"Secrets of the Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Balogh Mary)

CHAPTER 4

IT WAS a terrible ordeal. In many country dances, one was separated from one's partner through much of the pattern. This was not one of those dances. For fully twenty minutes they moved side by side, their hands almost constantly clasped. Sometimes they had to join both hands and twirl together down the set. It seemed that the music played on interminably.

Not once did they exchange either a word or a glance. Sarah kept her eyes fixed ahead of her or, if Cranwell was before her, on his hands. She remembered his hands well: slim, expressive hands, which he used with unconscious elegance when he talked. She had forgotten the ring, though she recalled now that he had always worn it. It was made of heavy silver in a design of entwined bands. She expected him to speak. She expected him to command her to leave Bath, to threaten to expose her to society there, to vent his fury at the way she had foisted herself on his company and that of his sister and fiancke. But he said nothing. She did not know if he looked at her at all.

When the music finally drew to an end, Cranwell offered Sarah his arm and escorted her back to the place where Hannah already stood and where Winston was also bringing Fanny. He bowed without a word or a look and turned to his betrothed.

"I am so enjoying myself," Fanny said to the group in general, releasing Winston's arm but smiling gaily into his face. "Lord Laing has been teasing me mercilessly about this being my first hall and my behaving for all the world like a schoolgirl _all agog at a birthday treat. But I positively refuse to have my spirits dampened. So there, sir." She tapped Winston sharply on the arm with her fan.

He laughed and bowed, his hazel eyes dancing at her. "You do me an injustice, ma'am," he protested. "I merely remarked that your enthusiasm is refreshing at a time when the fashion is to appear bored with every entertainment."

"Lord Laing is going to dance with me again later," Fanny said brightly, looking across at her brother. "Soon I shall have no free dances left, George."

Winston meanwhile had turned to Sarah. "I hope you have a free set left," he said, smiling into her eyes. "The next one?"

"Yes, I should be delighted," she said, taking his arm without further ado and drawing him away from the others. This was one way, at least, to keep both him and herself away from Cranwell for a while.

"Do you really want to dance, Sarah?" he asked. "Or shall we see if we can squeeze into the tearoom?"

"Tea would be welcome," she agreed.

By chance, although the tearoom was still crowded, two ladies were just leaving a small table in one corner of the room. Winston led his companion there. Sarah glanced across to where Lady Murdoch and Lady Cavendish were still t6te-A-t amp;e, but they had not seen her.

"What is this about living with someone other than us, Sarah?" Winston asked, leaning his arms on the table and looking closely at her.

"It is true," she said. "I have accepted a home with Lady Murdoch. She is very kind to me and, as you see, I am not being treated as a servant. You need not start pitying me, Win."

"Pitying you?" he said. "Why should I pity you, Sarah? I have offered you a better life many times. I am not sure that this is not better, anyway, than that cottage in the back of beyond, where you insisted on living for years."

"Freedom and independence mean nothing to you, do they, Win?" she said. "Not for females, anyway."

"I really cannot see how you could have considered yourself freer in that life you led than you would have been with me," he said. "You would have seen something of the world by now and had plenty of trinkets and clothes."

"There is no point in reopening that argument," Sarah said, leaning back a little from the table so that a cup of tea could be set at the place before her.

He chuckled suddenly and reached over to touch her hand. "How came you to be in company with Cranwell?" he asked. "I must confess that I had not planned to enter the ballroom tonight. I was on my way to the card room. But when I spotted you, I stopped for a second look. Then when I saw Cranwell beside you, I was so intrigued that I voluntarily gave up an evening of gaming to find out the meaning of it."

"We were forced into each other's company," Sarah said warily. "Lady Murdoch and Lady Cavendish, who is the grandmother of his betrothed, are old friends. They are sitting across the room together now."

Winston glanced in the direction of her nod. When he looked back, he was grinning. "I say," he said, "is old Cranwell about to tie the knot? He certainly won't be delighted to have you around if he is, will he? Have you met the poor female? And does she know, my love?"

