“I think so, now.”
“Well, the stew is delicious. Thank you for making it for me. You’re obviously an accomplished cook,” Christian said.
“Mother always says I’m capable,” she replied, the smile not quite reaching her eyes.
Christian grimaced. Lady Sarah might just need to be capable indeed if she’d run off to give birth to a bastard. They ate in awkward silence for a few moments. The only sound was the clicking of the spoons on the bowls and the wine being sipped.
Finally, Sarah cleared her throat. “Don’t worry, Mr. Forester. As soon as Mr. Fergus returns, he shall escort us to Father’s lodge and we’ll no longer be a burden to you.”
Christian sipped his wine and stared out the window, where the snow was falling swiftly, piling up in big, fluffy flakes. He shook his head slowly. “On the contrary, given the severity of the storm, I doubt Fergus will be returning.”
Sarah blinked. She lowered her spoon back into her bowl as if in a trance. “Ever?”
Christian dunked another piece of biscuit into his stew. “No time soon, I’m afraid.”
“But that’s impossible. That means… Why, that means…”
He popped the biscuit into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “That you’re stranded here with me. Alone.”
Sarah gulped, braced an elbow on the table, and let her forehead fall onto her palm. “What am I to do?”
Christian took a sip of wine. Then he lifted the glass and stared into its dark depths. He’d forgotten he had this wine. Madeira. He’d collected some damn fine Portuguese wine during the wars. “Why don’t you tell me the reason you’re here? Perhaps I can help you.”
“I doubt it,” she groaned.
“Tell me,” he prompted. “I’ve helped many a fair maiden out of trouble. My friends, mostly. I’ve a great deal of experience.”
Sarah lifted her head and studied him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether she believed such a claim. Finally, she sighed and rested her chin on her palm, her elbow still braced on the table. “The truth is I’ve made a series of very poor decisions in a very short amount of time, and the more I consider them in hindsight, the more I am convinced I have ruined my entire life. Mother always says I’m too impetuous. Apparently, she is right.”
“Capable but impetuous?” Christian said.
“Seems so,” Sarah replied, her face still scrunched in a grimace.
Christian set his wineglass next to his bowl. “I hate to be indelicate… but are you… do you happen to be…” He cleared his throat.“Enceinte?”
It took a moment for the word to register, and when it did, he could tell by the look of horror on her face that he’d been wrong. An unexpected wave of relief washed through him.
“Pregnant? No! Absolutely not!” she gasped.
He lifted his spoon to take another bite of stew. “Forgive me. But the usual course of action for a young lady who is in that sort of trouble would be to run to Scotland at the first opportunity, though admittedly she usually drags a potential bridegroom along with her.”
Sarah groaned. “It’s the exact opposite in my case, actually.”
Thatwas intriguing, to be sure. “What do you mean?”
She raised her glass in a silent salute. “You’re looking at London’s most sought-after young lady of last Season.”
He arched his brows. “Am I?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t callmyselfthat, of course. I think it’s horrid. But the papers, the scandal sheets, they all seem to agree—Lady Sarah Highgate, the belle of the Season.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “And you find that horrid?”
“Entirely.”
His eyes narrowed further. “May I ask why? Seeing as how I’ve managed to be the exactoppositeof the bachelor of the Season for several Seasons past, I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t relish popularity.”
“What do you mean, you’ve been the exact opposite of the bachelor of the Season?”
