Page 7 of Lady of Charade
“I believe this moment is about Franklin and Andrea, Father, not about my own prospects.”
“Family is family, David. We are all one and the same. Come for dinner soon?”
David nodded mutely. He would, though he did not look forward to the coming discussion.
After waving a footman over to collect drinks for them, Lord Brentwood held his glass up. “A toast. To the next generation of Brentwood children.”
David held up his drink and toasted with them, in celebration of his brother, but with a great deal of perplexing anxiety over his own role in all of this.
CHAPTER3
“Sarah Jones, was that David Redmond you were dancing with just now?”
Sarah smiled in greeting as Elizabeth approached, nodding at her words.
“It was,” she said. Sarah had, in fact, been shocked by Mr. Redmond. She had heard of his reputation, of course, had known that he was a man who enjoyed a rather wide variety of women, as had been apparent by his approach toward her. It seemed she must resemble a… friend of his. The thought had her stomach roiling with a strange sense of jealousy, which was ridiculous — she hardly knew the man. They had danced once together, and a cotillion at that, a set in which they had barely spoken.
While she could tell he hadn’t exactly been seeking her out for the dance, she was rather unknown here and didn’t receive much opportunity to take to the dance floor. She had studied the steps of the cotillion for some time, and appreciated the chance to put her newly acquired skills into practice.
What had surprised her the most was just how much she had enjoyed her time with him. Perhaps it was the charming smile he continually wore or the way his green eyes crinkled in the corners when he looked at her. He was a man who seemed to know how to enjoy life, that was for certain.
She kept reminding herself of who he was, what she knew of him — and she had a feeling Elizabeth had approached to tell her the exact same thing.
“He is… charming,” Sarah continued cautiously, and Elizabeth nodded.
“That, he certainly is,” said Elizabeth, taking a sip of the drink in her hand, and Sarah wondered if she was indulging in the brandy she secretly enjoyed. Sarah herself preferred lemonade or something of the sort, for she had seen far too often how the effects of alcohol could addle the brain.
“You will be careful, will you not?” Elizabeth continued. “While he is certainly an entertaining man to converse with or to dance with… he is not the sort of man to whom one should form any attachment. He has no inclination to wed, nor commit himself to any one woman.”
“Of course,” Sarah said, waving a hand in the air. “It was but a dance. I have recently learned the cotillion, you see, and when the opportunity presented itself, I decided to put my new steps to the test.”
Elizabeth nodded, though Sarah could see the concern remaining in her eyes. For some reason, Sarah had declined to mention the fact that Mr. Redmond had initially mistaken her for someone else — someone with whom he seemed far more intimately familiar.
“Of which you did an admirable job,” Elizabeth praised her, and Sarah smiled, though she shrugged.
“You are being kind,” she said, “At the very least, I know I did not make a mess of it, which counts for something, I suppose.”
“You danced admirably,” Phoebe said from behind her, joining the conversation. “Of course, when one is accompanied by a man so experienced as David Redmond, it is helpful.”
She laughed, and Sarah had no response for she had no idea, in truth, of how a man’s experience might affect her own on the dance floor or… as relations of another sort entered her mind, she blushed in spite of herself — where in the world had that thought come from? It must simply be all this talk of Mr. Redmond and his reputation.
“He is a verifiable rake, but a charming one at that,” Phoebe said with a smile of affection, showing her opinion of the man, who had long been a friend of her husband’s. “Regardless, Sarah, I know you are an intelligent enough woman to be aware to keep from allowing him to charm you.”
“Elizabeth has already lectured me regarding Mr. Redmond,” Sarah said, surprised at the slight bit of annoyance that filled her at the continued warnings. Did they really believe her to be so naive? So she was a bit attracted to the man. What woman wouldn’t be, with his slightly-too-long sandy hair that curled at the ends, his vivid green eyes, and dimples that stretched within his cheeks every time he smiled, which seemed to be rather often? It didn’t mean she was going to profess her love to him or plan to marry him one day.
“Besides who he may be, I have other concerns at the moment,” she said. “I have been here in England nearly three years now, and I feel as though I am no closer in my quest than I was when I first arrived. Why would I be summoned here by some mysterious letter writer, only for such a person to never contact me upon my arrival? I have attempted to find relatives, but the surname of “Jones,” if that even was my mother’s true name, is quite common, and anyone I have found does not seem to be any relation. Of course, my father’s name remains a mystery, for I was never told anything about him, besides how my mother saw him and what they felt for one another. Every gentleman who appears near his assumed age that even somewhat resembles me seems to have already been married at the time I would have been born.”
Phoebe and Elizabeth looked at one another for a moment, causing Sarah to feel like an innocent child.
“I know,” she said, holding her palms up to them. “I am well aware that men have affairs outside of their marriage beds. But when my mother spoke of him, she did so with love in her voice. She only left because the man’s father threatened to cut off his inheritance should he continue his association with her, and she had no wish to put a rift between him and his family.”
Both of her friends still seemed unconvinced, but they hadn’t been present when Sarah’s mother had told them of her past relationship. Sarah was more sure than anything that her mother had not been a secondary thought to her father, but rather his love.
“I simply do not know what to do next,” she said morosely. “What if he is dead? How would I ever know? I am beginning to think it is time I return to America.”
“Oh, please do not say such a thing,” said Elizabeth. “Whether or not you find your father, is this not home for you now?”
“I must say that I have never had friends such as you at home, but London is… well, it is not where my heart belongs, which is somewhere I can feel the sun on my face, hear the wind through the tree leaves, forage in the woods for supplies, or capture clean drops of water if it might be time for rain. Here, within all of the buildings and crowds, I so often feel… suffocated.”
