Sabrina

by Kruger, Mary

“Never fear. I shall figure it out.”

  Oliver lightly touched Sabrina’s elbow. “Good evening, Tenbroeck,” he said, his voice pleasant, but underlaid with steel.

  Mr. Tenbroeck bowed. “Good night, Duke. Miss Carrick.”

  “Good night,” Sabrina said, and at last he turned away.

  “And what was all that about?” Oliver said, very low.

  “Why, nothing, sir.” Sabrina forced herself to speak lightly. “Apparently we are distantly related. He has been trying to place me on the Van Schuyler family tree all evening.”

  “And has he?”

  “Oh, I doubt it.” I hope not! “My family was really a very minor branch. Well, sir? Did I acquit myself well tonight?”

  “Quite well, Sabrina,” he said, turning away to speak to another departing guest. The conversation between Sabrina and Tenbroeck had bothered him more than he let on, more because of Sabrina’s reaction than what had been said. There it was again, that indication that something was bothering her, and he hadn’t a clue what it could be.

  His eyes were troubled as he watched Sabrina go up to her room, after the last guest had left. They would have been even more so, had he had any idea of Sabrina’s thoughts. That Tenbroeck had frightened her, he knew. What he hadn’t guessed was the extent of that fright. Tenbroeck was the first person Sabrina had met in England who could have any knowledge of her background. She had thought her secret was safe. Now it seemed it wasn’t.

  The ton had their first glance of Miss Sabrina Carrick at the Haymarket theatre, when she attended the opera in company with the duke and the dowager duchess. In private boxes and from the gallery, all eyes were trained on the Bainbridges as they entered their box. The dowager, clad in a magnificent purple satin gown, looked regal and stately, and Bainbridge, in his customary black and white, was the picture of careless elegance, but they were largely ignored. It was the mysterious fiancée people wished to see.

  Sabrina was unaware of the stir her entrance caused. She was dressed quite modestly in a simple gown of white silk, Celeste’s only concession to the conventions regarding debutantes, and her hair was swept back into an elegant chignon, with soft curls framing her face. She looked fresh and young and very pretty, and so more than one person turned to see how a certain lady was taking the appearance of Miss Carrick.

  In her box, Moira suddenly tightened her grip on the arm of her escort, her eyes narrowed as she took in her rival’s appearance. So that was the chit! Pretty enough? Oh, yes, she was certainly pretty enough, and not just in the common way. Oliver had misled her. She glared at the Bainbridge box until the dowager turned and returned her scrutiny. Only then did she incline her head politely.

  In the box opposite, Gwendolyn bent her head in return. Sabrina, who had been looking about her with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, followed her gaze. “Who is that?” she asked, unable for the moment to take her eyes off the woman opposite them. She was the very picture of feminine beauty, with her clouds of dark hair and her shoulders rising creamy white above the daring decolletage of her dark red gown. Compared to her, Sabrina felt like the greenest girl. “Who is it?” she asked again, since Grandmama had not answered.

  “Why, no one. I believe I see Lady Spencer and her granddaughter. You must meet them during the interval, Sabrina. She could be a good friend for you.”

  “Yes, Grandmama,” Sabrina said, her eyes returning to the woman in the red dress, now flirting with her escort. It wasn’t the woman’s beauty that bothered her, so much as it was the animosity in her eyes. Somehow, Sabrina had made an enemy.

  The house lights went down at that moment, and for the next part of the evening Sabrina forgot about everything else in her wonder at the spectacle unfolding before her. She had never before been to a theater, and the scenery, the costumes, the music, all combined to enchant her, though she did not understand Italian and could not follow the plot. When the first act ended and the lights came up again, she blinked in disbelief at returning to her own world.

  Beside her, Oliver grinned. “You’re not supposed to be enjoying it, infant,” he said.

  Sabrina looked up. “What did you call me, sir?”

  “Look around you. Everyone else has come here to see and be seen, not to enjoy the opera.”

  “How can they not?” she asked, content simply to have his attention. “It is wonderful. Of course, I didn’t understand a word they were saying. If only it were in Dutch.”

