by Kruger, Mary
Oliver tensed. This was not the place he would have chosen to give her her conge, but she was forcing him into it. She would have to know she no longer had a place in his life. “I hardly see the point, Moira. I’ve every intention of being a faithful husband.”
“Of course,” she said, and he looked down at her. Much to his surprise, she was smiling. “She is lovely, Oliver. Yes, I must admit it. She is a lovely girl. No wonder the gentlemen like her so much.”
“That’s generous of you, Moira.”
“No, Oliver, just realistic. I always knew our affair would end someday. Why should I wish to marry again? I have money enough now and more freedom than I would ever have with a husband.”
That didn’t sound like the Moira he knew, and he wasn’t sure he trusted her. “I must say I didn’t expect you to be so calm about this,” he said. “You do realize that we can’t see each other anymore?”
She sighed. “I was afraid of that. I shall miss you, Oliver. But I shan’t make a scene, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
“I shall behave. I promise. But there is no reason we cannot be friends, is there?”
A passing couple smiled knowingly at them, and Oliver had to resist the impulse to run a finger under a collar gone suddenly too tight. “Moira, I hardly think this is the place to discuss it.”
“I agree, Oliver. There is a charming little anteroom just off the hall—”
“What are you suggesting?”`
“That we say our good-byes in more private surroundings.” Seeing him hesitate, she went on. “I won’t cause a scene, but I would like to see things properly settled between us.”
He paused for just a moment, and then put his hand under her elbow. “Very well. Show me this room.”
The country dance was just ending. Sabrina looked around for Oliver and was puzzled when she didn’t see him. Perhaps he had gone out for air, or something to drink. She could hardly blame him. It must be boring to stand around and watch while one’s fiancée went from one partner to another. Of course, no one had told him he had to do that, she thought, defiantly. Since they were engaged, he could surely break a rule now and then and stand up with her more than the prescribed two times.
“I believe this is my dance, Cousin,” said a voice behind her, and she turned.
“I believe it is, Mr. Hailey,” she agreed, after consulting her dance card. It was a waltz, and it would afford them a chance for conversation, something they had rarely had lately.
“You’re looking particularly lovely tonight, Cousin.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hailey, and you look as handsome as usual.”
“I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“I’ve been busy,” she said, apologetically. “With planning our ball and then the wedding.”
“Am I to be invited?”
“Of course. But you haven’t been to visit much, sir.”
“What is the point?” He sounded weary. “You are promised to Bainbridge, and so what hope is there for me?”
Sabrina’s smile was sympathetic. “Now, come, we both know that we would not suit, Reginald. I am too independent of nature for you. You really are better off without me.”
“Perhaps.” He gazed down at her, and his eyes seemed to bore into hers. “But it does seem as if Bainbridge takes all your time. Yes, I know that is as it should be, but do you really intend to live in his pocket after you are married?”
Sabrina lifted her chin. “I intend to have an old-fashioned marriage, sir.”
“I understand, Sabrina, but is it what he wants?”
“What are you implying?” she demanded.
“Why, nothing. But there may come a time when you need your friends. Don’t turn me away, Sabrina.”
Sabrina turned her head away, but her voice when she spoke was normal. “Of course not. I value my friendships, and I value yours.”
“It’s good to know that.” He squeezed her hand for a moment. “Do you attend the masquerade at Vauxhall Thursday sennight?”
“Why, no,” she said in surprise. “I hadn’t planned to.”
“Then come with me.”
“What?”
“You say we are friends, Sabrina. This might be the last chance we have to be together. Even now, Bainbridge won’t let me near you.”
“I would like to see Vauxhall,” she said, thoughtfully. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful. But Oliver does not approve of masquerades. I doubt I could get his permission.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Merely that you don’t need his permission to do the things you really wish to do.”
“He is my guardian, sir. And I at least owe him the courtesy of consulting him.”
“Do you? And does he consult you about what he wants to do?”
“That is different.”
“Is it?” His smile was pitying. “Bainbridge is a lucky man.”
“Why?”
“To have so biddable a wife. Do you plan always to ask him what you may do?”
“No! Reginald, how I conduct my life with him is none of your affair.”
“As you wish.” He shrugged. “But I did think you had more spirit than that, Sabrina.”
She pulled away from him, vaguely troubled by his innuendoes. It was true that lately she had been a model of decorum, not just for Oliver’s sake, but because it was what she wished. It was also true that he seemed to live his life exactly as he wanted, and though that had never struck her as unfair before, Reginald’s words had planted a seed of doubt. She didn’t think going to Vauxhall for a masquerade, which she had heard could be a wild affair, was the best way of asserting her independence, however. “Would you mind very much if we don’t finish the dance?” she said. “I am feeling very warm.”
“Of course I don’t mind, Sabrina. Would you care to take some refreshments?”
“Yes, I would like that.”
“Then, come. I know a quick way to get to the refreshment room. We just go out into this hall.”
The hall was, mercifully, cooler, and Sabrina relaxed a little bit. Reginald didn’t know what he was talking about, she thought. Her marriage to Oliver would be a happy one.
