“No, Nathan,” Sabrina cut in, looking from one side of the foyer to another. Where was the footman with her cloak?
“Sabrina.” He took her arm and turned her toward him, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know he was not good to you. I know you are frightened—”
“I am not frightened,” Sabrina said, though that was a lie. “I am content with my situation as it is, that is all.”
“There are men who have asked after you, you know,” Nathan continued, dropping her arm. “They wonder how determined you are to remain independent and if it might be worth an attempt to capture your attention.” He nodded toward the library where his friends were waiting for him, their laughter barely audible. “Mr. Lawson may seem to be joking, but he asks after you continually.”
“Because he has no land and wants mine.” She said the bitter words before she thought better. Nathan pulled back in surprise. She closed her eyes and shook her head, then tried to soften her tone. “I appreciate your concern for me, Nathan, but I have a full and rich life. I want for nothing, not in material or friends and connections.”
She paused, considering how much she wanted to say, and then chose to say a bit more than she was comfortable with in hopes it would help Nathan avoid this topic in the future. “Richard ruined me, Nathan, in more ways than I hope you can ever understand. I have never wanted to burden you with details, but my determination to remain independent is not a flippant decision. Trust me and allow me to find joy in all the beauty of my life, of which beauty you are a part.”
She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek again, which was slack with surprise from what she’d told him. She did not share her burdens with the people she cared for because she did not want anyone to suffer for her sake any more than they already had.
“Lady Carolyn is a lucky woman to have the affection of such a good and kind man, Nathan. I shall look forward to the wedding in February, and I am touched that you would wait for me so that I might witness the happy day.” She smiled, then turned and walked to the front door.
The footman finally appeared, hurrying forward to help her with her cloak.
Nathan followed her silently, then said gently, “I didn’t mean to upset you, Sabrina. I am sorry.”
Sabrina smiled brightly as she tied her cloak at the neck. “You did not upset me, Nathan. You never could. I wish you safe travels when you go on to Peterborough.”
“Perhaps I could come to Rose Haven for a few days before I go.”
“No,” she said with a laugh to hide her panic at the idea. Nathan and Mr. Stillman in the same house? “That is silly.”
“You do not want to spend time with me?” His face fell as it had when he was young and she was sent off to another faraway school while he remained at Hilltop Manor.
“It is not that,” she said quickly. “I simply have to prepare for my trip, and you need no delay. We need Lady Carolyn’s family to fall in love with you as much as she already has so they will not refuse a seven-month engagement.”
Nathan nodded, though he remained petulant, and Sabrina patted his arm before heading through the door held open by the footman. It was raining, which would keep Nathan from following after her.
She pulled the hood over her head and hurried down the steps. She could not see Nathan clearly through the rain-streaked glass of the carriage window, but he stood in the doorway until the carriage pulled away.
The secrets she kept felt especially heavy as the carriage rumbled toward her apartment. Would there be a day when she no longer kept parts of herself hidden from the people in her life? Would it be possible for someone to truly see her, know her, and understand her?
When Sabrina returned to Wimbledon, she asked Therese to join her for afternoon tea so she could get an update. Things had apparently turned a corner for Mr. Stillman the day before, and he was like a new man, Therese said. The more she praised Mr. Stillman’s charm and thoughtfulness, the more suspicion Sabrina felt toward the man. Was he fawning over her staff in order to earn their devotion that he could then use to his advantage?
“I mentioned you were returning today, and he asked if you might come speak to him,” Therese said as she completed her update. “I think he wants to apologize for the row on Tuesday.”
“You mean the row where he cried like a child because I took away his brandy?” She smiled, but Therese did not smile back. Sabrina sobered her expression appropriately.
“You know what drink does to a man, Sabrina. You cannot hold him completely accountable for his actions when he was under its control.”
Sabrina bit back an argument partly because Therese was right—to an extent—but mostly because of how much she respected the older woman’s opinion. Therese had been Hortencia’s companion when Sabrina first came to Wimbledon as an anxious bride. She had tended to the bruises Sabrina had first blamed on narrow stairs and overall clumsiness.
When Richard “accidentally” dislocated Sabrina’s shoulder shortly after his mother’s passing, however, there had been no hiding the truth. Therese had Joshua help reset her shoulder—thinking on the pain of that still took her breath away—and then hid Sabrina in her quarters for three days, telling Richard that Sabrina had gone to stay with a friend. No one could hide a man’s wife from him for long, however.
As things had become worse, Therese had asked Jack, the groom at that time, to show Sabrina how to break free from a man’s grip on her arm and the proper way to hit a man at the bridge of his nose to cause the most pain.
Richard’s violence did not stop—in fact, fighting back had made individual attacks worse—but when Sabrina was no longer an easy target, Richard began spending more and more time away from Rose Haven. Until he decided it was time to have an heir.
The six months following his return were the worst of Sabrina’s life, though the months after that, once she was expecting, had been the very best. He’d been more careful with her, drank less, and she’d had such hope for the future.