  Oliver put back his head and laughed. Sabrina glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. Infant! Once he’d thought her an adventuress; now he thought her a child. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

  The curtains of their box parted, and soon Sabrina was too busy greeting the people who had come to meet her to give thought to Oliver’s attitude toward her. This early in the season there were few entertainments, and so the cream of the ton was present tonight at the opera. Sabrina was introduced to elegant gentlemen and stylish ladies, dowagers who looked her over carefully, and young bucks who also observed her closely, though for different reasons. Sabrina charmed them all, the matrons by her manners, the gentlemen with her beauty. It was her first taste of heady admiration, and she loved it.

  Sometimes different snatches of conversation came to her as she talked to her latest companion. “Did you see? Lord Harland is here tonight with his daughter...”

  “Now, as Prinny was saying to me just the other day...”

  “Oh, la, yes, Almack’s on Wednesday was just divine...”

  “Lord Harland has a great deal of presumption....”

  “Lady Marshfield’s in looks tonight, ain’t she...?”

  “Lady Marshfield!” Sabrina sat up straighter. “Which one is Lady Marshfield?” she asked.

  Sophia Spencer, like Sabrina enjoying her first season, looked at her slantwise. “Do you not know? She is in that box across the way,” Sophia said.

  Sabrina looked over, but even before she saw the woman she knew who it would be. The woman in the dark red dress, the one with the perfect figure and vivid coloring, the epitome of feminine beauty. That was Lady Marshfield. She had expected it. What she had not expected was that Oliver would be in the box with her.

  Pain twisted at her heart at the sight of the two dark heads bent together. Bad enough he was marrying her, if he married her, for convenience, but did he have to court his mistress for all the ton to see? She knew he did not love her, and now she had an idea of why. She could never compete with that woman.

  “Poor Lord Harland,” Gwendolyn said, as the interval ended and the last guest left their box. “I understand he and his daughter left during the interval.”

  Oliver’s face tightened. “He showed a deal of presumption, coming here with her.”

  Gwendolyn frowned. “Oliver, never tell me you cut them!”

  “No, ma’am, I did not have the chance.”

  “One can’t blame him for trying,” Gwendolyn shot back. “Poor girl, I understand she was in tears.”

  “Why?” Sabrina asked.

  “She is a love child, Sabrina,” Gwendolyn said. “Lord Harland wants her to be accepted by the ton, but of course everyone knows her background.”

  The house lights had gone down, and so no one noticed Sabrina go pale. “Why should it matter?” she asked.

  “Need you ask, Sabrina?” Oliver said. “One’s birth is very important. As well it should be. We needn’t welcome a bastard into our midst.”

  “Oliver!” Gwendolyn said, sharply.

  “My apologies, Grandmama. Sabrina.”

  “That poor girl.” Gwendolyn sighed. “The ton will never accept her, no matter how hard her father tries, and she will never marry. At least, not someone of our class.”

  “Rather a double standard, isn’t it?” Sabrina murmured. No one had said a word to Oliver about his presence in Lady Marshfield’s box.

  “It is the way the world is, Sabrina,” Oliver said, as the curtain rose again. “And in this case, I most definitely agree.”
/>
  “Oh.” Sabrina sat back, feeling slightly sick. A bastard. But that was what she was, if he only knew. It wasn’t fair that one’s life should be ruined because of what one’s parents had done, and yet, she had suffered from it all her life. She had no illusions as to what would happen, should her background become known, no doubt that she would be ostracized, no doubt that she would lose her home, her family, Oliver. It wasn’t that that she really cared what the ton thought of her, but never did she want Oliver to look at her as he had at another man’s illegitimate child. And he never will, she vowed. Because he’ll never know. She planned to see to that.

  “...and I cannot wait until we are officially out and may go places! I am tired of being in the house, day after day, without meeting anyone. Oh, the opera was nice enough, but so boring, all that caterwauling! Sabrina? Are you attending to me?”

  “Hm?” Sabrina turned from the drawing room window, where she had been looking out onto the street. “I beg your pardon, Melly?”

  “I am tired of this quiet life we are leading, never meeting anyone! And please don’t tell me a group of Americans count!”

  A slight smile curved Sabrina’s mouth, dispelling some of the shadows on her face. “You would prefer someone like Lord Byron, I suppose?”

