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“We will have the marriage set aside,” Lady Trestan continued as if Sarah hadn’t tried to speak. “There is plenty of evidence that it is not arealunion.” She smiled with malicious enjoyment.
This was why she’d taken such pains to keep them apart, Sarah understood. She was plotting an annulment.
“Now go away,” added the countess. She gestured as if brushing off an annoying insect.
Though she would have been willing to fight on for Gwen’s sake, difficult as that might be, Sarah saw that she would get no justice here. She stood very straight and went—out of the room and into the corridor, wondering where to turn. Cranston was haunting her bedchamber again, and she had discovered Sarah’s refuge in the library as well. Orders had come to remove all the books from the shelves and clean them, leaving the room in disarray. Kenver was out on the estate with his father, unusually. Sarah might have gone to Cecelia, but whatever crisis the Terefords were handling had apparently grown larger, and Sarah didn’t want to bother her. After all that Cecelia had done, Sarah felt ashamed to ask for more. Why should she need so much help?
In the end, she went outside. It was an overcast day. Rain was clearly on the way, which seemed apt, and the air was chilly. A shawl would have been welcome, and a bonnet to keep the wind from tossing her hair. But not if she had to see Cranston to get them. She strode briskly along instead, holding on to her skirts and watching the flowers sway in the rising breeze. The dogs came to join her, romping along at her side.
Sarah knew she had many good qualities. Her friends had often told her so and admired her skills. But could one’s friends be trusted to give an honest opinion? They wished to be kind and bolster one’s confidence. Her parents were the same; they loved her.
The wider world was another matter. It seemed to agree with Lady Trestan. And what about Kenver? What did he really think of her? He was losing his home over her. They would be alone at Tresigan. What if he began to see her as only a duty and a burden?
Rain began, sweeping in from the sea like a diaphanous curtain. Sarah sheltered under a thick cedar and watched it fall. The brightness of the flowers dimmed further. The trees bent to the wind. Droplets began to trickle onto her head and shoulders, and Fingal whined as if wondering why she didn’t seek better shelter. “This is ridiculous,” Sarah said aloud. She was huddling here like the sort of pathetic creature Lady Trestan had accused her of being. She put back her shoulders and hurried inside, getting thoroughly wet, and faced Cranston’s contempt with the appearance of indifference.
And so Sarah’s world at Poldene returned to its beginnings. Cranston was more insolent than ever, disdaining Kenver as well as Sarah. It was obvious that the countess had emphasized her instructions to keep them apart, and Cranston relished her mission. She seemed to be everywhere. Sarah endured what almost amounted to persecution. She didn’t tell Cecelia about this running battle. Why make the situation more awkward for a guest when they would be leaving soon?
The change made it very difficult to pack her things for the move without raising questions. It might have been impossible, except that Gwen retained some friends among the Poldene servants. The truth about her dismissal had spread among them, rousing an undercurrent of anger. Gwen recruited Elys, a kitchen maid with ambitions, who would also come along to the new household, and Elys entered into the conspiracy with relish, even though she was warned that they would have little money for wages. Sarah suspected that Elys saw them as an investment in the future and hoped she could see to it that the girl was right, though it would be some time before she could make good.
Elys gradually went off with Sarah’s possessions and hid them away. She also developed a gleeful enthusiasm for pilfering the Poldene attics, seeming to view this like a treasure hunt. Sarah constantly worried that she would get caught. But it seemed Elys had a talent for larceny. She slipped about the house like a benevolent ghost. Nearly every day, she brought some small household item to Sarah’s chamber as a surprise. Sarah told herself that Poldene would belong to Kenver someday and items in the attic had been more or less discarded. She also counted the hours until they could go, and though they seemed limitless, the time finally came. On Cranston’s afternoon out, Sarah and Elys threw all her clothes into trunks and had two footmen friends of Elys’s take them away.
Twelve
Even as the wagon was loaded, Kenver went to tell his parents that they were leaving. He was actually looking forward to it. Two days ago, when Cranston had practically thrown him out of Sarah’s chamber, he had lost his temper and complained to his mother. She had said, “Surely you must admit now that you have made a mistake. Sarah cannot control servants and does not know how to go on at a place like Poldene.”
Whatever he said, they turned around and made it his fault, or more likely Sarah’s. Their treatment of his sister had made it clear that they had no confidence in their offspring’s judgment. And very little capacity to forgive. Not that Tamara required forgiveness. It was rather the other way around. Kenver felt the twinge of guilt that plagued him whenever he thought of his sister.
He knew his parents were sitting together in the drawing room. And that the Terefords were out on some business of their own. Kenver had been keeping close track of Poldene’s denizens during his preparations since there were so many he and Sarah had to avoid. Making his way to the drawing room and closing its doors behind him, he stood before his parents and said, “I have come to tell you that Sarah and I are moving out.”
They stared at him as if he’d spoken in a foreign language.
“To a place of our own,” he added.
“How? With no funds for a lease,” his father responded.
“I’ve made arrangements.”
“What arrangements?”
“We are going to live at Tresigan.”
“The Terefords know of this?” asked his mother sharply.
Kenver said nothing as the answer was obvious.
“I forbid it,” his father declared, one of his favorite phrases.
“I am of age,” Kenver reminded them. He’d vowed not to get angry or indeed to show any emotion.
“I can still cut off your allowance,” his father declared. “How would your penniless little bride like that, eh?”
Though the insult made him clench his jaw, Kenver was ready for this threat, which had been made before. “That will make a good story for the neighborhood,” he replied. “Particularly when it is perfectly reasonable for a young couple to wish to set up their own household. And not reasonable for a father to withhold funds due to the heir of Poldene. I’m sure the Rauches and the Youvilles would be surprised to hear you had done so.”
His father flushed with anger. “Do you dare to threaten me?”
“I am simply telling you my plans, Papa. If you choose to make a public spectacle of our family disagreement, that is up to you.”
“Wait,” said his mother. The word carried such command that both men complied. “This might be a solution,” she added.
