The strings of a waltz sounded. Dashing rakes and beautiful ladies paired and headed for the dance floor. A tap on her shoulder had her turning around.
Countess Lieven smiled. But it was the tall handsome man standing next to her who commanded Sabrina’s attention.
How sad was it that her first partner was far lovelier than she? Actually, if truth be told--and she considered herself a brutally honest sort--the man was a veritable god.
With unruly brown hair, amber eyes that danced with amusement and naughty thoughts, naughty like the time she ate the last of the cherry compote, and a boyish smile, he was fascinating and frightening at once.
Fascinating because he set her heart pounding.
Frightening because he set her heart pounding.
Were they outside, Sabrina would have sworn she had been struck by a thunderbolt. The thought seemed unlikely. But he was a vast deal more exciting than a large trout dangling from the end of her line. And if she had to marry, it was certainly desirable to wed someone she found more interesting than trout.
“My dear, may I present Lord Everett Markham.” Countess Lieven turned to Everett. “Lord Markham, may I present Miss--”
“--Smyth,” Sabrina interjected. “Miss Smyth.” She extended a hand and engaged him in a vigorous shake.
“You told him your name was Smyth?” Celia laughed and took another gulp of brandy.
“I did.” Sabrina nodded with a mischievous grin.
“And Countess Lieven did nothing?” asked Lady Elizabeth.
Sabrina wrinkled her nose. “I think she was too stunned.”
“But, why did you not tell Everett your real name?”
Sabrina glanced at her mother-in-law. “Because I set my cap for him right then and there. The only problem was I did not know how to attract a man. I was a terrible dancer, a bit gawky, and feared my reputation would scare him.” She shrugged and considered her glass. “Thereafter, I stayed out of sight, avoiding him whenever he was present. Trouble was, I never seemed to improve. I was always tripping, stepping on toes, and speaking out of turn. I almost fainted dead away when Trevor introduced us. I kept waiting for him to recognize me, but he never did. Later, my awkwardness did not seem to matter. Everett married me in spite of myself.”
“How romantic.” Celia sighed.
“If you only knew.” On a hiccup, Sabrina swilled the last of her brandy and waved her hand in front of her face. “Ish it hot in here or ish it jush me?”
#
Everett and his father rode into the forecourt and around to the stables. The marquess prattled about agricultural management, but Everett ignored him.
Because something was wrong with Sabrina.
Lately, she had seemed pale and almost fragile. His wife was a lot of things, but he would never describe her as such. Worse, his usually ebullient bride had withdrawn from her favorite activities. She had never turned down an offer of a ride, yet she had that day. It was only yesterday when she had sought to join him on his evening ride, yet he had spurned her offer because he suspected he would be tempted to rush a declaration. And he wanted to wait until they were alone to broach the tender subject. But her delicate nature concerned him enough that he considered postponing his trip, which meant delaying his declaration.
Of course, if something were amiss with Sabrina, it would take precedence over his pledge of love. He had the rest of his life to proclaim his undying devotion. And he required no journey to an outlying estate in preparation for an oath. It just seemed a golden opportunity to get himself in order, gather his thoughts, and compose a suitable affirmation adequate to the occasion. At the moment, he drifted at sea.
“Everett!”
“What?” He glanced left and realized his sire no longer rode alongside him but had, in fact, dismounted, and an undergroom had secured his horse. Everett shifted in his saddle.
“Well, are you going to sit there all night, or are you going to come down so we can have dinner?” The marquess stood, hands on hips, one brow arched. “I am starved.”
“Er, yes, sir.” He descended his mount.
In silence, they crossed the yard and entered the house through the back parlor. They walked the length of the hall, past the library, the dining room, and the drawing room.
Ware stood in the foyer and collected Everett’s hat and gloves. “Good evening, your lordship.”
Everett scanned the staircase, expecting his wife to coming running at any minute. “Where is her ladyship?”
“The study, I believe,” Ware replied with a strange expression Everett could not decipher.
“What is she doing in there?” the marquess inquired.
Everett was already in the hall. “I had better check on Sabrina before I dress for dinner.”
“And I shall come with you.” His father cleared his throat. “Could use a brandy.”
The marquess in tow, Everett turned the knob, set the door wide, and entered his domain. Three chairs sat before the fireplace, their backs to the door. From where he stood, it appeared the room was empty.
Until someone hiccupped.
“Sabrina?” He arched a brow.
His most unlikely lady appeared at one side of the middle chair. With eyes half open, she smiled and hiccupped. “Hhhhiiiii!”
“Good heavens,” the marquess exclaimed. “The girl is drunk.”
“She ish not drunk,” his mother insisted as she leaned on the armrest of her chair, her head bobbling like that of a newborn babe. “Ladies do not get drunk. We get tipsy.”
The marquess glared at his wife. “Lizzy, what is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, shut up.” When her elbow slipped from the armrest, his mother slumped.
Everett stomped forward and discovered Celia, passed out, in the third chair. He scratched the back of his head. “Bloody hell. Sabrina, what have you to say for yourself?”
Hiccup.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Her head ached.
If for no other reason, she truly wanted to die.