"I don't think so," Sarah said with a hot flush. "But it is possible that soon several people will put two and two together, especially if you become generally known as my cousin. I would prefer to change the subject, Win. Have you had any luck at the tables?"

"You know me," he said. "I have a great deal of luck. But I can never seem to stop playing until I have lost more than I won." He shrugged philosophically. "You aren't still wearing the willow for Cranwell, are you, Sarah? I never could understand the attraction in the first place. The fellow isn't exactly a Romeo, is he? He is well-enough-looking, I suppose. But a woman like you can do much better than that. And he is generally known as a thoroughly dry old stick, you know. He has rank and pots of money, of course, but you would have been bored silly in a month. You were well out of that, you know."

Sarah stared stonily into her cup. "That is all old history, Win," she said. "It is really not at all worth talking about."

"You are looking quite stunning, you know, Sarah," he said after a short silence. "You grow more beautiful as time goes by. Those were good times we had together before you left home, were they not?"

Sarah said nothing.

"Well," he said at last abruptly, "we had better get back to the ballroom, Sarah. I promised that chit another dance. She is quite a fetching little thing, isn't she? It might be amusing to pursue the acquaintance. And is Cranwell's betrothed with them too? I really must get a glimpse at the maiden who has replaced you in his.heart."

"Win," she said, her voice low but urgent, "leave them alone. Please. Nothing can be gained by stirring up any sort of trouble in that direction."

"Trouble?" he said with a soft laugh, his eyes caressing her face and lingering on her mouth. "Silly girl, Sarah. Always so suspicious. Do you think I mean mischief? You always seem to expect the worst of me."

Sarah declined to return to the ballroom with him. She accepted his escort across the room to her cousin. Lady Murdoch and her friend probably would not welcome her company, but as far as that was concerned, she was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Cranwell would not welcome her return either. She might as well follow her own inclination.

Lady Murdoch was not at all chagrined to have her t?te-a-t?te interrupted when she was presented to Winston, who was at his most charming. She smiled and nodded knowingly at Sarah. When Winston finally bowed and took his leave, she patted Sarah's hand and smiled at her kindly.

"I am sorry you are too tired to dance anymore, cousin," she said, "but I am delighted to know that you have enjoyed yourself so far. What a very handsome young man. And your cousin, you said? He likes you, Sarah, I can tell. Ah, Bertha, the time was when we would never have admitted tiredness on the floor if there were such handsome young bucks to dance with, would we?"

"Pardon me, ma'am," Sarah said, "I have no wish to interrupt your conversation. Please do not mind me. I shall sit here and look around. There is so much of interest to see."

Lady Murdoch patted her hand again and turned back to her old friend. "Do you remember that Mr. Hancock, Bertha? Not a groat to his name, and a reputation that should have sent us into the vapors. But so very handsome. We were all in love with him."

"You might have been, Adelaide," Lady Cavendish retorted, "but I had more of an eye to a secure future. Can't even remember the man."

In the ballroom Fanny, with heightened color and bright eyes, begged her brother to partner her in the next set. Cranwell was surprised. He would have expected to be the last person she would want to dance with. However, when Hannah had been led onto the floor by someone else, he found that his sister did not want to dance but was eager to talk. She drew him to some empty chairs at the side of the ballroom.

"George," she said, her flush deepening, "Lord Laing said he had met us when we were staying with the Saxtons. I cannot remember him, but that is beside the point."

Cranwell glanced at her warily.

"He must be a relation of… of she said, tongue-tied for once in her life.

"Yes," he said abruptly, "a cousin by marriage. He is son of the late Viscount Laing, grandson of the Earl of Newberry." He held his breath.

"Miss Fifield is his cousin too," Fanny said.

"So she is."

"George." She looked into his face, her own flaming. "Miss Fifield's given name is Sarah too."

"So it is."

"Is it…? Is she…? George?"

"Yes," he said curtly. "When I knew her, Miss Fifield went by the name of Bowen."

Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Her mouth formed an 0, but no sound came out. "George," she said finally, "what are you going to do?"

"Nothing, I think," he said. "I have been concerned about you and Hannah. It is not at all proper for you to be in her company. But now that you know, both you and I can make an effort to stay away from her as much as possible."

"Are you going to tell Lady Cavendish?" Fanny asked.

"No," he said. "I really do not want any public scandal here, Fan, especially with Hannah present. It was hard enough to live with the first time. I survived it only because I buried myself at Montagu Hall, I believe."

"I can hardly believe it," Fanny said. "Miss Fifield seems such a refined person. And I certainly envy her beauty. I was hoping that perhaps we could be friends."

"Well, now you know that is impossible," her brother said sharply.

"You never did tell me exactly what happened," she said, looking hopefully across at him.

"And I am not about to do so now," he said firmly. "That is ancient history, Fan, and you are still only seventeen years old."

"But how am I to become adult if everyone treats me as a child?" she asked reasonably.

He patted her hand. "I have brought you to a subscription ball in Bath tonight," he said. "Is that treating you like a child, Fan?"

She pulled a face at him. "All the same, George," she said, "Miss Fifield fascinates me. I really want to get to know what is so very bad about her."

"Stay away from her," her brother warned, seriously alarmed. Fanny could be deucedly stubborn once she got an idea in her head.

She smiled at him. "And how do you feel seeing her again, George? It must have been quite a shock to be presented to her this morning as to a stranger."

"Let us drop the topic, shall we?" Cranwell said. He really was not sure if a problem had been solved or if a worse one had been created.

"Do you think Lady Cavendish will realize the truth if she meets Lord Laing?" Fanny asked. "It does not take much intelligence to make the connection between their names, after all."

Cranwell had been dreading the same possibility. Fortunately, Fanny did not wait for him to answer.

"Do you like Lord Laing?" she asked. "I do not believe I have ever in my life seen a more handsome man. Have you, George? When I was at school, I always used to picture Apollo as being just like him. That smile could melt the hardest heart. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. Have you noticed, George?"

He let her babble on, though normally he would have reprimanded her for speaking so freely of a new acquaintance. Scandal and gossip could so easily burst around him. It merely needed someone in addition to Fanny to realize that there might be a connection between Sarah Fifield, Winston Bowen's cousin, and Sarah Bowen, also his cousin. He could not decide whether to wait and see what happened or to rush immediately back to his hotel to start packing his bags.

Sarah glanced around the tearoom, determined to let the two friends forget her presence. She was almost glad to find that none of her particular acquaintances was present. She felt so uneasy that she was almost sorry she had not returned to the ballroom with Winston. Was he really going to claim that other dance with Lady Fanny? And was he going to try to wangle an introduction to Lady Hannah? Those actions in themselves would be bad enough. But she could not trust Winston to be satisfied with that. He would probably take great delight in beginning a flirtation with the sister of the Duke of Cranwell. And Winston could be most persistent when he wished to be, as she knew well to her cost.

He would always be the plague of her life, she supposed. Yet sometimes it was hard even for her to realize how villainous he was. She could never expect a stranger to detect his true nature. He seemed so completely unaware of his own villainy. Life was a game to him. He could not seem to take it seriously, and therefore he seemed incapable of understanding that other people might do so.

She did not think he had ever really believed that she did not desire his lovemaking. She had thought at one time that it was personal conceit that made him refuse to believe. He just could not imagine any female resisting his undoubted male beauty and charm, she had thought. And doubtless there was some truth in that theory. But there was more than that. Life for Winston was to be lived and enjoyed. Making love was enjoyable. Everyone must feel the same way. It was an almost naive outlook on life. It was strange that such naivete could cause such destruction.

That summer during which he had taken her virginity had continued on into September until he returned for his final year at Cambridge. And that one occasion 'when he had ravished her had not satisfied him. For him it had been a beginning. Despite her tears and her denials, he had firmly believed that she must have enjoyed the experience, and he had assumed that the affair would continue, to the mutual satisfaction of both.

