by Kruger, Mary
“Yes, Your Grace. If you’ll follow me, miss.”
The room was quiet after they had left. “She don’t ask for much, does she, Oliver?” Gwendolyn said, finally. “Passage home, a bath, and food.”
“Good God, ma’am, do you suppose that’s all she wants?” he burst out. “You’re making a mistake, letting her stay.”
“I don’t believe so, Oliver. She is a Carrick. She has the Carrick hands—did you notice that?—and there’s a look of her father about her. Not much, something in the way she holds her head. I’ve no doubt she is who she says she is, and if so we have a duty toward her.”
“You may. I don’t.”
“You’re her guardian, Oliver,” she reminded him.
“Gerald obviously thought my father was still alive.”
“But his letter was addressed only to the duke of Bainbridge. That’s you.”
“What do you propose we do with her, ma’am?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Let me think on that, Oliver. I have some ideas.”
Oliver bowed, very correctly, and left the room. Left alone, Gwendolyn leaned back against the chair. She was more observant than Oliver and had seen things during the interview just past that he had missed. The girl was obviously exhausted, probably ill and probably terrified, and yet she had held up her side of the conversation with spirit and a welcome spark of intelligence. There was no doubt in her mind that Sabrina was who she said she was and that, given a little effort, she would be a splendid addition to the family.
“I have plans for her,” she said aloud, turning to gaze up at the portrait of the third duke, her late husband, hanging on the wall behind her. “I believe she will be a beauty, once we get her into proper clothes. There should be no trouble finding a husband for her.” The painted eyes stared into the distance, seeming to reproach her, and she sighed. “Yes, I know. We’ll have to do something about Oliver, won’t we? And soon, I’m afraid. He’s bound to do something foolish if someone doesn’t take him in hand.”
The door opened and Partridge came in. “Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”
“No thank you, Partridge. Has Miss Carrick been settled?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I took the liberty of assigning Letty to her as her abigail.”
“That was thoughtful of you, Partridge. Thank you.”
The door closed behind the old man, and Gwendolyn’s eyes again sought the portrait of her husband. “Lionel, we’ll make something of him yet. I promise you that. I shall contrive.”
Smiling, she leaned back, closed her eyes, and began to scheme.
Habit made Sabrina wake early the next morning, that and the fact that she had been sleeping since late the previous afternoon. The dowager had given strict orders that Miss Carrick was not to be disturbed, with the result that Sabrina had enjoyed her first restful night of sleep since leaving home. Feeling blissfully relaxed in every muscle, she indulged herself in a delicious stretch. Heaven was a feather bed deep enough to sink into, and cloud soft pillows.
Wide awake, she sat up in bed and looked about her. Last night she had been too tired to notice very much, but now she was well-rested and her headache was gone. Even her cold was better. Only now was she beginning to realize that she had somehow ended up in paradise.
A weak sun peeped in at the casement window, illuminating her room. Without any overt fripperies it was, undoubtedly, a feminine room. The furniture, though solid, had been crafted with a delicate touch. The bed she had slept in was hung with curtains made of chintz in soft shades of blue and green and pink, and the walls were hung with silk damask. Across the room was a chaise longue in soft blue velvet, and a dressing table and wardrobe of burnished cherry. A nearly empty wardrobe, she thought, and what was in it didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong here, in this house, in this country. She would do well to remember that.
Serious now, she leaned back, and began to consider something that she was just now realizing was a problem. What would happen once her high-and-mighty relatives learned the truth about her?
Chapter 4
The door opened and a girl came in, carrying a tray. Her hair was neatly pinned under a frilly mobcap, and a crisp white apron covered her black dress. She wasn’t pretty, exactly, but the sight of her sparkling brown eyes and apple-pink cheeks somehow made Sabrina feel better. She was far more comfortable with someone like this than with such exalted personages as the duke and his grandmama.
“Good morning, miss,” the girl said cheerfully when she saw that Sabrina was awake. “It’ll be a fine day.”
“Yes,” Sabrina murmured. “Have we met?”
