Sarah had never been on intimate terms with the Lancing girls, but long acquaintance made chatting with them second nature. The other three guests were less easy to entertain. Lydia proved as silent in feminine company as she was in masculine. Lady Catherine looked disparagingly about the parlour and commented on the lack of s.p.a.ce for a pianoforte. Miss Brennan, with no gentleman present to admire her, sulked until the talk turned to fashion, and then attempted to monopolize the conversation. In this she had little success; she was Eliza's friend and both Louise and Mary had considerable expertise in the art of quashing younger sisters.

Mary also managed to put Lady Catherine in a position where she was forced to make Sarah free with her Christian name. Gravely returning the privilege, Sarah hid a smile. When she and Lydia had greeted each other informally, Louise had looked smug. It seemed Mary was afraid her sister had taken a point in the battle for Adam's favour.

Miss Brennan's mentor was not present to urge her to follow suit, but the daughter of an Irish viscount could hardly hold back when the daughter of an English earl led the way. In no time Sarah found herself with the doubtful felicity of being on first-name terms with all of Adam's prospective brides.

Vanessa (lately Miss Brennan) and Lydia both brightened visibly when Jonathan came in from a parish visit. After their guests had left, Sarah laughingly teased her brother about this.

"I believe Miss Brennan would welcome a carter's lad if there were no other male present to minister to her vanity," he answered with a grin. "Even a humble vicar is grist for her mill when no more worthy gentleman is about."

"She is very like Eliza, is she not? Her looks fill her mind to the exclusion of all else. However, Eliza seems sincerely attached to her Lord Moffatt, so perhaps Vanessa will learn to appreciate Adam properly if he chooses her. Lydia is another matter, though. She talked to Adam quite happily about his orphanages, yet on other subjects she is dumb. With you she is more comfortable even than with me."

"If a vicar cannot put a shy child at ease, he is not worthy of his cure. She is an unsophisticated innocent, but there is enough kindness in Adam to win her over in time."

"If he should choose to. I begin to think it somewhat unfair of Lady Cheverell to confront him with this situation."

After dinner, the Meades drove to Cheve House for the musical evening. A new guest was present, Lady Cheverell's brother, Sir Reginald Makepeace. An intimate of the Prince Regent, he was a rotund gentleman, an inveterate gossip with an endless fund of amusing anecdotes. Sarah liked him and went willingly to join him when he beckoned to her.

"What a welcome, eh, missy?" he grumbled. "If I'd known what m'sister had in store for this evening, I'd have arrived tomorrow."

"Of course you are used to the finest professional musicians, sir. Our amateur efforts cannot compare."

"'Tis true Prinny always hires the best for his musical entertainments. However, I am not above being pleased and I seem to recall a ditty you and your brother and m'nephew performed some years since."

"It is hardly fitting for such elegant company, sir, but if it will amuse you to hear it again, I daresay I can persuade them."

"Do that. You're a sensible woman, m'dear." He beamed at her with far more fondness than he had ever displayed for any of his nieces.

Since Mary had had a hand in arranging the evening, inevitably Lady Catherine was the chief performer. Mary's harp had been unearthed from some lumber room and refurbished, and her protegee played several pieces upon this and upon the pianoforte. Her performance was polished, even brilliant at times, but Sarah thought it lacking in any deeper feeling.

She was castigating herself as an old cat when Sir Reginald leaned towards her and observed, "All surface show. That's enough of that. Time to put the rest through their paces." He raised his voice. "Miss Brennan, will you not favour us with a tune?"

Lady Catherine cast him a look of dislike but gave up her seat. Miss Brennan glided forward in her inimitable style. Her pose at the piano displayed her figure to advantage, distracting the attention of the gentlemen, at least, from her wooden performance. She sang a romantic ballad to her own accompaniment, but the work of art was her curtsy afterwards.

"Miss Meade's turn," said Sir Reginald promptly, before Miss Brennan could begin another song.

"Oh yes," seconded Lady Cheverell. "Will you and Jonathan do that lovely duo from Orpheus and Euripides? I have not heard it in years."

"Nor have we sung it in years, ma'am," Sarah admitted wryly, "but if Mary will accompany us as she used to we will attempt it."

Gluck's music was unforgettable, and where Sarah forgot the words she filled in with syllables she hoped sounded Italian. Jonathan performed his part with aplomb.

"Well done, Orpheus," she said from the corner of her mouth as they acknowledged the polite clapping.

