Sabrina

by Kruger, Mary

  “Yes, later.”

  “I will see you there, then.” Raising his hand in farewell, Woodley turned and walked back through the dimly lit halls to his office. He was mildly surprised to find the doors to the anteroom and to his inner office open, and the lamps still lit. He was even more surprised to find Guthrie, his aide, shuffling together the papers on his desk.

  “My lord!” Guthrie snapped to attention. “I thought you had gone home.”

  “Yes.” Woodley put his portfolio down and walked over to the desk. “What are you still doing here, Guthrie?” he asked smiling, and the man visibly relaxed. “Thought I told you to leave.”

  “Yes, sir.” Guthrie smiled. He was a pleasant-looking young man, of medium height with light brown hair and eyes. Like Latham, Oliver’s aide, he came from a good, if impoverished, family. “But I had that report you wished copied to finish, and then I thought I’d straighten up in here.”

  “I see. Thank you, Guthrie, but that won’t be necessary. You may go.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Good night.”

  “Good night.” Woodley went to stand behind his desk, but it was only when Guthrie had closed the door behind him that he looked down, his eyes narrowed. He knew enough, of course, not to leave anything of importance atop his desk, but there were several papers there, including the report Guthrie had copied, and a scrawled list of several names. The list had no heading, nothing to attach any significance to it, and yet, as Woodley folded it and put it into an inner pocket, he felt uneasy. Perhaps he and Bainbridge were setting the trap in the wrong place.

  It had not been an easy week for Sabrina, either. She and Oliver still attended social events together, but once they were in the carriage going home, they both withdrew behind stubborn walls of silence. Conversation within the house was nearly nonexistent. Each had poured out a tale of woe to Gwendolyn, who had identified the root cause as jealousy and had counseled them each to talk and make peace with the other. Neither one took her advice. By Thursday, the night of the masquerade at Vauxhall, matters had reached a breaking point.

  The week’s tensions had only hardened Sabrina’s determination to go through with her plan. She knew she was not the one in the wrong. It was Oliver who— No. She would not think about it now. She would not think about Oliver’s arms clasped tightly about another woman, his head bent to hers, and she would not—she would not!—wish that she had been the woman he held, the woman he kissed so ardently. It was obvious he cared little about her. In that case, why should she expose her heart to him? She would show him that she could be as cool and unemotional, as detached, as any man.

  “Miss, are you sure about this?” said Letty, breaking into Sabrina’s brown study. She started, and turned from the scene she had seemed to see in the dressing table mirror, that of Oliver and Lady Marshfield embracing.

  “Yes, Letty. Were you able to find me a domino?”

  “Yes, miss,” Letty said, troubled. “‘Tis in your wardrobe. But I do wish you’d change your mind.”

  “No.” Oliver had a thing or two to learn about her, she thought. Let him discover that she was not going to sit passively by while he conducted his amours.

  “But you don’t know what it is like, miss. Anyone can get into Vauxhall and it is sometimes frequented by low persons.”

  “Oh, pooh! Did you know that by most people’s definitions I am a low person, Letty?”

  “Miss?”

  “Never mind. You might as well leave off trying to convince me. My mind is quite made up.”

  “Oh, very well, miss. But if you’ll allow yourself to be guided by me, you’ll let me pin up your hair. If anyone sees it, they’ll recognize you for sure.”

  “The consequences of setting a style. Very well, Letty. Any other advice?”

  “Just be careful. People act differently at masquerades, Miss Sabrina.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Letty. I shall be safe enough with my cousin. Now, where is my domino?”

  “Here, miss.” She brought the domino, a capacious, cloak-like affair of midnight blue, and settled it on Sabrina’s shoulders. With the hood up it covered her completely from head to foot, and the addition of a satin mask in the same shade of blue made her totally unrecognizable.

  “There, you see, Letty?” she said with satisfaction. “I shall be quite safe.”

  “I hope so, miss.”

  “Don’t sound so gloomy. Now, remember, you must keep the side door open for me, so I can get back in.”

