‘Yes.’
He positioned her head more comfortably in the curve of his shoulder and kept his arms firmly around her. Why did he get the strongest feeling that she would escape if given the chance?
‘Joshua?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Will you stay with me?’ There was the faintest suggestion of surprise here as if she expected him to retire to his own room. Perhaps she did. Indeed, if she were honest, perhaps she wished it. Again he was conscious of a ripple of disillusion, but if she would not be completely honest, he would.
‘It is my intention. But only if you wish me to do so. If you wish for time alone, I will give you that seclusion.’
There was a silence. She was thinking about it and he had no idea what she would say.
‘Sarah?’
‘I would like you to stay with me.’
‘Then it will be my pleasure.’ The relief in his heart seemed to him totally out of keeping with her simply stated desire. He tucked the covers around her, around both of them. ‘Go to sleep, my dear girl. There is nothing to worry you now.’
But Sarah did not sleep. Without doubt she was weary, but her mind could not rest. It played over and over the events of the past hour. Causing her to flinch at her naïveté and lack of confidence. At her lack of suitable words to say to him, when he had been so tender, so considerate of her. What could she possibly say to him? That he had awakened emotions and sensations of which she had never been aware, wonderful sensations that drove a flush to her cheeks? She could not tell him that, could not admit to such lack of knowledge. So why had she not been able to give as freely as he had given her? She did not know the answer to that. And yet Joshua had made her feel cherished, wanted, desired. How skilled he had been. Just the thought of the power of his clever hands roused shivers along her flesh. All she could do was hope that he had been satisfied with her poor efforts. The dread spectre of the Countess of Wexford returned once more to the edge of her mind, to stand beside the bed with a disdainful lift to her perfect brows. She could never be like the Countess—confident, experienced, knowing—no matter how long she lived, no matter how tolerant her lord could continue to be. Sarah sighed against his chest. He had been honourable enough to pretend that she had been everything he had wanted. She must try harder to achieve that so that he would not turn from her in dissatisfaction.
Because if she had known before that she had loved him, it was now engraved in her heart, for all time, in letters of pure gold.
Lord Joshua held her, aware of her wakefulness, guessing at the swirling pattern of thoughts that refused to permit her mind to sink into sleep. But he said nothing, allowing her the pretence, conscious only of her softness against him. It seemed that for tonight he must be satisfied with her willingness to rest in his arms and was relieved when at last exhaustion claimed her and her breathing settled. She slid into sleep with a little sigh. It would not be an easy marriage, he realised. She was too tense, too nervous, too much embattled by fears and past influences. But they had made a start and it would improve. He smiled at the direction of his thoughts. He would like nothing better than that she could find it in her to come to him with joy and pleasure, with confidence, to find fulfilment in his arms.
The thought remained with him, one of hope, as he, too, drifted into unconsciousness.
Chapter Eight
Rather than a more conventional honeymoon, perhaps in the Italian Lakes or on the romantic shores of the Adriatic, Lord and Lady Joshua Faringdon took themselves, the children and their household to the attractive estate on the edge of Richmond. After the flurry of activity to prepare for the wedding, by the bride at least, the rural tranquillity was a blessing, and an opportunity for the new family to become better acquainted. And not merely the bride and groom. Sarah would have been particularly interested in a private conversation between Lord Joshua Faringdon and Master John Russell when she was not present. She might have blushed at her son’s blunt style, but she would not have been surprised and would certainly not have been displeased at the outcome.
‘Sir.’ Joshua looked up to see the boy standing just inside the open library door one morning, the opportunity still there for flight if his courage failed him. ‘Sir… Will you now be my father?’
Ah. He should have expected this—but perhaps not quite so soon. John, it seemed, was as expedient as his mother. Joshua held out his hand to encourage the child to approach. ‘No. Your father is Captain John Russell, for whom you are named.’ And waited.
‘Yes.’ John nodded. ‘He was a hero and died in a battle. Mama told me. He sailed a ship all by himself.’
‘He did.’
‘He was very brave, but he died.’ A thoughtful pause as John leaned against the polished desk, rubbing the edge with none-too-clean fingers. ‘Does Mama like you?’
‘I hope so.’ Joshua fought against the irresistible ripple of laughter that threatened his composure. ‘She likes me enough to live with me.’
Which was accepted with a nonchalant shrug. ‘Will we always live here, sir?’
‘Some of the time.’ A catechism, no less! Much like Lady Beatrice, he decided, so he was well practised in fielding questions. But where was this leading?
‘Where else? Shall I like it?’
‘In London, which you know. I have an estate in Yorkshire that I think you will like. And perhaps one day you will come with me to Paris.’
‘Can I ride a horse in Yorkshire?’ Paris as yet had no such attraction. ‘I used to in New York. I was very good!’
Considering his age, Joshua doubted it, but recognised the ambition and had no intention of shattering dreams. He kept his face solemn despite the gleam in his eyes. ‘Of course. And here too. We can ride in the Park.’
‘I like horses more than ships,’ the boy confided. ‘I was sick when we sailed here. Will Beth be my sister?’
The change of subject did not throw his lordship. ‘Yes. Does that worry you?’
‘No.’ John glanced at his lordship under fair brows, assessing. ‘She likes her own way.’
‘I expect she does. Women often do. They enjoy managing.’ Joshua leaned his arms on the desk, angled his head, still waiting.
John frowned, accepting but not quite understanding. ‘I can almost run as fast as she can.’ Then: ‘What do I call you?’
So this was it. There was a lot of Sarah in this splendid child.
Not just his colouring, but his squared shoulders and determined stance. And his courage. The unknown Captain Russell should be very proud of his son, as should his mama. Perhaps one day… But there was a serious matter to be settled here.
‘Can I suggest…’ Joshua’s reply was gentle, full of understanding of the child’s insecurities. ‘Captain Russell is your father and for now you will keep his name. But you could call me Papa, as Beth does. That might be easier. Do you think?’
John thought. ‘Yes, sir. Papa. I can do that.’ His face was lit by a sudden disarming grin. ‘I’m glad I asked. I must go now. Mama says I still have to have lessons.’
He ran to the door in some relief.
‘John…’
‘Yes…Papa?’
‘Ah… it does not matter.’ He did not know what he wished to say after all. ‘This afternoon we will ride in the park.’
‘Yes!’And left.
Which was a pretty good outcome for a morning’s work.
When Sarah heard her son address Joshua as Papa for the first time that very afternoon, her head whipped round, a range