“Nonsense,” her mother snapped. “There was nothing wrong with dinner, my dear.”
“Everything was perfect, Brie.” Caroline crossed the room and sat beside her.
“She is right,” Alex chimed. “You are quite the countess.”
Despite their praise, she had her doubts. “Do you really think so?”
“My little sister has become a true lady. And I heard Blake and Damian make similar remarks.” The picture of perfect feminine deportment, Cara clasped her hands in her lap and smiled. “I am so proud of you.”
The pall lifted from her heart, and Sabrina enjoyed a modicum of vindication. “I could not have done it without Celia.”
“Oh, stuff.” The lady of the moment basked in the compliment. “I did nothing, because Sabrina is a marvelous countess, and I admire her courage.”
“You are too modest.” Sabrina snorted. “She taught me how to walk after comparing it to fishing. I tell you, she is a bloody genius.”
“Well, it was the least I could do.” The picture of innocence, Celia inclined her head and blinked. “After all, you taught me how to swear.”
The room filled with a chorus of gasps, which mutated into giggles, before erupting into riotous laughter.
#
The harmonious outburst from the other gathering brought Everett alert.
“My heavens, it sounds as if someone sneaked rum into the teapot,” his father bellowed as he lit another cigar.
Ensconced in the dining room with the men, and enduring another lecture on livestock bidding in full view of his guests, he decided he would rather join the women. At least then he could flirt with Sabrina.
“I beg your pardon.” His mother stood in the doorway. “But I need a word with the earl.”
The earl?
What was wrong with her? Could she not call him son?
But since Everett would jump from the nearest cliff to escape the sheer boredom of his sire’s tutelage, he stood. “Now?”
“If it is not too much trouble.” She smiled, a gesture that made the hair stand on the back of his neck. “Your study, perhaps?”
“Very well.” He was curious and suspicious at once. When she ignored his proffered escort, he dropped his arm to his side. “After you.”
“What is it now, Lizzy?” his father inquired.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with. Perhaps you should adjourn to the drawing room,” she said over her shoulder. “We shall only be a minute.”
In complete silence, they walked down the hall, crossed the foyer, and slipped into his study. As his mother sank into the chair before his desk, Everett closed the door. Once he rounded the hand-tooled antique his wife had recently acquired, which he dearly favored, he took his seat, leaned forward, and steepled his hands. “All right, Mother, what are you about?”
“I have been giving some thought to the state of your affairs.” She wrinkled her nose. “In particular, your residence.”
“Oh?” A chill of dread settled deep in his chest. “I had not thought it any of your concern.”
“As your mother, it is of paramount importance.” That had to be the first time she ever referred to herself as such, and the moment was not lost on him. “And as the heir apparent, what you do reflects on your father and I. Therefore, all appearances must be considered.”
“Make your point,” Everett said, though he was certain down which path she headed.
“The household staff is poorly trained. The residence needs a thorough remodeling. The grounds are unkempt and an embarrassment.” His mother huffed. “I could go on, but I believe I have made my case.”
As usual, she found him lacking. So what else was new? “You are suggesting there is room for improvement?”
“Precisely.” She scowled.
Even in that instant, she treated him as a bastard stepson. “Where do you recommend I start?”
“Your marriage.” With palpable disdain, she compressed her lips.
“I knew it.” He slapped a fist to his open palm. “If you seek to assess fault, then put the blame at my feet. You see, I had the house remodeled prior to my marriage. As for the staff, I hired them--including the gardener. If there are deficiencies, I alone am responsible.”
“But a well-bred wife would have already corrected the situation.” He should have known she would pose an additional argument. “Management of the manor is the responsibility of the chatelaine.”
“Marchioness, if you hope to talk me into an annulment, let me assure you, my marriage has been consummated, many times, in fact.” And he reveled in it.
“Of that I have no doubt, and you need not burden me with the details.” The marchioness frowned. “But I have another solution to your unfortunate pairing, one I urge you not to ignore.”
She rose from her chair, neared the desk, lifted the leather blotter, and retrieved a crisp set of papers.
“What is that?” Everett snatched the documents from her grasp and scanned them. “You can’t be serious. A divorce? On the grounds that Sabrina is mentally unfit? I would never agree to it.” He turned to toss the lot in the hearth and recalled he had ordered no fire because it was a warm evening.
“But Lady Celia--”
“Will make another match.”
“Everett, be reasonable--”
“Me be reasonable?” White-hot rage trembled in his hands as he gathered the offensive parcel of parchment, opened a side drawer, and shoved the bundle inside. “Listen to me, and listen carefully. Sabrina is my wife, and I will have no other. Do you understand?”
His mother said nothing, only nodded.
“We are done here.” Everett pushed from his desk and stood. He stormed to the door and set it wide. “I suggest we rejoin the party.”
With an icy expression, she paused before him. “If you will not listen to reason, then perhaps your wife will.”
“Hear me well, Marchioness.” Everett gripped her elbow and summoned his vaunted self-control in an effort to suppress the anger ripping at his insides. “Continue on this course, and you will no longer be welcome in my home or my life.”
His mother gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He bared his teeth. “Yes, I would.”
