The marquess laughed, hearty and boisterous, and slapped a hand to a thigh.
The marchioness snorted and rolled her eyes.
Everett still propped in the corner, the hint of a smile on his lips.
Four hours later...
“And then when I was sixteen, I slid down the balustrade in our townhouse and fell flat on my bottom. I could not sit comfortably for a sennight. It was dreadful and reminded me of the time I was thrown from my horse.” Sabrina groaned. “I tried to jump a hedge, and a rather large one at that, and the mare had the good sense not to follow my lead. Unfortunately, I sailed through the air like a sparrow. However, as I do not have wings, my landing was awfully rough.”
The marquess held a hand to his belly, as his guffaws reverberated through the coach.
The marchioness sat, spine straight, and made a point to ignore her daughter-in-law.
Enjoying the retelling of her existence, Sabrina showed her mother-in-law the same courtesy. But how she wished for some sign of approval from her husband.
Everett remained still as deadwood in the squabs--but all of a sudden, he offered her a whisper of a wink.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tantallon Hall was a dreary estate built entirely of beige Barnack stone. It boasted no embellishments, no ornamentation, and not even a crenellated tower. The flowerbeds contained no colorful blooms, only severe, boxed shrubbery. It was, Sabrina thought, the perfect venue for a funeral.
The family viewing was a small affair. She took her place beside her husband, who sported a black armband like his father. As she gazed on a portrait of the brother-in-law she never knew, she noted the similarities he shared with Everett.
Both siblings had the same unruly brown locks. An austere, patrician nose sat as a prominent feature between chiseled cheeks, and his chin was squared and proud in an uncanny replica of his younger sibling. And though Charles had possessed the same amber-colored eyes, his had not danced with fiery sparks, as her husband’s.
The service and subsequent graveside ceremony were an equally solemn affair. While there were those who shed tears, Sabrina noted neither Everett nor his mother cried. The marquess, however, looked to be a man of broken spirit.
The wake was an ocean of Markhams and their connections, and the great hall filled to overflow. Soon, she was lost amid the many names and titles. Somewhere in the middle of the gathering, it dawned on her that as the future marchioness, it was her duty to assume the role of matriarch to the sizeable dynasty.
With that thought in mind, she sought her father-in-law and found him sitting alone in the library. “My lord, you seem so sad. Is there anything I can do?”
“Do not frown, my dear.” Mustering a lopsided grin, he chucked her chin. “I will be all right. But while I have lost my eldest born, I feel as if I have no connection with my second son, either.”
Unprepared for his frank revelation, Sabrina flinched. “My lord, you mustn’t say such things.”
“But it is true.” His shoulders drooped, and the marquess lowered his gaze. “I fear I have made a dreadful mistake, and Everett will never forgive me.”
“Rubbish.” Clenching fistfuls of her skirts to conceal her unsteady hands, she realized she might not be ready to assume the roll of matriarch. “Everett is an exceedingly forgiving and indulgent man. I daresay he never would have married me were he otherwise.” Of course, she prayed her husband intended to keep her for his wife.
The marquess smiled, an affectation she found genuine, and chuckled in a deep rumble that quaked his chest. He cleared his throat and in a hushed voice said, “My dear, you are a ray of sunshine peeking through the darkest of clouds. I am pleased my son married you, as you are exactly what he needs.”
“Thank you, my lord.” How nice it was to hear kind words from her in-law. “I hope he shares your opinion.” And in that she had not lied, because Everett had yet to come to her bed.
Perhaps he had forgotten the necessity.
Perhaps it was time she reminded him.
She left the marquess to search for her errant husband.
They had spent little time together since arriving at Tantallon Hall. Of course, Everett had been busy meeting with solicitors and land agents. And she had been tasked with managing the guests and aiding the marchioness with preparations for the funeral.
While Sabrina thought it the height of impropriety, and surely the greatest insult to the dead, she could not erase the matter foremost on her mind. It was an obsession that kept her waking hours occupied with no relief in sight.
