by Kruger, Mary
Gwendolyn’s eyes, far too bright for one so ill, flickered up to Sabrina’s concerned face. “Child, we haven’t done well by you these many years, but I intend to change that. I have arranged a marriage for you.”
“Good God,” Oliver murmured, torn between amusement at the look on his cousin’s face and an inexplicable dismay.
“Grandmama, I assure you that isn’t necessary,” Sabrina said.
“Child, it is necessary. I will see you wed before I die. Oliver.”
“Ma’am?” he said.
“Give me your hand.” She grasped his hand in a grip whose strength surprised him, and then, to his further mystification, lifted it and joined it to Sabrina’s, so that they were clasped across the bed. “Now. I have decided that you and Sabrina will be married.”
Chapter 7
“What!” The two hands broke apart as if burned. “Grandmama, you cannot be serious!” Oliver exclaimed.
“Of course not,” Sabrina said, her eyes huge in a face gone suddenly pale. “Ma’am, if you will think—”
“I have thought. Would you deny an old lady her dying wish?”
“That is not fair, ma’am,” Oliver said through gritted teeth.
“I do not have the time to be fair. You will be married.”
“I think not.”
“I think so. I have already sent notice of your engagement to the Gazette.”
An appalled silence greeted her statement. “Oh—my—God.”
“What does that mean?” Sabrina asked.
“It means I cannot cry off, that is what it means,” Oliver said, savagely. “By God, madam, you go too far!”
“But surely—”
“You I will deal with later,” Oliver said, rounding on Sabrina. “And you, madam, had best recover, because I have some things I wish to say to you.”
“Not now, Oliver. I am tired.” Gwendolyn’s eyelids drooped, and Saltmarsh came forward.
“I must ask you to leave, now,” she said. “Her Grace needs her rest.”
Oliver bowed. “Very well. We will talk more later, ma’am.” There was no answer from the woman in the bed, and so they went out into Gwendolyn’s sitting room.
“A marriage!” Fanny said in fluting tones. “So wonderful, such happy news—”
“Be quiet, Fanny,” Oliver snarled.
“I still do not see why we must go through with it,” Sabrina said, “if neither of us wants it.”
“A gentleman cannot in honor cry off.”
“That’s silly. But if you can’t, then I can.”
“And have everyone say I’ve been jilted? I, Duke of Bainbridge? Oh, no, my girl, that won’t do.” He swung around to face her. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?”
“No, Bainbridge, I swear—”
“Oh, I know you, I know what goes on behind that pretty face. This is what you’ve wanted all along, and when you couldn’t get it by trickery you used Grandmama.”
“Bainbridge, I had nothing to do with this. Nothing!”
“Nothing? You’ll catch cold at that, girl. By God, do you think I don’t see you for what you are, a fortune hunter on the catch for a rich husband? Well, it won’t fadge. The only thing you are suited for is to be my mistress!”
Sabrina stared up at him, her face very pale, and then turned and ran out of the room. “Good God, the girl’s a nuisance,” he muttered, and started after her.
“Cousin Oliver.” Fanny’s voice stopped him at the door, and he turned. “You are a man.”
“What?”
“You are a man and men are usually right about things, but you are wrong about that girl.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about,” he said brusquely, and left the room.
Oliver finally found Sabrina in the conservatory, looking out from among the flowering shrubs and plants at a dull, gray world. “Sabrina—”
“Does it always rain here?” she asked without turning.
“Not always. Sabrina—”
“Because it seems to rain continuously. I wonder why coming here was so important to me.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Oh, obviously to snare a wealthy, titled husband,” she said, bitterly.
“Obviously.” He joined her at the window, and she stole a quick look up at him. Her heart sank at the closed expression on his face.
“I see. Well, you always have thought the worst of me. I suppose I should be used to it.”
“Give me reason not to, Sabrina, and I won’t,” he said, in a low, intense voice, and her eyes flew to his again. For a moment there was a spell between them again, as if they were still waltzing, and then she sighed.
“No, you’re right to, and I’ve surely done nothing to prove you wrong.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow at that. There was still a great deal they didn’t know about this girl and her background, and from the beginning he’d suspected that she was hiding something. Whatever it was, it bothered her, and that bothered him. Secrets from one’s past had a way of revealing themselves at inopportune times, and she was enough of a liability without that. He wished he would receive information about her from America soon. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
She gestured sharply with her hand. “Of course not. I had no idea what she was going to do. And, I might add, I don’t want it any more than you do.”
“Why? Am I so repulsive?” he retorted, stung. It was all very well for him to feel trapped by this situation, but why should she? Was he not quite eligible? Titled, wealthy, and, all modesty aside, handsome? There were women in the ton who would die for the opportunity Sabrina so cavalierly dismissed.
“No, of course not,” she said, more calmly. “But, let us be honest, Your Grace. You have never approved of me.”
He shifted his feet. “Perhaps I would if I felt you had told me everything.”
“I’ve never withheld anything from you,” she said, but her face colored and her eyes refused to meet his.
“Nevertheless, Sabrina, what Grandmama suggests is impossible.”
