The Kent Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  “I am sorry,” she said, “but you misunderstood me. I will not accept from you the leavings of other women.”

  “That’s nonsense,” he snarled.

  “Not to me.”

  “A man must be a man. It has nothing to do with you.”

  Sabrina shook her head. “I should have written to you, but I thought it would be easier to explain in person. Roger is worried sick about this attempt to make peace. I know you agree with him—”

  “What the devil has the peace to do with your crazy behavior?” William interrupted furiously.

  “If you would allow me to explain, I’ll tell you. I just thought it would look peculiar if I didn’t come to London once the season was in full swing. I’m sure Mr. Fox is only looking for an excuse to get rid of anyone who doesn’t agree with him wholeheartedly. I thought he might use a rumor that we were estranged to dismiss you. That would be dreadful.”

  “Why should you care?” he asked bitterly.

  “But I do care. You are valuable to this country, William. You will be a very important man someday, and not far in the future, either—an ambassador, and perhaps foreign secretary, if you wish to take a seat in the Commons. Whatever our differences, I don’t want to spoil that. And, especially, I don’t want you to be dismissed when Fox will need you.”

  William had been watching her with fascinated loathing, as one might stare at a poisonous reptile, but his expression began to relax under Sabrina’s compliments. Encouraged, she continued.

  “This peace, if it is ever made, will go sour. You know that. You will be desperately needed to patch up new alliances against Bonaparte, but Fox might be ashamed to recall you if he had dismissed you. It’s important to keep your appointment, if possible.”

  William’s eyes narrowed, and his body firmed. He was clever enough to know that Sabrina was petting his pride on purpose, trying to repair the damage she had done. At first he could not understand why she should bother if she didn’t want him sexually. She was not dependent on him financially as most wives were dependent on their husbands. St. Eyre had tied up her money so that he couldn’t lay a finger on it, and Sabrina had full use of the entire income. William had made no more than a token protest when the marriage settlements were discussed and this fact had been revealed. He had no need of her money and had been completely sure then that he would not need a financial whip to control his wife. The bitter curve of William’s lips eased. It was true; he would not need a financial whip. He had found Sabrina’s weakness. She was ambitious to be the wife of a political pundit.

  “You will suffer more than I if there is a scandal,” he warned nastily.

  “I know,” Sabrina replied with honesty. “I don’t want that. William I swear I will make no more scenes. I will be blind and deaf to your pleasures. I will run your houses to perfection. I will be your hostess, your help in all things to the best of my ability. But I will not lie with you.”

  He laughed at her. “You are ridiculous! It’s you who have read too many books, too many romantic novels with heroes who are mewling pattern pieces—”

  “Roger and Philip are not mewling pattern pieces,” Sabrina interrupted icily. Then she shrugged. “Perhaps I am not as satisfactory a wife as Leonie or Meg. I don’t know. I have tried my best. If I have failed, I’m sorry, but this is how I am made. If I cannot have all of you, then I don’t want any.”

  The admission that it was her fault was soothing. Besides, William did not feel that the loss of Sabrina’s sexual company for a few months more would be any deprivation. She was beautiful, even with her hair and dress pulled to pieces, but she was dull, and cold, too, in bed. At first he had thought the young girl would be a delightful adventure, but he had been wrong. Her early, eager response had been minimally amusing, but really, not worth the effort. He preferred women who knew their way around in a situation where the spice of deceit and the fear of exposure generated excitement. Failing that, he liked those who could devise new techniques, and he didn’t mind paying for it. Oh, yes, he could do very well without Sabrina abed.

  On the other hand, she was the perfect political wife. She had grown up with politics, St. Eyre being deeply involved, and young as she was, she knew just what to say, to whom to say it, and when. Her dinners were always perfect, her balls successes, and her behavior was irreproachable. As he recalled that, a tiny quiver of doubt passed through William. There had been several hints in St. Petersburg that Sabrina’s relationship with Lord Kevern was not quite as cool as her friendships with other men. Nonsense! She had known Kevern since she was a child. Of course her manner with him would be different. Yes, and probably she had blabbed her whole sad story to him, too, which would explain Kevern’s cold reserve toward him.