Why would Everett not make her his?
Was the man not supposed to be nipping at her skirts? Although she could hardly blame him--the marchioness had installed them in separate rooms. But what bothered her most was Everett had not complained. She had expected her new spouse to raise the rooftops, because Sabrina had surely wanted to say something, but he had not uttered a word, merely accepted the situation with impassivity. With each passing day, her heretofore-unfailing confidence flagged to perilous depths.
For what was he waiting?
They were married.
They were supposed to make love.
She tried not to wonder at his motive for leaving their union unconsummated, tried to push it into the farthest reaches of her mind. But somehow, lingering doubts taunted her at every turn. When she located her other half on the terrace, he was engaged in conversation with a young lady. As she considered whether or not to intrude, Everett spied her.
“Ah, here is my lady.” He flicked his wrist in entreaty. “Darling, this is Lady Celia Devane. She was to marry my brother.” Everett slipped his arm about Sabrina’s waist. “Lady Celia, this is my wife, Sabrina, countess of Woverton.”
Petite, blonde, and green-eyed, Lady Celia had a waist to rival a wasp’s. She was the definition of femininity, beautiful, and elegant--everything Sabrina was not. In short, she was perfect. If Sabrina could ever hate anyone on sight, she thought that woman an excellent candidate. But she had never cared for the ugly emotion, so she settled for fierce dislike.
“Countess.” With poise and refinement, Lady Celia curtseyed. “So pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Bloody hell, even her voice was dainty.
So that was the woman the marchioness preferred to her current daughter-in-law. Sabrina would have loved to tip her challenger on her backside, but she resisted the urge. Let it never be said she was a poor sport. “It is lovely to meet you, as well, Lady Celia.”
“I believe I see my father.” Lady Celia dipped her chin. “If you will excuse me.” Grace personified, the young woman glided onto the terrace, giving Sabrina another reason to feel less than perfect.
“Walk with me,” Everett whispered in her ear.
Gooseflesh covered Sabrina’s arms, and she was grateful for the long sleeves of her black gown. “I should like that very much, my lord,” she managed to reply calmly. Inside, she danced a merry jig, as it was the first time since their wedding that her new husband expressed any desire to spend a moment alone with her.
Together they coursed the pebbled path through the rose bushes to the topiary gardens. The winding trail led beyond a tall hedge and forked. Everett steered her to the right. There, tucked amid the oaks, stood a tiny gazebo.
Sabrina blinked when they entered the small structure. As her vision adjusted to the dimness, she spied two small stone benches on either side of the gazebo. She sat on one and was disappointed when Everett perched opposite her. Grasping the edge of the bench, she stared at her slippered feet.
“How are you faring?” she inquired, to mask her dismay.
“As well as can be expected.” Everett sighed. “This is not how I foresaw the beginning of our marriage.”
Sabrina glanced at her husband. With a downcast expression, he seemed so melancholy, and she desperately wanted to comfort him but was unsure of her welcome. And right now, she could take no rejection. “Do not worry. This will pass, and everything will be as it was.”
“I wish I could believe that.” He met her gaze. “But I fear our lives will never be as I had planned.”
She frowned.
What had he meant? Had he thought her incapable, inadequate, or both? Was he trying to tell her they had no future? Had he truly wanted an annulment? How could she let her husband know she was up to the task, that she could be a good and dutiful countess?
“We will get through this and, I daresay, many a storm in the coming years.” She inhaled a shivery breath and hoped she had swayed him. “We have to be strong and persevere.”
“Forever the optimist.” Everett unfolded his arms, uncrossed his legs, and appeared to relax. “Have I told you how proud I am of you? I have watched you this week, and my mother would never have been able to arrange this affair without your help.”
“It is my duty, as your wife, to be of service.” Bloody hell, Sabrina would rub her mother-in-law’s feet if it would convince his family of her competence. “Of course I would offer assistance, and I shall continue to do so for however long we are here.”
