“Very well. I’ll ask Lord Whitley tonight if he might show me. And I’ll make sure not to succumb to the lure of the cards.”
Sara took a sip of her tepid tea, and decided to abandon her crumpet to the ants that had discovered it.
It was disheartening, being the wallflower, and her traitorous thoughts slipped once more to Tarek. Would Lord Whitley ever look at her with such intensity that it scorched her down to her toes? And would she ever look that way at him?
“Did your mother say where she was planning to travel next?” Aunt Eugenie asked, distracting Sara from her useless musings.
“Mama thought Iceland and Greenland sounded interesting, at least during the summer months. And then she might continue on to America, of all places.”
Aunt Eugnie blinked. “I hope she doesn’t stray too far. After all, you have a wedding to plan. Provided all goes well.”
Sara forced a smile. “Of course it will.”
She did not, however, believe her own words. Even at this distance she could hear Lady Blackwell’s laughter ringing out over the carp pond.
With a sigh, she finished her cold tea and vowed to keep her spirits up. There was still time to snare Lord Whitley’s interest. Surely he was not seriously contemplating offering for Lady Blackwell—and even if he did, Sara had the suspicion the lady would turn him down.
An early acorn plopped to the ground beside them, and Sara gave it a considering look. She took it as a sign she ought to leap forward, to seek the soil in which her future could take root and grow. After all, the acorn that sat demurely on the branch never did anything except rot away in the winter rains.
That was a fate she wished to avoid at any cost.
***
After dinner that evening, Sara stationed herself near the parlor door, ready to snag their host’s attention the moment the gentlemen came in from taking their port. As they stepped in, smelling of cigar smoke, she deftly linked her arm through Lord Whitley’s and gave him her most charming smile.
“I’ve hardly gotten a chance to spend time in your company,” she said. “I’m feeling quite downcast about it, I must admit.”
“Are you?” He looked pleased at the thought. “How rude of me to neglect such a lovely guest as yourself, Lady Sara. Now, how shall we spend the rest of the evening?”
“I hoped you might agree to teach me more about cards. And gambling. Perhaps you don’t recall our conversation at Lord Severn’s ball?”
He blinked at her a moment, then nodded. “Now that you’ve reminded me, it’s all becoming clear. Come, sit by me and we’ll play a few hands. I’d forgotten you were interested.”
“I am, my lord. Most sincerely.”
“We’ll leave the high stakes for another time.” He leaned closer. “And perhaps tomorrow, after luncheon, you might slip away to the gazebo.”
A shiver of worry went through her. “Is that quite proper, my lord?”
“Ha! You are a stickler for the proprieties, as I recall.” He set his hand over hers. “Don’t fret, Lady Sara. I’m certain we can come to an understanding.”
Well, that had been easy. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure he meant what she hoped he meant.
“An… understanding?”
“Yes. Between us.” He glanced about the room. “At the ball, you mentioned that a gentleman might like a wife for some companionship. I’d like to discuss this notion with you further, if you know what I mean.”
Hope sparked in her heart. “I believe I do, my lord.”
“Excellent.” He squeezed her hand. “No need to mention this anyone, of course.”
“Of course.”
Not yet, anyhow. Not until she had his ring clasped about her finger.
The next two hours were spent pleasantly enough. Lord Whitley proved to be a fair whist player—a game Sara was not overly familiar with—and by the time the guests were ready to retire, she had a decent grasp of the strategy.
Lady Blackwell had sent her amused glances all night. Sara was glad the widow did not seem too disgruntled to have Lord Whitley’s interest diverted away from her. On the far side of the room, Aunt Eugenie conversed with the other chaperones, giving Sara approving nods every so often.
Sara let out a deep, relieved breath. Everything was falling into place. After tomorrow, her life would be utterly changed. And she would be able to put Tarek out of her thoughts, forever.
Chapter 9
The next day, Sara took particular care with her appearance. She donned a light green muslin gown she’d always thought flattered her figure, and made sure her hair had the perfect number of curls for a country house party. Just before going down to lunch, she dabbed a touch of jasmine perfume on her neck.
At the luncheon table, Lord Whitley seated her beside him; a mark of high favor. Sara noted that Lady Blackwell looked a bit more perturbed than she had the evening before. But her loss was Sara’s gain.
The anticipatory butterflies in her stomach made it difficult to eat, though she did manage a few bites of her chicken Florentine. The servants kept her wine glass topped up with crisp Chardonnay, and dessert was a lovely chocolate tart. By the time the meal ended she felt slightly off balance, but at least her nerves had settled.
Lord Whitley pushed his plate aside and stood, addressing his guests. “This afternoon at two we’ll have battledore and shuttlecocks set up on the lawn. Until then, your time is your own. Do enjoy it.”
There were murmurs of assent, and a few of the attendees remarked that they planned to go riding.
“I believe Lady Sara and myself will retire for a lie-down,” Aunt Eugenie said, deftly keeping Sara from having to refuse an invitation to ride with the others.
Her aunt had been most pleased when Sara reported she was to meet with Lord Whitley at the gazebo.
“I’ll come with you, of course,” Aunt Eugenie said. “It won’t do to meet a gentleman alone, even if his intentions are honorable.”
“Oh, Aunt, you must give us a few moments of privacy! No man wants to propose to a lady with her relatives looking on. Come along, but pray, stay back behind the lilies.”
Aunt Eugenie had given a sniff of disapproval, but allowed as how Sara was, possibly, correct in this matter.
The guests dispersed from the luncheon table, and Sara and her aunt returned to their suite, ostensibly to remain there until two. Aunt Eugenie perched impatiently on one of the chairs in the small parlor, while Sara lurked behind the curtains and watched out the window.
“Most of the guests are riding out now,” she reported. “Lord Whitley, of course, is not among them.” Neither, she was disappointed to note, was Lady Blackwell.
Ah well. She must hope she didn’t cross paths with the woman on her way out to the gazebo. The assigned meeting spot was a graceful white structure at the edge of the gardens, next to the pond studded with water lilies. It was the perfect place for a proposal.
“Then we’d best be going.” Aunt Eugenie rose. “Don’t forget your hat.”
“I’ll fetch it and meet you outside by the hedge,” Sara said.
“Very well, but make haste.”
Sara nodded and slipped out. Her room was a few doors down from Aunt Eugenie’s, but there was no one about to observe her.
There was a bit of a delay as she searched for her hat. It was not sitting on the bed where she’d left it in preparation for her clandestine outing. At last she discovered it tucked back into the wardrobe, where likely her maid had tidied it away.
When she reached the yew hedge, there was no sign of Aunt Eugenie. No doubt she’d tired of waiting and had gone ahead to lurk among the lilies.
Retying her hat ribbons at a better angle, Sara went into the garden. Bees hummed lazily among the bright flowers, and the distant splash of a fountain drifted through the air. Overhead, swallows darted and dipped, stitching paths across the creamy blue sky.
She paused and drew in a contented breath.
Whitley Manor was a lovely estate, and she thought she’d enjoy the running of it. In her mind’s eye, she could see children playing on the lawn. It was a fine place to raise a family.