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      Sarah stepped into the grounds, bathed in moonlight.

      She walked away from the house, down a shrub-lined path, the night air cool on her hot cheeks. She saw that another person beside herself had found the company tedious. It was Dr. Alan Kerr.

      He saw her at the same moment that she became aware of his presence, and said, his voice low, “Did you find the crowd unendurable, too?”

      “Yes.” And then in a rush, “Oh, Alan, whatever could the governor have been thinking of? I am sure that everyone saw…”

      Sarah ran out of words as the implication of what she had just said struck home.

      Alan took both her hands and kissed them. “What did they see, Sarah?”

      She lifted her eyes to his. “You know…”

      An Unconventional Heiress

      Paula Marshall

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      PAULA MARSHALL,

      married with three children, has had a varied life. She began her career in a large library and ended it as a university academic in charge of history. She has traveled widely, has been a swimming coach and has appeared on University Challenge and Mastermind. She has always wanted to write, and likes her novels to be full of adventure and humor.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter One

      Why in the world had she travelled here to this strange continent, to a frontier town which was caught between the impassable sea and the equally impassable land? Sarah Langley, whose life seemed to have shrunk down to nothing, asked herself this question for the hundredth time since leaving England nearly six months ago.

      All that she could think of, while the long blur which was the coast of New South Wales drew nearer and nearer, was how blessed it would be to stand on dry land again, away from the cramped confines of her cabin and the heaving deck. The state of misery in which she had lived since that last dreadful meeting with Charles Villiers had increased with every nautical mile that the ship had sailed.

      Her brother John, who had reluctantly allowed her to come with him on this journey to the Antipodes, was also eager to land, but his was the eagerness of an artist’s ambition.

      ‘I can scarcely believe it, Sarah,’ he was saying, ‘but we have at last reached the promised land. I cannot wait to go ashore, to see the wonders of a new world.’

      Somehow Sarah answered him without betraying how distressed she was. The fact that she had been foolish enough to accompany him on this journey at all was a constant reproach to her and had been from the moment they had left home. Never mind that she had originally joined John in anticipating the beauties of a land lyrically described by the first travellers to it. A land where even the plants and animals were strange and wonderful.

      Sydney would need to be Paradise itself to make up for the discomforts of the long journey, which had been hardly alleviated by their stay in Rio and then at the Cape before the last leg of it was accomplished.

      When they reached Sydney, however, it was far from being Paradise. They had docked in a place that looked like all the other dismal seaports they had visited on their travels. Crowds of ill-dressed and noisy people had turned out to greet them, together with porters pushing carts, groups of soldiers, and a few, a very few, persons who might be gentlefolk. A ship’s arrival was obviously a gala day. Nor could they leave their temporary home immediately as Sarah had hoped. There were formalities to be gone through and officials to be satisfied before they could set foot on the quay.

      John, having earlier ordered his man of all work, Carter, to bring his painting materials on deck, was enthusiastically sketching the scene before them. ‘Picturesque, so picturesque,’ he kept exclaiming. Sarah wished that she, too, had had the forethought to carry her sketchbook on deck with her, but she had wrongly supposed that once the ship had docked they would instantly leave it.

      After all, they had both come to draw and paint. John was already known as an amateur of some distinction, although he had been born a country gentleman of great wealth with a seat at Prior’s Langley in Hampshire.

      Just as Sarah’s impatience and boredom reached boiling point—she told herself that she must really learn to control the temper that she had never known she possessed until Charles’s defection—there was a slight commotion on deck. Chalmers, the ship’s mate, came towards them, followed by a handsome young officer in scarlet regimentals.

      Chalmers had been one of Sarah’s silent admirers on board ship, finding, like many men, that her chestnut-coloured hair, green eyes and creamy skin, allied to a graceful figure, were quite irresistible. Although she was socially beyond his touch, he was unhappy at having to hand her over to the company of such a military peacock.

      ‘Miss Sarah Langley, Mr John Langley, I must introduce you to Lieutenant Frank Wright of the 73rd Foot, the Royal Highland Regiment. He has come aboard to look after your welfare.’

      They all bowed at one another. Young Lieutenant Wright swept off his black bicorne hat to reveal his handsome golden head. He was a trifle young, thought Sarah, who had a taste for more mature men, but good-looking, very. Lieutenant Wright’s eyes approved of her, too.

      ‘I am here,’ he announced, ‘on behalf of the Governor, Lachlan Macquarie, who, I believe, has corresponded with Mr Langley over his desire to come here to paint the native flora and fauna of New South Wales.’ He paused and bowed again.

      We shall be doing this all day, thought Sarah, who was suddenly in a fever of impatience to be off the Pomona, and found all this punctiliousness wearisome, even though John seemed to be appreciating it. He always enjoyed pomp and circumstance: Sarah was beginning to think it boring.

      ‘The Governor thought that you would most likely be tired after your long journey, and that you might welcome a few days rest at Government House, before you take up the accommodation which he has found for you in George Street. If this is agreeable to you both, I have a carriage waiting and I will take you there as soon as you have permission to leave.’

      ‘With

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