The Offer (19 page)

“A third waltz. How very kind you are. I do so enjoy it.”

If only you understood what a third waltz means, he thought, his laughing smile firmly in place.

He saw the avid curiosity in everyone's eyes. This was their third waltz. A second waltz was as good as an announcement in the
Gazette
. A third, and they were as good as married in the eyes of society. He'd been right that Sabrina, in her ignorance of London rules, was sublimely unaware that three waltzes as good as put a wedding ring on her finger. He refused to feel guilty about it. Let her aunt Barresford deal with it.

After some moments, he said, “I must leave London for several days, to go to my home near Oxford. I shall be back no later than Monday. Would you like to ride in the park with me when I return?”

“You mean they actually allow merchants' relatives in the park, my lord?”

She was trying not to laugh, and he was pleased. “Since,” he said, bland as tepid tea, “you will be in my company, there's no need for you to worry. If anyone says anything about you not belonging, I will speak up and protect you.”

She tilted her head back. “I swear that one day, Phillip Mercerault, I will have the last word.”

“Since I am eight years your senior and come from clearly superior stock, I truly doubt it is possible, but we will see, won't we?”

“I doubt that,” she said, but knew he'd outdone
her. She said, “I know where your home is. However, I know little else about it.”

He laughed down at her, his white teeth flashing. So she wanted to know about his home, did she? Well, it would probably be her home, so he willingly said as he slowed their pace, “Have you ever traveled to Oxford, Sabrina?”

She shook her head. “I've heard that it's not as beautiful as the Cotswolds.”

“Ah, a pox on you for that remark. It is glorious, actually. My family home is called Dinwitty Manor, a truly abysmal name but the heiress who saved my ancestors' hide demanded, I suppose, that the name be changed, and so it was. She renewed our wealth and fortunately since that time no viscount has been a wastrel. In fact, pleasantly enough, all have been fairly astute in matters of money. Dinwitty Manor has somewhat of a reputation of being rather oddly fashioned.”

“Whatever does that mean?”

“Let's just say that all my ancestors had different architectural bents. There were many different styles. I am of a medieval bent, you could say. My father was of a Moorish bent. My grandfather was of a classical bent. It has made for a charming if unusual house.”

“It sounds intriguing.”

He cocked an eyebrow, lowered his voice, and said, “There is a very nice nursery.”

He thought her eyes crossed.

“In addition to a nursery, there is also an exquisite library. The ballroom, my grandfather's addition, is at the back of the house and is fairly dripping with carved cherubs from the ceiling—really quite disconcerting, particularly when one is trying to mind one's steps.”

The music came to a halt, and Phillip, curse his
scheming eyes, merely smiled at her and said, “Would you like to dance yet another dance?”

Her eyes were glowing. “Oh, drat. Look, Phillip, my aunt is waving to me. Goodness, she's frowning. Why would she be frowning? I've done absolutely nothing to displease anybody, since I've danced with you, and quite passably, at least according to you.”

“I'll take you back to her. It's likely she wants you to meet other gentlemen.” He wondered if Lady Barresford would shriek at Sabrina for dancing not two, but three dances with him.

“I suppose you're right. Will you waltz with me again after I've done my duty with the other gentlemen? I do so enjoy it.”

“I'm sorry, not tonight. I have another engagement and must leave now.”

He returned Sabrina to her aunt, noting well the speculative gleam in that lady's sharp eyes. “My lady. Sabrina, I'll return to London on Monday. We will go riding in the park then.”

Sabrina nodded. She felt a stab of disappointment as she watched him make his way to the patronesses to bid them good night.

“It would appear,” Mrs. Drummond Burrell said toward the viscount's retreating figure, “that his lordship managed to escape with his hide intact. A pity. I should have liked to see him tested.”

“I must say that Miss Elliott doesn't look happy,” Lady Jersey said. “Yes, a drama would have been enlivening tonight. A pity.”

“At least the girl has the good sense not to dash after him,” Countess Lieven said. Like the other two ladies, she'd hoped for just the opposite.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Jersey said behind her fan. “Miss Elliott has decided to meet her rival. Oh, how I wish we were closer.”

Teresa, a firm smile planted on her mouth, was saying, “Dear Lady Barresford. How delightful to see you again. My mama surely would have sent her best regards if she'd had the faintest notion that I would be speaking to you.”

