by Kruger, Mary
The man snatched it. “Thank ‘ee, guv’nor! God bless ‘ee, guv’nor.”
Rawlings was running back from the mail office, just as Oliver turned and stalked away from the old man. “Got it, guv’nor! They’ve got a fair head start on us!”
Damn, and the Royal Mail traveled fast. “Jump on,” Oliver commanded.
“Going to spring them, guv’nor?”
“Once we clear of all this traffic. Guv’nor?”
“Sorry, Your Grace. Got carried away.”
“Thank God I stable horses along this road. When I get my hands on her—”
“Give her a good beating, Your Grace. Women need a beating now and again.”
“I can’t beat her,” Oliver said, shocked. “Good God, man, what are you about to suggest such a thing?”
“Sorry, guv—Your Grace. Watch out for that cart!”
“stop complaining. We passed it, did we not?”
“Yes, guv’nor.” Rawlings glanced back at the cart they had passed with barely an inch to spare, and mopped at his forehead.
“Rawlings, if you call me guv’nor one more time I will not answer for the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, guv—Your Grace. How fast we going, you think?”
“Fast enough,” Oliver said grimly, “and when I catch up with her I’m going to give her the thrashing of her life.”
They passed several more slow moving cart, a large lumbering traveling carriage, and even another curricle, whose driver thought he had been challenged to a race. He would not give over, and his hubs came so close that Rawlings closed his eyes in anticipation of a collision. At last Oliver pulled ahead, and the other driver yelled cheerful insults at losing what he considered to have been a capital contest.
In Marlow they stopped at the Hare and Hounds to change horses. The mail coach had gone by not very long before. To be stopped so close to their goal was frustrating. Oliver had to admit, however, that the bays had had it and a new team was needed. When the ostlers were finally done, he grabbed the ribbons, yelling for Rawlings. Rawlings hastily set down his tankard, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and ran out. “Sorry, Your Grace,” he said as he jumped on. Oliver didn’t answer, but set off so fast that Rawlings nearly fell off.
“Up ahead, Your Grace,” he yelled after a few minutes, seeing a cloud of dust ahead of them.
“I see it,” Oliver said grimly as the distinctive maroon and gold coach came into view. “Hold on.” Leaning forward, he set the team to an even faster gait. Nothing was going to hold him back now.
Sabrina had forgotten about the discomfort of public coaches after months of traveling in fine private carriages, and now was feeling the lack of comfortable upholstery and room enough to stretch. She had managed to procure a corner seat, but she was crushed into it by a monstrously fat woman who smelled of onions. Her posterior was numb, her legs were stiff, and from time to time she felt nauseous. Only a few hours of her journey were behind her, with too many still to go. It didn’t bear contemplation.
Her early rising, combined with the swaying of the coach lulled her into a doze enlivened by dreams. She was at a ball and was, oddly enough, dressed in one of her old gowns from New York. Oliver, wearing the bright colors and powdered wig of half a century ago, was requesting a dance, and he proffered her a lobster claw instead of his hand. Someone started shouting, surely odd behavior for Almack’s. She was wondering why Lady Jersey was allowing it, when she came suddenly awake and realized that that part of her dream was real. People were shouting. Everyone was looking out the window farthest from her, with the man opposite craning his head to see.
“What is it?” she asked the woman next to her.
The man opposite turned. “Some fool is trying to overtake us in a curricle,” he said.
“We are all going to die!” wailed the lady in the other corner, next to the fat woman. She was thin and angular, and was dressed all in gray.
“Oh, surely not,” Sabrina said. “Is there room enough for him to pass?”
“If not he’ll make room,” said a man sitting in the far corner. He was large and grizzled, perhaps a farmer. “Damn fool aristocrats.”
“Sir! There are ladies present!” the fat woman protested, and the man glanced over, his gaze skeptical.
“He’s made it!” exclaimed the man opposite Sabrina. “Finest display of driving I ever seen!”
