An Unconventional Heiress Read online

  He was thinking this when the door opened and Alan emerged. The secretary left them together when he went in to tell the Governor of John’s arrival. Both men smiled a little uncertainly at one another, but John was the more eager to speak.

  ‘Oh, Kerr, I’m most happy to see you.’ His pleasure was so great, indeed, that Alan looked at him in some surprise. John’s next words left him in no doubt of the reason for his delight.

  ‘We have letters from home and Sarah has received some welcome and long-awaited news. I am most pleased for her. Her troubles are at last ended. The misunderstanding that resulted in her parting from her fiancé, Charles Villiers, is over. He has asked her to marry him, and we shall be returning home as soon as possible. When you next meet her you will be able to congratulate her on the prospect of becoming Lady Amborough when old Amborough dies.’

  Alan’s congratulations were private, and were for himself in that he neither spoke nor looked as though a large pit had opened up before him. He had planned to ask Sarah to marry him after the Governor’s dinner on the morrow, and, as John had correctly surmised, his strong sense of honour would not permit him to approach a young woman who was already promised to another.

  He heard himself replying to John, and half-agreeing with him, that interesting though New South Wales, was, it would be a relief to return to Southern England’s softer greenery. He was unable to express pleasure at Sarah’s elevation to the nobility.

  How could he, a man of sense, have deceived himself into believing that a fine young society lady could ever have shown any real intention of marrying him? He ought to have remembered that even though Sarah might have come to love him, in the end the call of her own kind, the status that such a marriage would offer her would, on mature reflection, weigh very heavily with her.

  Besides that, was not he being selfish in wishing her to marry an ex-convict, and live at the far, barbarous end of the world? To sacrifice himself for her good, however hard that would be, was what, in all honour, he ought to do. It would also solve another problem that occasionally troubled him—her wealth.

  If she had accepted him, and the news of it had then become public, there were sure to have been some who would have sniggered behind their hands at the convict doctor who had been cunning enough to marry an heiress. They would not have been aware that he saw Sarah’s wealth as an impediment and that it was the reason why he had not declared his love for her earlier. It had been necessary for him to be certain of the strength of their mutual feelings, which made the question of her wealth unimportant.

  Alas, what he had just heard from John showed that her feelings for him had had their limitations. When a better offer from one of her equals had arrived, she had been prompt to accept it, never mind how sincere she had seemed to be in the scented warmth of Government House’s gardens.

  The harshness with which life had treated Alan prevented him from asking himself whether the story John Langley had told him was true. The memory of his encounter with Sarah in the gardens of Government House was not sufficient to stop him from thinking that it was all too likely that Fate had cut Alan Kerr down again, just when he thought that he had reached a smiling plateau where happiness awaited him.

  He remembered with pain how his first love had treated him after his arrest. He had never heard a word from her again, and his father had taken pleasure in writing to him that she was to marry another. Nothing had changed. He must try to rebuild his life yet again, paying once more for the moment of drunken foolishness which had ruined him.

  He bade John a brief farewell, leaving his best hopes in ruins in the Governor’s ante-room. He was halfway down George Street before he realised that he did not know where he was going, or what he ought to be doing.

  Worse, he further understood that John’s evident pleasure in telling him the news arose from his disapproval of himself as a possible suitor for Sarah. There had never been any chance that he would have welcomed Alan Kerr as a brother-in-law. He had always suspected this, but the truth hurt, nevertheless. An empty-headed fribble like Stephen Parker would have been approved of, he thought, but I, why, I destroyed my chances long ago.

  He walked savagely down the road: dour Dr Kerr had been reborn, and this time he felt as though the ice round his heart, which Sarah had melted, had frozen again—for good this time.

  Chapter Eleven

  Unaware of what her brother was saying and doing at Government House, Sarah continued to read her letters. There was one from an elderly aunt in Cheltenham, and another from an old schoolfriend, telling of her forthcoming marriage. Finally she picked up Emily Hazeldean’s, which she had saved as a bonne-bouche.