Sabrina turned about at Miss Elliott's words. What an incredibly lovely girl, she thought. She dismissed Phillip from her mind for the moment, promising herself that when she saw him on Monday, she'd flatten his ears. Her aunt had told her what he had done. Three waltzes. However had he managed to keep a straight face? He was trying to compromise her again. Why? She'd released him. He was free. Why didn't he bless her and run as fast as he could?

“. . . And this is Wilfred, my brother, my lady.”

Wilfred of the dreamy eyes, Sabrina thought. She watched him bow. It was odd how he was eyeing his sister who was now staring at her. There was no smile on her face.

Lady Barresford nodded pleasantly toward the uneasy Wilfred. “Sabrina, this is Teresa Elliott and her brother, Wilfred.”

After polite greetings, Teresa said in a voice brimming with gaiety, “Do let me take Sabrina from you for a few minutes, my lady. I should like to get to know her better.”

Wilfred opened his mouth to say something, but Teresa said quickly, “Why don't you dance with Miss Ainsley, Will. She's standing over there next to that woman who must weigh at least eighteen stone.”

Sabrina smiled at the perfectly blank expression on Wilfred's face.

“But I don't—”

“Yes, you do,” Teresa said firmly, and actually shoved him in Miss Ainsley's direction.

Teresa turned back to Sabrina. “Don't keep my
niece too long, Miss Elliott, for there are many other gentlemen she needs to meet.”

“Certainly not,” Teresa said and took Sabrina's arm. Her hold was strong.

“You're new to London,” she said, sitting very close to the interloper on a small settee just behind a palm tree.

“Yes, I have been with my aunt but a week.”

“I saw you dancing with Viscount Derencourt, Miss Barresford.”

“My name is Eversleigh.”

“Ah yes, Miss Eversleigh. Was dear Phillip giving you lessons?”

“Well, no, actually, I love to waltz and he is so very good at it.”

“I don't suppose you realized that three waltzes will make everyone question your good sense? Your sense of propriety?”

Sabrina, who had been openly admiring this lovely girl, now wondered what was going on here. “No, I didn't realize it. Phillip was playing a jest on me.”

“You call him Phillip? How long have you known the viscount, Miss Eversleigh?”

“Not very long. But he's a good friend.”

“A good friend doesn't play fast and loose with a girl's reputation.”

The good friend does if he wants the girl to marry him, Sabrina wanted to say, but didn't.

Teresa's eyes widened as memory suddenly fell into place. “Eversleigh, did you say?” Her heart began to pound. It couldn't be, no, she couldn't be that lucky. She cleared her throat. She had to tread carefully. “I don't suppose that you just arrived from Yorkshire, Miss Eversleigh?”

“Yes, my home is in Yorkshire, near Leeds.” What was going on here? Why did this beautiful young lady
care if she was from Yorkshire? Or from Africa, for that matter?

Miss Elliott's nostrils flared. She felt her heart begin to sing as she said, “Then you are, naturally, very well acquainted with Vicount Derencourt.”

There was danger in the air and Sabrina smelled it. She realized that Miss Elliott was jealous because she wanted Phillip. That was why she wanted to know all about Sabrina. But then she saw that the young lady's eyes were slitted and mean, her lips tight. She wasn't stupid. The last place she wanted to be was here, with this beautiful young lady who looked ready to stick a knife in her ribs. She rose quickly. “I must return to my aunt, Miss Elliott. It was a pleasure to meet you and your brother. I was very ill and still tire quite quickly.”

“You tire easily, Miss Eversleigh? I should imagine so, given how you spent that week you were supposedly ill. But you weren't at all ill, were you? No, you met the viscount at Charles's hunting box and you quite enjoyed yourself. I am only surprised that the viscount will still even speak to you. Surely he got his fill of you during that week.”

She knew, Sabrina thought. She knew and she was going to use her knowledge to bury her. “Perhaps you'd best explain yourself, Miss Elliott. You're acting jealous and it ruins your looks, you know.”

“Jealous, Miss Eversleigh? I assure you I am not. Come, you don't have to play innocent with me. I know who you are. I know all about you. Tell me, how many lies did you feed your aunt so that she would introduce you into society?”

“There is no reason for you to behave in such an ill-bred manner, Miss Elliott. There is no reason for you to attack me just because you want Phillip. You may have Phillip. As I said, he is a friend, nothing
more. You are welcome to him. However, if he has a brain, he will see the spite in you and run in the other direction. You aren't at all nice, Miss Elliott.”

Teresa jumped to her feet, shaking her fist in Sabrina's face. “You vulgar little slut. If Phillip is but a friend, then what would you term your cousin, Trevor Eversleigh?”

