Lunch had been a disaster--according to the marchioness, of course. Because someone left the compote of cherries uncovered, a mouse had found its way into the container, and orange water ice had been substituted for dessert at the last minute. How strange it was that the marchioness declared a sudden fondness for cherries, and the spoiled compote became a singular tragedy of monumental proportions.
Afterward, the entire household rocked, and the walls of the home reverberated, as a piercing scream echoed through the house. Sabrina took the stairs two at a time as she ran. She followed the howls to the guest wing and, more specifically, the room the marchioness occupied.
“What is it?” Out of breath and gasping for air, Sabrina held a hand to her bosom. “What has happened?”
“Someone put a burr in my bed.” With a pitiable countenance, the marchioness pointed to the mattress. “I came upstairs to take a nap and discovered it.”
“A burr?” Sabrina walked to the bed and prepared to deny the accusation but, there, in the center of the mattress, rested a gnarly looking seedpod.
“Good heavens, how did that get there?” She freed the burr from the sheets.
“I could have been cruelly wounded.”
You still might be, Sabrina thought.
“What are you fussing about now, Lizzie?” The marquess strolled in unaffected, as if he was used to his wife’s dramatics.
“Someone conspired to cause me injury.” Pressing a palm to her brow, the marchioness appeared as if she would swoon at any moment. “I fear I am bleeding.”
Sabrina shook her head. Her mother-in-law had missed her calling, because she belonged on a stage at Drury Lane. “Your ladyship, I am sure this is nothing more than an unfortunate mishap. As the linens were just cleaned, perhaps the burr was accidentally picked up in the wash. If you please, you may rest in my suite, and I shall have Mrs. Formby put fresh linens on your bed.”
“Humph.” The marchioness folded her arms. “I knew the minute my son departed you would try something like this.”
Shocked by the conjecture and implication of her words, Sabrina swallowed hard. “Surely you do not think I had anything to do with the unfortunate mishap?”
“Lizzie, what are you inferring?” The marquess placed both hands on his hips and arched a brow.
“I infer nothing, as I state a fact,” the marchioness snapped. “I believe she put the burr there in a deliberate attempt to cause me pain. The dreadful girl hates me.”
“Oh, come now.” His jaw dropped. “You can’t mean that.”
“My lady, I assure you, I did no such thing. I swear it.” Her heart pounded in her ears, and Sabrina stood fast. “Why would I seek to harm you?”
“Because I see you for what you are, and I call attention to your shortcomings. You never should have married my son.” The marchioness stared down her nose. “You are not in his class, nor will you ever be his equal.”
“Lizzie!” the marquess barked. “That is enough.”
“It is true and you know it.” Lady Elizabeth sneered. “Were she half the lady she pretends to be, she would vacate this marriage, at once, and spare us further humiliation.”
Sabrina bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She would not cry in front of that woman, even though her harsh words cut sharp as a knife. “I am sorry you find me so lacking, my lady.” Sabrina strode from the room--and almost ran smack into Caroline.
Her lifelong friend said nothing, merely looked into her eyes and no doubt saw the pain etched there. It was obvious she had overheard the conversation, because she grasped Sabrina’s wrist and said, “My room.”
When they reached the guest quarters Trevor and Caroline shared, she led Sabrina to the chaise near the window. “Sit.”
Sabrina acquiesced without a reply.
Caroline plopped down next to her. Unable to speak, Sabrina covered her face with her hands. Stunned by the ache burning in her chest, she slumped forward and let the tears rush forth.
It was hours before she returned to her room.
Sabrina contemplated a mad dash to the coast when the dinner bell sounded. It was too late to escape, so she resolved to meet her nemesis over what she hoped would be a civil meal.
Reminding herself she was no coward, she stared at her reflection in the long mirror. Sabrina would give anything to be struck with a serious illness and thereby have a justifiable excuse for foregoing her obligation as hostess.
“You are the countess of Woverton,” she said to her image.
