Lady Sabrina’s Secret (17 page)

She slept very badly that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Rowan lying with his mistress between silken sheets, and she could even imagine them speaking of her, and smiling at her naivety. At last it became too much of a torment, and she got up from the bed.

Her long coal black hair fell in untidy profusion about the shoulders of her white nightgown, and the glowing light of the fire was reflected in her gray eyes as she went to sit by the fire. She was bewildered by the strength and speed of her feelings for Rowan, for nothing like this had ever happened to her before, not even when she'd first known Jonathan. It was as if she were being swept along by forces beyond her will, and that all control was being denied her. Common sense bade her to protect herself, but there was no room for common sense when she
remembered
how she had felt when he'd kissed her on the steps by Lady Ann's house. A raw, heady desire had seized her then; her whole body had ached with a need that only he had aroused. She had wanted to surrender all to him, and she still wanted to.

The fire shifted in the hearth, and the clock struck half past five. At this time yesterday she had been changing to drive to Chippenham with him, and Mrs McNeil had been seated in this very chair.
Take care, my dear, for when this is over
…. When this was over, what then? What would life be for Deborah Marchant?

With a sigh, she got up restlessly from the chair. Perhaps a glass of hot milk would be the thing to help her relax enough to sleep. Putting on her wrap, she lit a candle from the fire, and then left the room.

The house was dark and silent as she made her way down the staircase and then along the passage past the archway to the door leading to the kitchen in the basement. The last time she had come this way, Rowan had been
waiting
for her.

As she entered the kitchen, for the most fleeting of moments it was as if he was there again. She thought she saw him by the fire, smiling as he turned toward her, but there were only shadows. Her hand trembled a little as she put the candlestick down upon the table, and the light quivered over the room for a moment before becoming steady once more.

The milk pail was kept on a marble slab in the pantry, and she took a small copper saucepan from a hook on the wall, but as she did so, there was a stealthy tapping at the window pane.

With a startled cry she dropped the pan, and her heart began to pound as she whirled anxiously about to stare at the window. A shadow moved, and the tapping came again, but a little more urgently. Then she heard a muffled voice.

‘Deborah? It's me, Richard. Let me in.'

Her eyes widened with disbelief. ‘Richard?' she repeated incredulously.

He pressed his face closer to the glass, and at last she saw that it was indeed her brother. A glad cry escaped her lips as she ran to the door. Her fingers were shaking so much that she could barely turn the key in the lock or drag the bolts back, but at last she succeeded, and in a moment she was in his arms.

‘Oh, Richard!' she cried, hugging him tightly, half
laughing
, and half crying at the same time.

He felt cold as he held her, and the iciness of the predawn night swept bitterly into the warm kitchen,
bringing
with it the smell of frozen earth and trapped chimney smoke. Then he released her and turned to push the door to before facing her. He had her gray eyes and almost black hair, but he looked strained and anxious. He wore a rather crumpled ankle-length brown greatcoat with a sable collar, and he looked tired as he tossed his tall hat and gloves down upon the table next to the candle, making the solitary flame leap and dance.

Deborah gazed at him through tears of joy. ‘I can't believe you're here,' she whispered. ‘I—'

‘And
I
can't believe
you
are here either,' he interrupted coolly.

Her smile faltered. ‘Richard, I—'

‘Do my feelings mean nothing to you, Deborah? I trusted you to do as I asked, but instead you decide to play the loyal sister and come here to right all the wrongs. No doubt your motives are admirable, but I do not appreciate them at all. I went to St Mary Magna to see you because I felt so wretched and alone that I could not bear it any longer. I wanted to be with the one person in the world whom I felt
I could trust beyond all shadow of doubt. I arrived there only to be told by Briggs that you'd come here the moment you received my letter. I don't for a moment imagine that your purpose was simply to spend some socially agreeable time with Jenny and Henry, or that you've come here for the cure. Deborah, if you've caused Sabrina any
embarrassment
or distress, I will never forgive you.'

Tears still shimmered on her lashes, but they were tears of hurt, not of happiness. ‘I couldn't let things remain as they were, Richard, for I love you too much for that.'