It didn't occur to Sabrina to wonder how Miss Elliott knew about Trevor. She knew and that was all that mattered. Phillip had been right. She'd been a fool. Her new life of one week was about to crumble into dust.

Teresa saw the color drain from Sabrina's face. She wanted to shout and dance. She had the little slut, she had her but good. “I was a guest at Moreland. Ah yes, I see that you won't even attempt to deny it. The gentlemen were in quite a fix, I assure you, trying to figure out what was to be done with you. Did you enjoy your five days with Phillip? I've heard that he is kindness itself to his discarded mistresses. And that, you little bitch, is why he bothered to dance with you.”

Miss Elliott was just one person. She was jealous. That was why she wanted to kill Sabrina, to kick her dead body. Surely all of society wasn't like Teresa Elliott. She heard Miss Elliott continuing to speak, as if from a great distance. “Did you intend to continue your wanton behavior in London? Everyone at Moreland was appalled that a girl of good family would seduce her own cousin, and her sister's husband at that, then spend nearly a week with Phillip Mercerault.”

Sabrina remembered her words to Phillip about making the world change. As she gazed into Miss Elliott's gloating face, she realized she'd been grossly wrong. Society would not change its rules for her; she was nothing better than an outcast. She threw back her head and said, “It's ridiculous that I should try to
defend myself to the likes of you, Miss Elliott. You're a vicious, jealous girl. I pity you.”

“I need no pity from a harlot.”

Sabrina turned on her heel and made her way slowly back to her aunt. Perhaps she should have tried to reason with Miss Elliott, explained everything to her. But she knew it would have done no good. If she didn't have pride, she would have nothing. She wondered, almost dispassionately, what would happen to her now.

Sabrina stood quietly beside a window in the small drawing room of her suite at the Cavendish Hotel, looking over the tops of red and gray brick buildings toward Bond Street. Although the window was tightly closed against the winter wind, it made her feel less lonely if she fancied she could hear the people on the street below speaking to each other as they passed by her window, carrying on civil conversations about whatever it was people discussed when they were not alone. But their conversations would be civil. They would be friendly to one another.

She turned away from the window. She heard Hickles, her newly acquired maid, moving about in the next room. At least she was not completely alone, although it was difficult to count Hickles as anything remotely resembling a confidante. Sabrina grimaced as she pictured her maid, an obese older spinster who contrived to look somehow disapproving even when she smiled, a rare event during the past three days. But she couldn't afford to be choosy.

She chewed on her thumbnail. Things could be worse. At least she wasn't destitute. When she'd paid her visit to Hoare's Bank to secure her own inheritance, she knew it was on the tongue of every male employed there to tell her to hie herself to a drawing room and serve tea, as she was supposed to do. But
she'd just kept her chin up and insisted, until, finally, she was allowed to see Mr. Boniface, the man responsible. At long last it had been done. Her funds were now in her name and there was nothing her aunt Barresford could do about it, and she knew the lady had tried, for Mr. Boniface had sent a clerk around to tell her of her aunt's machinations.

She sat wearily down in a stiff-backed brocade chair and stared blankly at the wall opposite her. A poorly painted picture of a milkmaid faced her. She smiled now, at herself, a tight little smile that meant nothing, remembering how she had still felt some hope after her disastrous confrontation with Teresa Elliott just five days before. Although her aunt had looked at her rather oddly when she'd pleaded a headache at Almack's, she'd taken her home without questioning her.

How glib she'd been, telling Phillip that she would change the world, insisting that no one would have any reason to hurt her. The very next day she'd learned what it was like to receive cold stares from ladies she'd never seen before in her life, to be ignored by supposed friends of her aunt's. One gentleman she'd met that disastrous evening at Almack's had actually leered at her and rubbed his hands together.

Sabrina's confrontation with her aunt came about that very afternoon. She'd intended to tell her aunt the whole of it, truly she had, but there was Lady Morton waiting for them upon their return, her face sharp with anticipation. Sabrina went to her room, reasoning that she was, after all, the granddaughter of an earl and not some poor relation. Perhaps Aunt Barresford would understand and be able to smooth the matter over with society. She had not long to wait for her aunt's summons to the library.

“Sit down, Sabrina.”

Sabrina looked searchingly at her aunt. Her cheeks were a mottled red and her eyes were bright and hard. “Lady Morton has spoken to you?” She spoke very quietly, trying to keep her voice neutral. She glanced about the library, half expecting to see that lady still there, but they were quite alone. A library was a strange name for a room that held only Egyptian furnishings and heavy draperies.