  “Oh, yes.” Melanie sighed. “Though what good that would do us, Sabrina, when we are each betrothed! I must say, ‘tis monstrous unfair. Though I do think your engagement is the most romantic thing—”

  “Oh, fiddle!”

  “But it is! I was like to swoon when I heard of it. At first, when I thought you meant to refuse, I was afraid Auntie Gwen would lock you up in a tower until you agreed! Well, not a tower, precisely, because there are none at the Abbey,” she said, as Sabrina laughed, “but perhaps in your room.”

  “Melanie, I hate to think what kind of books you read. Grandmama would never do such a thing.”

  “No? No, of course not.” Melanie appeared much struck by that. “This is such a prosaic time. ‘Tis why I like novels so much, I expect. And that is what I was talking about. Mama has offered to go with us to Hookham’s, so we may subscribe.”

  “Hookham’s? Oh, the lending library. What, today?”

  “Yes, of course today, silly! Won’t you come?”

  “Well.” Sabrina looked out toward the street again. She could not stay inside forever, though just now that suited her mood. What would happen if Oliver found out she was illegitimate?

  “Rina?”

  “Hm? Oh. Yes, Melly, I’ll come. Let me just go up to Grandmama and ask her if she has any errands for us to do.”

  “And I must get my pelisse!” Melanie exclaimed, and ran lightly up to her room.

  Some minutes later the two girls, accompanied by Fanny, and with a footman to help carry any purchases, climbed into the Bainbridge landau and were driven away at a sedate pace. No one noticed a lean, nondescript figure push himself away from a lamppost across the street and set off after the carriage; his eyes were his only remarkable feature, and just now they were hidden.

  Sabrina’s spirits rose as they drove along. Melanie was right. It was good to be out of the house, even if the sky was showing a depressing tendency to cloud over. By the time they reached Hookham’s her recovery was complete, and she was agreeably surprised by the famous lending library. Within the large, spacious room once could obtain, in addition to the latest novels, newspapers, drawing paper and pencils, and the latest tit-bits of gossip. It was only just beginning to dawn on Sabrina that she could indulge herself as much as any other girl in the ton, and so it was with a sense of wonder that she browsed among the tables, looking at the various offerings.

  “Well, Miss Carrick, so we meet again,” a voice said as she was leafing through a novel from the Minerva Press. Though Sabrina had heard that voice only a few times before, she stiffened slightly.

  “Good day, Mr. Tenbroeck,” she said, turning to face him with a tolerable semblance of calm. “It seems we do.”

  “You are, perhaps, addicted to novels?” he asked, as she laid the book down and moved slowly along the aisle.

  “Oh, no, but I do enjoy reading them. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I see my cousin—”

  “It’s strange to find you in such surroundings, Miss—Carrick.”

  She looked up. Something about his voice, about the way he hesitated before speaking her name, made her uneasy. “How so, sir?”

  “A good American girl, in among all this artificiality.”

  Sabrina looked again toward Melanie and Fanny, but they were on the other side of the room, too far away to rescue her. “I find I have a taste for luxury, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “And have you forgotten your country so soon, Miss—Carrick?”

  “No, of course I haven’t, but—”

  “Ah, I am glad to hear it. You may be able to help her someday.” Tenbroeck lounged against the counter and studied her, his eyes so intent that she couldn’t look away. “Yes. You just might be able to help.”

  “Rina!” Melanie said behind her. “Oh, Rina, look who’s here, I don’t believe you’ve met Viscount Bevin yet.”

  Sabrina turned. “What?”

  “My fiancé, Sabrina.” Her arm was linked through that of a young man of medium height, with sandy hair and rather protuberant eyes. She gazed curiously past Sabrina to Tenbroeck.

  “Miss—Carrick,” Tenbroeck said, bowing, and Sabrina turned again. “We shall meet again.” It sounded vaguely like a threat. “Miss Hailey, Viscount.” He bowed again and then was gone, walking out of the lending library with a jaunty step.

  “Who in the world was that?” Melanie asked, and Sabrina came out of her daze. He was gone. For the moment, he was gone.

  “He—was at the dinner party the other evening.”

  “How utterly dreary,” Bevin said, speaking for the first time, and shuddering. “That dreadful coat.”

