“Excellent. Now, Lady Pepperdon, I assume you will pay Miss Tuttle out of your settlement?”
Sabrina calmed, admiring the way Riordan took charge. He exuded such confidence, which she sadly lacked in her past but now worked toward regaining. “Yes, of course.”
“Excellent. Miss Tuttle, how I envision this is you may work part of the time with her ladyship, and part of your day you may be required to help out at the inn to pay for the room. Do you have any objections?”
Mary shook her head. “Not at all, sir. After the first Lady Pepperdon passed away, I became a parlor maid. Cleaning and the like will be no hardship. I will earn my keep.”
“Good. I will make the arrangements when school dismisses later this afternoon. I would suggest you both pack only the essentials, and do it immediately. This will all fall into place rather quickly, and a hasty departure may be imminent.”
Mary gave a brisk nod. “Leave it with me, sir. We’ll be ready.”
Riordan nodded, then swung his gaze to Sabrina. “Once this plan goes into motion, we will make our way to London. Miss Tuttle will accompany us. We will have to go by mail coach, as the nearby train route is still under construction. William is making the arrangements; I only need give him a firm date.”
Sabrina stood. “Thank you, again.” She held out her hand. With no glove. Riordan stood and took it, then bowed briefly. He only touched her for mere seconds, but her body responded once again. Such fluttering over a mere brush of the fingers. She would have to learn to tame her response and ignore the emotions she had long buried—or so she kept telling herself.
“Until tomorrow. Good afternoon, Lady Pepperdon, Miss Tuttle.”
As she exited the school, a weight lifted from her soul. Soon she would be free. Live her life on her own terms. Though Sabrina barely knew Riordan Black, a small part of her did trust him.
“My lady, if I may.”
Mary’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “What is it?”
“May I make a suggestion?” Sabrina nodded. “In your future dealings with Mr. Black, you may wish to…soften your tone. He is doing you a great service and deserves your gracious consideration.”
Sabrina halted. “Did I sound…harsh?” What a silly question—she knew she had.
“Yes, my lady. I know you don’t mean to; how can you help it with what you’ve had to deal with? Mr. Black was teasing you, good-naturedly. I heard no mockery in his voice. I believe you’ve forgotten what affectionate teasing sounds like. Be open to his friendship. It will make the next three months all the more bearable and…enjoyable.” Mary tsked. “I’m speaking out of turn.”
Affectionate? Truly? “My dear Mary. You are well aware you may say whatever you’re thinking. We are friends. I welcome your counsel.” Sabrina sighed. “You’re right. I cannot tell the difference between a teasing remark and a deliberate insult. I am not used to being treated with…with…”
“Respect? Compassion? Kindness?”
Sabrina smiled. “Yes. All of it.” She looped her arm through Mary’s and they continued toward the woods. “This is a fresh start in all ways. I will heed your suggestion and be more solicitous.”
Sabrina glanced at her surroundings as they strolled toward home. Everything was enhanced and reflected vivid color and splendor, especially the autumn leaves with their shimmering red and gold tones. Birdsong filled her hearing, as did the crunching of the multihued leaves as they walked. Hours before her meeting with Riordan she’d taken little notice of such, and if she had it would have been a dismal cacophony of sound, and the leaves falling from the trees would have reminded her of death.
Today? All of it became a lush symphony of beauty and rebirth. Indeed, it was concerto of life itself. She looked up at the sun, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. For the first time in a long while, she was happy.
Mary squeezed her arm, returning her attention to the conversation. “You won’t regret it, my lady. I knew right off he was a decent man when I looked into his handsome face. As my sailor father used to say, ‘I like the cut of his jib.’ He will do right by you. I know it.”
“I am glad to hear it. Your opinion means a great deal to me. You know, I’m famished. Let’s head to the kitchen when we return and see what cook can whip up for us. I foresee slices of chicken swimming in a creamy, decadent sauce. Something chocolate for afters.”
