Sabrina

by Kruger, Mary

“No. It’s just the way things are.”

  Gwendolyn looked at her shrewdly. Perceptive of the girl to have seen so quickly through the ton, in spite of her upbringing. Or perhaps, she amended, because of it. “You are promised to Lady Spencer for her Venetian breakfast today, I believe?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You will enjoy that. The Spencer estate is out toward Richmond and the gardens are particularly fine.”

  “It sounds very pleasant.” Sabrina rose. “I must see to getting dressed now,” she said, bending and kissing Gwendolyn’s wrinkled cheek. “I haven’t yet decided what to wear.”

  “Have your maid advise you, girl.”

  “The problem with that, ma’am is that when Letty woke me this morning she was coughing so, she could barely talk, and so I told her to go back to bed. I fear she has a putrid cold.”

  “You have no one to maid you, then?” Gwendolyn’s eyebrows rose.

  “No, but I’ll manage. I did for most of my life.”

  “Nonsense! Think what you looked like all that time.”

  “Ma’am!”

  “You cannot go out properly outfitted without the help of a maid. Saltmarsh!”

  Saltmarsh appeared in the doorway of the dowager’s dressing room. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Miss Carrick’s maid is ill. You will maid her for today.”

  Saltmarsh’s eyes flicked toward Sabrina and then properly lowered. Not for the first time, Gwendolyn realized that Saltmarsh was jealous of Sabrina. “Very good, Your Grace.”

  Sometime later Sabrina, properly attired and also somewhat subdued due to Saltmarsh’s coolness, went out to attend the Venetian breakfast, in company with Fanny and Melanie. It was quite some time after that that Saltmarsh, folding away Miss Carrick’s laundry, came across an interesting piece of paper hidden under a stack of lace-trimmed shifts. Saltmarsh gasped, and then carefully extracted the paper so that the pile of shifts was undisturbed. For, unlike Letty, Saltmarsh could read.

  In early afternoon, the Bainbridge barouche drew up before the house and the party that had gone to the Spencer estate alighted, chattering and laughing as they walked into the house. “Oh, my, that was very pleasant!” Fanny said, following the two girls up the stairs to the drawing room. “Lady Spencer does know how to give a good party.”

  “Yes, and she invites just the right people, doesn’t she?” Melanie threw over her shoulder, before addressing herself to Sabrina again. “But did you see Georgina Moulton? And that gown she was wearing?”

  “I thought it was quite pretty,” Sabrina said.

  “Yes, but pink? A redhead surely knows better than to wear pink? And she is trying to imitate you, Sabrina, by wearing her hair down.”

  “It’s pretty hair.”

  “But so curly! I’d think the best she could do with it is cut it.” Melanie stopped before the door of the drawing room and looked toward Sabrina, who was just starting up the next flight of stairs. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “No, not just yet. I think I’ll sit with Grandmama for a while.”

  “But we’ll be having visitors!”

  “Yes, but no one I particularly wish to see.” Oliver, after all, would not be there. “And Grandmama will wish to hear all about this. I think she misses socializing more than she lets on.” She smiled. “I will come down later,” she said, and finally went upstairs, happily at peace with herself and the world. With a little spring in her step she walked through Gwendolyn’s sitting room and knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come in and be quick about it,” Saltmarsh snapped. Somewhat taken aback, Sabrina opened the door, and the scene inside made her gasp.

  Gwendolyn was sitting up in bed, propped up by Saltmarsh, and was wheezing alarmingly. Sabrina stared for a few seconds and then flew over to the bed, her arm encircling Gwendolyn’s shoulders from the other side. “I’ve got her, Saltmarsh. Is there anything you can do?”

  “If she would take her cordial,” Saltmarsh said, holding the glass to Gwendolyn’s mouth.

  “She can’t. Do you think smelling salts will help?”

  “I don’t know,” Saltmarsh said dubiously.

  “Please! We have to do something.” Gwendolyn felt alarmingly light in her arms, her bones fine and brittle, like a bird’s. Panic rose within Sabrina. “Dear ma’am, please relax. Please don’t try so hard. Saltmarsh, I think we should send for the doctor.”

