The Offer (15 page)

“Dear me, what a reward for a good Samaritan. Just stop it, Richard, and attend me. When Charles found us, he convinced me that I should offer for her,
as five days spent alone with me, regardless of the circumstances, would ruin her reputation. She turned me down flat, Richard, as, I'm convinced, she will do to you, if you've still a mind to have her. However,” he continued, looking straight into his friend's dark eyes, “I intend once she is better to push her again to accept me as her husband. She shouldn't be ruined and ostracized. She doesn't deserve it.”

“If you haven't damaged her, then I'll take her to wife.”

Phillip said only, “I didn't damage her.” He thought that if the situation resolved itself and she became his wife, what had happened to her would not at all be such a bad thing. Although he didn't love her, he had come to like her and respect her. She seemed even-tempered, sweet. She was a mystery one minute, an open book the next. He would, he concluded, treat her much better than Richard would. To his mind, Clarendon merely wanted Sabrina to while away his boredom for a time. He could see the marquess setting her up as a new mother for his young son, while he resumed his own pleasures in London. Sabrina didn't deserve that.

Charles said, “Perhaps I should offer for her. I've known her forever. I'd keep her safe. What do you say?”

Both gentlemen turned frowns upon Charles, making him fling up his hands. “All right, forget it. But I'm here, should she need a sacrificial husband.”

“Just shut your trap, Charles,” the marquess said. “I'm going to see her now. Has that damned Dr. Simmons come down yet from her room?”

“I'll ask,” Charles said and pulled the bell cord. He would be vastly relieved, he thought, if only Trevor got the broken nose out of this mess.

Sabrina didn't move even though her arm was getting numb. She didn't want Margaret to know she was awake yet. She felt the soft cotton of her own nightgown against her skin. It felt wonderful. How kind of Elizabeth to send her clothing to Moreland.

She felt consumed with misery at her own helplessness. She had to regain her strength soon so that she could go to her grandfather, assure herself that he would be all right, and convince him that it would be better for all of them if she went to London. It occurred to her that she would now have to apply to Trevor for her inheritance from her mother, the ten thousand pounds that was hers upon her eighteenth birthday. It belonged to her, and even Trevor couldn't prevent the solicitors from turning the funds over to her. How very disappointing for him that she hadn't died. A sob rose in her throat. She tried to keep it swallowed, but it was no good. The sob burst from her mouth like the sound of a dying chicken. That almost made her smile.

“Bree, my love, you're awake. How do you feel?”

Sabrina raised glazed eyes to Margaret's face as she poured Sabrina a cup of tea. Her childhood friend who'd married a man she loved; a childhood friend so happy it hurt to look at her. “I'm alive,” Sabrina said.
“Really, I'm alive. No need for you to worry so, Margaret.”

“Of course I'll worry. Do you have any pain, Bree? Shall I fetch Dr. Simmons for you? He's still downstairs, speaking to Phillip, I believe.”

Sabrina felt Margaret's hand, soft, and featherlight on her forehead. She missed Phillip's hand, solid and strong. She grabbed Margaret's hand. “No, Margaret, I'm fine, really. I'm very grateful to you and Charlie for bringing me here to Moreland. I couldn't have gone back to the Abbey. Thank you. I'll be strong again, really soon now. You know me, I've always healed faster than I deserved. Soon, Margaret, soon I'll take my leave of you. Another day, perhaps two.”

Sabrina wondered dispassionately what her aunt Barresford's reaction would be when she arrived on her doorstep. Would Elizabeth write to tell her that Sabrina was a slut, a trollop, a—? She didn't know any more words for loose immoral women. No, Elizabeth didn't want her to return to Monmouth Abbey. She'd keep her mouth shut.

From what she knew of Aunt Barresford, she didn't think the lady would turn her away, not with ten thousand pounds in her purse.

“You'll stop the nonsense, Sabrina. I won't hear another word out of you. You'll stay here until I tell you that you can leave. Listen to me, even at this moment, Charlie is getting rid of the Christmas guests. I won't have to leave you. My husband Hugh will be arriving from London in two days and we'll all celebrate Christmas together. It will be quite like old times.

“Remember that one Christmas when you and I were angry at Charlie because he treated us like little girls, which we were, of course? Ah, but the revenge
we exacted on him. He still shakes his head about that and shudders.”

