Page 61 of Lady of Charade
“I have heard that you are leaving England.”
Sarah’s eyes flew up to meet Lady Alexander’s in astonishment. She had told no one that she was leaving — no one but David. How had she—
“At least, that is what I assume following your conversation with Lady Torrington.”
Sara opened her mouth to respond, but no words emerged. She had forgotten that Lady Torrington and Lady Alexander were acquainted.
“She told you of our conversation?” Sarah asked, hearing the hollowness of her words.
“She told me and others within our circle of what she called ‘your accusations’ and your attempt to discredit her husband’s name, coming after their family money. She called you a fraud.”
Sarah gripped the arms of the chair in which she sat. “That is not the truth at all!” she said, her words heated, though she knew Lady Alexander should not be the recipient of her anger, but another woman, one not in this room.
Lady Alexander held up a hand. “I know.”
Sarah slightly loosened her grip.
“I am aware of why you came to England,” Lady Alexander said, her tone devoid of emotion, much more matter-of-fact than Sarah could ever manage.
“Of course, to find my father,” said Sarah, as she had told Lady Alexander all of this on their voyage over the Atlantic. “You must know, I only did so in order to find a family connection. I never had any intention of requesting more from him, nor of his family. In fact, I would not have involved his family at all, but Lady Torrington seemed to already know the particulars of the situation and it was she who greeted me.”
“I understand,” said Lady Alexander, her nose raised high in the air as though she disapproved, though of whom, Sarah had no idea. “However, I know more than you are aware.”
Sarah tilted her head at her, confused. “Whatever do you mean?”
“There is someone I would like you to meet,” Lady Alexander said, then rose and knocked on the door, as though there was someone awaiting her signal.
The door opened and a woman walked in. She was dressed in far less finery than Lady Alexander, and Sarah wondered for a moment if she was a servant. But she was not dressed as a servant — no, she wore what a woman in the country might wear — a woman who belonged to the lower classes, likely where Sarah herself would fall into were she to remain in England.
The woman’s face was pinched, her eyes narrowed as she studied Sarah as though she were some type of specimen. Yet there was something… familiar about her.
Sarah rose in greeting, but the woman said nothing, remaining standing where she was until Lady Alexander took her by the elbow and helped her to the settee.
“Miss Jones,” Lady Alexander said, “I would like you to meet Mrs. Baker.”
“How do you do?” Sarah asked politely, but the woman said nothing. She only continued to stare at her.
“I should have known,” Mrs. Baker finally said, and Sarah reared back as though she had been slapped at the vehemence in the woman’s tone.
“Pardon me?” she managed.
“I should have known that after all I prepared for you, you would not be able to follow this through. You’re just like your mother — in looks and, apparently, brains or lack thereof.”
Sarah looked between Mrs. Baker and Lady Alexander.
“Excuse me? I have no idea of what you are speaking.”
“Everything was ready for you. I sent you the letter, I paid for your bloody ticket to come here — do you know how long it took me to save up for that? And all you have managed to do is get yourself removed from his home.” She shook her head. “I always have to do everything myself.”
“Lucy,” Lady Alexander leaned over and placed a hand on the woman’s knee, shocking Sarah, for Lady Alexander had never shown her any bit of tenderness. “Perhaps we should first explain to Miss Jones who you are and why you are here.”
She turned back to Sarah.
“Mrs. Baker is your mother’s sister — your aunt,” she said, and Sarah gasped in shock as she returned her gaze to the woman to study her more closely. She did have a similar look to her mother, which was why she had seemed so familiar. Yet her mother had had a much softer countenance, more joy in her gaze than this woman, who seemed angry and bitter.
“Mrs. Baker is also the woman who sent you the letter you received so long ago.”
Sarah stared at Lady Alexander. “And you knew?”
