LITMIR.BIZ

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practise together before we play for others, I think.’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ he said and smiled oddly. ‘But I have interrupted you. Please continue.’

      ‘I think Arabella has sent for the tea tray,’ Sarah replied and stood up. ‘Another time, perhaps.’

      ‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said. ‘Excuse me. I am promised to Charles for a game of billiards. I shall hope to see you in the morning, Miss Hunter.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said. ‘Goodnight, Mr Elworthy.’

      She watched as he, Charles and Daniel left the room, before taking her seat close to Arabella so that she could help to pass round the tea.

      ‘John plays the pianoforte very well,’ Arabella said to her. ‘I have not seen him take an interest for a long time, but he certainly enjoyed your playing, Sarah.’

      ‘Oh, I am not as proficient as many ladies are,’ Sarah said. ‘But I like to play sometimes.’

      ‘So does John,’ Arabella said. ‘It is a pleasure you share, Sarah.’

      She looked very happy about something, which made Sarah wonder exactly what was on her mind.

      Chapter Two

      Sarah was sitting in the rose arbour reading a book of poetry when John came upon her the next morning. He paused as if fearing to intrude, smiling hesitantly when she looked up and saw him.

      ‘I did not wish to disturb you, Miss Hunter. Forgive me. I shall go.’

      ‘I hope that you will not,’ Sarah replied and closed her book. ‘It is very peaceful here. I sometimes sneak away to read for a while, but I am not averse to your company, Mr Elworthy.’

      ‘Are you escaping from someone?’ John asked and smiled as he sat down on the wooden bench next to her, being careful not to crush her gown.

      ‘From my mama,’ Sarah confided with a naughty look. ‘It is very wicked of me, but I could not resist. Poor Mama is in a cross mood this morning. She had a letter from one of her friends in Italy and something in it upset her. I do not know what. She has been scolding me for not making more of my chances while we were there.’

      ‘Your mama would perhaps like you to be married?’ John’s eyes were steady on her face.

      ‘Yes…’ Sarah felt her cheeks getting warm. ‘She thinks it is time that I put the past behind me. Indeed, I think I have done so, but…’ She shook her head. ‘It is not that I do not wish to oblige my mama, but she is too impatient and I need time.’

      ‘Perhaps you still think that you would rather not marry?’

      Sarah was silent for a moment, her head bent, cheeks pink. ‘No, it is not quite that, sir. Just that, as yet, no one that I would wish to wed has asked me.’ She turned her head as she felt his eyes on her, afraid that she might betray herself and pretending interest in a rose that was still in a tightly formed bud.

      The silence stretched between them for a few moments, and then John spoke words that sent a chill of ice into her heart. ‘I dare say you will meet someone in London. A gentleman of good birth and fortune who has a whole heart and will fall in love with you the moment he sees you.’

      ‘Yes, perhaps,’ Sarah said. She felt that the tears were very close and got quickly to her feet. ‘Excuse me, I must see if Mama has come down yet. I believe she has arranged for us to have a fitting with Arabella’s seamstress this morning. Some of the gowns we ordered in York were not well finished.’

      ‘Sarah…’ John spoke to her retreating back, silently cursing himself. He thought that perhaps he had hurt her, which was the last thing he had intended. Once he would have responded very differently to such an invitation, for he believed it had been a gentle hint that he might find favour in her eyes. ‘Damn! Damn it! Why did I not just walk away? Forgive me, Sarah. I am not worthy…not worthy of you…’

      John turned away from the house, striding out towards the woods. It was his intention to fetch his curricle and horses, which had been stabled at the inn in the village. The blacksmith would have done his work by now, and John meant to take his leave of Arabella and the others as soon as he decently could. If it were possible he would leave now, make some excuse, but it would offend his friends. He could bear it for a day or so longer, though it almost wrenched the heart out of him when Sarah looked his way and he saw hurt mirrored in her lovely eyes. Would that he could turn back the past two years! He ought to have followed Sarah to Italy as had been his intention, but he had lingered, uncertain of his reception, and then it had been too late.

      If only he had walked away from Andrea that day…if he had not listened to her pleas for help…but it was useless to look back. He had married her, given his name to her child, stood by her—and all to no avail. She had taken her own life while in a fit of despair and the sight of her lifeless body as it was taken from the river had nearly destroyed him. He had failed her. Andrea had begged for his help, but he had failed her. And now his guilt haunted him like a dark shadow at his elbow. He had nightmares, which woke him sweating with fear, and he had begun to imagine things; sometimes he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him—it was as if his late wife were haunting him.

      He had ordered that her personal belongings be packed and taken to the attics, but small things kept reappearing, tucked in amongst his own clothes as if placed there on purpose to remind him. A kerchief had been under his pillow when he went to bed the night before he left Elworthy House, and a few days earlier he had discovered her prayer book in his dressing chest; another time he had smelled her perfume in his room. It had been so strong that he had almost believed she was there.

      He did not believe that he had placed any of the items where he found them. He had questioned his housekeeper about them, but the woman denied all knowledge of Andrea’s things, except to say that they had been taken to the attics. Indeed, she had gone so far as to say she was certain the prayer book had not been in the dressing chest the previous evening when she had placed some clean linen there herself, and she had looked at John curiously as if suspecting that he had put it there. But John was certain that he had not done anything of the kind. Yet how could it have come there…unless Andrea’s unquiet spirit was haunting him?

      Surely not! John did not truly believe that such a thing was possible. He knew that he had failed Andrea, but he had not been deliberately cruel—so why was he being punished for her death? She had taken her own life by walking into the river. It was true that he had been a little irritated with her earlier that day, but he had apologised almost at once for his brusque manner. Had it really been a few cross words that had driven her to take her life? Or was it something more? Perhaps she had guessed that his feelings for her could never be more than kindness?

      They had known each other since they were children, their parents friends and neighbours. After John’s father died, Sir Andrew Walton had offered to help John put his estate in order. He had not needed his help, but he had remembered the kindness given and when Andrea had turned to him in her distress, he had done what any decent gentleman would do. Rather than let her face the shame that a wicked rape had brought upon her, he had asked her to marry him, and she had gratefully accepted. Indeed, he knew that she had hoped for it when she came to him.

      After he had married Andrea, John had tried hard to put Sarah out of his mind, but he was afraid that his wife had sensed his heart was not hers to command—that he would never love her as a man ought to love the woman he had married. John had been kind, but she had been suffering from the sickness brought on by her condition when they wed, and he had left her to sleep alone that night. After the birth, when she recovered, she had told him that he might join her in her bed, but he had told her that she was not yet well enough and she had not asked again. Somehow they had drawn apart as the days and weeks passed, and Andrea had retreated into a silent world of her own.

      They did not quarrel. Perhaps it might have been better if they had, but each treated the other with unfailing politeness, speaking when they met but never really talking. After the harsh words that morning, John had realised that this situation

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