by Kruger, Mary
Sabrina roused from her reverie. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you not wish to know who that was?”
“Is she not one of your high-flyers?”
Oliver choked. “You aren’t to speak of things you know nothing about,” he said, repressively.
“You forget, sir. I lived many years with my father. Nothing a man would do could surprise me.”
Oliver’s hands tightened on the ribbons, and the horses shied, until he had them under control again. “I am not your father, Sabrina, and I do not appreciate being judged by his standards.”
“I am sorry, sir,” Sabrina said, and turned her head away. Of course Oliver was more honorable a man than her father ever had been, but even the most honorable of men would find it hard to resist someone like Lady Marshfield. Though no longer in her first youth, she exuded a kind of charm that drew men like bees to honey, a charm that Sabrina was convinced she would never possess. She might, one day, marry Oliver. However, he would never be hers.
The rest of the ride was accomplished in silence, a curiously flat way to end what had been a most enjoyable day. In front of Bainbridge House Oliver helped Sabrina down from the curricle, and then gave his team into the care of the groom. Together, still silent, he and Sabrina walked into the house, where she turned to him. “If you will excuse me, sir, I must go write my regrets.”
“Regrets,” he said. “What for?”
Sabrina turned on the stairs. “For the dinner party, sir, that we were to have tomorrow night.”
“Are you saying you are canceling it?”
“Of course. We cannot have it now, with Grandmama ill. I quite understand.”
“Nonsense, of course we’ll have it.”
“But, Grandmama—”
“It is what she wants,” he said, firmly. “Do not cancel anything.”
Sabrina’s gaze was hopeful. “Almack’s, too?”
“Almack’s, too,” he said, consigning himself to his fate.
“Oh, thank you, sir!” she said, her face, bright with joy, looking incredibly lovely. “I must go see how Grandmama is.”
“Yes, do that,” he murmured, watched her go up the stairs, and then recollected himself. He was as bad as those callow youths in the park, he thought. She was only a girl, a pretty one, true, but damned if he were going to let her affect him like this. Miss Carrick was going to have to learn that she did not take first place in his life.
Having thus relegated her to her proper place, he went upstairs to change, and proceeded to forget about her. Almost.
“Mr. Hailey is here, madam,” Hastings said from the doorway of the morning room the next morning.
From the sofa, Fanny looked up, her face surprised and expectant. “Reggie? Oh, show him in, Hastings, please! Just think, Melanie!” Fanny said, clapping her hands. “He’s finally here.”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful,” Melanie said, with the greatest lack of expression Sabrina had ever heard in her voice.
“Your brother, Melly?” Sabrina asked.
“Yes.” Disinterestedly she took a stitch in her embroidery. “And if I know him he’s here to put the touch on Mama. He’s always in dun territory.”
“Melanie!” Fanny exclaimed. “Such a thing to say, and you know it’s not true. Reggie!” Her voice rose as a young man came into the room. Sabrina, startled, could only stare at him; he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Though only of medium height, he was possessed of a perfect build, and he held himself so well that he seemed taller. His clothing was exquisitely cut, from the coat of dark blue Bath superfine, to his biscuit-colored pantaloons. Above his neckcloth, intricately tied in the Mathematical, his carefully tousled hair gleamed a burnished gold. If he had any defect, it was that his eyes were a trifle too close-set, his lower lip just a bit too full, his upper one a little too thin. He certainly didn’t look as if he lacked for money, but Sabrina had learned that most of the ton thought nothing of running up huge bills with tradesmen and never paying them.
“Mother,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek, and suffering her embrace about his neck. “And Melanie.”
“Hello, Reggie,” Melanie said without enthusiasm.
“And this must be our charming cousin,” he went on, looking at Sabrina. For a moment, she felt almost dazzled.
“Oh, yes, Reggie, I forget you haven’t met our Sabrina!” Fanny exclaimed. “Sabrina, this is my son. But I’m sure you’ve guessed that already!”
“Mr. Hailey,” Sabrina said, holding out her hand, and smiling.