Dressed in one of her best black gowns, she had Millie arrange her hair in a charming coiffeur. Turning to the side, she studied her profile and decided she looked every inch the lady of the manor. With a final nod, she headed for the drawing room.
To her relief, Caroline was the first to join her. “Feeling better?”
Sabrina smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
“It is times like these I am grateful I have no in-laws.” Caroline referred to the fact that Trevor’s mother had run off with her lover when Trevor was just a child, and his father had long since passed away.
“Would that I were as fortunate.” Sabrina reached and squeezed her friend’s fingers. “Thank you for sitting with me this afternoon. I am not normally a water pot.”
“I know you are not.” Caroline patted her cheek. “Dearest Brie, if there is anything you ever need, know you can always count on me.”
“Thank you.” Sabrina covered Caroline’s hand with her own. “But everything is going to be fine.”
Footsteps in the hall caught her attention.
Sabrina braced herself for the next confrontation with the marchioness. But to her surprise, the marquess entered with Celia on his arm.
“Where is the marchioness?” Caroline asked.
“She suffers a headache and will take a tray in her room.” The marquess wiggled his brows. “Looks like you ladies have me all to yourselves this evening.”
Sabrina exhaled her relief and managed not to dance on her heels.
#
“I will not strangle my mother-in-law.” Wringing her hands in front of her, Sabrina paced the drawing room floor and repeated the words like an ancient mantra for personal restraint.
“What has she done now?”
Sabrina started as Caroline entered the room.
“I will tell you what she has done. The marchioness took it upon herself to meet with my housekeeper and fired two of the upstairs maids. Of course, I have already rescinded those orders.” Sabrina lashed out in anger. “But who does she think she is, coming into my home and usurping my authority as chatelaine?”
“Oh, my.” Caroline perched on the edge of the sofa.
“And that is not all.” Sabrina resumed pacing. “Thank goodness the gardener checked with me before digging up the rose bushes near the fountain.”
“Why would he do that?” Caroline blinked.
“Because the marchioness told him they were going to seed, and she would rather have shrubbery in their place.” Halting, with both hands firm on her hips, Sabrina stomped a foot on the carpeted floor. “How dare she!”
“Calm down.” Caroline shook her head. “You will work yourself into a state.”
“I am already in a state.” With pulsing fists at her sides, Sabrina emitted an unladylike growl. “What am I going to do? Everett will be home tomorrow, and I cannot guarantee his mother will live to see him again.”
“Come now.” Caroline chuckled and patted the green damask sofa cushion. “Sit with me.”
“This is a disaster.” Sabrina trudged to the sofa and plunked down. With both elbows resting on her knees, she cupped her chin in her hands. “I do not want my husband to come home to a family at war, but how can it be helped? His mother hates me.”
“There now, Brie.” Her lifelong friend slipped an arm about Sabrina’s shoulders. “The marchioness does not hate you.”
“Then why does she thwart me at every turn?” Sabrina could take the witch in a fight, so why could she not manage the marchioness?
“Because, I surmise, she can’t snap her fingers and have you jump on command.” Caroline tapped a finger to the tip of her nose. “And you, my dear friend, have never followed any dictates other than your own. Have you tried joining her in any common pursuits? Does she ride?”
“No.” Sabrina scratched her temple. “She knits, and you know how I am with a ball of thread and needles. I would end up mummifying myself--or her. I know it is unsporting of me, but I wish Everett’s parents would go home.”
“Am I included in that wish?” Celia stood in the doorway, a pout on her face.
“Good heavens, no.” Sabrina rose from the sofa and splayed her arms in welcome. “You and Caroline are the only ones keeping me from the hangman’s noose.”
Celia hugged her. “I gather you and the marchioness are at odds again?”
“She has interfered in my management of the household,” Sabrina explained.
“Oh, my.” Celia’s eyes grew wide. “What will you do?”
“I am not sure.” Sabrina searched in vain for a solution to her quandary.
