Lady Sabrina’s Secret (7 page)

Mrs McNeil had also observed the goings-on at the end of the crescent, and as Sir James carried the lady through the doorway, she caught a glimpse of short golden hair. ‘It's Lady Sabrina!' she gasped. ‘Oh, dear, I wonder what on earth is wrong?'

‘I pray it is nothing serious, for I
must
speak to her,' Deborah replied, staring along the curve of the crescent.

Unable to sleep for wondering what was happening, Deborah watched from her bedroom window as the doctor hurried past from his residence a few doors away. Sir James's carriage was still by the end house, and the butler waited at the door to admit the doctor. Then the door closed, and all was quiet for a moment before a footman emerged and ran down across Crescent Fields to take the shortest route into the town. Where was he going? Had he been sent to bring the duke from his mistress's house in North Parade?

Deborah lingered by the window and at last heard another carriage approaching. It drove past at speed and drew up behind Sir James's vehicle. The duke alighted and hurried into the house. Another age seemed to pass, and then the house door was opened once more, and Sir James and the doctor emerged. They paused on the doorstep to shake hands with the duke, and by their manner Deborah could tell that all appeared to be well. The doctor hurried home again, and after exchanging a few further words
with the duke, Sir James returned to his vehicle and drove away. Deborah saw the duke gesture to his waiting
coachman
, evidently dismissing him, and as that vehicle also drove slowly away, turning at the end of the crescent to make its way toward the mews, the duke retreated inside the house and closed the door. It seemed he was not returning to Kate's arms tonight. Soon after that the lights of the house were extinguished, and Deborah knew that nothing more would happen. Reassured that nothing was seriously wrong with Lady Sabrina, Deborah at last felt able to retire to her bed, where she fell immediately into a deep sleep.

She slept late the following morning, and the sun was high in the sky when at last Amy came to awaken her with a welcome cup of Mrs McNeil's favorite China tea. She was soon joined by Mrs McNeil herself, who sat in a sunny chair by the window and looked out approvingly over the spring scene in Crescent Fields as she too enjoyed her morning tea. Such weather enticed many people out for a stroll, for it was very much the thing to be seen walking in Crescent Fields, where the daffodils nodded in the light breeze, and where this morning a military band was practicing in readiness for a display in a few days' time.

Mrs McNeil's attention was soon drawn away from what was happening outside as she learned of the night's events after she herself had retired. She turned in the chair and lowered her cup, the folds of her shell-pink woolen wrap parting to reveal the frills on her nightgown as she sat forward intently.

‘The duke was sent for, you say?'

‘Well, a running footman set off down Crescent Fields,
and within half an hour or so the duke's carriage drove back apace.'

‘But you think Lady Sabrina isn't in any danger?'

‘Not judging by the atmosphere when Sir James and the doctor left. I think she was just taken a little unwell at Prior Park.'

Mrs McNeil looked at her for a moment, and then returned her attention to what was happening outside. ‘He drove off a short while ago, did you know?' she inquired.

‘No, nor do I care.'

‘He cuts quite a dash in that curricle; indeed I don't think I've seen a better hand with the ribbons.'

Deborah didn't respond. She cordially hoped the curricle would overturn and deposit His Grace of Gretton in
something
unmentionable, something steaming, smelly, and extremely abundant!

Mrs McNeil was sipping her cup once more, and suddenly she lowered it with a clatter. ‘Why, I do believe that Lady Sabrina has just left the house! Yes, it is her, and she's taking her dog for a walk in the fields!'

Deborah set her own cup aside and hurried to the window. A young woman in a bluebell-colored cloak with a fur-trimmed hem and hood was crossing toward one of the gates in the iron railings bounding the grassy slope, and a white poodle on a silver lead trotted at her heels. The spring breeze was playful as it breathed over the exposed hillside, and it caught her hood and tugged it
momentarily
back from her head. In the seconds before she pulled it back into place once more, Deborah saw a sweet
heart-shaped
face and bright golden curls that were cut modishly short.

Mrs McNeil glanced up at Deborah. ‘Well, it's an
absolutely ideal opportunity. She is alone, and the duke isn't at home to witness anything from the window. If you hurry …'

Deborah had already run to the wardrobe. There was no time to ring for Amy, and Mrs McNeil assisted her with her clothes and hair. Within a few minutes she too had emerged into the morning air and was crossing to one of the gates into Crescent Fields.

