“You told me you were visiting friends here in Yorkshire,” she said, hating the interminable silence, for it wasn’t a comfortable silence, a companionable silence.
“Yes, that’s what I told you.”
“Who is this friend?”
He was looking down at his filthy Hessians. He said without looking up, “Undoubtedly he’s a friend of yours—Sir Charles Askbridge.”
Charlie. She had to keep calm, act all sorts of ignorant and indifferent. She s
miled. “Mayhap that name is a bit familiar to me.”
He didn’t pretend boredom now. “As you well know, Sabrina, Charles’s Yorkshire home is called Moreland. Even though the directions he provided me led me into Eppingham Forest and thus to find you, I would wager that Moreland isn’t too far distant from here.”
Moreland was no more than seven miles distant. Charlie loved to hunt in the forest since he’d been a boy. And he knew Phillip. How very close Phillip had been to his destination. She shrugged and pretended to study her fingernails.
“I imagine that you quite like Charles. Everyone does. What do you think of his younger sister, Margaret? She’s not much older than you are.”
Margaret was twenty, just between Sabrina and Elizabeth. She shook her head and stared at him with a vacant expression. He was angry, but he held it in very well. She was impressed. “You were riding by yourself. Isn’t that unusual for a viscount?”
“I left my incredible retinue of servants in Leeds. I struck out on my own, feeling brave and ready for adventure. Instead look what I got myself into. Would you like the rest of my traveling details? Of course you would. I imagine you are aware of the rounds of Christmas parties held outside of London at this time of year. Even though you look blank as a schoolboy’s slate, I know that you do. Don’t get me wrong. You’re an excellent actress. It’s just that I’ve come to know you very well. In any case, Charles invited me to Moreland and gave me directions that led me to this isolated place. I had sent my valet ahead. I had this romantic notion about becoming one with nature. What rot. So you see, Sabrina, it is probable that both Charles and your family are now out looking for us.” He added, his voice so serious she again nearly spilled her innards, “It can’t be longer than a day now, two at the most before they find us.”
She knew that he was right, but held her tongue. At last she had an idea. She yawned and stretched. “Your delicious dinner has lulled my stomach and now my head. I think I’d like to sleep now.” She yawned again and snuggled down under the covers.
“Thank the good Lord I was never burdened with a sister.” He looked heavenward, then back down at her. His eyes were bleak. “There’s a world waiting outside this room, Sabrina. I would that you think about that.” He leaned over and patted her on the cheek. “Good night. Sleep well.”
She wanted to thank him, but she couldn’t, not now. “Good night, Phillip.” She closed her eyes and turned her head away.
Phillip blew out the candle and walked from her room to a bedchamber down the hall. Since she no longer needed his constant attention during the night, he had begun the previous night to sleep in another room, in a lumpy bed that was marginally more comfortable than the cramped chair in Sabrina’s room.
Sabrina lay quietly in the darkened room reviewing her plan. With the snow melting, her grandfather—no matter what he thought of her now—would have an army of men out searching for her. Even if her grandfather believed her dead, he would search. She couldn’t begin to envision the bloody battleground at Monmouth Abbey if she were found and returned to him. He was too old and frail for that. She knew that there would be no way to keep the truth from him—Elizabeth’s betrayal of her and Trevor’s attempted rape—it would all come out. She wouldn’t bring such bitter disillusion to her grandfather. She wouldn’t destroy all his plans and hopes. She wondered if Trevor truly would try to kill him if she returned. She didn’t know. She couldn’t afford to find out.
She could never go home. No, she wouldn’t cry. It wouldn’t help, it would solve naught. She thought of her plan. It was simple and straightforward. So who cared if she was still a bit weak? Not all that weak, surely, not too weak to walk just a bit and ride just a bit. No, she could do that.
She slipped quietly from her bed, lit the candle on the night table, and padded on bare feet to the small desk near the fireplace. She found a pen and several scraps of paper and quickly wrote the lines she’d silently rehearsed for the past two hours. She felt sadness when she closed her note, “. . . please forgive me, Phillip, but I cannot stay here any longer. I thank you for saving my life. Now I must take care of myself.” Her fingers paused, and then she quickly added, “I’ll never forget you. Sabrina.” She decided she’d write to her grandfather once she reached London.
She found her clothes and cloak, rumpled but dry, hanging in the armoire. She tugged off the man’s dressing gown and pulled on her dress. She felt strong and certain of herself. This time she would succeed. She picked up the three pounds that Phillip had laid in a neat stack atop the table, and slipped them into the pocket of her cloak. She pulled the three blankets from the bed to wrap around herself once she was on her way.
Her boots didn’t make any sound as she walked as quietly as she could down the front stairs, both hands on the railing. She still felt strong, still felt sure of herself and what she was going to do. By the time she reached the outside kitchen door, she was ready to run all the way to Borhamwood. It felt incredible to be well again, to be strong again, and competent.
The door latch clicked back with a loud grating sound that made her turn quickly and look back into the house. No, it hadn’t been loud enough to awaken Phillip. She quickly stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her.
She paused a moment in the cold moonless night and leaned for just a moment against an elm tree. The bark was rough beneath her cheek. The wood was sweet and cold. She thought of Phillip, of his gentleness and kindness to her. She’d known him for only a short time and yet he’d become a part of her life. Not just a part, he’d been in the center, taking such excellent care of her, always being there when she’d needed him. She shook her head. She couldn’t think about him now. She pushed away from the elm tree and found to her astonishment that her vaunted strength wasn’t quite as strong as she’d believed. It was absurd. Her strength would come back. She had to stop questioning herself. She had to stop whining. She forced her feet to move to the stable.
16
She unlatched the stable door and stepped into the dim interior. A beautiful mare craned her neck about and neighed softly.
“Hush, Tasha.” She moved quickly to the bay mare’s head, rubbing her ears, whispering nonsense in her ears. “That’s right, just be quiet and get to know me. Aren’t you ever a beauty. I can see why Phillip adores you, and he surely does.”
When Tasha seemed calm and accepting of her, Sabrina started to reach for a saddle. Her arm was shaking. She cursed, not really toe-curling curses because she didn’t know any, but they made her feel better. She simply didn’t have the strength to haul a saddle onto Tasha’s back. She slipped the bridle off a hook near Tasha’s stall and tugged the mare’s head down to slip it on.
An empty box was lying in the corner of the stable. It was heavier than it looked. Damnable sickness. She felt sweat on her forehead and under her arms by the time she’d hauled the wretched wooden box close enough to Tasha so she could climb up on it and pull herself onto Tasha’s back.
Odd how Tasha’s back looked higher than it had just a moment before. The mare’s ears were twitching. “No, it’s all right, Tasha. Please hold still. I don’t weigh as much as Phillip. You’ll see, it will be fun to carry me about. You’ll barely know I’m even here.”
It took her three attempts to get herself facedown over Tasha’s broad back. She lay there, her feet dangling, rather like a heavy sack of grain, until her breathing slowed and calmed. Finally, she had enough strength to haul herself upright.
She leaned forward and grasped the reins in her hands. She’d made it. She click-clicked. Tasha didn’t move. She dug her heels lightly into the mare’s sides and flicked the reins again.