The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  Until she reached the landing.

  Worry nipped at her confidence, and her courage faltered. Downstairs, all was quiet, and the foyer remained vacant. On a sigh, she bit her lip and trailed her fingers along the oak balustrade. As a child, Sabrina often rode the rail and was forever getting her posterior heated as a result. The activity had survived her formative years because a ripping slide was the perfect remedy for nervous anxiety, but the tongue-lashings and spankings lessened, as she grew smart enough to choose more opportune moments.

  Sabrina peered below. No doubt such behavior would be frowned upon were she marrying a titled gentleman. Thank heavens Everett was not of the noble set. There were no witnesses, so what could it hurt? Hiking her skirts, she swung a leg over the wooden rail.

  #

  Everett exited the study.

  What a difference a night made. The admiral was all smiles, the transgressions of the past forgotten. He, on the other hand, still was not sure what had happened. One thing was certain--Sabrina was his.

  The contracts were drawn.

  Marriage negotiations were a new experience for him. He could hardly complain, however, since the admiral provided a substantial dowry for his daughter. Not that Everett needed her money.

  It had been a surprisingly painless process, over before it had begun. The next thing he knew, the butler informed him his bride-to-be waited in the drawing room. With a polite farewell, he took his leave of Admiral Douglas and set off in search of his future wife.

  What would Sabrina say?

  Could she truly want to marry him?

  As he entered the foyer, a sudden movement caught his attention. He choked back laughter when his eyes lit upon a pair of shapely calves and froths of lace. Quick as a wink, he moved into position and braced for impact.

  Sabrina landed right in his arms.

  With a smile, Everett gazed into her stunned expression and declared, “There is a God.”

  #

  Within the well-worn walls of Almack’s, Everett made his first formal appearance with the Douglas family. Enduring the pinching discomfort of knee breeches seemed a small price to pay for the honor of escorting his bride-to-be, or so he whispered in her ear, along with a few improper comments on her attire that made her cheeks burn.

  Gowned in burgundy silk trimmed in old gold, her ebony locks piled atop her head, with a flirty curl dangling at her throat, Sabrina was unaccustomed to the wealth of attention she suffered from almost every male in the grand ballroom. But she had not bothered to look past the man at her side. There were pointed stares from women who, no doubt, had more in-depth knowledge of her fiancé, but she cared not.

  He is marrying me.

  The words sang in her head, again and again, a triumphant refrain. The little ditty served as an impenetrable defense shielding her from every upturned nose, cruel scoff, and cutting remark.

  And there were many.

  But as far as Sabrina was concerned, the gossipmongers could go to the devil. No, she was not the best example of a proper English gentlewoman. For that reason, had her intended stood to inherit, she never would have set her cap for him.

  The screech of a violin announced the dancing was about to commence. Out of nowhere, a crowd of rakes appeared to vie for her hand.

  “May I have this dance, Miss Douglas?” Lord Fells bowed with a dramatic flair she thought should be saved for a stage performance. With a sly expression, he made a point to ignore Everett. She decided the cad would have to pay for such an affront to her future husband. Or perhaps the stuffy aristocrat had simply forgotten his spectacles.

  “But, I am Sabrina.”

  “Of course you are.” He offered his escort.

  “Would you not prefer to partner Cara?” She held tight to Everett.

  “I have always appreciated your charming sense of humor, Miss Douglas.” Lord Fells stepped closer. “Shall we?”

  “Go.” Everett inched from her side. “I will wait here for you, my dear.”

  “But no one ever wants to dance with me,” she whispered.

  “I am afraid the announcement of our betrothal will bring us both unwanted attention, my lady,” Everett replied softly and then chuckled. “Have your dance, as I am not going anywhere.” The last was said within earshot of Lord Fells.

  As Lord Fells led her to the floor, Sabrina glanced over her shoulder at the man who would be her husband.

  He winked. She tripped.

