The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  “Aye.” Everett kept his gaze averted. “The book is in my desk. I believe it is in the second drawer on the left between some other accounts. Help yourself.”

  “Of course, I do not have to go over the books right now.” Sabrina bit her lip and shuffled her feet. “If you would prefer, I could accompany you on your ride. It will take only a moment for me to change, I promise.”

  “That is not necessary, because I will be on my way before you gain your room,” he replied with uncharacteristic aloofness. With a side step, he walked to the front door. “See you at dinner.”

  Swallowing her disappointment, Sabrina dragged her feet to his study. Standing behind his desk, she opened the drawer he had indicated would yield the ledger she needed and discovered a litany of account books.

  “Great heavens, no wonder he is in here all day.” She pulled a pile of journals from the drawer and sorted through them until she found the item she sought.

  She was just about to return the volumes to their home in the desk, when her printed name captured her attention. Curious, she reached into the drawer. Upon realizing the parchment was caught, she worked it free, taking great care not to tear the paper. After a few tedious seconds, she withdrew an official looking document from the rear of the drawer.

  Her name appeared beneath a signature line at the bottom of the page. There was a space for Everett to sign, as well. The top of the stationary was wrinkled and tattered. With both hands, she smoothed the paper--and swayed.

  Leaning against the desk, she barely managed to keep herself from falling. She choked on a sob and pressed her trembling hands to her mouth.

  She was going to cry, but not there.

  After placing the parchment in the ledger, she clutched the leather bound volume to her breast and fled the study.

  Ware stood in the foyer. “My lady, are you all right?”

  “It is nothing serious.” She lied. “Please, tell the marchioness and Lady Celia that I am unwell.” Grasping the newel post, she ascended the grand staircase.

  “Perhaps a pot of tea will help?” the butler offered from below.

  Bitterness rose in her throat. “No, thank you,” she replied without looking back. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

  Her heart was heavy in her chest, and tears welled in her eyes. Pain was too pale a word to describe the agony investing her body. Breaking into a run, Sabrina sailed down the hall and through her sitting room.

  In her bedchamber, she dropped the ledger to the floor. At her washstand, she convulsed over the basin and was violently ill. It seemed forever before the vicious paroxysm passed, leaving her weak.

  She slid to the floor and crawled to the ledger. Closing her eyes, she felt for the crisp parchment that had turned her world on end. With a death grip on the offensive document, she prayed she was wrong, prayed she had somehow misinterpreted the words at the top of the page.

  Inhaling deeply, steeling herself for the worst, she focused her stare and read aloud, “Petition for dissolution of marriage.”

  And she swooned.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Well, for good or ill, Sabrina had the answer to her quandary. It was too bad it was not the explanation for which she had long hoped. Rolling on her side, she propped herself on one elbow. The floor of her bedchamber seemed to pitch violently, or perhaps it was her stomach, she was not sure.

  After a few minutes, she sat upright.

  The paper lying on the floor seemed to mock her, and a hideous laugh teased her ears. She was certain it was no less than she deserved. What had she thought? She actually believed Everett had fallen in love with her. That she had gained a measure of his trust and respect. In reality, he had grown distant, separating himself from her. Preparing for the end.

  Sabrina vented a self-deprecatory sound.

  In hindsight, it all made sense.

  While her husband had consented to join her for lovemaking--no, sex--he wanted nothing to do with her outside the bedchamber. There were no more companionable rides throughout the countryside, no more romantic walks in the gardens, and no more evenings spent in conversation before the fire in his study.

  In fact, Everett no longer slept in the same bed with her. He only shared her four-poster while they performed the act. There was the coupling of their bodies for what?

  Gratification?

  Sabrina shuddered.

  She could not do it again, could not let him touch her, could not let him enter her body. Not now, when she knew the horrible truth.

  Clutching the stationary to her breast, Sabrina walked to her vanity and sat. Smoothing the crinkled edges, she read and reread the document.