“Here, sit up, miss, and let me put the tray down. I’m Letty, miss. We met last night, but I’ll be bound you don’t remember, you were that tired. I’ll be doing for you.”
Sabrina raised dazed eyes from the tray set across her lap. “Doing for me?”
“Yes, miss. I’m to be your maid.”
She had to be dreaming. First a sumptuous breakfast served to her in bed, and now her own maid. “I’m sorry, Letty. I’m afraid I don’t need a maid.” Letty’s face fell. “You see, I won’t be staying long.”
“That’s fine, miss,” Letty said, smiling again. “Which dress will you be wanting to wear today?”
“And even if I were staying, Letty, I’m used to taking care of myself. I really don’t need a maid.”
“Yes, miss. I’ll just lay out your things, miss,” Letty said, going across to the bureau and opening drawers. “Oh, and miss?”
“Hm?” Sabrina glanced over.
“This paper was with your things when I was unpacking. Would you like—”
“Oh!” Sabrina pushed the tray aside with little regard for its contents, and scrambled out of bed. “I’ll take that, Letty.”
“Very good, miss.” Letty watched as Sabrina, a preoccupied frown on her face, walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge. “Is it important, miss?”
Sabrina slowly raised her head. Perhaps this wasn’t the disaster she had thought. “Letty, can you read?”
It was Letty’s turn to lower her head. “No, miss.”
“Oh!” Relief surged through her. Of course. She knew herself that few people, especially women, learned how to read; she had been lucky in that regard. “It’s of no moment, Letty,” she went on, her voice kinder. “But yes, you’re right, this is important. It’s my parents’ marriage lines, you see,” she improvised.
“Shouldn’t you give it to His Grace to take care of?”
“No! I mean, I can take care of it, Letty.”
“Very good, miss.” Letty closed the bureau drawer as Sabrina climbed back into bed. “I’ll just press your dress while you have your tea. Which one do you want, miss?”
Sabrina gave up. Letty would learn soon enough that her services were not needed. “The gray wool, I suppose.”
“Very good, miss,” Letty said, and no one could tell from her voice how very dismayed she was by Sabrina’s meager wardrobe. “I’ll just press this, and then I’ll be back to help you dress.” Sabrina opened her mouth to protest, but Letty was gone, to inform the rest of the staff that Miss Carrick was very pretty, very poor, and a proper nice young lady who didn’t give herself airs.
Left alone, Sabrina poured out some tea, quite as if she were accustomed to such luxury, spread a muffin with jam, and bit into it. Ambrosia. She might as well enjoy it, she thought, for it wouldn’t last long. Once she told the truth, she would be sent packing quickly enough. And she would tell the truth, she thought, picking up the paper Letty had found, her birth certificate. Better to do so now, in the beginning. Deceit was foreign to her nature, and she didn’t think she could carry off such a masquerade successfully, even if she wanted to. If she had to leave, she would prefer to do so before she became accustomed to luxury.
Sobered by her thoughts, she pushed the tray away and leaned back. What would her Van Schuyler relatives say if they could see her now, she wondered. They had been quick e
nough to cast her off, quick enough to predict a bad end for her. She had been a shame to them, her mother’s disgrace. For the birth certificate told the truth of Sabrina’s parentage. She was illegitimate.
Even now, Sabrina wondered why her father had never married her mother, and why he had neglected her for so long. She hadn’t even known he existed until she was ten, when her mother died and Grandmother Van Schuyler decided she did not wish to care for a bastard any longer. Transportation was found for Sabrina from the town of Tarrytown, where she had lived all her life, to the neighboring village of Sparta, where her father lived. She had a father! The joy of that news had almost outweighed the pain of her grandparents’ rejection. But Papa hadn’t wanted her, either, though he had taken her in. Sabrina had set about to prove that she was not a burden, taking care of his home and helping out in the shop. Soon she had become invaluable, and Gerald’s shop, which was usually on the verge of bankruptcy, began to prosper. It wasn’t such a bad life. She had little contact with other young people and, because of her background, her prospects for the future were uncertain, but she wasn’t unhappy. And then, Papa had died.