“Can you doubt it?” Lady Barresford asked, her voice harder now, lower.

“Aunt, I can explain all of it. I should have told you last night, but I honestly didn't think anyone would care about what Teresa Elliott had said. I found out differently today. I would have told you, but Lady Morton was here and I gather she couldn't wait to fill your ears. I'm sorry, but please, let me explain.”

“Yes, I'm positive you would have told me all of it, yes I certainly am. You would have smiled, I assume, while you confessed your trollop's behavior with Phillip Mercerault in Yorkshire. Lord, first Elizabeth and now you. At least your sister didn't come to my home with her reputation in shreds, hoping to pull the wool over my eyes.”

“Aunt, I don't know what Lady Morton told you, but you must let me explain. You must believe that it is all lies, started by that wretched girl Teresa Elliott.”

Lady Barresford stood directly in front of her, her hands fisted at her sides, her face very red. “I see. So you deny that you ran away from Monmouth Abbey?”

“No, of course not. I had to. Trevor tried to rape me. I couldn't stay because Elizabeth took his side. He would have come to my bedchamber if I hadn't run away. He would have succeeded.”

“Trevor tried to rape you? That's your story. Not a very likely story that, my girl. He's been married to
Elizabeth for only a month. I suppose you'll tell me that you didn't spend five days—alone—with Phillip Mercerault.”

“I was ill, very ill. He found me unconscious in the snow in Eppingham Forest. I was on my way to Borhamwood, to the stage. I wanted to come to you. He saved my life. There was nothing more than that, Aunt, you must believe me. I could have been his little sister for all he cared. He did nothing. Believe me, I was so ill I couldn't have done anything. It was Charles Askbridge who made Phillip believe he'd compromised me, but I would have none of it. I did nothing wrong.”

Lady Barresford stared down at her in disbelief. “You're trying to tell me that the viscount agreed that he'd compromised you? You're claiming that he made you an offer? That is what you want me to believe now?”

Sabrina said quietly, “Yes, he made me an offer. I refused him. He didn't compromise me. He saved my life. Why should he have to marry me? He did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong. We didn't even know each other.”

“You miserable little liar,” Lady Barresford fairly shrieked at her. She waved her fist in Sabrina's face. “No girl would be such a fool as to turn down Viscount Derencourt, much less one who has spent five days alone with him. What you really mean to tell me, isn't it, my girl, is that he offered to take you on as his mistress?”

“No, he couldn't do that. I'm an earl's granddaughter. I'm a lady. I don't understand you, Aunt.”

“You seduced him and he offered to let you continue. There's nothing difficult to understand in that. He's a man, a very accomplished, a very handsome, sought-after man. You're a very stupid girl.”

“Phillip could never act like that. Why do you insult him and then call him accomplished and handsome? He is those things and he is also very kind. He was very good to me.”

Lady Barresford shook her head in disgust. “I'm not insulting him, but to call him kind merely shows what a provincial you are. He has a grand reputation with ladies. He can get any lady he wishes to toss up her skirts for him. He has no interest in marriage. All understand that. He is only twenty-six, after all. There is no way he would offer for you. You're lying and I won't have it.” She hit her palm to her forehead. “But when all's said and done, you're still an earl's granddaughter. What in heaven's name am I to do with you now?”

Yet another person to decide what to do with Sabrina Eversleigh, she thought, and stared down at her toes.

“You will go home to Yorkshire,” Lady Barresford said with sudden decision. “You will try to be conciliating with Elizabeth and Trevor, for there is your grandfather to think about. You don't want to make him more ill than he is now. Yes, you will be nice, you will be civil, you will apologize. I hope Trevor and Elizabeth will forgive you.”

Sabrina raised her eyes to her aunt's face. “I can't go back to Monmouth Abbey, Aunt. Even though you don't wish to believe me, Trevor did try to rape me. I have no doubt that if I were to return unprotected, he would succeed unless I shot him, and I would have to. Then our line would die out since he's the only male heir. As to Elizabeth, I can no longer live in the same house with her. She has changed toward me.”

“Do you blame her? You tried to seduce her husband of one month.”

“I did not. Why won't you believe me?”

Lady Barresford looked like she wanted to shoot her. “Believe you? That is nonsense. You may well be stupid but I am not, Sabrina. Oh, good Lord, what do you intend to do? You must know that after all that has happened, you can't remain here.”

