by Kruger, Mary
“By whom?”
“By Viscount Danbury. Do you mind?” she asked, puzzled by the sudden sharpness in his tone.
Oliver took a pull on his ale before answering. “No, why should I? A man must expect to see his fiancée with other men, after all.” That made Sabrina look up, surprised. “But, I warn you, Sabrina. I will not tolerate you allowing other men hanging about you.”
“And why not?” she retorted. “As you and everyone else have been careful to point out to me, it is the way things are done in the ton.”
“I will not be made a laughingstock, girl. Have you forgotten that we are engaged?”
“No, sir. Have you?”
Oliver stared at her for a moment. “No, Sabrina, I have not. And I believe that gives me certain rights.” He made a steeple with his fingers. “Which you will abide by.”
“You don’t own me, Bainbridge!”
“No?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But I feed you and house you, do I not? Where would you be, Sabrina, if not for me?” Sabrina glared at him. “And I am also, if you need to be reminded, your guardian. You will obey me in this, girl.”
“I see what it is,” she said, bitterly. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either.”
Oliver’s eyes, white hot steel, blazed in the sudden whiteness of his face, and Sabrina wished she could call the words back. “We will pretend you didn’t say that, Sabrina,” he said, in a reasonably normal voice. “And you will obey me.”
“Oh, cut line, Oliver.” Her voice was weary. “This display is very bad ton.”
He stared at her for a moment, and then, to her immense surprise, let out a crack of laughter. “A rare setdown, indeed. I suppose I deserved it.”
Sabrina gave him a tentative smile. “Will you deny me my fun, sir?”
Oliver looked startled. “Good God, no, I’m not such an ogre as that! All I ask, Sabrina, is that you not go beyond what is pleasing.”
“I won’t.” She smiled as she placed her napkin on her table. “May I be excused?”
Oliver waved his hand. “Yes, go. I suppose you must prepare to meet your court.”
“Oh, you needn’t be concerned,” she said, turning from the doorway. “Yet.” With that, she turned and scampered from the room.
“Sabrina,” he called, and she came back to the doorway, her eyes wary.
“Yes, sir?”
“No, I’m not going to scold you for that, though you deserve it. Come here a moment.”
“Yes?” She advanced further into the room, standing behind her chair.
“I wanted to ask—did anything untoward happen last evening, Sabrina?”
“When, sir?” She looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“When you returned from Almack’s.” He was sitting at ease, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his fingers loosely clasped, but his eyes were intent. “I must apologize. I fear I had a trifle too much brandy and my memory of last evening is not clear.”
Sabrina stared at him for a moment. “No, sir, nothing happened. May I go now?”
“Yes, Sabrina,” he said, waving his hand again. This time she did not scamper from the room, and he bitterly regretted the necessity of hurting her. But it had needed to be done, he reminded himself sternly. Last night, the waltz and that stunning moment of attraction, had been an aberration, one that he could not wholly attribute to his intake of brandy, and one that he had no intention of repeating. It didn’t matter if she believed he had forgotten the incident, though. By behaving as he had, he had sealed his fate, and the engagement that until now had been a pretense was about to become very real. True to Grandmama’s wishes, he would marry Sabrina, and the prospect no longer filled him with the dismay it once had.
Hastings, who had been a fascinated spectator, turned from the sideboard. “May I pour your coffee, Your Grace?” he said.
“Hm?” Oliver looked up, and then rose. “No, Hastings, thank you. Have it served to me in my study. I shall be there all morning if anyone asks for me.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Hastings snapped his fingers, signaling to the footmen to clear away the table, and only the gleam in his eyes betrayed his amusement. Looked like the duke had met his match at last, and that made for an interesting future.
“You seem down-pin for a girl who’s become the latest Incomparable,” Gwendolyn said from her bed.
Sabrina, startled, turned from the window, where she had been looking out onto the street. “I am hardly an Incomparable, Grandmama,” she said, smiling, as she came to sit on a chair near the bed.
