Chapter 12
The trip to London passed by in a complete blur. Sabrina and Mary sat on one side of the crowded carriage, while Riordan sat opposite. They were all crammed in like sardines in a tin, which made private conversation difficult. The older woman next to her continually sneezed the entire trip, and she smelled of olive oil, which supported the sardine analogy.
When they arrived in the city they took a hansom cab from the carriage stop to the inn. Thankfully it was not far, as the conveyance barely had room for the three of them. Sabrina became engulfed in heat—Riordan’s body pressed against hers from shoulder to calf. Since the kiss, she reacted to his nearness more than ever before.
Settled in their room, Sabrina expressed her desire to take a nap, but Riordan had acquired a small private dining area for supper. Mary informed him that she would take a tray in the room, effectively leaving Sabrina alone with Riordan. “I insist you come with me,” Sabrina pouted when they were alone.
Mary pulled a book from her carpetbag. “I would rather curl up here by the fire, read, and eat at my leisure.”
“So would I,” Sabrina replied.
“My lady, you should join Mr. Black. He’s gone to a good deal of trouble to arrange all of this for you. Besides, you had best become used to being alone with him. He is not the old earl. Mr. Black will wish for you to engage in conversation, act interested in him and what he’s doing or saying. I know it will be an adjustment after the lonely life you spent with that horrid man.” Mary paused, giving her an encouraging smile. “Come out of the shadows and look at the sun full on, my lady. Revel in the comforting heat and glory of the dazzling light. And I must say, Mr. Black is all warmth and brightness.”
Mary was correct, as usual. “Yes,” Sabrina replied. “He is.” Should she mention the kiss? Not tonight. No doubt it had been an aberration, nothing more. “Yet I cannot allow myself to grow attached to him. He is younger and beneath me socially, at least Society says it matters. I do not want or need a man for the long term.” She crossed her arms defiantly.
Mary shook her head. “None of it will matter if love is involved. Remember to be open to new experiences, wherever they may lead, my lady.”
“I will try, but I must protect…protect…”
“Your guarded heart? Your sensitive soul? Your hurt feelings?”
“Oh, Mary, you do have a way of getting directly to the core of the matter. Yes. Everything you mentioned. But also my damaged trust and deep-seated fears. My wounded pride. My lost innocence.” Sabina tossed her shawl about her shoulders. “I do not want to like him…but I do. I do not want to be attracted to him…but I am. It can go no further.”
Mary nodded, though her expression was dubious. “As you wish, my lady. Enjoy the meal and the conversation.”
Giving the slightest hint of a smile, Sabrina grabbed the doorknob. “And bask in his brilliance?”
Mary laughed. “Yes. Revel in it, in fact.”
Sabrina opened the door to find Riordan standing there. What had he overheard? Thank goodness he gave no indication that he’d heard any of the conversation. He wore his frock coat, with a white cravat tied simply at his throat. She stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. Acting the gentleman, he placed his hand at her back, barely making contact, but enough for her to be aware of his touch. He guided her toward the small dining area in the rear of the inn.
“We are in luck; a private room was available. No peers staying here tonight. Well, besides you. I do hope you like roast turkey. I’m told it is the main course.”
They entered the room, and Sabrina was struck by how cozy and welcoming it appeared. A fire blazed in the stone hearth, and nearby stood an oak dining table set, complete with linen tablecloth and lit candles. Riordan pulled out her chair and she took a seat. “The journey has made me hungry,” she said as she arranged her skirts.
“Me as well. You don’t mind that we will return to Carrbury as soon as the ceremony concludes? Well, two hours after.” He sat opposite her. “There are a couple of shops in the vicinity you may wish to browse before we catch the mail coach. There is a bookshop, a dress shop—”
“Oh, yes. Especially the book dealer. I’m a voracious reader, as is Mary. How thoughtful of you.”
Riordan smiled broadly. “Your eyes are twinkling. First time they’ve done so since we’ve become acquainted.” He leaned in and murmured, “The green shade in your hazel eyes is pronounced, and it glitters like emeralds.”