“Everett will be aghast when he hears of his mother’s behavior.” Caroline reclined on the sofa. “He may ask her to apologize.”
“Oh, no. That will only make things worse.” Sabrina pondered the situation. “Perhaps I should not tell him what has occurred in his absence.”
Celia claimed an overstuffed chair. “I do not think that is wise.”
“He needs to know.” Caroline compressed her lips. “You cannot keep this from him. His mother may be a marchioness, but that does not excuse poor manners. An apology is in order.”
“I disagree.” Sabrina paced again and fretted she might wear holes in the carpet. “I do not want him to think I cannot manage the household. I have failed him enough as it is.”
“Brie--”
“No.” Sabrina stopped before the window and gazed at the lush green lawns. She was not the perfect wife or countess, and she knew it. But she would not give Everett one more reason to regret marrying her. “Caroline, do not ask me to tell him. I simply cannot.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Everett and Trevor rode through the gates early in the evening, cantering down the graveled drive lined with grand oaks, which stood tall as sentries welcoming them home. Everett inhaled the familiar smell of fresh-cut grass, and then he held his breath as the trees thinned.
Beaumaris rose in the distance.
It was a warm structure built in the Renaissance style of red brick with Portland stone trim. Jacobean tracery framed the mullioned windows across the face. On a sparsely clouded day, as the white puffs reflected in the glass, it gave the illusion the building winked.
That was his home.
He smiled. It was the first property he had ever purchased with his own money. There was always smug satisfaction knowing he had bought it from a ne’er-do-well nobleman in dire financial straits.
The man had neglected the estate, and the gardens had been in ruins. As soon as the sale was complete, Everett engaged the services of an architect to restore the grounds and manor house to their original splendor. He could not believe several prospective buyers had passed on the parcel of land. It seemed no one had seen through the age and wear to the potential and quiet beauty of the old home. No one had noted the refined elegance, the classic lines, or the understated charm.
Much like the new lady of the manor.
Sabrina, his wife.
If he closed his eyes, he could taste her lips. His palms itched as he recalled the silky softness of her skin, and the warmth of her body beneath him. Mentally, he replayed her feminine sighs and murmurs as he drove his flesh into hers.
Emotions welled, crashing over him, wave after wave as the evening tide. For a scarce second he felt as if he could not expand his lungs. And he realized, in that moment, she had become as vital to him as the air he breathed.
Without her, he had no future. She was everything to him. And were he to suddenly find himself without her, there would be no laughter, no life, no love.
Ah, love.
Now there was a tricky emotion.
Being in love, helpless, enslaved, and enthralled by it, he was ecstatic. Yet, at the same time, he feared losing his treasure, losing Sabrina. It was exciting and terrifying at once.
He had not told her--yet. It was not fashionable to be hopelessly in love with one’s wife.
But why should he care?
He knew what he feared, what had kept him silent--that she would dismiss his feelings.
Sabrina had told him early in their courtship that she felt something for him. She had likened her emotions to indigestion, and he had discounted her declaration as nothing more than the fancy of an innocent young woman too unschooled in the ways of love to recognize said emotion.
She had not mentioned it again.
And now he was truly sorry he had brushed her aside without care. He wanted to help her explore her feelings, wanted to foster what could be a deep and abiding ardor. He wanted to hear her say it, wanted her to utter those three simple but precious words.
“I love you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Everett had forgotten Trevor rode beside him. And, at present, his old friend grinned ridiculously at him.
He blushed, he knew it, and he wished he could cut off his head. “Er, I did not intend to say that aloud.”
“I did not think so.” Trevor laughed. “I take it you were not declaring yourself to me?”
“Bloody hell.” Everett rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I was just considering a situation and got carried away.”
“I see.” Trevor smiled and cast him a knowing glance. “Being married is nice, is it not?”
“Am I that transparent?” He blanched.
“Yes,” Trevor replied without hesitation.
