Sabrina

by Kruger, Mary

  It was thus a merry party that went on to Almack’s. Once they were inside, having planned their arrival before the deadline of eleven, after which no one would be admitted, Oliver brought Sabrina over to make her bow before the patronesses. Lady Jersey looked quite pleased, though Mrs. Drummond-Burrell all but sniffed her disapproval as Sabrina curtsied. Apparently she wasn’t happy at having an American, of all things, in Almack’s, but then, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell was notoriously hard to please.

  Across the room, standing with her own group of admirers, Moira looked up at the arrival of the Bainbridge party, and stiffened. She no longer needed the services of Almack’s, the famed marriage mart, but she was not so self-assured that she could do without the good will of the powerful patronesses. Thus, she attended the assemblies each Wednesday night, but she had never expected to see Sabrina there, thinking that the place was more exclusive. More, she had not expected to see her dressed like that, no longer looking quite like a child, or gazing up at Oliver in that way as he took her arm. The chit is in love with him! she thought, so shocked that for a moment she thought she was going to faint. This was another thing she had not anticipated, and it had more power to disrupt her plans than anything. She would have to do something about it.

  Once Sabrina had met the patronesses, Lady Jersey took her arm and led her over to meet Viscount Danbury, a very presentable young man. His eyes widened at the sight of Sabrina, and he found it no chore to ask her to dance, as Lady Jersey commanded. After that Sabrina needed no one to choose a partner for her, for she was besieged by a group of ardent young men, as she had been in the park. She laughingly agreed to all requests for dances, save for the waltz, for which she had not yet been approved. She would dearly have loved to dance that with Oliver.

  Standing against a wall, Oliver watched as his fiancée took the ton by storm, his face growing ever more morose. Several dances later, he was still standing there, when Moira came up and laid her hand on his arm. More than one member of the ton watched that meeting with interest, but to their disappointment Oliver only smiled at her and then led her onto the dance floor.

  “Your little ward is charming, Oliver,” Moira said. “She is quite pretty.”

  Oliver looked over to where Sabrina was dancing yet again with Viscount Danbury. “She is well enough, I suppose.”

  “Oh, now, that hardly sounds like a man in love!”

  “I am not in love with her, Moira,” he said quickly, and she smiled while the figures of the dance separated them.

  “No, of course you are not in love with her,” she said when next they met. “Darling, I quite understand about your engagement, but I fear that she really does need a guardian rather than a fiancé.”

  Oliver glanced over at Sabrina. Flushed and laughing, she was looking up at Viscount Danbury with too broad a smile, and he, poor man, looked utterly besotted by her. Oliver’s lips tightened. “She is young,” he said.

  “Of course,” Moira agreed, “and of course she is from America, and that must excuse her being a little—well, shall we say, wild?”

  “She is not wild,” he said, but again the dance separated them and if she heard, she gave no sign.

  “Did you know that the next dance is to be a waltz?” Moira said when they came together again. “The patronesses have given their permission. I hope, Oliver, that your ward knows enough not to waltz without their approval?”

  “She knows,” he said, hoping that she did.

  “I’m sure she does. And, of course, she knows enough not to stand up with one man more than twice, I hope. I believe, nay, I am certain, that young Danbury will ask her again.” Oliver’s hands tightened momentarily on her fingers, and she looked up at him, satisfied at what she saw in his face. “But, come, Oliver, don’t look so grim. Surely you cannot be blamed for the faults of her upbringing.”

  “Of course not,” he said, glad that the dance was ending. He glanced over at Sabrina. She was looking at him, her expression unreadable, until she turned back to Danbury, laughing. Damn, he was doing nothing outside the bounds of good behavior by talking with Moira. Why must Sabrina make him feel as if he were the one in the wrong?

  When the dance ended Sabrina gently refused all Danbury’s requests for another dance. Instead, deliberately refraining from looking in Oliver’s direction, she returned to the chaperones and sat down by Fanny. Other people might behave in reprehensible ways, such as openly consorting with one’s mistress while ignoring one’s fiancée, but Sabrina had no intention of letting her anger and hurt get the better of her. She would be a pattern card of behavior.