"Well done, yourself, Eurydice, or should I say Euripides?"

"Lady Cheverell's malapropisms are a constant delight, are they not? Sir Reginald wants to hear 'Widecombe Fair.' Shall we oblige?"

"By all means. Adam, we need your talents!" After a minor argument about the order of the names in the chorus, they embarked upon the adventures of Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whidden, 'Arry 'Awke, old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all. As always, Adam's version of a Devonshire accent was the highlight of the folk song. Halfway through the audience began to join in, with much confusion, and they ended to tumultuous applause.

Sir Reginald winked at Sarah. "Livened it up a bit, eh?" he said.

The uproar died down and Louise took charge. "Lydia will sing to us now," she proclaimed. "Come, my dear, there is no need to be afraid. The Mozart, I think, and I shall play for you."

"What the deuce is m'niece up to?" wondered Sir Reginald as an unwilling Lydia was coaxed and bullied into compliance. "She looks like the cat that stole the cream."

Lydia's voice was tremulous at first, but after a few bars she lost her self-consciousness and her clear, true soprano rang through the room. Even Louise's enthusiastic but erratic accompaniment could not detract from the glory of the sound. The aria ended in a breathless hush, succeeded by a clamour of approval. Crimson-cheeked, Lydia fled from the room.

"She is not used to any audience but her family," explained Louise with a triumphant smile. "I shall go after her."

Sarah caught Jonathan's eye and a glance of comprehension pa.s.sed between them. He intercepted Louise on her way out of the drawing room, and Sarah knew he was persuading her not to drag poor Lydia back to face the congratulations.

Adam wandered over to Sarah's side. "One in the eye for Mary," he observed. "Little Miss Davis cast even her prodigy into the shade and made the rest of us look nohow."

"That's shockingly ungallant of you, nevvy," reproved his uncle.

"Oh, I can say anything to Sarah. She will not take offense."

If he says that one more time, thought Sarah, I shall scream.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Though Sarah had been too young for Louise's masquerade, she had since attended many b.a.l.l.s at Cheve. She had always enjoyed them, never having suffered the ignominy of being a wallflower. In fact, it was on those occasions that she had met the gentlemen who subsequently offered for her hand, only to be refused. How could she accept Sir Martin Waytsley or Mr. Gervaise Riggs when she remembered all too clearly her last dance with Adam?

She was not looking forward to the coming ball, and she was not sure why. There was no reason to suppose she would lack for partners. Jonathan had reserved the first dance; Mr. Swanson and Lord James Kerridge had already begged her to save them each a set; Lady Cheverell's sons-in-law might be relied upon for a few more; and the gentlemen of the local gentry were unlikely suddenly to decide to ignore her. To be sure, with three young ladies to court, Adam might not have time to stand up with her, but that was a poor reason for her reluctance to attend. Nonetheless, she was reluctant.

"I believe I shall claim a headache on Sat.u.r.day," she said impulsively to Jonathan at breakfast on Thursday.

In his surprise he swallowed a morsel of toast the wrong way and choked. As soon as pats on the back and a mouthful of tea allowed, he gasped out, "Why on earth would you do such a nonsensical thing?"

"I am quite on the shelf by now and it is unbecoming in an old maid to put herself forward."

"Fustian! Even if you were so prim and proper as to believe that, it is not true that you are on the shelf, my dear. Only look at the way Swan and Kerry follow you about."

"What has that to say to anything? According to Adam they are both confirmed bachelors. Besides, I have nothing to wear."

"So now we come to the crux of the matter." Jonathan laughed. "Go into Salisbury and buy yourself a new ball gown. I suppose it is too late to have one made up in time, but surely you can find something suitable and have it altered."

"The new styles are so simple that I daresay it would be possible," admitted Sarah grudgingly.

He gave her no chance to raise further objections. Dapple was. .h.i.tched to the gig and Sarah drove off with Mrs. Hicks beside her, delighted at the rare opportunity to visit the superior shops of Salisbury.

When they returned, some eight hours later, the gig was full of packages. Most were of a prosaic domestic nature, but one bore the name of Salisbury's premiere modiste and contained, swathed in tissue paper, a delightful confection of gold net over white satin. No one could have guessed that the rouleau around the hem had been rapidly added by expert fingers to allow for Miss Meade's slender height. The white satin corsage, embroidered with gold thread, was somewhat lower than Sarah was accustomed to. She consoled herself with the certainty that Vanessa's and Eliza's necklines would be lower still.

