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Later that night, she tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position in her corset. Tying the blasted thing had been difficult without any help, but she’d succeeded, though only just. A great deal of twisting and wriggling had secured it on her person tightly enough that it wouldn’t slide down, at least.
Sleep eluded her, so she arose and lit the lamp, trimming it so that it cast only the dimmest light. A blanket at the bottom of her door and a kerchief stuffed in the keyhole ensured no one passing would suspect she was awake.
Padding over to her writing desk, she sat. Crisp parchment stared back at her, awaiting the stroke of the pen that would transform it into a blade to bury in a man’s heart. Henry would never forgive her.
Determined not to cry, she yanked Percy’s ring off her finger and set it on the desk. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out Fairford’s and crammed it on. The gem sat heavy on her hand, seeming to carry with it the weight of all her guilt and grief. She stared at it with unseeing eyes until the ticking of the clock slowly intruded.
Parchment and ink waited patiently, but time would not.
One hour and several ruined sheets later, she sprinkled sand and passed the blotter over her finished missive. Rolling it up tightly, she slipped the little tube through Percy’s ring and left it on her pillow. Then she took up her boots in one hand and stuffed a small bundle beneath her other arm.
With her meager possessions, Sabrina tiptoed down the hall in silence. The servants should all be asleep at this hour, but there was always a chance someone might be up and about, sneaking to the kitchens to pinch a snack or on their way to a tryst.
Her father’s estate office was dark but for the thin moonlight pooling beneath the windows. Carefully, she picked her way over to the french doors. It had been so long since they’d been opened that the lock was stiff, and the click sounded like a cannon shot in her ears when it finally gave. After a quick pause to be sure no one had heard, she opened the door, wincing as the hinges protested faintly in their outward swing.
Cool night air fanned her face as she sat and tugged on her boots. Rising, she stepped out onto the path and turned to close the door. Now that it had been opened, however, it refused to shut. Whispering an oath, she propped it closed with a rock and slipped into the night.
“Come,” Fairford whispered, stepping from the shadows. He mounted his horse and held out a hand. “We must depart with all haste. The faster we leave London behind, the better.”
Nodding, she passed her bundle up and allowed him to pull her into the saddle before him. Through quiet streets they rode, carefully avoiding the watch as well as London’s other, less savory denizens. When they at last reached his carriage, he helped her in and then went to speak briefly with the driver and his valet, who was traveling with them. When finished, he climbed in and sat across from her.
She smiled at him, a quick, nervous smile.
“You have no reason to be worried,” he told her as the carriage lurched into motion. “I shall see to everything.”
“I have complete confidence in your abilities, my lord.”
She stared, watching as the light from the setting moon illuminated his face. In this light, his hair appeared white, reminding her suddenly of Miss Bidewell. In her rush to get out of her own predicament, she’d completely forgotten that he was engaged to her. Now, she could not help but wonder how much of his amorous proposal this afternoon was due to a desire to escape marrying her. She said nothing of it, however, and instead closed her eyes.
Poor Miss Bidewell. She doubted very much whether the girl would be as lucky as she was. If her erstwhile rival had disliked her before, she would positively loathe her now. She did not look forward to facing the young lady’s censure, however well deserved, when she returned to London.
Above all, she did not look forward to seeing Henry again. Perhaps he would be kind and spare her the pain of an ugly confrontation.
IT WAS JUST now nine o’clock. What in heaven’s name was taking so long? Henry paced the length and breadth of the salon again, waiting.
When Lady Aylesford at last arrived, consternation was written in the sharp line between her brows. “Henry, I’m afraid Sabrina won’t come down. Her door is locked. I’ve knocked, I’ve tried talking to her, but she refuses to answer. I don’t know what else to d—”
“He has broken off the engagement.”
“What?” She sat abruptly, stunned.
“She begged him to elope to Scotland after I danced with her. He refused and withdrew his suit.”
“But…she said nothing!”
“If she hasn’t told you yet, it’s probably because she’s hoping he’ll change his mind. But he won’t. He came to me this morning and told me everything. I’ve come to ask you for her hand and to request your aid in convincing her to accept my offer. I went this morning and obtained a special license. We can be married today.”
“I shall fetch her immediately.”
Only a few moments later, he heard her panicked voice calling. He arrived just as she was giving orders to a burly footman to break down her daughter’s door. When it lay in ruins, they burst into an empty room.
He saw at once that the bed had been slept in, but where was Sabrina? His eye fell on a curious object resting on the pillow. Coming closer, he saw it was a roll of parchment bound by a sapphire ring. Snatching it up, he tore off the ring and began to read. Halfway down the page, he felt the air leave his lungs. “She’s eloped with Fairford.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped, all the color leaving her face. “Does it say where they’ve gone?”
“No.” Pain blossomed in his chest, but he shoved it away. Pain could be dealt with later. What he needed now was information.
“Have they made for Gretna Green, do you think?” she asked. “Or might he have done the same as you and procured a special license? They might already be married by now.”
