Regency Christmas Vows. Anne Herries

stop you! But be warned, Guy—Miss Sheridan is no fool! She will see through your schemes! And as for Lady Amelia, well, I would not like to be in your shoes if she takes you in dislike!’ His gaze fell on the one red rose that Guy had rescued from the street and which he still held in one hand.

      ‘Must you walk round carrying that thing?’ he besought. ‘Devil take it, Guy, you look like a cursed dandy!’

       Chapter Two

      ‘Sarah! You cannot return to Blanchland! I absolutely forbid it! Why, your reputation would be in shreds as soon as you crossed the threshold!’

      Lady Amelia Fenton, her kittenish face creased into lines of deep distress, threw herself down onto the sofa beside her cousin. ‘Besides,’ she added plaintively, ‘you know that you detest what Ralph Covell has done to the house, and have never wanted to set foot there again!’

      Sarah sighed, reflecting that the only positive thing about the current situation was that it had successfully deflected Amelia from bewailing the loss of the red roses. She had been beside herself to discover that her artistic centrepiece was ruined—until Sarah had casually mentioned her plan to travel to Blanchland on the day following the ball.

      Amelia got to her feet again and paced energetically up and down before the fireplace. She looked quite ridiculous, for she was far too small to flounce about. All Amelia’s features were small but perfectly proportioned, in contrast to her fortune which was big enough to make her one of Bath’s most sought-after matrimonial prizes.

      Realising from Sarah’s expression that she looked absurd, Amelia sat down again, frowning. ‘I know you think I am making a cake of myself, Sarah, but I am truly concerned for your welfare!’ She sounded small and hurt. ‘Whatever you say, it will be the ruin of you to go there!’

      Sarah sighed again. ‘Forgive me, Milly! I must go. It is at Frank’s request—’

      ‘Your brother has been dead these three years!’ Lady Amelia said incontrovertibly. ‘It seems to me that it is asking a great deal to expect you to grant his requests from beyond the grave!’

      Sarah, reflecting that her cousin had no notion quite how much Frank was indeed asking of her, tried to console her.

      ‘It will not be for long, I promise, and it is no great matter. I am sure Sir Ralph cannot really be so bad—’

      ‘Ralph has made Blanchland a byword for licentiousness and depravity!’ Amelia said strongly. ‘You may pretend that you are happy to accept this commission, but you know it will ruin you! What can be so important to force you back there? Oh, I could murder Frank were it not that he is dead already!’

      Sarah burst out laughing. ‘Oh Milly, I truly wish that I could confide in you, but I have been sworn to secrecy! It is a most delicate matter—’

      ‘Fiddle!’ Lady Amelia said crossly. She looked at her cousin and her anger melted into rueful irritation. She could never be cross with Sarah for long.

      ‘Oh, I am sorry, my love! I know you were most sincerely attached to your brother and that you believe you are doing the right thing, but…’ Her voice trailed away unhappily.

      ‘I know.’ Sarah patted her hand. At four and twenty she was Amelia’s junior by five years, yet often felt the elder of the two. It was Amelia who rushed impetuously at life, Amelia whose reckless impulses could so often lead to trouble if not tempered by the wise counsel of her younger cousin. Amelia, widowed for five years, still seemed as heedless as a young debutante. Yet now it was she who was counselling caution and Sarah who was set on a foolhardy course.

      ‘And to travel now!’ Amelia said fretfully. ‘Why, it is but two weeks to Christmas and I am sure we are in for some snow!’

      ‘I am sorry, Milly, it is just something I feel I must do—’

      ‘Excuse me, madam.’ Sarah broke off as Chisholm, Amelia’s butler, stepped softly into the room. ‘There are two gentlemen here to see you—’

      ‘I am not at home!’ Amelia cried vexedly. ‘Really, Chisholm, you know that I am not receiving!’

      ‘Yes, ma’am, but you did give orders that Sir Greville—’

      ‘Greville!’ Amelia cried. ‘Why did you not say so, Chisholm? What are you waiting for? Show him in at once!’

      Not a muscle moved in the butler’s impassive face. ‘Very well, madam.’

      Sarah, repressing a smile, wondered whether Amelia appreciated the long-suffering patience of her servants. They were all most sincerely attached to her, despite her grasshopper mind.

      ‘Sir Greville! How do you do, sir? I had no notion you were returned from London!’

      Amelia, her ill temper forgotten, smiled sunnily as her visitors were shown into the room. Indeed, Sarah felt that a less good-natured man than Sir Greville Baynham might have read far more into the warmth of his welcome than was intended. Greville had been Amelia’s most constant admirer for the last few years and though she showed every evidence of enjoying his company, she had never accepted any of his proposals of marriage. Sarah privately thought that, should Sir Greville’s attentions be permanently withdrawn, Amelia would miss him rather more than she anticipated. Unfortunately her cousin showed no sign of recognising that fact.

      ‘Lady Amelia,’ Greville was saying formally, ‘please allow me to present Viscount Renshaw. Guy is staying with me at Chelwood for a few days. Guy, this is Lady Amelia Fenton and…’ he turned to smile at Sarah ‘…her cousin, the Honourable Miss Sarah Sheridan, whom I believe you have already met.’

      Sarah’s heart had skipped a beat as she recognised the tall figure following Greville Baynham into Amelia’s elegant drawing-room. Guy Renshaw. What dreadful bad luck that he should appear again just when she had succeeded in banishing from her mind that wicked smile and those disturbing dark eyes. And worse, it seemed she had been correct all along in recognising him, though there was little resemblance between the gangling youth who had once teased her mercilessly and this very personable man.

      Guy Renshaw sketched an elegant bow. ‘Lady Amelia, how do you do? I have heard much about you!’ His voice was low-pitched and very agreeable, as melodious as Sarah remembered from that morning. She found that her heart was beating fast and had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

      Amelia blushed and smiled as she gave the Viscount her hand. Sarah tried not to laugh. Judging by the rueful look on his face, Greville might be regretting introducing his friend to the lady he ardently wished to marry! Amelia was quite the most dreadful flirt and did not deserve his devotion whilst Guy Renshaw, as Sarah now knew, could scarcely be trusted.

      ‘And, Miss Sheridan…’ Lord Renshaw turned to her. There was a smile playing around the corners his mouth. He really was quite shockingly attractive and Sarah was sure that he knew it. The thought served to calm her. She would not provide the confirmation!

      ‘Not only have you and I have met before, ma’am,’ the Viscount was saying, ‘but I would go so far as to say that we were childhood friends!’

      ‘Were you indeed, Sarah?’ Amelia’s eyes were bright with curiosity as they moved from one to the other. ‘How intriguing!’

      Sarah looked at Guy Renshaw very deliberately and saw his smile deepen into challenge as he awaited her response.

      ‘Lord Renshaw mistakes,’ she said slowly. ‘We were never childhood friends.’

      It gave her a certain satisfaction to see the swift flash of surprise in his eyes. Guy Renshaw, Sarah thought, was all too sure of himself and his power to attract.

      ‘How could we be,’ she added sweetly, ‘when Lord Renshaw spent the whole time tormenting me with spiders and toads? I do believe I thought him an odious boy!’

      Amelia gave a peal of laughter. ‘Dear me,