“That’s all the more reason you should allow me one more chance before you decide I should become the next Viscountess Dunbridge,” Sarah told him. “You owe me that much consideration for failing to protect me otherwise.”
Squire Perkins puffed up like an adder in surprise at having Miss Eckersley speak so forthrightly and at having her accuse him of not performing his duty. But he acknowledged the truth in her words. He had been her father’s friend and as the local magistrate, he had been charged with the duty of looking out for Miss Eckersley and Lady Dunbridge’s interests. He had assured them that they would be given ample opportunity to relocate, but he had allowed Viscount Dunbridge and Bishop Fulton to persuade him otherwise without consulting either of the ladies. However much he hated to admit it, Squire Perkins did owe Miss Eckersley some concessions for having failed her.
“All right,” he declared at last, “I’ll grant you thirty days in which to find a husband or a guardian for yourself or I will find one for you.”
“Thirty days in London during the season,” Sarah amended.
“The first thirty days of the London season,” he concluded.
Sarah offered him her hand. “Agreed.”
Squire Perkins accepted her hand and shook it in a firm businesslike manner. “Agreed.”
“Thank you, Squire Perkins.” Sarah gave the magistrate a beautiful smile. “Now, if you would be so kind as to put our agreement in writing…”
He had grumbled about it, but the magistrate had put their verbal agreement in writing, had it signed, witnessed, and sealed, and had handed it over to Sarah. Squire Perkins had also summoned Mr. Birdwell, the village coachman, and hired him to take them back to the rectory.
Together Sarah, Aunt Etta, Squire Perkins, and Mr. Birdwell had loaded Mr. Birdwell’s coach with traveling trunks full of clothing and Sarah’s mother’s china, books and papers that had belonged to her father, a cloth doll, a diary, and small keepsakes of happier days that had been deposited in heaps by the front gate.
When they had fitted Budgie and everything else they could fit into Mr. Birdwell’s coach, Sarah hired the coach and workmen who had brought the Tinsley family from Bristol to load the remainder of her and Lady Dunbridge’s personal possessions and small furniture onto the coach and deliver it to Ibbetson’s Hotel in London.
“Come, Sarah.” Lady Dunbridge opened the front gate. She smiled as the brass door key jangled against the painted wrought iron, then took her niece by the arm and led her through the gate and down the walkway. “Mr. Birdwell is waiting. It’s time to go.”
Sarah hesitated. She had been so bold at the magistrate’s house, so full of righteous indignation, and so sure of herself, but suddenly, all she felt was lost. She looked back over her shoulder at the closed front door of the rectory, smelled the fragrance of the early blooming roses growing beside it and the scent of the mint in the garden wafting on the breeze, and was filled with trepidation.
“I was born here,” Sarah whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known. I can’t leave.” She turned to her aunt with tears in her eyes. “All my memories are here.”
“No, my dear,” Lady Dunbridge said. “Your memories are in your heart and in your head.” She led Sarah to the coach. “The rectory is just the place where they were made. And it will always be here.”
“But it won’t be the same.”
“No, it won’t,” Lady Dunbridge agreed. “But, my dear, nothing ever stays the same. Things must change in order to grow and survive. We must change in order to grow and survive.”
“What shall we do in London?” Sarah asked as she climbed into the coach and settled onto the seat.
“We start over,” Lady Dunbridge replied matter-of-factly, settling herself and Precious onto the seat. “We begin again and build another life for ourselves.”
“How?”
“By doing what we should have done years ago,” Lady Dunbridge answered. “By finding you a husband and a home of your own.”
“Then you’d better pray for a miracle,” Sarah told her. “Because I’ve only got thirty days to convince the man of my dreams that I’m the woman of his.”