Gwendolyn, wearing a lacy bed jacket and a frilly confection of a cap, regarded Sabrina with her head tilted to the side. “Nonsense, what else could you be? I have it from Fanny, and even she cannot be completely wrong, that you were a success last night. Is that not so?”
Sabrina’s dimple peeked out. “Yes, Grandmama. I had a very pleasant time at Almack’s.”
“Minx. And I understand that we received a veritable flood of invitations this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I see. And that our drawing room was thronged with visitors, and that you went driving this afternoon with no less than Viscount Danbury. Of course, with all that, I can understand how a girl could be depressed.” Her eyes twinkled.
Sabrina smiled back, before turning her head away. “Yes, I was a success,” she said. For all the good it did her. She had been a success with everyone but the one person who mattered most to her. Last evening, after that odd interval in the book-room, she had stayed awake for a long time, pondering the meaning behind the duke’s actions and wishing, with passionate regret, that she had not panicked just at the crucial moment. And he didn’t even remember it! She didn’t know if she wanted to lie down upon her bed and cry, or strangle him.
“It is my grandson, is it not?” Gwendolyn said, and Sabrina’s startled eyes rose to hers. “Ah, I thought so. Why must men be so stupid, I wonder?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oliver. Not to see what is right under his nose! Ah, well, child.” She reached over and patted Sabrina’s hand. “It will all work out.”
Sabrina smiled, but her eyes remained serious. “Of course it will, Grandmama. Oh, dear, there is the bell for dinner and I am not even dressed.” She rose and placed a hasty kiss on Gwendolyn’s wrinkled cheek. “You will excuse me, ma’am?”
“Yes, child, of course.” She watched Sabrina leave the room, a troubled frown creasing between her eyes. Really, Oliver was being unconscionably blind. She would have to do something about that.
Sabrina arose early the next morning, as was still her custom, and, pulling on her dressing gown, padded on bare feet over to the window seat and looked out. Inside, all was quiet, but outside the world was coming to life, with tradesmen’s carts rumbling through Mayfair’s cobbled streets. Sabrina watched them without seeing them. She had passed a restless night, followed into her dreams by her problems. Oliver did not love her, and all her other successes were as ashes in her mouth.
So, what was she to do? She leaned her forehead against the window and pondered that question, wishing, for the first time, that she had not come to England. Life had been easier when she had been Miss Van Schuyler, if less pleasant. She had known who she was, then, where she stood. Now she was certain of nothing, except that, feeling about Oliver as she did, being trapped in a loveless marriage with him would be hell.
Still restless, she jumped up from the seat and began to pace the floor. The time had come for her to make a decision. Should she stay, or go? There was, perhaps, not much for her here, not if Oliver didn’t return her love, but there was certainly nothing for her in America. One thing was certain. If Oliver ever found out about her background, he would toss her out without a second thought. Wouldn’t it be better to leave before that happened? She whirled toward the wardrobe and then stopped, irresolute. Oh, how could she leave? If she did, she would never again see Grandmama or Melanie. S
he would never marry Oliver, and that, just now, was as painful a prospect as marrying him would be.
She sank down onto the window seat, her head in her hands. At home she had always gone for a good, long walk when she had felt so beset with problems, and though the exercise solved nothing, she had always felt better afterwards. As a young lady of quality, however, she could no longer do such a thing.
Or, could she? She glanced out into the street again. Yes, why couldn’t she? She would have to be careful to conceal her identity, even if few of the ton would be stirring at this outlandishly early hour, but that presented no real difficulty. Just to be out for a time would be heaven.
A little while later she crept down the stairs. It wouldn’t do to be seen by the servants, and she must be equally careful about returning. She was wearing an old gown from her New York days and an old bonnet, a most effective disguise. Anyone seeing her would think her a maid. She did not know why her old clothes had been kept, nor why they had been brought to London, but she was grateful for them now. Certainly no one could accuse her of being fashionable.