Sabrina managed a smile. “I'll never forget the look on his face when he came downstairs from his bath, and you and I were hiding inside the cupboard behind the stairs. He was green from head to foot. A lovely moss green. It was a magnificent revenge.”

“Yes, and despite what you and I have done to him over the years, he is very fond of you. Ah, don't forget that Phillip is here, of course, and Richard Clarendon. He, Charles, and Phillip were closeted together in the library for the longest time. My maid told me that Teresa Elliott came out of there so angry she could barely speak. I'll bet she spewed her meanness on Phillip and he put her in her place.”

“Richard Clarendon is here? At Moreland?”

“Yes. He was searching for you with all the other men. Even after your sister—no, never mind that. It's not important now.”

“Tell me, Margaret.”

“I don't want to. You're still ill. I don't want to make you mad.”

“Tell me, Margaret.”

“Very well, Sabrina, but I want it noted that I don't want to. Elizabeth and Trevor called off the search for you. Richard was so furious he went on a rampage.”

Oddly enough, Sabrina felt nothing much at all with that news. She could understand how her presence would ruin the tales Trevor and Elizabeth had told.

“You say all the gentlemen were in the library?”

“Yes.”

“They were undoubtedly discussing what was to be done with me. And now, Richard Clarendon must needs be part of it. Perhaps, Margaret, they're gambling, the loser will take me off everyone's hands. Sabrina Eversleigh, neatly wrapped up like a Christmas
gift and dispensed with quickly, to the most unlucky of them.”

“Don't be a fool, Sabrina. You know that's not true. Just stop it. You're feeling sorry for yourself and I must tell you that I don't like it. It doesn't suit you. It's really very unappealing.”

“All right, I'm sorry. Tell me, is there any news of my grandfather?”

“No, as far as I know his condition remains the same.” Margaret suddenly became brisk. “Now, Sabrina, it's time you had a cup of tea. It will make you feel better. Just remember, you're alive and soon will be well again. Your grandfather will recover, you'll see.” Margaret wondered what was to become of her friend if she continued to refuse to marry Phillip. She realized that she was frankly amazed that any lady under the age of eighty would refuse Viscount Derencourt were he to offer for her. Sabrina wasn't a fool nor was she naive. She knew that she'd been compromised, through no fault of her own, but that never made any difference to anyone. If ever there was anything redeeming in any scandal, it was quickly brushed beneath the rug.

What would it be like to have Phillip taking care of you for five days? She wished, in a small hidden part of herself, that she knew the answer to that.

“Sabrina, don't you at least like Phillip?”

“Of course.”

“But—”

There was a light knock on the bedchamber door. Sabrina clutched at Margaret's hand. Her teacup crashed to the floor. “Please, don't let anyone in, Margaret, please.”

Margaret patted her hand. “What if it's Phillip?”

“No, particularly not Phillip. Please, Margaret.”

“All right. Calm down. You're turning red in the face.”

She walked slowly to the door, inched it open, and slipped out into the corridor.

The Marquess of Arysdale towered over her, Charles at his elbow.

“Richard wants to speak to Sabrina,” Charles said. “Is she awake?”

She looked up into the marquess's darkly handsome face, dismissing the tug of attraction she felt. He was one of those rare men her mother had told her about, a man she could admire until her toes turned hot, but she wasn't to touch, ever. “I'm sorry, my lord, but she doesn't want to see anyone.”

“She'll see me,” Richard said and stepped forward. Margaret put her hand on his sleeve. “My lord, I beg you to listen to me. Sabrina is still not well. So much has happened to her, and in so little time.”

“Come, Richard,” Charles said quietly. “Margaret's right. You've got to give Sabrina some more time.”

The marquess looked undecided, his eyes still upon the closed bedroom door. “I wouldn't make her worse.”

“No, I agree,” Charles said, “but Sabrina? Let her be for the moment, Richard.”

Margaret thought she heard him curse softly under his breath. He turned back to her, bending his dark eyes upon her upturned face. “Please tell Sabrina that I will return to speak with her this evening. She will not deny me entrance then.” Before Margaret could form a protest, the marquess had turned on his heel and was striding back down the corridor.

Charles looked after the marquess. He was worried, very worried. “Clarendon will see her, Margaret. He will have his way. Talk to Sabrina. At least now she'll have some hours to consider her decision. Now, my dear, Mother is in the midst of most charmingly
ridding us of our guests. You must come downstairs and make your good-byes.”

“Is Teresa Elliott gone yet?”