She had done her best to avoid him, never to allow herself to be alone with him. She had kept Graham at her side wherever she went. Tall and thin now, he had never lost his fair, curly baby hair and his look of bright, happy innocence. He was contented as long as he could be close to his beloved "Sare," picking flowers for her and frequently holding to her arm and stroking her hand.

But despite it all, Winston had maneuvered matters in such a way that twice he caught her alone again, both times when he had misled her into thinking that he was away from home. Both times, the indignity of the first encounter was repeated. Both times she cried, protested, pleaded, fought. And both times he laughed at her-cheerfully, not maliciously, as if he thought she played a game merely. And both times, when his desire demanded an end to the amusement of physically restraining her, he gently reminded her of the nonphysical hold he had over her. Her panicked, nauseated mind was dragged back to Graham, to the gentle, innocent child who had once been goaded into terrible violence. And in the end she would submit quietly to the inevitable, her head turned to one side, her eyes closed, her will fighting a battle with her stomach to hold in check the nausea she felt.

And she had begun to hate herself. Surely there must be something she could do to put an end to this intolerable situation. If only she were a strong, decisive person, she would have found a way. She told herself this over and over again until her mind was weary. But she could never find the solution. If she told Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Randolph, they might come to her aid. They might also turn Graham off or-worse-feel it their duty to report him to the authorities. If she told the vicar, he might expose her to public scorn as a fallen woman and he also might feel it his duty to turn Graham over to the law. And who else was there to talk to? If she killed Win-the idea did occur to her! — she herself would hang, and heaven knew what would happen to her brother then.

But the fact that she said nothing, that she knew even as she fought and pleaded with Win that she would eventually lie meekly beneath him and allow him his will, made her appear utterly weak in her own eyes. Worse than weak. Degraded. Unclean. She was a fallen woman. A woman's virtue was worth more than life itself, she had been taught. Surely she would be able to respect herself more if she did kill Win. But she did not kill him. She merely avoided him whenever she could. And she scrubbed and scrubbed herself after each encounter until her flesh felt red and raw. But she never felt clean. She felt spoiled, ugly. Only the sight of Graham's happy, vacant expression kept her sane, she was convinced.

The summer had finally come to its interminable end. On the day before he returned to university, Winston had had to be contented with a farewell in the morning room, he and Sarah seated side by side at one end of the room while Graham was stretched out happily on the floor at the other, drawing one of his laborious pictures of a forest with hundreds of individual trees.

"This has been a summer to remember, Sarah," Win said. "It is going to seem a long time until next year."

She said nothing.

"I do believe you have spoiled me for other women, you know," he said. "Do you know that your very presence inflames me, Sarah? I do believe I am in love with you."

She allowed him to take her hand, though her arm stiffened.

"We won't be together for a whole year," he said. "Tell me you will miss me."

"Win," she said at last, turning and looking into his eyes, "I feel nothing but enormous relief at our parting. You are a truly despicable and evil human being!"

He smiled slowly. "You are still frightened, aren't you, afraid that I will not care for you or that I will tire of you? You are trying to harden your heart so that you will not be hurt. You really need not fear, you know. I shall take as good care of you as if you were my wife. I almost wish I could marry you, Sarah, but you know that I can't. When Father dies, I shall be Viscount Laing and perhaps the Earl of Newberry too, unless Grandpapa survives him. The old man must be seventy already. I owe it to my position to marry someone of consequence. And besides, you know that money passes through my hands like water. Father has enough, and Grandpapa is an old moneybags, but I still think it prudent to marry someone who can bring me a lot of blunt. You have no dowry, Sarah. It's a deuced shame, but there it is. I'll never love a wife as I do you, though. You do believe that, don't you?"

"No," she said, "if you did, you would not, could not, use me so ill!", "Ill?" he said. "When there has been no one but you for me all summer, Sarah? You are a strange girl. But quite adorable."