The marble-tiled entrance hall was empty. Swiftly she descended the remaining stairs and flew to the door. If it were locked, her adventure would be over before it had even begun. The latch moved easily under her fingers, though, and with a sigh of relief she slipped out.
The air was early-morning fresh and cool, and Sabrina’s spirits picked up a bit as she walked along. This was the first time in a good long while that she had been out by herself, and it felt good. In all the weeks of her stay here she had had to become someone else, not Sabrina Van Schuyler, who knew the world was not kind and had learned to look out for herself, but Miss Carrick, a sheltered, hothouse rose adhering strictly to the rules of a narrow society and living the indolent life of a lady of quality. Until now she hadn’t realized how hemmed in she’d felt by all the restrictions she was expected to follow, but her independent spirit remained. It resented her new, submissive position. This one decision she had made on her own, and, no matter what it meant, she would face the consequences squarely.
Crossing Park Lane, she entered Hyde Park and began to walk along. In the quiet of morning the park was deserted, except for a man riding a chestnut hack, far enough away as to be unidentifiable, and that was all to the good. In spite of her disguise, she wanted no one who mattered to see her and question her presence. Independent she might be, but she had no desire for this escapade to get back to her family.
A twig snapped behind her, and she jumped, spinning around, expecting to see a person. “Oh! Oh. Who are you?” she said, and the dog who stood there, looking up at her, suddenly wagged its tail. Sabrina couldn’t help it; she started laughing, as reaction from her fright trickled through her. Only a dog, and a stray mongrel at that. He was large and his coat was shaggy and gray, and he looked thin. Poor thing, she thought. “Well, boy? And what do you want?” The dog’s tail wagged so hard that his whole body shook. She held out her hands. “Sorry, boy, I don’t have anything for you. I wish I did.” She eyed him as he stared soulfully up at her, still shaking. “Well, never mind, at least we can play. Here.” Picking up a stout stick, she tossed it, and the dog, letting out a sudden bark, wheeled and raced after it. Instead of bringing it back to her, though, he stood among the trees, staring back at her. “All right, boy, I might as well go that way, too,” she said, and set out after him.
Hyde Park was already quite familiar to her, but Sabrina had never before fully explored it. Now, as she walked along, occasionally tossing the stick for the dog, she found herself enjoying the experience even more. The sun’s rays were just beginning to glint over the tops of trees blooming with new leaves, and the grass underfoot was thick and springy. It was almost like being in the country. Living as she did in a world of carriages and cobblestones, she missed that. She would enjoy every moment of this, and perhaps sometime she could slip out again.
She hadn’t realized she’d walked so far, but suddenly, just ahead of her, was the Serpentine, glassy smooth in the early morning calm. The dog didn’t hesitate, but plunged right in. As Sabrina tripped lightly down the banks, calling to him, he came out again, shaking himself dry and spraying water all over her.
“Hey!” someone yelled behind her, and, once again, she jumped, turning. This time, it was no one so innocuous as a dog. It was, instead, Pieter Tenbroeck.
Sabrina stared at him in astonishment. “Mr. Tenbroeck!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that your damned dog?” he demanded.
Sabrina stiffened. “No, sir, it is not.”
“Damned thing got me all wet. Go away!” he exclaimed, lunging forward. The dog, standing next to Sabrina, bristled, and an ominous growl issued from his throat.
“I wouldn’t bother him, sir,” Sabrina said, as he stepped back, his face going white.
“Call him off.”
“He’s not doing anything.”
“Call him off, I say!”
Sabrina stared at him, and then, lightly touched the dog’s head. “Down, boy.” The dog continued to glare at Tenbroeck, but then he looked up at Sabrina. “Down,” she said again, and this time he dropped into an ungraceful heap by her side. “Well, sir?”
“Well, Miss—Carrick?”
There was that odd hesitation before her name again, just as there had been in the bookstore. She found it puzzling, and obscurely frightening, as well. “What do you here?”
