Sabrina

by Kruger, Mary

  “Oh, we’ll see about that. Now, this is what I wish you to do. There is a certain document which I have reason to know is in your guardian’s keeping, at least until Monday.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “That is not your concern. Now—”

  “You have a spy at the Foreign Office?” she said, and, at the look in his eyes, knew she’d guessed correctly.

  “How I know of it doesn’t matter. You will bring me that document, Sabrina.”

  “Why can’t your spy do it?”

  “It is too closely guarded. On the other hand, in his own house, your guardian might be less careful.”

  “What does this document look like?”

  “It is a report of the possible troop strength to be used against us.”

  “I am not one of you.”

  “Ah, but you are, Sabrina. You have agreed to spy, have you not? And your guardian will never suspect that the spy is in his own household.”

  “You are detestable, sir!” she snapped.

  “Oh, no, I am not the detestable one, but those bloated aristocrats, who feed off the poor and starving for their own obscene pleasures! They would subjugate us, if they could. I will do anything I have to to prevent that.” His voice dropped even lower. “I will do anything to help my country, and if that aids the cause of revolution here, so much the better.”

  “Well, I will not! Not if it means betraying my family.”

  “Your family? Ha! You’re an American, girl, and don’t you forget it. All your fine feathers can’t hide who you really are.”

  “And all your fine words can’t hide what you are, Mr. Tenbroeck. A low, detestable rat.”

  “Call me what you will, Sabrina,” he said, that peculiar light in his eyes. “You won’t change my mind. And you will bring me that document.”

  “No, sir.”

  “No?” He smiled. “I think you will, Sabrina.”

  “No, sir. I will bring you a copy, but not the original document.” He stared at her. “Think, sir. If my guardian discovers the document to be missing, who do you think he’ll blame? This way, he need never know.”

  A crafty look came over his face. “Well thought-out, Sabrina. And you claim you don’t wish to betray your family.”

  “Oh, I don’t, sir,” she assured him, and if he had been less confident, he might have worried about the crafty look that had come over her face, too. “Because I will never do your bidding again.” She whipped around and started up the bank. The dog, after giving Tenbroeck a baleful look, followed her.

  “Oh, I think you will, Miss—Carrick.”

  Sabrina stopped and turned slowly, from the top of the bank. “I think I won’t, Mr. Tenbroeck.”

  He gave her a mocking bow. “We shall see. I shall be in contact with you about this mission, Sabrina, so don’t think you can escape me. And then, we will discuss the future.”

  Sabrina stopped again, and then bent low. On the ground near her lay the stick she had earlier tossed for the dog to chase. Swiftly she turned and, with all her strength, threw the stick toward Tenbroeck. “Go get it, boy!” she shouted, and the dog set off in mad pursuit. The last sight she had of Mr. Tenbroeck was of his coattails flapping behind him as he desperately tried to outrace the dog. The sight cheered her immeasurably.

  She had not gone very far when she heard a bark behind her, and she turned, to see the dog racing toward her. “Oh, good boy!” she exclaimed, dropping into a crouch, The dog came at her full force, knocking her over and trying, very hard, to lick her face. Laughing, she pushed him off. “Oh, good boy! You certainly did for him, didn’t you?” She got to her feet and the dog trotted along beside her. How she would love to keep him, if only for his part in this morning’s events, but she couldn’t. “Well, boy, I’ve got to get back before they miss me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” a masculine voice said, and, startled, Sabrina turned, to see the same chestnut hack she had noticed earlier. Mounted upon it was Oliver.

  Sabrina’s glee faded as she scrambled to her feet. “Your Grace,” she croaked.

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think you are doing?”

  Sabrina gathered courage from somewhere. “Petting this dog, sir,” she said.

  “Don’t be impertinent,” he snapped. “That is not what I mean and you know it.”

  “No, sir.”

  Oliver stared at her, hard, not fooled by her submissively-bent head. “This is not the place to discuss it,” he said, and, swinging down from the horse, took her arm. “Come. I will escort you home.”

  “Yes, sir. Come on, boy!” she called, and the dog bounded toward her. Oliver tensed, his riding crop held ready should the dog decide to savage her, but the animal simply danced around her, barking, his tail wagging with joy.

