Sabrina's Man (11 page)

“It's a sin to covet,” Dulcie said righteously. “I ain't studyin' no red dresses.”

Sabrina drew closer to the young woman and said, “And you can have the petticoat and the shoes that go with it.”

Sabrina was amused as she watched the struggle going on within Dulcie's soul. She knew that the girl had longed for that particular dress, but this came in conflict with her idea that her mistress needed to wear a corset. She said nothing, and finally Dulcie threw her hands up in a gesture of despair. “Well, if you's bound to dress like a hussy, I guess I can't help it.”

Sabrina laughed and said, “You can take it today. Maybe there'll be a party you can wear it to. You'll have to take it up a little bit.”

“I ain't studyin' no parties.” Dulcie pouted. “I'm thinkin' 'bout how you treat your poor momma and daddy. You ain't never minded them a day in your life.”

“Of course I do—when I want to.”

“Well, I'll tell you one thing,” Dulcie said, “you better start being nicer to Mr. Lane or that Aldrich girl is gonna take him away from you.”

“Melissa Aldrich couldn't take anything away from me.” She was confident and knew that none of her friends could take her gentleman friend away from her. “Well, finish my hair.”

“All right. I'll finish it, but you better ask forgiveness for foolin' your poor old momma. If she knew the stuff that goes on in your mind, she'd be shocked, and your daddy, too.”

“Oh, I never tell them things like that, and you don't either, Dulcie.”

“I don't reckon I can, but you're gonna get caught one of these days.”

As Dulcie finished her hair, Sabrina was thinking of the ball, though not with any particular excitement. It was just another ball, and she had been to a thousand of those it seemed like.

Mick Sullivan pulled the buggy up in front of the Warren mansion and clambered down to the ground. He was a ruddy faced Irishman, sturdy, with huge hands, and was known to be the best horse trader in Memphis. He walked up to the front steps and knocked on the door.

A butler came to the door and said, “May I help you, sir?”

“I've got a horse here for Miss Sabrina Warren.”

“Well, you can't bring the horse in here,” the butler said.

“All right, but I've got to have her sign for it.”

“You take the horse around to the stable. I'll tell her you're here. You wait until she comes.”

“I ain't waitin' forever,” Mick growled. He went back, unhitched the beautiful bay mare, and led her around the house. This was what was once the center of Memphis and now was merely a neighborhood. There was plenty of room, and the grass was green. Mick shook his head. “These folks got too much. Spoiled rotten is what they are, especially that girl.” He had sold horses to Sabrina before and knew there would be no question about money. He found Morris Tatum, the groom, sitting on a barrel whittling.

“Got a horse here for Miss Sabrina.”

Morris jumped down and said, “Well, she's a beauty, ain't she? How much did you gig her for?”

“I give her a fair price. Don't you worry about that.”

Morris was a small man. He had spent some time working as a jockey. Now his blue eyes sparkled. “The last time you gave anybody a fair price, Adam and Eve was in the Garden of Eden.”

“You got anything to drink here?”

“Soft or hard?”

“Just whiskey.”

“When's the last time you had water?” Morris made a face. Nevertheless, he disappeared inside the stable and came back with a bottle. “Here. Don't drink it all.”

Mick took a long drink, then another, and handed it back to Morris. “That girl. She's spoiled to the bone.”

“Well, I can't help that. You're right though. I don't think she's ever wanted anything in her life her momma and daddy didn't get for her.”

“One of these days,” Mick said, “she's gonna want something she can't get. We'll see what she does then.”

Five minutes later Sabrina came out and said, “Hello, Mick.”

“Hello, Miss Sabrina. Here she is. Prettiest mare in Memphis.”

“Oh, she is a beauty,” Sabrina crooned. She stroked the smooth hide of the mare and said, “I'll take her.”

“We ain't settled on a price yet.”

“Well, I know you'll name a price, and I'll tell you it's too high, and you'll come down. Why don't we just skip all that.”

“All right. Price is eight hundred dollars.”

“I'll give you seven hundred.”

“Seven-fifty.”

“Oh, that's all right. I hate these things.”

“Okay. Here, sign this. These are the papers on the mare.” Sabrina signed the papers, and then Mick nodded, saying, “Thank you, Miss Sabrina. I'll let you know when I get some more good looking stock.”

“Thank you, Mick.” Sabrina stood there stroking the silken nose of the mare then said, “Morris, rub her down and be sure to watch her diet. I think I'll take her out for a ride tomorrow.”

“What about today?”

“Oh, I've got to go to a stupid ball. I'd much rather go with you, sweetheart.”

“Is that what you named her? Sweetheart?”

“No, I haven't given her a name yet. I think I'll call her Cleo for Cleopatra.”

“Well, she's a beauty, Miss Sabrina. I'll take care of it.”

