The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  #

  The butler who answered the door of the fashionable London residence appeared not to recognize him. The servant blinked several times, as if in shock. Had weary travelers landed on the steps of the townhouse every day? Everett glanced down and checked his attire. For a man who had ridden all night, he had not thought he looked half bad. He handed the butler his card and was shown to the drawing room.

  “Everett?” Trevor strode forth, a hand outstretched, and they exchanged the customary pleasantries. “What brings you to London? I did not think you were coming in for the Little Season.” His relaxed expression mutated to one of shock. “Good God, what the devil have you been about? I have seen better dragged in with the tide.”

  With a cluck of his tongue, Everett rocked on his heels. “I daresay you would appear the same had you spent last night in a saddle.”

  Trevor inclined his head. “What has happened?”

  “I seem to have misplaced my wife.” As his friend sputtered, Everett explained, “Sabrina left me.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Trevor’s brows nearly reached his hairline. After a moment of silence, he sighed and shook his head. “Commiserations. I gather you did not heed my advice. So what can I do?”

  “Indeed, I have made a mess of my marriage, and I should have listened to you, but that is blood under the bridge, old friend.” Bone-weary despair chilled him to the marrow. “Right now, I need to find my bride.”

  “You think I have knowledge to that effect?” Trevor shifted his weight. “Were I in possession of that information, you would have it, posthaste.”

  “It is evident she did not disclose her whereabouts to you.” Everett folded his arms. “But I would wager Sabrina confided in Caroline, as the two are thick as thieves.”

  #

  They loomed at an impasse.

  Amid the leather wall coverings and the faint smell of cigar smoke, in the impressive, potently masculine study, Trevor and Everett, once known as two of the Royal Navy’s most cunning seamen, stood on either side of a wing-backed chair. In said chair, Caroline sat, with her jaw set in firm defiance, hands fisted in her lap, pointedly ignoring them both.

  “I do not believe it.” Standing with legs spread and knees locked, Trevor gazed toward the heavens. “You did not tell me she was here? What else have you kept from me?”

  “Do not take that tone with me, Trevor Reed Marshall.” Her chin inched to dangerous heights. “I will not tolerate such behavior.”

  For some reason he could not begin to fathom, Everett had assumed his friend’s wife would be happy to aid his cause. That when he showed up at her doorstep and made his intentions known, Caroline would burst into tears and confess the location of his most unlikely lady, thrilled at the aspect of furthering their reunion. Had all women not existed for such sappy endeavors?

  He had been grossly in error.

  And he now understood why Sabrina had chosen Caroline in which to confide. Strong, determined, she was every bit as willful as his wife. And his wife had not buckled under pressure, nor had she appreciated it.

  “Caroline!” Trevor raked a hand through his hair and groaned. “Go to your room.”

  With a distinct air of supremacy, the young countess smirked. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Wait.” Desperate circumstances necessitated desperate measures. And right then, Everett was a desperate man. “A moment, please.”

  In a move he knew he would never hear the end of, but would never regret, Everett knelt beside the chair. He reached for her hand, covered it with his own, and prayed in silence that he could sway her. He had one chance, and he knew if he failed, she would shut him out and end all possibility of finding his saucy Sabrina.

  There was only one thing he could think of to melt her cold façade. It was something he should have told his wife but, if he could not, he would declare himself to her best friend and confidant.

  “Caroline, I love Sabrina.” He squeezed her fingers in emphasis. “Do you hear me? I love her.”

  In an instant, Caroline faced him. “Then why do you want a divorce?” It was an accusation, not a question.

  Quelling the urge to shout from the rooftops, Everett growled. “I do not want a divorce--”

  “But the petition--”

  “--Was my mother’s idea.” He paused in anticipation of another interruption.

  Instead, Caroline looked her query.

  “I put the petition in a drawer in my desk, intending to destroy it,” he explained. “But there was so much work to be done, and the demands on my time have been great. I forgot about it. And as for my mother, I daresay, hers now rivals my devotion to Sabrina. I do not want a divorce. Indeed, there will be no divorce. I burned the blasted paper before departing Beaumaris.”

  Caroline bowed her head but said nothing.

  “Please, I beg you. Tell me where I may find my wife.” Sensing he advanced some measure of success, he pressed his suit. “I know she suffers, but only because she does not know the truth. She has to know I did not abandon her. She has to know I love her. And she has to hear it from me.”

  With an icy stare, Caroline silenced him. “The woman who came to my door was a mere shadow of the friend I once knew. Sabrina was devastated.”

  “I can make her happy again.” Her words struck a blow to his heart, and Everett swallowed hard. “Help me set it right.”

  “Help you?” She snorted. “I blame you. I hold you entirely responsible for what has happened. You did not just make her sad, but you broke her spirit. You destroyed her joyous, carefree, beautiful spirit. Why did you not stand up for her with your mother?”

  “I did.” He compressed his lips. “And I tried to speak with her after the incident in the dining room, but she refused to see me.”

  “Oh, dear.” Her expression softened. “I suppose she was too angry to think clearly.”

  In a gesture for which he would be eternally grateful, Everett was struck speechless when Trevor dropped to his knees before his wife.