‘But I
wanted
you to leave things as they were!' he cried. ‘The last thing on God's earth I've ever wanted is for Sabrina to have to face any hint of gossip. If she and I had managed to elope and marry, then she would have had the protection of my name, and we would have weathered the storm together, but—'

Deborah couldn't bear it and had to interrupt. ‘Richard, Sabrina knows that you are innocent, and so does her brother. Lady Ann was being blackmailed by Sir James, who tonight wrote a confession that clears your name entirely. Sir James is at this moment en route for Jamaica, and we only need your presence to make the triumph complete. Sabrina loves you, and the duke will give you both his blessing to wed if that is what you wish.' Her voice shook, and the words came out in a rush.

Now it was his turn to stare. His lips parted and then closed again, and suddenly he leaned both hands on the table and stood with his head bowed. ‘I … I cannot believe it,' he whispered.

She went to him, putting a tentative hand on his
shoulder
. ‘But it is true, Richard, and it came about because I decided not to abide by your wishes, and so I make no
apology. I would do it again.'

He turned toward her then, crushing her into his arms and resting his cheek against her hair. ‘Forgive me, Deborah, forgive me for finding fault, and for speaking so harshly.'

She slipped her arms around his waist. ‘You were not to know that it had all come to so satisfying a conclusion.'

He drew back, taking her face in his hands. ‘And Sabrina really does still love me?'

‘Yes. Sit down, and I'll tell you everything that has happened since I arrived here. Well, nearly everything,' she added, deciding that it would be best to be completely discreet about her own affairs.

He listened intently as she related the story of how Sir James Uppingham had met his downfall, and when she finished, he smiled at her. ‘What a veritable thorn you've been, Deborah Marchant. I will be eternally grateful.'

She looked away, for Rowan had once used those very words to her. ‘You must rest for a while now, and then we can both go to see Sabrina in the morning,' she said, going to pick up the saucepan and replace it on its hook.

He watched her. ‘What's wrong, Sis?' he asked after a moment.

‘Wrong? Nothing.'

‘I know you better than that. You said earlier that you would tell me nearly everything. What is it that you've omitted to tell?'

‘There isn't anything,' she replied.

‘When it comes to pretending on my behalf, you are apparently very adept, but when it comes to yourself, you are very unconvincing indeed. Deborah, you've done so very much for me, that it is a little selfish of you not to
allow me the chance to offer help in return.'

She looked away. ‘There is nothing you can say or do that will make any difference, Richard, I….' She couldn't finish and turned away again so that he couldn't see how close to tears she was.

He got up and came to her, taking her by the shoulders and making her look at him again. ‘Tell me,' he ordered firmly, holding her gaze.

She hesitated, and then drew a long breath. ‘Richard, we are a brother and sister in love with another sister and brother,' she said quietly.

He stared at her. ‘You and Rowan Sinclair?'

‘I love him, but everyone knows he loves Kate Hatherley.'

‘Oh, Deborah,' he breathed, kissing her forehead and then pulling her comfortingly into his arms.

Mrs McNeil was overjoyed to be awoken early the next morning with the news that Richard had returned. Still in her night bonnet and gown she hurried from her bed and down to the breakfast room, where he was enjoying a very hearty breakfast indeed.

He rose swiftly from his chair to hug her, for he had always been as fond of her as she was of him, and when she had finished weeping with delight that he had turned up at such a very advantageous moment, she made him sit down again and tell her all that had been happening to him.

Deborah sat with a cup of coffee and a slice of untouched toast. She wore a blue-and-white gingham morning gown, and her dark hair was piled into a knot on top of her head, with a blue satin ribbon fluttering loose to the nape of her neck. There was a frost outside, but the sun was already
melting it, and the clear skies promised another beautiful day. She smiled as she watched Mrs McNeil's undisguised delight, as she listened again to Richard's story of the inns and stables he'd slept in before he'd gone to St Mary Magna. She wished she could join in the general joy and delight, but just as had happened the evening before with the champagne celebration, she was too apprehensive on her own account. Mrs McNeil was right, for how could she possibly prevail over a rival as dazzling and seemingly invincible as England's most beautiful and fascinating actress?

