She wasn't sure whether to be relieved, or disappointed. She gave a small smile at the latter thought. She was pretty enough, quite beautiful when she took the trouble, or so she had been told. That didn't signify with a blind man. She should be relieved that he was so well-mannered if he was going to be staying the night, yet an odd ache in her heart made her wonder why no man seemed to find her attractive the same way they had always swarmed around Charlotte or Pamela before they were wed, or Elizabeth Eltham now that she had come out.
Then she reminded herself that she and her brother were new to the district and had kept their personal affairs to themselves. No one had any reason to suspect they were well-to-do in their own right, rather than a penniless parson and his sister. That was surely a good thing, since it helped ensure no man tried to marry her for her money. Nor was she a duke's daughter, as Elizabeth was. Most women would envy Elizabeth, but Sarah knew what troubles her friend had endured and how she despaired of ever meeting a man that could lover her for herself and not her fortune and connections.
She wondered what her friends would say if they met him, if they would form the same opinion despite the shabbiness of his dress. She was sure he was the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes on. The only way his looks could be improved was for him to regain some expression in his incredible tawny eyes. But they were flat and lifeless, shadowed with pain and visions of horror.
She stiffened at that thought and shook her head. He wasn't a beau, he was a poor suffering soul who needed her help. She couldn't let her girlish fancy for an attractive face cause her to ignore the reality of his needing her to be strong and sensible.
She hovered in the hallway, listening to the low murmur of voices and splashes, reassured that he was well enough and enjoying his bath.
Caleb came out of the chamber with the stranger's clothes a short time later, and a grim expression on his face.
Sarah wondered at it, and his refusal to meet her gaze. He fetched some of his wife's excellent liniment for burns and other injuries, and returned to the bathroom.
"He's going to have a good long soak. No need to worry, Miss, he's just fine with me," he said quietly as he saw her pacing outside the door.
She blushed. "Thank you, Caleb. I'll be in the front room when he's done."
The elderly man nodded curtly, went back inside, and locked the door with a decisive click.
Sarah returned to the large parlor and opened her sewing box. She busied herself with some mending, trying not to feel so anxious about her blind houseguest. He was with Caleb. He would be fine. It was only a bath, after all. What could possibly be wrong. Mayhap he really did have fleas or lice and that was why Caleb was looking so grim?
Just Jenny came with a pile of clothes of Jonathan's, wanting her approval for her choices. Sarah looked the items over quickly. She had chosen a pair of dark navy breeches, stockings, waistcoat, and jacket. He would look as somber as a parson, but somehow she guessed he was not given to flamboyant dressing. She thanked Jenny, and asked her to serve coffee as soon as the stranger was out of the bathroom.
Then Sarah began to contemplate what she knew of the stranger thus far. He was obviously a gentleman. His whole demeanor had informed her of that. His manner of speaking was interesting too, very musical, though the tones were crisply British. He might have been raised in one of the colonies abroad, or been one of the better class of merchants who had plied their trade upon the Continent? So many people had been dispossessed by the war, not least the English in Paris, Madrid, and Lisbon who had traded there for hundreds of years, but had had to flee in the face of French aggression.
He was certainly a mystery. She realized with a jolt that she had spent hours with him and still had not learned his actual name. But then, the poor man had been so tired, his skin stretched tautly over his high cheekbones betokening his near-exhaustion. His journey had been fraught with difficulties and dangers. But why had he come here?
Well, why not? Jonathan was certainly a kind man and good friend, and had been long before he had ever become a man of the cloth. All of the Rakehells were kind. No one in trouble or needing assistance had ever been turned away, no matter what they had done, so long as they genuinely repented. She was glad he had felt free to trust his old comrade enough to come to him for assistance. She only hoped that he had other friends, family, who could help him cope with his desperate plight.
Jenny came into the room with his boots, which were newly polished but still badly battered. "He's the same size as Master Jonathan, if you want to give him a better pair."
"Yes, of course. But I think just some house slippers for now, don't you?"