Heat infused her cheeks. Oh, he was a shameless flirt, but the words were not insincerely spoken. It pleased her, for she was not used to such attention from a man, mainly because she was never given the opportunity to enjoy a season, or the company of any gentlemen close to her own age. Pepperdon could not be bothered with compliments and words of affection. He preferred insults, or hurling licentious phrases at her when he bothered to speak at all.
No. She would not think of that disgusting man. Not while she basked in the glow of Riordan’s company. Oh, Mary had the right of it. Warmth and brightness. No more cold darkness. “Thank you. I believe you’re the first man to compliment my eyes.”
“Am I? I’m honored. I confess I’m not a skilled flirt, so any praise is sincerely meant. I shall endeavor to do it more often.” He took a sip of water. “It is settled. A shopping excursion before we depart.”
A woman bustled into the room carrying a large tray laden with food. She was followed by a man, no doubt the innkeeper. The woman laid full platters in front of them as the man poured white wine into the crystal goblets. “If you need anything else at all, Mr. Black, let us know,” the woman said.
“Fresh bread perhaps?”
“Oh, blimey! I knew I forgot summat.” She scurried away.
“Mr. Beacon, this is my fiancée, Lady Pepperdon. My dear, this is Mr. Beacon, owner of this fine establishment.”
My dear? Fiancée? The words arrowed straight to her heart, causing it to swell with delight. She gave the innkeeper a polite incline of her head. Good heavens, she was a fiancée.
“A lady?” The innkeeper bowed, clearly flustered from the revelation that she was of the peerage. “Welcome, my lady. Anything we can do for you, the wife and I are at your service.”
Mrs. Beacon returned with bread and butter, then the couple left the room, whispering between them.
“Looks appetizing,” Riordan stated. “Perhaps not as fancy as you are used to.”
“The late earl did not care for grand meals. It does look appetizing.” She laid her napkin across her lap.
Riordan raised his wineglass. “To new beginnings. To banishing the past. To…independence.”
She raised hers and gave him a brief smile. “Hear, hear.”
“A small smile as well. My cup overfloweth.” He winked teasingly.
Sabrina was beginning to understand the difference between light-hearted banter and mocking, at least as far as Riordan was concerned. She cut into the tender poultry and took a bite. “Oh, lovely. It has been ages since I have partaken of turkey.”
Riordan popped a piece into his mouth and swallowed. “It is good.”
“Now that we are alone, can you disclose the amount my father settled on me? I will sleep better knowing the details.”
He didn’t answer right away, and a spark of anxiety took root inside her. “It’s ten thousand pounds. William is handling the details. As I mentioned before, we will visit his office and sign the papers before the ceremony.”
She let go of the breath she’d been holding. “Oh, thank heavens. I’m not sure how you managed it, but I am eternally grateful.” Relieved, she ate a few forkfuls of the meal. “I meant to ask: who was the large man with the red hair at your place?”
Riordan chuckled. “When did you happen to see him?”
Sabrina buttered her bread. “I confess; Mary and I went for a walk at dusk a few days past. I was curious if you had returned from your journey. Where exactly is home, by the way?”
“To answer your first question, the red-haired beast is my uncle, Garrett. He is only six years older, so he’s more of an older brother, really. To answer your second question, my home is near Sevenoaks, in Kent. My uncle has already journeyed home.”
“Do you mind if I ask questions?”
Riordan cut his potatoes into bite-sized pieces. “Not at all. Shall I give you a brief biography? I come from a household of men. My father is involved in factory work, my Irish mother died of a heart ailment when I was three. I never knew her.”
Oh. She was genuinely sad to hear he’d lost his mother. Feeling empathy for others—another sign she was reclaiming her life. “I also lost my mother at a young age; I was twelve when she passed. I never did find out from what. She had been ill three years before, never leaving her bed.” It still hurt to mention her. Because her mother had been absorbed by her infirmity and her deep unhappiness, she’d had little time for an emotionally needy daughter.
“She died at the age when you needed her most,” Riordan stated.