Sabrina rose. “You're wrong, Aunt, about all of it. You won't even consider that I'm telling you the absolute truth. Why? You said I was stupid and it was nonsense, but it wasn't, it's not.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Even blind old Mrs. Baggil could see the truth of this. You stayed with Phillip Mercerault for five days. Of course he bedded you.”

“Very well. I'll be out of your house as soon as I can pack.”

“And just where do you think you are going, miss?”

“I won't be on the streets, if that's what worries you. You forget that the money you have freely been lavishing on the both of us belongs to me. I bid you good-bye, Aunt.”

 

“Miss Sabrina.”

Sabrina drew her gaze from the wall to her maid's doughy, satisfied face. She just couldn't bear it another moment. Did every person, regardless of station, know of her disgrace and revel in it? She said, her chin up, “I am Lady Sabrina and that is what you will call me. Do you understand?”

Hickles obviously understood, but it was a trial for her. She was bored. Accepting the lady's position, she'd thought she would see a procession of gentlemen march through her rooms, but so far, nothing. Just the two of them, and the lady was silent and withdrawn. Finally, Hickles nodded. “Lady Sabrina, it's teatime. Would you like me to order it up?”

“Yes, thank you, Hickles.” She saw the avid gleam in her maid's eyes, heard the ill-disguised impatience
in her tone. How odd it is, she thought, staring after the woman, that even the servants knew of her disgrace. She certainly hadn't said anything. How had Hickles known? Of course, something else Hickles knew very well was that she was the only one to provide Sabrina—an eighteen-year-old-girl—with any respectability at all.

Sabrina watched the clock on the mantelpiece move its arms slowly into evening. She had no desire to leave the Cavendish Hotel for fear that she would meet someone she knew, or more accurately someone who knew her. She thought of the gentleman who had openly ogled her. She wished he were here so she could hit him.

When the clock finished chiming its four strokes, she realized with something of a start that it was Tuesday afternoon. She was to have ridden in the park with Phillip on Monday. She wondered if he'd been delayed at his home and was unaware of what had happened to her.

Phillip had known everything, had warned her again and again, and she'd laughed in his face. She looked at herself in the narrow mirror over the mantelpiece. Her face was a stranger's, set, thin, dark circles beneath her eyes.

“It's been proved,” she said to that pathetic stranger in the mirror, “you're a fool. A very stupid fool. A fool who has no future. All you have is a string of days that will stretch out without end into months and then into years.” She felt sudden fury at the injustice of it all and smashed her fisted hand into the mirror. The glass shattered and she looked at the blood that was beginning to trickle down her fingers.

Toward midnight, after hours of frustrated thinking, an idea came to her. The world hadn't changed, but she certainly had. She'd nurtured romantic ideas about
a future that could no longer be hers, then she'd allowed herself to wallow in self-pity, to act the broken, helpless female.

Yes, finally an idea. She would have to have the resolve to get it done. But she could do it. She knew she could do it. She finally fell into a deep sleep.

 

Phillip didn't return to London on Monday. He returned from Dinwitty Manor on Saturday, earlier than expected. The fact of the matter was, he had missed her, curse those incredible violet eyes of hers. He couldn't stop thinking about her, wondering what she was doing, wondering if she was finally well and back to her former energy, which he imagined was formidable, hoping she was eating enough, wondering if she would like Cook's offerings here at Dinwitty Manor, and knew she'd swoon at the food here, everyone did.

He'd come back to disaster. He sat now in the library of his town house on Wednesday, staring thoughtfully into space, his fingers wrapped about a folded piece of stationery.

It had taken nearly more determination than he laid claim to not to go to Sabrina as soon as he'd known the full extent of her disgrace. He'd even had Dambler speak to other servants so that he would know everything. It was bad. But he'd stayed put. He guessed that if he'd gone to the Cavendish Hotel on Saturday or even Sunday or Monday, she would have been more furious than reasonable. He could easily imagine her anger, her bitterness, her sense of injustice at what had happened. He'd even wondered if she'd blamed him for being right. Of course she would. The messenger always got the knife in the innards.

He unfolded the note and read it swiftly through once again. At last. He doubted he could have stayed away from her much longer. She had a business matter
to discuss with him, did she? At least she still had guts. She'd thought it all through and come up with a solution. He couldn't wait to hear what she had to say. It seemed to him now that he'd done the right thing by not going to her immediately, by offering his services yet again. No, now she was the one to offer. She'd finally come to her senses. He wondered as he allowed Dambler to assist him to dress exactly what she would say to him.