Chapter 2

Sarah

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back."― Plato

Two months later

They arrived at church a trifle late, just moments before the service was about to begin. Ambrose guided her quickly to their pew seats. No sooner had they settled themselves down than Sarah Cranshaw glanced through the crowd, looking for one person.

At first, she did not see him. Damnation! Why did they have to get here so late? Church service was the one time in the week when Sarah was afforded a long and unimpeded view of Philip Templeton. She shifted in her seat, craning her neck sideways. There he was! She let out a quiet sigh. Her gaze settled on his handsome profile and on the broadness of his shoulders in the immaculately tailored coat he wore. Could there be a more perfect looking man? Not in her estimation.

She had fallen under his spell from the moment she had first met him three years ago, although she had tried many a time to cure herself of this affliction, especially after coming upon him in an embrace with Grace Stanton at the Christmas ball—now Grace Sedgwick of course, since her marriage to Benedict. Sarah still could not fathom why her old friend had married that flighty girl with questionable morals, but she kept her doubts to herself. To all appearances at least, the marriage seemed to be a happy one. Nevertheless, seeing Mr Templeton passionately kissing Grace should have put a stop to Sarah's infatuation once and for all. It had not. Every time Mr Templeton's fine form graced her sight, Sarah's heart still beat a little faster, and her eyes glazed momentarily in admiration of him.

It seemed ridiculous that she, a sensible and intelligent being, should form an attachment based primarily on someone's looks. Surely she should be looking beyond mere appearances and into Mr Templeton's character before forming a deep attachment to him. This was what Benjamin Stanton had implied on that first of several walks they took together before he had left for America. Though he did not know the identity of the man she had confessed to admiring, he had questioned her about this attachment and voiced his doubts as to whether it was based on a true knowledge of character rather than on surface appearances.

To this, Sarah had had little to say except that she knew Mr Templeton to be generous and kind. And so here she was, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, still unmarried, hoping against hope that one day, some eligible gentleman might come to see her worth.

It was not as if she had rejected a whole host of other suitors in favour of waiting for Mr Templeton. She lived comfortably at Ivy Cottage with her brother, but she had no money of her own. At most, Ambrose would be able to settle ￡50 on her, should she ever marry. Even worse for her marriage prospects, she was considered eccentric—the bluestocking of the parish—and she had no great looks to recommend her. Tall and thin, her figure did not conform to the standards of beauty of the day. Her facial features were regular enough but unremarkable. All in all, it did not make for high prospects of marriage. The only other gentleman who had ever shown an interest in her—and for whom she had felt an attraction—was Benjamin Stanton. But Benjamin had viewed her merely as a friend who shared his passion for railways and besides, he was long gone now.

Throughout the service, Sarah lent half an ear to the sermon preached by her childhood friend, Benedict Sedgwick, while at the same time keeping her attention on Mr Templeton. The hand that brushed his hair back from his noble forehead, the uncrossing of the legs stretched out before him, the scratching of something on his cheek, the stifled yawn—all these gestures were noted and catalogued by the ever attentive Sarah. He looked a trifle weary today, she thought. Had he slept well? Perhaps he was ailing. That dreaded influenza had been taking its toll on many of the good folk in Stanton Harcourt. Her brother had himself only just recovered from its ill effects this past week. She most sincerely hoped that this was not the case with regards to Mr Templeton.

In her worry, she forgot discretion and stared across at him, a crease in her brow. If that was indeed the case, she would make sure to speak to Mrs Turner, his housekeeper, when that lady came to the village on her errands, and to advise her on the simple but effective broth she had prepared as remedy for her brother when he had been sick.

A hand coming to rest firmly upon hers brought these wayward thoughts to an abrupt halt. It was Ambrose. She darted her gaze to his, and he gave her a look that was clear in its meaning. She should not be staring so at Mr Templeton. Chastened, she brought her gaze back to Benedict standing at the pulpit and tried to pay attention to his sermon.

She and Ambrose had never spoken of it except in the vaguest of terms, but she knew that he was aware of her infatuation with Mr Templeton. He would never presume to tell her what she should do, although she suspected that privately, he did not think her attachment to Mr Templeton wise or desirable. But that was neither here nor there. She loved her brother dearly, and he was the only family she had left following the passing of their mother and father, both within a year of each other. However, Ambrose was so steeped in his bachelor ways that she did not think he had much of an understanding of romantic love, so she would not be taking advice from him on the matter, even were he to volunteer such advice.

The service came to an end, and they all rose to their feet. With the deftness of long practice, Sarah manoeuvred herself to be within Mr Templeton's path as he made his way out of the church. On seeing her, he smiled amiably. "Miss Cranshaw, how do you do?"