  Emily’s letter was long and full of news. She asked after John, wondered whether he had found an aboriginal beauty, enquired whether Sarah had fallen for some rough colonial, or handsome Highlander—she knew that the 73rd were in Sydney. She filled several pages with family news and finally she wrote of Charles Villiers.

  ‘The on dits have been flying round town. It seems that Caroline Wharton began to cry off as soon as the wedding day drew near. You remember old St Mawr, the man who wanted a wife, but never cared to offer for one—filthy rich and mean with it? It appears that she met him at Badminton, decided he was a better bet than Charles, and before they parted he had asked her to marry him.

  ‘It was the work of a moment for her to give poor Charles his congé. Why should I call him poor Charles? Well, he treated you badly, throwing you over for greater wealth and now he has nothing. The ton is laughing behind its hand, while gravely commiserating with him. Meanwhile Caroline is set to become the Marchioness of St Mawr and is on her highest ropes. I am desolate that we cannot laugh at this together.’

  For the second time that day Sarah could scarce believe what she was reading. Rage filled her. She rose and paced about the room. So that was why Charles had offered for her again! He could not know that Emily would write to tell her the truth—and by the same post, too. It was like a bad farce.

  How dare he! She would answer him. She would not waste time, paper or ink on recrimination, nor let him know what Emily had told her. No, she would be as short and plain as…as…Tom Dilhorne. He must find another gull to fund his expensive tastes. How fortunate that he had cast her off before she had married him. What kind of marriage would she have had with such as Charles?

  More than ever she thought with kindness of Alan, unaware that the black dog of despair was riding on his shoulders. She would tell John when he returned that she would not marry Charles.

  She would not show him Emily’s letter—he would think that that had fuelled her refusal, whereas she had resolved not to accept Charles before she had even read it. The letter had merely served to confirm her decision, to show that her judgement of him was correct. Not only was he vastly inferior to Alan Kerr, but also to Tom and a dozen others who were carving a life for themselves in the most difficult of circumstances.

  She rang for Sukie and for tea.

  ‘Tea, Miss Sarah? It’s barely two of the clock.’

  ‘Tea,’ said Sarah firmly. She wished to toast her good luck. Had she been a man she would have tossed down a bumper of good wine, but tea would have to do!

  ‘You may take a cup with me, Sukie,’ she said when that handmaiden returned with the tea-board.

  ‘Lawks, Miss Sarah, what for?’

  ‘So that we may both drink to the future,’ Sarah said, ‘in the hope that we attain our heart’s desire.’ And if that sounds sentimental, she thought, then sentimental it must be.

  Sukie’s smile said all. She and Carter had reached an understanding, but he had told her that they must say nothing until Mr John decided to leave Sydney. Then they would inform him that Carter did not intend to return to England. To tell him earlier would only invite trouble, particularly for Miss Sarah, whom Mr John would be sure to blame for Carter’s desertion and Sukie’s share in it.

  Lucy Middleton called for Sarah at five o’clock that afternoon. John had not ret
urned from Government House, missing dinner, and Lucy needed Sarah to act as her duenna on a visit with Frank to the nearby cliffs—one of the favourite rendezvous for the elite of Sydney.

  Frank joined them on his best black, dismounted, handed his horse to his groom, and the three of them took a turn on the strip of green far above the waters of the harbour.

  Since his betrothal to Lucy, Frank had adopted an elder-brother manner towards Sarah, which she felt was both amusing and slightly touching. It was as though his brief, secret passion for her had never existed. He asked if she and John had received any letters from home and was there any news of general import in them which the Langleys wished to share?

  ‘Very little,’ replied Sarah briefly. ‘Only about the war, of which I am sure that you know more than my correspondents. For the rest, mainly births, marriages and deaths.’ She had told no one in the colony about Charles Villiers’s desertion of her, so said nothing of him.