  Danbury would gladly have sat out the waltz with her, but she did not wish to encourage him. Besides, she was hot and tired, and so, with a smile, she excused herself and went into the ladies’ withdrawing room. There she splashed water on her face and rested her feet for a moment, before going over to a mirror to check her appearance. With the help of the maid whose job was to assist the ladies who came into the room, she smoothed down her skirts and brushed her hair. She was just about to leave when Lady Marshfield came in.

  For a long moment they appraised each other, and then Moira came to stand at the mirror next to Sabrina. “Miss Carrick,” she said.

  “Lady Marshfield,” Sabrina answered. As usual, the other woman’s appearance made her aware of her own shortcomings. Moira was wearing white, as if she were a debutante, but there the resemblance ended. No young girl would wear a gown of such shimmering satin, cut to hug and outline her waist and hips, and certainly no debutante would dare to display so much of her bosom, or accentuate it with a magnificent emerald necklace. Next to her, Sabrina felt hopelessly young.

  “Well, my dear, I see you persuaded Bainbridge to accompany you. Quite an accomplishment, since it’s well known that he detests the place.”

  Sabrina turned back to the mirror, and her eyes flickered toward the other woman’s reflection. “It was his idea to escort me here, my lady, when Grandmama took ill.”

  “Ah, yes, Oliver always has been kind to children. I must say, I never thought he’d turn out to be so thoughtful a guardian.”

  Sabrina’s hands had clenched into fists. “Perhaps he grew tired of surrounding himself with aged people,” she said, striving to keep her voice cool.

  This time Moira’s hands clenched, but she had much more experience at this kind of confrontation than Sabrina did, and not a trace of her emotion showed on her face. “Oh, no, my dear,” she said, and laughed, an artificial, tinkling sound. “Oliver does prefer the company of his contemporaries, you see. You are very young, my dear.” She turned toward Sabrina, her voice patronizing. “Too young. Oh, he’ll marry you for convenience, but not for companionship. He’ll seek that elsewhere.”

  Sabrina glared at her beneath knotted brows, and when she spoke her voice shook with the effort of keeping it level. “No, he won’t, my lady.”

  Moira laughed again as she picked up her reticule. “Poor child. No, stay here and compose yourself,” she said, as Sabrina started after her. “You don’t wish the ton to see you so distrait.” And with another laugh, Moira left the room, leaving Sabrina to fume in impotent fury.

  “Ooh!” She spun around and raised her reticule, ready to throw it in her anger, when she saw the maid, sitting on a chair in the corner, her eyes round. “Oh!”

  “Don’t ye pay no never mind to her, miss,” the maid said, getting up. “Here, now, ye’ve tangled up yer hair again. Let me brush it for you.” Sabrina stood still under the maid’s ministrations, though she wanted badly to get back into the ballroom and rescue Oliver from the clutches of that woman! “She’s just jealous.”

  “Jealous!” Sabrina’s eyes met the maid’s in the mirror.

  “Aye. Ye’re young, ye see, and that’s somethin’ she’ll never be again, no, no matter what she does. Can’t see why any man would choose her over ye. There, that’s better.” She stepped back, and Sabrina smiled at her.

  “Thank you,” she said, and went out.

&nbs
p; Oliver came up to her when she walked back into the ballroom, a quizzical look on his face. “Where have you been?”

  “In the ladies’ withdrawing room, sir. Why?” She smiled up at him. She had not come out the winner in that confrontation with Lady Marshfield, but she was not giving up, not when Oliver was here with her.

  He shook his head. “No reason. I just wondered. Come.” He took her arm. “I believe this is our dance.”

  “Oh, must we?” she said, placing her hand on his arm, and he looked down at her. “I’m still a trifle fatigued. It is very warm in here.”

  “Indeed it is. Let us go have some refreshments, then.”

