Chapter 17

Sarah

"Everything comes gradually and at its appointed hour." ― Ovid

November, 1865

Sarah preceded Ambrose as they entered the church, her eyes searching for Mr Templeton as was her wont. She did not spy him in his usual pew or anywhere else, but her disappointment was not too great. Sundays had been quiet affairs these past several weeks, with both the Stantons and the Sedgwicks gone to America. This Sunday, however, would be different, for Mr Templeton had invited her and Ambrose to partake of luncheon with him at Graveley, his great mansion on the outskirts of the village.

The congregation rose to its feet as the service began, and it was at this moment that Mr Templeton hurried into the church. With remarkable precision, he weaved his way through the assembled people, smiling charmingly at acquaintances, until he reached her side, the first time he had sat so close to her. She felt the eyes of the congregation on her and blushed a rosy pink. Mr Templeton's marked attentions could not but be noticed. The gentleman, however, seemed oblivious to this, merely leaning towards her to whisper, "I am sorry to be so late. I was up early this morning putting the finishing touches to the panel and lost track of the time."

Her eyes shone as she spoke softly in response, "Is it finished?"

"It is, and you shall see it when you visit today."

"I cannot wait!"

"Shh!" a stern-looking matron chided from behind them as the organ began the first notes of a hymn. They reluctantly stopped their chatter and tried to pay attention to the service, with mixed success, at least on Sarah's part. Throughout it all, she was supremely conscious of Mr Templeton's fine form sitting beside her and his occasional flirtatious glances in her direction.

It had been five weeks since that day he took her in his phaeton to visit Mattie—five weeks in which Mr Templeton had been a regular caller at Ivy Cottage. He had taken an interest not just in her miniature railway but in the scientific experiments she was conducting. He had also volunteered to assist her in her charitable endeavours and paid her the most glorious of compliments. At first, she had been careful not to read anything into this strange state of affairs, but it was now becoming impossible to avoid the conclusion that he was indeed paying court to her. She, Sarah Cranshaw, prim spinster maiden was being courted by the deliciously handsome Mr Templeton. It was a long-awaited dream finally coming to fruition.

In these five weeks, Sarah had floated on a cloud of exultation. She woke each morning in excited anticipation of what the next day would bring. Change was definitely in the air. Her premonition had been right. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. She could not say where such marked attention from Mr Templeton would lead, but the hope that had been a tiny seedling for so long, was now sprouting the tallest of shoots. Could Mr Templeton mean to propose? Oh, it was too much! Too wondrous! It was best not to let her mind dwell on such an extraordinary prospect.

Such a surfeit of happiness was bound to have a beneficial effect on the countenance of any lady, and Sarah was no exception. She had noticed it when scrutinising herself in the mirror. Even Ambrose, never one to remark on such things, had told her the other day that she looked very fetching indeed. And of course, Mr Templeton had taken note, showering her with the most flattering of compliments. Sometimes, she thought all this good fortune was simply too good to be true, yet here she was, sitting right next to Mr Templeton in church for all to see.

The service over, they walked out of the church together, fielding curious glances and the occasional inquisitive remark from their neighbours. Mr Templeton bore it all with charming insouciance, though Sarah could not find the attention on her anything but disconcerting. Fortunately, Ambrose stepped in, closing down discussion and stating they should be on their way. The Stanton carriage had been put at their disposal, on Daniel's orders before his departure. Ambrose deftly led his sister to it and assisted her inside. Soon, they were trotting away from church and heading for Graveley, Mr Templeton riding there separately.

Once they had put some distance from the church, Ambrose fixed her with his gaze and spoke, "Sarah, love, you know that I do not like to interfere in your personal affairs. I have long known of your feelings for Mr Templeton, but I have refrained from speaking of them."

"I know," she murmured.

"However, the time has come for me to finally speak with you on the matter. Mr Templeton's attention to you has been so marked as to elicit gossip in the village. It has prompted me to wonder what his intentions are towards you, especially after we received this invitation to luncheon with him today."

"I have wondered on this matter too," began Sarah, but Ambrose raised a hand, asking her to let him finish.

"I went to see Mr Templeton yesterday," he went on. "You may think it is terribly old fashioned of me to do so, but I had to ask him of his intentions towards you. It was a most uncomfortable interview, I may add."

"Oh Ambrose," breathed Sarah. "And… what did he say?"

Ambrose let out a deep breath. "He assured me that his intentions were entirely honourable. That he had come to a stage in his life where he wished to settle down and marry, and that he had long admired your character."

"Oh!" Sarah put a hand to her palpitating heart.

Ambrose was quick to add, "He did not go as far as to ask for my permission to make his addresses to you, for which I am profoundly glad. Sarah, you must not take this to mean that he intends to propose, only that he is considering marriage. I would not want you to raise your hopes only to have them dashed."

"I–I do understand."

Her brother looked upon her kindly. "Do I take this to mean, Sarah, that you would welcome his suit, should he propose?"

"It is all I have dreamed of for many years," she replied tremulously.

"He has a reputation for being something of a rake," Ambrose reminded her gently.

"Then he is a reformed rake, for I have seen nothing but excellence of character from him these past few weeks."

"And what of Benjamin Stanton?" queried Ambrose.

Benjamin. How could she explain the jumbled feelings she had for him? Benjamin, who continued to find his way into her mind each night. Benjamin, whose letters she eagerly awaited and devoured. Calling him a friend could not begin to describe what he had come to mean to her. But he was far away in America, and it was quite possible that she may never see him again. At times, it almost felt as if he were a mirage or a figment of her imagination.

Her enduring silence had Ambrose frowning in concern. "I see it is not quite so simple as him being your friend. It is more, is it not?"