Sarah's eyes were still roaming the tearoom, though she saw nothing with any consciousness until she became aware of the figures of Cranwell, Hannah, and Fanny crossing the room toward the table at which she sat. She lowered her eyes and reached out a slightly trembling hand for her teacup.

"Lady Cavendish," Fanny said in a bright and breathless voice. She was slightly ahead of the other two. "What superb fun we have had. Hannah has danced every set, and only two of them with George. I have hardly sat down since we were in the carriage coming here. I have had a different partner for each set, except that Captain Penny and Lord Laing danced with me twice."

Lady Cavendish smiled up at the girl. "None of what you have said has surprised me in the least," she said. "You are both remarkably pretty and fashionable young ladies, and it is only natural that the young men would be sensible enough to make the most of you. And have you enjoyed yourself too, Hannah, my love?"

"I have, Grandmama," the girl said gravely. "Indeed, the master of ceremonies would not let any of us miss the dancing. He was obliging enough to introduce us to several gentlemen."

"And George was forced to dance all evening too," Fanny said with a giggle. "I never thought to see that."

"Miss Fifield presented Lord Laing to us," Lady Cavendish said. "A very presentable young man."

Fanny darted her a bright-eyed look. "He danced with Hannah too," she said. "He says that he will be in the Pump Room tomorrow morning and will be honored to pay his respects to us there."

"Very right and proper," Lady Cavendish said with an approving nod. "And if we are to make a timely appearance ourselves in the morning, young ladies, I think it is time we set out for home."

Cranwell bowed and announced his intention of calling for his carriage immediately. He turned to Lady Murdoch and asked if he might summon her conveyance too.

"Such a wonderful young man, to be sure," Lady Murdoch said as Cranwell made his way across the room on his double errand. "How very fortunate that your son was able to net him for your dear granddaughter, Bertha. A duke, too! I hope I might do as well by you, Sarah dear. Indeed, you are lovely enough to ensnare even a duke of the royal blood."

"Miss Fifield," Fanny said, glancing hastily at the doorway to see if her brother was yet returning, "will you be in the Pump Room tomorrow morning?"

"Yes," Sarah said hesitantly, "I believe so. Lady Murdoch drinks the waters each morning."

"We will see you there?" Fanny asked. "I am persuaded that you must have many acquaintances here already. I should be happy to walk with you and perhaps meet some of them."

"Sarah will be delighted, my dear," Lady Murdoch declared loudly. "She has made some very eligible acquaintances, but she seems to feel obliged to stay with me in the Pump Room. I cannot walk about much, you know, because of my rheumaticks. Not but what I am helpless, mind you. But I am not as spry as I used to be. Tomorrow morning I shall positively insist that she take a turn about the room with you, Lady Fanny."

The girl smiled rather guiltily at Sarah and glanced toward the doorway again to see her brother approaching.

It was a relief to know that the evening was over, Sarah thought as they made their way out to the waiting carriages. Not that there was any reason to relax entirely. It was highly probable that the following days would bring her frequently into company with George and his party.

But even the ordeal of this evening was not quite over. Cranwell handed his companions into his own traveling coach and then turned to do the like for Lady Murdoch. Sarah watched him, supporting with patience the weight of her cousin. She waited quietly for him to turn away when Lady Murdoch was safely seated inside. She was not prepared for him to turn to her and offer his hand for her support.

She hesitated and he looked up at her in some surprise. Their eyes met and held for an uncomfortable moment. Sarah felt incapable of any motion at all.

"Miss Fifield?" he asked, his tone all cool politeness.

It would have been so easy to place her hand in his and climb into the carriage. It would have been over in a moment. She had held his hand for a much longer period in the ballroom. Instead, she continued to stare at him and shook her head almost imperceptibly. She could not. She could not so force herself upon him, unwilling as he must be to so much as look at her.

He remained in the same attitude for a few seconds, hand outstretched. Then his jaw set noticeably and his eyes hardened. He made her a stiff bow and turned away.