  “I love you, my sweet Caroline.” Trevor framed her face with his hands. “If you recall, those words did not come easy for us either, dear one. In our courtship, I made mistakes, which almost cost me your precious life, and subsequently, my whole world. I shudder to think how difficult it would have been had I not been able to talk to you, had I not been able to tell you how I felt. We are none of us perfect, my cherished wife. Give Everett and Sabrina the same chance.”

  She pouted. “But I promised Brie.”

  “When she discovers Everett had no intention of divorcing her, she will thank you.” Trevor leaned forward and kissed her. “Where is Sabrina?”

  Caroline turned to Everett, and the tension in his shoulders abated. He knew that look. It was the same dreamy expression Sabrina wore whenever he managed to touch her without touching her.

  She bit her lip and hesitated. It was a pleasantly familiar affectation his wife often mimicked, and he fought the urge to influence her further. Let her consider her next move. Just as he thought he had reached the end of his tether, she spoke.

  “Sabrina is in Sussex, at our beach house, where she has food, supplies, and the comforts of home.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Your horse is in the mews. I had her driven to the cottage in our traveling coach.”

  Everett smiled, took her hand in his, and brought it to his lips. “Thank you.” He stood.

  “One more thing.” Caroline halted him. “If you journey to Sussex, I insist you take the coach. Sabrina is exhausted, and I am concerned for her health. She is fragile, and Sabrina is the last person I would ever describe as such.”

  “I understand.” Everett gulped. What had he done to his bride?

  Trevor sent his butler to have the coach brought around and then walked Everett to the door. “My friend, I am more sorry than I can say for your present difficulties.”

  “It is of my own making, and I should be keelhauled for allowing this to happen.” Everett shuddered. “My staff are en rou
te to the city as we speak, and my equipage will be at your disposal until we return. If Sabrina is well enough, I intend to bring her to London tomorrow.”

  “Take your time.” Trevor shook Everett’s hand. “And tell her how you feel.”

  “I will, in no uncertain terms.” And somehow the prospect no longer seemed daunting. “Wish me luck.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, Trevor chuckled. “You will not need it.” He glanced over his shoulder, where his wife stood in the doorway of their home. “I daresay Caroline is the one who requires your luck. If she were not with child, I would heat her posterior. Damn willful woman.”

  “Rubbish.” Everett stepped up, took a seat inside the Lockwood traveling coach, and smiled. “You would not have her any other way.”

  A brow arched, Trevor inclined his head. “Since when are you an expert on wives?”

  “Since I married one just like her.” He snorted. “By the by, if Caroline is anything like my wife, which we both know she is, you would do better giving her a good tumble.”

  Trevor waggled his brows. “Perhaps you are right.” He closed the coach door and stepped back. “Safe journey.” Sketching a mock salute, he shouted, “Drive on.”

  Everett rocked as the coach lurched forward. He dipped his hand into his waistcoat pocket, retrieved his timepiece, marked the moment, and re-pocketed it.

  Settling back for the journey, he gazed outside. With a bit of good fortune, he would be in Sussex before sunset. That was the easy part.

  Getting his wife back--he was not so sure about that.

  In the quiet solitude of the coach, he let himself consider, for the first time, that Sabrina might not want to be his wife. She had never aspired to the peerage and had made it clear she had not fancied the title.

  The idea that she might have welcomed the petition she inadvertently discovered had come to him during the dark, lonely ride to London. Worry and fear danced a merry jig over his heart. He shuddered to think it.

  Closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep, calming breath.

  What if he journeyed to Sussex only to be rejected?

  Everett withdrew her letter from his breast pocket and unfolded the paper. The pain behind her words was evident as he read. No, his worry was unfounded. Immediately, he ceased the self-torment.

  Sabrina loved him as he loved her.

  He would tell her of his devotion and somehow secure her declaration.

  He would get her back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The traffic on the roads had been mild, and they made good time. As a consequence, the sun had not yet touched the horizon when he arrived in Sussex.

  Everett stared at the beachfront cottage and waited until the coach disappeared over the hill before entering the yard. He had sent the driver and footman to stay the night in a roadside inn they had passed a few miles back, with instructions to return late the following morning.

  Made of grey stone, the small structure had a thatched roof and a door painted bright red. A white picket fence bordered the yard, and a cobblestone walkway led to the front door. At present, the yard was filled with chrysanthemums in fall colors.

  He unlatched the gate and strolled to the entrance. When his knocks went unanswered, he tried the knob. To his surprise, the bolt was not secure, and he let himself inside.

  “Sabrina, are you there?” Everett called out to her.

  There was no response.

  A quick survey found him in a large room. On the left was a makeshift kitchen with a fireplace and a small table. In front of him was a welcoming living area, with overstuffed, slightly worn furniture. Fluffy pillows engulfed a huge sofa. Thick rugs covered the wood floors. Small comforts hinted at a woman’s touch, and a large bay window looked over the ocean.

  It was a lover’s hideaway, the perfect place for a weekend tryst.

  Everett grinned. Trevor was a sly one. He imagined his friend had brought his wife there on many occasions. No doubt to escape her rather odd extended family--the same one that came with marriage to Sabrina.