“That’s my girl.” For a few seconds, Everett said nothing, though he stared at her with unveiled interest. “We will not stay here forever, I promise. There is business to which I must tend, then we shall set off for Beaumaris, as I originally intended.”
Shuffling her weight to conceal her nervous trembling, Sabrina decided she would have been much more comfortable if her husband were sitting beside her. “Just the two of us?”
“Aye.” He chuckled. “Just the two of us.”
For several minutes, Sabrina waited for him to do something--anything. How she wanted him to kiss her, to touch her, to love her. Was there any rule of etiquette that barred her from making the first move? Bother that. They were married, and propriety was never one of her strong suits.
She stood, crossed the floor, turned aside, and plopped herself in his lap. Everett looked his surprise, and before he could protest--if he was going to protest--she wound her arms about his neck and pressed her mouth to his.
Everett rewarded her with a lustful kiss she felt all the way to her toes. His hands groped and kneaded, caressing her body through the forbidding restriction of her gown. A familiar heat burned in her belly, and delicious shivers danced along her spine. His was not the response of a man wishing to end their marriage, and neither was it a rejection.
Sabrina could have jumped for joy.
A callused palm grazed her ankle and captured her attention. Gasping in surprise, she opened her eyes and discovered Everett watching her. Had his gaze held any hint of danger she might have retreated from the shock. But what she saw was indescribable. There was no threat, only unshakeable reassurance and something more--something mysterious and enticing.
Focusing on the movement of his hand, she squirmed as he traced circles on the under side of her knee and urged her legs apart. But when his fingers touched the sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs, Sabrina broke their kiss and buried her face against his neck. If she were not so fascinated, she might have been embarrassed by the intimate invasion.
#
With his fingers bathed in the fire and honey essence of her desire, Everett rested his head against the wall of the gazebo. Maintaining an illicit rhythm, he imagined how it would feel when his lady took him deep within her for the first time.
Wafts of breath rushed over his skin as she panted and moaned in a sultry summons. How he wanted to make love to his spirited bride, but he had promised himself he would give her the opportunity to decide if she wanted to remain his wife. However, there were other ways to pleasure her without the deflowering. With maddening deliberation, he stroked her swollen flesh, and her hips wriggled in a naughty dance on his lap, taunting the turgid crest of his arousal.
Faster and faster he moved, flagrantly inciting. With her hands fisted in his hair, she stretched her legs, and the tension grew. When her head fell back, Sabrina inhaled sharply, and Everett knew what would happen next. Virgin completion beckoned as her body went rigid. In a flash, he covered her lips with his, and she gave her scream into his mouth. Never had he witnessed anything so erotic in his life.
Indeed, Everett had thought he orchestrated their liaison, until her achingly sweet contractions lured him into an earth-shattering climax, and the warmth of his seed oozed over his skin beneath his clothes.
He had not expected that.
Twenty minutes later they strolled at a relaxed pace to the main house. Her skirts had been righted and a faint blush colored Sabrina’s cheeks. And although it was almost summer, Everett had buttoned his coat to conceal the evidence, a telltale stain on his breeches, of his afternoon delight.
And how delightful it had been.
#
Throughout the following week, elegant equipages of all makes and models rolled up the graveled drive in a steady procession of condolence calls. Each stopped before the entranceway and deposited another matron of the local community. Sabrina assisted her mother-in-law by supervising the refreshments and wondered why she had been allowed anywhere near the drawing room during the visits.
While she and Everett remained at Tantallon Hall, the marchioness had made it clear she approved not of her daughter-in-law and had done everything in her power to make Sabrina feel unwelcome. Though she had done her best to be strong, she grew weary of the constant criticism.
“Would you care for more tea, Lady Celia?” Sabrina smiled at the young woman the marchioness had been fawning over ever since she had arrived.
“Yes, thank you.” Lady Celia held her cup steady while Sabrina refilled it.
“Sabrina!” The marchioness stood and folded her arms rigidly in front of her. “How many times have I told you, take the empty cup to the trolley and replenish it. Do not carry the teapot around like a common servant.”