"Good night, ma'am," he said.

Sarah clambered unceremoniously into the carriage and drew as far as she could into the corner opposite that taken by her cousin. Fortunately, Lady Murdoch was occupied by a fit of yawning, and Sarah was left to her own thoughts.

How stupid. Stupid! Why had she had to so draw attention to herself? What, in heaven's name, would he think of her?

If only she had never met him. She would not have done so if she had had her way. She had not wanted to attend the house party of the Saxton twins. She had never associated much with them, as they were more of an age with Winston. They had invited her that time only because someone else had let them down at the last minute and they had needed to make up numbers. Not that she had been offended by that. It was just that she had been horrified at the thought of joining for a week a group of people from the best society. She did not belong with them. But Aunt Myrtle had been delighted for her and persuaded her that it was high time she went about more and met new people. She had lost her natural ebullience of spirits in the last little while, her aunt had said.

She had hardened herself against regret and self-pity for the first few days. She did her best to remain aloof, to avoid contaminating the other guests with her lessthan-respectable person. And she would have been moderately contented just to sit and look-to look at the Duke of Cranwell, who appeared every bit as attractive to her as he had on that first glimpse she had had of him several years before.

He seemed to her to be everything a man should be. He could hardly have been more unlike Winston. He was barely above medium height, and slim. His face was narrow, though his features set it above the commonplace. He rarely smiled, yet his blue eyes were kindly and his mouth sensitive. His hair was as dark as Winston's was blond. He rarely talked, but when he did, he had something sensible and interesting to say. He had an air of elegance and refinement that she had not met in a man before. She fell instantly and deeply in love with him during the first day.

Yet it was a love that held no hope or even desire of fulfillment. The Duke of Cranwell was as far above her as the stars above the earth. She was contented to worship from afar.

When he tried to talk to her, she cringed away from him. She had no business even to be in the same room as he. He must not talk to her. He did not know what she was. But it happened anyway. He befriended her, she supposed because he felt sorry for her. She was drawn in almost without realizing that it was happening. She loved to listen to him talk-about his travels, about books, about his home. His words opened up for her a world beyond her dreams, a world that was, of course, shut permanently to her.

She was afraid of him sometimes. Not so much afraid of him, perhaps, as afraid of herself. She was an evil woman, one who excited ugly passions in men. She was terrified that she might have this effect on the duke. She could not bear it if he tried to touch her as Winston did. She studiously avoided his touch and avoided being alone with him. If he once touched her, she was convinced, he would know that she was not as she should be, and he would want to use her for what she was.

But she loved him passionately. And for the last four days she allowed herself to relax into his friendship. She was warmed by the kindness and regard in his eyes when they met hers. She was excited by the fact that he so often singled her out and talked to her about his private world as he did with no one else. She watched his hands, sensitive and expressive, his face, refined yet alight with a warmth of character, and his blue eyes, smiling deeply into hers. And she felt an ache and a yearning that she did not fully understand. He made her feel human again so that for hours at a time she forgot that she was a spoiled and degraded creature, unworthy even to raise her eyes to the man she gazed at with such adoration.

She was wretched indeed when those last four days were at an end and she had to return to Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Randolph-and to Graham. Until she saw him again, she felt a resentment toward him that she had never known before. Why should she have suffered so much for a boy who did not even realize that he needed protection? Why was the world she had briefly glimpsed in these days with the Duke of Cranwell so permanently closed to her? Why must her own self-respect, even her very life, be so utterly destroyed?

Then, of course, she had descended from her uncle's carriage before his door, and Graham had come running in his characteristic ungainly manner, his arms outstretched, his face alight with welcome, his excited laughter almost a sob. And she had hugged his thin body to her for a whole minute, rubbed her cheek against his soft hair, and known that she would die for him before she would allow him to be taken away to prison or an institution for the insane.

