Elisabeth Kidd (25 page)

“Fortunately, however, Richard is not influenced by her in any important way, and would not be swayed by her if she refused to receive you.”

“Still, I should not like to be at daggers-drawn with her forever.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. “Thank you, Sabina. I confess I cannot be conciliatory when Lavinia raises my hackles, which she does all too frequently, but we will not be obliged to see her every day, and perhaps distance will allow us to be more tolerant.”

She reached for his hand and they rose, as if by mutual consent, to begin walking back down the hill. The shadows were already beginning to lengthen, and the sun was lower in the afternoon sky. She wondered where the time had gone.

“Why did you go to London?” she asked. “And speaking of that—why are you not in Devon at this moment?”

“I wrote to Jane immediately after leaving you last night, begging off attending the wedding. I did not tell her why, since you and I had come to no agreement, but I think she will understand. As for London—well, I suppose I was becoming desperate. I went away to make you miss me.”

“You did.”

“Good,” he said, unrepentant, but added, “I never meant to stay away. I could not have done so.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Perhaps you were right to be angry and to wish to teach me a lesson. But do tell me about Jane. How did you meet?”

He explained the circumstances, and his description of their delight in setting the
Ton
on its ear with their supposed infatuation with each other made her laugh, and she was able to dismiss the last vestiges of suspicion about his relationship with Jane Porter, if not quite all her envy of his warm friendship with her. What had he told Jane about her? She did not dare to ask. Not yet.

Instead, she looked up and smiled ruefully. “I hope I caused you a few sleepless nights as well.”

“A few? My dear, I considered abducting you like a Roman carrying off a Sabine. Were I Ariel, I would have ruined the plot of the play by carrying Miranda off to a cave by the sea and keeping her there forever. Or at least long enough to compromise her reputation.”

“I almost wish you had carried me off with you, instead of taking yourself to London all alone. Anyway, I was compromised that first night on the Theaks’ boat. I knew perfectly well who and where I was, remember, if not who you were. I wanted to be compromised. I loved James Owen.”

They were silent as, hand in hand, they reached the towpath and paused to watch a dignified mother swan and her three cygnets negotiating the slight currents stirred up in the canal by a pair of playful mallards. It was a moment before Sabina realized that Robert had been looking at her rather than the swans for some time. She gazed back at him, learning to read his thoughts in his eyes. She held her breath at what she thought she saw.

“Do you think you can bring yourself to marry Robert Ashton instead?” he said softly, as if half afraid of the answer.

She looked at him, and he saw the real love in her eyes, unclouded by doubts or suspicion or old quarrels.

“They are both the man I love,” she said, raising her hand to stroke his cheek lovingly. “If I marry one, I marry the other. I would not have one without the other. I love you enough for two.”

“Then there may just be enough love to satisfy us both,” he said, and pulled her to him to take its measure again.

“I have a proposition,” he said when he let her go.

“A
what
?”

He smiled. “I beg your pardon—an unfortunate choice of word. An idea, then, about our wedding.”

She sighed. “Oh, dear. I have been thinking ahead to being married and quite forgot the necessity for a wedding first. Will it be too tedious to wait and be married out of the village church? At least, that will be neutral ground.”

“Actually, I was thinking of an even speedier route.”

She looked at him, trying to read his thoughts, but he only smiled mischievously down at her. Then it came to her what he must be thinking.

“Are you suggesting that we—
elope
?”

“Not precisely. It would certainly save a great deal of botheration if we did the thing over the anvil in Scotland. But I know a bishop who might assist me to purchase a special license so that we could at least be married out of the church in Ashtonbury village—or in Market Harborough, if you like. We could spend our honeymoon on a narrowboat and be as far away from the world as if we had eloped.”

She smiled. “I like that idea. Could Bill arrange it—the boat, I mean?”

“I’ll speak to him before I leave. In any case, I must go away for a day first to settle some—unfinished business before I will free to stand beside you at the altar, and at the same time I can procure the license.”