“Yes. When it happened, I became angry, feeling abandoned. How could my mother leave me alone with my cold, unyielding father? It took many years for me to realize that she did not die on purpose.” After swallowing a forkful of buttered carrots, she said, “A household of men. Sounds like the Wollstonecraft family. They live in Kent, I believe. Do you know of them? The patriarch is an earl…I forget his title.”
Riordan started coughing. Oh no, was he choking? His face turned red, and he snatched the napkin from the table and covered his mouth. He immediately drank a half glass of water until the coughing ceased.
“Are you all right? Shall I ring for more water?” Truly, she was worried for him.
He shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Thank you. A piece of potato became lodged in my throat. All is well.”
“What were we discussing? Oh, yes, I asked if you knew of the Wollstonecrafts.”
“Do you?” Riordan asked.
“No, not personally. But I have heard of them. There is silly talk of a curse with regards to them finding love or some such. I also read that the young heir had been involved with one scandal or another. They’re champions for the poor, always tied to one cause or another. My father finds them detestable—not that he knows them personally either, but he would scoff and sneer whenever they appeared in the newspaper.” She sipped her wine. “I believe he called them ‘smug, do-gooder attention mongers.’”
“Indeed? I know of the family, but not well. We do not exactly move in the same circles,” Riordan murmured.
“You’re of the middle class? Oh, I am prying, but you’re well educated, your clothes are of a fine quality. Mary heard your father owns a factory. That explains it.” Satisfied with the answers to her nagging questions, she enthusiastically continued her meal. Riordan grew quiet, but the silence was not awkward.
When the dishes were cleared and tea and a plate of raspberry tarts had been served, they were alone once again—this was the last time they would be before the marriage. She should say her piece and be done with it. “Riordan, may I be honest with you?”
“Of course. You must always speak your mind with me.”
“When I first proposed this—let us call it what it is, a mad proposal, I originally thought I could enter into a temporary marriage, and after the ceremony take a room at the inn until an annulment could be acquired. I’d have no contact with the man in question, I’d simply wait it out then move on with my life.” She paused, and caught Riordan gazing at her with an intensity that took her breath away. “You see, I wanted to use a man for my own gain for once, instead of the other way around. I did not expect to like you, Riordan. Not at all. I believe we are becoming…friends.”
“Yes,” he said kindly. “I believe we are.”
“This is not easy for me, conversing, being pleasant. If at any time in the next three months I withdraw, either physically or emotionally, please know it is not you.” Blast! A lump formed in her throat; confessing such a defect in her character had exposed her. As much as her vulnerability often rose to the surface, she’d learned to keep it deeply hidden. Why was she telling this man her secrets? A man she’d only known barely three weeks? Because he deserved to know. Riordan Black was sacrificing his life by assisting her in her plan. This marriage could damage his budding career. The selfless act humbled her. “You see, the only way I could avoid being hurt was to hide, in whatever way I could. It’s a habit I’m finding difficult to break. Mary claims I live in shadow, and she’s been encouraging me to step into the light. I will endeavor to try.”
“Mary means a great deal to you.”
“Yes. As I said before, she is more than a lady’s maid. She has been a friend, sister, aunt, and even a mother all rolled into one.” Sabrina glanced at her tightly clasped hands resting on her lap. “I would not have made it this far without her support.”
“If you wish to discuss your past, I am a good listener. It does take a weight off to talk about it; it makes the journey forward easier to bear.” His voice was comforting, making it tempting to confess.
Slowly, she raised her head and met his eyes; they were soft with sympathy. “I’m not sure I can ever discuss it, but thank you for the offer.”
Once they concluded the meal, Riordan escorted her to her door. Grasping her chin, he caught her gaze and held it. “Until tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead, much like a brother would do. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Friends and nothing more?
As he turned and walked toward his room, Sabrina experienced a sense of loss at his absence, for secretly she yearned for him to kiss her goodnight as a fiancé might—how had he described it? Deeply. Thoroughly.
Tonight she would dream of him. For that was where Riordan belonged and where he should stay: in her nocturnal fantasies. It would take all of her resolve not to allow her true feelings to become reality in the clear light of day.