  Hours had passed when she roused from voices emanating from her husband’s suite. At the door leading to his room, she listened with renewed intent. She covered her mouth to smother a gasp when she overheard Everett dismissing his manservant.

  That meant one thing.

  He undressed himself and would shortly thereafter come to her.

  In frenzy she tugged at her laces, but it was no use. There was no way she could disrobe and gain her bed before her husband entered her quarters.

  After pulling the pins from her hair, she dashed about the chamber and blew out the candles. In the dark, she kicked off her slippers and slid, fully clothed, between the sheets. Remembering the document she had left in plain view on her vanity, she bolted upright.

  With a flick of her wrist, she flung the covers aside, dragged herself from the mattress, and ran to the vanity. Sabrina had just whisked the paper into her grasp when a familiar creak pierced the silence of her chamber. In a rush, she ran to her bed, tucked the parchment beneath her pillow, slid, quick as a wink, between the covers, and tugged them to her chin.

  Though she rested on her side, facing away from the corridor, the soft light from a candle signaled the arrival of her husband. She closed her eyes, breathed deep and steady, and prayed Everett would not hear her heart beating in her chest.

  “Sabrina, are you awake?” Through the layers of bedclothes, his hand settled on her shoulder, and he shook her gently.

  Feigning sleep, she hoped her incoherent mumble lent credibility to her ruse. From behind he sighed, and she felt it as an anchor about her neck, conveying her to a watery grave. His fingers speared through her hair, and she tried not to flinch.

  Behind her, the mattress dipped. She bit her lip, and then she realized he only sat on the bed. Again and again, he stroked her hair, and on occasion he scratched her scalp.

  It felt so good.

  Tension drained from her body, and she sank further into the down mattress. Her appreciative moan was genuine. Sabrina knew not why Everett was there, but at the moment, she cared not.

  Ere long, she truly slept.

  When she woke, hours later, her legs throbbed, and her body ached. It was as though she was covered by lead weights, and Sabrina struggled to sit upright.

  She squirmed left, then right. Still she could not move. Then she remembered why. She had spent the entire night fully clothed in bed. When a few strategic tugs failed to set her free, she resorted to kicking herself out of the tangled bedclothes.

  Bent forward, she unfastened her garters and rolled the stockings to her ankles, before slipping them from her feet. Then she reached behind and yanked the laces of her gown to loosen the bodice. Inching her hips from side to side, she managed to extricate herself from the wrinkled dress.

  Clad only in her chemise, she tossed her legs over the side of the bed and stood. In an instant, her legs buckled beneath her, and she grasped the edge of the bedside table to steady herself. Gnawing her lip, Sabrina turned and reached under her pillow.

  The divorce petition still rested in its hiding place.

  As she withdrew the document from beneath the down, she slumped her shoulders. For a scarce moment, she thought she might have dreamed the events of the previous night. But the proof in her hand told her she had not imagined anything.

  And, at that instant, he
r heart broke.

  She supposed she could cry, and she would produce a river of tears if it would make the paper disappear, but Sabrina knew it would not. She wondered when Everett was planning to tell her he no longer wished to be married to her. That he sought a divorce. Had he intended to confront her when his parents departed? Would he do the deed once they were alone?

  Well, she was not going to wait and find out.

  Shrugging at no one, she walked to her escritoire and sketched a missive to the lone person she could trust to help her. After sealing and addressing the envelope, she folded the petition and hid it amid her stationary, where she hoped no one would find it.

  A leisurely soak in a hot bath went a long way toward soothing her many aches and pains but had done nothing to ease her heartache. Sabrina tarried in her chamber to avoid meeting anyone at breakfast. As a consequence, it was almost noon when she ventured forth. She was halfway down the stairs when Everett strolled into the foyer. Halting mid-stride, she held her breath in the hope that he would not notice her.