“I know it is, but how can we deny her? She looked so—frail. I never thought she would be like that.” Idly she blew on the window and drew patterns in the steam. “When I was home, dreaming about coming here, I imagined that Grandmama was a sweet, frail old lady. Then I found out she wasn’t, and that was better. But now—what will I do if she dies?”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“Very much.”
“And the money?”
“What money?” she asked, wiping her face with her fingers.
“Grandmama’s money. Did you not know? She has a fortune of her own to dispose of.”
She stared up at him. “No. I did not know.”
“Until you came it was commonly supposed it would go to Cousin Fanny, or her son. Now no one knows what will happen.”
“You mean—she might give it to me?”
“Possibly.”
“Oh, no!”
He frowned. “Do you not want it?”
“No!”
“Oddly enough, I believe you,” he said after a few moments, acquitting her in this instance of being a fortune hunter. Whatever else she might be, she loved Grandmama. “But we’ve still a problem, Sabrina.”
“Would it be so very terrible to go through with it?” she asked in a small voice.
“What?”
“Is it so very difficult for us to try to get along?”
“Marriage is out of the question, Sabrina,” he said, his voice crisp.
“I don’t mean the marriage, sir, but the engagement.”
“I don’t see that we have any choice,” he said after a moment. “We will cause gossip as it is, and if we break it off now there’ll only be more talk.”
“Does that matter?”
“Of course it matters! Do not be more foolish than you can help, Sabrina. You are not in America now.”
“People gossip in America, too,” she retorted.
“The ton
is different.”
“So I’ve been told. Perhaps I’m only a savage American, but it seems silly to me to let other people have such power over you.”
“They don’t have power over me,” he explained, as if to a child. “But I do have a sense of what is owed to the Bainbridge name. We can do quite well without a scandal.”
She gave him a long look. “Sir, is that all you care about? What is due to your dignity?”
“It is important. Pray do not criticize things you do not understand.”
“I’m not. But what about happiness?”
“What about it?”
“What about love?”
“Love! Come, Sabrina, you’re not that naive. Few people of our class marry for love and those that do regret it.”
She looked out at the countryside again, running a finger along a window mullion. “I would be a good wife to you, sir.” Oliver started to speak and she cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I know you do not approve of me, but I am not stupid and I can learn what is required of me.”
Oliver stared at her, too startled for a moment to speak. “I’ve no desire to marry just now, Sabrina. I realize I must, someday, for an heir, but not just now.”
“No, sir.”
Something in her voice, in her bent head, touched him, though he fought against it. “And, as your guardian, I don’t believe it’s what you want. You are too young to marry yet.”
“Perhaps. But—”
“But?”
“Grandmama’s given us little choice.”
Oliver joined her in contemplation of the rain-washed countryside. She was right. Unless and until they could persuade Grandmama to change her mind, they were caught. “I suppose we have to go through with it.” Sabrina looked up, her eyes suddenly bright. “But only until we can persuade Grandmama to release us.”
“Oh.” The light went out of Sabrina’s eyes. “I see.”
“Grandmama will not be able to travel to London just yet, so it would be best if you stay here and bear her company.”
“And you, sir?”
“I shall have to return to town. There are matters there that need my attention and I have been here quite long enough.”
“Won’t that cause more talk, sir?”
“Perhaps.” If it did, he didn’t care. In London he would be free of the nuisance this girl, unwanted ward and unexpected fiancée, caused.
“Sir, should we not try to accommodate ourselves to the engagement for our own sakes?” He looked at her, sharply. “We may even find we suit.”
“No. We will not marry, Sabrina. Furthermore, even if we do not persuade Grandmama to change her mind, I think that in the future either one of us should have the right to end the engagement.”
“But—”
“Sabrina, why should we go through with it if neither of us wants it? If in the future either of us decides to end it, we will. Agreed?”
Sabrina turned away, her heart heavy. For a moment the future had opened up to her, bright and sparkling. Now it seemed it was not to be. Not that she wished to marry this arrogant man, she told herself quickly, but it would be nice to know where one belonged, forevermore. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Agreed.”
The announcement of the engagement of the Duke of Bainbridge to his cousin was met with a great deal of interest, and became one of the first on-dits of the fledgling season. His Grace had been an eligible bachelor for years, chased by matchmaking mamas and daughters alike. If he were to be caught, everyone had expected that it would be by Lady Marshfield, not some unknown cousin. Who was Sabrina Carrick? People who knew to the last degree the pedigrees of various members of the ton could not recall her. Who she was was a mystery, a delicious one to some, a source of fury to others.
In a crimson boudoir in a fashionable house in Mayfair, Lady Marshfield let out a shriek and dashed her copy of the Gazette to the floor. Oliver engaged, and not to her? Oh, they’d see about that! The bright morning light was no longer as kind to Moira, Lady Marshfield, as the candlelight of evening, but there was no denying she was a beautiful woman, with lustrous dark hair, creamy skin, and a figure that could drive men to distraction. Let some chit of a girl compete with that, she told herself defiantly. She had not yet started to fight.