Just ahead of them a door to a room stood slightly ajar. As they passed Reginald glanced in and then pulled her back. “I’ve just remembered, this doesn’t go to the refreshment room at all. I was thinking of the wrong house.”
“Oh?” She looked up at him, speculatively. “What was in that room, Mr. Hailey, that you didn’t wish me to see?”
“Don’t be foolish, Sabrina. I simply made a mistake.”
“Then you won’t mind if I just take a look.” She broke free of him and took the few steps that would change her life. For there, in the room, looking magnificent in emerald silk and diamonds, was Lady Marshfield, being most soundly and thoroughly kissed by—Oliver.
Chapter 23
Later Sabrina would wonder how she had kept from crying out, but at the time she was too stunned to speak. Oliver and Lady Marshfield. In the past weeks he had been so attentive that she was certain the affair was over. Now she knew she’d been wrong. Oh, Lord, then he didn’t really want to marry her, and the only reason he was doing so was to please Grandmama. How could she bear it?
She turned away from the door, her face dead white. “My dear, are you all right?” Reginald asked.
Sabrina took a deep breath. “No. I want to go home.”
“Then you shall, my dear.”
“I can’t.” She raised her eyes, large and tear-filled, to him. “How can I? If I run away, she’ll have won.”
“That is true,” he conceded.
“But I cannot go back in there.”
“Of course not. We’ll go out onto one of the balconies for some air.”
It was cool outside, but the air felt wonderful on her burning cheeks. Reginald was right, she thought, dully. Oliver was indeed livi
ng his life as he pleased.
“My dear, I am sorry. I would have spared you that.”
“I thought he’d broken off with her,” she said in a very small voice.
“What gave you that idea?”
“He has been so much more attentive lately.”
“Of course he has. Don’t you realize why?”
“Because he promised Grandmama he’ll marry me.”
“I know nothing about that,” he said, after a moment. “Sabrina, don’t you realize that you are likely to be an heiress? Aunt Gwendolyn is probably going to leave her money to you.”
“Are you saying Bainbridge wishes to marry me because of the money? He is quite wealthy! No, I won’t believe it of him.”
“He would like to see the money remain in the family.”
“Oh. I never thought of that.” Her fingers pleated the fabric of her gown. “What am I to do? I can’t jilt him. It would break Grandmama’s heart.”
Reginald was quiet for a moment. “I don’t see that you have any choice, Sabrina,” he said, finally. “You have to go on with the wedding.”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” she said, dully.
“However, you can show him that you will not let him ride roughshod over you.”
“How can I do that?”
“Come to Vauxhall with me.”
She looked up at him, but her eyes were distant. Again, she saw the scene in the anteroom, and though she did not want to believe it, she had to. She had been thinking of Oliver when she had refused Reginald’s suggestion, thinking of his anger and, quite possibly, his hurt. It was obvious now, however, that Oliver did not think of her in the same way. If he intended pursuing a life independent of her, she could do the same thing. “Very well, Reginald,” she said, her chin raised. “I will go with you.”
Oliver was feeling quite pleased with himself by the time he returned to the ballroom. He had dealt with Moira in just the right way, and now he was done with her. Now he could begin his new life, with Sabrina. His pulse quickened at the thought, and he searched the ballroom for her, to no avail. Now where could she be, he wondered, without any real concern. He had come to trust her in the past few weeks, and if her manners sometimes left something to be desired she was, at bottom, a sensible girl. She wouldn’t get herself into a situation she couldn’t handle.
At that moment, Sabrina came back into the ballroom on Reginald’s arm, smiling and chatting animatedly, and Oliver’s complacency fled. Damn, he had told her he didn’t want her associating with Reginald, and yet there she was, hanging onto his arm and flirting with him. He would kill her. And death was too good for his esteemed cousin Reginald.
“Oh, dear,” said someone, and he turned to see Moira beside him, a frown of concern creasing her face.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“What? Oh, nothing, Oliver. I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything.”
“What doesn’t mean anything?”
“Why, your fiancée and Mr. Hailey, of course. Of course, he is very charming, and—”
“Excuse me, Moira,” he said, pulling away from her. She couldn’t resist a tiny smile of triumph. So even Oliver could be manipulated. That was handy knowledge to have.
“This is my dance, Sabrina,” Oliver said abruptly when he reached her. Her eyes glittered oddly, but he didn’t pay that much heed. “Come.”
“Three dances in one night, sir? Isn’t that a bit much?” she said.
“We are engaged, or have you forgotten?”
Oh, that was unfair, after what he had done with Lady Marshfield! She opened her mouth to speak, but Reginald forestalled her. “I see my presence is unnecessary, so if you will excuse me?”
“No, I will not,” Oliver barked.
“You can hardly dance with both of us, Bainbridge.”
“I do not want you seeing my fiancée again, Hailey. Do I make myself clear?”
“You make a spectacle of yourself, Bainbridge,” Reginald drawled. “Devilish bad ton.”
“Oliver, come, let’s dance,” Sabrina said. Oliver glared at Reginald for a few moments and then let himself be persuaded.
“We will speak of this later, miss,” he said.