It was on the tip of Sabrina’s tongue to say that she’d seen better, but just in time she remembered she was no longer Quality and kept quiet. The passengers sat back now that the excitement was passed, when of a sudden the coach jolted to a stop and Sabrina was flung against her neighbor.
“Really!” The fat woman protested. “Some people take all the room. Next time, Mr. Piggle, we will hire a chaise.”
“It is a robbery!” The woman in gray cried. “Oh, mercy me, ladies, pray that we escape with our virtue!”
Mr. Piggle turned a sardonic eye on her, and Sabrina struggled with a fit of the giggles. Mr. and Mrs. Piggle! Oh, if only Oliver with it to share this with her.
“What the devil would I want with your money, man?” a voice shouted from outside, and Sabrina sobered very quickly. She knew that voice. “My wife’s inside. It’s her I want.”
“What is happening, Mr. Piggle?” Mrs. Piggle asked, and he turned toward her.
“Damn fool is blocking the road with his curricle. Shouting something about his wife,” he said.
“His wife! I hope he doesn’t think it’s me!”
“Or me,” the woman in gray said, and all eyes in the coach turned to Sabrina, who had grown very red.
At that moment the door near her was wrenched open, and Oliver thrust his head in. “Get out here,” he commanded.
From somewhere she found courage. “No, Oliver, I won’t.”
“Obey your husband, girl,” Mrs. Piggle said.
“Oh, mind your own business,” Sabrina snapped, and then spoiled the effect of that pronouncement by giggling. Really, the woman did look like her name.
“This is no laughing matter, Sabrina. Are you coming out or do I have to come in there and get you?” Oliver said.
“I say, old chap, if the lady doesn’t want to come out...” the man opposite began, only to trail off under the effect of Oliver’s eyes, gone steely.
“I suggest you mind your own affairs,” he said, icy hauteur, born of years of breeding, in his voice. “Listen, miss. I have been chasing after you for hours, and Grandmama is worried sick—”
“is she all right?” Sabrina asked, leaning forward.
“Yes, no thanks to you. For the last time, will you come out here?” She hesitated. “Sabrina, my patience is wearing thin.”
“All right! Very well, Oliver, I’m coming.”
“Imagine running away from a husband like that!” came the voice of the woman in gray as Sabrina stepped out. She couldn’t help it. She dissolved into giggles again, while Oliver eyed her sternly.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, “but it was so absurd! Mr. and Mrs. Piggle—”
“Stop it!” He grasped her shoulders and gave her a good shake. All the laughter went out of her. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going home, Oliver, she said quietly. “I don’t belong here, and it’s high time I admitted it.”
“What are you talking about? This is your home.”
“No, Oliver! It never has been. I can’t live the way the ton does, that artificial life. I’m just a poor shopkeeper’s daughter.”
“Better than a play,” someone inside the coach said.
In spite of the gravity of the situation, Oliver’s lips twitched. “Then let’s give them something to see,” he said and before Sabrina could protest, hauled into his arms and kissed her soundly. When he released her she stared up at him, speechless.
“Guv’nor! Can I move the horses?” Rawlings called.
“Go ahead,” Oliver
called back, and then looked up at the interested spectators riding atop the coach. “Could you throw down her bag? Thank you.”
“Oliver, I can’t stay, Sabrina protested, all too aware that in a few minutes the coach would be pulling away. “I can’t. I’ve paid my fare.”
“And where do you think you’ll go? With your country’s embargo, passage to America will be hard to find.”
“I don’t care! I’ll manage. Oliver, I will not stay here and ruin your life.” The coachman blew on his yard of tin, and the coach began to pull away. “Please let me go.”
“Ruin my life? What the devil are you talking about?”
“My birth, Oliver. My background. I’m a bastard.”
“Damn, don’t ever let me hear you say that about yourself again.”
Sabrina looked away, watching the stage driving down the road. “But ‘tis true. And that’s not bad enough. What I did—”
His hand slashed through the air. “That doesn’t matter. Your birth doesn’t matter.”
