Автор: Anne O'Brien
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9781408934326
isbn:
She smiled as she descended the stairs. He could not but smile back as he waited and watched her. She had no idea how lovely she was, he realised, or how her looks and her demeanour had unfurled as a rose with the warmth of the morning sun since her marriage. He could not help but experience a degree of purely masculine pride at the thought. Her skin was flawless, her eyes shining, enhanced by the favourite viola-blue of her gown. Her neat figure could not but attract attention as she conducted herself with confidence and a charming simplicity. Her fair curls gleamed softly in the light, held in place by rosettes of satin ribbon to match her gown. She had banished the lace cap—he had insisted that she banish the cap! Now she appeared as she was, a young matron of wealth, style and the gentlest degree of sophistication. That was Sarah.
‘Sarah.’ He took her hand, would have kissed her fingers, but could not resist drawing her closer to press his mouth to hers, a lingering pressure, a memory of more heated kisses, despite the possibility of their privacy being broached. It did not matter. She was his wife and he… What exactly? He did not know, except that he was coming to care for her… although care suddenly seemed too mild a word to describe the manner in which his pulse picked up its beat when he set eyes on her. Or even thought about her. But he deliberately banished from his mind the uncertainty of his exact emotions. Because here in the following few minutes a greater uncertainty was in the process of unfolding. Would the lady appreciate what he had done?
‘Joshua.’ She coloured, a delicate brush of rose, but let him hold her a little longer. Why not? It was the stuff of dreams after all, to see him standing there, all Faringdon magnificence, waiting for her, waiting to take her into his arms, to claim her lips with his own. What woman would not dream of that? She sighed softly and looked up at him. ‘Were you waiting for me?’ Just a little breathless as she noted the fiery heat in his eyes.
‘I was. It was in my mind that I would like to give you something. A wedding gift.’
‘Is it a diamond necklace? A parting gift?’ Her nose wrinkled deliciously. But was it humour or concern here?
He did not smile. In fact, his expression became quite severe. ‘Are you dissatisfied with me as a husband after a mere few weeks, ma’am?’
‘No.’
‘Well, neither am I with you as my wife. So, no, it is not a diamond necklace. Although, if you find a desire to sparkle and impress at a ball or soirée, there is at least one in the Faringdon collection.’
‘I might.’ She chuckled as he tucked her hand companionably through his arm to lead her back up the stairs in the direction from which she had just come. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Wait and see.’
Sarah knew the house well. Had she not been responsible for its cleaning and furbishment? So when he led her to the rarely-used parlour on the first floor with its view over the square and its garden she looked up, a quizzical expression. Her lord refused to respond, but opened the door and ushered her in before him. Then stood back to test the waters.
Sarah walked forward to stand in the centre of the room. Then turned slowly in a full circle. Of course, she knew this room as well as any of the others. The wall paper was still the Chinese silk, a little worn but deliciously festooned with pale pink and blue cranes and chrysanthemums on a silver background. The tall windows let in what was left of the evening light, to warm the pale marble of the Grecian fireplace. All of this she knew. But as for the rest, it was all quite different and effectively robbed her of speech. The curtains and swags that had suffered from age and faded over the years from the heat of the sun had been replaced with splendid new drapes of cream and silver silk damask. All the dust sheets had been removed from the furniture—and that too had changed. Her eyes flew to her lord’s in astonishment.
‘Do you like it?’ He stepped forward to light a branch of candles at her side, the soft flames adding a further layer of charm to the little room.
Sarah’s mouth opened, but she could find nothing to say.
‘It is yours.’ Joshua found a need to explain. ‘Thea would call it a boudoir. It is a wedding gift to you. I…er…took advice…’ A moment of horror suddenly silenced him. ‘From Judith,’ he added quickly, in case she should think it might be Olivia Wexford.
Sarah laughed softly in appreciation, then turned again to survey the full magnificence of the gift. Small and decorative pieces of furniture suitable for a lady’s sitting room or boudoir had been collected from various rooms in the house, with the notable addition of some new pieces. Walnut, rosewood, all light and well polished, inlaid with various and decorative woods, they seduced her senses and beckoned her to enter and claim it as her own. Two bergère chairs with gilded sides and cushioned seats to match the drapes stood on either side of the fireplace to accommodate any guests Sarah might wish to entertain, between them a sofa with scrolled ends, upholstered in cream silk, perfect for a lady to take her ease. A side table rested beside the wall next to a beautiful writing desk with a tambour top, which had been shrouded in a dust sheet, unused, in the morning room when Sarah had first come to the house. On the walls were two of her own framed paintings of rural scenes, last seen in the schoolroom. A small bookcase stood beside the fireplace—she had never seen that before—with some favourite novels in marbled covers—which hinted at Thea’s influence. She saw an inlaid work table for her silks and embroideries, nothing like the old battered box she used in the schoolroom. All tastefully enhanced by a satinwood firescreen, a gilt-edged mirror above the fireplace, silver candlesticks, an extravagantly pale carpet and—oh, wonders!—a pianoforte beneath the window, of rosewood and satinwood inlay, its ivory notes gleaming softly and simply demanding to be played.
‘Well?’
Sarah walked to the pianoforte to stroke a few notes. They sounded soft and clear in the still room.
‘Sarah.’ Her silence was unnerving. ‘Will you put me out of my misery? I remember you once returned something so trivial as a coat that you thought I should not have given you. What will you do if this does not please you?’
‘Does not please me? How could it not?’ Now she turned to him. The smile on her face stopped his words. And the tears that coursed silently down her cheeks.
‘Sarah!’ His arms opened wide and she simply walked into them, to lay her forehead against his shoulder and weep. ‘Don’t weep, Scheherazade. We shall both be drowned. I will take it all back if that is your wish.’ But he knew there was no danger of that. He had seen the pure joy in her face. Everything was good. His heart clenched hard in a foolish beat of triumph as he pressed his lips against her hair.
‘No one has ever shown me such kindness. It is beyond anything I could imagine.’ She wiped away the tears with unsteady fingers. ‘I love it.’ She risked a glance at his face. ‘I suspect you had help here.’
‘Indeed I did!’ He waved his arm to encompass the room. ‘This is beyond me. But you have some good friends. And your children love you. The flowers are from Beth.’ They bloomed, waxy hellebores, СКАЧАТЬ