by Kruger, Mary
“Now you are roasting me,” Gwendolyn said.
“No, just the goose,” Sabrina said, and the newspaper shook again.
“Enough! Children, pray be serious. We have a problem.”
Oliver folded the newspaper and laid it on his lap. “Ma'am, so long as she makes herself useful, I don't see what the problem is. Sit up straight,” he added to Sabrina, who had been lounging against the back of the sofa. She straightened, looking resentful.
“Are we to treat her like some sort of slavey, Oliver? Nonsense. She must have a season.”
“What!” He shot to his feet. “No. No season. I forbid it.”
“May I ask why?”
“This was your idea, wasn't it?” he said, glaring at Sabrina.
“No!” she exclaimed. “I swear it wasn't. I want—”
“Oliver, the girl must have a season. We've a duty to see her settled, and how will she meet any eligible young men buried in the country?” Gwendolyn said.
“We did not ask her to come here,” Oliver said. “She has foisted herself upon us—”
“Oliver!”
“—and I have warned her already that she won't see a penny from me.”
“For heaven's sake, Oliver, I'll stand the nonsense.”
“Oh, please,” Sabrina said, but neither regarded her.
“No. I forbid it.”
“You forbid me, Oliver?” Gwendolyn said in quiet tones. “I suggest you remember to whom you are speaking.”
Oliver glared at her, but when he spoke again his voice had moderated. “Forgive me, ma'am. I cannot forbid you, but I can forbid her. She is my ward, and I have the right to say what she will, or will not, do. Good God, ma'am, can you imagine what she'll be like in London? A savage American with no manners—she'll disgrace us all! We owe more to the name than that.”
“Oliver, you are turning into an insufferable prig!”
“No one is asking me, but I don't want a season,” Sabrina said.
“Sabrina will be a credit to us, Oliver,” Gwendolyn went on, eyeing him sternly. “She's new blood, and God knows we could use it.”
“I beg your pardon?” he said stiffly. Gwendolyn ignored him.
“Stand up, child,” she said to Sabrina. “Let Oliver see how well Miss Wilson has done.”
“That won't be necessary,” Oliver began, and then the words died in his throat as Sabrina rose, her face flaming. Good God, he'd known she was pretty, but—! For the first time since he'd known her she was appropriately garbed, and the effect was astonishing.
Her gown was a fresh, spring green, a far more flattering color to her than mourning, cut high at the waist, with long sleeves and a chemisette of soft white muslin filling in the low neckline. A velvet ribbon of a darker green was tied just under her breasts, with a matching ribbon threaded through her hair. Slippers of the same dark green peeped out from under her hem. She looked a proper young lady at last, and for some reason that angered him more than her former disheveled appearance had.
“I can see she's been busy spending our money,” he said.
“Is there anything else you disapprove?” Gwendolyn asked, dryly.
“Yes. I do not like the hair.”
Gwendolyn turned to look at Sabrina, who was pretending to study the portrait of the third Duke. Her hair was her best feature, streaming golden past her shoulders. “What is wrong with it?”
“I usually wear it this way, your Grace,” Sabrina said.
“I do not approve,” Oliver snapped. “It is wanton.”
“Wanton!” Sabrina drew herself up, and Oliver's eyes fastened, in surprise, on her bosom. Sabrina was unaware of his gaze, but Gwendolyn looked up in time to catch it. Well! She thought. This is interesting. “I am not wanton, sir!”
“Sit down. Good God, madam, I do not wish my ward to look like that. She'll disgrace us all.”
“Oh, piffle,” Gwendolyn said. “I think she looks charming. And now that we have her in some proper clothes I believe it is time the neighborhood was introduced to her.”
He eyed her warily. “What are you planning, Grandmama?”
“Why, nothing, Oliver. Merely that we will be at home to visitors now, and we shall pay some calls of our own.”
“No entertainments, ma'am? No small, select, dinner parties? No—God help me—no balls?”
“None that I have planned. We can wait until London.”
Oliver made a noise that in less polite company would have been called a snort. “Pray forget about London, madam. She is not to have a season.”
“We shall see.”