  To her misfortune, he stopped at the foot of the grand staircase, stared in her direction, and frowned when he met her gaze. “You look a bit peaked, my dear. Are you unwell?”

  My dear? She managed to bite back an impolite snort. Instead, she smiled. “I am sure it is nothing.” As would a Douglas, which she considered herself, given the petition, she marched forward until she stood before him.

  Surely that was not concern in his expression? Damn fool man. He would not have to divorce her if she were dead. He would be rid of his countess without any taint of scandal. No doubt, he would garner plenty of attention as the grieving widower.

  She wanted to cry--or hit him.

  “My lord, I have a letter.” She held out the envelope. “Would you frank it for me?”

  “I shall do it now and put it in the post, myself.” As he accepted her summons for assistance, he furrowed his brow. “I need to check the north fields. Would you care to join me for a ride?”

  Under normal circumstances--normal being a marriage in which one party was not seeking a divorce--Sabrina would have accepted his offer. As she was aware of his intent to end their union, she could not bear to be alone with her soon-to-be-ex-husband.

  “I must review the still room ledger.” She clutched the leather bound account book to her bosom. “And I should calculate the gardener’s budget.”

  “But I can help you with that later.” Everett took her hand in his. “The fresh air will do you good, and it has been some time since we enjoyed a ride.”

  How strange it was that only yesterday their positions had been reversed. She had begged a ride, and he had rejected her. Cursed with the knowledge of their impending divorce, she could understand why he had no interest in her pursuits. And yet it physically hurt her to deny him. Why act nice? The situation would be so much easier if he were cruel, and if he would admit the truth.

  “Ah, there you are, my boy.” The marquess entered the foyer. “Thought I would accompany you on the survey of the north fields.”

  “Go with your father.” Relieved, Sabrina mustered another smile. “I shall see you this evening.”

  As she retreated, Everett tipped her chin, bent his head, and gifted her an impossibly tender kiss. “Until this evening.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Do not overtire yourself.”

  Her knees weakened, and she leaned against the newel post for support. Everett and the marquess stepped outside, and Sabrina summoned the strength to walk to the study, where she plopped behind the desk and buried herself in her task.

  When next she looked up from her figures, the setting sun filtered through the windows, bathing the room in gold light and warmth. Resolved to leave the grand estate in better working order than she found it, and that was not saying much, she continued to fulfill her duties as chatelaine. She totaled numbers, made new entries, and composed a list of necessary purchases.

  Her stomach growled, and she pressed a hand to her belly. She had not eaten, because she feared she would revisit whatever she consumed. Raking a hand through her hair, which she was certain stood on end; she set down her pen and sighed in frustration.

  An amber sparkle caught her eye.

  Sunlight shone through a crystal decanter of brandy. Sabrina pushed from the desk and stood. A few brisk steps brought her to the side table bearing a silver tray laden with brandy balloons and a full decanter.

  Whenever her mother was upset, her father always handed her a glass of the strong smelling intoxicant to settle her nerves. She wondered if it would work for her and poured herself a glass. A high-back chair before the fireplace seemed the perfect place to take her ease. Settling herself, she raised the glass to her lips and sipped. Warmth pervaded her flesh, trailed a comforting path down her throat, silenced her protesting belly, and quelled her jittery nerves.

  As she emptied her second refill, and sank further into her seat, the door to the study opened.

  “Are you hiding from us?” Celia cast her a pout.

  “Sabrina, are you feeling well?”

  Inclining her head, Sabrina glanced at the marchioness. “I feel quite well, thank you.”

  Celia’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Are you drinking?”

  Sabrina stared at the empty crystal. “Not anymore.”

  In an instant, her mother-in-law snatched the balloon from her grip, raised it to her nose, and sniffed. “You have been drinking brandy.”

  “I might have had a small portion.” Sabrina hiccupped. “Would you care to join me?”

  With a hand to her chest, Celia peered at Lady Elizabeth and asked, “Do we dare?”