“We have things to talk about.”
“Have we?” She frowned. At the moment, she wished only to get away from him, though she could not identify what it was about him that made her feel so uncomfortable. Perhaps it was his eyes, which remained cold and watchful in spite of his smile; perhaps it was the vague menace in his voice. “I was not aware of that.”
“Oh, yes. At least, I’ve things to say to you, and it’s to your advantage to listen.”
“I can’t, sir. I must be getting home for breakfast, before they miss me.”
“It’s still early. Do you know, it’s remarkable how well you fit in here.”
“Not so strange, sir. I am, after all, a Carrick. Now, I really must go—”
“But, yes, very strange, considering your background.”
That stopped her. She turned and stared at him. “My—background?”
“Yes, Miss Van Schuyler,” he said, and she went pale. “Your background.” He was leaning against a tree, but his relaxed posture didn’t fool her for a moment. “You see, I did remember you. I told you I would. I attended your mother’s funeral. Oh, I don’t remember actually seeing you there, but of course I knew about you. It was a scandal throughout the family, what Willem Van Schuyler’s daughter had done, having a bastard child.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, through lips so stiff they felt frozen.
“Oh, I think you do. You lived at your grandparents’ farm until your mother died, and then they tossed you out, to go to your father. If he really was your father. I understand there was some doubt?”
“Why are you saying this?” She felt sick. Her heart was somewhere in the region of her throat, and it was beating so fast that she was certain the vibration of it showed. This couldn’t be happening.
“To remind you of where you came from, and who you are, Miss Van Schuyler. And what you could lose.”
She stared at him, and, suddenly, she sagged. There was no mistaking his meaning. “What do you want of me?” she asked, her voice dull.
“Very astute of you. You are intelligent, Sabrina.”
“Cut line,” she said, curtly. “What do you want?”
“I want you to help your country.”
It was so different from what Sabrina had expected that she blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your guardian, the duke—you are aware he has a position at the Foreign Office?”
“Yes, but what has that to say to anything?”
“What that means is that he occasionally has ce
rtain documents in his keeping. Documents that some of us would like to see.” He paused. “Documents you could obtain for us.”
Chapter 15
It took a moment for that to penetrate, and then Sabrina took a step backwards in horror. “No!” she exclaimed, and the dog, reacting to the tone of her voice, suddenly jumped up and barked.
Tenbroeck, no longer looking so relaxed, pushed away from the tree. “Call him off!” he demanded.
“You want me to spy for you?” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Call him off, I say!” He was brandishing his walking stick, and there was no doubt that he would beat the dog, if he had to. Somehow, Sabrina wasn’t surprised.
“Down, boy.” Her voice was weary. The dog looked up at her, his teeth still bared, and then fell down beside her. “I won’t—you can’t have meant what I think?”
“Oh, yes, I meant it.” He, too, bared his teeth, in a parody of a smile, as he leaned back against the tree. “I do, indeed, want you to spy for me, Sabrina.”
“Well, I won’t do it!”
“No? I think you will. Think of all you’ll give up, if you do not.”
“I don’t care, I—”
“Think of the way your guardian will look at you when he learns you’re a bastard. Ah, I can see that meant something, didn’t it? He won’t want to marry you, will he?” he said, gloating. “And you’ll have lost your comfortable home and your new family, and for what? Best to go along with me.”
Sabrina looked away, resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut; she did not want this man to realize how much he was affecting her. There was no way out. She had thought her secret was safe, but now it seemed it wasn’t Her life here, which she had contemplated leaving not so long ago, was suddenly unutterably precious. No matter what she did now, she would be living a lie, and she could not bear that. Unless— She went still, considering this new idea. If it worked, then there was a way to foil Tenbroeck.
“Very well, Mr. Tenbroeck, I will do your dirty work for you. This once,” she added, as a gloating look came into his eyes. “Never again.”