Charles and Caroline Warren were entertaining Sabrina's escort, Lane Williams. They were in the larger of the two parlors. There was a large fireplace of polished marble at one end, and the pictures on the walls were either seascapes or Dutch pastoral scenes with cows.

The long green velvet curtains splayed out on the floor and sagged with braided sashes. There was a large cut-glass bowl of roses on a low mahogany table between two chairs, and all in all the room had all the Victorian clutter that had been so popular and still was.

“I expect there'll be a crowd at that ball, Lane,” Charles said. “Everybody I know is going except us.”

Lane Williams was a small young man, shorter than Sabrina. “There probably will be, but I'm not going to stay for the entire ball.”

“Well, you'll have a lovely time,” Caroline Warren said. At the age of forty-seven she was an attractive woman with the same auburn hair and green eyes that she had passed along to her daughter.

“I hate balls,” Charles Warren said. He had a square face, was six feet tall, and weighed over two hundred pounds. He was forceful and stubborn. Founder and owner of Warren Steel Mills in Memphis, he loved his family, his church, and his business, in that order. He had planned on having sons to help him with the business, but that had not happened, so he always thought what sort of partner one of the girls' suitors would make.

They were interrupted when Marianne Warren came into the room. She was nineteen, with beautiful smooth blond hair and blue eyes. Her parents had long ago learned that she was very romantic. She read romances by the ton it seemed, and once her mother had said, “Marianne, you're waiting for a knight in bright shining armor to come and sweep you off, but there aren't any white knights in armor these days.” She had realized, of course, that that would mean nothing to Marianne.

She was wearing a beautiful bright green satin dress trimmed with glittering black lace and black velvet ribbons. Three black feathers were arranged in her blond hair, held on by an impossibly large emerald and a diamond stick pin.

“You look beautiful tonight, Marianne. You'll be the belle of the ball.” Caroline Warren smiled at her daughter.

“Oh no. Sabrina will be the belle of the ball.”

Charles grinned, and then a thought came to him. He turned to Sabrina's suitor. “I can't keep up with you two. Are you engaged or not?”

“We were yesterday, but this is another day.” Lane smiled wryly. “I ought to keep a record or a journal or something. You can ask her, and then we'll both know.”

Even as he said this, Sabrina came in. She was wearing a beautiful dress of her favorite Nile green color, and it was as elegant as the water in the sun. It was stitched with silver beading and seed pearls. The waist was tiny, and the bodice crossed over in front with the bosom cut low.

“You look beautiful, Sabrina.” Lane smiled. “You'll be the belle of the ball.”

“She always is,” Marianne said. “I wish I could be just once.”

“Well, when we're married, your competition will be gone,” Lane said. “By the way, your father wants to know if we're engaged. What's the score on that?”

It was a question that came up often, and Sabrina stared thoughtfully at Lane. “I'll let you know before the evening's out. If you step on my toes, the engagement's off.”

“Well, let's go,” Lane said.

They left the house, and as soon as they were gone, Charles said, “I don't know about that young man. He doesn't have much strength it seems.”

“You think everybody who's not as driving and forceful as you are doesn't have enough strength, Charles. He's a fine young man. He'll be good to Sabrina.”

“She'll wear him out just like you wore me out.”

Caroline came over and put her arm around his waist. “No, I didn't. You always get anything you want from me.”

Charles laughed and said, “That's the way it's supposed to be in a marriage.”

The ball at the Steens' mansion was held for the betrothal of their daughter. It was glittering, glamorous, and grandiose. At the entrance to the ballroom was a long table covered with a snowy white tablecloth, and gentlemen's silk top hats, canes, and gloves were arranged in militarily precise rows. The strains of a slow waltz filtered through the twelve-foot-high double doors, which were open but still guarded jealously by two gigantic footmen.

Inside the great ballroom the scents and sounds and sights were overwhelming. Women glowed in hundreds of butterfly colors. All of the men were striking in full evening dress of white ties and tails. The flowers smelled luscious, the chandeliers glittered like diamonds, and the music of the twelve-piece orchestra resounded magnificently.

Almost as soon as they were inside, a tall, handsome man with a beautiful beard came and said, “I'm going to have to ask for a dance from your fiancée, Lane.”

“All right. You try to steal her at every ball. Go ahead, Harold.”

As the two whirled off to the music of a waltz, Lane said, “It seems a shame to spend all this money on something as frivolous as a dance.”

Marianne looked around. Thousands of flowers lined the walls in great stone urns. There were old ivies, deep green, long, trailing, curling up the walls. “It is rather frivolous, I suppose, but it is exciting.”

“May I introduce myself?”

Neither Lane nor Marianne had heard anyone because of the music, but when she turned quickly, she saw a man six feet tall, very trim, and very handsome.

“My name is Gerald Robbins. I'm here on business. I hardly know anyone at this ball, so I thought I'd ask the most beautiful woman here for a dance.”