  “We do.” With an imperious nod of approval, the marchioness said, “After all, the men are out. What harm is there in partaking of refreshments before dinner?”

  While Celia dragged a third chair before the fireplace, Lady Elizabeth retrieved the decanter and two additional glasses.

  Sabrina accepted her refilled balloon with a clumsy salute and an appreciative moan, which soon bubbled into nervous giggles.

  Her mother-in-law held her glass high. “To what shall we drink?”

  “How about men?” Celia offered with a shy grin.

  Sabrina had not wanted to toast the opposite sex but drank anyway.

  “And to my marvelous daughter-in-law,” the marchioness added.

  Sabrina snorted before surrendering to another fit of giggles. For some strange reason she could not fathom, she felt compelled to air the truth. “You did not think me so marvelous when first we wed, my lady.”

  Celia gasped.

  Lady Elizabeth, in the process of sipping her brandy, choked violently.

  As her soon-to-be-ex-relation leaned forward, Sabrina reached out and slapped her on the back. “You know, you are quite pleasant when you are not nagging me to death.”

  That time Celia choked.

  “Great heavens.” Nonplussed, Lady Elizabeth pressed her hand to her temple. “My dear, please allow an old woman the benefit of making a mistake.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted, Sabrina gave vent to an exceedingly skeptical sound. “A mistake?”

  “Indeed.” Lady Elizabeth peered at her from over the rim of her glass. “You must understand, I have always looked on marriage as duty. There were agreements made, and that was all I considered.”

  “But what of love?” Celia inclined her head.

  The marchioness shrugged. “Love never entered into the equation.”

  Despite the pleasant fog in her brain, Sabrina remained coherent. “Do you not love the marquess?”

  “Our marriage was arranged. I hardly knew him when we wed but, over the years, we have become something akin to old friends.” Her mother-in-law sipped her brandy. “Our relationship is one of mutual comfort, nothing more.”

  Sabrina gazed on her with pity. “How sad.”

  “Oh, do not waste your sympathy on me, my dear.” Lady Elizabeth patted Sabrina’s arm. “It is what I was raised to expect, and I
have no regrets. My position is compensation enough.” After a moment, Everett’s mother added with a wistful air, “I do wonder what it is like to fall in love. My son said you met while Lord Lockwood courted his wife. Tell me, is there such a thing as love at first sight?”

  Sabrina considered her now empty glass. She held the brandy balloon as the marchioness refilled it. “The truth is that was not the first time we had been introduced.”

  “The devil you say.” Kicking off her slippers, Celia tucked her feet beneath her skirts.

  As she swallowed a sip of brandy, Sabrina noted it no longer burned her throat. “No.” She shook her head with a vengeance. “We had met before, though I am certain he does not recall when.”

  With her elbow propped on the arm of her chair, Celia rested her chin on her hand. “Do tell.”

  Sinking deeper into her seat, Sabrina stared unseeing into the fireplace. Since her husband was divorcing her, the tale dancing on the tip of her tongue seemed innocuous. “Well, it began with my come-out...”

  “Sabrina, stop fidgeting,” Cara admonished her for the umpteenth time that evening. “You look lovely.”

  “I look ridiculous,” Sabrina complained. “And this blasted knot is too tight. It pulls the corners of my eyes.” She patted the taut knob of black hair atop her head.

  Behind her, several young ladies giggled.

  “What do you want to wager she does not make it through the night without falling on her face?” one said.

  “Sabrina Douglas? In a dress?”

  “Do you suppose she knows how to dance?” snorted another.

  “First she has to find a partner.”

  Sabrina tried to ignore the criticism but was too self-conscious to disregard it. At the ripe old age of eighteen, she found the idea of a come-out the height of humiliation. All trussed up like a Christmas goose, she was intensely aware that if this were the feast, she was the main course. Why on earth had ladies ventured to Almack’s, just to beg a bunch of old crows for permission to waltz?

  She would rather fish trout.