The Enigmatic Rake. Anne O'Brien

of a lively and energetic lady, dressed in the latest fashion despite the early hour. The other was of a quieter disposition with fair curls and calm blue eyes, her morning gown neat rather than fashionable. A quiet composure governed her every movement.

      ‘Dear Sarah!’ The redhead was in no way disturbed by this announcement. ‘Why ever should you not? I enjoy having your company.’ Judith Faringdon, now Countess of Painscastle, poured tea into her china cup with a flamboyant gesture. ‘Until you have decided what you will do next, where else should you stay? You are never a burden to us.’

      ‘You have been too kind, Judith. You are my dearest friend—but I would not outstay my welcome. I have finally made some decisions,’ replied Mrs Sarah Russell, a youthful widow and mother of a nearly six-year-old son.

      ‘Ah.’ Judith took a sip of tea. ‘Will you then go back to New York? To Henry and Eleanor and the children?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Oh.’ The Countess frowned a little. ‘I was sure that you would and I know that they would make you welcome. In her letters, Eleanor writes that she misses you.’

      ‘I have thought of it,’ Sarah acknowledged. ‘But I cannot allow myself to be dependent on them either. It was bad enough that Lord Henry had to pay the cost of my passage from New York. It is time that I determined the future for myself and John.’

      ‘So what have you decided? Will you perhaps visit Thea and Nick at Aymestry?’

      ‘No.’ Another uncompromising answer.

      ‘They too would be pleased to see you. I know that Thea feels that she owes you much in achieving her present state of sublime happiness.’ Judith smiled at her romantic recollection of the recent wedding that the family had celebrated, of the love that had so palpably wrapped around Nicholas and Theodora, soft as velvet, strong as forged metal.

      Mrs Sarah Russell sighed. That was the problem. Her friends had nothing but good intentions towards her and her young son, however unlikely it might appear that they would be willing to give any thought to her happiness or comfort. Amazingly, her history had become closely interwoven with that of the Faringdons. Instrumental in aiding and abetting her brother Edward Baxendale to make a fraudulent claim against the Faringdon estate, she knew that she did not deserve any consideration from them. There were no extenuating circumstances, even though she had been driven by her conscience to unmask her brother and his trickery. But they had forgiven her, a knowledge that still had the power to warm her heart. Sarah had severed her connection irrevocably with her brother and had been taken under the collective wing of the Faringdon family.

      Sarah had aided Eleanor in her elopement to join Lord Henry, Judith’s cousin, in America, and Lord Henry had taken her in and given her a home in New York when she had most needed one. Her decision to return to England had been prompted by the fraught relationship between Lord Nicholas, Henry’s younger brother, and Sarah’s own unknown sister Theodora, an adventurous lady who had been adopted outside the family and brought up by Sir Hector and Lady Drusilla Wooton-Devereux. Reconciled to Thea, Lord Nicholas had made Sarah welcome at Aymestry Manor, both for her own sake and, of course, as a member of the family when he had married Theodora. Judith—well, Judith and Simon had simply held out the hand of friendship. Thus, Sarah knew that her debt to the Faringdons was immeasurable. She could never repay such kindness and they would never ask it of her. But it was more than time that she stood on her own two feet. For herself and her son. Her pride would allow her to be dependent no longer.

      ‘What will you do, then?’

      Sarah drew in a breath, anticipating the opposition that would meet her carefully thought-out statement, but would not be deterred. ‘I must find a position, some form of employment. I need an income and a settled home for myself and my son. John is now more than five years. He needs a home. So do I.’

      ‘Sarah! No!’ As expected, Judith put down her cup with some force.

      ‘I only have a small pension from the navy since my husband’s death.’ Sarah laid out her argument as clearly and plainly as she could. It had sounded very well at three o’clock in the morning when sleeplessness had finally forced her to weigh her options. ‘I shall receive no further income from my own family, the Baxendales, either now or any time in the future. I made an enemy of Edward, did I not, when I uncovered his nefarious pursuits? So,’ she repeated, folding the napkin on her lap with careful precision, ‘I need a position of employment and an income.’

      ‘You must not work!’ Judith was suitably aghast.

      ‘Why not? Many women in my position, women of good family who have fallen on difficult times, would find no hardship in seeking some form of occupation.’

      ‘But what would you do? Tell her, Simon! It is not suitable that Sarah take employment. Indeed it is not! I cannot imagine what my mama would say if I allowed it. Or your sister Theodora.’ Judith stopped and blinked at the prospect. ‘Although perhaps I can. Thea has a sharp tongue and an apt turn of phrase. She would be horrified.’

      The Earl lowered his paper at last. His eyes spoke of understanding and compassion for the lady’s predicament. ‘Sarah must do exactly as she wishes, my dear. Whatever it is, we will help. But I do agree, Sarah, with my wife. You must consider carefully before you take up any position that might be unsuitable for you. I understand your concern over your situation.’ He hesitated. ‘Are you sure that there is not a life for you in New York?’

      ‘No, I will not go back.’ On that one point she was adamant. ‘But thank you, Simon. I knew that you would understand. I shall remain here in England.’

      ‘And do what?’ Judith returned to the crux of the matter.

      ‘I think I could be a governess.’ Sarah’s lack of experience for any position troubled her, but at least this one, based on her own education and upbringing, held a possibility. ‘I have some skills appropriate for the education of a young lady. Or I could be a housekeeper, I expect. Would you give me references, dear Judith?’

      ‘No, I would not! I am not at all in favour and so refuse to aid and abet you in this ridiculous proposal.’ The Countess reached across the table to grasp Sarah’s restless fingers. ‘I will tell you what I think. You should marry again. You are so pretty, Sarah, it would be quite the best answer.’

      ‘Judith …!’ Sarah shook her head in frustration but returned the warm clasp. ‘I am twenty-five years old with a son. And little to recommend me in the way of good looks. Not like Thea, or Eleanor—both of them so beautiful. I fear that I would never draw all eyes if I stepped on to the dance floor at Almack’s as they would. I have no income of my own, no influential connections—nothing to recommend me. Who would consider marriage to me?’

      Judith frowned and tapped her thumb nail against her pretty teeth, ignoring much of Sarah’s reasoning, selecting the one omission in Sarah’s explanation. ‘So you are not actually averse to remarriage.’

      Sarah thought about this. A marriage of convenience? Never. The memory of her husband, John Russell, a captain in the Royal Navy, slowly crystallised in her mind. It was more than five years since he had died at sea in the final year of the Napoleonic Wars, before Waterloo. She was shocked at how unclear his image had become with the passage of time. She had been so young, he some years older, and she had been dazzled by the attention of this grave gentleman in flattering uniform with gold braid. Meeting her at the home of a distant relative in London, he had rescued her from an unsatisfactory home, carried her off and married her in the face of family disapproval. She smiled as she remembered him, a warm, caring man, considerate of his young wife’s inexperience and insecurity. It saddened her that she had seen so little of him during their brief marriage—a matter of months—and he had never set eyes on his splendid son, meeting death in a bloody skirmish at sea within weeks of the child’s birth.

      Had she loved John Russell? Well—yes … if love was a deep affection, a warm, gentle, caring emotion.

      Her mind flitted to more recent events where her memory was stronger, her emotions more recently engaged. Where she had seen