Regency Christmas Vows: The Blanchland Secret / The Mistress of Hanover Square. Anne Herries

      ‘Alas, I would find it quite impossible to keep the truth from them! Their own goddaughter preferring the dubious comforts of an alehouse to Woodallan! I am sure my mother would be quite distraught!’

      Sarah reached for her cloak. Somehow they had been outmanoeuvred. ‘Very well, my lord. Since I do not trust you to spare your mother’s feelings, we will come with you. However—’ she glared at him ‘—do not think to dissuade us from our errand, nor to enlist the support of your parents in such an enterprise!’

      Guy’s dark gaze mocked her. ‘Miss Sheridan! I could not possibly tell my parents that you intended to visit Blanchland! The shock might kill them!’

      He held the door open for her. ‘You look very pretty, Miss Sheridan,’ he added, in tones low enough that only Sarah could hear. ‘To see you with your hair like that gives me ideas—’

      ‘I thank you,’ Sarah snapped. ‘I heard enough of your ideas last night, sir! I wonder that you dare to speak to me of them again!’

      Guy detained her with a hand on her arm. ‘In point of fact, Miss Sheridan, that is what I wished to discuss with you. I wished to apologise, but I will save it until we have gained the privacy of Woodallan!’

      Sarah’s lips tightened angrily. ‘It may be that I do not wish to hear any of your excuses, Lord Renshaw!’

      ‘You will hear me out, however,’ Guy said, with what seemed to Sarah to be breathtaking arrogance. He offered her his arm, and laughed when she swept past him, ignoring it. Behind her, Sarah could hear Greville and Amelia starting to bicker again as they all went out into the yard.

      ‘You realise that you will have to marry me now!’ Greville was saying, in an exasperated undertone, to which Amelia retorted,

      ‘I would rather walk across hot coals, sir!’

      They journeyed to Woodallan in bad-tempered silence.

      Woodallan lay two miles from the turnpike road, in a hollow beside a stream, sheltered by the hills behind and with a glorious vista of rolling country before it. The rain had cleared as quickly as it had come, and the house’s golden Bath stone gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. Next to Blanchland, it had always been one of Sarah’s favourite places, and now she felt a lump in her throat as the years rolled back. She remembered walking up the long lime avenue as a child, clutching her father’s hand, remembered playing hide-and-seek in the topiary garden, remembered tickling trout in the stream during the hot summers…

      The Blanchland and Woodallan estates had marched together and the families been friends since the first Baron Woodallan and Sir Edmund Sheridan had sailed the seas together as privateers under Queen Elizabeth. It had always been a family joke that Frank Sheridan had inherited his wanderlust from his ancestors.

      The carriage drew up in front of the main door and Guy jumped down to help her descend.

      ‘Welcome back,’ he said, and for a moment it seemed that he had invested the words with a greater significance.

      Sarah shrugged the thought aside. It was too dangerous for her to start to feel at home in her childhood haunts, for in a week’s time—two at the most—she would have to return to Bath and the life she was accustomed to. Time spent at Blanchland and Woodallan could only be a passing phase, but when she had planned her journey she had not spared a thought for the way in which old memories would be stirred up. She looked at Guy, who was looking up at the house with a half-smile on his lips.

      ‘It must be a great pleasure for you to be home again, my lord, after so long abroad,’ she said spontaneously, and he smiled down at her, and for a split second Sarah was happy.

      ‘Oh, it is, Miss Sheridan, for here I have all the things I most care for.’

      Again, Sarah tried not to read too much significance into his words. She turned aside and followed Amelia and Greville up the steps, reminding herself that she was vulnerable to him and must be always on her guard.

      The Countess of Woodallan was in the hall to welcome her son home, and, as word of Guy’s arrival spread, it seemed that the house was full of beaming servants all wishing to greet him. Sarah and the others hung back until the crush had lessened a little, when the Countess turned and caught sight of her.

      ‘Sarah! Good gracious, what a wonderful surprise! Forgive me for not welcoming you sooner, my dear!’ She enveloped Sarah in a warm hug. ‘And Greville! Guy…’ she swung round accusingly on her son ‘…you should have told us you were bringing a party!’

      Guy, who had been conversing quietly with his father’s steward, came forward. ‘I’m sorry for giving you no warning, Mama, but it was a spur-of-the-minute decision. Miss Sheridan and her cousin are travelling on in the morning, but I persuaded them to break their journey here tonight.’

      The Countess swallowed her disappointment well. ‘I am sorry to hear you will be leaving so soon. But perhaps—’ she smiled at Sarah ‘—you will consider visiting us again on your journey back? You could stay for Christmas! That would be most pleasant, for we have so much news to catch up on!’

      Sarah smiled a little stiffly. In the warmth of her welcome she had almost forgotten the reason for her visit, and the fact that she would be travelling on to Blanchland almost immediately. The Countess, suddenly aware of an air of constraint about her guests, turned her warm smile on Amelia. Greville stepped forward to make the introductions.

      ‘Lady Woodallan, may I present my fiancée, Lady Amelia Fenton. Lady Amelia is Miss Sheridan’s cousin.’

      ‘I am not!’ Amelia said hotly, then catching the look of amazement on her hostess’ face, stammered, ‘That is, I am Sarah’s cousin, but I am not Sir Greville’s fiancée!’

      There was an awkward silence.

      ‘I am afraid that Lady Amelia has not quite become accustomed to the idea yet, ma’am,’ Greville said easily, ignoring Amelia’s fearsome glare. ‘I must apologise for imposing on your hospitality like this, particularly when you must be wishing to have Guy to yourselves!’

      ‘You are very welcome for as long as you wish to stay,’ the Countess murmured, trying not to stare at Amelia as though she had a lunatic in the house. ‘But you look as though you were caught in the storm, my dears! I will show you to your rooms so that you may change, and send word to Cook to increase the covers for dinner. Guy, your father should have returned by then. He has driven over to Home Farm to talk to Benton about the milk yield, but I expect him back at any time!’

      ‘Before you carry Miss Sheridan away, Mama, I should like to speak with her in private,’ Guy said firmly. ‘There is a matter to be settled between us that cannot wait.’

      Sarah blushed scarlet and the Countess frowned. ‘But, Guy, Miss Sheridan will be tired from her journey, and is drenched by the rain besides! Surely it can wait a little—’

      ‘Oh, yes, indeed, ma’am,’ Sarah added hurriedly, ‘there is no urgency!’

      ‘I am desolate to contradict you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said smoothly, ‘but it is imperative that we speak now. I do not wish there to be any further misunderstandings!’

      ‘It seems to me that we have two ardent suitors here and two reluctant ladies!’ a voice said, from behind them, and Sarah swung round to see her godfather in the doorway.

      The Earl of Woodallan was leaning heavily on his stout ash stick and looked a lot older than Sarah remembered, but the expressive dark eyes, so like his son’s, were as sharp as ever. ‘Lady Amelia…’ he gave as courtly a bow as ever his son could achieve ‘…and Sarah, my dear! What a delightful surprise! And Sir Greville, too! Well, Guy—’ he turned to his son, the sardonic gleam in his eye belied by a smile ‘—good to see you back again, boy!’

      ‘Sir!’ Guy hurried forward to shake his father’s hand, and Sarah took advantage of the moment to step back, throwing her godmother a pleading glance.

      ‘If