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“You don’t have to, darling. I could see it as plain as the nose on King George’s face.”
Frustration filled Sabrina as she stared at her sister. Eugenia’s face was set, her eyes far too knowing. Fine. The truth, then. “So what if I am? It doesn’t mean I shall marry him.”
“Why don’t you tell me the real reason you won’t consider him? And don’t bother bringing up the fact that he once courted me, because he didn’t. Not really. We weren’t suited and we both knew it. Neither of us wanted to marry the other.”
Sabrina could feel her teeth clenching. She’d kept it to herself all these years, and it just didn’t seem right to let it out now. But there seemed little choice if she wanted Eugenia to understand and help her get rid of Montgomery. How ironic that they should switch places now, ten years after she’d played the saboteur. “I don’t wish to marry a man to whom I am attracted.”
Eugenia stared at her in bewilderment. “Why ever not?”
“Mama loved Papa, and look how she suffered because of it,” she replied softly.
“Sabrina, you don’t know that. Mama and Papa were—”
“I do know, Eugenia,” Sabrina interrupted. “You were all so engrossed in your own affairs that perhaps you didn’t notice that not all was well between them. But I did. All those times you had me play spy for you, I saw. I heard. It all started that day with the snake. After that, I began paying attention. Especially to the servants’ talk. They speak quite freely about us when they don’t know we’re listening.”
“What did they say?”
“They said that Papa had not shared Mama’s bed in years. They spoke of how he took a new mistress every year and spent a fortune on her upkeep. They whispered about how his bastards pepper the villages around our country estate. It broke Mama’s heart. And I know it all to be true, Eugenia. I heard them arguing, and then listened to her crying. I heard everything.”
Eugenia said nothing.
Sabrina knew there was nothing to be said. Truth was truth. “At first, I was wroth with him over what I perceived as a terrible betrayal. But then I saw how much he genuinely cared for her and that he tried to make her happy in spite of her inability to…” She couldn’t say that. Not to anyone, not even Eugenia. “Papa was not a heartless reprobate.”
“No. He was not,” her sister agreed. “He was a wonderful father and a doting husband. And I don’t know what you heard or saw, but he and Mama were almost embarrassing in their openness of affection when I was a child.” She shook her head. “Something terrible must have happened.”
“What happened is that Papa was no different from any other man.” It did not come out as she intended, and she faltered under the harsh look Eugenia directed at her. “Eugenia, we women must face the fact that at some point, all married men take a lover or mistress. Passion simply does not last a lifetime, at least not mutually. It cannot. Men have certain…needs.” She felt herself blush, and hurried on. “Mama’s problem lay in that she could not accept the reality. She expected too much of Papa. I will not make that mistake with my husband.”
“I think you’re wrong. About everything. Have you ever asked Mama about it?”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Sabrina cut in stubbornly, unwilling to answer the question. “The decision is mine to make, and I choose to marry sensibly. I have no desire to fall prey to the misery of loving a man who cannot be faithful to me.”
“Then who will you marry?”
“I’ve selected the eldest son of Baron Middleton.”
“Fairford? He’s a bit aloof—and what about that Childers woman?”
“Exactly my point. He is a known quantity. Therefore, I shall have no illusions about him.”
“But surely you wish to at least be on friendly terms with your husband?”
“And I shall,” Sabrina replied with confidence. “A sensible man like him will understand my desire for a sensible arrangement.”
“Henry is quite sen—”
“Montgomery is anything but sensible,” Sabrina exclaimed, her patience at an end. “He is a pompous, irritating, immature, name-calling—”
“Pax!” cried Eugenia, waving her hands in laughing surrender. “The choice is ultimately yours, Sabrina. But if you want my advice, I’d say Henry is the better man. He’s certainly a better man than most, and I ought to know. You would do well to snap him up.”
“Again, I don’t recall asking, but thank you for your opinion,” Sabrina huffed. “Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to rest before changing for dinner.”
“Of course, my dear,” said Eugenia, rising. “I completely understand. Being besieged by one’s admirers can be so exhausting.” She ducked just in time to avoid the pillow aimed at her head. “Especially when they shower you with such ardent prose,” she added, just before slipping out.
Even in her foul mood, Sabrina couldn’t help but laugh. She fell back on her bed, feeling really and truly “besieged.” Flanked by the devil on one side and a besotted puppy on the other, with her nosy, meddling family in between, she’d be fit for Bedlam by the end of the Season.
The Somerset ball was the perfect place to launch a second campaign.
She had chosen her armor with care, and wore pale, corn-flower-blue silk traced with delicate silver embroidery embellished with tiny pearls—and the lowest décolletage her mother would tolerate. The gazes tracking her progress told her she’d chosen well: the men’s were satisfyingly appreciative, the women’s satisfyingly not.