“No, we shall not.” He rose, folding the newspaper in precise creases. “I will be returning to London. But”—he held up his hand as if to forestall protest, though there had been none—“I will be going alone. I’ve pressing business to see to.” And not just business. The morning’s post had brought a letter written in a feminine hand, scented with a warm, musky fragrance, and bringing with it images of creamy skin and dusky hair Oh, yes, he had matters to see to in London.
“I see,” Gwendolyn said, calmly enough. Perhaps that was just as well. It would give her time to explore the startling new idea that had just come to her. Yes, she thought. Yes, it just might work. “Then we shan’t keep you, Oliver.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed slightly; apparently he had expected some protest. “Grandmama, what are you up to?”
“Why, nothing, Oliver.” Her eyes were as clear and as guileless as a child’s, and after regarding her for a moment, Oliver turned away.
“Very well. I will be leaving after luncheon.”
“As you wish. Do please write,” she called after him. Oliver turned, bowed slightly, and then was gone. Well! She thought again, her eyes returning to her granddaughter, this gift from some kind fate. The longer she knew the girl, the fonder of her she became, and the more determined to settle her future. This morning had opened up dazzling possibilities to her, but she would have to do some planning. She would provide for the girl, she thought, leaning back in her chair. Oh, yes. She would provide.
***
The weather had turned warmer, and already spring flowers were blooming, earlier here than at home, Sabrina noted with pleasure as she pulled her mount to a halt. Ahead of her, down a slight incline, was the Abbey, its many windows sparkling in the morning sun; beyond, the beach-covered slopes of the Chilterns rose in the distance. Here the east and west wings stretched out from the main wing in a modified U-shape, with a the flagstoned terrace and the formal gardens falling away down the slope. The greenhouses, containing hothouse fruit and seedlings waiting to be transplanted, the stable block, and the farms that supported this huge estate were all out of sight, hidden behind trees and the rise of the land. Nor was there any sign of the abbey that had given the estate its name. Grandmama had explained that one of the Carricks had torn the ruins down years ago, to build his house. That building had itself been demolished, to make way for the grand Palladian edifice that Lionel, the third duke, and his bride Gwendolyn, had decided to erect in the last century.
With a twitch of the reins and a softly spoken command, Sabrina set her mount, a sweet-tempered chestnut mare, in motion again, followed by Will, the groom who had been teaching her to write. They passed the folly built by the second duke, and the formal gardens where an army of gardeners was already at work, and at last reached the north front of the house. This side, classically Palladian, was more formal, built on one straight line. Craning her head, Sabrina looked up, up, until finally she found the balustrade that edged the room, with statues standing along it at intervals. Then, shaking her head, she turned away.
The changes in her life never failed to amaze her. Not so very long ago she had been only a shopkeeper's daughter. Now she was the duchess's granddaughter, and there was a world of difference between the two. She had no fear of being in want; everything she needed, and a lot that she didn't, was provided to her as a matter of course: fine clothing, food, service. She was well liked, by bo
th staff and the neighboring gentry, and she was beginning to adapt to what was expected of her. Sometimes it was difficult, because if she had more privileges now than she had had as Miss Van Schuyler, she also had more restrictions. There was a great deal a young lady of quality could not do, and even more she was expected to know. There were certain ways of behavior, certain nuances of English life to learn. As the relative of a duke, one of the premier nobleman in the land, she was not allowed to fraternize with servants, nor could she roam around on her own. At all times, she must behave as a proper young lady. Had she been born to this life, such behavior would be second nature, but learning new ways was not easy. She often made mistakes or got into difficulties, but she was trying to live up to these new standards. So far she thought she was doing well. There was only one problem. She had not, so far, managed to tell Grandmama the truth about herself.
Again she spoke softly to her mount and turned away to head toward the stable block, across a vast gently rolling expanse of lawn studded with trees still bare of leaves. Her little deception hurt no one, she told herself yet again. It was true that a great deal of time and money was being lavished on her, but Grandmama didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to be enjoying Sabrina’s transformation from heathen American too young lady of quality enormously. There was a sparkle in her eyes these days, a new color to her cheeks. If she told the truth now, Sabrina thought, she would destroy that.