  The music played, couples passed within arm’s reach, hands touched briefly, fell away, and then touched again. If her partner ever looked at her, she knew not.

  Because Sabrina only had eyes for Everett.

  A wrong step here, a crushed toe there, and she was positive that would be her first and last dance with Lord Fells. The poor man perspired when he returned her to Everett. Of course, she told herself she had not trounced his toes on purpose to ward off any future advances from the overbearing lord. She comforted herself in the knowledge she was clumsy by nature.

  Everett claimed her waltzes--every one of them--casting a lethal stare in the direction of any man who might dare think of approaching her. She thought she might grow accustomed to being in his arms, but as each dance proved an affecting experience, her heart racing, her ears ringing, she decided to relax and enjoy the emotions whirling within her. And when she surrendered, her response grew even more intense.

  By the time they sought a table for two in a well-hidden corner for supper, Sabrina felt as if she were floating. She cared not that her hair was arranged in a new style. She paid no attention to the low-cut bodice of her gown. With Everett, nothing else mattered.

  “Can I get you another sweetmeat, sweet?” he asked as she shoved the last of three lemon tarts in her mouth.

  Unable to form a coherent reply without embarrassing herself, she shook her head and smiled.

  “Perhaps some more ratafia?” Her future husband arched a brow. “We could seek an alcove before the dancing resumes.”

  Still chewing, she nodded a vigorous affirmative.

  “Wait here.” Everett laughed and tapped a finger to her nose. “I shall be right back.”

  Moments later, he returned with two glasses of champagne.

  She must have looked her surprise, because he inclined his head and clucked his tongue. “I smuggled it in. I thought we could share our own private toast to our eminent wedding.”

  A screened alcove on a balcony above the huge dance floor became their safe haven. The soft chink of their glasses was lost amid the noise of revelers.

  “To our impending nuptials.” Everett raised his glass and cast her a dimpled grin.

  “And may we live happily ever after.” Sabrina borrowed a line from many a childhood tale.

  As they sipped the intoxicating bubbly, a nearby conversation caught their attention.

  “Why do you suppose he is marrying her?” a male voice inquired.

  “Probably because no one else will have him,” an unknown female added. “He is, after all, a second son.”

  “But he has money to burn.”

  “He would have to in order to secure a more noble hand.”

  “Really, a man with no title cannot possibly hope for better,” another person chimed. “But one would think he could secure a more refined candidate for a wife than that Douglas chit. She trips over her own shadow.”

  A chorus of laughter erupted.

  #

  Everett cursed as the charming glow in Sabrina’s countenance faded. Anger roared through him, and lust for revenge road hard in its wake. He stepped out, but she caught hold of his arm and stayed him. “I will not let--”

  “Shh.” She held a finger to her lips. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then returned to look him in the eyes. “Kiss me, please. I need you desperately.”

  “They are right, you know.” Turning into her, he took her glass and set it on a ledge beside his. With his hands at her waist, he pulled her near and kissed her forehead. “I have no title.”


  Sabrina framed his face. “What care I for titles when I have you?”

  He pressed his lips to her palm. “You are not disappointed?”

  “I could ask the same of you.” Unbearable sadness invested her expression. “I am not the most graceful lady, but I am grateful you chose me, and I will endeavor to make you glad of it.”

  The slow burn of desire quenched his fury. If it were any other woman, he would have been skeptical. But the truth shining in her tear-filled blue eyes was undeniable. In that instant, he counted himself the most fortunate of men for having selected her as his bride. And, once again, she accepted him. She knew who he was, had seen what he was, and still she wanted him. Not for his money. Not for his land--but for him.

  “Sabrina.” He set his forehead to hers. “I do not deserve you.”

  “Are you sure you do not have it wrong?” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Are you trying to tell me I do not deserve you?”

  “Let them talk.” Everett scoffed. “They can all go to the devil.” Slowly, he bent his head and suckled lightly on her lower lip, drawing her sumptuous flesh into his mouth. With a sob, she opened to him.