  “I will not have that animal in my house!”

  “He could stay in the stables.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, please, sir?” She turned large, pleading eyes up at him, and somehow, all his objections dissolved.

  “Oh, very well,” he said, ungraciously. “Come along, then.”

  “Thank you, sir! I do not know whether to call you Hector or Lancelot,” she said to the dog.

  “What?”

  “Hector, I think.” After all, he had certainly hectored Mr. Tenbroeck. The thought made her smile.

  “We will talk about this at home, miss.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sabrina said, and subsided.

  Hastings’s normally imperturbable face looked just a little startled as Miss Carrick, dressed in some frightful gown, came in, followed by the duke and a large, bounding dog. His eyes closed and then opened again. He knew how it would be. Though he had not seen the young miss leave, he would be blamed for it, and then he would have to cope with that—that monster of a dog.

  Hector, at the moment, was trying to climb up on Oliver, having decided that he was as worthy of adoration as Sabrina, and Oliver, though angry, could not force himself to abuse any animal. “Down, boy! Down, I say. Sabrina—”

  Sabrina reacted to the note of appeal in his voice. “Hector. Here, boy, here. Oh, that’s a good dog,” she said, as the dog proceeded to climb all over her.

  “Good God,” Oliver muttered, brushing dog hairs from the sleeves of his riding jacket. His valet would be furious. “Hastings, take this dog to the stables and see that he is fed.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Hastings said.

  “You needn’t look so put-upon, Hastings. He will not be staying in the house. Will he?”

  Sabrina looked up. “No, I suppose not, though it doesn’t seem fair. Go away now, Hector. Go on,” she said. Hector gazed at her with those liquid eyes, but, at last, the long-suffering Hastings led the dog away.

  Gwendolyn came down the stairs in time to see the end of that spectacle. “Oliver? Whatever in the world is going on? Sabrina, is that you?”

  “Yes, Grandmama,” she said, meekly.

  “Whyever are you dressed like that?”

  “That is what I would like to know. I will see you in my study, miss,” Oliver said. He turned on his heel and Sabrina, after casting a quick glance up at Gwendolyn, followed. Fascinated, Gwendolyn slipped into the room behind them.

  “Now,” Oliver said, once he had seated himself behind his desk and Sabrina was standing on the carpet before him. “You will explain yourself, miss.”

  “I just wished to go out for a while,” she began, and told a much edited version of what had happened that morning, which was met by silence.

  “And have you not been told not to go out unescorted?” he said when she had finished.

  “Yes, sir, but I thought—”

  “Did you? I take leave to doubt that. I don’t believe you thought at all. Did you even think of what the consequences would be should you be seen?”

  “Of course I did! Why do you think I dressed like this? No one knew me.”

  “You were lucky,” he said, grimly. “I begin to despair of you, Sabrina. I t
hought you had gained some decorum, but you show a sad want of conduct.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sabrina hung her head, looking so meek that Oliver glanced at her in suspicion.

  “What I would really like to do is send you down to the Abbey—”

  Gwendolyn leaned forward. “Oliver, you wouldn’t?”

  “I am sorely tempted, ma’am.”

  “It would be awkward, Oliver. It would cause a lot of talk.”

  He was quiet a moment. “Yes, damn it, it would. Very well. The season will go ahead as planned, if you will please control her behavior.”

  “No, Oliver.”

  Sabrina and Oliver both turned to her in surprise. “No?”

  “No. You are her fiancé, and if you wish her to behave a certain way, then you must see that she does. I am too old for this, Oliver. I fear the excitement will be too much for me.”

  Sabrina turned toward her with a swift look of concern, but Oliver stayed still, one eyebrow raised. “Grandmama, that won’t fadge,” he said, dryly.

  “Nevertheless, Oliver, I will not undertake to chaperone Sabrina every moment. Of course Fanny will escort her, but I believe you should take on some of the responsibility, as well. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go have my breakfast.”

  “Very well, madam. We will continue this discussion later. Sabrina, I am not done with you.”