“We certainly will, Oliver,” she replied, looking at him coldly.
The ride home through the gas lit streets was quiet, the tension in the carriage broken only by Fanny and Melanie’s chatter. Sabrina attempted to go to her room, once they had returned home, but Oliver’s voice stopped her. “In my study, miss.” For a moment, Sabrina looked as if she would rebel, but then, with a shrug, she gave in.
“Do you intend to be this odious as a husband?” she asked as she brushed past him. Oliver gritted his teeth and followed her into the study, slamming the door behind him.
“Were I your husband, miss, I would probably beat you for what you did tonight.”
“I?” Sabrina leaned back in her chair. “I, sir, did nothing wrong tonight.”
“Nothing!” he exclaimed, slamming his hand down on his desk. “I expressly forbade you to speak with Reginald, and yet there you were, hanging on his sleeve. I tell you again, miss, I won’t have it. I will not be a complaisant husband.”
And I, sir, will not be a complaisant wife! “I’m tired of you telling me what to do, Oliver! There’s no pleasing you. Everything I do is wrong, and I’m tired of it. From now on I please myself, the way you do.”
“What is that supposed to mean, miss?” he asked, leaning forward with his hands on the desk. It was meant to be an intimidating pose, but for once Sabrina did not give in.
“It means I saw you and Lady Marshfield leaving the ballroom together.”
“That is different.”
“How is it different?”
“It’s different! You do not question my behavior, miss!”
“Yes, I do! If you question mine, I have every right in the world to question yours.”
“You have only the rights I give you. I am your guardian and I will soon be your husband. I have full power over you.”
“If we marry.”
“Oh, we’ll marry, all right. I’ve no intention of letting you out of it to go to Reginald.”
“You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you, Oliver?” she said bitterly, and rose, heading for the door. “You’re so certain you know everything and that you can do anything you wish. Well, think on this, Your Grace! You don’t own me. Do you understand? You don’t own me!”
“Sabrina, come back here,” he snapped, but she was already well into the hallway, on her way to the stairs. For the moment defeated, Oliver let her go, and sank down behind his desk, running a hand through his carefully disarranged hair. How had they gotten into this damnable coil?
It was common knowledge at the Foreign Office that something had happened and that Lord Woodley and the Duke of Bainbridge were in disgrace, tottering on the edge of ruin. The Prime Minister had been apprised of the situation, of course, but, other than that, the exact nature of the men’s transgressions was not known. Not even their aides knew. Fortunately, the news had not yet spread to the rest of society, but that, Oliver reflected on this, damp, dismal evening, was only a matter of time.
It was all of a piece with the way his life had gone lately. Bainbridge House had not been a comfortable place to be this last days, since that disastrous evening at Lady Helmsley’s, and so Oliver had taken to spending long hours at his office. Damn, Sabrina had no right to disobey him, and no right to question his behavior. And, damn, she certainly had no right to make him feel guilty, as if he were the one in the wrong. That young miss had a great deal to learn, if she expected to be his wife.
There was a knock on his office door, and after a moment Woodley poked his head around. “Evening, Bainbridge. What, you still here?” he said.
“As you see.” Oliver leaned back in his chair and passed a hand through his already rumpled hair. His coat had long ago been discarded and tossed over a chair, in a manner that would have made his valet
wince.
“Should have thought you’d be gone hours ago.” Woodley advanced into the room and sat down. “Where’s your aide?”
“Sent him home, so I can work on this. Tell me what you think.”
Woodley glanced toward the door as he took the paper, but it was securely closed. “More bait?”
“Or at least the beginning of it.”
“Odd we never heard from the Americans about the other one, ain’t it?” Woodley said, putting the paper down for a moment. “Think we would have, by now.”
“Maybe.” Oliver shrugged. “Maybe they think they’re being clever and are using it to prepare themselves against invasion.”
“Didn’t mean the chargè, old boy. Meant our own sources in the legation. Surprised they haven’t heard anything about it.”
Oliver nodded. Of course the British had “sources” in the American camp. “And they haven’t?”
“Not a word, or so I understand.” His eyes scanned down the document. “Congratulate you on this, Bainbridge. Masterful as the other one. Except.” He frowned.
“What?”
“That third name. Don’t ring true.”
Oliver took the paper back, and grinned. If the document detailing the false invasion plans had been so detailed as to convince the enemy, this new one, listing people purported to be English spies in America, was certain to excite even the most hardened spy. Oliver could not imagine the Americans ignoring this, as they had apparently ignored the invasion plans. “That’s the only name that’s real,” he said. “It’s Dutch. I got it from my ward, if you want to know. In fact, she’s been very helpful.”
Woodley looked mildly alarmed. “Didn’t tell her, did you?”
“Of course not.” Oliver stood up, put the paper into a portfolio, and reached for his coat. “But she talks of America from time to time and it is interesting how useful some of that can be.”
Woodley rose, also. “Come to think of it, I’ve been working on some names. Care to see them?”
“No, tomorrow will be soon enough. I’m for home.”
“I, too.” The two men walked out into the corridor. “But I think I will go get that list. Will you be at White’s this evening?”