Mary laughed as they stepped across the front entrance—but the laugh died in her throat as they were greeted by Sabrina’s father, his face mottled and his expression angry.
In three long strides he stood before Sabrina and grabbed her arm. “Where have you been?” he hissed through clenched teeth. He squeezed and she cried out, pain shooting up to her shoulder.
“You are hurting me,” she snapped, biting her lip to stem the acute throbbing from his cruel grip.
“I will do worse than this if you do not do as I say. Sutherhorne is here, and has been waiting for more than an hour.”
Sabrina stopped struggling and her eyes widened in shock. “But…he was not supposed to be here until tomorrow,” she gasped.
Finally, he released her arm. “Apparently he is anxious to see this marriage take place, and I am equally anxious to be rid of you.”
And I you, Father. She nearly spoke the words aloud, but this was not the time to enter into an argument. “I’m not prepared to see or speak to him today,” she said, her tone flat. Her insides roiled with apprehension.
“I do not care. Speak to him you will. And you will say one word: yes.” He pushed her toward the sitting room.
“Wait. Let me give Mary my cloak.”
She scurried away from her father, and as she handed Mary the wool cloak she whispered in her ear, “Run to the school. Inform Mr. Black of the developments. Whatever he has planned must be put into motion immediately.”
Mary gave her a quick nod and headed for the back stairs. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she turned to face her father. How to handle this? She had not completely prepared herself for the conversation with the marquess. First, do not show fear. Not to her father or to Sutherhorne. Second, do not give a firm yes. You can do this.
“Come, we do not have all day.” Her father held out his arm. Moving her shaking legs forward, she entered the sitting room. Standing, facing the fire, was a tall, thin man leaning on a cane. He turned to face her.
This man was not the marquess she had met at a ball, who smelled of horse and had missing teeth. That man was weak and harmless. This man was none of it. The Marquess of Sutherhorne was frosty and formidable.
This man was far worse than she had imagined.
Chapter 9
“Sutherhorne, my daughter, Lady Sabrina Pepperdon, widow of the late Earl of Pepperdon. Sabrina, this is Brendan Whiddon, the Marquess of Sutherhorne.”
His cane hit the tiled floor as he moved toward her, echoing in her heart and sending a chill through her. This was not a wizened, weak shell of a man, but one whose cruel aura matched the baron’s. This is what made him far worse: he reminded her of her wretched father.
Once, long ago, Sutherhorne was no doubt a fine looking man. But time had not been kind. He had a wraith-like appearance, from his pale, white skin to his full head of white hair and his icy gray eyes. Deep lines were etched into his face, reflecting years of harsh living. Did he have a weak heart, as her father had proclaimed? God, she had had her fill of old, cold men.
The marquess stared at her with shrewd, lecherous eyes. She scanned the long length of him. Far too slender, and the breeches and polished hessian boots he wore were two decades out of date. Although, on closer inspection, his long frock coat and double-breasted waistcoat were of a more recent fashion. What an odd ensemble.
He stood in front of her, and she caught the cloying scent of musky cologne—it made her nose twitch. Liver spots dotted his temples, and it was then she realized he sported a closely cropp
ed goatee; it was as white as his skin and not completely visible at first glance. His cheekbones were prominent, no doubt an attractive feature in years past. Now they only enhanced his austere appearance.
“My dear Lady Pepperdon,” he rasped, his voice as rough as sandpaper. He clutched her hand, which she had gloved on her way back from the school. She could feel the coldness of his touch through the fabric. It took all her inner resolve not to pull her hand from his in horror.
Mustering an indifferent but polite smile, she inclined her head. “My lord.”
“I will leave you both to become better acquainted.” Her father turned and marched from the room. Did Sabrina detect a spring to his step? Miserable man. He was genuinely happy to be rid of her. As hard as she tried to ignore it, the fact her own father did not love her still smarted.
“Were you offered refreshment? Perhaps I can order tea.”
“No, thank you. I recently had a meal at the inn. Shall we sit?” he asked. A brief, brittle smile haunted his waxen features.