  He passed through a small doorway on the right and discovered two bedchambers. The first contained an old wooden rocking horse, a table, and a crib. Various toys filled a basket in the corner.

  He stepped into the other room, which was considerably larger, and discovered a massive bed, sound and sturdy, which brought a smile to his face. At the foot of the bed was a nightgown and matching robe. He had the filmy silk gown in his hand, raising it to his face, before he knew he had moved. He inhaled, and Sabrina’s scent wreathed him. Ensorcelled him.

  His body reacted as it always had. Thousands of tiny fires ignited beneath his skin. Everett closed his eyes and held the soft fabric to his cheek.

  At the sound of feminine giggles, he jolted alert.

  Like the one in the great room, the window in the bedchamber offered a spectacular view of the ocean. On the beach he spied Sabrina.

  Her raven hair flowed down her back in lustrous waves. Dressed in ivory muslin sprigged with tiny rose clusters, she frolicked on the sandy beach. Barefooted, she danced in the tide, kicking playfully in the water.

  What struck him was she had not appeared sad, had not appeared heartbroken, or even lonely. He held his breath when she raised her face to the sun, a glorious smile on her lips. No, she was not dispirited, as Caroline had suggested. Nor was she melancholy as her letter had implied. She looked happy.

  She looked like Sabrina, the woman with whom he had fallen in love.

  Though Everett had not wanted to do it, he asked himself if he had a right to steal her from that simple existence? If she was truly satisfied with her life as it was then--without him--was he justified in insisting she return to him? An action that brought a title, social strictures she abhorred, and numerous responsibilities she had never agreed to assume when they married.

  He stared at her nightgown, still in his grasp.

  Because he loved her, he had to consider her best interests. He had to set aside every inclination of his own and put her needs first. And right then, at that very moment, she appeared happier on her own.

  Everett sighed with resignation and shook his head. He lifted his chin and gazed once more at his wife. After several minutes passed, he swore violently, tossed her gown on the bed, and strode from the room.

  #

  She was free.

  Sabrina hiked the skirt of her dress, the first one she wore in months that was not black, and romped in the sand. The miniscule granules, warm from the sun, sifted between her toes. As evening approached, the incoming tide crashed ever closer ashore. She chased the water toward the sea, and then retreated, giggling with unabashed cheer as it encroached once more.

  She stopped on a dune and wrapped her arms about herself. Thrusting her chin in the air, she sighed as the sun’s rays kissed her face. Everything had worked according to her plan. And after spending the previous night mulling her situation, she knew what she would do next.

  If Trevor and Caroline allowed it, she would stay at the beach house until her divorce was final. She would send word to her parents that all was well and take full responsibility for the failure of her marriage.

  She would write Everett and ask for a small house, a cottage not unlike the one she occupied at present, and retire there. Never again would she journey to London, because she could not bear the thought of seeing her former husband with his new wife.

  His new wife.

  On the thought, she shivered. Covering her face with her hands, Sabrina sank to the sand. She had not allowed herself to cry since she arrived at the beach house, because she feared she would not be able to stop. Since there was no one to hear her mourn, she opened the door to her heart and let grief flow like a rushing river. In seconds, she was overcome, drowning in sorrow and loss.

  She tucked her legs close, wrapped her arms around her shins, and rested her forehead on her knees. Her body shook as she sobbed without restraint. Her agony seemed inconsolable. Just when she thought her misery at an en
d, another spate of tears overtook her, and she wiped her face on her sleeve.

  “Darling, use my handkerchief, else you will spoil your lovely dress.”

  #

  Sabrina gasped and then closed her eyes. “You are not here.”

  Everett stared at his wife and frowned when her entire form quavered. “Look at me, and you will see I most certainly am here.”

  “I am hearing things. I am just out of sorts.” Though she raised her head, her eyes remained clamped shut. “It will pass.” The last was said slowly, as if she tried to reassure herself.

  He reached down and tapped her shoulder. “Sabrina, look at me.”

  She lifted her lids, and her tear spangled lashes glittered in the sunlight. “You are not here. I have imagined you.” Scooting backward on her bottom, she inched away. “I have finally lost my mind.”

  “Stop saying that.” He took two steps, bent, and hauled her into his arms.

  “What do you want?” she asked between choking sobs, which made his heart ache.

  With her arms braced against his chest, she squirmed, and he tightened his hold. “Stop pushing me away.”

  “How did you find me?” She continued to struggle. “What do you want?”

  “Caroline told me--”

  “Caroline?” She stilled. “She disclosed my confidence? This is about the baby, is it not? She insisted I tell you. You are here for your heir. You do not want me.”

  “Baby?” He blinked. “You are pregnant?”

  It was her turn to blink. “You did not know?”

  Eyes wide, mouth agape, Everett just stood there. Finally, he shut his mouth and gathered his wits. “We are having a baby?”

  She winced. “I only just discovered it.”

  The tension investing his frame balled into a fierce mass in his belly and then rushed forth. “You rode on horseback, overnight--alone--through the country, endangering not only yourself, but also our child? Good God, woman, are you mad!”