“How long have you worked for Lady Sabrina, Therese?”
“I came with the house.” She moved to the opposite side of the bed where she straightened the bedclothes on that side and fluffed pillows he did not use.
He smiled at what he thought might be banter. “And how long has Lady Sabrina had the house?”
She paused, looking at him as though weighing what she ought to tell him. Was it loyalty or fear that kept her from sharing information? From his interactions with Lady Sabrina he suspected fear; she was as intimidating as any woman he’d ever met.
“I am only curious,” he said, hoping to put her at ease. “Where did you grow up?”
“Here in Wimbledon, off Avondale Road,” Therese said. “My father was a surgeon here in town. I very much wanted to follow in his footsteps, but, alas, I was far too female.”
The prospect of conversation coupled with her humor was invigorating, and Harry grinned. “England’s medical association lost that round, then. You have been very attentive to me, even though I’ve been quite a terrible patient. Thank you for your ministrations and patience.” It felt remarkably good to tell the truth for no other reason than wanting Therese to know. He didn’t want to manipulate her or impress her. Just thank her.
“You have not been a terrible patient,” she said, but she did send him a direct look. Her steel-gray hair was gathered into a knot at the base of her head, with a few locks that hung in soft waves about her face. Wire-rimmed spectacles framed hazel eyes set within a lined face that reflected an age near to his mother’s when she had passed. “When you are sober, you are quite gracious and accommodating, Mr. Stillman. Most men, in my experience, resent being cared for. You have taken to it rather well, save for the parts surrounding drink.”
That her mention of drink did not make the hunger rise up was encouraging. He took another bite of bread, nearly moaning in the pleasure of it. After he swallowed, he spoke again. “Perhaps I simply like to be taken care of by beautiful women.”
“Do not try to charm me, young man,” she said, wagging her finger at him, but smiling all the same. Therese was in her fifties with a lovely smile and very nice bone structure. He told her so, and she blushed. Again, he told her the truth for the sake of it, and again, it felt good.
“I’ve never been to Wimbledon before, but what I have seen is quite lovely.” All of this one room. And a sunrise. “Tell me about growing up here.”
Therese surprised him by not waving off his questions and instead sat in the chair beside his bed. For nearly half an hour she talked of her childhood as he crafted one question after another that drew her story out. The more she said, the more . . . real she became. She’d lived a whole life, with relationships, a fine son, and work she enjoyed. The pride she took in her accomplishments showed on her face as she spoke. She seemed happy with her life.
Happy.
A servant.
Harry did not need to think about if he had ever been happy. He’d always felt the need to do something, go somewhere, get away, feel this pleasure, best this man, prevail in this situation or that one. Perhaps you could not be happy if you only ever wanted something different than what you had. Perhaps being happy with what you had was the first step.
“ . . . then I was hired on as a caretaker for the late Mrs. Carlisle when the house was built,” she said when Therese’s story reached her young adult years. “My husband was hired as a driver, and we were given the quarters behind the carriage house.”
“Who is Mrs. Carlisle?”
“Richard’s mother.”
“And who is Richard?”
“Lady Sabrina’s late husband.”
“Not Lord Richard or some such title?” Harry asked. “Didn’t he have to have been a lord for her to be a lady?”
Therese’s expression flattened as she looked at him. “I won’t speak of Lady Sabrina, Mr. Stillman.”
“Oh, no, of course,” Harry said, waving his hand through the air as though he understood. But he didn’t. If she didn’t wear her husband’s title, then it would be her father’s, which would make him at least an earl in rank, or higher. Gracious, who was her father? Ward had said something about Lady Sabrina’s history, but Therese looked as though she might be preparing to leave so he hurried to ask another question. The bread was long finished, but Harry sipped his cold tea slowly to prolong Therese’s company.
“What year was the house built?”
She considered a moment and must have decided it was not a threatening question to her employer. “It was 1804.”
Harry lifted his eyebrows, though his skin seemed to have lost its ability to move in all the ways it used to. He would be grateful when his bruises healed and faded. “You have worked in this household for twenty years?”
“Twenty-one.”
He nodded. “I was estimating. Will I meet your husband?”
Her smile fell slightly. “He passed away when Joshua was eight years old. He’d never had strong lungs, and when typhus came through . . .” She looked at the floor.
“I am very sorry, Therese,” Harry said quietly, wondering if anyone would mourn him should his lungs not be strong and typhus come through again.
“It was a long time ago,” she said, then stood. “We all have our trouble.”
“You must like it here,” he added quickly. “To have stayed on, I mean.”
“I do,” she said, nodding as she straightened her gray skirt. “The Carlisle women are the best of them.”
Harry noticed she did not mention the Carlisle men. Something niggled at him, something about Lady Sabrina’s late husband, only he could not pluck it from the pot of his jumbled memories. The details were mixed in with the other ones about her parentage. He would need to sort it out later.
“You think quite highly of Lady Sabrina.” Her rage last week had been so much like his father’s that he felt unsettled at the thought of seeing her again, though it was inevitable.