After she lost the child, Sabrina could not stay at Wimbledon, and Therese had helped smuggle her to the Old Duke’s principal estate. The duchess had been traveling, and the boys were away at school, leaving Sabrina with only her father. Sabrina had told the Old Duke of Richard’s violence and the fear she felt for her very life now that there was no child between them. Though he was sympathetic for her position, he would not support a petition to Parliament for a divorce. Her very existence was scandal enough, he said, and he would not put the family through another one at her hand.
At her hand.
As though her illegitimacy was her fault. As though her husband’s abuse was her fault.
That day had been a defining experience for Sabrina. Despite the financial care and education the Old Duke had extended to her throughout her life, what people thought of him was more important than her safety. He let her stay at Hilltop through the month to regain her strength, then planned to return with her to Wimbledon and give Richard a talking-to.
Sabrina had known the duke’s “talk” would have no bearing on Richard, and she would suffer for having told. Her body was as broken from Richard’s beating as her heart was broken from the loss of her baby. No one could, or would, protect her.
Sabrina had withdrawn to her room at Hilltop and stayed there. The doctor had told her there would be no more children. She had prayed and cried and prayed again. What could she expect from her marriage now that she could not give Richard the only thing he wanted from her? The only way out would be death, and she began to wish for it.
She had not considered that it would be Richard’s death, not her own, that would free her.
Sabrina had returned to Wimbledon as the sole owner of the Carlisle family’s holdings. Therese cried with her in relief, and then they had both knelt in the middle of the entryway and offered thanks to God for bringing Sabrina safely home. She became a new woman after that day, with a new life she herself could manage. She would not be a mother, but she would do what she could to make t
he world better for the lives she could reach.
Because of their history, Sabrina did not discard what Therese had to say on any matter. Even regarding Mr. Stillman.
“You think I should talk to him?” Sabrina asked, her own curiosity battling her hesitation.
“I do,” Therese said. “With an open mind.”
Sabrina furrowed her eyebrows. “An open mind?”
“I think you might enjoy his company if you would let down your guard.”
Sabrina huffed, feeling oddly jealous of Therese’s praise of him. Sabrina did not need anyone to tell her to have an “open mind” about anything. She was as open-minded as anyone she’d ever met.
“I have no interest in enjoying his company,” she said as though the idea were preposterous and she felt no draw to him at all. “I simply need him to be healed so he might carry on with his life elsewhere. Have you heard from his family?”
Therese nodded. “Yes, his uncle has agreed to make his London house available as soon as Mr. Stillman is fit to travel. He will await our word on when he should meet him there. They will remain there until Mr. Stillman is fit for travel to Norfolkshire.”
“Well, that is good news,” Sabrina said. “How much longer do you feel he needs before he can remove?”
“Two more weeks at least,” Therese said.
Sabrina nodded. She left for Brighton in three weeks and knowing Mr. Stillman would be gone before then was a relief. Right?
“Did you know he is a poet?”
Sabrina pulled her chin back. “What?”
“He writes poetry,” Therese said, unable to hide her smile. “He wrote a poem for me after finishing his letters yesterday. Would you like to hear it? It is not very long; he said it was Japanese.”
“He knows Japanese?” Sabrina asked, wrinkling her nose, unsure what to make of this information.
Therese removed a small piece of paper from the bodice pocket of her dress and handed it to Sabrina, who took it tentatively.
Bold. Bright. Vibrant. True.
Sunrise, and Therese will come.
The summer starts anew.
“It is a haiku,” Sabrina said. “A form of poetry that originated in Japan.”
Mr. Stillman’s verse wasn’t anything remarkable in Sabrina’s opinion, other than the fact that he had written it at all. Haiku were not expected to rhyme, and she wasn’t sure the pattern was correct either.
“I thought it was very sweet,” Therese said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been compared to a sunset. He said the poem was the only means he had of showing me his gratitude.” She shrugged as though she didn’t care, but clearly Mr. Stillman was casting a spell on her.
“I am glad he expressed his thanks,” Sabrina said, returning the paper to Therese.
“It proves he is more than a dissolute scoundrel.”
“A scoundrel can still be a poet. One need only to look at Lord Byron to know that much.”
Therese laughed, which made Sabrina laugh, then the housekeeper sobered. “Do you not think him handsome?”
“Therese! I’m sure I don’t care if he is handsome or not.”
Therese shrugged. “A handsome man who also writes poetry could make a woman very happy, I think.”
Sabrina felt a flush in her cheeks. “I’ll not hear another word about this, Therese. If I told you half of what I know about him, you would not let your mind wander down such paths.”
Therese shrugged one shoulder and chose a shortbread from the tray. “A man’s reputation is something to consider, but I do not think his past should define him completely. If he can prove himself able to rise above the foibles of his youth, of course.” She shrugged again. “If I were twenty years younger, I might give you some competition.”
“Therese!” Sabrina scolded again.
She laughed and popped the shortbread into her mouth before shooing Sabrina out of the room. If Sabrina had thought she had a good enough reason to stay, she would have, but she feared remaining would invite more of this conversation.