"Thank you, I am well," she answered calmly, her tone belying the thoughts that had been passing through her mind not a few moments ago. To the world, she presented such a sensible and well put together front that it would be hard for anyone to imagine that beneath it all, she suffered from a great obsession for the man standing before her.

He looked over her shoulder and greeted her brother. "Cranshaw. You seem well recovered from your previous indisposition."

"Indeed I am," responded Ambrose jovially. "Nothing can keep me down for too long."

They moved along with the throng until they found themselves outside the church. Mr Templeton bowed politely in their direction before heading away. And that was the sum of the weekly interactions with her beloved, unless there was a particular social occasion, a dance or a dinner party, at which they were both guests. Great may have been Sarah's devotion to Mr Templeton, but it was a passion conducted from afar. She stifled a sigh, knowing it would probably be another week before she had a chance to see him again.

There were times when she wondered how it was that such a passion as she had for Mr Templeton could be sustained from so little personal contact with him. A heretical voice in her head would point out, most inconveniently, that perhaps she worshipped an illusion, a figment of her imagination. Through the week, she would daydream of his masculine beauty and charming manners. On seeing him in the flesh, reality never quite matched her imaginings, but still her pulse raced with excitement, and her desire for him felt very real. So embarrassingly real in fact, that she often returned home with an uncomfortable dampness in her drawers.

That Sarah yearned for Mr Templeton and felt intense desire for him did not mean that she lived an unhappy life. She was much too practical and had far too many interesting scientific pursuits to sink into a sentimental decline. She had also taken to heart the words spoken to her by Benjamin, two months ago in the library of Stanton Hall, to enjoy the present and not pay too much heed to the past or the future. So, when she saw Mr Templeton, she found joy in her proximity to him, and when she was away from him, she tried her best to find pleasure in other aspects of her life.

Now, standing with her brother outside the church building, she did not let herself feel bereft or miserable. She took a deep breath in, willing the pounding in her heart to subside—though the damp drawers she could do nothing about. In accordance with the scientific bent of her mind, she had researched this strange occurrence and learned that this dampness was produced by females when physically aroused in order to provide lubrication for the act of sexual intercourse. It seemed that in the presence of a virile man such as Mr Templeton, her body was fooled into thinking she was about to engage in that sexual act. Sometimes, the dampness was also accompanied by a throbbing feeling down below, as it did now. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to have conjugal relations with a man and to fulfil the physical need elicited by this throbbing. Would God ever grace her with that knowledge?

It was best not to dwell too long on the thought. "Live in the present," she reminded herself. For now, she had a luncheon at Stanton Hall to look forward to. Most Sundays, except when they joined Benedict and Grace Sedgwick at their home in Mulverley Grange, Ambrose and Sarah were invited to break bread with Daniel, the new Viscount Stanton, at his magnificent stately home. Since the late earl's passing, Ambrose had spent considerable time working with the new viscount on estate matters, as a result of which they had formed a close friendship. Now, every Sunday, Daniel expected them to join him and the rest of his family for luncheon. This was always a delight for Sarah, firstly because the Stantons had a marvellous cook—that game pie served last week had been divine—and secondly because it meant she could spend time in the vast library and borrow a book or two to read.

Ambrose turned to his sister with an affectionate smile. "Well, that is that. Let us be quick and make our way to Stanton Hall. I do believe it might begin to rain soon, and I would much rather not get wet if I can help it."

Sarah was in full agreement with this. She did not wish her brother to catch a chill when he had only just recovered from the influenza. "Yes, if we walk briskly, I am sure we can avoid the coming downpour," she said looking towards the grey skies on the horizon ahead.

They began their journey arm in arm. It would take them to the edge of the village and along a tree-lined avenue that went past their cottage, leading on to the main house. At a brisk pace, they would reach their destination within fifteen to twenty minutes.

They had only been walking for a short while when a clatter of hooves made them both glance towards the road. A smart-looking carriage flew past them then halted a few yards ahead. Its door opened and out jumped Daniel, Viscount Stanton. In quick strides, he reached where they stood, an angry frown marring his handsome face.

"What do you mean by this, Ambrose?" he demanded.

"If you could elucidate what ‘this' is alluding to, my lord, I would be happy to explain myself," responded Ambrose mildly.

"Do not ‘my lord' me, and you know perfectly well what this is about," thundered the viscount.

"Perhaps you mean me to explain why my sister and I are walking towards Stanton Hall. I believe it is because you have invited us to dine there," said Ambrose smoothly.

The viscount narrowed his eyes. "What I wish you to explain, Ambrose, is why you are traipsing around in what is soon to be a rain storm, when there is a perfectly good carriage to take us all to Stanton Hall."

As Ambrose went to answer him, the viscount held up a hand. "Later, Ambrose. Let us not tarry in the middle of the road." He bowed to Sarah. "Miss Cranshaw, good day. Forgive my poor manners. Would you do me the honour of letting me escort you to the carriage?"