  “That was beside the point, which was whether he should accept Sabrina’s offer or send her packing. Well, the latter was out of the question. Roger St. Eyre would not only make such a stink that William himself would be ruined, but that hothead Philip would most likely call him out while brandishing a horsewhip. Stupid of him to have married a woman with blindly devoted male supporters. And Sabrina was right about Fox. Fox would dismiss him at the hint of a scandal. William shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Talk of hypocrisy! Fox had married his longtime mistress, an actress, no less. Now there was a scandal!

  “I’m glad you’re willing, William.”

  Sabrina’s voice jarred him, and he realized she had taken the shrug and laugh as an acceptance of her proposal. Well, why not? The silly chit probably thought that her beauty would drive him mad because she was close but unobtainable. Yes, that was it! She had, withdrawn herself for a month and that hadn’t worked—or maybe she thought it had worked because of the notes and flowers he had sent. Now she was going to try flaunting herself around. Eventually, she would realize she could have him only on his own terms, and she would come crawling and pleading.

  He shrugged again. “I have too much to do to bother with the tantrums of a silly girl. There are plenty of women just as beautiful and much more interesting than you, my dear. I assure you I wouldn’t dream of offending your propriety by forcing myself on you.” He laughed. “When you are ready, you can ask me, on your knees, and I’ll consider whether to favor you with my services.”

  Sabrina gasped with hurt and shock, but William was out of the room before she could gather her wits for a reply. At first she was furious. She had deliberately refrained from hurting him, not mentioning he was so unsatisfactory a lover that there wasn’t much to miss when deprived of his attentions. She had taken the blame for his failure onto herself. She had not told him the full truth—that she would not have him in her bed again on any terms at all because the thought of his caress turned her sick.

  Instead of accepting her courtesy graciously—Sabrina was experienced enough to know William would not be generous and share the blame, but she had expected a civil response—he had insulted her brutally. She was halfway to the door before she mastered the impulse to tell him the real truth as she saw it. But that could accomplish nothing. William would only think she was retaliating in kind in a fit of temper. Ask him for his favors? She shuddered at the thought, her skin crawling.

  Perhaps she should go back to Stour. But that would surely precipitate just the kind of rumors she wished to avoid, and she would be buried in the country again with nothing to do. Besides, a break with William would destroy any chance of returning to Russia, or even Prussia or Austria. Once on the Continent, Perce could get to her, she was sure. Somehow they would manage to meet. Her eyes closed, and tears welled up behind the lids. She could feel his arms around her and his lips on her breasts. The hand that had held her dress tightly together in William’s presence dropped and bared the perfect snowy bosom. But Perce was in Russia.

  Sabrina uttered a single sob of frustration and loneliness, then opened her eyes, dashed the tears out of them, and began to undress. It was worth it to swallow William’s insults. Anything was worth it if it would get her
back to Perce.

  The next few months, however, provided no recompense for Sabrina’s sacrifice. There seemed less and less chance of any European mission for William. Fox was avidly pursuing the attempt to obtain a peace treaty and was virtually ignoring any diplomat who had served under previous administrations. William had not been dismissed from the diplomatic service, but he was on the periphery, deliberately cold-shouldered so that it was plain that his resignation would be accepted without reluctance the moment he proffered it. He was often very tempted to resign, but his own sense of patriotism and Roger’s reasoning made him swallow snubs and even veiled insults.

  In this political emergency Sabrina and her family supported William with skill and energy. The bitterness of their quarrel was swallowed up in less personal problems. It was not forgotten, but William was discreet about his sexual adventures and Sabrina behaved impeccably. She was also sustained by the hope that William’s lack of assignment might not matter. Perce might be coming back to England soon.