She sighed loudly. "I do not know. I cannot explain it. We have an unusually close friendship, despite the great distance between us."

"Sarah," he said. "You cannot keep your affections fixed on two gentlemen. There will come a time when you have to decide between them."

"What is there to decide," replied Sarah hotly, "when Benjamin is far away in America and unlikely ever to return? I would not be surprised if in one of his letters soon, he announces that he is engaged to marry some worthy American lady. He has been so lonely and will want to seek loving companionship which I am unable to give him, since I am here and he is over there. You ask me to decide, but it is not as if I am the one to make the choice; it is being made for me. Mr Templeton is right here and talking marriage. Whatever affection I have for Benjamin is of the impossible kind, and are you not the one who has always advocated for being sensible and rational about one's situation?"

Ambrose looked away, as if these words pained him. Gruffly, he replied, "I am, and do believe one must always be clear-sighted about the facts. But do have a care for your heart, Sarah, for it is the one part of us that does not act rationally."

Just then, the carriage turned into the scenic avenue that led to Graveley. The conversation came to an end, and Sarah gazed out of the window with interest, never before having been to Mr Templeton's house. They came to a stop in front of a majestic set of steps which led to an imposing brick building with tall arched windows. As she emerged from the carriage, Sarah studied the magnificent aspect before her and could not help but think, "Of this one day, I could be mistress." She immediately tried to quell this worldly thought, with little success, for she was a mere human and not infallible. The whole idea seemed unbelievable.

Striding rapidly towards them was Mr Templeton, having arrived moments before and dismounted his horse. He beamed his charming smile as he said, "Welcome Miss Cranshaw, Mr Cranshaw. It delights me at last to play host. Do come in." He led them inside, took her coat and bonnet then ushered them through to the drawing room. There, they were served some light refreshments and engaged in desultory conversation for a short time. It was not long, however, before Mr Templeton broached the subject of the back panel he had painted for her miniature railway. With twinkling eyes, he drawled, "Miss Cranshaw, would you care to see the finished work?"

"Oh yes, I would very much like to!"

"Then let me show you. Mr Cranshaw, do you come with us?"

Ambrose, who had been busy examining a volume that had been left on the table beside him, looked up. His eyes met with Sarah's in understanding and resignation. "If you will excuse me," he said, "I would look through this latest work by Dickens. Do go ahead without me."

Mr Templeton stood. "Then, Miss Cranshaw, shall we?"

With pulse racing, Sarah got to her feet. She was cognisant of Ambrose's trust in her judgement, that he had left her to be alone with Mr Templeton. What a rare and excellent brother he was! She placed a hand on Mr Templeton's proffered arm and let him lead her out of the room.

He took her through another room and then down a corridor to the back of the house, from which double doors opened onto a brightly lit semi-circular shaped room. Various canvases, some complete, others only partly begun, rested against one wall. A large table stood in the middle, covered with a cornucopia of paint bottles, brushes and cloths. And in the far end of the room, there it was. Her panel.

She walked eagerly towards it and let her eyes travel the length of it from one end to the other. "Oh my," she breathed. "Such fine detail." She turned to Mr Templeton, brimming with joy. "It is perfect! How can I ever thank you?"

His eyes had stayed glued to her the whole time she was examining his painting. Now, they gleamed as he muttered, "Like this." Next moment, he had taken her in his arms and planted his lips on hers. Sarah froze in shock. Mr Templeton was kissing her! Oh my gracious Lord! Could this really be? Her hands flew up to clutch at the lapels of his jacket. She kissed him back inexpertly, trying to recall what Benjamin had told her in one of his letters about the art of kissing. He had written of kissing with an open mouth so that both tongues could join. Perhaps that was what she ought to be doing now.

Hesitantly, she parted her lips. No sooner had she done so than she felt Mr Templeton's invasion. How bizarre. It was an odd sensation but not too unpleasant. She felt the stroke of his tongue against hers. Was she doing it right? She very much hoped so. Mr Templeton's murmurs of encouragement certainly made it seem as if she were acquitting herself well in this new, foreign endeavour.

He pulled back a fraction to smile against her mouth. "Sweet Sarah. I knew you would taste so deliciously sweet."

"I–I…" She could not utter anything intelligible.

He chuckled. "I have been too hasty. I meant to declare myself before ravishing you, my dearest."

"Declare yourself?"

His expression sobered. "Sarah, you cannot be unaware of my intentions towards you. I wish you to be my wife, sweet girl. Will you marry me?"

She stared into his handsome face, feeling overwhelmed. Was this really happening to her? It was the culmination of every dream she had ever had, yet none of it felt real. A niggle of doubt crept into her mind, but she pushed it firmly away. The end of her spinsterhood was in sight. "Yes," she squeaked, unable to say anything more.

He kissed her again, then pulled back with a fond smile. "Let us return to the drawing room and share the good news with your brother."

It was with little surprise that Ambrose received the news of his sister's engagement. He congratulated Philip and Sarah, though perhaps not effusively so. Luncheon was a pleasant affair, as possible dates for the nuptials were discussed. Sarah favoured a spring wedding, when the blossoms would be in full bloom. Philip had no objection to the idea, and Ambrose very little to say on the matter.

Later that evening, as Sarah lay in bed in search of slumber, her hand strayed down to her mound as it usually did at night. Her mind began to conjure a favourite of her imaginings—that of Benjamin coming up to find her naked on a bed and then diving between her legs to feast on her cunt. But she paused. It was not right that she think of Benjamin this way anymore, not now that she was engaged to Philip Templeton. Her core throbbed and was needy for attention, but she resisted, turning to her side instead and resolutely trying to get to sleep. It was a very long time before her scattered thoughts settled down enough to finally let her slumber.