In the Highlands, where he had gone on a repairing lease, Reginald Hailey turned pale as he crushed the week-old copy of the Gazette in his hand. Who the devil was Sabrina Carrick? To his knowledge, there was no one of that name in the family. He had made it his reason to know, for the fewer claimants there were to Aunt Gwendolyn’s fortune, the better, though the old bitch had never favored him. Damn, he’d have to return to town to deal with this, and hope that his creditors would ignore his presence.
And, in Yorkshire, in an old, drafty manor house, Lord Everett Carrick put down the newspaper and stared into space. Unlike the others he knew of Sabrina, his long-lost granddaughter, but until now she hadn’t seemed important enough for him to undertake the expense that a journey to Bainbridge Abbey entailed. Now things had gone too far. Gerald’s child, if such she were, was certain to be a most unsuitable bride for a duke of Bainbridge. Oliver had never shown himself amenable to guidance before, but surely in this instance he would listen to his uncle’s advice. It was high time that someone set him right.
Gwendolyn stayed quietly in her room after making her surprising announcement, letting the others accustom themselves to it. From Saltmarsh she learned that Oliver and Sabrina seemed resigned to being engaged, though they were not acting like lovers. That would come, she thought complacently. Having been thrown together, they were certain to become more comfortable with each other, especially in London. Though he had not yet given his permission, Oliver could not very well refuse the girl a season now.
Several days later, she called Sabrina and Fanny in to her room to make plans for their stay in London. Gwendolyn knew her limitations. She was old, and the season, with its various routs, balls, and soirees, could be exhausting to even the most robust person. Fanny would have to take on much of the burden of chaperoning Sabrina.
“How are you feeling, Grandmama?” Sabrina asked, from a chair near the bed.
“Better, child,” Gwendolyn said in a voice that quavered so convincingly she was slightly ashamed of herself.
“I won’t stay if it tires you.”
“Nonsense. How are things with you?”
“Very well, Grandmama,” Sabrina answered, her eyes lowered.
Gwendolyn looked at her shrewdly. “You are happy about the engagement?”
Sabrina did not raise her eyes. “Of course.”
“Such a wonderful event,” Fanny said.
“I quite agree, Fanny. Now. I asked you in here to begin making plans for Sabrina’s season.”
Sabrina looked up. “Bainbridge still forbids it.”
“Good heavens, why?” Gwendolyn exclaimed. “Now that you are engaged you cannot be hidden away here. He knows that.”
“I believe he is not happy about the engagement, ma’am.”
“He must learn to live with it. It’s good for him.”
Sabrina made a face. “You make me sound like medicine.”
“And so you are. He needs you, Sabrina. He needs your liveliness. I never thought I’d say this, but he is turning into a worse prig than his uncle Everett! High time he had his comfortable life disturbed.”
“And the danger, Aunt Gwendolyn, of an unsuitable alliance!” Fanny said. “He and Lady Marshfield—”
“Be quiet, Fanny!” Gwendolyn said, sharply.
“Who is Lady Marshfield?” Sabrina asked, alerted more by Gwendolyn’s reaction than Fanny’s statement.
“She is no one you need concern yourself about, child.”
“Oh, no, Aunt Gwendolyn, that cannot be so. Was he not engaged to her once?” Fanny said.
“When he was very young he was infatuated with her,” Gwendolyn snapped. “Pray do not talk about something you know nothing about, Fanny.”
“But i
t is one of the on-dits—”
“Fanny!” Gwendolyn exclaimed in awesome tones, and Fanny subsided.
“Is she his mistress?” Sabrina asked bluntly.
Gwendolyn closed her eyes in despair. “Sabrina, you mustn’t talk like that.”
“I lived with my father. I know of such things.”
“Of course, but it ain’t proper to let on that you do.”
“Is she his mistress?” she asked again.
“Of course not. They are just very good friends.”
“Mm-hm,” Sabrina said. “Is she beautiful?”
“In a coarse sort of way,” Gwendolyn said, knowing that she disparaged the woman. “Do not regard her, child.”
Sabrina got up abruptly and walked over to a window. So much was against this marriage, her background, Bainbridge’s inclinations, and now this. A man in Oliver’s position required a wife of spotless birth, not someone with her dubious history. Even the beautiful Lady Marshfield—for Sabrina had no doubt that she was beautiful—would be preferable.
It would be different if Oliver loved her, she thought, wistfully. If he loved her they could face anything together, including her past. Now he was likely only to add it to his reasons to dislike her. He spent as little time with her now as he had before the engagement, and he was still cool to her. She could not bear the thought of living with that for the rest of her life. Without any affection, marriage to him would be too painful, too difficult.
“Ma’am, I wish you would release us from this engagement,” she said.
“Good heavens. Why?” Gwendolyn asked.
“It is not right. He does not love me.”
“Love! People in our position do not marry for love, Sabrina. I did not love Lionel when I married him, but our marriage was suitable. So is this one.”
“Nevertheless, ma’am, I wish you would release us.”
“Oh, nonsense, Sabrina, I’ll hear no more about this.” She sat up and began pounding her pillows vigorously.
Fanny hastened forward. “Oh, no, Auntie, you mustn’t do that, you’ll tire yourself.”
“Stop fluttering around me, Fanny! Sabrina? Why do you look at me like that?”