Shortly after breakfast she and Richard hurried along the pavement toward the house at the end, for he hadn't been able to contain himself a moment longer, but simply had to be reunited with Sabrina.

His greatcoat had been attended to by the laundry maid, and there was a lightness in his step. He was transformed, not only outwardly, but inside as well. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and now all that remained to make his happiness complete was to be with his beloved Sabrina again.

At his side Deborah was almost fearful of being admitted to the house. What if Rowan wasn't there? What if he had indeed spent the night with his mistress?

Richard knocked at the door, and the startled butler hastened to open it. ‘Mr Wexford? Oh, Mr Wexford, do come in!' he cried on seeing who stood there.

They entered the quiet hall, and the butler hurried up the staircase to tell Sabrina who had called. They heard her undisguised cry of joy, and a moment later she appeared at the top of the staircase. She wore a lace-trimmed
nightgown
, and there were no slippers on her feet as she ran
down to fling herself in Richard's arms.

They were locked in an embrace, their lips together in a long, sweet kiss, and both their faces were flushed with love as she drew back to turn to the butler.

‘Please tell the duke that he must come down
immediately
,' she said.

Any gladness Deborah felt on learning that he hadn't spent the night away was speedily replaced by intense dismay when the butler replied.

‘His Grace went to North Parade late last night, my lady, and he has not returned.'

Two o'clock had long since past, and the afternoon light was beginning to fade as Deborah stood waiting in vain by the drawing-room window, gazing across at the daffodils in Crescent Fields. She wore a lavender silk pelisse over a white muslin gown, and there were lavender plumes
curling
down from the crown of her leghorn bonnet. She was dressed for the carriage drive to Beechen Cliff that had not taken place, and as the minutes continued to tick
relentlessly
by, she knew that Kate had won the brief battle for the Duke of Gretton – if battle it had ever been, for when it came to choosing between his mistress and Deborah Marchant, there had apparently been no real contest at all.

Of course it was vaguely possible that he had been detained somewhere, for he had taken Sir James's
confession
to the authorities, and the truth about who had stolen Lady Ann's necklace was now known all over Bath. When Richard had driven with Mrs McNeil to call upon Lady Ann, he had been recognized, and a great stir had been caused. No one as yet knew about Christabel, for it was Lady Ann's intention to say nothing until she had taken her daughter to the family seat in Hertfordshire the next day,
and, of course, no one knew about Richard and Sabrina, for gossip was to be avoided at all costs.

Deborah stared across Crescent Fields. Yes, it was
possible
that Rowan had been unavoidably detained, but it was far more likely that he had forgotten all about the promised drive, or indeed that he had chosen to forget it. Kate had sworn to satisfy his every need, and that was precisely what she would have done, thus making absolutely certain that her upstart challenger had paled into complete insignificance.

Turning from the window, Deborah went to hold her hands out to the fire. She had been the end in fools to allow a man like Rowan to enter her heart, and she should have accepted the truth with some semblance of dignity when she learned where he had spent the night, but instead she had allowed herself to hope. She had dressed with care for the drive, telling herself that he would come, but he had not, and here she was, still waiting. He had yet to even return to his house, and was no doubt at this moment languishing in Kate's arms, without even a passing thought for the foolish one he'd so swiftly and easily beguiled.

The door opened behind her, and she turned to see Mrs McNeil coming in. The older woman wore a fawn taffeta gown that rustled busily as she crossed the room to put an understanding hand on Deborah's arm. ‘This won't do, you know, my dear,' she said gently. ‘Why don't you go upstairs and change into your afternoon gown? No one need ever know that you waited for him.'

‘I will know.'

‘It was bound to come to this.'

Deborah swallowed. ‘Well, you did warn me, and I chose not to take any notice.'

‘My dear, I doubt if the day will ever come when we women can be relied upon to do the sensible thing, not when it comes to matters of love. The Duke of Gretton is the sort of man to turn even the stoniest heart, and you, my poor Deborah, do not have a stony heart. Far from it.'

‘I will know better in future, you may be sure of that,' Deborah murmured, gazing into the fire.

‘Well, that's as may be, but for the moment we must think how to show him that you don't give a fig. You must proceed as if there had never been any arrangement to go to Beechen Cliff and—'

‘I have decided to leave Bath first thing in the morning,' Deborah interrupted quietly.