The gown had not been cheap. After spending so much money, she was committed to going to the ball.

During her absence, Adam, Swan and Kerry had called, ostensibly to deliver an invitation to dinner that evening. The three gentlemen spent a part of every day at the vicarage, sometimes accompanied by other members of the party. Since she and Jonathan were invited daily to Cheve House, Sarah had ample opportunity to observe Adam's behaviour toward Lydia, Catherine and Vanessa. As far as she could tell, he treated them with absolute impartiality. Lady Catherine amused him, he enjoyed looking at Vanessa, and he was patiently gentle with Lydia. If he had any preference, he did not show it.

Swan suggested a reason for this when he said, "It's my belief he don't care to let one of his sisters lord it over t'others while he's stuck in the same house!"

Sarah found it painful to watch Adam doing the pretty to three eligible young ladies. She frequently reminded herself that she had never had any real hope of him seeing her in a romantic light. It was ridiculous to dread the ball.

She devoted considerable thought to the matter and at last worked out why this ball was different from the many she had enjoyed. Adam used to be the unreachable G.o.d. She had been grateful for the least sign of attention from him. Now he was revealed to her as a human being with human failings. As such, he was in theory more accessible to her, yet in practice she had no greater expectations from him than she had ever had.

She tried to be satisfied with his friendship.

The evening of the ball arrived. Sarah put on her new gown and examined her reflection in the looking gla.s.s on her dresser. It was impossible to see herself from head to toe at one time, but by tilting the mirror she studied herself bit by bit, starting at the bottom.

Her white silk dancing slippers were veterans, but Mrs. Hicks had refurbished them so that the wear scarcely showed. Nellie had carefully pressed the skirts of the new gown and there was not a wrinkle to be seen. The neckline was lower than she had thought. She tugged at it nervously, then put on her gold locket with the miniatures of her parents. That would distract attention from the alarming expanse of bosom visible above the brief bodice.

Her face-well, there was nothing to be done about that. Her coiffure, all wrong for the frivolous dress, was another matter.

She opened her chamber door and called, "Mrs. Hicks!"

The housekeeper hurried up the stairs, followed by Nellie, and they all crowded into the little room.

"Oh miss, if you en't pretty as a picture!" marvelled the maid.

Between them, they succeeded in fastening her hair in a knot on the crown of her head, from which loose ringlets fell to her shoulders. It felt a bit unstable, but Sarah was pleased with the effect. She took up her gloves and the gold net reticule she had extravagantly purchased to match the gown, and went down to the parlour.

Jonathan was waiting, handsome in his black coat and black silk knee breeches.

"Beautiful," he exclaimed. "I hope you are ready to leave or we shall be late to dinner."

To Sarah's relief he did not comment on her decolletage. By the time Gossett ushered them into the drawing room at Cheve, she had forgotten it, secure in the knowledge that her brother would not let her make a cake of herself. She paused in the doorway as the butler announced their arrival.

Adam was talking to a distinguished-looking gentleman in his mid-thirties. They both glanced towards the door as the Meades' names were p.r.o.nounced. An expression of startled admiration crossed Adam's face as he saw Sarah. He said something to his companion, who answered with a nod and followed him across the room.

Adam's blue eyes were warm as he took Sarah's hand and bowed over it. "Miss Meade, Lord Lansdowne has asked to be presented to you, but before I allow him that privilege I mean to secure my own position. May I request the honour of the supper dance?"

"I shall be delighted, my lord." Her voice was prim but her eyes glinted with amus.e.m.e.nt at his formality.

Once introductions were concluded, the marquis stood talking to Jonathan for a few minutes, while Adam drew Sarah aside.

"Gold becomes you," he said. "You should wear it more often."

"Can you picture me in the kitchen making gingerbread all bedecked in gold?"

He smiled. "Perhaps it would be impractical. After all, the gold in your eyes should be enough for any man."

The depth of sincerity in his voice took Sarah's breath away; she could not think how to answer. Then Lord Lansdowne interrupted.

"Do you not agree, Cheverell? Oh, I beg your pardon, I see your mind is on beauty, not politics, this evening. Miss Meade, allow me to steal you from your admirer for a moment. I should like to make you known to my wife."

Sarah found the marchioness a friendly, unpretentious young woman and remained by her side until dinner was announced. As the highest ranking lady present, Lady Lansdowne was taken in by Adam, while her husband escorted Lady Cheverell. Sarah was pleased to find herself seated between Mr. Swanson and the squire of the next village, an old friend.

