Page 36 of His Sinful Touch

Sabrina nodded. Strangely, the more she learned about herself, the more uncomfortable she felt. “I suppose I could have recognized it from books or something.”

Alex gave her a skeptical glance. “Do you know what Durham Cathedral looks like? Or Winchester?”

“No. I agree—I must have some sort of familiarity with the place.”

“I’ll start looking into Wells.” Uncle Bellard sounded pleased with the idea. “Wells is very old. It had a Roman encampment, you know—natural place to build because of the three wells it contained. In the civil war it was besieged by parliamentarian forces, and they damaged the cathedral. Stabled their horses in it.” Uncle Bellard sighed. “Used the statuary for target practice, too. One wonders why these religious warriors are so intent on destroying things. The last of the Bloody Assizes were held in Wells, as well.”

“I’ve heard of the Bloody Assizes,” Alex said. “But I don’t know what they were about.”

“They were after the Battle of Sedgemoor in the Levels, when the Monmouth Rebellion collapsed.”

“The Levels?” Alex asked.

“The lowlands in northern Somerset,” his uncle explained.

“Glastonbury Tor is there,” Sabrina added, and both men turned to look at her. She shrugged. “Apparently I know Glastonbury Tor, as well. It stands in the midst of the Levels, just this one single hill, with nothing but flat land all around it. It’s eerie when you see it in the distance rising up out of a mist.”

“They say the Levels were once part of the sea and Glastonbury Tor was an island in it,” Bellard said. “Some people also think it was the island of Avalon of Arthurian legend. Miss Sabrina, I think it’s more and more likely that you have lived in that area. I have a number of books...” He trailed off, moving toward the bookcases.

“Perhaps Wells is where you moved when your family left the house we were in last night,” Alex suggested.

“But why did I start out in Baddesly Commons? And why would I have gone to London? Why wouldn’t I have gone to Wells if it was my home?”

“Perhaps just to throw off your pursuer.” Alex shrugged. “It would make that ticket to Bath even more reasonable, as if you were running for home. The thing is, you must have lived in London as well, even though it didn’t seem familiar. Those pictures in that house, you being in possession of the owner’s pocket watch...”

She nodded. “Yes. No doubt you’re right. It’s so disappointing that the house didn’t waken my memory.”

“Well, it’s been six years since the owner left. You would have been young, and memories fade. Still, when you were getting that ticket to Wells and to London, you would have known about the house and thought you could stay there. Or perhaps you have a relative or friend here—the letter writer seems likely—whom you believed would shelter you. Hopefully Tom will find out something from the records, but while he is looking, I think it’s more important than ever to find someone who recognizes you.”

“You mean go to another party?”

He nodded. “After seeing that house and the portrait of that woman, I think it’s very likely you know someone who moves in Society. We’ve gone only to small sort of gatherings before now. But tonight Mrs. Roger Dalhousie is hosting a gala. It’s always a crush—Mrs. Dalhousie casts a very wide net. Kyria is going, and I think Theo and Megan could be persuaded to, as well. With all six of us, our entrance will be noticed. Even if it’s not, the odds are Megan will trigger some sort of contretemps before the evening is over.”

Sabrina giggled. “Does she always?”

“Almost without fail—well, being American and Irish and a reporter, not to mention a reformer like my mother, she’s bound to offend someone sooner or later.” He grinned. “We’ll go up and down the grand staircase several times just to make sure everyone sees you.”

“Very well. But it seems an awfully haphazard method.”

“It is. But it’s better than doing nothing.”

That evening, as Alex had predicted, they made a grand entrance, arriving with Kyria’s usual lateness, so that the family group walked down the wide stairs into the ballroom alone. Since Kyria wore a peacock blue gown, with a pin of jeweled stones resembling a peacock itself in her vivid red hair, it would have been difficult for anyone not to notice them.

Hard as it was to shine with Kyria in the party, Megan managed it, wearing a flame-red dress that picked up the reddish highlights in her hair. Kyria had chosen a pale pink satin gown for Sabrina, assuring her that it was the perfect foil for her dramatic black hair and strawberries-and-cream complexion. And, of course, when Sabrina tried it on, she saw immediately that Kyria was right. The ruche of the skirt’s lush material combined with the delicate color of the gown managed to make it look both luscious and demure at the same time.

Walking down the stairs on Alex’s arm, Sabrina felt like a queen making a state entrance. Her nerves quivered at the thought of being the object of so many people’s gazes, but with Alex beside her, she could ignore the stares.

The party was, as Alex had predicted, a crush. They wove their way through the crowd of people. Kyria greeted people right and left, skillfully managed to slide out of entangling conversations and avoid outright introductions of Sabrina, having no last name to give. Sabrina met a veritable sea of faces without recognizing a single one. It was a relief, after a long tour of the room, when Alex declared that they had done enough for the moment.

As the others wandered off, Alex snagged a couple of glasses of punch for Sabrina and himself. There was another smaller staircase at the opposite end of the huge room, and he steered her over to it, carefully maneuvering it so that they stood a couple of steps up on the staircase as they chatted, still in full view of the party.

At first Sabrina was uncomfortably conscious of being an object of attention, but after a few moments, she forgot about everyone else, as she was caught up in her conversation with Alex. So she did not notice the woman approaching them until the woman, only feet away, exclaimed, “Sabrina? Sabrina Blair? Whatever are you doing in London?”

Chapter Thirteen

SABRINA WHIRLED AND stared at the woman, shocked. She was taller than Sabrina and demurely dressed in a white dress accented with rows of lace ruffles around the bottom of the overskirt, sleeves and neckline. Pale blue bows decorated each point where the overskirt was raised to reveal the froth of lacy underskirt. Wearing pristine white gloves and a strand of modest pearls around her neck, she looked every inch a proper young lady—corseted, straight, her neckline not too high to be unfashionable, nor too low to be indiscreet. Her eyes were a quiet gray blue, and the only flamboyant thing about her was her wealth of hair, a vibrant reddish gold, which she had tamed into a conservatively upswept style.

She smiled as she walked forward and said, “I didn’t realize you were here. Peter said nothing about it.” As Sabrina gazed at her blankly, her steps faltered and she stopped. “Sabrina?” The smile dropped from her face, surprised puzzlement turning to hurt. “Sabrina? What—” Her gaze flickered toward Alex and she stiffened a little. “I didn’t realize you knew Lord Cons—” Her eyes narrowed. “No, wait, I’m sorry, you are not Lord Constantine, are you? You must be—”