‘He told you that?’ Sarah could not imagine a brother regaling his sister with such salacious detail. Clearly he had.
‘Yes. I did think…I wonder why? But perhaps he thought that news would spread and lose nothing in the telling—so he would tell me the truth first.’
‘I suppose.’ Sarah hid her doubts—could the gossip be worse then the truth?—but decided that perhaps the reason for the detailed letter was irrelevant.
‘Furthermore—’ anger now flashed in Judith’s eyes and her voice began to rise, regardless of the proximity of the nursemaid ‘—he informs me that he will be bringing with him to London none other than the Countess of Wexford. Would you believe it!’
Sarah remained complacent enough. ‘I think I do not know the lady.’
‘Of course not. No one of good ton would claim to know the Countess of Wexford!’ Bristling with disgust, Judith abandoned the letter and snapped her parasol into place as a stray sunbeam slanted across the garden. ‘I expect that you will not have crossed her path. She is a lady of considerable presence and…and questionable morals. Rumour says that her origins are not what they might be. Merchant class from Dublin.’ Judith wrinkled her nose. ‘But she is quite lovely, a widow, titled and with enough wealth to take her place in polite society. She is accepted by everyone except the highest sticklers—you can meet her anywhere, but she would never achieve tickets of admission for Almack’s. It is generally accepted that she is on the hunt for a lover or a husband. I presume she is Joshua’s mistress! And, would you believe, will be living in the house with him in Hanover Square.’
‘Oh! She will?’ Lord Faringdon’s new housekeeper did not know what she felt about this revelation, but still decided that, in truth, it would have little bearing on her own position.
The Countess of Painscastle thought no such thing. ‘Indeed, Sarah, it is not suitable for you to take on the running of that house. I would even go so far as to forbid it!’
‘Judith…’ Sarah sighed as she watched her son’s limitless energy as he dashed about the garden. ‘Your care for me overwhelms me—but I really do not see why I should not take the post. If Lord Faringdon takes the Countess of Wexford as his mistress, it will make no difference to my position in organising the smooth running of the house or in my appointment as governess to his daughter. And if your brother does not intend to remain here in London any longer than the brief life of the scandal in Paris—then I do not see the problem. Perhaps he will continue to employ me as governess when he leaves, if he approves my work. Presumably the child will then return to Richmond and I could go there with her. My reputation is in no danger, Judith. I see no problem.’
‘It will not be a respectable establishment, Sarah! That will be the problem! And although I hate to admit it, my brother appears to have abandoned all honour and principles expected of a gentleman. To have the Countess of Wexford living with him under the same roof. It is quite disgraceful. I am sure that you take my meaning. I hesitate to say this about my own brother, but you may not be safe in such a household.’
Sarah did understand, all too clearly, but knew with a lowering of spirits that her friend’s concern was not necessary. In a perverse manner, she almost found herself wishing that it was, that she was sufficiently beautiful and desirable to attract the attentions of a notorious rake. There was never any hope of that—not even when she was a young girl. When she looked in her mirror, she accepted what she saw there. Her fair curls did not have the brightness, her blue eyes lacked intensity, her pale skin would have benefited from a hint of delicate colour. No. Sarah Russell would never take the eye of Lord Joshua Faringdon. So she expressed her sentiments with a wry smile and typical honesty. ‘Judith…Lord Faringdon is hardly likely to look at me, now is he? Particularly if an attractive woman such as the Countess is more than willing to accommodate his advances. I am not beautiful. I have no talent or skill beyond the average with which to attract his attention. He will see me as the housekeeper, a servant below stairs. Which is exactly what I shall be. That is if he notices me at all! And if the Countess of Wexford moves on to hunt in other pastures, as you put it, there will always be the ladies of Covent Garden to claim your brother’s attention.’ She silenced Judith’s objections with a little shake of her head. ‘His conduct in the house will have no influence on my life whatsoever. He can have any number of mistresses. He can hold orgies if he wishes. It is simply that this position is too advantageous for me to reject!’
Chapter Three
Within the week, before she could weaken and change her mind, Sarah saw to the packing up of her few possessions and those of her son, and their transportation over the short distance to Lord Joshua Faringdon’s town house in Hanover Square. She herself followed immediately. Hugged and kissed by Judith, they shed a few tears because, although the Countess of Painscastle promised to come and see her friend, and was lavish in invitations that Sarah should bring herself and John to visit in Grosvenor Square any time she wished, both were well aware of the social divide that Sarah was creating by her wilful decision. But go she would. As she stood on the shallow flight of steps leading to the imposing front door, flanked by decorative ironwork, John’s hand clasped firmly in hers, she wondered what the future would hold for her here, whether she would ever find the acceptance and depth of happiness that she yearned for. But for now she would settle for satisfaction in her new position and a sense of redemption.
Sarah discovered other members of the new household already in occupation and hard at work. The house, elegant and spacious with well-proportioned rooms and tasteful furnishings, had been closed up for more than a year, furniture shrouded in dust sheets and shutters closed. Newly appointed footmen and maids were already cleaning and organising under the strict eye of Judith’s butler Matthews, who had been sent to cast his experienced eye over the proceedings. For the moment, Sarah was pleased to leave the reins in his capable hands.
Sarah first took herself to the kitchen and sculleries to discover and make the acquaintance of the ruler of this little kingdom. Mrs Beddows was a small, thin, nervy woman who had already organised her domain to her exacting standards. Fortunately she appeared not to mind a small boy and sat him down at the scrubbed table, with strict instructions for him not to get under her feet, to drink a glass of milk whilst she cross-examined his mama. After half an hour, Sarah found herself in possession of detailed knowledge of every maid and footman under her authority and decided that she and Mrs Beddows would get along.
Instinct warned her that it would be a different tale with the new butler. Mr Alfred Millington, he informed her within condescending tones and a smooth smile. Former butler at Orford Place to the Marquis and Marchioness of Gainsford. Sarah did not like him. And why was he no longer engaged at Orford Place? Opinionated and superior, conscious of his own elevated status as butler in a gentleman’s establishment, he looked down his thin nose at her. And he made it plain that he did not like small boys. Sarah adopted a cool professional smile and determined to try hard to get on with this individual—she did not desire to make enemies unnecessarily—but he would bear watching. The rest of the new servants were still nameless faces. It would all fall into place eventually.
The house gradually began to come to life as dust and covers were removed. Oriental silk curtains and hangings were brushed and washed and fires were lit in cold rooms. It was sparsely furnished as yet, but perhaps his lordship would do something to remedy that if he planned to remain in London for any length of time. Sarah walked round her new responsibility, enjoying the stillness and order that they were creating, at the same time trying to absorb some sense of the absent owner. There was nothing. No personal possessions, no atmosphere