‘Thea was brought up by Sir Hector and Lady Drusilla Wooton-Devereux. But she and Sarah are sisters.’
‘So with such a family behind her, what in the devil’s name is she doing as my housekeeper?’
‘She needed a position and an income—against my advice, I must tell you.’
‘I see.’ He tapped the papers in front of him into a neat pile with short, sharp gestures. ‘Why did you not tell me of this?’
‘You would not have approved. Even less than I. Sarah threatened to take a position elsewhere if not this one. She can be very determined. So I said nothing.’
He thought for a moment.
‘I thought she came from some genteel family who had perhaps born a child out of wedlock and been cast off by her family.’
‘No—nothing of that nature. She is indeed a widow. Her husband has been dead some five or six years now. A naval captain, killed in action.’
‘Wait a minute!’ Lord Faringdon fixed his sister with a fierce stare. ‘Baxendale. Baxendale, did you say? Edward Baxendale? Surely that was the name of the man who laid a claim against the Faringdon estates in the name of his sister—or his wife, as it turned out. I was in Paris so did not know the full gist of it, but I am aware that it rattled Lady Beatrice. She wrote to inform me of it, without one word of censure in the whole letter of my own errant behaviour, which was a miracle in itself. So—was that the name?’
‘Yes—yes, it was. Sarah is sister to Sir Edward Baxendale.’ Accepting the inevitability of it, she sat back in her chair and prepared to be communicative. Sarah would not approve, but her brother, as she knew, could be like a terrier with a rat. ‘It seems that I must tell you the whole story.’
‘I think you must.’ Joshua pushed to his feet, to limp across to the sideboard to pour two glasses of claret, handing one to Judith. ‘This may take some time.’
‘Yes. It is quite complicated.’ So she took a strengthening sip and told him. How Edward Baxendale had devised and executed a plot to present his own wife Octavia, masquerading as his sister, as the legitimate wife of Henry and Nicholas Faringdon’s eldest brother Thomas, who had died in a tragic accident. Thus Octavia would have a claim on the Faringdon estate and her child, Thomas’s son as she claimed, would be the Marquis of Burford. And how Sarah, under severe pressure from her brother, had allowed her son to be used in the charade as the son of Octavia and Thomas Faringdon and had herself taken on the role of nursemaid to the child. Such detail of which Joshua had been unaware.
‘And so,’ Judith concluded, ‘Sarah turned evidence, told Henry and Nick of the deceit, confessed her own part in it and broke all connection with her brother. Henry and Eleanor gave her refuge and—well, the rest you know. She was most cruelly treated by her brother, although she will never admit to it. She had no money of her own and the captain’s pension was very small. Edward threatened to turn her and her child from the door unless she agreed to his scheme. So she did—until she could stand the lies and deceit no more. The Faringdons took her to their collective heart. But Sarah has never forgiven herself for allowing her child to be used in the impersonation or for inflicting so much pain on Eleanor. So there you have it. The secrets and shadows in Sarah’s life. She believes that she has a debt to pay to our family and must make restitution.’ She fixed her brother with an unusually steady gaze, as if he might disagree. ‘She had been a good friend to Thea and Nick in their tumultuous love affair. I should tell you, Sher, I love her dearly and will not have her hurt.’
Joshua said no more throughout the unfolding of events, but his lips were pressed in a firm line when his sister rose to leave some hour later. Judith knew that he was not pleased. But of what troubled him most about the situation, she was unsure.
‘What the devil do you mean by this, Mrs Russell?’
Sarah had been summoned to the library. She knew it must be. And now she stood before her employer and, although his face was devoid of temper, he was finding it difficult to hide his true feelings. Probably, Sarah decided, outrage at having a Baxendale foisted on him without his knowledge. His grey eyes were dark and stormy now as they swept over her. Fierce, commanding. True Faringdon eyes. There was little point in pretending to misunderstand his furious—although patently unanswerable—question, but she had no intention of showing weakness or allowing herself to be bullied. Had she not promised herself that the days when she had bowed before a stronger will were all in the past?
‘Are you dissatisfied with my work, my lord?’ She folded her hands as Judith had seen them earlier, praying for composure. Her eyes, steady enough, met and held those of Lord Faringdon.
‘Of course I am not dissatisfied! How should I be?’
‘Then have I perhaps not fulfilled your wishes towards your daughter, sir?’
His lordship almost ground his teeth. He certainly dragged himself to his feet. He might have to lean heavily on his cane as he made his way across to the fireplace but he would be damned if he would conduct this interview sitting down. ‘Your work—or the quality of it, ma’am—is not the matter at issue here.’
‘Then I fail to understand your displeasure, my lord. If I have fulfilled the terms of my engagement as a member of your staff, I do not see the reason for your obvious disapproval.’ She marvelled at the steadiness of her voice, her ability to stand before him without flinching. She had often flinched when Edward had taken her to task. Had been reduced to tears on more than one explosive occasion. But that had been weakness. Now she was fighting for her independence. For the security and comfort of her son. Pride stiffened her backbone.
Lord Faringdon saw it, but was not to be deterred. ‘You are here as my housekeeper and my daughter’s governess under false pretences, madam.’
‘Hardly that, sir. My name is my own. I have made no attempt to hide my situation.’ Well, not very much. ‘I was appointed by your sister with your agreement. I have worked in your house for any number of weeks without difficulty or any cause for criticism.’
‘And Judith was in collusion with you, as you are very well aware!’
There was no possible answer to this. Sarah remained silent, waiting for the blow when he would surely dismiss her.
‘Why are you my housekeeper, Mrs Russell?’
‘I fail to see the reasoning behind that question, sir.’
‘The reasoning, as you put it, is that it is completely inappropriate.’ He would have paced the floor if he could. He was tempted to fling his cane into the fire-grate. ‘The daughter of a baronet? Your birth is as good as mine and yet you have put yourself in a position of servitude.’ He fumed. ‘Sister to my cousin’s wife. Close friend of my own sister—and, God help me!—my mother. You have actually lived with Judith and Simon… And with Hal and Eleanor in New York. And yet you say that you do not see why I should object?’
But why did he object so much? He looked her over with narrowed eyes. There was courage there, and an apparent fragility that had surprised a need in him to offer protection. He had been touched by her history as recounted by Judith. And astounded by the strength she had shown in asserting her independence. But was that all? Whatever stirred his blood to anger, it hardly mattered, did it? Quite simply, Mrs Russell should not be employed in his household.
‘I do not like it,’ he stated as if that settled everything. ‘It is not right.’
For Sarah, it settled nothing. ‘I can no longer live on the charity of those who have been kind enough to show me friendship. I need the money and the position, sir.’
‘Never!’
‘What do you know of such things? You have never been in the position of having to find the means to feed and clothe your child.’ A hint of desperation, even of futile anger, crept into her voice until she brought it under control with the faintest sigh. ‘What should you know of such needs, my lord?’