  “No.” Gwendolyn’s voice was weak, but firm. “No doctor.”

  “But, Grandmama—”

  “Don’t take on so. It will pass,” Gwendolyn said, and it seemed already to be doing so. The wheezing was lessening and she was breathing more normally. “No doctor.”

  Sabrina and Saltmarsh exchanged looks. “Grandmama, I think—”

  “He is coming this afternoon,” Saltmarsh said.

  “Oh, is he?” Sabrina looked down into Gwendolyn’s face. She did look better, and her color was returning. “Will you drink your cordial, ma’am?”

  “Foul tasting stuff,” Gwendolyn muttered, but obediently she drank when Saltmarsh held the glass to her lips. “I would rest now. Thank you, Sabrina. You’re a good girl.”

  It was a dismissal. Carefully Sabrina lowered her to the pillows, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and rose, looking troubled. At the door she turned. “Saltmarsh?”

  Saltmarsh turned from straightening the covers on Gwendolyn’s bed. “What is it?”

  Sabrina frowned, registering Saltmarsh’s hostility for the first time. “I’d like a word with you.” Saltmarsh came over and Sabrina’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What brought this on?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say, miss.”

  “Did something happen to upset her?”

  Saltmarsh hesitated for the barest second. “No, miss. If you ask me, it’s the excitement of town life. She’s too old to be presenting you.”

  The venom in Saltmarsh’s voice took her aback. “Oh, I see,” she said, and stood in thought for a few moments. “Then we will return to the Abbey.”

  “Sabrina,” Gwendolyn called. Sabrina crossed to the bed.

  “What is it, Grandmama?”

  “You will not speak of this to Oliver.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  “Promise me, Sabrina. I do not wish him to know of it.”

  “Oh, very well, Grandmama. I promise. But you will see the doctor this afternoon.”

  “Yes, child, I will. Run along, now.”

  Saltmarsh closed the door after Sabrina and then walked back to the bed, her lips set in a straight line. Without looking at Gwendolyn she began to straighten the bed, tucking in sheets that had come loose and smoothing the coverlet. Gwendolyn bore it in silence for a few minutes. “Out with it, Saltmarsh. What is troubling you?”

  “You should have told her, ma’am!” Saltmarsh burst out.

  “What good would it do?”

  “What good? Ma’am, if that birth certificate I found is true, then she is—”

  “Illegitimate.”

  “No, ma’am. An impostor.”

  “No, she is not an impostor, Saltmarsh. But she is illegitimate, poor child.” Her eyes closed and then opened again. “No one must know of this, Saltmarsh.”

  “But, ma’am,” Saltmarsh protested.

  “Her reputation would be ruined beyond repair. I must ask you to keep quiet about this.”

  “If you command it, ma’am, I will, but—”

  “Thank you, Saltmarsh. I do demand it.” She closed her eyes again, falling into a light sleep.

  Saltmarsh walked away, frustrated. When she had found the birth certificate in Sabrina’s drawer, she had been horrified, and, after a brief struggle with herself, she had decided to show it to the dowager. If it were authentic, then Miss Carrick was a fraud, taking advantage of the dowager’s good nature. That would not do. She would not betray the dowager, after giving her word, but someone should know, she thought. Someone should know.

  Sabrina ran lightly down the stairs. Has
tings regarded her with indulgent disapproval; she was undisciplined but she and Miss Hailey had brought life back to this house. “Is His Grace in his study, Hastings?” she asked.

  “Yes, miss. But wait! Miss, you can’t go in there.” Sabrina ignored him, half-running down the hall to the study.

  Without waiting for an answer to her knock, she burst in. “Bainbridge, I need to talk—oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were alone.”

  Oliver looked up at her from behind his desk, his eyes cool. “Is there something you want, Sabrina?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Can it wait?” he asked, patiently.

  Sabrina thought of the sick woman upstairs, opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Oliver’s guest, Mr. Warrenton, had risen when she came in, and both of them were regarding her with that unnerving cool gaze. It was like that first day, in Mr. Warrenton’s offices. What was wrong with everyone today? she wondered. “Yes, it can wait.”

