Lady Sarah's Redemption by Beverley Eikli

himself in the process then he was a fool!”
She spat out the words with no regard to his feelings. “Though much good it did
him. Venetia soon moved on to greener pastures, didn’t she?”
    “She came back to me ,”
Roland observed, dryly.
    Cecily put her hand to her stringy neck and her lip curled. Had her
look not been not so venomous Roland might have smiled at the sight of a dusty
spider’s web adorning the finely pleated rows of lace on her fashionable high
crowned cap.
    “You should have closed your doors to her forever, Roland.”
    “When Caro was crying for her mother, every night?” Roland put his
hand on Cecily’s shoulder. “Why can’t you put the past behind you? You’d be so
much happier.”
    “Like you, Roland?” Cecily’s tone dripped scorn. “You still live in
the past, so don’t preach to me.” She turned on her heel. “You’ve not forgotten
your interview with Miss Morecroft? Don’t be soft with her. I fear she’s
insinuated her way into your affections just as her father did. It was a
mistake to take her in.”
    “We made the decision jointly.”
    “In a moment of weakness when her poor mother all but swore she’d
cut her own throat if we didn’t. Now, I’m going to see cook.”
    She was gone before he could reply.
    Venetia. On a whim he withdrew her likeness from his desk drawer,
once he had returned to his study.
    Proud and confident of her beauty she stared back at him. Dispassionately,
he studied her features: the lustrous dark hair, curled at the front and
cascading in ringlets from a high crown; the rosebud mouth, so divinely
kissable when that was what she had desired.
    Oh, she had taught him how to please her. It was just that he,
alone, was not enough for one of her … vanity? He preferred to think that was
the reason she’d strayed rather than that the fault lay with him, alone.
    Replacing the miniature with the usual disquiet he felt every time
he thought of her, he moved to the window. A team of gardeners was clipping the
topiary-adorned hedge beyond the rose arbour. He watched them as he prepared
himself. It was not Miss Morecroft’s position that was at risk in this upcoming
interview, it was Roland’s heart and integrity.
    At the gentle tap on the door Roland turned, unprepared for the
sudden drumming of blood in his ears, although his voice was steady and cool as
he said, “Please sit down, Miss Morecroft.”
    So that she was under no illusions as to the nature of his request
for her company, he said without preamble, “I hope I’ve not interrupted any
plans you may otherwise have had for the engagement of the girls. However, I
have promised Mrs Hawthorne to investigate a matter which is of concern to
her.”
    The young woman looked at him enquiringly while she settled herself
in one of his large armchairs with that peculiar grace of hers.
    Roland tried not to be distracted by the tendrils of chestnut
hairwhich brushed the high planes of her cheeks in such an artless fashion. He
cleared his voice and frowned but this did not have the desired effect for she
merely deepened her smile as she waited for him to elaborate. The smile
insinuated its way like warm honey through the cracks of his heart, thawing the
ice which sheathed it. He fought to remain impervious.
      “Yesterday,” he went on,
feeling at a distinct disadvantage, “Mrs Hawthorne brought to my attention a
matter which she considered betokened negligence on your part. Apparently Lady
Charlotte observed my daughter conversing with an unknown gentleman, in the
street in front of the haberdasherers.” He paused, waiting for her to colour at
the recollection. When she did not — in fact her smile broadened —
he continued in more sonorous tones, “Caro was alone and unchaperoned.”
    “Scurrilous gossipmongers!” Miss Morecroft shook her head. “To
report such tales reflects badly on all parties and is deeply insulting to Caro. It so happens that as we stepped into
the haberdasherer’s