Scandal's Daughters

Chapter 8

By the third day of the house party, Sara was not entirely certain her plan was going to succeed. She was not, as it transpired, the most lovely lady there, and it seemed Lord Whitley was more interested in spending time with the beautiful, widowed Lady Blackwell than with Lady Sara Ashford.

“What can I do?” Sara asked her aunt as, once again, their host invited Lady Blackwell to be his companion for the day.

That afternoon, the guests were invited to a picnic tea and stroll about the gardens. In order to remain available for Lord Whitley, Sara had politely declined other offers of escort, and now she and Aunt Eugenie sat alone at a small table shaded by an oak tree, watching as the rest of the party meandered past the colorful flowerbeds and manicured hedges.

It was a very romantic setting, and she could not help imagining Tarek there, teasing her as they viewed the flowers and strolled beside the lily pond.

Drat the man! Ever since they’d arrived at the house party, she could not stop thinking about him.

“A pity Lord Morgan fell ill and could not attend,” Aunt Eugenie said. “An unbalanced ratio of ladies to gentlemen is awkward on any occasion. As to what you can do? Stop mooning over that unacceptable fellow we left in London!”

“I haven’t the slightest—”

“Nonsense. I saw how you looked at him. And while the Comte du Lac is quite handsome, he is completely unsuitable in every other way. Sara, you must put him out of your mind.”

Oh, how she’d tried. But every hour since they’d left London her distraction grew worse. She could close her eyes and see Tarek’s face perfectly, recall the exact pressure of his arms about her as they danced. As they kissed—

“Stop.” Aunt Eugenie’s tone was stern. “You must let go of whatever romantic fancies you have concerning the comte, and focus on the task at hand. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than this.”

Sara felt her face heat. “I know, Aunt, and I am sorry. I truly don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Whatever it is, throw it off and put yourself forward, my dear. You need to make yourself agreeable to Lord Whitley. Didn’t you tell me he’d offered to teach you to gamble?”

“Is that appropriate? You’ve always warned me against it.”

Aunt Eugenie pressed her lips together. “I think the circumstances warrant drastic measures. Just be on your guard. Some people cannot stop gambling, once they’ve begun.”

“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.