“What business?”

He put his finger on her lips and smiled. “I’ll tell you when I am successful.”

She sighed. “I suppose you must have some secrets—until we are married. After that, my love, I shall expect you to confide your every thought. But I wish you did not have to go away again, Robert, even for a day. I daresay it is true that if we run to the border, we will be expected to marry in a more proper way later, so I suppose a special license would be the most agreeable option.”

“At least we will be together and can do the proper at our leisure. Let our families quarrel about
that
if they will.”

“Robert! I nearly forgot.
Where
are we to be together?”

He did not answer at once, gazing down at her thoughtfully. Then he smiled and said, “I don’t suppose you would care to follow the drum?”

“Don’t be absurd. Anyway, the war is over.”

“So it is. A pity.”

“Don’t make jokes, love. It
is
a dilemma.”

“I only meant that
I
do not care where we live, as long as we are together. So the choice is yours.”

“We would not have to live at Ashtonbury Abbey?”

“Good heavens, no!”

“And I suppose Bromleigh Hall is already rather over-crowded with Bromleys…”

“It would be something of a squeeze, but if that is what you want…”

“No, I want us to have somewhere of our own.” She held her breath for a moment, reluctant to hear his answer to her next suggestion.

“Would you dislike it terribly if we lived at Carling Manor?”

“Why should I dislike it?”

“Well, it is still a Bromley property, and…”

“A minor obstacle, I trust. How would it be if I asked Fletcher to sell it to me? Then it would be mine to give to you as a wedding present.”

“Oh, yes! Oh, Robert, would you? I think Fletcher would agree. Indeed, I shall insist that he do so.”

He laughed. “I doubt it will be necessary to threaten him physically, but I will speak to him as soon as…ah, no, I suppose it must wait until we return from our canal cruise, if he will not be angry with me then. Or I can leave him a note before we leave, apologizing beforehand for spiriting you away.”

“We must both leave him word, I think. And for your brother. And Dulcie.”

“It sounds as if we had better go home at once and begin our preparations before they develop into a greater rodomontade than posting the bans and receiving all those well-wishing—and and curious—callers.”

Suddenly conscious of the passing time, they quickly made a plan to meet in Ashtonbury village the day after next at four o’clock. This would give Sabina time to pack and transport her belongings unobtrusively to Carling, where Robert would meet her for the drive to Market Harborough.

He saw her onto her horse, which had obligingly followed her down the hill. They parted as hastily as one more kiss, one last embrace, allowed, she to return home before her absence was noted and he to return to the lockkeeper’s cottage to tell Rose the news and ask Bill to locate a narrowboat for them.

“Good-bye, my Miranda,” he said, taking her outstretched hand in his. “Soon we shall set forth on our journey to Camelot and find only good things and kind people on our way.”

She smiled. “Farewell, my knight errant. I wish I did not have to leave you, even for another day.”

He kissed her hand and smiled up at her. “This will be the last time, my love. After tomorrow, nothing will keep us apart again.”

Sabina waved as he turned back toward the lock, then reluctantly set her mount toward home—toward Bromleigh Hall—gazing at the countryside she rode over as if she would never see it again. That was nonsense, of course; they would be home again with the week, and nothing would have changed here. But this was the last time she would see it as Sabina Bromley.

Sabina Ashton. Robert’s wife. It had a lovely, simple sound to it. People would continue to call her by her title, of course, but somehow she no longer cared about that. She felt like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Lady Sabina Bromley was no more; Sabina Ashton would be a different creature altogether.

She did not know how she would get through the next day.

Chapter 17

After leaving Robert, Sabina was scarcely able to get through dinner with her family without revealing the unsettling mixture of sadness and joy that bubbled inside her. Later, she had been too intoxicated with the memory of her meeting with Robert, and too full of the secret she could not yet reveal, to be able to sleep.