‘Oh, my dear….'

‘I don't want to stay here, not when I am bound to see him. Besides, there is no need for me to stay here, and quite suddenly the thought of St Mary Magna is very enticing indeed. I came here only to see if I could clear Richard's name, and now that that has been done, there is no need for me to stay.'

‘If that is what you really wish, my dear, then there is nothing more I can say, except that I think it is the wrong decision. For your pride's sake, it would be better if you remained here and at least gave yourself the satisfaction of cocking a snook at him, even if the snook was a pretense.'

‘I'd rather not see him again, if possible. I just want to go home and forget this aspect of my stay here. You do
understand
, don't you?'

‘Yes, my dear, I understand perfectly.'

‘I will leave at first light in the morning.'

‘So early?'

‘It's best,' Deborah said, and then had to choke back a
sob that rose suddenly in her throat. Gathering her skirts, she hurried from the room.

Mrs McNeil felt close to tears herself, but they were tears of anger. ‘Plague take you Rowan Sinclair, and may it consign you and your wretched mistress to perdition itself!' she muttered at the empty room.

Dawn was just breaking as Deborah's traveling carriage drew up at the door. The horses' breath stood out in clouds in the frosty air, and the lamps cast pools of pale light in the shadows as Sanders opened the door of the house and two footmen carried the first trunk out to be loaded. The Crescent was quiet, and there were no lights at any of the windows along the elegant sweep of houses. Bath was serene in the first early grayness of the new morning, and there was a luminosity about the sky that promised another beautiful spring day. But as Deborah prepared to leave, there was still no sign of Rowan.

Richard and Mrs McNeil waited in the drawing room. He wore a blue paisley dressing gown belonging to Henry Masterson, and his hair was tousled from sleep. Mrs McNeil's hair was plaited and without powder, and she had on her peach velvet wrap. They neither of them spoke, for what was there to say that had not already been said. They had both tried to persuade Deborah to stay, but
nothing
would move her.

They exchanged glances as at last they heard her descending the staircase with Amy, who was once again armed with the very necessary lavender pomander. Then the maid hurried on out to the waiting carriage, and Deborah came into the drawing room to say her farewells. There were shadows under her gray eyes, and her face was
pale, but she gave a brave smile. She wore the fur-trimmed gold velvet cloak she had had on for the outward journey from St Mary Magna, and her hands were plunged into her muff, for it would be several hours yet before the sun was up and the air became less cold.

Richard met her eyes. ‘Please don't leave like this, Deborah, for there is no need.'

‘There is every need, Richard.'

‘He may not be with Kate Hatherley. Dammit, we don't know
where
he is!'

‘He's with her,' Deborah replied quietly, taking her hands from the muff and then going to embrace Mrs McNeil. ‘Thank you for everything, Mrs McNeil.'

‘It was nothing, my dear,' the older woman replied, returning the hug.

‘You were a sterling friend,' Deborah answered. ‘Indeed, you were the only person here who was prepared to stand by the Wexford family, and that is something I will never forget.' She turned to her brother. ‘Say goodbye to Sabrina for me, Richard.'

He pulled her into his arms, crushing her close. ‘Of course I will,' he muttered, and then drew back. ‘Do you wish to send a message to Rowan?'

‘No.'

‘But—'

‘There is nothing to say, Richard. I made a fool of myself and all I want now is to forget all about it.'

‘I feel so damned guilty.'

‘Guilty? Why?'

‘Because if it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened.'

Deborah smiled. ‘I've been taught an invaluable lesson,
Richard, and I won't forget it in a hurry. Please don't feel guilty, for I don't blame you at all; in fact I'm delighted that you and Sabrina are together again, and that you will soon be able to acknowledge your love to the whole world.'

‘After a suitable time,' he murmured.

‘But of course, for it wouldn't do at all for her to wear one man's ring one day, and another man's ring the next. Just think of the rattling teacups if that were to happen! The whole point of banishing Sir James to the Indies is to protect Sabrina from such gossip, so pray do not undo all the good work by hurrying things along.'

‘We won't.' He smiled, taking her face in his hands. ‘I wish you weren't going, for we've hardly had any time to talk.'