  “Yes, miss. You are sure about this?”

  “Yes. Pray see if it’s safe for me to leave yet.”

  “Yes, miss,” Letty said on a sigh, and went to lean over the balustrade to look into the entrance hall. Since the family was staying home tonight and no guests were expected, only one footman, Witherspoon, was on duty. Letty went down the stairs to ask his help in moving Sabrina’s dressing table nearer to a window, her part of the plan. Someone should know, she thought, worried. The duke should know, though facing him would take more courage than she had.

  Sabrina took refuge in an unused room until she heard Letty and the footman walk past, and then ran lightly down the stairs. Luck was with her; the hall was deserted. Silently sending a prayer of thanks up to heaven, she slipped out and sped down the flagstone sidewalk. Around the corner, just as she had been promised, stood a nondescript carriage. At her low-voiced greeting, the door opened and Reginald reached out a hand to help her in.

  “Did you have any problems?” he asked.

  “No, none. They all think I am in my room. I shan’t be missed.”

  “Good. Then we should be able to enjoy ourselves.” His eyes glittered at the prospect. At Vauxhall, Sabrina would have no one to rely on but him, and he was counting on that to influence her reactions. He was, however, leaving nothing to chance. Vauxhall was known for more than its bright lights, sparkling entertainments, and excellent refreshments. Should Sabrina prove stubborn, a walk down one of Vauxhall’s dark, twisting lanes, where many an unwary girl had met her fate, would be quite helpful, culminating as it would in her complete compromise. She would have no chance but to marry him then. He rather hoped it would come to that. Compromising her promised to be a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

  Letty managed to hold out for an hour before her worry and anxiety got the best of her. Being from a peasant family, and trained as a parlormaid, she had never expected that she would rise so high in status as a servant. Before becoming maid to Miss Carrick, she had not spoken above a dozen words to people of quality, and never to the duke, her employer. The thought of facing him now terrified her, but the thought of what could happen to Miss Sabrina if someone didn’t help her terrified her even more.

  “Enter,” Oliver said, in response to the tentative knock on the book-room door. He sat in a comfortable armchair facing the dying fire, a book lying unread on his lap and his fingertips pressed together, resting against his lips. A glass with a residue of brandy stood on the table by his elbow. He was finding this evening devilishly flat, though he had thought he would enjoy a break from the hectic social round of a London season. Foolish to remember nights, not so very long ago, spent escorting a certain young lady to the assemblies he usually detested. Foolish, indeed.

  The door opened and Letty, followed by Witherspoon, came in. Oliver looked up, and frowned. “What is it, Witherspoon?”

  “Excuse me, Your Grace,” Witherspoon said, bowing. “It’s Letty, here, wants to speak with you.” He looked down at the frightened girl standing before him, her hands twisting in her skirt. “Go!” he muttered in Letty’s ear, and gave her a little push.

  Oliver’s eyebrow had risen quite high. “Yes?” he said, his voice daunting. Letty swallowed, hard. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it, and her palms were sweating. At the moment he wasn’t as fearsome as she’d thought, but once he know of her part in this affair he would probably turn her off without a reference, and she needed her job. If she hadn’t had John suppo
rting her, she might have turned and ran.

  “It’s Miss Sabrina, Your Grace,” she said, finally.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s—well, she’s—”

  “Is she ill?”

  “No, Your Grace,” she said, swallowing hard. “She’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “To Vauxhall.”

  Oliver started up from his chair. “The devil she has! Unescorted?”

  “No, Your Grace. Mr. Hailey—”

  Oliver swore, and Letty found it more prudent to hold her tongue. “When did she go?”

  “About an hour ago, sir.”

  “Damn, if I’d known—but there might still be time. You did well telling me of this. I trust I can rely on your discretion?”

  Letty’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Good. Witherspoon, I’ll need to have the carriage brought ‘round. Now!”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Witherspoon said, hastily shepherding Letty out of the room.