Most of the people who were strolling on the grassy slope had gathered to listen to the band, but Sabrina paid no attention to the music as she walked the poodle down the slope between the drifts of daffodils. Deborah hastened after her, determined to use the chance to open up a conversation. She knew how she meant to do it, for it would be the simplest thing in the world to make a fuss of the poodle.

Sabrina wasn't walking very quickly, indeed Deborah soon began to notice that she was moving more and more slowly, until at last she came to a halt close to one of the few trees, a silver birch that had yet to come into leaf. For a moment she stood there, and then to Deborah's horror she put a hand up to her forehead and began to sway before crumpling to the grass, the poodle's lead still twined around her fingers.

Deborah was so startled that for a moment she couldn't move. No one else seemed to have noticed what had happened, for all attention was upon the band, and she hesitated for a second or so before running toward the motionless figure on the ground. Kneeling beside her, she looked anxiously into Sabrina's ashen face.

‘Lady Sabrina?' she said hesitantly, but there was no response, indeed there was no movement at all.

The poodle whined and nuzzled its mistress's hair, but still she just lay there. Deborah gazed down at her face. Lady Sabrina Sinclair was very lovely indeed, with the sort of doll-like fragility that would have enslaved Richard from the first moment he saw her.

Unknown to Deborah, the duke had been obliged to cut short his drive into Bath, for one of his valuable horses had gone lame, and he was at that moment leading the curricle back along the crescent. He saw his sister collapse, and with a dismayed oath he quickly made the team fast to the railings before leaping over and running down the slope to where Deborah was kneeling anxiously beside her.

He didn't recognize Deborah as he tossed his hat and gloves on to the grass and then crouched down to take one of his sister's hands and rub it in an effort to bring her around. ‘She's my sister. What happened?' he asked urgently.

‘I don't really know. She was walking with the dog, and suddenly she just fainted away,' Deborah replied.

He recognized the voice and looked properly at her for the first time. ‘Yet again, Mrs Marchant? Fate is making a habit of this.'

‘I'm sure we can manage to be civil for once,' she answered.

‘Yes, if we really try, I'm sure you're right,' he said, and then looked down at his sister again. He put a hand gently to her cheek. ‘Can you hear me, sweeting?' he asked, his thumb moving softly against her pale skin.

Sabrina's eyelids fluttered, and she stirred a little.

‘Open your eyes, sweeting,' he urged.

At last Sabrina looked up at him. Her eyes were as blue
as his, but much softer, and for a moment they were confused as she looked past him toward the cloudless sky. She didn't notice Deborah. ‘What happened?' she
whispered
. ‘Why am I lying here?'

‘You fainted again, sweeting.'

Tears filled her eyes. ‘Oh, Rowan …'

‘It's all right, darling, for I'm here with you. Can you sit up?'

‘I … I think so.'

‘I'll help you.' He pulled her carefully into a sitting
position
, and the poodle immediately pushed into her arms, licking her face to show how pleased it was that she was apparently herself again after lying so inexplicably asleep in the open air. As she hugged the excited dog, Sabrina noticed Deborah for the first time.

The duke quickly introduced her. ‘Sabrina, this is Mrs Marchant. She saw you faint and came to your assistance. Mrs Marchant, this is my sister, Lady Sabrina Sinclair.'

Sabrina smiled. ‘I'm very grateful to you, Mrs Marchant.'

‘It was nothing, Lady Sabrina.'

The duke was stern with his sister. ‘And so you should be grateful, you minx, for you had no business at all coming outside today, not after what happened last night. Dr. Blair expressly forbade—'

‘I know, but I wanted to be in the fresh air, and Muffy needed his walk.'

‘Any of the footmen could have obliged Muffy with his walk, and you were instructed to stay inside until the doctor could call upon you again this afternoon.'

‘There isn't anything the matter with me, Rowan.'

‘No? Then why aren't you eating or sleeping, why do you cry in your room all the time, and why do you keep
fainting away? It's hardly the conduct of someone who is full of health and strength, is it?'

Sabrina lowered her gaze guiltily, for she knew that further denials would avail her of nothing.

He drew a long breath, and then assumed a more gentle tone with her. ‘Do you think you can stand now?'

She nodded, and he reached down to take her hands and pull her carefully to her feet, but as she stood, she
immediately
began to sway again and he caught her, sweeping her up into his arms. Then he looked apologetically at Deborah.