  ‘I collect that your brother is now eager to return home,’ said Frank, ‘although I expect that you may have to wait some time for a passage. We shall be sorry to see you both go.’

  Sarah did not reply, other than by a smile and a nod of the head. As Alan had not yet offered for her, she could hardly announce that she expected to stay in the colony. In any case with, or without that offer, she had no wish to leave, but she knew that, without marriage, there was no way in which a lady such as herself could remain. Her smile was therefore enigmatic, and she decided that she was growing nearly as devious as Tom Dilhorne. The idle gossip that had previously filled her days no longer satisfied her.

  She looked about her to see whether Alan was present, but there was no sign of him. She was disappointed, but not surprised. He rarely socialised and she suspected that his presence at recent gatherings was partly in the hope of finding her there.

  John arrived on horseback, waved to her and went over to speak to some officers who, as usual, had formed an animated group of their own where they held a kind of court. Were she not committed to Lucy she would have been expected to join them. On the whole she was grateful that she did not need to. The empty badinage, the whole way in which men spoke to women, had always grated on her, and was responsible for her reputation as a firebrand. Of late such treatment had come to seem intolerable.

  Alan always spoke to her as though she had a mind as well as a pretty face, though she remembered something that a wise old aunt had once said: men did not marry women in order to talk to them.

  But what happened when the honeymoon was over? She knew of many marriages where, once the first passion had gone, husband and wife turned into polite strangers and went their separate ways. She looked across at Lucy, who was smiling at Frank. Perhaps there was more for her than most women. Frank seemed kind enough, but who knew what might happen once the knot was tied?

  Despite the warmth of the day Sarah shivered a little. Had she really needed to come to New South Wales to find a man whom she could love and respect? What would John say when he knew that Alan Kerr was to be his brother-in-law, and what would he think of her determination to remain in the colony with him and not try to influence him to return to Great Britain?

  All this was to anticipate. Alan had not yet proposed, but surely after the understanding they had reached he would: his words to her about the Governor’s dinner could have no other meaning. She smiled and was rewarded by Frank telling her that he had rarely seen her look so happy.

  This state of contentment stayed with her throughout the evening. Later, John told her the details of his meeting with the Governor, and the Governor’s pleasure at his work. He said nothing to her of having met Alan.

  When he had finished he smiled and said, ‘Now you must tell me more of your own splendid news. I collect that Charles has come to his senses at last, and that you will therefore marry him. I told the Governor that my mission here was ended and that we should be seeking a passage home as soon as I had finished my last series of oils. I did not tell him of Charles’s renewed offer. I knew that you would not want me to.’

  Sarah was surprised and pleased by his delicacy, which was most unusual for John, who always took it for granted that her wishes were the same as his.

  ‘Oh, I am so happy that you did not. You must understand that I cannot possibly marry Charles. I should never be able to trust him again. What’s more, I no longer love him. I think that I never did. I loved his good looks and his charm, not the man himself. No, I shall never be Lady Amborough.’

  His face fell. ‘Reflect, Sarah, on all that you are giving up. By the time that we reach England you will be past your first youth, and cannot hope for many better offers. After all, Charles is a good fellow at heart. He is not perfect, but who is? More than that, to be Lady Amborough is not a poor ambition. You will be the responsible chatelaine of a great house, which is no small thing.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you. I know you like Charles, but it is of my life we are speaking. I am fortunate enough to be able to please myself. I have no need to marry for money and would prefer to marry for love or companionship. If I cannot find either, I would rather not marry at all.’

  ‘I cannot say that I am other than disappointed but, of course, the choice is yours. You are of age. I cannot compel you. I can only advise.’ He paused. ‘I should not like you to make a foolish marriage that you might later regret.’

  She ignored his final hint and replied only to the first part of his speech.