“I am sorry, my lady.” Sabrina flinched and almost spilt the hot liquid on Celia. “I forgot.”
She had tried everything she could think of to earn Lady Elizabeth’s approval. While Sabrina had given her new relation use of her name, the marchioness of Talbot insisted Sabrina address her in-law formally.
“Stop dawdling and return the pot to the trolley, at once,” the marchioness snapped.
Although the majority of guests snickered and eyed Sabrina with disdain, Lady Celia cast a sympathetic expression. Was there nothing she could do right? Holding the porcelain to her chest, Sabrina crossed the room--and tripped.
The teapot launched from her grasp, and its hot contents sprayed her dress as she fell, face down, on the Aubusson rug.
“Clumsy girl.” The marchioness shrieked. “Look what you have done.”
Propping on her elbows, Sabrina tucked her legs and sat on her heels. Her flesh burned from the scalding tea, but it hurt nowhere near as much as the injury to her pride, and the pot scattered in pieces about the floor.
“Are you all right, Lady Sabrina? May I be of assistance?” Lady Celia offered unfailing support. “Do you require a doctor?”
“No.” Painfully conscious of the disapproving stares from the other ladies present, Sabrina crossed her arms in front of herself. “But I need to change my dress.”
Lady Celia inclined her head. “Please, let me help you.”
As they neared the doorway, the marquess and Everett appeared.
“What is going on here?” The marquess looked at Sabrina, then his wife. “What on earth are you screaming about, Lizzy?”
“That wretched girl broke my teapot. She did it on purpose to spite me.” In a performance Sabrina thought worthy of the stage, the marchioness bent and made a show of retrieving the shards. “This was from my grandmother’s service.”
“What?” Sabrina froze in her tracks. “I did no such thing. It was an accident.” She faced her husband. “I tripped and fell. It was unintentional, I swear.”
“Go to your room.” Everett patted her shoulder and kissed her temple. “Let me handle this.”
“I shall accompany you.” Lady Celia g
ave Sabrina a gentle nudge. “Perhaps you need a nap.”
Sabrina exited the drawing room with nary a sound, but she halted and would have returned to defend herself, had Celia not stopped her, when Everett replied, “I assume full responsibility and will compensate you for the damages.”
As though she had been ordered to the Tower, Sabrina trudged up the stairs, Lady Celia in tow. Once they gained the relative privacy of her bedchamber, the young woman helped Sabrina change from one dour black dress to another. Because some of the pins in her hair had loosened during the commotion, Sabrina sat at her vanity to reset the tight knot atop her head.
“Here.” Lady Celia retrieved a silver-backed brush and smoothed Sabrina’s tangled curls. “Allow me to be of assistance.”
Sabrina scrutinized her reflection in the mirror and sniffed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“You have been nice to me.” Lady Celia shrugged. “Since I do not have many friends, I had hoped to claim you as such.”
“That may not be possible.” Sabrina stared at her shaking hands and wondered about the conversation currently taking place in the drawing room. “I am not sure how much longer I will be welcome here.”
“Do not worry about the marchioness.” The incomparable Lady Celia smiled, set the brush aside, and placed her hands on Sabrina’s shoulders. “Lady Elizabeth is angry because she cannot control you. You are your own woman, Lady Sabrina, and I envy your fortitude.”
“You are in the minority.” Sabrina snorted. “And I think your envy is seriously misplaced.”
“Well, I disagree.” Lady Celia fixed a pin and then reset another curl. “And may I call you Sabrina?”
“Of course.” She chuckled. “But only if I can call you Celia.”
Celia gasped. “Please, do so.”
“Perfect.” She turned. “Then let us shake on it.”
“Oh.” A wide-eyed Celia declared, “I feel so powerful.”
“What is this?” Everett stood in the doorway to her sitting room. “Are you conspiring, as I am not certain I can survive your combined efforts?”
The Most Unlikely Lady Page 9