‘I know that I am the last person on earth you would wish to oblige with a favor, Mrs Marchant, but may I impose by asking you to bring Muffy to the house?' He nodded toward the crescent.

‘Of course,' she replied.

‘Thank you.' He smiled at her.

It was one thing to be on the receiving end of his acid tongue, quite another to be exposed to the full force of his charm. Deborah had already been taken aback to realize that there was a warm and tender side to the Duke of Gretton, but the brilliance and clarity of his smile quite demolished her defenses. From having previously found him the end in obnoxiousness, she was suddenly forced to concede that when he wished he could be very winning indeed. Maybe Kate Hatherley's interest in him was
understandable
after all.

Sabrina linked her arms around his neck as he began to carry her carefully back up the slope, and Deborah paused to retrieve his hat and gloves from the grass before
bringing
Muffy with her.

All was instant confusion as they reached the house. A
footman was immediately despatched to bring the doctor again; a maid hurried up to turn back Sabrina's bed and see that the fire was properly stoked. Another maid was sent to the kitchens for a hot posset, and a further footman was ordered to attend to the curricle, which was still waiting by the railings farther along the crescent.

Sabrina tried to dissuade the duke from sending for the doctor. ‘I'm truly quite well, Rowan. Please don't send for him again, for I wish to go to the ball tomorrow night.'

‘You may go provided Dr. Blair says you may.'

‘Oh, but—'

‘That's enough, sweeting, for I won't hear of it unless you are pronounced well.' The duke carried her to the staircase at the end of the lofty white-and-gold hall.

Deborah stood in the doorway with Muffy and the duke's hat and gloves. It was clear that in the confusion she'd been forgotten, and so she put the hat and gloves down upon a console table, and then pressed the poodle's lead into the hands of the startled butler.

‘Please inform His Grace that I will call upon Lady Sabrina tomorrow to ascertain that she is fully recovered,' she said.

‘Very well, madam.'

As she left the house, she wasn't entirely dissatisfied with the way things had gone. Maybe she hadn't managed to speak properly to Sabrina, but events had conspired to give her the perfect excuse to call again.

She was destined to receive a call herself before then, not from Lady Sabrina, but from Rowan Sinclair himself.

It was evening, and Deborah sat alone by the fire in the drawing room. Mrs McNeil had decided to go out to call upon an old friend who had just arrived in Bath, but Deborah had declined to accompany her, preferring instead to spend a few quiet hours reading.

She wore a dark-red velvet gown with long sleeves, a square neck, and a gold-buckled belt high beneath her breasts, and her dark hair was brushed loose about her shoulders. Her only jewelry was the gold locket containing Jonathan's portrait, and a volume of Mr Walpole's
Vathek
lay open on her lap. She read by the light of a
four-branched
candelabrum, and the only sounds in the room were the ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf and the gentle flutter of the fire as the flames licked around a fresh log.

Vathek
was not holding her attention, for her thoughts kept wandering to Richard and his problems. She wondered where he was at this moment. He could not have gone to Wexford Park, because that was the first place the authorities would seek him out, and although the
authorities
might not know of her or of St Mary Magna, it was
clear that Richard had had no intention in going there, otherwise he would have brought the pocket watch himself rather than risk sending it. Oh, if only he had stayed to face the music, instead of fleeing like a felon, for he had made himself appear so very culpable.

From Richard himself her thoughts inevitably moved on to the three people who had had such a profound effect upon his life, Lady Ann Appleby, Sir James Uppingham, and Lady Sabrina Sinclair. Lady Ann remained something of a paradox, for how could a gentle person such as she appeared to be, be capable of deliberately and cruelly incriminating an innocent man? Sir James, on the other hand, seemed capable of sinking to any depth in order to keep what he regarded as his. As for Lady Sabrina herself … Deborah closed the book on her lap. The Duke of Gretton's beautiful sister was bound to have ensnared Richard's soft heart with one glance of her big blue eyes, just as she had obviously ensnared Sir James's heart as well. But Sir James's was a wicked heart, and if Sabrina could only be made to realize the fact….

Her hand crept to her locket. She and Jonathan had been blissfully happy during their short time together, and if she could ensure that Richard knew a similar happiness with the woman he loved, and who must still love him, then she would move heaven and earth to bring that about. Slowly she put the volume of
Vathek
on the table beside her chair, and then took the locket from around her neck to gaze fondly at the painted likeness inside.