  Damn it, Oliver thought. Damn it, when he got his hands on her, he would kill her. He would strangle her and then he would beat her, and then he would read her a thundering scold, if he found her safe. Please God, let her be safe.

  Chapter 24

  Vauxhall didn’t look terribly wicked, Sabrina thought as they approached it from the river. Ever since arriving in London she had wished to come here, but Oliver had proved adamant in his refusal, piquing her curiosity. It wasn’t just the thought of spiting him that had made her agree to come here.

  After paying their admission, Reginald brought her down a path that led between trees hung with sparkling, glistening lights. Lanterns shone form arches and colonnades and illuminated garlands of flowers, and, to her left she could hear the plashing of a waterfall. “This is enchanting,” she said, her eyes sparkling like the lights.

  Beside her Reginald smiled grimly. “Is your mask in place, my dear?” he asked as he led her to the booth he had engaged for them. “We wouldn’t want someone to recognize you.”

  “No one will,” she said serenely, her eyes on the scene in front of her. Across from them was a large pavilion, its domed roof reaching high into the night, filled with laughing, dancing people. Some were in fancy dress, and some, like her, were in dominoes. It seemed true that the presence of a mask released hidden inhibitions. Near her a man was kissing a woman quite soundly, and she saw other liberties being taken that quite stunned her and made the color come up to her cheeks. Perhaps Letty was right, she thought for the first time, and then brushed the notion away. She was with Reginald. What could happen to her?

  A waiter brought them glasses of champagne and a plate of the wafer-thin ham for which Vauxhall was renowned, along with other delicacies. After a glass or two of champagne Sabrina viewed the scene with a great deal more tolerance. She didn’t notice that Reginald wasn’t drinking, nor would she have cared. When he proposed dancing to the waltz that was just then starting, she agreed, though earlier she had thought it would be wise not to. That reservation seemed foolish now, as she let Reginald swing her across the floor. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and everything was wonderful.

  “I wish this could go on forever and ever and ever!” she said, as the dance wound to a close.

  “Perhaps it can, Cousin,” he said. “Here, now, don’t fall.” He stretched out a hand to catch her as she stumbled.

  “Another dance? Please?” she pleaded as he led her off the floor.

  “Do you know, Cousin, I think you have had a trifle too much to drink?”

  “Nonsense. I am not in the least foxed. Perhaps a trifle disguised,” she said, giggling at the pun. “Oh, but it’s so hot. Do you think it’s all right for me to take off my domino?”

  “No! I think, Cousin, that it would be a good idea for you to walk for a while.”

  She stumbled again, and giggled. “Certainly, if the ground stops moving. Lead on, Reginald! Just let’s be back for the fireworks.”

  “Oh, there’ll be fireworks,” he assured her, leading her down a path away from the noise and the crowd. It was the Dark Walk, and it was not a safe place for Sabrina to be, though she was unaware of that. She cared only that it was cooler, and quiet, and she loosened the strings of her domino. There was no one to see, save Reginald.

  “Where are we going?”

  “No place special. Here, there’s a little pavilion. Let us stop and catch our breath for a moment.”

  Sabrina agreed, and so they sat side by side on the marble bench. The pavilion was small and round, built like a Greek temple, with columns and a domed roof. The delightful chaos of the dance floor seemed very far away. “This is lovely,” she said.

  “You are lovely, Sabrina.”

  She giggled. “Oh, Reginald, pray do not flirt with me! I assure you I value you too much as a friend to have you as an admirer.”

  “Do you?” His voice was strange.

  “What is it, Reginald? Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong? No. But every time I bring up the matter of my feelings, Sabrina, you dismiss them.”

  “Oh, Reginald.” In spite of the champagne-induced euphoria, she felt a stab of dismay. “It’s not that I dismiss them, it’s just that I don’t know what to say when you talk like that.”

  “I have a solution for that.”

  “What is it?”

  “Marry me.”

  “But I am already engaged! Surely, Reginald, you cannot be serious.”

  “Oh, but I assure you, I am. Hear me out, Sabrina. I feel certain you will agree with my reasoning.”