Without so much as a backward glance, the woman who birthed him stomped to the drawing room. In the off chance his mother made good on her threat and hurt his bride, he hugged his wife’s heels for the remainder of the evening. And in true Sabrina fashion, she flirted with him at every opportunity. By the time he climbed into bed, his ire had yielded to desire.
“Everett?”
“Yes?” He resituated a pillow, reached for her in the dark, and grasped only air.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked in a small voice.
“No.” From the sounds, he surmised she fumbled with the fastenings of her robe. “Why do you ask?”
“You were brooding when you entered the drawing room.”
The black mood returned, and he was grateful Sabrina could not see his face. “Was I?”
“Yes.” The mattress dipped as she climbed beside him. “And I think I know why.”
Impossible. He had remained fixed as a sentry on guard. His mother never got anywhere near Sabrina. “Oh?”
“You are upset because Trevor and Caroline are staying for an extended visit.” She snuggled close and set her palm to his chest.
“Not likely, my dear.” Slipping an arm beneath her head, he pressed his lips to her temple. “Because my parents and Lady Celia are doing the same.”
Sabrina flinched. “Oh, no.”
“Darling, much as we both dislike it, you must learn to deal with my mother.” Should he tell her of the confrontation in the study?
“I know, but she is always complaining about nothing. And she is unkind to the staff.” After a quiet moment she added: “Why does she not like me?”
The pain was evident in her query, and he cursed himself for subjecting her to such abuse. “My dear, it has nothing to do w
ith you. Mother treated Charles as a marionette on her personal stage and even negotiated his marriage. Old habits die hard.”
“She wants you to wed Celia.” His wife draped her leg across his thigh.
“I know.”
“Well?”
Everett had avoided that conversation. He would rather be the lone male at a coming out ball at Almack’s. Rolling on his side, he grumbled when a silk barrier halted his amorous assault. “I want my saucy Sabrina.”
“And I want my shameless lord.” She caressed his cheek.
His fingers tangled in the material, and Everett struggled to break free. “Why do you always come to bed wearing a nightgown?”
She giggled and shifted, loosening the snare. “Because it is proper?”
Finally, he trailed his palm along the curve of her bare hip. “Since when are you proper?”
Sabrina shoved him back to the mattress, straddled his hips, pulled the nightgown over her head, and tossed it to the floor. “I do not suppose I am, my lord.”
#
“I asked for a boiled egg, and the yolk is runny.” The marchioness tossed her napkin to her plate. “This food is deplorable. Really, Sabrina, you should fire your chef.”
“A thousand apologies, your ladyship.” As chatelaine of Beaumaris, she smothered her agitation and forced a smile. “Ware, please have Cook prepare another egg.”
“As you wish, my lady.” The butler bowed and removed the offensive item.
At the other end of the table, Everett winked. Would he mind terribly if she dispatched her mother-in-law to the devil?
“And one more thing.”
Sabrina braced for another complaint.
“My room was not adequately aired.” The marchioness thrust her nose to new heights.
Sabrina was certain that if it rained in the right direction, her mother-in-law would drown. She could almost imagine those flared nostrils filling with water, the sputtering and choking. Perhaps she should caution the Royal Pain of Talbot.
“If you can’t manage the household staff, I would be happy to speak to the housekeeper.” The marchioness sniffed.
That was it, she was going to--
“Really?” Blake interjected. “I daresay it is an aberration, because my accommodations are impeccable.” He stuffed a large bit of kedgeree in his mouth.
“As are mine,” Damian added. “Can’t recall when I have ever enjoyed such pleasant guest quarters.”
Sabrina averted her gaze and stuck her tongue in her cheek. How she would love to see the marchioness gainsay not one, but two dukes. Especially when those dukes were Blake Elliott and Damian Seymour.
The marchioness glanced at the marquess, devouring a plate of meat pie and toast, as if expecting him to come to her defense. “Perhaps it was a simple oversight?”
Setting her fork on the table, Sabrina reclined in her chair. Were she the finest statue and the marchioness armed with a chisel, she was positive there would be nothing left but an empty pedestal and a mountain of dust for the constant assault on her confidence. “Again, I offer my regrets, your ladyship. After breakfast, I shall speak with Mrs. Formby. Rest assured, the situation will be corrected, posthaste.”
“Well.” The marchioness sneered. “See that it is done.”
Good God, could the woman not let her have the last word? Staring out the window, Sabrina noted the clear blue sky and prayed for rain.
#
After the morning meal, the trunks were packed and farewells traded as their guests departed. The last carriage to roll down the gravel drive belonged to her parents. Sabrina stood, with Everett at her side and his arm about her waist, in the forecourt and waved until they were out of sight.
“Wish you were leaving with them?” he asked, with a chuckle.
“Only if you were with me.” She twined her fingers in his. “Think anyone would notice if we ran away?”
“Everett!”
He winced at his father’s summons, and they turned toward the house.
In the doorway, the marquess puffed on a cigar. “Come to the study. We need to discuss the Eppingham property. A bridge has washed out and requires your immediate attention.”
“All right.” Everett sighed. “I shall be there momentarily.”