  And he devoured her.

  #

  The next morning, Sabrina sat in the back parlor twiddling her thumbs. Over and over again the ugly comments from the previous night echoed in her head.

  Accustomed to the harsh criticism, she had endured it as long as she could remember. As far as she was concerned, her detractors could hang from the nearest yardarm. But never had she heard anyone speak ill of Everett until he became connected with her. To her amazement, it hurt. It also scared her.

  What affect would such carping have on him?

  Would he regret choosing her for his bride?

  “Sabrina, you have a visitor,” her mother called out, as she opened the door and then waved a summons. “Cara is with Lord Markham in the drawing room. I am busy with the household accounts, so she will act as chaperone.”

  “All right.” They had no scheduled appointment, so what could Everett want?

  “Mind your manners.” With a wag of her finger, her mother cautioned, “Do as your sister says and behave yourself.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Self-doubt gnawing at her heels, Sabrina made her way to the drawing room. It was a new experience, one with which she was not comfortable.

  Perhaps she should offer to quit their betrothal?

  Or was he there to end it, himself?

  The doors were open, and she had crossed the threshold before she realized it. Everett and Cara stood as she entered.

  “My lord.” Sabrina curtseyed.

  Everett bowed. “My lady.”

  “May we have a moment in private?” She glanced at her older sister. “Please?”

  “Mama is in the study.” Cara gave Sabrina’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Papa is in Greenwich. I will be in the foyer and shall whistle if anyone nears.”

  “Thank you.” Sabrina waited until they were alone to face her fiancé, as she desired no witnesses to her possible humiliation. “My lord--”

  “Everett,” he corrected her.

  She huffed. “Everett, will you not be seated?”

  Gowned in a simple pale pink morning dress, she felt a pauper when compared to his elegant attire. She wondered how anyone could look so grand so early in the day? Wearing fawn colored breeches tucked into gleaming Hessians, a crisp white shirt and starched cravat, a navy waistcoat and a chocolate brown coat, Everett was the epitome of a well-heeled English gentleman.

  Drowning in self-consciousness, she smoothed her skirts before sitting beside him on the sofa.

  “I wanted to--”

  “I came to--”

  She laughed nervously.

  He dipped his chin. “Ladies first.”

  Sabrina inhaled and summoned every ounce of courage within her, then settled her hands in her lap. Despite what she wanted, she decided she had to put Everett’s needs above her own. Let the ton say what they would about her, but she could not sit idly and let them disparage him.

  “I was thinking about last night--the comments we overheard.” She swallowed a sob. “I thought perhaps you might want to revisit our engagement.”

  “Are you reneging on our agreement?” With a curious countenance, Everett leaned forward. “Because I made an honorable offer, and the contracts are signed.”

  “No.” She prayed for strength.

  “You wish to end our betrothal?” Narrowing his stare, he slapped a fist to an open palm and stood. “Well, I never would have figured you for a quitter, Miss Douglas, but I suppose even I can be mistaken.”

  “Blast!” Sabrina leapt to her feet. “Blast! Blast!”

  “I beg your pardon?” He folded his arms and frowned. “Calm yourself, woman, and make your point.”

  “I am making a dreadful mess of our predicament.” She gave vent to an unladylike snort, so what else was new. “I do not wish to end our engagement, but I thought, perhaps, you did, and I only wanted to make it easy for you.”

  “What on earth ever gave you that idea?” Everett shifted his weight, and his brows almost reached his hairline.

  “I have exposed you to harsh criticism.” Must she air their dirty laundry in such detail? If Sabrina were going to address the problem, she would not, in good conscience, omit any part of the distressing situation. “While I am quite accustomed to such nonsense, as I have suffered it for years, I was not sure how it affected you. This cannot be pleasant.”

  For a few seconds, Everett just stared at her, mouth agape. Then his shoulders trembled as he laughed hysterically. After a moment, he dragged the back of his hand across his forehead and rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “My dear Sabrina, I can assure you I am immune to such prattle. As it is, I am a second son. There will be no title if you marry me, you know?”