At that moment she heard a carriage draw up outside, and she glanced at the clock in surprise. Surely Mrs McNeil could not have returned already, for she had only been gone about an hour. Someone came to the door, and the 
sound of the knocker echoed through the house. It was a peremptory sound, made by a gentleman rather than a lady.

Sanders went to answer, and she heard the murmur of voices. A moment later the butler came into the drawing room, carrying a small silver salver upon which lay a gentleman's card. As she took it, she saw to her
astonishment
that it belonged to the Duke of Gretton.

‘Very well, Sanders, please show His Grace in here.'

‘Madam.'

The butler withdrew, and then returned to announce the duke. ‘His Grace, the Duke of Gretton,' he said, standing by the door as Rowan Sinclair entered. He wore an indigo corded silk coat and white silk breeches, and a sapphire pin adorned his crisply starched neckcloth. There were frills on the front of his shirt and protruding from his cuffs, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips as he sketched her an elegant bow.

‘Mrs Marchant?'

‘My lord.'

He waited until Sanders had closed the door again. ‘This is a most agreeable surprise, Mrs Marchant, for I did not know that I would find you here. You see, I was somewhat dismayed this morning to find that you had gone without me being able to thank you properly for your assistance. I did not know where to seek you out, and then I recalled that yesterday at the Pump Room and again at the theater, you were with Mrs McNeil, and so I called here in the hope that she would be able to tell me where I would find you. Instead I was informed that she was out, but that you were at home. I trust you do not mind me calling?'

‘Not at all, but there was really no need.'

‘There was every need.'

She felt a little embarrassed. ‘Please be seated, sir,' she said, indicating the seat opposite.

She was very conscious of him as he sat down, as indeed she had been in one way or another since the moment they'd first clashed. It was strange to be exchanging
civilities
with him like this, and she couldn't help reflecting that his attitude would be very different indeed were he to discover the truth about her presence in Bath. No doubt then he would revert to his former unpleasant self.

She cleared her throat a little. ‘How is Lady Sabrina now?' she inquired.

‘She is well enough, thank you, although she is far from her usual self.' He drew a long breath. ‘Mrs Marchant, I wish to apologize to you for my disgraceful conduct toward you. I have no real excuse to offer, except that at the time of our first contretemps I was very anxious indeed about Sabrina and was on my way home to see her when the, er, incident occurred. I had been with an, er,
acquaintance
in North Parade when word was sent to me that she was unwell. The quickest way to Royal Crescent was blocked by an overturned wagon, and I had been forced to make a detour, which is when I almost collided with your carriage. While it does not excuse my behavior, it is all I can offer in mitigation, and I do hope that you are able to forgive me, both for my conduct then, and for my
subsequent
boorishness. I would very much like to forget that we commenced on such a wrong foot.'

‘Tempers have been flaring somewhat, haven't they?' She smiled. ‘I will forgive you, sir, but only provided you forgive me, for I haven't been exactly agreeable myself.'

‘You merely retaliated with commendable spirit,' he said.

Commendable spirit? She had sailed into battle with a vengeance! She glanced away, remembering how
provocatively
she had responded to his manner during the incident in the street. She was prepared to believe that he had indeed been worried about his sister, but perhaps his anger had also had something to do with having been called away from his mistress in North Parade? She wondered if Kate Hatherley would appreciate being referred to as an acquaintance!

He was thinking of his sister again. ‘I wish I knew what is wrong with Sabrina, Mrs Marchant, for she has been so very unwell for the past week or more. Since just before her betrothal, actually. At first I feared that she did not want the match after all, but was afraid to tell me, but she insists that there is nothing she wishes for more than to be married to James. If she truly wishes for the match to proceed, this should be the happiest of times for her, but instead she is so low that she is in a positive decline. I've spoken to the doctor again, but he still insists that she will recover when the spring weather is well and truly with us. The fellow is a buffoon, for it is clear even to me that her condition has nothing to do with the weather!'

No, thought Deborah, but a broken heart would explain it very well indeed.

He sighed. ‘Before all this she was in excellent spirits, deliriously happy in fact.'

How well it all fitted. She was happy when she and Richard were planning to elope, and she became
desperately
wretched when she believed herself betrayed by him.

The duke looked at her. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Marchant, for my worries are of no concern to you.'