Jonathan was sitting opposite her, with Miss Davis at his side. Lydia was dressed in white c.r.a.pe embroidered with silver thread, a silver fillet in her fair hair. As she chatted with the vicar, her ethereal loveliness was enhanced by the unwonted animation of her expression.

Laughing at one of Swan's witty comments, Sarah glanced round the table to see what Vanessa and Catherine were wearing, for she had not noticed them in the drawing room. Lady Catherine was in her favourite blue, with a mult.i.tude of ribbons and knots and bows. Vanessa's gown was an unusual shade of pale lilac, calculated to bring out the colour of her eyes. Sarah had not consciously chosen her dress with the same end in view, but she wondered now whether Adam might suspect her of having done so. Had he been teasing her with his pointed reference to the gold in her eyes?

After dinner, more guests began arriving, and soon the musicians struck up the opening cotillion in the larch-bedecked ballroom. Adam again partnered Lady Lansdowne.

Leading Sarah into the set, Jonathan commented, "Wise man. He does not want to raise the hopes of any of the three by any distinguishing attention. The first dance is practically a declaration."

"So that is why you chose to stand up with me," said Sarah, her rallying tone concealing her chagrin, "and why Adam asked me to take supper with him." He looked at her with sympathetic understanding but did not contradict her. Mr. Swanson confirmed her suspicion when she took to the floor with him for the second dance.

"Poor Adam had the deuce of a time trying to decide in what order to take his three damsels without either encouraging or disappointing them. In the end he settled on strict formal precedence: Lady Catherine, Miss Brennan and then Miss Davis, whose papa is a mere baron. Lady Edward is most displeased."

"Because she is his eldest sister and her protegee is last on the list?" Sarah managed to laugh.

The last vestige of her joy in Adam's compliment vanished when she overheard him telling Vanessa that her eyes reminded him of violets drenched in dew.

Beside that extravagant description, his simple words to Sarah seemed commonplace.

The supper dance was a country dance. Sarah was glad that the figures often separated her from Adam, for she was afraid he might guess her hurt. When they came together, he was noticeably ill at ease and their usual comfortable camaraderie was missing.

All too soon the orchestra played the final cadence, set down their instruments and straggled from the ballroom in search of refreshment. The guests followed suit, in the opposite direction. Adam and Sarah made their way toward the supper room.

"I noticed you stood up with Lord Lansdowne," he said, carefully casual.

"He is a good dancer and a fascinating conversationalist." Her words sounded stilted to her own ears. "Lady Lansdowne, too, is charming."

"I am glad you like them. I mean to do more in Parliament in future, and he will sponsor me. It is all very well founding charities, but they can touch so few people. The government must be moved to act in favour of the unfortunate on a large scale. But this is no topic for a ballroom. Sit here, and I shall bring you something to eat."

He had led her to a table for two in a comparatively quiet corner. By the time he returned, she had composed her mind and was determined to behave with her normal cheerfulness. She was no child, to allow a pa.s.sing disappointment to spoil the entire evening.

He, too, was more like his usual self. "I brought you some chicken and mushroom vol-au-vents," he announced. "I remember you making a pig of yourself on them the first time you came to a ball at Cheve." He poured champagne from the bottle on the table.

"1 remember," she agreed reminiscently. "That was the time you ate too much syllabub and Jonathan had to hurry you into the garden before you disgraced yourself."

"There are some aspects of the past that are better forgotten. Here's to the future." He raised his gla.s.s to her and she sipped from her own.

Their eyes met over the sparkling liquid and she lowered hers in confusion at the seriousness in his.

"Dash it!" Glancing round the noisy room, Adam ran his fingers through his hair, ruining the effect Wrigley had struggled to achieve. His forelock flopped back over his forehead. "There are too many people here by half."

"Surely there are not above a hundred." Sarah chose to return the conversation to polite normalcy. "Your mama was happy to have so many accept, though London hostesses often invite several hundred, I collect."

"They do, and I do not mean to boast, but I have had as many as a dozen caps set at me in a single evening, so why should a mere three put me out of temper?" Adam grinned at her.

"You are too high in your own conceit. Lydia is by no means setting her cap at you. On the other hand, Miss Susan Fielding and Lady Amalthea Trent are both pouting because you have not asked them to stand up with you."

"I cannot dance with everyone. My sisters will have three fits if I do not give their favourites two apiece. What do you think of them, by the way?"