The rooms set aside for her own use, high under the eaves, had traditionally been used as nursery and schoolroom, but were surprisingly spacious. A small private sitting room and bedchamber for herself, a smaller room for her son and then the schoolroom. Lacking the elegance and comfort of the family rooms of course, but not unacceptable. Beyond it were two rooms cleaned and prepared for the imminent arrival of Miss Celestine Faringdon. She inspected them all with John in tow.
‘Do we live here now, Mama?’ He bounced on the bed that would be his own.
‘Yes. Will you like it?’ She ran a finger along the edge of a small table to check for dust.
He thought for a moment. ‘Yes. Mrs Beddows gave me a sugared biscuit. She said that when Lord Faringdon comes there will be horses in the stable and I can go and see them.’
‘I expect she is right.’ Sarah smiled. Horses were her son’s present passion.
‘Has the little girl come yet?’ John dashed before her into the schoolroom. ‘From the country?’
No.’ Celestine was expected any day. ‘We must try to make her welcome. She will not know anyone in London. Think what it must be like, if everyone is a stranger.’
Opening a cupboard and finding it empty, shutting it again, John came to stand beside Sarah, suddenly anxious. ‘Will you be her mama as well?’
‘No.’ She ruffled his hair, which made him jump out of reach with a squawk. ‘I shall teach her—and you, both of you together. Her papa will soon be here.’
‘Where is her mama? Is she still in France?’ Sarah raised her brows at this evidence that her son listened in to the conversations around him. He was beginning to grow up. It surprised her that she felt a little sad at the prospect.
‘No. Her mama is dead.’
‘Like my papa.’ John pushed a pile of books neatly together, simple acceptance in his voice.
‘Yes. Like your papa.’ Sarah felt a sudden rush of loneliness to meld with the sadness. Then took herself to task. This was no good. She would soon be sinking in a fit of melancholia! They now had everything she had dreamed of. A home and a paid position that would allow them to live dependent on no one for charity. She had still to hear what her sister Thea might have to say to this change in her circumstances. As horrified as Judith and far more outspoken, if Sarah knew anything about it. But she did not care. Self-esteem was a very important thing, and, whatever Judith might say to the contrary, the need to make recompense to the family she had almost helped to destroy. The whole episode had left a stain, ugly and hauntingly persistent, on her soul. But now she nodded as she watched John climb on to the window seat to peer down into the Square, laughing excitedly at his height from the ground and the sudden swooping proximity of a flock of sparrows. Yes. She had done the right thing. She held out her hand to John.
‘Let us go and look at Celestine’s room, and see that it has been made ready for her.’
For better or worse, she was now a housekeeper.
* * *
Meanwhile, in Paris Lord Joshua Faringdon was making his own preparations to transfer his life to London, in the company, as advised by Wycliffe, of the Countess of Wexford. It would have surprised his sister beyond measure to know that her brother found the highly decorative lady to be everything that Judith had described to Sarah. Possessor of a beautiful face, an elegant figure, a range of talents that made her much sought after in some social circles for her undoubted charm, her outer beauty hid a grasping and selfish soul. The smiling lips and glittering eyes, the low provocative voice, were knowing and could be sly. They also masked an utter determination to achieve what would be in the best interests of Olivia Wexford. Her dead husband, Lord Joshua considered, sent to an early grave by a fall from a horse when hunting in the Shires, had had a lucky escape.
But without doubt the lady had her uses. Lord Joshua Faringdon would be seen and condemned by all as an unprincipled dilettante, returning to London in the midst of a scandal of the worst possible kind, in the company of his present mistress. Not only a lady of dubious morals, but one who was prepared to live openly with him under his own roof in Hanover Square. The ton could make of that what they would—and he could imagine every whispered aside. But nothing could be better in covering up his underground activities or the true reason for his return. No one would find a need to look beyond the obvious.
At the same time, he realised, as he sat at his desk to put his paperwork in order, he need feel no guilt over the masquerade. Olivia had been highly delighted to be invited to accompany him to London and made no attempt to hide it. The delicacy of his invitation had been lost on her. He might be little less than crippled with his broken ribs and damaged tendons, but Olivia smiled into his eyes and offered her lips for a kiss. Blatantly offered far more than that when he could manage to climb the stairs to her room without the use of a cane, when he was capable of pleasuring her body with finesse and some physical dexterity. She would like nothing better than to be his mistress and would enjoy ruling over his establishment in London, notwithstanding the resulting gossip. She might even hold out for marriage if she thought it worth her while to become Lady Joshua Faringdon. He stopped to think about that, his hands stilled on a pile of documents, a line engraved between his brows. She was without doubt an attractive woman. And he was not averse to a light flirtation when the object of his gallantry was so willing and responsive.
But no. He frowned at his wayward thoughts and continued to shuffle. His experience with the fair sex had not been felicitous and had left him with a sharp and lingering distrust. A woman’s professed love was conditional on the depth of a man’s purse. Or the value and sparkle of the jewels an unwise man might clasp around her elegant neck. And once she had you in her clutches, her claws would not willingly let go until all blood had been drained, uncomfortably like a leech—his lips twitched in semblance of a smile. Manipulative and untrustworthy. In his mind the image of Marianne was suddenly superimposed over that of Olivia Wexford until he deliberately blinked it away with gritted teeth, smile transformed into a cynical snarl. He would not allow himself to contemplate that episode of marital bliss again. Or willingly repeat it.
No. He would feel no guilt over the fair Olivia’s unwitting role in his return to London. She would get as much out of it as he did. But it struck him forcibly that the greater the distance he could keep between the woman and himself on a personal level the better. Not an easy task but an essential one. For, without doubt, Olivia Wexford had an eye to his body and his bed as well as his guineas.
The days passed, but Celestine Faringdon did not arrive in Hanover Square. No matter how many times John might rush into the entrance hall at the sound of a coach or large vehicle in the street, there was no sign and no letter to explain the delay. Sarah contemplated sending to apply to Judith to discover the whereabouts of the little girl, but decided that she should not. She must learn to accept her new position of service—where the actions of her employers and their family were no concern of hers.
The cleaning and polishing of the house was complete at last, flowers arranged in the reception rooms, the pantries and cellars stocked, all in readiness for the imminent arrival. Then there was nothing for the staff to do but wait on the inclinations of their betters.
So that as chance would have it, when a large and fashionably smart coach and four finally arrived to draw up outside the house early on a bright morning, luggage piled high on the roof, no one within was prepared.
‘Mama! Mama! She is here. The little girl is here.’ John jumped and hopped in excitement by the window flanking the front door. No matter