“Am I as bad as you?” He stiffened his back.
“Indubitably.” Trevor snickered.
Everett groaned.
Trevor burst out laughing.
Perhaps he should avail himself of the opportunity to seek his friend’s guidance. “And yet it is altogether unsettling.”
“Ah, you have not told her.” Trevor arched a brow.
Everett gulped, as his chum hit his target with unerring accuracy. “How could you possibly know?”
“I have been on the other side of that face.” Trevor grimaced. “I do not envy you, as the first time is the most excruciating experience you will endure. But, as my wife correctly assured me, it gets easier.”
“Does it?” Everett fumbled with the reins.
“Yes.”
“And how often do you--”
“Every day and more than once.” Trevor shifted in his saddle. “But my motives are purely selfish.”
Again, the unfailing precision of his pal from Eton rendered Everett flummoxed. “I do not follow.”
“I make my declaration because my wife never fails to respond in kind.” Trevor averted his gaze and smiled. “And nothing compares to what Caroline does for me. She is, quite simply, my world.”
“That I understand.” Everett envisioned Sabrina. “You are most fortunate in that your affection is returned.”
Trevor’s mouth fell agape. “And you believe yours is not?”
“You sound surprised.” Blast his honest hide and loose tongue.
Yet Trevor cast an expression of pure skepticism. “If I do, it is because I have seen how Sabrina admires you, when she thinks you unaware.”
Again hope bloomed. “And how is that?”
“The same way my wife looks at me, and I would give you some unsolicited but well-intended advice.” Trevor rocked with the motion of his horse. “Do not delay, as that is the mistake I made, and it almost cost me everything I hold dear.”
For a few minutes, they rode in silence.
Everett pondered Trevor’s counsel. On the surface, it seemed so pedestrian, yet his familial history resurfaced with a vengeance, the accompanying agony swamped hi
m in despair, and he flinched. “Do you recall the Christmas I wrote and asked my parents to bring us to Tantallon Hall for the holidays?”
“If memory serves, it was the year Charles received a pony, and you remained at school, with me.” Trevor frowned. “You shared my bunk and cried yourself to sleep for three nights.”
“Never have I felt so alone. Even now, all these years later, their rejection still hurts, and I hate myself for it.” Everett winced, as images from the past flooded his brain. “If not for you, I might have done something--”
“No.” Trevor met Everett’s stare. “You were a strong lad then, and you are a better man than you realize, old friend. As children, we were caught in the same noose, but it was not of our own making, and we have survived to enjoy far greener pastures.”
How he wished that were so. “Were you afraid when you told Caroline?”
“Terrified, but she had declared herself twice and then begged me to love h-her.” Trevor’s voice cracked, and Everett studied his confidant’s profile. “In my ignorance, I hurt her. I am ashamed that I reduced her to such desperation, and I wake every morning determined to deserve her heart.”
“I sympathize.” Everett chortled. “Did you ever think we would find two such extraordinary women?”
“Never.” Trevor bowed his head. “But, given what we endured early in our lives, I would argue we have earned our good fortune. And I am most grateful for my wife and son, so I will not question what fate has sought to bestow.”
“You make it sound so simple.” Everett recalled Sabrina’s plea, I am afraid of anyone and anything that threatens to drive us apart.
“You refer, of course, to your parents.”
“Your ability to read my thoughts is altogether discomposing.”
“I suppose turnabout is fair play.” Trevor smirked. “Do you not recall the two nights I spent on the sofa in your study, as a newlywed nincompoop?”
“When you suspected your wife had involved herself with Darwith.” And Everett had postulated Trevor’s dilemma with equal fidelity. “I get your meaning.”
“You know, my wife told me something once, and it took me some time to discern the truth in her statement.” Trevor peered at the sky. “She said that love is a gift, not an obligation. And truer words were never spoken, because love holds no purse strings. You need only accept it.”
The Most Unlikely Lady Page 18