‘I could tell earlier today that you are exceedingly 
anxious about Lady Sabrina.'

He gave an unexpectedly wry smile. ‘No doubt you were amazed beyond belief that such a surly bear could be so solicitous.'

She lowered her glance. ‘I do not deny it,' she replied frankly.

‘I promise you that I am not usually a toad of the first order, and that my ungentlemanly manners have been brought about by anxiety over Sabrina.'

‘Mrs McNeil has already spoken in your defense, sir.'

‘I have an ally?'

‘Something of the sort.'

He smiled again. ‘I mean to redeem myself in your eyes from now on.'

His smiles were disquieting, and she felt warm color creeping into her cheeks. ‘You have no need to redeem yourself, sir, for your apologies and explanations have been gladly accepted.'

He sat forward. ‘I'm afraid I do need to continue in this vein, Mrs Marchant, for I have another favor to beg of you.'

‘A favor?'

‘You left word with my butler that you intend to call upon Sabrina tomorrow. I trust that you still mean to do that?'

‘Why, yes.' Nothing would keep her away!

‘Will you do something for me when you call? If she should say something to you which might give an insight as to why she has been so unwell of late, I do trust with all my heart that you will relay such information to me. I know that it is an imposition, especially as we are barely acquainted, but I am prepared to go to any lengths to see her well and happy again.'

Deborah couldn't meet his eyes in that moment, for she knew only too well what was wrong with his sister. The temptation to tell him was so great that for a second she couldn't trust herself to speak. Now wasn't the time to impart anything of the truth, not until she had had a chance to speak to Sabrina herself.

He misinterpreted her silence. ‘It is too much to ask of you. Forgive me.'

‘Please, sir, of course it isn't too much to ask. If Lady Sabrina should intimate anything to me, you have my word that I will tell you.'

‘I will be eternally grateful.' He studied her for a moment. ‘I seem to recall mentioning the Upper Rooms ball to you.'

‘Yes, I seem to recall that, too,' she replied, a faint smile touching her lips as she remembered the moment in the theater vestibule.

‘I trust that you mean to attend?'

‘I am sure I will be there, sir.'

‘Then I hope you will reserve a measure for me?'

‘You are actually prepared to trust your apparel to such potential calamity?' she inquired, feigning amazement.

‘I am sure my wardrobe is sufficiently well stocked to withstand a few more mishaps. Do I take it then that you will honor me with a dance?'

‘If that is your wish, sir.'

‘It is my wish. And now I will not encroach upon your time any longer.' He rose to his feet. ‘Thank you again for your assistance today, and for your promise to help me further regarding Sabrina.'

She got up as well, forgetting the locket, which still lay open on her lap. It fell to the carpet, and he immediately
bent to retrieve it.

He studied Jonathan's portrait for a moment before returning the locket to her. ‘Mr Marchant? Or perhaps I should refer to him as Captain Marchant?'

‘Yes.'

‘Which vessel does he command?'

Her fingers closed over the locket. ‘He was the captain of the
Thetis
,' she said quietly, knowing that the ship's name would convey everything to him. The whole of England had been appalled by the disaster that had cost so many lives.

‘Mrs Marchant, I—'

‘Please don't say anything, sir,' she interrupted quickly, guessing that he was thinking of what he'd said to her in the Pump Room. ‘You were not to know my husband was dead.'

‘Nevertheless….'

‘The entire matter is forgotten, my lord.'

‘I will not be able to forget that I said such a very hurtful thing,' he said quietly, taking her hand and drawing it briefly to his lips. ‘Contrary to my previous crass
observation
, Captain Marchant showed great integrity and
judgment
when he made you his bride.'

Releasing her, he went to the door, but then paused again. ‘Please feel free to call upon my sister whenever you wish, Mrs Marchant.'

‘Thank you, my lord.'

He met her eyes for a moment more, and then went out into the entrance hall, where Sanders was waiting to attend him. She heard the front door open and his steps as he walked to his carriage. In the few moments before Sanders closed the door again, she heard him issue brief
instructions
to his coachman. ‘North Parade, if you please.'

‘Your Grace.'

The door closed, and the sound of the carriage was muffled as it drew away.

Deborah remained where she was. She could still feel the touch of his lips upon her hand, and it was a sensation which made her feel unaccountably vulnerable. It had been so much easier to despise him, for there was safety in hostility.