  Relations with Russia were growing colder as Fox concentrated on negotiations for peace with France. Secretary of War Windham, in the name of economy, dispersed the forty thousand men and the transports to ship ten thousand at a time to any necessary war zone. Not that Russia desired war or England’s assistance. Word came that the tsar had sent the Count d’Ouvril to Paris to negotiate peace.

  Sabrina heard that news in June as she was preparing to move back to Stour for a month until the whole family should take a house at a popular watering place for the summer. She spent the next three weeks in trembling expectation of seeing Perce any day. Instead she received a letter. It was not at her place at breakfast time but handed to her privately by Leonie, who had no intention of permitting Sabrina to betray herself publicly if the letter contained news that either overjoyed or distressed her. It was good, Leonie thought, that she had decided on this little ruse, because Sabrina broke the seal in trembling haste.

  After reading the first page, she said, “He isn’t coming home.”

  “Why not?” Leonie asked. She had to say something.

  Sabrina’s lips were pulled into a tight line. “He says the treaty between Russia and France won’t be signed. The tsar wants it, he thinks, but there’s a very strong prowar party in Russia. Alexander just isn’t decisive enough to do anything that big without strong support from somewhere. Also, Perce is pretty sure Bonaparte will be so cocky because of Austerlitz that he’ll do something to offend the tsar. Alexander takes offense, at least political offense, very easily.”

  “Brina,” Leonie said gently, “I see that you are disappointed because Perce feels it his duty to remain where he is, but have you decided what you will do when he does come home?”

  “If he comes home,” Sabrina said bitterly.

  “If? What do you mean?”

  “Nearly getting himself killed at Austerlitz wasn’t enough for him. Somehow he’s got himself onto General Bennigsen’s staff because Marshal Kutuzov and General Bagration are strongly out of favor. Perce is furious, and I can’t blame him. I don’t know much about Kutuzov, but Bagration’s a fine general, a nice person, and a real hero. Anyhow, Alexander seems to have decided to put the blame for Austerlitz on them, or at least on Kutuzov—”

  “Brina,” Leonie interrupted. “I cannot understand a word you say. What is Perce doing on a Russian general’s staff?”

  “It’s something to do with the information the War Office wanted him to get, although I’m sure they never intended him to go so far as actually joining the Russian Army. But he has this compulsion about proving that the English aren’t cowards. A lot of Russians say we are because our government sends them subsidies but never soldiers. I told Perce he was crazy, that he wasn’t going to change any minds by being one heroic lunatic—and probably a dead one—but he won’t pay any attention to logic.”

  “Petite, there is no war now. Perhaps we will have peace. Anyhow, I do not see why it is important that he is on Bennigsen’s staff rather than Bagration’s.”

  “It’s important because that lunatic is certain Bagration won’t be given orders for the next battle with Bonaparte, and he thinks Bennigsen will.” Sabrina shook her head. “He’s determined to be in the fighting, and he doesn’t think much of Bennigsen. Can you imagine insisting on being an aide-de-camp to a man you’re sure will lose?”

  “You are exaggerating, Brina,” Leonie said reprovingly.

  “No, I’m not.” She paused and read further, then drew in her breath suddenly. “I think Roger had better read this letter,” she said, getting up. Her face no longer had so bitter an expression. “I have an idea now that Perce meant it for him. There’s something odd here about his ‘favorite correspondent’ not answering.”

  “Perhaps it is meant for Roger. You do answer, I suppose?” Leonie asked.

  “Oh, yes. He doesn’t mean me. He’s had my last letter.”

  She read the remainder standing and found a single sheet at the end that was really for her. The first few lines caused her color to rise, and she hurriedly folded the sheet and put it away to read more carefully in private. While she was thus occupied, Leonie had summoned a footman and sent him to bring Roger and Philip back to the house. The breathless footman caught them in the stables, and without comment Sabrina handed her foster father the main body of Perce’s letter as soon as he came in. He looked mildly surprised, read the first page, turned it read further, and began to curse. Straining to read over his shoulder, Philip gave up and asked what was wrong.