  “Thank you, I would like that,” she said, laying her hand on his arm.

  He procured drinks for them, lemonade for her and orgeat for himself. Sabrina took a sip and made a face. “What is it?” he asked in amusement.

  “‘Tis sour,” she said.

  “Almack’s is not known for its refreshments.”

  “Isn’t it strange, then, how very popular the place is? The rooms are handsome enough, but—”

  “But certainly not enough to attract so many people. Of course not. This is the marriage mart, Sabrina. Did you not know?”

  “What a horrible term.”

  “Is it? I assure you, most people would not agree.”

  “But it makes marriage sound like a business.”

  “Is it not?”

  “It can’t be, because then everybody would be in trade.”

  He laughed. “And we can’t have that, can we? All the same, Sabrina, most people marry for consequence, or money, or security.”

  “So the only real basis for a marriage is a practical one,” she said, running her finger along the rim of her cup.

  “Among our class, yes.”

  “Like ours.”

  He looked away. “Yes, like ours. Like my parents’. Probably, too, like your parents’.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” she said.

  Her voice was so colorless that he looked at her again. She was very pale. “Are you feeling quite the thing, Sabrina?” he asked gently.

  “Yes, sir, I’m fine.”

  “We can leave, if you wish.”

  “No, I am having a marvelous time.”

  He searched her face, and then nodded. “So I have noticed. You’ve hardly sat out one dance. I haven’t had a chance to dance with you.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  He smiled. “Perhaps the next time the patronesses allow a waltz.”

  She returned the smile. “Perhaps.” She hoped he couldn’t see how much she wanted that to happen.

  “If I’m allowed to,” he said, setting down his cup and taking her arm, to lead her back to the ballroom.

  “Why shouldn’t you be?”

  “Because I suspect, after tonight, that you are going to be very popular, and what chance will a mere guardian stand?”

  “You never know, sir,” she said, smiling at him as her next partner came to claim her for his dance.

  Oliver returned the smile, and for a while stood against the wall, watching her again as she moved through the figures of the cotillion, her face flushed and laughing. You’re a fool, Bainbridge, he told himself, dispassionately, and pushed himself away from the wall. Damned if he were going to stand around here staring at Sabrina, like some mooncalf. Taking his leave of Fanny and the patronesses, he collected his evening cloak and hat, and went out, and, though Sabrina was aware of his leaving, she was not discouraged. Tonight he had talked as if there might be a future, and that, for now, was enough.

  Oliver went on to White’s and gambled ferociously, which was unusual for him. He also drank too much, so that he was somewhat foxed by the time he returned home. He could not settle, though, and so he went into the book-room, stretched out in a chair, with a glass of brandy to keep him company and the Edinburgh Review lying unread on his lap. He was there when the women returned from Almack’s, though he didn’t stir from his comfortable position to greet them, and he was still there, when, sometime later, Sabrina came in.

  She, too, was too restless to sleep, her mind filled with the color and whirl of this, her first real evening in society. It seemed an anticlimax to go tamely to bed after that, and so she had decided to get something to read. She was still dressed, but the flowers had been removed from her hair and her feet were bare. No matter, she told herself. No one would see her.

  She didn’t see Oliver when she walked into the dimly-lit book-room, but he saw her. This time, he did not force his eyes to stay above her neck. With a lithe movement, he got to his feet. “Good evening, Sabrina.”

  “Oh!” She whirled around from the bookcase, her hand to her heart. “Oh, how you startled me, Bainbridge! I had no idea you were there.”

  “My apologies, Sabrina.” He struck a lucifer and used it to light another candle. “What do you here, at this time of night?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, sir, and so I thought I would get something to read.”

  “I see. You enjoyed yourself tonight then, infant?”

  Infant! After he had seen her in this dress? “Yes, very much.”

  “I’m glad.” He drained his glass, turned aside to set it on a table, and then paused. “Do you know, Sabrina, we never had our waltz.”