‘You and Sabrina must come to stay with me.'

‘I'd like that, and I'm certain she would, too.'

‘Come whenever you wish.' Deborah hugged him again, and then turned quickly away.

They followed her to the door and stood watching as Sanders assisted her into the waiting carriage. Williams cracked the whip once, and the team strained forward. They watched until the vehicle had vanished toward the Circus, and then Mrs McNeil looked toward the Sinclair residence.

‘I trust I will be able to be civil to the duke when next we meet,' she said.

‘Mrs McNeil, are you as convinced as Deborah that he is with Kate Hatherley?' Richard asked suddenly.

‘Where else would he be?'

‘I don't know, but I
do
know that he has never stayed away like this before without leaving word where he could be found. Sabrina is becoming a little concerned, for it isn't
like him to leave her in the dark.'

‘From all accounts, his mistress is keeping him fully occupied,' Mrs McNeil replied drily, recalling what Deborah had told her of Kate's visit.

‘Maybe.'

‘Whatever he's doing, there is no excuse for letting your sister down as he has done. He asked her to drive with him yesterday afternoon, intimating that there were important private things he wished to say to her, and he simply did not come, nor did he even bother to send word. He has treated her in a very cavalier fashion, and I for one think less of him as a consequence. Maybe Deborah has been too trusting for her own good, and maybe she has brought this upon herself, but it does not alter the fact that as I
understand
it he gave her cause to hope. Last night I wished him in perdition, and this morning I still wish it. The cold light of a new day hasn't softened my attitude toward him. He has behaved shabbily, and that is the truth.'

Tossing another angry look toward the end house, Mrs McNeil went inside. Richard remained on the doorstep for a moment longer. Was it the truth? Had Rowan simply behaved shabbily, or was there more to it? Maybe judgment should be reserved, for in his own experience the Duke of Gretton was not the sort of man to deliberately and callously cause pain and humiliation to someone like Deborah.

Bath slipped away as the sun rose above the eastern
horizon
, and Williams set the fresh horses along the hilly Chippenham road at a smart pace. Almost two hours after leaving Royal Crescent, the carriage passed the gates of Miss Algernon's academy, and Deborah glanced along the
cedar drive toward the redbrick mansion. The journey so far had been accomplished over roads she had last traveled with Rowan, but from now on she could try to put him from her thoughts. It wouldn't be easy, for she had lost her heart and head completely, but she would forget him in the end. She had to.

The spring weather was clement, and the carriage made good time, reaching the Angel at Sherborne by nightfall. She cried herself to sleep in her room that night, and was awake before dawn again the next morning, unable to sleep properly both because she was so upset and because the inn was busy all night, with stages and mail coaches
arriving
and leaving throughout the hours of darkness.

After an early breakfast, of which she ate only a little, she continued on the road to St Mary Magna, but no matter how much she tried to put Rowan from her mind, he was constantly there. If she glanced at a wayside cottage, she found herself remembering the drive to and from Chippenham. If she closed her eyes for a moment, she was in his arms in the darkness by Lady Ann's house,
surrendering
to the waves of heady desire that he had aroused. And if her gaze wandered to the new leaves beginning to unfurl in the hedgerows, her memory carried her back to that night in the conservatory, when he had suddenly kissed her. What possible reason could he have had for such a gesture, unless he had meant it? It had been that kiss above all else that had made her cling so foolishly to hope the following day. Every minute had seemed like an hour as she'd waited for his carriage to arrive at the door, and in the end she had had no option but to admit to herself that there was nothing to hope for.

Darkness had fallen by the time the carriage made its
weary way along the valley of the River Chaldon, and then up the village street toward the church and the house, and as Williams reined in for the last time and Deborah alighted, she took a deep breath of the remembered air. There was a tang of salt from the sea and the fragrance of the jonquils among the daffodils in the gardens, together with the sweet scent of woodsmoke from the village
chimneys
.

She glanced around, at the oriel window facing down the street, at the tower of the church against the sky, at the river, and at the lighted windows of the cottages. She was home, and if it hadn't been that Richard's good name had been restored, she would have wished with all her heart that she'd never left.