  ‘Good, then that is understood. There is one further thing. You said nothing to the Governor of Charles’s proposal. I must ask you to tell no one else of it. I do not wish my affairs to be part of the gossip of Sydney.’

  John’s reply was studied. In the mistaken belief that Sarah would be only too willing to accept Charles, he had told Alan Kerr that she had done so, and had told him that for a purpose. He made a rapid decision. He would not tell her of his conversation with Kerr, but neither would he undeceive Kerr by informing him of Sarah’s refusal.

  After all, Kerr was not a fit and proper husband for Miss Sarah Langley of Prior’s Langley. Neither was New South Wales a fit and proper place for her to live. He quietened his conscience by telling himself that he was deceiving Sarah and Alan for their own good. He had not intended to mislead Alan, but now that he had done it was all for the best.

  Once Sarah had returned to England it was exceedingly likely that she would change her mind and accept Charles. The advantages of doing so would be plain.

  So it was with a Judas kiss on her cheek that John told his sister that he would respect her wishes, however much he deplored her decision. He felt sure that Kerr would not be able to reveal his double-dealing unwittingly by speaking to Sarah about her supposed marriage to Charles. Kerr was as proud as the devil and it would be unlikely that he would speak much, if at all, to Sarah now that he believed that she had rejected him for another man.

  Sarah, completely unaware that with a couple of sentences her brother had destroyed her dreams of a future as Alan Kerr’s wife, was pleased and moved that he has made so little effort to change her mind over her decision to refuse Charles and had shown her such a wealth of loving consideration.

  Before she went to bed she wrote her answer to Charles, and tore up his letter and Emily’s in an abnegation of her life in England, and as a pledge that her only interest lay in the future, not the past.

  Sarah dressed herself for the Governor’s dinner in a state of extreme anticipation. She knew that it was a relatively small one, confined to the immediate circle of the Governor’s friends of whom she and John were now a part. There would be few of the military there, although Colonel O’Connell would be present as the senior officer, despite his disapproval of some of the other guests. These included Dr Alan Kerr and Tom Dilhorne.

  The dinner was due to begin at four o’clock and Sarah had forgone nuncheon in order to do justice to the Governor’s table. Her own sense of personal happiness was so great that she did not not
ice that John was less forthcoming than usual.

  He was suffering from pangs of conscience. It was all very well telling himself that he had misled Sarah for her own good, but he was neither insensitive enough nor hardened enough not to realise what was causing Sarah’s happiness, and he reproached himself for his own want of honesty with her.

  His conscience was not sufficiently stirred, however, for him to say anything to her, or to Kerr should he meet him. When she took his arm on entering Government House he only had to look at her to be sure that such a handsome sight should not be wasted in the desert that was New South Wales. Happiness improved her brilliant good looks and her playful manner charmed the Governor, already her great admirer, and caused more than one middle-aged man to wish himself young again.

  Sarah looked around for Alan whilst she waited to go into dinner, but could not see him. Another who was doing the same was Tom Dilhorne. He was a little surprised that his friend was not already there, and even more surprised when the Governor took him on one side and told him that Dr Kerr could not be present.

  ‘Called away?’ enquired Tom, and the Governor shrugged eloquently. Tom could only conclude that some really desperate medical emergency must have occurred for Alan to have absented himself to deal with it rather than send the tall lad whom he had recently hired as an assistant.

  The butler came in to tell them that dinner was served: an announcement that came as a great shock to Sarah since Alan had still not arrived. She comforted herself with the thought that he had probably been called away and he might even arrive late—this was all part of a doctor’s life, which might in future be part of hers.

  The meal was a good one, but Sarah ate little of it since Alan’s continued absence appeared to suggest that his late arrival might be turning into no arrival at all. For the first time a little worm of doubt wriggled into her consciousness. Surely he would have forewarned her if he was to be delayed, or was not intending to come to the dinner at all. She remembered his ardent looks when he last spoke to her and concluded that she was probably reading too much into his absence.