“Miss Carrick.” Reginald bowed over her hand. She raised her eyes to see his regarding her with a chilling, calculating look. She blinked, and when she looked again the expression was gone, convincing her she had imagined it. “Surely you really aren’t from America?” he went on, sitting beside her.
“Yes, why not?”
“I did not realize America produced such beauties. I must go there sometime.”
“Instead of to Scotland on repairing leases,” Melanie muttered.
Reginald shot her another look, before turning back to Sabrina. “But, come, you must tell me about yourself. What branch of the family do you belong to?”
Sabrina looked up from her needlework. “My father was Gerald Carrick,” she said, surprised he didn’t know.
“Ah, and how is old Gerald these days?”
“He has passed on, sir.”
“But he settled in America, and that is where you have been all this time?”
“Yes.”
“How amazing. No wonder no one has ever heard of you.”
“Papa did not care to communicate with his family.”
“I see. And what of you, Melanie?” he asked, turning his attention to her. “How are you?”
“Quite well, Reginald,” Melanie said, bending her head over her embroidery.
“I had quite an interesting letter from Mrs. Seaton.” That brought Melanie’s head up; Mrs. Seaton was the headmistress of the school she had attended. “I do hope you haven’t forgotten that you are engaged?”
Melanie pouted. “No, how can I, when every gallant I meet reminds me?”
Reginald laughed as he rose. “I notice it hasn’t stopped you, though. You’re to make your bow at Almack’s tomorrow evening, I understand?”
“Yes, Sabrina and I both are going. Bainbridge is escorting us.”
“Is he?” He glanced toward Sabrina, and that unreadable expression flickered in his eyes again. “Dashed dull place, Almack’s. Don’t believe I’ll attend, myself.”
“No,” Melanie murmured, her head bent again, and Reginald looked at her suspiciously for a moment before turning away to make his farewells to his mother, who rose to accompany him out. “No, of course he won’t be there,” Melanie said when he had gone. “The patronesses no longer allow him in.”
“Why not?” Sabrina said, startled.
Melanie laid down her embroidery, frowning. “I’m not quite sure. I think there was some scandal a few years ago, but no one ever told me what. And he expects me to be a pattern card of propriety!”
“Oh, I must go tell Auntie Gwen about this!” Fanny said as she came back into the room. “You’ll be all right, dears?”
“Yes, Mama, go.” Melanie waved a languid hand. “Since we’re perishing for lack of visitors.”
“I expect your brother only wants what is best for you,” Sabrina said, when Fanny had gone out.
“I don’t. If he did, he wouldn’t have betrothed me to Bevin.”
“Don’t you wish to marry him?”
“Of course I do. I just don’t want to marry him now. Haven’t you noticed how few suitors I have? ‘Tis because of the betrothal.”
Sabrina bit back a smile. “Melanie, I would think it would be difficult for you to have any more suitors than you already do. Why, whenever we go out, there’s always some man willing to hang around you.”
“But none of them act quite the way they would. You’re betrothed, Rina. Haven’
t you noticed? No? Well, I do think it’s a shame neither of us is free. Who knows, perhaps I would make a better match than Bevin.” She looked thoughtful suddenly. “I expect it has to do with settlements, and such. Bevin is said to be rich. And, of course, once I marry him I’ll have my freedom.”
It was not the first time Melanie had said such a thing, and it bothered Sabrina. “What do you mean?”
“Why, once I’ve given Bevin his heir, I’ll be able to seek romance elsewhere. Don’t look so shocked, Sabrina. ‘Tis the way of the world.”
Sabrina stabbed vigorously at her embroidery. “Not of my world, it isn’t.”
“You’ll see. What kind of marriage do you think Bainbridge expects to have?” Sabrina looked up at that. “It’s bad ton for husband and wife to live in each other’s pockets.”
“I don’t know why.”
Melanie shrugged. “‘Tis the way of things, Rina.”
Not if I have anything to say about it. She rose, shaking out her skirts. “I need to get something from my room, Melly, so if you’ll excuse me.” Smiling at her, she left the room.