By the time Letty returned Sabrina had already washed her face and used the water closet, a novelty to her, and, having taken her hair out of its neat braid, was brushing it. “Oh, miss,” Letty said in dismay.
“What is it, Letty?” Sabrina asked.
“You should let me do that, miss.”
“Letty, I’ve been brushing my own hair every morning for years. I do know how to take care of myself.”
“Yes, miss,” Letty said, woodenly.
Oh, dear, I’ve hurt her feelings, Sabrina thought with surprise. How did one adjust to being waited on if one had not been born to this life? “Perhaps, though, you can help me pin it up.”
“Why, yes, miss,” Letty said, unbending a little. Sabrina sat at the dressing table, and Letty came to stand behind her. “It’s beautiful hair, miss, all those waves. It must take a nice curl.”
Sabrina grimaced. “No, I’m afraid I braided it last night while it was still damp and it dried that way. It’s really very straight and almost never curls.”
“Perhaps I can do something with it, miss,” Letty murmured as she took up the hairbrush. The style of the day called for short, feathery curls framing the face, but it would be a shame to cut such hair, or crimp it. It was beautiful as it was, rippling down her back, thick and shiny, a clear, liquid blonde. Letty’s nimble fingers fastened it in a neat coil at the back of her neck, a style even the duke couldn’t fault. From servants’ hall gossip she knew that His Grace hadn’t yet decided what to do with Miss Carrick, and Letty was already feeling protective toward the young miss. She was determined to do her very best so that the duke would find no fault with her.
Letty was just helping Sabrina into her dress when there was a knock on the door. She went over to it and spoke in low tones to the footman who stood there, and then came back. “Her Grace requests that you join her for breakfast. At your convenience, of course,” Letty said. Sabrina paled, and then stood up straighter.
“Well, we mustn’t keep Her Grace waiting,” she said, and turned her back so that Letty could finish fastening her dress, something she could well have done herself. “Do I look presentable?”
“You look very pretty, miss.”
Sabrina glanced toward the mirror, her head cocked. All that she cared about was that she looked neat. She was unaware that her hair, drawn back as it was, highlighted her high cheekbones and her heart-shaped, piquant face, or that the gray of her dress, usually so unflattering a shade, emphasized the delicate pink of her complexion. Unfashionable garb or not, she did look very pretty.
It was this that Gwendolyn saw when Sabrina was shown into the breakfast room. Gracious, she’d known the child would be attractive, but not this pretty. Freed of the dulling influence of the salt water that had been all she could bathe in during the long voyage, Sabrina’s hair gleamed in the morning sunlight, and her skin had a fresh, healthy glow. Her eyes, now that she had rested, were the green of new grass, an unusual and compelling shade. The gown was terrible, of course, old and poorly cut and doing no justice to a figure that Gwendolyn suspected was curvier and at the same time more slender than it appeared, but dress her correctly and she would get more than her share of male attention. She was not a beauty, not in the conventional sense—but then, Gwendolyn herself had not been a conventional beauty. Sabrina should do very well.
Sabrina dropped a hasty curtsy. Her journey through the Abbey had left her awed and bewildered. It was all so grand! The ceilings were high and all the corridors were miles long, with thick carpets on the floors and daunting portraits glaring at her from the walls. If she hadn’t had Letty to guide her, she would surely have gotten lost. At least this room was a comfortable, cheerful chamber, decorated in shades of yellow and cream that would make it bright on the gloomiest day. To her intense relief, the duke was not present. There was only the dowager and another lady, small and plump and of indeterminate age, doing ample justice to an ample breakfast. Her face was round and placid, her eyes innocent, strange for a woman of her age, and upon her graying brown hair was set the merest trifle of a cap, all starched and befrilled. Sabrina saw all this in a quick glance before she turned her attention to the dowager. She didn’t seem so threatening today. Her morning dress of pale lavender was surprisingly pretty and not at all formal, and she was smiling. There was no sign of the icily regal personage who had sat in judgment on her yesterday, and that, somehow, was worse. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Good morning, child. No need to curtsy to me.”