Sabrina immediately sat in the wingchair. She had no desire to sit next to him on the small settee. With a fling of the tail of his coat, he sat opposite, crossing his long legs.
“Allow me to give you a little information about myself. I am sixty-one years of age, in fine health, and in the possession of a modest fortune. I have been a widower for fifteen years, and I am of a mind to marry again. I do a fair bit of entertaining and need a hostess for these events.” He leaned forward, his bony hands resting on the ornate knob of his silver cane. “But more than that, I am lonely. I want a companion, a friend.”
Nothing he said caused her to be alarmed, but his narrowing gaze made her tremble involuntarily. Fine health? Her father had lied to her about the heart condition; she was not the least bit surprised. There was something not quite right about this man. He acted smug. As if he already owned her.
“Allow me to speak boldly, my lady,” he continued. “I am of an amorous nature, and because of it, I wish for a willing bed partner—one old enough to appreciate experience and young enough to withstand my attentions.” A slow, creeping smile spread across his face, like a malevolent feline spying a helpless mouse. “I already have an heir and a spare. I have no desire to have squalling brats running about my house. The fact you are barren appeals to me greatly.”
The utter arrogance of men. They automatically believed the blame of not becoming pregnant lay solely on the woman. Pepperdon had made her see a physician, and the doctor had quietly relayed to her that all appeared to be in working order and perhaps the culpability, as it were, lay with Pepperdon. God forbid the doctor reveal such a fact to the earl. But neither did she. It would have only angered him further and no doubt subjected her to more humiliation.
Her father must have given Sutherhorne all the salacious details of her marriage to Pepperdon. May all men rot in a fiery pit. Well, except Riordan. Looking at the earl, she was glad she’d sought out the schoolmaster. Such a stark difference between them. Riordan was welcoming warmth, the marquess the complete opposite. A walking, talking icicle. He eyed her, waiting for her response.
Sabrina cleared her throat. “I appreciate your frankness. Allow me to do the same. My marriage to Pepperdon was loathsome, and he left me penniless. I have a few caveats before I will consider your suit.” Her voice was strong, her tone confident. She was off to a good start.
He arched an eyebrow. “Indeed? Your father did not indicate such.”
As I surmised. “I will be bringing my personal maid with me. Her yearly salary is forty pounds per annum, to be paid quarterly. By you.” Sabrina decided to keep talking with the marquess, to allow both him and her father the illusion that she was even considering this marriage.
He gave her a slight shrug. “That is agreeable. The salary is a bit more than what is paid a lady’s maid, but I will consent to it.”
“I also will require a quarterly payment. Let us call it pin money. I want currency to call my own to spend as I please. I should not have to come begging if I wish to purchase new gloves or a book.”
The marquess’s steely gaze narrowed further. “Greedy little thing. Again, I do not object. Shall we say fifty…?”
“One hundred pounds per quarter.”
He licked his thin, colorless lips. “I daresay you have more fire in you than your father led me to believe. What a pleasant revelation. It will bode well in the bedchamber.”
The bedchamber again. The complete conceit of the man. Was she supposed to be charmed and excited by this? Instead it made her stomach churn. Sabrina decided to ignore his statement. “I require you to stipulate in your will that upon your death, I will be granted a yearly stipend of three thousand pounds until my death, and a place of residence of my choosing. All I require is a comfortable, modest place by the sea. Before I agree to any marriage, I must see all these provisions in writing, in a legal and binding document.” There. The requests should delay things long enough for her to make her escape.
“Well. Marriage to Pepperdon taught you much. What you are requesting is not unreasonable. Any man of honor would make sure his widow was provided for. Pepperdon was a lout. Rest assured I will meet your demands.” He stood, and Sabrina did the same. Apparently the meeting was concluded. What a relief. “I will go at once to the solicitor in town.” He patted his coat pocket. “I already have a special license, signed by the archbishop himself. I will pay a visit to the town vicar and make arrangements. We will be married before the week is out.”