  “No, sir, we didn’t.” She gazed up at him as he approached her, trying to gauge his expression. For just a moment she had thought he sounded disappointed, but that surely couldn’t be, could it? “Another time, perhaps?”

  “Why not now?”

  He was very close now, almost close enough to touch, and her eyes widened. “Now?”

  “Yes. There’s no time like the present.”

  A faint scent of brandy came to her, and she realized that he was a bit the worse for drink. “But there’s no music,” she pointed out, reasonably.

  “We don’t need it, Sabrina,” he said, and with that his arm went about her waist, catching her close against him and making her gasp. To her astonishment, his feet began to move in the steps of the waltz, but she was even more surprised when her own, without her volition, followed. “Did I tell you how fetching you look in that gown?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  “How remiss of me. How very remiss.”

  The warmth of his voice was almost a caress, and Sabrina swallowed, hard. Her surprise had given way to another sensation, a peculiar warmth deep within her, and her legs felt oddly weak, as if she needed to lean against him. Try as she might, she could not tear her eyes away from his, now a glowing, burnished silver. “Sir.”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “I—oh!” she gasped, as the arm about her waist tightened and the words she had been about to say fled from her mind. It was highly improper for them to be here like this, but that no longer mattered. Their steps slowed, halted, and they were left, still entwined, gazing into each other’s eyes. Slowly, his head lowered, and she watched his lips coming closer. He was going to kiss her, and, suddenly, she very badly wanted him to.

  “Ah, Sabrina,” he muttered, his mouth so close that she felt his breath on her cheek, “I have desired to do this for a very long time.”

  It was as if she had been doused with cold water. Before Oliver could protest, she had pulled away.

  Chapter 14

  Oliver blinked at her. “Sabrina?”

  “‘Tis late, sir,” she said, her voice unnaturally high. “Time I was abed.”

  Oliver stepped back and gave her an ironic smile. “Of course. Good night, Sabrina. I will see you in the morning.”

  “I—yes, good night, sir.” She flitted out of the room, pausing for a moment in the doorway to look back at him, and then was gone.

  Oliver stared after her for a moment, and then sank into his chair again. He was not sure what had happened to him, either here, or at Almack’s, and so he sat, legs stretched to the empty fireplace, for a very long time.

  In the morning he awoke with a fierce headache and a foul temp
er, and only the evil-tasting remedy his valet forced upon him made him feel any better. Having foregone his morning ride, he went down to breakfast later than usual, to find Sabrina already up, surveying with astonishment the flowers that carpeted the entrance hall. “Good morning, infant,” he said.

  Sabrina looked up, her eyes unreadable. “Good morning, sir. Have you ever seen anything like—this?”

  “When my sister made her come-out,” he said, dampingly, and then relented. “You were a success last night.”

  “Yes. Hastings, I don’t know what to do with all these.”

  “Perhaps, miss, you would like to arrange them in vases?” Hastings suggested.

  “Oh, dear, I don’t know anything about arranging flowers. Perhaps Mrs. Hailey?”

  “Cousin Fanny’s sense of color is not the best,” Oliver said, dryly. “Hastings, you may dispose of them as you wish. Unless, Sabrina, there is one in particular you would like to keep?”

  Sabrina shook her head. She already knew there was no offering from him. “No, Bainbridge, none.”

  “You seem a trifle down-pin this morning,” he said as they walked to the breakfast room.

  “Just tired, I expect. I am not used to such late hours.”

  “You will be. There are already a great many invitations here,” he said, leafing through the stack of envelopes by his plate.

  “Oh, my,” Sabrina took the envelopes he handed her. “I shall have to speak to Grandmama about these. Have you seen her yet this morning, sir?”

  “I spoke with Saltmarsh. She is feeling better today.”

  “Oh, that is wonderful. She will wish to know all about last night.”

  Oliver looked up, his gaze piercing but unreadable. “Of course,” he said, finally. “What are your plans for today?”

  “Sophia Spencer asked me to go shopping with her, and I’ve been invited to take a drive in the park this afternoon.”