  Sabrina stopped at the doorway, where she had followed Gwendolyn. “Might I not have breakfast as well?”

  “That will be the least of your punishments,” he said grimly. “Close that door and come back here.” Sabrina walked back to her position on the carpet and stood with her head bowed. “What are we to do with you, Sabrina?” he said, finally. “I acquit you of being deliberately malicious, but we cannot have you behaving like this. I do not believe Grandmama could stand the excitement.”

  “I meant no harm. And no one saw me, sir.”

  “Am I correct in believing that what matters to you is that you got caught? And not that you did something wrong?”

  Thank God he hadn’t caught her earlier! “It didn’t feel wrong, sir. Some of the rules I’m expected to follow are nonsensical.”

  “Including the rule about going out unescorted?”

  She hesitated, remembering the events of the morning, and her trip, alone, on the Liverpool stage. An unescorted female was indeed the target of unwelcome attention. “No, I do see the sense of that rule. Though I did think I would be safe.”

  “You were lucky,” he said again. “Have I your word that you will not engage in such a hen-witted stunt again?”

  “Yes, Bainbridge. I promise I will behave.” If circumstances would let her. His keeping a closer watch on her, while a delightful idea, also was a problem. She must be very careful that he never learned of her connection with Tenbroeck.

  He stared at her for a few moments, and then nodded. “Go have your breakfast. But change into something more suitable, first, and tell your maid to discard those clothes.” His mouth quirked. “I suppose you could donate them to the poor, though I doubt even they would want them.”

  “Does that mean you do not object to my running up bills at Madame Celeste’s?” she asked, all innocence, and he rose.

  “Go!”

  “Yes, sir!” she exclaimed, and ran out of the room before he could scold her anymore.

  Sabrina spent a pleasant enough day, greeting visitors both in the morning and in the afternoon, and shopping with Sophia Spencer. The memory of the morning’s events stayed with her, though, overshadowing all else. By the time Viscount Danbury arrived, to take her for a drive in the park, such distractions as life in society offered were no longer enough to keep her mind off her dilemma. Pleading a headache, she cried off from the appointment, and went up to her room, there to brood on her problems.

  It was there that Oliver found her, sometime later. The headache had provided enough excuse for Sabrina to have dinner on a tray in her room. She couldn’t face dining with her family tonight, couldn’t withstand Melanie’s cheerful, inconsequential chatter or Grandmama’s eyes, which sometimes saw too much. Most of all, she could not face Oliver, who, for once, had chosen to dine at home. No matter what she did, no matter which path she chose, she would betray him, and she couldn’t bear it.

  The dinner tray had been removed and Sabrina was sitting on the window seat that overlooked the street, staring blindly out, when there was a knock on the door. Letty, who had been giving her mistress anxious looks all evening, went to answer it, and a moment later, Oliver stepped inside. “Sabrina?”

  Sabrina glanced up, roused from her unhappy thoughts. She had just been imagining Oliver’s reactions should she do what Mr. Tenbroeck asked of her, and for a moment, seeing him in the flesh was so disconcerting that she nearly cast herself at his feet, to beg his forgiveness. “Oh, sir,” she said, getting quickly to her feet, and Oliver gestured.

  “No, sit,” he said, taking the chair from the escritoire and bringing it over near her. “Grandmama says you’re not feeling quite the thing.”

  “‘Tis nothing, sir.” Sabrina said, subsiding again onto the window seat. “A headache, nothing more.”

  “Mm.” Straddling the chair, he folded his arms on the back of it and rested his chin there. His steady regard made her so uneasy that she had to look away. “What has happened to overset you, Sabrina?”

  “Why, nothing, sir.” Her fingers plucked nervously at her gown. “I think perhaps I am not used to the pace.”

  Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “And the season barely started? Come, Sabrina, I did not think you so poor spirited.”

  “I’m not!” she exclaimed, and put her hand to her temples as they throbbed in response. Her feigned headache had become all too real.

  “You should be in bed,” he said, his voice stern as he rose, and turned toward Letty. “Girl, help your mistress.”