“My dear Sabrina.” Lady Elizabeth hugged her daughter-in-law and pressed a motherly kiss to her cheek. “I shall forever rue the time we wasted at odds.”
She managed a smile for her mother-in-law. After all, she was no longer the thorn in Lady Elizabeth’s side. “Do not dwell on it, my lady.”
“Oh, but you must call me Elizabeth.” Everett’s mother cupped Sabrina’s chin. “We are family, you know.”
How ironic. Her marriage ended just as her mother-in-law finally gave Sabrina use of her name. One more shock of that measure, and Sabrina thought she might throw herself from the roof of the estate house.
“As you wish, Elizabeth.” She inclined her head. “Safe journey.”
Celia approached. “Dearest friend, I owe you a debt I fear I shall never be able to repay. My parents will laud you until they pass from this life for saving me.”
“Nonsense.” Sabrina chucked her shoulder in play. “There is no debt. We are friends, and that is what friends do.”
“Dearest girl.” The marquess stepped up and held her in a fatherly embrace. “Take care of my son.”
At his words, she forced the slightest grin. So Everett had not confided in his parents his plans for a divorce, because the marquess was not a cruel man. She nodded once. “I will do my best by him, my lord.” She comforted herself in the knowledge that she had not lied.
As a dutiful wife, Sabrina stood beside her husband, enduring the weight of his arm about her waist, and waved as the sumptuous traveling coach, bearing his parents and Celia, bobbled down the graveled drive.
The chilly September morning mirrored her husband’s mood. Everett had scarcely spoken to her at breakfast, preferring instead to glare at her across the long dining room table.
Since all three women still suffered the effects of their indulgence, or perhaps drunken foray was a better description, their last meal together had been a conservative affair. To her amazement, she dreaded the departure of her moth
er-in-law, because she relished not the idea of being alone with her husband. But he would soon depart for Osterly.
And tonight, she, too, would embark on a journey.
“Shall we?” Everett nudged her.
Sabrina blinked. “What?”
“Let us go inside.” Everett turned her toward the house. “Perhaps you will tell me what you have been about these past few days.”
“Oh?” She stumbled, and his arm tightened at her waist. “I do not know what you mean.”
“I would like an explanation for your behavior, of late.” He steered her in the direction of his study.
“But--are you not departing for Osterly?” As she returned to the scene of the crime, fear nipped at her heels. “Surely you want to make the journey in the light of day.”
“I have decided to postpone my trip.” He frowned.
She halted in the doorway to the study. “Why?”
He ushered her into his domain. “Because I am concerned for your welfare.”
“My lord, I assure you, such concern is unfounded.” Sabrina faced him and rested her palm to his chest, ever aware that her display of affection exacted a high price in the coin of self-control. “I am quite well.”
“Of course you are.” Everett rolled his eyes and shook his head. “My dear, you have not been yourself for a sennight. Are you going to tell me that getting foxed is normal fare for you? I have seen you commit some outlandish acts, but yesterday you surpassed yourself.”
“It could not be helped.” She bit her lip. “I enjoyed amiable conversation with your mother, and she kept refilling my glass. It was unintentional.”
“You are pale.” He narrowed his stare. “And you seem a tad out of sorts.”
Her mind raced in search of an adequate excuse. She had to convince him his worry was unwarranted, or he might not make his journey. Worse, he could use the opportunity to broach the subject of divorce. While she was willing to grant such request, she doubted she could do so without embarrassing herself.
Divorce was mortifying enough.
“My lord, I have spent most of my time entertaining our guests and working on the household accounts. I have had little opportunity to venture into the sunshine.” She managed a brittle smile. “Now that we are alone, I hope to resume my outdoor activities.”
He cupped her cheek and caressed her skin with his thumb. “Fishing, I presume?”
“I have always found it relaxing.” Placing her hand over his, she ceased his maddening massage. “Go to Osterly.”
“It is only for one night.” Everett inclined his head and grinned. “If you are sure you are all right.”
“I am fine.” She wrung her fingers and curled her toes in her slippers.
“There is something we should discuss, but I suppose it can wait.” How earnest he appeared.
Oh, why could he not just confess his plans? Even as she stifled a shudder, her knees buckled, her ears rang with alarm, and she shivered with dread.
That discussion will never happen.
“Go.” As she had on so many occasions, she pressed her lips to his palm. “See to your property.”
And only a half an hour later, for the second time that day, Sabrina stood in the forecourt and waved at another departing carriage. Her husband leaned out the window, pressed a hand to his lips, and blew her a kiss. She smiled, made a show of catching the imaginary buss and held it to her cheek. When he disappeared inside the carriage, her smile faded to a frown.
#
Sabrina spent her last day in the grand structure she had come to think of as home, wandering through the cavernous halls and chambers. She walked the gardens, at times closing her eyes and committing to memory the sights, smells, and sounds unique to the estate.
She searched out each servant, inventing one excuse after another, to say goodbye. Though none knew it was goodbye.
Late in the afternoon, she donned her riding habit and toured the fields once more as mistress of Beaumaris. She rode hell bent for leather through the meadow and jumped the fence at the north end of the property.