Sarah gave a quick curtsy. "Thank you, my lord." In truth, she was relieved that the viscount had caught up with them, for the cold air had precipitated in her brother a worrying new bout of coughing. She placed her hand on the viscount's proffered arm and let him help her into the carriage. A moment later, both men joined her and soon they were on their way again.

In the carriage sat Isabella Stanton, the viscount's younger sister, who greeted the newcomers with a polite inclination of her head. "Mr Cranshaw, Miss Cranshaw, good day," she said, adding, "We looked for you outside the church, but you had already gone. You must know that it makes no sense for you to walk when we are all going the same way and can share the carriage."

"That is very kind of you, Miss Stanton. However, we did not wish to presume," spoke Ambrose. His words were followed by an extended fit of coughing. Sarah stroked his back soothingly as he held a handkerchief to his mouth. When at last it was over, he murmured, "Pardon me."

The viscount's lips pressed into a tight line. "Ambrose," he gritted. "I have told you many times how much I abhor standing on ceremony. For the avoidance of doubt, you are to presume that we expect you and your sister to ride with us in the carriage whenever we go to church." He paused and scowled. "In any case, should you have ventured out today? It seems to me you are not yet over your sickness. I will not thank you for spreading the infection to me or to my servants."

Ambrose looked contrite. "I am sorry, my lord. You are quite right and perhaps it would be best if you were to excuse us from joining you for luncheon today. We are nearly at Ivy Cottage. Please do let us out here."

The viscount made a noise somewhere between a huff and a growl but did not deign respond to this, and the carriage continued on its way to Stanton Hall. Isabella smiled kindly at Ambrose. "I will let cook prepare a hot infusion of ginger and honey for you as soon as we arrive. It will help soothe your tickly throat."

"Thank you, Miss Stanton," replied Ambrose, a little pink with embarrassment at the fuss being made over him. "That is very kind, but I assure you there is no need to go to the trouble."

The viscount huffed again but did not speak. The rest of the passengers continued the short journey in silence. At last, the carriage stopped in the grand driveway of Stanton Hall and all four persons inside descended from the vehicle. With quick bounds up the front steps, the viscount hurried into the house ahead of them. Sarah saw him summon Siddons, the butler, and confer with him quickly. A moment later, he was back, escorting the ladies inside.

"We will go to the main parlour," he said. "It is less draughty than the drawing room." They made their way there, finding a servant adding kindling to the warm fire burning in the hearth. They settled themselves down, the viscount indicating that Ambrose should sit on the armchair closest to the fireplace. Shortly thereafter, another servant walked in bearing a tray with tea and that promised ginger infusion for Ambrose. Her brother took it gratefully, casting a quick smile at the viscount.

Sarah too glanced approvingly at her host. When the late earl had taken sick, both she and her brother had wondered with some trepidation about their future on the estate. Would the earl's heir keep Ambrose on as estate manager? What manner of landlord would he turn out to be? In the weeks that followed the earl's death, their questions had been answered and their fears allayed. Daniel made it clear that Ambrose would continue in his position as estate manager. In addition, he displayed a commendable interest in the running of the estate, spending hour after hour in Ambrose's company, trying to learn as much as he could about the land and properties he had inherited.

What neither Sarah nor Ambrose had expected was that they would be drawn into the social circle of the viscount and included as guests whenever he hosted lunch or dinner parties. Having grown up in America where his family's titles meant very little, and having spent his childhood outdoors, pitching in to work on the land his father had claimed, Daniel had no time for social snobbery. He determined very quickly that Ambrose Cranshaw was a man he liked and respected, and he therefore thought it fit to include Ambrose and his sister as equals in his social circle.

Sarah's musing were interrupted by the arrival of Benedict Sedgwick with his wife, Grace, followed by a surprise guest—Walter Sedgwick, Benedict's father. Sarah rose to her feet in delight at seeing Walter again. Their closest neighbour when growing up, Walter was like family to her. She embraced him warmly, exclaiming, "Uncle Walter, this is a lovely surprise!"

"Sarah, my dear," replied the elderly gentleman. "It is good to see you."

The next few hours flew by as the happy group ate, joked and reminisced. The Stanton cook once again surpassed herself, this time with an extremely flavoursome and tender haunch of lamb. Afterwards, they all reconvened back in the parlour for some brandy, before the Sedgwicks took their leave. Sarah sat back in her chair feeling relaxed and replete. It had been a very enjoyable afternoon. She supposed she and Ambrose ought to be making their way back home too. She glanced across at her brother only to find his eyes shut, his deep breathing signalling that he had fallen asleep in his armchair.

Daniel followed her gaze and said softly, "Let him be for now. There is no rush for you to get back, surely."

"Well, if we are to walk back, then we should be going before it begins to get dark."