In her room, Sabrina sank down upon the window seat and stared out. Melanie’s words had upset her more than she cared to show, combining as they had with her memories of meeting Lady Marshfield yesterday. If a woman were allowed to seek romance outside of her marriage, didn’t it then follow that a man would do the same thing? It was not the kind of marriage she wanted; she wanted the old-fashioned, unfashionable kind, where trust and companionship were important. Sometimes, as yesterday during her ride with Oliver, it seemed as if that were something she might achieve, while at others it was an impossible dream. When she married Oliver, if she did marry him, she would likely have to resign herself to sharing him.
Oh, no I won’t! She straightened suddenly and raised her chin. Lady Marshfield might be beautiful, but Sabrina had an advantage she lacked. She lived in Oliver’s house. Oh, yes, she would show the ton a thing or two. And, she thought, glancing across toward her wardrobe, she would start tonight, at Almack’s.
The last hook was fastened, Sabrina’s hair had been brushed to a mirror gleam, and finally Letty pronounced herself satisfied. “There, miss, now just look at yourself,” she said, and Sabrina turned to look at her reflection in the pier glass.
She gasped, and turned slowly, watching herself. “I look rather well, don’t I, Letty?”
“You’ll do, miss,” Letty said, but in spite of her words there was pride and admiration in her eyes.
Tonight marked Sabrina’s entry into the social life of the ton, and so Sabrina had dressed with great care. After some thought, she had chosen to wear the rose silk. The gown had been altered since she had first tried it on, and now fit her to perfection. It hugged her breasts which, rising above the neckline, took on a rosy hue from the gown, and outlined her hips and thighs provocatively, yet demurely. Her slippers were of satin, dyed to match, her long gloves were of white kid, and her hair was dressed very simply, hanging loose and soft down her back. Pink rosebuds twined into her hair were her only adornment, for she owned no jewelry. Perhaps her ensemble was not the usual thing for a debutante, but then, as Grandmama said, she wished to look different from the ordinary girl making her bow at Almack’s. Well! she thought, looking at herself. Just let Bainbridge call her “infant” now!
Letty went away to answer a knock at the door and came back carrying a box. “This was just delivered, miss.”
“I wonder what it could be,” Sabrina said, opening it. “Oh, Letty, look! Isn’t it lovely?”
“Oh, miss, and just perfect with your gown!” Letty said as Sabrina lifted the nosegay from the box. It was exquisite, pink rosebuds and white carnations, with dark green ferns and baby’s breath.
“It smells heavenly,” she said, and raised it to her face.
“Who sent it, miss?”
Sabrina looked at the card. “Bainbridge.”
“Why, isn’t that wonderful. But His Grace always knows what is right.”
“Yes. Letty, you didn’t, by chance, tell him what I was wearing tonight, did you?”
Letty’s eyes grew wide. “No, miss, he don’t talk to the likes of me.” She busied herself with tidying Sabrina’s dressing table. “But Her Grace may have hinted.”
“Mm-hm.” Most likely that was it. It was kind of Bainbridge, but then, the nosegay was only a perfectly proper offering from a guardian to his ward. Nothing more. “Well. I must go along and see my grandmother before I go down. Thank you, Letty.”
Saltmarsh admitted her when she knocked on the door to Gwendolyn’s bedchamber. Gwendolyn was sitting up in bed, her eyes bright and her cheeks very pink. “Grandmama, you’re looking much better!” Sabrina exclaimed.
“Thank you, Sabrina. Come here and let me see you.” Sabrina approached the bed and stood still under her scrutiny. “Yes, it is as I thought. You will cause a sensation, child.”
“Oh, surely not.”
“Surely, you will. That gown is perfect. Whose flowers are those?”
“Bainbridge’s.”
“How thoughtful of him.” She cocked her head, regarding Sabrina, and then nodded. “Saltmarsh, please bring my jewel box over. You must have jewelry,” she said to Sabrina. “I will not have it be said that we are not providing for you.”
“Certainly.” Sabrina watched as Gwendolyn picked through her jewels. For this one night she could accept the loan of some bauble. “Nothing too ornate, though.”
Gwendolyn looked up. “Why not?”
“I fear that my neckline will draw enough attention as it is.”
“You are quite attractive when you blush, Sabrina.”