  If Sabrina had been less distracted, she might have appreciated the spectacle the viscount presented in his coat of robin’s egg blue, exaggeratedly wide in the shoulders and tightly nipped at the waist, worn with a green spotted waistcoat, yellow pantaloons, and shirt points so high he could not turn his head, but she was lost in her own thoughts just now.

  “Now, Rina, Bevin and I were just talking about taking a stroll through the park. Do you join us?” Melanie said.

  “What? Oh.” Sabrina looked up. “Yes, I would like that,” she said. A walk in the park was just what she needed, to force thoughts of Tenbroeck from her mind. He didn’t know anything, for all his hints. He couldn’t. She would just have to believe that.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Melanie clapped her hands. “I shall just go tell Mama, and then we can go.”

  “Splendid,” Bevin said, beaming after her. “I say, Miss Carrick, this is splendid of you. Mrs. Hailey wouldn’t let us go else, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” Sabrina said, giving him an absentminded smile, for her thoughts were far elsewhere. What would she do if Tenbroeck did know the truth?

  Chapter 11

  Two days before Sabrina was to make her bow at Almack’s, with a small select dinner party planned to start the evening, Gwendolyn came down with a serious cold. Had she planned it she could not have timed it better, she thought, though she did not enjoy being ill. Oliver would have to accompany Sabrina to Almack’s now. The thought made her smile.

  “Dear ma’am, are you feeling better?” Sabrina asked, and Gwendolyn opened her eyes.

  “Child, have you been here long?” she asked in a voice thready with age and illness. I am old, she thought with surprise. I am old, and feeble.

  “Not so very long,” Sabrina said, smiling. “Saltmarsh said I might sit with you a few moments, and Bainbridge, as well.” She turned from the bed to where Oliver stood, leaning against the wall.

  “You mustn’t worry about me, child,” she said, but the action of speaking brought with it a paroxysm of coughing. Immediately Oliver crossed the room to her and his strong ar
ms lifted her up from the pillows, easing the cough.

  “Easy, Grandmama,” he murmured. “You must rest easy.”

  Saltmarsh came in, bearing the cordial that Gwendolyn’s doctor had prescribed. “I must ask you to leave,” she said, though Oliver reached to take the glass from her. “She must not be upset.”

  “Drink this, Grandmama,” he said.

  “I hate being sick,” Gwendolyn said pettishly. “Sabrina?”

  “Ma’am?” Sabrina said, startled by the strength and dry heat of the hand gripping hers. “Ma’am, please don’t exert yourself.”

  “Sabrina, I will not be able to take you to Almack’s.”

  “Dear ma’am, please do not regard that. I assure you, I don’t.”

  “Come away now, Sabrina,” Oliver said, with more gentleness than he had yet shown her. “We must let her rest.”

  Sabrina let herself be led away, into Gwendolyn’s sitting room, but there she stopped, to regain her composure. “Oh, I cannot bear to see her like that,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  Oliver regarded her quizzically. “Why? Because now you’ll not be able to attend Almack’s?”

  Sabrina raised large, hurt eyes to him. “Even for you, Bainbridge, that is cruel. I love Grandmama. She is my family.”

  Oliver had the grace to look ashamed. “My apologies, Sabrina,” he said, his face softening as he looked at the small, woebegone figure. In the past few days she had been quiet and pale, and no one knew why. “Come.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I believe you need to get out of the house for a while.”

  “But I can’t leave Grandmama.”

  “Don’t be silly. Saltmarsh is with her, and the doctor expects she will do quite well. There is no need for you to wear yourself down.”

  “Do you think she will mind?”

  “Of course not. Go change into something more suitable. I will expect to see you belowstairs in half an hour. No longer, mind.”

  “No, no longer,” she said, somewhat dazed by this turn of events.

  She was ready in less than the allotted time, and she waited in the entrance hall in a sky blue gown trimmed in dark blue braid, with a matching dark blue spencer cut in the military style, and a chip straw bonnet. Oliver came down the stairs attired in a many-caped driving coat that fit him to perfection, and though he eyed her ensemble with approval he said nothing. “Come, my curricle is outside,” he said, and with a hand under her elbow led her out. Rawlings, his groom, let go the horses’ heads at Oliver’s command, and then jumped up onto the back of the curricle.