"You will be taking the carriage," said Daniel in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

"In that case," murmured Sarah, "we can stay a short time longer. Perhaps I can peruse the books in the library while Ambrose rests."

"Of course, and Miss Cranshaw, I hope you know that you are welcome to borrow a book from here any time you wish."

"Thank you, my lord, that is very kind."

Daniel sighed in exasperation. "Oh do please stop with the ‘my lord'. Can we not be easy in each other's company? I do hate all this ceremony."

Isabella chimed in, "Oh yes, please let us be at our ease. I feel like we are almost family already. When we are alone, away from the rest of society, let us go by our given names."

"I would be happy to," smiled Sarah.

"Then Sarah, off you go find yourself a book. We will remain here with Ambrose until he wakes."

Sarah stood, and with a quick nod in their direction, made her way out of the parlour. In the library, she walked along the shelves, inspecting the extensive collection of books which had been lovingly curated by the previous earl. She soon found a book of odes and verses by Horace, which she pulled down from the shelf, remembering how Benjamin Stanton had quoted them to her only a few months ago. Taking it over to a chair by the window, she sat and began to read.

In another twenty minutes or so, a soft knock on the door heralded Daniel's entrance in the library. "Ambrose is awake and insists on returning home at the soonest opportunity," he said. "I volunteered to come fetch you."

"Thank you." Sarah stood quickly, picking up the book she had been reading and another one she had chosen.

Daniel's eyes fell on them. "Good. I am glad you have books to take with you, for I meant what I said earlier. You require no invitation to come here at any time and help yourself to whatever book you wish."

"I am very grateful, my lor—Daniel," she said, correcting herself.

"Before we go down, Sarah, I have something for you." He fished a letter out of his pocket. "It is from Benjamin. I would recognise his scrawl anywhere." He handed it to her, saying, "He mentioned before he left that he planned to correspond with you from America, and that for the sake of discretion, he would address his letters care of me at Stanton Hall."

Sarah took the letter, feeling a strange burst of pleasure. On saying goodbye to Benjamin all of two months ago, he had suggested they start a correspondence with each other, but she had not truly believed that he would follow through with this suggestion. "Oh, how thoughtful of him," she now said. "Not that there is any need to hide this from Ambrose. He does not interfere with such matters as with whom I might be corresponding."

"In that case, next time a letter arrives, I will give it straight to him to pass on to you. Just so you know, Isabella and I will be sending return missives to Ohio in another day or two. If you wish, I could include a letter from you along with ours."

"That would be wonderful, thank you. I will make sure to write my letter and bring it over tomorrow."

"Good." He studied her a moment more. "Perhaps it is not my place to ask, Sarah, but I cannot help my curiosity. Just what is the nature of your relationship with my brother?"

"We are friends. That is all. Is that so very unusual?" Sarah raised a brow in response. Seeing as she had been friends—and only friends—with Benedict all her life, she did not think there was anything untoward in her new friendship with Benjamin. She ignored the inconvenient recollection of instances when she had felt an attraction to him. They were friends, nothing more. Nonetheless, she knew society frowned upon such things and impugned the possibility that men and women could have purely platonic relationships.

"It is unusual for Benjamin," replied Daniel. "I have not ever seen him befriend a lady just for the sake of being friends. Come to think of it, I myself have never done so either. It is not very common to see in our society."

"Well," retorted Sarah, "I do think that is a shame, for there is no earthly reason why men and women cannot be friends."

Was she protesting too much? It seemed not, for Daniel smiled and responded, "I quite agree. Now, let me return you to your brother before he sends out a search party."

The two of them returned to the parlour and soon thereafter, Sarah and Ambrose took their leave, returning to Ivy Cottage in the Stanton carriage, at Daniel's insistence. Benjamin's letter to Sarah lay tucked into the pocket of her coat, waiting to be read. She was intensely curious about its contents, for despite what she might have said earlier in the library, she was not much used to receiving mail from gentlemen. But it was more than that, she knew. In the short time of their acquaintance, Benjamin had made an unforgettable impression on Sarah. She had thought of him often in the last two months, each time with a deep sadness that their budding friendship had been cut short so soon. She was eager now to learn his news and feel, if only for a brief moment, a reconnection with him.

First, though, she made sure that her brother was settled comfortably in his room and brought him some hot broth to drink before bed. Then she went to her own room, added some kindling to the fire burning in the hearth and lit her bedside candle. Once that was done, she undressed and washed, put on a sensible nightgown and got into bed. Now, finally, she could read at leisure the letter that had arrived for her. As she carefully unsealed the envelope and took out the two thick sheets it contained, it occurred to her in passing that she had not had one single thought of Mr Templeton since leaving church earlier that day. She would remedy this omission very soon and resurrect sweet memories of her brief encounter with him. But first, she had a letter to read.