“Don’t dawdle.” His father hurried down the hall.
“It would appear it is your turn in the fire.” Sabrina grinned.
He rolled his eyes. “Help.”
“It can’t be that bad.” She giggled and placed a chaste peck on his cheek.
“I beg your pardon. My saucy Sabrina can do better than that.” He enveloped her in a tight embrace and bent his head. In an instant, their kiss turned hungry, fevered--
“Everett!”
On a groan, he retreated. “See you at dinner?”
“And later.” Together, they ascended the entrance stairs. “In our room.”
“Mmm.” In the foyer, he sneaked another kiss. “I like the sound of that.”
“Everett!” the marquess called. “Where the devil are you?”
As heat simmered in his veins and desire wove a sultry summons, he chastised himself for using his wife to avoid his father and his duty. Ravishing his bride was a treat he was reluctant to end, but there was no escape from the reality of their situation.
Sabrina broke their kiss. “My lord, your father--”
“Can wait.” After several delicious minutes, Everett favored her with one last hug and a naughty pinch of her bottom. “Until tonight, lady mine.”
“I have a date with a mountain of supply ledgers.” She sketched a mock salute and retreated toward the parlor. “And if your father shouts one more time the roof may cave about us.”
Marked by the pitter-patter of her feet, Sabrina all but ran down the hall. How Everett loved the playful bounce of her curls, and the carefree manner in which she took to her chores. With a light heart, he entered his study and soon regretted forgoing a tumble with his countess to discuss business with his father.
“What have you done about the Eppingham property?” The marquess reclined on the daybed and scratched his ear.
Sitting behind his desk, Everett peered at Trevor, who had been invited into the conversation, to his great misfortune, when he sought a riding companion for the afternoon. “I understand there is a damaged bridge and shall arrange for the necessary repairs.”
“What?” His sire choked and flicked his ashes to the carpet. “You must address it yourself. Have you even been to the property? You can’t delegate everything to your solicitors. That is how the estates came to be in such bad condition. Your brother, God rest him, was a poor land manager.”
“I suppose I could ride there and see to it personally.” Everett frowned. “But I hate to abandon Sabrina right now.”
“Are you afraid she can’t handle herself?” the marquess asked. “She seems a bright, independent girl.”
“On the contrary, my wife has exceeded my expectations. She has ordered the estate and assumed supervision of the staff. In short, she is an accomplished chatelaine.” If only Everett had succeeded half so well. “I could not be more pleased.”
“Then there is nothing to keep you from journeying to Eppingham.” The marquess narrowed his eyes. “Is there some other reason you do not wish to leave your wife? Might it have something to do with your mother?”
How could he put it? “Would Sabrina go to the gallows for strangling an in-law?”
“Perhaps.” The marquess chuckled. “But it is a fight I would very much like to see.”
“It does not concern you?” The shock in his voice was palpable, and Everett spied Trevor attempting to conceal a smirk.
“Of course, it does.” His father’s expression sobered. “Your mother has always been a difficult woman. But I wager Sabrina will outlast her. She is a strong one, that girl of yours.”
“Do you believe it safe to leave them alone?” How could his sire be so obtuse?
“Good heavens, you do not think I in
tend to travel to Eppingham with you? I am not a bloody nursemaid to hold your hand.” His father snickered. “Tried that with your brother and look at the mess it got me. Deuced if I will do it again. Be a man and handle it. I shall keep company with the women.”
Everett bristled under his father’s criticism. No matter how hard he tried, nothing pleased his sire. How he managed to hold his tongue he neither knew nor cared.
“Believe I shall catch a few winks before dinner.” The marquess stretched, yawned with a flair for the dramatic, and quit the room.
“I can accompany you.” Trevor perched on the corner of the desk. “I have not toured this part of the country.”
“If it is not too much trouble.” Closing a ledger, Everett stacked the papers on the blotter. “It will be like old times. How I miss those carefree days when I was nothing more than Lord Markham.”
“Buck up, old boy. Don’t get maudlin on me. You are not your brother, and the title will take some getting used to.” Trevor wrinkled his nose. “And it is no trouble at all. Caroline and little Welton can remain here until our return.”
The mention of Trevor’s heir reminded him of another duty he had yet to fulfill. “I understand Caroline is increasing again?”
“She is.” Trevor waggled his brows.
“Not wasting any time, I see.” How Everett yearned to build a family with his most unlikely lady.
“Why should I? Caroline’s young and healthy, and we want several children.” His friend from Eton shrugged. “Besides, the work is good.”
Resting his chin in his hand, Everett envisioned Sabrina plump with his child. Once he had tended the Eppingham property, he would devote himself to his wife.
Surely that was an endeavor in which he could not fail?
#
“Where are the men?” Caroline sipped her lemonade and reclined in a cushioned chair on the terrace.
“They are in the study.” Sabrina fingered a hot scone and drew swirls in the jam on her plate. “Discussing a bridge.”
“A bridge?” Celia asked.
“Indeed.” Sabrina nodded. “On the Eppingham estate. It is one of the properties Everett inherited.”
The Most Unlikely Lady Page 16