  “Do you know what Perce is doing in Russia?” Roger asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Philip replied. “He’s picking up army opinion on what happens. The army can exert pressure in Russia.”

  “Yes well, he has it from high-level officers that the tsar is negotiating seriously with Prussia to fight again rather than to make peace. They believe that if Britain will offer about twenty-five thousand men, this would tip the scales definitely toward war. The force would be nothing more than an appearance of good faith. He doesn’t think his information is getting through to Windham at the War Office.”

  Philip laughed bitterly. “It would not matter. The man is mad. Can you imagine anything more ill-advised than that disastrous expedition to Egypt? And even if Beresford’s attack in South America is successful, which I cannot imagine it will be, can you tell me the purpose of such a maneuver? Can we hold the country in the face of the colonists’ resistance? Or at the price it would cost would we want to?”

  “Then you don’t think it worthwhile for me to pass this information along?” Roger asked.

  “Worthwhile, no. Necessary, yes. In any case, Viscount Castlereagh should be told. Even though he’s not presently in office, he is very influential,” Philip replied.

  “Hmmm, yes. You certainly have a point there,” Roger agreed.

  “Perhaps if it became general knowledge it would be useful,” Sabrina suggested.

  “Now that’s a good idea.” Philip brightened, then frowned. “But if it comes from you, that might make trouble for William.”

  Ways to implement Sabrina’s suggestion were thoroughly discussed. William was even summoned from Elvan Manor for consultation. A plan was devised, but it was never used. By the time Sabrina was in a position to spread Perce’s information in the proper political and social circles, everything had changed. All negotiations with Napoleon had collapsed by the beginning of August, and Perce’s analysis of the Russian situation was found to be quite accurate.

  Count d’Ouvril had actually negotiated, and signed, a peace treaty with France in the tsar’s name on July twentieth, but when Alexander saw the terms—in which the French had actually conceded many of the points he had demanded—he still flew into a rage and refused to ratify it. He would have refused to sign under any circumstances. The tsar maintained publicly that the treaty sacrificed the interests of Russia in the Adriatic and acknowledged Bonaparte’s right to determine the political structure
of the German lands without reference to anyone else whose interests might be affected.

  This was true, but it was impossible that Alexander should not have known, even before negotiations began, that he would have to accept those points in any treaty made. Obviously the tsar had changed his mind about peace with France. Everyone in the diplomatic community was relatively sure that this could be credited largely to the King of Prussia’s influence. But the immediate reason for King Frederick William’s animosity toward Bonaparte, the fate of Hanover, was the crowning joke among British diplomats.

  Lord Yarmouth had been traveling in France during the peace of Amiens and had been trapped there and interned as an enemy alien when the war was renewed in 1803. Fox had used him as an unofficial ambassador in his early attempts to make peace. Yarmouth had done his duty, but with strong reservations; he was not overly fond of Bonaparte or his government. Soon Lord Lauderdale had arrived to take over the negotiations, but Yarmouth was not excluded entirely.

  He had never believed that Bonaparte truly meant peace, and when he learned that there was a secret clause in the agreement with England to wrest Hanover from the Prussians (to whom Bonaparte had originally ceded it) and restore it to Britain, Yarmouth had betrayed that information to the Prussian ambassador. He had claimed that it was a slip of the tongue, owing to incautious drinking in the Prussian’s presence. But there was considerable doubt of the likelihood of such an event.

  The result of this “accidental” disclosure of the secret clause was that Prussia had already begun to mobilize for a renewal of the war. Alexander’s mother, a devout supporter of anything Prussian, immediately began to press her son to support King Frederick William. All the Russian nobility who held land in Poland added their influence, since their property would be endangered by French action in that area. The officers of the Russian army were burning to redeem themselves after the defeat of Austerlitz. Under these combined influences Alexander had repudiated the treaty d’Ouvril had signed in his name.