“She is remarkable, sir. As generous as the day is long and as smart as those Tories in Parliament, mark my word.”
“She does, um, have a bit of a temper, though, doesn’t she?”
Therese’s face closed off like the turning of a spigot, and she straightened. “I should warn you, Mr. Stillman, that no one speaks a cross word about Lady Sabrina in this household. I withstood your rantings these last days because you were out of your mind. Now that you are restored, I would caution you against speaking too freely. We will not tolerate anything said against her.”
“I meant no offense,” Harry said quickly, not wanting to damage the accord he had felt building throughout their conversation. “I am very grateful to her. Most women would not do any of what she’s done for me.”
Therese looked at him as though trying to determine if he were sincere or not. She softened slightly, nodded, and took the tray from his lap. “I shall return in an hour to ready you for bed.”
“Could I bother you for a pen and some paper?” Harry said quickly.
He’d been thinking all day of the letters he needed to write to the people he owed apologies per Lord Damion’s instruction. He should have written them before now, but then there were a lot of things he should have done before now.
He had written to Uncle Elliott last week about needing a place to go when he was fit to travel, but his words had been hasty and desperate as he’d still been sick. He’d not apologized to his uncle the way he needed to, only begged to be cared for when he had to leave here. Harry wasn’t sure he could repair the relationships he’d let break around him these last years, but it would feel good to at least try, and his mind was finally clear enough to make the attempt.
“I will send Joshua up to help you into a chair,” Therese said.
Instant fear shot down Harry’s spine at the thought of leaving his bed. “I-is that wise?”
“I’d hoped to have you sitting up in the first week,” Therese said. “And it will be more comfortable for you to write at a desk than in bed.” She n
odded toward the small writing desk set beneath the window. “I’ll follow with the instruments and paper you will need.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “Do not worry, Mr. Stillman, I am quite sure you will triumph against this challenge.”
He looked at her, serious despite her attempt to be light. “I will take your confidence in me as my own, then. It seems beyond me, truth be told.”
She laughed. He did not.
Sabrina returned to London the morning following her tirade against Mr. Stillman and threw herself into the details of Nathan’s dinner party regardless of whether or not those issues actually required her attention. She obsessively reviewed every element with every staff member overseeing every portion of the event, followed up with suppliers, and even folded all the napkins herself into the shape of a swan. One of the schools she’d attended had spent three weeks of classes on napkin folding instead of math, of course, because why would a woman need to factor interest payments or forecast expenses or determine the price per square foot of a factory in Leeds?
On Friday, Sabrina gave orders, fussed over the flowers when they were delivered, and rearranged the centerpieces four times before the guests began to arrive and she transformed from the organizer into the hostess. Nathan’s staff was likely ready to hang her for overmanaging the situation, but she needed the distraction, and there had not been a better option of focus. Besides, overmanagement was hardly a capital offense.
The dinner consisted of separate courses of bouillie, entree of sole, a cucumber salad, and braised beef with burgundy sauce for the entrée, all paired with the perfect red wine. The dessert was a fresh strawberry tart—a simple but delicious dessert to balance the elaborate flavors of the other courses. After dinner, there were two musical performances, a harp piece and a vocal ensemble, that everyone seemed to enjoy. No one was in a hurry to leave after the performances, and the party continued for hours.
Whether or not it was Sabrina’s attention to detail that made the party a success, she could never know, but she chose to believe so as she began saying goodbye to their guests. It was after midnight when she walked Mr. and Mrs. Proctor to the door.
“I hope you have a wonderful time in Naples,” Mrs. Proctor said, giving Sabrina a quick embrace.
The Proctors were not the first friends to mention the trip, but once again, Sabrina had forgotten all about it. She could blame the Season coming to a close as the reason behind her distractibility, but she suspected her lack of focus was mostly due to Mr. Stillman. He had become such a large presence in her mind that the travel she’d spent months planning had been forced to give way.
After the door closed behind the Proctors, Sabrina turned and let out a breath, allowing herself to feel the pride of a job well done. She made her way to the library where Nathan and a handful of his friends were still laughing and talking. They would likely continue through the early hours of morning, then wander off to their rooms amid the city and sleep half of the day away tomorrow. After that, the four winds would take them wherever it would.
“Ah, there she is.”
Sabrina stopped a step into the room and lifted her eyebrows toward the speaker, Lord Towershod. All the men stood in belated chivalry.
“I’m pleased to know you are not so drunk as to not recognize me, Lord Towershod. What a positive step toward your reformation. Your mother will be so pleased to hear it.”
The men roared with laughter and flopped back into their various chairs and sofas.
“Lady Sabrina,” Mr. Lawson said, “would you please marry me before I have to leave London? My mother will be ever so disappointed when I return, yet again, without a wife.”
Sabrina tsked and shook her head. “My answer will always be the same, Mr. Lawson. You could not possibly match a wife like me, not with wealth nor wit.”