At the stables she dismounted, and, after reaching into the pocket of her new riding habit for a lump of sugar for the mare, she draped the skirt of her habit over her arm and walked back to the house, more than content with her new life. She was rather startled to walk into the front hall and find a scene of confusion, with trunks and cases and bandboxes strewn about in grand disarray. Just past the open door, she caught a glimpse of a carriage pulling away, but her eyes were caught, and held, by a girl, talking animatedly to a bemused Partridge.
“...And the off-leader went lame just the other side of Newbury, and so of course we had to stop,” the girl was saying, hardly pausing for breath. “And then, just when we started off again, what did we hear but a horseman behind us, riding hard! Well, I thought it was highwayman, of course. And I was scared, of course.”
“Of course, miss,” Partridge said, glancing over at Sabrina. She could have sworn that his lips twitched.
“But it wasn’t, it was this very nice gentleman I’d met at the posting house, returning the handkerchief I dropped! Wasn’t that nice of him? But, oh, Partridge, it’s so good to be home!” Her bonnet of cherry red velvet, trimmed with swans down, matched her pelisse. Her chestnut curls danced as she pulled it off her head. “Auntie Gwen will let me stay, don’t you think?”
“I shall inform her you are here,” Partridge said.
“Thank you, Partridge! I knew I could depend on you. Oh, you can’t imagine how stuffy that school was! I am so glad I left. After all, I am eighteen now, and I am to have my come-out this year.”
“Yes, miss.” Partridge glanced helplessly toward Sabrina, a fascinated spectator, and this time the girl’s gaze followed his. Her eyes widened a trifle as she came forward.
“Hello. Who are you? No, don’t tell me, let me guess! You must be my new cousin.”
“Cousin!” Sabrina said. “Really? Then you must be—”
“Melanie Hailey—”
“—Cousin Fanny’s daughter.”
“—And you’re the girl from America!” Melanie exclaimed, holding out both her hands. Sabrina had no choice but to take them. “But you’re so pretty! When Mama wrote that you were from America, I thought—” She came to a halt.
“That I’d be a heathen savage,” Sabrina said, amused in spite of herself. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“Oh, no, not at all! Are you to have a season this year?” She linked arms with Sabrina and began walking toward the stairs. “I am. We shall set each other off, don’t you think? You’re so blond, and I’m a brunette.”
“I don’t know.” Sabrina managed to disengage herself, and Melanie’s face fell. “I mean, I don’t believe I’m to be presented this year.”
Fanny chose that moment to come fluttering down the stairs to greet her daughter, and so Sabrina stepped back. Now she understood the bemused look on Partridge’s face.
“No, I don’t care what Reginald says, I’m not going back to Bath,” Melanie was saying above Fanny’s dithering. “I’d be leaving school soon in any event, and I’m sure I could stay here.”
“Of course you’ll stay!” Fanny said. “I shall ask Auntie Gwen, she’s so sweet, so kind—”
“She terrifies me,” Melanie said with a mischievous sidelong look at Sabrina, who was convinced that nothing had ever frightened this irrepressible girl. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, Cousin!” Melanie linked her arm through Sabrina’s again and led her to the stairs. “We’ll have ever so much fun.”
Sabrina’s smile was reserved. She had learned to be cautious in her young life, and yet this girl’s enthusiasm was compelling. It would be good to have a friend, something else she’d missed. “Do you plan to stay?”
“Oh, yes, but only until I go to London.” She walked into the Rose Bedroom, Sabrina trailing behind her. “Now, we must not stand on ceremony with each other. You must call me Melly. Everybody does. And do you have a pet name?”
“My father sometimes called me Rina, but—”
“The very thing! Oh, I cannot wait for us to make have our come-outs together.”
“I’m not going to have a season,” Sabrina said, watching as Melanie bent to study her reflection in the dressing table mirror.
“Traveling does ruin my complexion so,” she murmured, looking at nonexistent flaws. “What do you mean, you’re not going to have a season?”