She had thus stayed up choosing what clothing she would take with her on her honeymoon and then hiding it away where Emily would not notice. Early the next morning, she had taken those things to Carling, secreted amongst several small items of furniture and books. She had also written a note to Fletcher to place, as her last act before leaving her old home, in the box of cigars which he broached only after dinner. He would not find it until she and Robert were married and gone.

Yesterday, when they had made their plans, a day had seemed not nearly enough time to prepare, but now that same day seemed endless. It was an eternity until bedtime, and Sabina spent the day busying herself at Carling, as any good housekeeper would in preparation to welcome a new bride to the house. The fact that the bride would be herself only made the work more important—and exhausting enough to allow her, thankfully, to sleep the night through. The next morning, she would have one last task to occupy herself.

* * * *

Sabina sat on the edge of the settee in the parlor into which the butler had shown her. He had betrayed no emotion on hearing her name and had certainly given her no hint as to how she would be received.

She had never been in Ashtonbury Abbey. She looked around her, consciously comparing this room, this house, unfavorably with Bromleigh Hall. She knew she ought not to think such uncharitable thoughts. She had come to put all that behind her so that she could go to Robert with no more of the baggage of the past than she needed to retain her identity.

It was also up to her, she had at last come to understand, to make friends with the Ashtons, and she was perfectly willing to do so now. The pride that had once ruled her was part of that unnecessary baggage which had weighed her down, and she felt the lighter and happier for being able to discard it.

Still, the Ashtons could not know what she was thinking unless she put voice to her thoughts. She remembered her father once telling her that it was easier for one to act positively than to think positively, but if one acted in a charitable way long enough, one’s inner self might eventually come around to it as well. She hoped so. She feared her feelings had a long distance to come.

She glanced around the room again, looking for something she could comment positively on. The furnishings were massive but costly, of the sort that Randolph would have dismissed as attractive only to those “who wish to parade their wealth but have no notion of taste.” The sofa and chairs were mainly of carved oak, with a minimum of padding beneath the upholstery, as Sabina was beginning to discover.

She shifted her weight slightly and studied the ceiling. It was, she thought, overly ornate, and she did not think she could praise it with a clear conscience.

The Turkey carpet beneath her feet, on the other hand, was new and its colors still bright. Sabina thought she preferred the slightly worn but elegant oriental rugs scattered around Bromleigh Hall, but she thought she could honestly praise the carpet, even if she did not think she could live with it.

Fortunately, she would not have to. Or…could Robert have disclaimed any desire to live at the Abbey solely for her sake? It was his boyhood home, after all, the only one he had ever known, and he had come back to it after being abroad for so many years, so it must exert some pull on him.

She wished she did not lose the self-confidence she had always commanded before whenever she was parted from Robert. It was very well to consider other points of view, but one must not lose one’s own in the process.

Yet, Robert had given no impression of being fond of the Abbey, and it was his brother’s home, not his. Perhaps Robert had some other house at his disposal. She must ask him while it was still not too late to change their plans for Carling Manor.

She entertained herself with this question for several minutes, until at last the door opened and Lady Kimborough entered the room. She was dressed severely in a high-necked, wine-colored afternoon dress and gazed at Sabina’s black bombazine as if she disapproved of anyone’s coming to her house attired in a more somber mode than she chose to adopt.

In fact, Sabina had put on this gown this morning with the conscious thought that it would be the last time she would wear it. It was the last day before her new life began. Perhaps, when she removed it, she would find the old, proud Sabina in her old clothes. She smiled to herself. No, she would buy a whole new wardrobe to dress a new Sabina.

The thought brought the smile to her lips, so that when she stood up and faced the countess, she knew she looked as approachable as she had intended when she came here. But when the other woman said nothing, she realized that she would not be met halfway. She moved forward, her hand outstretched. She was taller than the countess by several inches and tried to make herself shorter by leaning slightly forward, but the other woman seemed to regard this as an unwanted advance and stepped backward. Sabina had to take an awkward step to avoid stumbling and found herself becoming annoyed despite her good intentions.