  “Fine. You may go, Sabrina.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered, and went out, closing the door behind her.

  She was sitting in the morning room sometime later, indifferently knotting a fringe, when Hastings came in. “His Grace would like to see you, miss.”

  “Thank you, Hastings. In his study?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  There was a heavy feeling within her, as if she were about to be reprimanded for something, though she’d done nothing wrong. The feeling deepened when she walked into the study and saw Oliver leaning back in his chair, his eyes cold and hard, his face set in stern lines. What did I do now? she wondered. ”I’m sorry for bursting in like that before, sir,” she said.

  He stared at her in silence. “I should have expected it,” he said, finally.

  “Surely my manners aren’t that bad!” she exclaimed, sinking into one of the chairs that faced his desk, though she had not been invited to do so.

  “What did you wish to see me about, Sabrina?”

  “I wish to go back to the Abbey.”

  His eyebrow rose. “You wish to go back to the Abbey. I must say, that is the last thing I expected to hear.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why do you want to go there at the height of the season?”

  “I—” She hesitated. In the face of her promise to Grandmama, what could she say? “I’m tired.”

  “Excuse me, Sabrina, but I find that hard to believe. And don’t tell me you are bored, either, because it won’t fadge. No, Sabrina. You stay here.”

  “But sir, I wish—”

  “Are you really that selfish?” he said, savagely. “Grandmama would never let you go alone, and she is not up to traveling. Do you want to be responsible for her death?”

  The patent unfairness of that struck her momentarily speechless. “But, sir—”

  “The answer is no, Sabrina. You stay here where I can keep an eye on you. And believe me, I will,” he said, grimly. “You’ll not have a chance to disgrace this family.”

  She looked up at him, bewilderedly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you? No matter. You may go, Sabrina.” She didn’t move. “I said, you may go!”

  “Yes, sir,” Sabrina said finally, and left the room. Oliver sat with his head in his hands for a long time.

  Every year, it seemed, the Randolphs had another daughter to fire off, and each one seemed plainer than the one before. Not that that mattered; the Randolphs, while not noble, were a very ancient family with extensive holdings in Kent, and each girl had a dowry which made her lack of looks unimportant. Thus, the come-out ball for the youngest girl was an instant success, winning the accolade of “sad crush.”

  Which, indeed, it was, Sabrina thought wryly, as she tried to make her way through the crowd. Most likely she would be crushed before the evening was done. Though the Randolph home was large, too many people had been crammed into it, and even in the ballroom there was little relief. The ton had turned out en masse. Even Lord Byron, whose latest volume of poetry, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, had caused such a stir, was there, making many feminine hearts flutter.

  Sabrina had rarely looked better. Her gown of green watered silk slipped easily over her curves, its very simplicity a triumph of the dressmaker’s art. The color matched her eyes exactly, making them appear large and clear and sparkly, and her hair, as usual, flowed over her shoulders. It was held back on either side of her face by jeweled clips, her only adornment save for Grandmama’s pearls. More than one man had noticed, and lusted after, that hair.

  It was no wonder, then, that she had no lack of partners, but it took exceptional skill to maneuver through such a throng, and dancing was more a chore than a joy. After one particularly static waltz, in which her partner had trodden on her foot more than once, Sabrina had had enough. The ballroom, cleverly hung with pink silk to resemble a tent, was charming, but stiflingly warm; the perfumes of the ladies combined into a heavy, cloying scent; and the cut-glass chandeliers, blazing with thousands of candles, burned like a furnace. Sabrina felt she could hardly breathe. She had to get out.

  It was cooler in the hall, since most of the guests were in the ballroom or the refreshment room or the card room. Sabrina knew she couldn’t stay here for long, alone and unchaperoned, but already the panic of being confined was fading. She had never liked being enclosed in small places, and sometimes in crowds she had the same feeling that she’d had in her tiny cabin on the ship that had brought her from America, that the walls were closing in. Sad crush, indeed, she thought, her humor reviving as her temperature cooled.