That night, wearing her best gown, Sabrina ate dinner in the formal dining room, using the finest china and silverware. Crisp white damask linens trimmed in old gold blanketed the long table. And she sat at the head, presiding over her final meal as the countess of Woverton. As she stared at the empty chairs on either side, the future she had thought she would enjoy played before her.
Memories she would never make.
There were children she would never know, save the one she carried, celebrations of which she would never partake, and family traditions she would never begin. She would never know how it would be to grow old with Everett and raise their babes. To stand together as their offspring went to school, to watch in pride as they married, to rejoice when they had young ones of their own. To spend lazy afternoons strolling arm in arm through the gardens, to snuggle in bed on cold winter nights. There was so much.
So much Sabrina had looked forward to experiencing with her beloved husband.
Subconsciously, her hand fell to her belly. It was too soon for her to evidence any hint of her condition, but she knew of the life growing within her. Somehow, she would shield her child from the mistakes she had made, and, more importantly, her shame.
Afterward, she met butler in the foyer. “Our guests joined us so soon that I never had the opportunity to thank you, Ware.”
“Your ladyship does me great honor.” The very proper manservant blushed. “I know not to what I owe such approbation.”
“You have always been so kind to me.” She studied the elegant entrance of Beaumaris. “I was not to the peerage born. In fact, I am the daughter of an admiral, and the rank has been difficult to negotiate.”
“If I may be so bold, my lady.” Ware compressed his lips. “You are a fine countess.”
“Praise, indeed.” Tears beckoned, and she swallowed hard. “I shall always remember you.”
“I beg your pardon, your ladyship.” Ware clasped his hands behind his back. “But are you unwell? Should I summon a doctor?”
“I am sorry, Ware.” Sabrina rubbed the back of her neck. “I am tired. And given the number of guests we have hosted, the staff has earned an early rest. Send everyone to bed, as any lingering chores will keep till the morn.”
“Yes, my lady.” He lowered his chin. “Shall I escort your ladyship to your quarters?”
“That is not necessary.” Her plan progressed as she had hoped. “Goodnight, Ware.”
He bowed, and she turned on a heel and marched into the breach.
As the night grew old, she paced the floor of her bedchamber. It was just past midnight when Sabrina emerged from her dressing room garbed in what was known as her fencing attire--breeches and boots.
She walked to her escritoire and completed the letter she had written, so Everett would know she was fine with his decision. She detailed her appreciation for all he had done and explained that she understood his reasons for seeking a divorce. And never would she speak or think ill of him. Folding the slip of stationary in half, she tucked it inside a matching envelope. After sealing it, she wrote his name on the front.
Her gaze lit upon the parchment she wished she had never found. She convinced herself it was much easier that way. There would be no begging, no pleading, no crying, and no more humiliation than necessary. Without hesitation, she signed on the line just above her printed name.
“Well, I suppose it is official.” She slumped.
With the note and the petition in hand, Sabrina charged through the tiny corridor leading to her soon-to-be former husband’s bedchamber. Because he was not in residence, no fire burned in the hearth. The room was dark, but the smell of sandalwood hung in the air and evoked his image in an instant. Haphazardly, she wiped the moisture forming at the corners of her eyes. There would be time enough for tears later.
With newfound resolve, she trod to his bed, tried not to think of all that had occurred there, and placed her cor
respondence and the petition on his pillow.
In mere seconds, she navigated the hall leading to the back stairs. She wanted to run but fought the urge. She wanted to be gone from that place before she lost her nerve.
Sabrina was thankful no one had discovered the horse she saddled just after dinner. He munched some hay and nuzzled her as soon as she entered his stall. That was her first break. She would need several more were she to succeed.
In the dark, she mounted the hunter she had chosen for the journey and, conscious of the noise, nudged him into a walk. Once they were beyond the main house, she would give the impressive steed his head. Undetected, she cantered across the forecourt, down the drive beneath the formidable oaks, and reined in at the main gate. Only then had she turned to gaze once more on the house that had become her home and so much more. It was a part of her she was reluctant to relinquish.
Because Sabrina loved her husband, she had to set him free. She had learned a lot since she married Everett. Had grown a lot, too. Loving someone meant putting them first, which meant placing Everett’s needs before her own, regardless how much it hurt.
Everett deserved better for a wife and, however late, it was obvious he had realized it. Though she tried, she was not angry with him. Their child manifested a lifelong connection for which she was grateful.
And Sabrina resolved that part of her would remain at Beaumaris.
She would leave behind the best of her, the optimist and the fanciful dreamer. The brash spirit of the girl who never cried, who believed anything was possible. The fearless female who slid down banisters, out-fished any boy, and swore a blue streak that could make the crustiest sailor blush.
The carefree sprite that ran through fields and climbed trees would inhabit Beaumaris, to mingle with the spirit of a little girl yet born, with new hopes, new dreams. And perhaps, with a bit of luck, her dreams would come true.
The sounds of children laughing and playing came to Sabrina on the wind. They called to her so strongly she could almost picture their smiling faces.
Mama, swing me!
But as the breeze subsided, the voices died, as had her vision.
The Most Unlikely Lady Page 26