“Oh no. Phillip will probably have to lure her outside so that we may lock the door.” He grinned down at his sister, chucked her under her chin, and said, “She'll leave. She's got enough wit to know that she can't stay.”

Margaret nodded briskly. “The sooner the better for that lady. My maid told me that she was wheedling about the servants for any tidbit of gossip. Phillip's appearance with Sabrina turned her from a light breeze into a full-blown storm.”

Charles shrugged. “There's really not a thing I can do about her except to see that her horses are healthy and ready to pull her carriage out of here.”

Margaret nodded. “I'll speak to Sabrina. I don't understand, Phillip. Why doesn't she want either of them? What woman ever had such a choice?”

“Even I threw myself into the ring. It boggles the mind, doesn't it?”

So Sabrina had been right, Margaret thought. They hadn't drawn straws, but all three of them were ready to march to the altar with her.

“It was Phillip?” Sabrina asked when Margaret came back into the room.

Margaret shook her head. “No, it was the Marquess of Arysdale. He wants to speak to you, Sabrina. Charles helped me put him off, but only until this evening. You will have to talk with him or else he just might kick the door down.”

Sabrina felt as if a small precious light had been extinguished. But what did it matter? “Very well. I'll preserve the door and speak to him.” Where was Phillip? Why hadn't he come to her yet? Would he remain much longer at Moreland?

After Margaret left, Sabrina let her mind wander to the carriage trip from Charles's hunting box to Moreland. Phillip had cradled her in his arms; he'd said nothing much of anything, except to Charlie, and his face had been calm and blank. She'd been thankful for his silence, truly she had. But why hadn't he come to her? At least to say good-bye? She recognized her own perversity but she found no humor in it.

She stared grimly at the closed bedroom door. Had Richard Clarendon been chosen to be the sacrificial husband? Somehow, she could not imagine the marquess doing anything that was not precisely to his liking. Surely he still couldn't wish to marry her.

She sighed and closed her eyes. If Richard did indeed offer for her, she would just have to save him from himself.

 

Perhaps it was the flickering light of the candle touching her face that awakened her. Sabrina opened her eyes, followed the candlelight to its source, and saw Phillip seated on her bed, looking at her intently, his expression impassive.

She smiled. She was used to his being by her bed, in her bedchamber. There was no shock, just a pleasant recognition, a sense of safety because he was here and he wouldn't let anything bad happen.

He didn't smile back at her.

“What is the time?” she asked, trying to come up on her elbows.

He was up in an instant, his large hands on her shoulders, gently pressing her back down. “No, just stay put. I don't need you to be a hostess. It's just after midnight. I'd hoped the candlelight would awaken you sooner or later. I'm glad it was sooner or else I might have fallen asleep here.”

“What are you doing here, Phillip? We're no longer
in Charles's hunting box. As you told me a number of times, you being alone with me is very improper.” She laughed. “Not that it matters one whit. I could have a battalion of men parade through here and it wouldn't matter, would it?”

“So, at last you're being reasonable about all this.”

“There is nothing reasonable about my reputation being ruined. It isn't fair or even close to the truth.”

“So? What is your point?”

“There is no point,” she said at last. “It's the way things are, the way things will remain.”

“That's right, at least in the foreseeable future.” He sat down beside her, laying his hand across her brow. “You're feeling better now?”

“Yes. What are you doing here, Phillip?”

“Richard told me—he was in the vilest of moods—that you wouldn't marry him. He wanted to beat me to a pulp, but decided that if you'd decided I was to be the lucky man, then I couldn't very well go to the altar with a blackened eye. I wanted to see if he was right, but I waited until everyone had gone to bed. I've only been here an hour or so. Watching you sleep. You look very peaceful when you're asleep, Sabrina. At one point you even smiled a bit. Do you remember what you were dreaming? No? Well, it doesn't matter.”

“Richard was wrong. I told him I didn't intend to marry anyone.” She closed her eyes a moment, picturing the marquess towering over her bed, his look so bewildered, so incredulous, that if she'd had it in her, she would have laughed. And when he spoke, he sounded as bewildered as he looked. “You refuse my offer, Sabrina?”

“Yes, Richard, but I do thank you for your kindness, for your concern.”

“We're not talking about anything that is even close
to kindness or concern. Don't you muck around with those silly words with me. Dammit, I was to wed you in any case. It was all arranged. Your grandfather approved the match.”