  “What reasoning?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. A certain undertone in his voice made her uneasy.

  “Why, my dear, you have been compromised. Didn’t you realize?” he said, as she started. “Here you are, alone with a man. Once that becomes known, you will have to marry me.”

  “No.” Sabrina licked lips gone suddenly dry. “No, I shall scream—”

  “All the better. Then it will become known you are here with me all the sooner. It will cause a scandal, of course, but I don’t think your precious Grandmama will let you starve.”

  “Oliver will never allow it!” She jumped to her feet, and he followed suit. “Oh, please—”

  “Do you think he’ll want you, after this? Oh, no.” His smile was evil as he advanced upon her. “No, your precious duke won’t want anything to do with you. You should be grateful, Sabrina.”

  Sabrina backed up and came up against the wall. “Oh, please,” she began, edging to the side, not taking her eyes from the hands that reached out for her. “Please—”

  “No, Sabrina, you should be grateful to me. Yes. You should be glad I’ll marry you, with your reputation in shreds. As it will be. You’re not what I’d choose,” he went on, advancing another step, “but I’ll overlook your birth.”

  Sabrina was still watching his hands, but that jolted her. “My birth? Who told you?” she stammered, and Reginald stopped for a moment. He had meant merely that she was American, and thus beneath him, but it was obvious, from the look in her eyes, that she misunderstood.

  “Oh, yes,” he said in satisfaction. “I always knew you weren’t what you seemed. Yes, Sabrina. I know about your birth.”

  “You know I’m illegitimate?” she said, her voice a squeak.

  Reginald recoiled as if he had been slapped. “A bastard!” he spat. This was the very last think he had expected. “You’re a bastard?”

  “Oh, my God.” Sabrina stared at him in horror, appalled at what she had just done. He had tricked her. Her preciously guarded secret was out. “My God, you didn’t know—”

  “Damn if I’m going to ally myself with a bastard!”

  “Then let me go, I’ll go home and we’ll say nothing of this—”

  “No.” He rose, and his voice was as implacable as his face. “No. I mean to have you, Sabrina. You’ll not escape from me, bastard or no. Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere!” He rea
ched out and grabbed her arms as she tried to push past him.

  “Let me go!”

  “Oh, no, not until you say you’ll marry me.”

  “I’ll never marry you!” she spat.

  “Don’t you understand, my dear? You don’t have a choice. Now, come give your fiancé a kiss.”

  “No!” she cried, struggling in his arms. “Oh, why are you doing this to me?”

  “Don’t you know, Sabrina? For the money.”

  “The money?”

  “Yes. The money the dowager is going to give to you. It should be mine, Sabrina, mine! And, by God, it’s going to be. You’re going to give it to me, Sabrina. You’ll be my wife.”

  “No!” she cried again, and this time succeeded in twisting away from him. He was faster, though, and he moved, blocking the doorway. There was no place to go. Oh, dear God, if she could only get out of this situation, she would never defy Bainbridge again. “Reginald, please—”

  “And even Bainbridge won’t want you, when you have been possessed by someone else.”

  “Not by you!” she spat.

  He chuckled evilly. “Oh, yes. Come here, my little love, don’t run from me.” He edged toward her, for the space of a moment leaving the doorway unguarded, and at last she thought she saw her chance. With a quickness born of desperation she tried to dart past him, only to be caught and held by hands that felt like steel. “No! Let me go! Please, let me go!”

  Uncaring, ungentle, he shoved her back until she was pressed up against one of the columns. She went limp, and he chuckled. “Ah, so you have decided to cooperate. Very good, Sabrina, very—”

  Her knee came up, quick and hard, and he bent double. “You little bitch!” he shouted, grabbing for her domino as she pushed past him. The strings that she had loosened earlier parted and the domino fell away, nearly smothering him. Sabrina didn’t stop. She was free, and she had to get home, she had to get home. Not caring that her disguise was all but gone, she ran down the path, toward the noise and light that meant people and safety.