“I don’t blush!”
“Nonsense, right now you are the color of your gown! There, this should do.” From the box she lifted an exquisite strand of pearls, perfectly matched, with a diamond clasp. “These were mine, and my mother’s before me. I have no daughter to pass them on to. They are yours now, Sabrina.”
“But—no, I couldn’t—”
“Nonsense, of course you can. Pearls are perfectly unexceptionable for a young girl.”
“But, Grandmama—”
“Don’t argue with me, girl. I am not well.”
“Very well, Grandmama,” Sabrina said. “I shall wear them.”
“Yes, that is perfect,” Gwendolyn said when the pearls had been fastened about Sabrina’s slender neck. “Child, you are lovely. Now, run along. You don’t want to be late.”
“No, of course not. I shall tell you all about it tomorrow.”
“Every detail, Sabrina. Go along, now, and enjoy yourself.”
Sabrina curtsied and left the room. Gwendolyn leaned back against her pillows and sighed. Oliver was in for a surprise. She would give much to see his face when he first saw Sabrina.
It was nearly time for the guests for the dinner party to arrive. Sabrina hurried down the stairs, and, at the sound of her approach, Oliver, standing in the hall, looked up. Their gazes locked, his curiously intent, hers breathless. Oh, heavens, Sabrina thought, rocked to the core by the impact of that gaze, and a sudden realization. She was in love with him.
Chapter 13
For a moment, Sabrina clung to the banister, dizzy with the force of this new knowledge. She loved him. Perhaps she always had. And no wonder. Oh, heavens, no man had a right to be so handsome! she thought. He was again in black and white, his knee breeches, de riguer for Almack’s, of white satin, displaying a fine pair of legs in no need of any padding. His coat was of black velvet, his waistcoat of pearly gray satin, striped with charcoal, and his neckcloth a dazzling, snowy white. On his large, strong hands he wore the Bainbridge signet and a large ruby, the only touch of color to his ensemble. She was unable to move, so overcome was she by the sight of him, and by the force of her emotions.
“Good evening, Sabrina,” Oliver said, and the sound of his voice jolted her from her reverie. Suddenly she felt imbued with energy, rushing from the tips of her toes to her head, and she
wanted to sing, she wanted to dance. She wanted to fly down the stairs, and into his arms.
Instead, she smiled, inclining her head regally. “Good evening, Bainbridge,” she said, giving no clue to the turmoil within her. If he could be so composed, then so could she, no matter the effort it took.
His eyes continued to hold hers as she glided down the remaining stairs. Licking lips gone suddenly dry, an unintentionally provocative action, she raised her chin. “You look splendid, sir.” She curtsied, unconsciously giving him a nice view of her bosom.
In return Oliver bowed, and as she rose took her hand and brought it to his lips. Good God, he was thinking, as dazed as she was, though he didn’t show it. Until this moment, he had not realized that she was a woman, not a girl.
“Thank you for the flowers,” Sabrina said, and Oliver came out of his reverie. What was happening to him? “They are beautiful, and the color is perfect.”
“Yes, Grandmama told me what you were wearing,” he said, forcing his eyes not to stray below her neck. He’d had no warning of this, however. Good God.
“I thought she might have. What do you think, sir?” She twirled around, and Oliver blinked. “Will I do?”
“Yes. You’ll do.”
“Not quite the savage American tonight, am I?”
“Stop fishing for compliments,” he said, and took her arm. She shivered, hoping he didn’t notice, and both were relieved when they heard the door knocker. “Come, that will be our guests. We must be ready to meet them.”
The dinner party was a grand success. Gwendolyn had made up her guest list with care, choosing those people with enough influence to assure Sabrina’s success in society. There was Lady Spencer, one of her especial friends, and Lady Helmsley, a woman whose approval counted for much, since she was known to be notoriously high in the instep, and difficult to please; Lord Joseph Woodley, an associate of Oliver’s from the Foreign Office and an old friend, and Tom Moore, Whig bard and companion to Byron. The men approved of Sabrina for her beauty, the women for her manners, and by the end of dinner she had been well and truly launched.