Designs on Mr. Stillman?
Really, Therese, do you not know me at all?
When she reached Mr. Stillman’s door, Sabrina could not bring herself to knock. Therese’s advice to have an open mind made her uncomfortable. What if Mr. Stillman had written her a poem as well? How should she react to such a gift?
What if he had not written her a poem?
Sabrina did not trust herself under the weight of her thoughts and so, after checking left and right to make sure she hadn’t been observed standing before his door, she straightened her shoulders and went to her sitting room in the other wing of the house, where she kept herself busy until her mood settled.
As best she could, at least. It turned out that hiding a handsome poet in a spare bedroom was not something that lent itself to equanimity of mood all that well.
Sabrina ate dinner in the dining room and worked in the study until Therese reported that Mr. Stillman was readied for bed and had asked again that they might speak. Sabrina, bent over a book laid open on her desk, nodded curtly and did not meet Therese’s eye.
Once Therese had gone, Sabrina went to his room. She kept her back straight as she knocked, heard his invitation, and let herself into his room.
She left the door open, worried that if Therese had gotten the outlandish idea that Sabrina had designs on the man, the other staff could also fall prey to such nonsense if they noticed anything less than strict propriety.
He was sitting in bed, as always, and smiled at her sheepishly. The pink scars on his lip and forehead, and the slightest green tinge to the left side of his jaw, were all that remained of his facial injuries. His smile was radiant enough she could practically feel it on her skin.
She exchanged the wilting bouquet at his bedside with the new one she’d brought, and then she placed the spent one near the door so she could collect it on her way out. She turned back to him with her hands clasped before her, standing several feet from the bed. “You are looking much improved since the last time I saw you, Mr. Stillman.”
“I believe I have finally moved through the worst of everything—the beating and my self-inflicted malady.”
“I am glad to hear it. Therese tells me that yesterday and today have shown marked improvement.”
He nodded. “Joshua helped me sit in a chair with my leg propped this afternoon. I looked out the window at your lovely roses. He says you tend them yourself.”
“When I can, yes.”
He paused, and his smile fell. “I wanted to apologize for my awful behavior last week.” He closed his eyes a moment as though remembering just how awful it had been. “Both for having the bottles smuggled in and for not following the guidelines you had laid before me.”
“You agree that you were wrong to have the bottles brought in, then?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Absolutely. Therese explained that I was through the worst of it when I began in on the bottle again—and thus suffered through the illness again. It was foolish and ungracious. I hope I have sufficiently paid for my folly.”
“Yes, it was foolish.”
He looked disappointed that she agreed so quickly, but she wanted him to feel every bit of his shame to ensure this never happened again. They fell into an awkward silence Sabrina refused to break.
Finally, Mr. Stillman cleared his throat. “I wondered if you had written to Mr. Ward as you had said you would. I have not heard from him.”
“I did write to him and asked him to cease his visits if he could not comply with the standards of my household, but I did not forbid him to return. I pointed out that if he were any kind of friend to you he would be making choices in your best interest and not cowing to your dissolute vices that have done you no favors.”
The way Mr. Stillman’s face went slack made her think that perhaps she was being a bit heavy-handed, but she did not sit with the regrets for long. She had not wanted Mr. Ward’s visits from the start, and it was his own fault that s
he now had cause to make him uncomfortable about returning.
“Did he respond?” Mr. Stillman finally asked.
“No, he did not. I assumed he would write to you, however, not to me. I was not particularly inviting about a response.”
Harry nodded. “He is probably frightened.”
She shrugged. She did not mind if Mr. Ward were frightened. Mr. Stillman was watching her as he always seemed to, and being the focus of his attention was disconcerting. She could not help but wonder what he saw when he looked at her with such intensity. A bitter woman of advancing years? An intriguing woman of grace and confidence?
The seconds ticked by until the discomfort was more than she could stand. “Well, I am pleased by your progress and commend you for your fortitude, Mr. Stillman. It is not an easy thing to break such habits. I am proud of you.”
“You are proud of me?”
“Yes.”
“As though I am a child?” His expression remained neutral.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “As though you are a man having come through a hardship. Would you rather I were not proud of you?”
He seemed to consider that and then shrugged one shoulder.
She made a mental note not to be so patronizing. If she wanted him to respect her and her staff, she needed to show him the same consideration. She had wanted to discuss his poetry, but there was no space for it, and he had not offered her a poem as he had Therese.
“Well, I hope you have a good night and continue to heal.” She turned to the door.
“Will you be staying here in Wimbledon for a time?” he asked quickly.
She faced him. “Yes. The Season is finished, and my responsibilities in Town are far reduced.” She nearly told him of her upcoming trip but felt it too much an invitation into her privacy.
His face broke into a smile once again and, once again, she felt the change in the very air of the room. He was handsome without the smile; with it, he was absolutely disarming. She remembered having noticed the same thing on the first night they had met in the Gilmores’ garden.
Rakes and Roses (Proper Romance Regency) Page 14