Sabrina settled into a slipper chair upholstered in rose satin. “I won’t be going to London. I don’t mind. Truly.”
“But I do!” Melanie turned from the mirror, her hands clasped at her breast. “Who will I have to support me? ‘Tis bad enough that I am engaged already.”
“Engaged! Really?”
“Yes, so I will not be able to have nearly as many beaus as I would like. It’s dreadfully unfair.”
“But who is your fiancé?”
“My brother, Reginald—have you met him? He is my guardian, and he decided to betroth me to Viscount Bevin. And without asking me!”
“Do you know the viscount?”
“La, we have been friends this age! I have always hoped we would marry. But I do want to enjoy myself first, before I settle down. And how can I enjoy my season if I’m already engaged?” She dropped onto the floor in front of Sabrina. “Do please come,” she said, grasping Sabrina’s hands. “It would be ever so much fun.”
“I’m sure it would be, but it’s not my choice,” Sabrina said, feeling somehow older than this girl, and at the same time, more staid. She didn’t like it.
“You must do something about it. I need you with me.”
“Well...”
“Ask Auntie Gwen. I’m sure she’ll approve, if you approach her right.”
“If she approaches me about what?” a dry voice came from the doorway.
“Oh, Auntie Gwen!” Melanie bounced up, not a whit abashed at having been overheard, and gave Gwendolyn an enthusiastic hug. “How lovely to see you again! You will let Sabrina go to London, won’t you?”
Gwendolyn looked past Melanie to Sabrina, who only shrugged. “So you’re here to cut up my peace, are you?”
“If you don’t mind,” Melanie said, suddenly demure.
“don’t think to play off any of your tricks on me. I expect you to behave yourself, girl.”
“Oh, I will, Auntie!” Melanie said earnestly.
“That remains to be seen. Sabrina?” Gwendolyn turned to her. “It is nearly time for luncheon. Why are you still in riding dress?”
“What? Oh.” Sabrina rose. “I shall go change.”
“I should hope so. Really,
Sabrina, I begin to despair of you. And you, miss.” She paused in the doorway and looked back at Melanie. “I shall want a word with you later.”
“Yes, Auntie,” Melanie said, properly subdued, and Gwendolyn at last turned, to follow Sabrina out of the room.
“Well.” She caught up with Sabrina. “This puts a different complexion on things.”
“How so, ma’am?” Sabrina asked, looking up at her.
“Oliver may change his mind about your season now.”
“I don’t see why, ma’am. And it doesn’t matter.”
“It does so matter, so don’t talk fustian to me, girl. I know it’s what you would like.”
“Well, yes, I guess it would be fun.” She glanced back down the corridor. “Are all English girls like her, ma’am?”
“like Melanie?” Gwendolyn snorted. “All milk and water misses, you mean? Flighty, that’s what that girl is. Mind you don’t follow her example.”
“She makes me feel old,” Sabrina said wryly.
“She’s a good girl, in spite of everything. But you, my girl, are Quality.” Sabrina jerked her head up to look at her. “And don’t you ever forget it.”
“No, ma’am,” she stammered.
“Go on, why are you standing there in all your dirt? Go and change, or you’ll miss luncheon.”
“Yes, Grandmama.” Dropping a curtsy, Sabrina walked away, and then suddenly turned, running lightly back to plant a quick kiss on Gwendolyn’s cheek. Gwendolyn’s face turns pink with please surprise as she watched Sabrina hurried toward her room.
Life had changed for Gwendolyn since Sabrina’s arrival. The girl was an ideal companion. Her conversation rarely centered upon clothes or her own appearance, but often on more serious subjects, books or the conditions of ordinary people in these perilous times, and even politics. Shut away, though from her own desire, in the Abbey, Gwendolyn’s contact with the outside world had gradually dwindled to Fanny’s mindless chatter and Oliver’s rare visits. Sabrina’s presence was like a breath of fresh air, and the concern she showed for others, whether her own grandmother or one of the servants, could only be to her credit. Yes, the girl was worth ten of Melanie, flighty, empty-headed miss that she was, and one way or another, she would have her future. Gwendolyn intended to see to it.