There was nothing left in life but to keep Gray happy and wait in dread for the return of Winston. But she was still thankful for those four days. They would be something to remember; the Duke of Cranwell would be someone to dream of for the rest of her life, a symbol of all that might have been.

The carriage was already pulling up before the house in Brock Street, Sarah saw with a start. It really was hardly worth riding to and from the Upper Rooms, but of course Lady Murdoch was incapable of walking any great distance. She smiled cheerfully across the carriage at her cousin, who was busy collecting her belongings around her.

"You must be very tired, ma'am," she said. "It has been a busy day."

"Well, my legs are aching and my back is somewhat sore," Lady Murdoch agreed, "but what can an old woman like me expect? You have had a pleasant day, anyway, cousin, and that is the important thing. I really think you have taken the fancy of Bertha's two little girls, and it can certainly do you no harm to be seen in the company of a duke and his party. And Lord Laing, my love! You never told me you had such a handsome and charming cousin. I shouldn't wonder if he is sweet on you too. You mark my words. I can always tell these things. He would be such a good catch for you, dear, a viscount and heir to an earldom."

The Duke of Cranwell was returning in his carriage to the White Hart Inn, having seen the ladies safe inside their lodgings on Laura Place. It had certainly been an eventful first day in Bath. Lady Cavendish was feeling quite at home. She had met a large number of acquaintances during the course of the day, and she seemed particularly pleased to have met her old friend Lady Murdoch again. Cranwell felt some amusement at the latter lady. His first impression that she was a loud, vulgar creature had been modified somewhat. She was both those things, and yet there was a kindliness and friendliness in her manner that made one tend to forget the less desirable aspects of her character. "Eccentric" was perhaps a kinder word to describe her than "vulgar."

He could wish that Fanny had not learned the truth about Sarah's identity. Perhaps, though, in a way her knowledge would make it easier for him to shield her from the undesirable connection. But Fanny was not always a predictable girl. Most sisters would shrink with some horror from any further contact with such a person, but Fanny was not most sisters. It was just possible that she would pursue the acquaintance just to satisfy the curiosity she had expressed to him. All that business aside, though, he was at least pleased to have observed during the day that his sister had behaved with decorum, though she had not seemed at all shy at the new scenes and fashionable people.

Hannah was becoming more of an enigma to him with every moment he spent in her company. In one way he was satisfied. She had behaved throughout the day with perfect propriety. There were in her manner none of the silly airs of many a seventeen-year-old let loose in society for the first time. She had behaved in a manner suited to his fiancee and future duchess. Yet her quietness defied label. It did not seem like shyness. It did not even seem like boredom. He sighed. He must pay her more attention.

For himself the day had been far from satisfactory. The problem with Sarah had grown as the day progressed. It seemed too terrible a coincidence that both she and Winston Bowen should be in Bath at the same time as he.

He had found himself growing more and more furious with her as the night progressed. She had hardly raised her eyes all evening, had neither looked at him nor spoken while they danced. She had refused his assistance into her cousin's carriage. He had wanted to grab her shoulders and squeeze until he hurt her and shake her until her teeth rattled. He had wanted to shake free the mask, to see her throw back her head, thrust out that magnificent bosom of hers, and laugh at him. That was what she must be doing inside, what she must always have been doing. How foolish of him ever to have believed that someone with her beauty could feel any real attraction to him. She surely could never have loved him, even if she had not already been hardened against all finer feelings.

He hated her with a passion. It would be so much easier to bear if she would just show herself in her true colors. But she had been such a picture of quiet decorum tonight. Almost a caricature of Hannah. He hated her. He wanted the satisfaction of having his hands around her throat. He wanted…

Cranwell shook his head sharply. His forehead was damp with perspiration. He must not allow this to happen. Not again. It was quite unreasonable. The woman was nothing to him now. And if she really had learned some modesty, if she really did choose to conduct herself with quiet dignity, then all the better for her. He must learn to forget her when she was not present and to ignore her when she was. And he must keep Fanny away from her as much as he could without a total breach of good manners.