“It matters! It matters to people like Lady Jersey—”
“It doesn’t matter to me! It never did. For God’s sake, Sabrina, will you stop this and become my wife?”
Speechless again, she stared up at him with wide eyes. “But you don’t love me.”
“Who says I don’t?” he said, and caught her up again in his arms. The passengers of a passing carriage cheered lustily, and she emerged from the embrace flushed and smiling.
“You love me?” she said, her gaze for no one but him.
“Yes, my darling infant. I love you.”
“In spite of what I did?”
“Oh, Sabrina.” He reached out to touch her cheek. “I’m as much to blame for that as you. If I had only let you know that you could come to me with any problem—well, never mind that, it’s past. Can you ever forgive me? I swear I will never doubt you again.”
“Oliver.” She stood on tiptoe, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and laying her head against his shoulder, to hide her sudden tears. “I don’t deserve that.”
“You do.”
“No. Oh, Oliver, I do love you!”
“And I you. Will you marry me, infant?”
“I shall have to. ‘Tis getting dark and we’re miles from home. I’m afraid you have compromised me, sir.”
He put back his head and laughed. “So that’s the way of it, is it?” He pulled a piece of paper from an inner pocket. “Well, you needn’t worry. I’ve something here to remedy that.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened as she looked at the paper. “A special license?” she said in wonder, and looked up at him. “When did you get that?”
“After we cancelled the wedding.”
“What!”
“I thought we might have need of it.”
“You were quite certain of me, weren’t you?”
“Yes. You belong to me, my girl.” His face grew serious. “I can’t live without you, Sabrina. My life was empty before you came, and if you left—”
“I will never leave,” she promised.
“Good. Carricks belong in England, not America.” He dodged her playful swat and caught her close against his side. “Shall we go back to Marlow and find a minister who will know what to do with this?”
“Oh, Oliver, yes,” she said, and raised her face to his.
“Guv’nor, it’s getting dark,” Rawlings called.
“I know,” Oliver called back, and bent his head again.
“Guv’nor?” Sabrina said. “Why did Rawlings call you that?”
“Be quiet,” he growled, and because his lips were on hers, his soon-to-be-wife happily obeyed.
Author’s Note
One of the pleasures of readying an old book for electronic publication is having the chance to make corrections. One of the pitfalls is—having the chance to make corrections. In making revisions to a 500 plus page manuscript, I’m sure I made some new errors. My apologies. If you have found any errors, please let me know so I can correct them. I will send you a coupon for one of my other books. Email me at: [email protected]
Mary Kingsley is the author of Regency and historical romances, including the RITA nominated The Rake’s Reward, and the Regency novella “The Runaway Duchess,” winner of the New Jersey Romance Writers’ Golden Leaf Award. As Mary Kruger she is also the author of the Gilded Age mystery series, and two knitting mysteries.
Mary has, alas, never danced with a dashing duke or flirted with a rake, but she hopes that you, the reader, can have those experiences through her books. A librarian, she lives in Massachusetts with her daughter. She enjoys reading, crafts, walking, and, of course, chocolate. She is currently at work on her next book.
Please email Mary at [email protected]
Books by Mary Kruger
Sabrina
An Unsuitable Wife
(originally published as A Gentleman’s Desire)
The Rake’s Reward
A Summer Folly
An Inconvenient Affair
(originally published as An Intriguing Affair)
Scandal’s Lady
In a Pirate’s Arms
Rogue’s Charade
(originally published as Masquerade)
Beyond the Sea
An Angel’s Wish
Marrying Miss Bumblebroth
The Reluctant Hero
Gifts of the Heart
The Crystal Heart
The Gilded Age Mystery Series
Death on the Cliff Walk
No Honeymoon for Death
Masterpiece of Murder
The Knitting Mysteries
Died in the Wool
Knit Fast, Die Young