  She was feeling much better and had decided to go back into the ballroom when a man appeared at the top of the stairs. He checked at the sight of her, and she stared at him in dismay. The Randolphs were a proud Tory family, and so what was an American like Pieter Tenbroeck doing here? “Mr. Tenbroeck,” she said, not bothering to hide her displeasure. “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter 20

  “Miss Carrick.” Tenbroeck bowed smoothly, and her confusion mounted. Though his clothing was still obviously of American tailoring, there was nothing to be faulted in the fit of his black evening coat, nor his gray pantaloons. Even his neckcloth had been tied, if somewhat inexpertly, in the Oriental. The only thing Sabrina could find at all exceptionable in him were his pale, dead, eyes. “I have an invitation, of course. Like you.” He bared his teeth in a smile. “You see, I knew you would be here.”

  Sabrina decided not to ask how he had acquired either that knowledge or the invitation. “I must go back in. My chaperone will be missing me.”

  “Not so quickly.” His hand shot out and caught her elbow, and though Sabrina looked around for help, the hall was deserted. “We’ve things to say to each other, and they’re best said without an audience. Now, don’t deny me, Miss Carrick,” he said, as she suddenly struggled in his grasp. “I will not let you go.”

  “Oh, very well,” she said, wearily, subsiding. “Say what you will and be done.”

  “Very wise. And, if you are wise, you will tell me now just what your guardian has told you of his work.”

  She stared up at him, startled. “He’s hardly spoken to me for the past few days,” she said. That was true enough, though she still didn’t understand it. “I don’t know why. In any event, he would hardly confide in me.”

  “Nonsense. You are his fiancée.”

  “Also his ward. And he does not believe females are interested in politics.” A frown creased her brow. “I did hear him say one morning, after reading the Gazette, that it was a shame Wellington would not move faster on the Peninsula, else we could use his troops against America.”

  “Wellington’s troops are not to be used?” Tenbroeck said, squeezing her arm in his excitement.

  “So he implied.” Her eyes were clear, with no memory of a certain conversation in the park to cloud them. “Of course, that was just a comment.”

  “Yes. Yes. But an important one, nonetheless.” His eyes glowed with a sem
blance of life. “You have done well, indeed, my dear Miss Carrick. You are proving very useful.”

  “How fortunate for me,” she said, dryly. “But I fail to see of what use I can be in the future if Bainbridge will not even speak to me.”

  “No matter. We have just learned that he has another document in his possession.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Oh, yes. And you will get it for us.”

  She looked away. “Oh, very well. And what is this one?”

  “I don’t really know.” For a moment, he frowned. “Bainbridge is playing this one close. But, no matter. You will know it when you see it.”

  “Cousin?” a voice said behind her, and Sabrina turned, to see Reginald stepping from one of the anterooms into the hall. She had never been so relieved to see anyone in her life. “Is anything amiss?”

  “No. No.” She stepped forward and linked her arm through Reginald’s. “Good evening, Cousin. No, Mr. Tenbroeck was just taking his leave.”

  Reginald glanced toward the other man, his gaze cool. “Tenbroeck.”

  “Hailey,” Tenbroeck replied, with equal coolness. “If you will excuse me, I have another appointment.” Bowing, he turned and went down the stairs, and Sabrina drew her first deep breath in minutes.

  “Was he bothering you, Cousin?” Reginald asked, steering her back toward the ballroom, and she shook her head. “Not the thing to be standing alone in a hall, talking to a man.”

  “I realize that, sir, but I had no choice. I merely stepped out for some air, and he greeted me,” she said.

  “Good thing no one saw you.” And a bad thing he hadn’t come into the hall earlier, or perhaps he would have learned, at last, what the connection was between them. “Come, I shall take you back to my mother.”

  “Oh, must you?” She laid her other hand on his arm, and he looked down at her. “It’s just that it’s so hot in the ballroom, I can’t bear the thought of going back in.”

  Reginald regarded her for a moment. It was beginning to appear that he would not learn anything to her discredit, since Tenbroeck would no longer speak to him. That was perhaps just as well. He had always rather favored his alternate plan. “Come, then, let us go out onto the balcony for a bit of air.”