

‘What’s this got to do with your sister going missing?’ Lord Routledge asked.

Sarah sighed. ‘As I mentioned, six months ago my mother died and we found out our father might still be alive. However, I decided to focus on the future, to find a position as a music teacher and to try to forget the circumstance of my birth.’

‘You were not even a little curious as to who your father might be?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘Curiosity is all very well if you have nothing to lose, but I was not about to waste my time chasing a man who may or may not exist, and may or may not acknowledge us.’

‘I sense you are a highly practical person, Miss Shepherd.’ It should have been a compliment, but Sarah felt the sting of the barb as he said it. Her sister always called her practical, as if it were a character fault.

‘There is nothing wrong with being realistic,’ she said primly.

‘Am I to take it your sister held a different view?’

‘She was determined to find our father. Each day she came up with more and more fantastical stories to explain why he had abandoned us, and she convinced herself he must be waiting, tortured, in purgatory, not knowing how to find his daughters.’

Sarah sighed. Selina had always been a dreamer. She was impulsive and fun and the sister everyone wanted to spend time with. In anyone else it would be an annoying trait, but Selina was generous and loving, and Sarah couldn’t bring herself to feel any jealousy towards her. Most of the time.

‘Unlikely, but possible I suppose.’

Sarah gave a short, sharp laugh, without any hint of humour. ‘I would say the likelihood that our father wishes for his two long-abandoned daughters to turn up on his doorstep is close to nought.’

Lord Routledge could not argue. No man wanted his past indiscretions showing up to embarrass him in his current life.