Captive Splendors by Fern Michaels Page B

mention those concerning her brother’s criticism of the King, were causing the butterflies in her stomach. And if those reasons weren’t enough, there was always the horror of facing her parents’ wrath when they arrived in London.
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    Sara awakened to a noisy commotion in the main hall below. Greetings wafted upward, and the sound of an autocratic, booming voice brought her fully alert. Her father! There was no other voice as forceful as Jason Stoneham’s, except, perhaps, that of his son, Bascom.
    Sara’s blue eyes snapped open wide, and she quickly rose from the bed. Suddenly the room began to reel about her so violently that she had to sit down again. Her stomach rolled once more, and she dreaded the thought of going downstairs and facing her parents. She considered lying back on the bed and pretending to be asleep.
    From the sound of Jason’s voice booming up the stairs, it seemed the decision was to be taken out of her hands. “Sara! Where are you! Answer me this minute!”
    Then Margaret Stoneham’s lighter voice joined his. “Jason! Jason! You’ll wake the whole house! We were told the Baroness was napping! Jason!”
    â€œHush, Margaret! I intend to see my daughter immediately! Sara! Sara, where are you?”
    â€œIn here, Father,” Sara managed to choke as she braced herself for the confrontation. The door to her room banged open, and through the doorway stepped Jason Stoneham. For a moment Sara almost didn’t recognize him. Gone were the meticulously tailored clothes which gave such authority to his deep-chested, slightly portly figure, and in their place were the black frock coat and high-crested hat which had become the popular garb of those of the Puritan sect. Stoneham had even chosen to relinquish the broad white collar that at least offered relief to the somber costume. He removed his hat, placed it carefully on a chair and then came to stand wordlessly in front of his daughter, his hands planted firmly on his hips and a cold glare in his eyes.
    â€œHow do you do, Father?” Sara managed to speak. “Well, I trust?”
    â€œWell enough for a man who’s learned his own daughter is little less than a trollop!” he boomed at Sara’s cowering figure. “How could you shame me this way? I’ve just come from the academy, where I heard for myself your implication in one of the tawdriest affairs I’ve ever been told of. The headmistress apprised me of the entire situation, and I’ve never been so ashamed in my life. To think that a child of mine would involve herself in a—in a—tryst! I can only wonder how long it would have been before you had this van der Rhys girl standing watch while you slipped away in the dark with some simple-minded idiot who had nothing but lust on his mind!”
    â€œMalcolm is not a simple-minded idiot!” Sara shouted, the words out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. “I—I mean, I did what I did to help a friend. Wren is going to marry Mr. Weatherly, so you see there was nothing evil about it.”
    Jason was astounded by her outburst. Neither she nor his wife had ever spoken to him that way. “See here, daughter, remember to whom you are talking—”
    â€œSara! Sara!” A breathless Margaret Stoneham rushed into the room, still holding her skirts above her ankles from the climb up the stairs.
    â€œMother! What have you done to yourself!” Sara’s mouth dropped open. Margaret Stoneham had always prided herself on her fashionable dress and carefully coiffed hair. Now she looked like an old woman. Her hair was pulled back from her face, revealing streaks of gray beneath the brim of her white cap. The silks and satins she had always worn had been traded for a coarse gown of the deepest black that was relieved only by a white collar and cuffs.
    â€œShe has done nothing more than uplift her spirit to the Lord by leaving foolish