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“I asked him about it just before he died,” continued her mother. “I asked him why he’d never suggested that we—”
“Mama!” Sabrina exclaimed, mortified.
Her mother let out a frustrated sigh. “I can see you aren’t ready for this yet. But you will be one day. And when that day comes, I want you to know you can talk to me, Sabrina. I have knowledge that could save your marriage. I’m only trying to help you, darling.”
Sabrina remained silent, hoping, praying that this uncomfortable conversation would end. Mama had it all wrong. She wasn’t afraid of her husband losing his desire for her. Such was only to be expected.
“I’ll tell you another thing,” continued her mother, “I’m considering marrying again.”
“What?”
“Lord Sheffield has asked for my hand. Again.”
“Lord Sheffield? But mother, he’s, he’s—”
“A bit older th
an me, I know, but still spry enough. He was quite the handsome buck when we first met. I actually quite fancied him. In fact, I almost accepted his first proposal. But then I met your father, and I was so attracted, I knew I could marry no other man. Sheffield was crushed—begged me not to do it. Swore he’d run Harry through and then kill himself if I did. But I’d already made my choice. Because of me, they didn’t speak to each other for many years.”
It was as if the laws of reality had simply unraveled. Men had vied for her mother’s hand, threatening violence and suicide over the loss of her affections.
“We were mad for each other, Harry and I,” her mother said softly. “Simply mad. We married as soon as decency allowed. Life isn’t always going to follow the neat little plans we’ve laid out, Sabrina. I fully intended to marry Sheffield all those years ago, but I was so drawn to your father after I met him that I could think of no one else. It was very romantic.”
Immediately, the spirit of rebellion arose in Sabrina’s breast. Romance. What useless drivel! Her mother seemed determined to place her faith in illusions. Papa had not taken a mistress as a last resort, he’d simply done what all young married men did after a few years. Papa had been faithful to her longer than most husbands, in fact.
Given her own dreadful experience, Mama ought to understand her point of view regarding sentiment—especially now that she herself was marrying for more sensible reasons. Sheffield would make a much better companion for her than Papa had been. Not only were they good friends, but it was unlikely the man had any interest in passion at his age. Theirs was an eminently sensible arrangement. Saying such things, however, would earn her no favors with her romantic mother. “I understand, Mama,” she said quietly.
“I don’t think you do understand,” said her mother. “Your sisters all married for love, and look how happy they are. I’d hoped you would marry happily as well.”
“I will,” she assured her. Mama did not know everything, apparently. Her sister Victoria had recently written to Georgiana, who had in turn shared with her in confidence that Victoria suspected that her husband had taken a lover. Having “married for love,” she’d been devastated. No. Her way was better. “But for me, happiness means a sensible arrangement, Mama. Please try to understand.”
Her mother stared at her for a long moment, her face inscrutable. “Though I disagree with it, I respect your choice. But beware, for one day you may find that your heart has been given away without you even knowing it, my girl. And then you will have two choices: follow it, or learn to live without it. I would not advise the latter.”
Sabrina did not intend to ever be faced with that choice. Passion and desire seemed to lead to misplaced affection; therefore, she would avoid them.
Which meant avoiding Montgomery at all costs.
THE SUN SHONE brightly as Sabrina mounted her mare. The sky was a deep cerulean unmarred by clouds, the air crisp and clean. It was a perfect day for a hunt. Draping her skirts just so, she lifted her head proudly, tilting her chin up to show her profile to its best advantage. Prim and proper from her lace collar down to the shining toes of her polished boots, she knew it would be hard to believe she’d been caught kissing anyone in a library.
Such was her hope, anyway.
Fairford, who was mounting his horse just beside her, looked splendid in his pinks, a perfect example of refined English elegance.
At last, she saw him turn toward her. Immediately, she twisted away. The motion was a practiced one that deliberately exposed the sweep of her neck while emphasizing her miniscule waist. Her sister Georgiana had taught her that one.
Unfortunately, before she could turn back to him, another horse came up beside her. “Good day, Lady Sabrina. Fine morning, is it not?”
She looked up and nearly fell from her saddle. “In…indeed it is, my lord.”
Chadwick patted his mount’s neck, and it nickered softly, pawing the ground in anticipation. “I love riding on days like this. Good horse, lovely weather, excellent company. What more could anyone ask?”
His smile was benign and friendly—and completely bewildering. Her mind raced to come up with a reason why he would deliberately seek her out after having been so publicly humiliated. If London’s gossips had come down hard on her, they had been incredibly unkind to him. “I—I know of nothing better,” she replied, feeling awkward and praying she wasn’t about to be the center of a scene.
“Fairford.” Chadwick acknowledged the man behind her with a nod. “Are you for the paw or just enjoying the ride today?”
Fairford’s lip curled. “What is the point, if not to win?”
“Why, the pursuit itself, of course,” said Chadwick. “The excitement lies in the chase, does it not?”