Sabrina lifted startled eyes. “No?”
“No. Come, child, and sit beside me. This is my niece Fanny Hailey, who is kind enough to keep me company. Fanny, this is the girl I told you about.”
“Charmed,” said Mrs. Hailey. “Aunt Gwendolyn, why, isn’t it marvelous! She looks just like Gerald. Those eyes, that hair—”
“Gerald was dark,” Gwendolyn said. “Do shut up, Fanny.”
Mrs. Hailey subsided without any bad feelings, and applied herself to her breakfast again. Sabrina gazed at the mountain of food on the woman’s plate, and then turned her attention back to the dowager. She was the one she had to impress. She was also the one who would have to know the truth, though with the other woman present that was not yet possible. Later, Sabrina told herself firmly.
“This is where I usually take my meals, unless, of course, I have guests,” the dowager was saying. “So much more cozy than the State dining room, do you not agree? Do you take tea, my dear?”
“Y-yes. But don’t trouble yourself, Your Grace. I’ve had breakfast.”
“You’re referring to the tea tray? But that was nothing. You must have something more substantial. You did miss dinner last night.”
Sabrina bowed her head, ashamed of her lapse in manners. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense, child, you were fair worn-out. Oliver obviously didn’t see to your comfort.”
Sabrina flushed at the mention of the duke. “I was tired,” she admitted, her eyes opening wide at the array of food set before her by a footman. There were eggs, crisp bacon, kippers, and toast. She couldn’t possibly eat all that. “I hadn’t slept in two nights.”
“Gracious, whyever not?”
“I was afraid if I slept on the stage coming from Liverpool I’d be robbed.”
“You came to London on the Liverpool stage?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Gracious.” No wonder the child had been worn out, and no wonder she hadn’t shown to advantage. It must take a deal of courage to leave one’s home and travel across the ocean, quite alone, and quite unsure of one’s reception. Her great-granddaughter certainly was no coward, Gwendolyn thought with some pride. “My dear, there is no need for you to be so formal with me.”
Sabrina looked up from the slice of toast in her hand, her eyes wary. “No? What should I call you, then?”
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br /> “Why not Grandmama?”
Sabrina set down the toast and swallowed, hard. “You’d allow me to?”
“Of course. You are Gerald’s daughter, after all.”
Yes, that much was true. She was certain, however, that the duke would not be so easy with her, and neither would be pleased once they knew the truth. “How should I address the duke?”
“Oliver? Usually his acquaintances call him Bainbridge. That should do until you know him better.”
“Where is he this morning?”
Gwendolyn put her napkin to her lips before answering. “He breakfasted early and has gone riding. He was grumbling so, I told him to go out. You will see him later.”
“Told him? I wouldn’t have thought that anyone could order him about.”
Gwendolyn chuckled. “Arrogant, ain’t he?” she said, cheerfully. “He’s a good boy, mind you, but a little full of himself. Of course, some of that is the Carrick pride, but most of it is Oliver himself. He came into the title young, you see, younger than you are now, I’d wager. He’s handled it well, I’ll say that for him, but he had heavy responsibilities for a boy of sixteen. Now he expects everybody to obey his orders. Spoiled, that’s what he is, especially by the ladies. Don’t make that mistake, Sabrina. Don’t jump to his bidding.”
Privately Sabrina thought she would never have the chance, but before she could say so Mrs. Hailey spoke up. “So sad. Such a tragedy,” she said, though her mouth was full.
“Fanny, do be quiet,” Gwendolyn said, not unkindly. “I believe Fanny is referring to the loss of Oliver’s father. He and his wife were killed in a carriage accident.”
Sabrina drew in her breath. “Grandmama, I am so sorry.”
“Nonsense, child, it happened long ago. Our family does seem sadly diminished, but now we have you, so we shouldn’t complain.”
“If I stay.”