  “Indeed, and I daresay I much prefer you that way.” She grinned, feeling flirty and naughty, at once. “And I am not the most graceful lady. You do understand that you might have ensured yourself a lifetime of broken toes?”

  “Of that I have no doubt, love.” Everett chuckled. “But it is a pain I shall gladly bear.”

  “How generous of you.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “So, my lord, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “Ah, yes.” He snapped his fingers and reached into his coat pocket. “As you are not planning to throw me over, I brought you a gift, which I hope meets with your approval.”

  When he produced a tiny box, Sabrina sucked in a breath. He lifted the lid, revealing a betrothal ring twinkling on a bed of white satin.

  “Oh, Everett,” she whispered. “It is lovely.”

  Without hesitation, he plucked the gold band adorned with a simple round diamond. He took her left hand in his and slipped the ring on her finger. “Well, do you like it?”

  Her heart sang with joy as she launched herself at her future husband. In welcome, she parted her lips as their mouths met, engaging his tongue in a fiery dance. Delicious heat simmered in her veins, and a familiar flutter blossomed in the pit of her belly. His hands roamed her waist, her back, and her bottom--before a conspicuous cough interrupted their interlude.

  Sabrina peered in the direction of the entryway and discerned that Cara, the soul of discretion, God bless her, had remained in the foyer. When she returned her attention to her fiancé, she discovered he had retreated behind a chair. “Everett? Is something wrong?”

  “My dear, would it be rude to ask you to refrain from doing anything too encouraging--at least until we are wed?” He grimaced as though he were in pain. “Afterward, you may come at me to your heart’s content.”

  Rocking on her heels, Sabrina giggled. “My lord, I make no promises.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  A sennight later, Sabrina stared at the early morning sky. The first streams of pink and gold cut through the black of night, in a dazzling display of nature’s omnipotence. With not a cloud visible, it was a beautiful day for a wedding.
>
  That Everett insisted on a hasty ceremony had been quite a shock. Of course, the scandalmongers speculated on the necessity of a speedy wedding. The latest on-dit surmised she was pregnant. She laughed. Her future husband thrived on controversy, making no attempt to dispel the gossip.

  Sabrina would have taken issue with his indifference had his conduct not been above reproach. But everything he had done during their whirlwind engagement bespoke his regard. And though he had not said he loved her, she hoped he might soon be inspired to make a declaration.

  After a light meal of tea and dried toast to quell the cries of her empty belly, her lady’s maid helped her dress for the momentous occasion. Her mother stopped by before departing for the church. Cara, Alex, and Elaine peeked in to wish her well. Caroline and Rebecca had done so last night, at their ritual pity party on the eve of her wedding.

  It was a tradition, of sorts, for the ladies to gather and toast the future with wine and sweets. Caroline and Rebecca passed on the wine, explaining their odd behavior by announcing the impending arrival of two members of the next generation of the Brethren of the Coast. It was sad that their husbands, Trevor and Dirk, respectively, were at sea and remained unaware of the new additions to their families.

  “Sabrina, it is time.”

  She shook her head and blinked. Rotating slowly, she faced her father. How resplendent he was in his formal regimental of rich navy blue adorned with gold epaulets. Sabrina shrugged her shoulders to ease the tension investing her.

  Smiling, she curtseyed. “Papa.”

  “Oh, my girl.” Her sire took her gloved hands in his and raised them to his lips. “You are so beautiful, dearest.”

  “I would not say that.” She basked in his praise. “But I do feel quite splendid.”

  “It is true.” Her father sighed and trailed a finger down her cheek. “You are a very lovely young lady, my dear. You have a unique quality, a charm all your own, and Lord Markham is a fortunate man. While I could not be prouder of you, I shall miss our mornings together. I shall miss the pitter-patter of your feet in the hall. But I shall miss your delightful smile most.”