“Perhaps you are getting ahead of yourself, my lord?”
He stalked toward her, and without thinking she backed up several steps until she found herself against the fireplace mantel. He leaned in; his heavy, pungent scent nearly made her retch. “I have waited eleven years for this, Sabrina, and I have run out of patience. You see, your father chose Pepperdon over me. There was more than one suitor for your hand. Quite the…contest.” A cruel smile spread across his face. “All I know is I wanted you then, and I want you now. More than ever.” He whorled the shell of her ear with his tongue, causing her to cry out. “I will have you, make no mistake,” he whispered before he stepped away. “I shall return tomorrow with the appropriate agreements, and I will expect your answer. Good afternoon, Sabrina.” With his hand on the door handle, he paused, turned, and stared at her with a neutral expression that developed into a slow, wide grin. With a slight cackle and nod, he opened the door and left.
As if out of a Gothic novel, cracks of thunder sounded as he exited the room. Heavy rain thrashed against the windows in concert with her beating heart.
Sabrina whirled about and grasped the mantel to keep from collapsing into a heap. Never had she been so frightened. She covered her mouth to keep a scream from clawing its way up her throat. What did he mean by a contest? Sabrina did not like the sinister way he’d conveyed the sentence. As if it had an underlying and ominous meaning.
Regardless, the path was clear. She could not stay here no matter the circumstances. Nor could she allow herself to be trapped in another loveless marriage with an old peer.
For a brief moment, when Sutherhorne had agreed to her demands, she’d considered going through with the marriage. It would ensure her future…and Mary’s. But in the end, she could not do it. Not for all the money and comforts in the world.
Her future now lay in the hands of a schoolmaster. She had to place her complete trust in Riordan Black and pray he managed to wring a settlement out of her father and turn Sutherhorne away. How could it be accomplished? There were too many variables. It could all go wrong in many ways. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the mad scheme had no chance of success.
Sabrina had no choice. There was only one thing to do.
Run.
* * * *
A rumble of thunder sounded overhead, causing the students to gasp and gaze worriedly at the heavy rain lashing against the w
indows. Howling winds rattled the panes and tore leaves from nearby trees. Riordan had not witnessed such an intense thunderstorm in October before. “Settle down, students. We’re safe. No cause for alarm. The roof will hold and not spring any leaks, I am sure of it. Now, where were we?”
Charlie raised his hand. “You were showing us the globe.”
Riordan’s personal curriculum did not follow the standard one in use for smaller, rural schools, where emphasis lay on physical labors instead of intellectual ones. Why would a farmer care where the Russian Empire is located on a map? was the general thinking. Riordan did not subscribe to teaching knitting for girls and shoemaking for the boys, for example. Developing the mind was a far more useful skill.
It had taken some doing to convince the board, and there were a few in the town who objected to his “radical” teachings. Like the vicar. He wanted a curriculum that leaned heavily on religion, infusing bible study as part of the daily routine. Riordan had managed to convince the vicar—and the board—that religion was best left to an expanded Sunday school period.
Riordan reached for the large globe and held it up in front of him. “There is a huge world out there beyond Great Britain.” He spun the globe. “Earth moves about in space just like this, but perhaps not quite this fast.” The children giggled. “As we discussed yesterday, this is how we have day and night, the sun setting in the west and rising in the east. This is where science and geography intersect.”
A couple of the younger students looked at him with puzzlement. Sometimes, he forgot he was teaching children ranging from age seven to seventeen, the majority between the ages of ten and thirteen. “Intersect means to overlap, or to divide by passing through or across. For example, Weldon Road intersects with the town. Understand?” Everyone nodded. “Remember, if you do not understand the meaning of a word, raise your hand and I will gladly explain—”
A booming crash of thunder drowned out the rest of his sentence. His youngest student, a sweet girl named Annabelle, screamed and vaulted from her desk, then ran toward him. She flung herself at him, clutching his legs as if looking for protection. God, the poor wee thing was trembling.
Marriage with a Proper Stranger Page 8