  “Yes, Your Grace, of course,” Letty murmured. “Come, Miss Sabrina, I’ll help you, and I’ll get you a cold compress for your head—”

  “I’m not so helpless, Letty,” Sabrina said, shaking off Letty’s hand. “But I do think I’ll go to bed. Thank you, sir, for asking after me.”

  Oliver, standing near the door, nodded, turned as if to go, and then stopped. “Sabrina, if there is something bothering you, you can tell me.”

  Sabrina stared at him for a moment, and then dropped her eyes. “No, sir, nothing, thank you.”

  “Very well.” Oliver nodded. “Good night, Sabrina.”

  “Good night, sir.” She could barely get the words out past the lump in her throat, and, once Letty had left her alone, she gave way to a satisfying bout of tears. If she had been unhappy before, she was absolutely wretched now. Oh, why did he have to start being kind to her now, when she was the lowest kind of person imaginable? She deserved his scorn, not his consideration, deserved to be turned out of the house rather than cossetted, and she didn’t think she could bear much more of this. She was a worm, a snake, the deceitful wretch he had once thought her, and, no matter what she did, she would betray him.

  The tears shed, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy, shadowy in the darkness, above her. She had not lied when she had told Tenbroeck of her taste for luxury; who would not rather live like this, than in the small apartment that had been her home in America? But did she love it so much, that she would do whatever he asked of her to hold onto it? No, she answered herself. She was not an idle aristocrat and could earn her own bread, should she have to, should it come to that. It was Oliver’s reaction she did not want to face. She did not want to see the contempt creep into his eyes when he learned what she had done, and why. She had nearly told him of it, nearly confided the entire, sordid story to him, but at the last something had held her back. Oliver had never looked at her with such consideration before. She could not bear to lose his regard, now that it seemed she finally had it.

  And so, what was she to do? She could not reveal her background, but neither could she act as spy. Every
fiber of her being reacted with repugnance at the idea. She loved her country, but she could not so betray the family that had been so kind to her. No, there was only one thing she could do. She reviewed the plan that had come to her that morning, when Tenbroeck had made his threat. It was not the ideal solution, but it would have to serve, she thought dully, as the sleeping draught Letty had given her began to take effect. She would go along with Mr. Tenbroeck. For now.

  Chapter 16

  “‘Ere, now, sir, excuse me,” Finch said, and Reginald looked with baleful eyes up at his valet.

  “What the devil is it, Finch?” he growled. He was seated in the wing chair by the fireplace in the sitting room of his lodgings, his legs outstretched, his neckcloth askew and his hair rumpled from where he had raked it with his fingers. On the rickety table next to him stood a snifter holding a residue of brandy. “Damn you, I thought I told you not to disturb me.”

  “Yes, sir. The mail, sir.”

  Reginald looked with disfavor at the envelopes that Finch proffered him on a tarnished silver tray. “More duns? You deal with ‘em, Finch.”

  “Looks like an invitation or two.”

  Reginald looked from his valet to the mail. True, there were some small square envelopes, but precious few. He was not as popular with hostesses as once he had been. “Oh, leave them,” he said with a snarl. “And pour me more brandy.”

  Finch hesitated, and then bowed. “As you wish, sir.”

  “‘As I wish,’” Reginald mimicked, reaching for an envelope. Finch, a former prize fighter, could be very trying at times, but he had his uses. He was a surprisingly competent valet, and his ugly mug, with its wall eye and crooked nose, had scared off more than one creditor. Unfortunately, he could not restore Reginald to his rightful place, both with tradesmen and society. It would take money for that.

  His affairs had taken a downward turn of late, ever since the arrival of his mysterious cousin. He had no illusions about the regard in which the dowager, his great-aunt, held him, and he lived in daily fear of learning that she had changed her will. Before this, he had confidently expected that her fortune would go to him, or to his mother, which would amount to the same thing. With little money of his own, and expensive habits to maintain, he had come to live upon his expectations. Creditors for his expensive coats and his fine brandy had not been too pressing, knowing he might soon come into an inheritance. Of course he would rather be easy in his life and not worry about the source of his funds, but it had not been an unpleasant way to live, even if it had meant that he occasionally had to disappear, to avoid the most pressing duns.