Another bout of laughter erupted, and Sabrina smiled at the men’s good humor as she crossed to Nathan, sitting in one of the chairs near the fire, looking exhausted but happy. He’d kicked off his shoes, at ease now that he could be. She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
“You are off, then?” Nathan said as she straightened.
“I am back to Wimbledon first thing in the morning.” What would her first interaction with Mr. Stillman be like? Should she keep a firm position or soften? Would he be sufficiently dried out by now for them to interact reasonably?
Nathan pushed himself up from the chair. “Let me walk you out, then.”
“No, let me walk you out, Lady Sabrina,” Mr. Lawson said, springing to his feet and bending sharply at the waist.
“No, no, let me,” another man said.
Nathan did his best to click his stockinged heels together as he looked down his nose at the roomful of men. “She is my sister, and I shall defend her against you devils to my last breath. I shall keep my right to walk her to the door.” Nathan jutted out his elbow, which Sabrina took while rolling her eyes.
The men groaned in good-natured protest and called out their goodbyes as she and Nathan exited the room.
“I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me these last months, Sabrina,” Nathan said as they passed through the great hall. “I would not be half the man I am without all the effort you have put into establishing me here in London. Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” she said, squeezing his arm and then letting go. “But you have done me far more good than I have ever done you.”
“Do not speak that way,” Nathan said, shaking his head.
“I won’t, then, but only because I know it makes you uncomfortable. I am grateful, though, and glad to be a part of your life.”
She would have been little more than a whisper behind hands if not for Nathan having treated her like a full sister. After losing the baby and then Richard’s death, she’d hidden in Wimbledon, but Nathan had drawn her out, and the ways she had grown through that challenge had made all the difference. It felt good to be able to return some of his favor through acting as his hostess.
They reached the foyer, and Nathan touched her arm, indicating he wanted to say something else. He would be on to Cambridgeshire by Monday, and the hushed seriousness of his expression reminded her that this was their goodbye.
“Did you have chance to speak with Lady Carolyn tonight?” Nathan asked.
The anxiety in his expression made her smile. “I did. She’s a lovely woman, Nathan. I like her very much.”
“You approve, then?”
“Completely,” Sabrina said, touched that her opinion meant so much to him.
“We are thinking of a February wedding. Will you be returned from Naples by then?”
Sabrina’s eyebrows shot up. “You have discussed timelines?”
He nodded nervously. “I know it is not usually done, but does that not seem to be a silly thing? I did not want to pursue a match if she did not welcome it, and we are living in a modern age after all. I also wanted to make sure she would be comfortable with such a wait.”
“Seven months is a very long engagement, Nathan.”
“You do not return until January, I believe, and then we shall have to be back in London for Parliament.”
Sabrina swallowed against the sudden thickening of her throat. “You are waiting on the wedding for my return?” she said quietly.
“Of course.”
“Nathan,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “You should not wait so long on my account. It is not fair to Lady Carolyn, and the duchess will be displeased.”
“Lady Carolyn had no hesitation when I explained my reasons, and Mother is not a consideration. She knows my regard for you and has even acknowledged the service you have done for me these last years. I am telling you this only to confirm when you will return so that we might move forward with the planning.”
The duchess had acknowledged Sabrina’s help for Nathan? Sabrina had not seen Lady Anglesey for nearly ten years—she’d been traveling the month Sabrina had spent at Hilltop Manor, the only time Sabrina had returned to the family
estate after her marriage. The unexpected acknowledgment did not lead Sabrina to think their relationship would change, but it was nice to hear all the same.
“So, when do you return?” Nathan asked again.
“I am supposed to arrive in Brighton near the middle of January; I don’t know an exact date.”
“Then if we were to plan for, say, February 20, you would be here in time to help me pick my wedding clothes.”
“The duchess will help you pick your wedding clothes,” Sabrina said.
Nathan shook his head. “She will dress me in the fashion of fifty years ago, you know how she is. That date will give you time, though?”
Sabrina laughed. “It shall be my first priority upon my return.”
“Excellent.” His smile softened. “I worry that my marriage will change the accord you and I have developed these last years, Sabrina. Will you promise not to stay away from London? I shall still need you and want your company. Lady Carolyn would benefit from your help as she steps into the household.”
Sabrina laid a hand on his cheek. “You shan’t be able to keep me away.”
“Things will change, though, won’t they?”
Sabrina lowered her hand and looked past him as if searching for the footman who had gone to fetch her cloak, but truthfully, she was avoiding Nathan’s eyes. She didn’t want him to see her fear for the future. “Things are always changing, Nathan, but we shall adapt.”
“I worry for you, you know.”
Sabrina smiled against the tightening inside her chest. Worrying felt like he did not trust her to manage herself.
“I know you hate for me to say such things, but I would feel such relief if I could see you settled and cared for.”
Sabrina let out a hard laugh that broke the tenderness of their exchange. “I care for myself just fine, Nathan.” She turned toward the door and began walking, but Nathan hurried to keep up with her.
“I know that as well as anyone,” he said, speaking quickly. “If you were to marry, our lives would be in tandem once again, and we could move forward together. Our children would be cousins, go to school together, and—”
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