Her grandfather’s bedchamber hadn’t changed since before she was born. It was dominated by dark blue damask hangings. Thick Turkey carpets covered the planked floor, swallowing the sound of her heeled slippers. The earl sat in his chair before the roaring fireplace, wrapped in his favorite velvet burgundy dressing gown, his twisted fingers clutching the arms.
“Grandfather,” she said very quietly so as not to startle him. When he turned and saw her, she saw the love for her in his dark eyes. She shouted and ran to him, hurling herself at his feet, her arms going around him.
She felt his gnarled fingers stroke her hair, and she pressed closer and laid her head upon his legs.
He was long silent, and Sabrina felt sudden fear that he had believed Trevor and Elizabeth’s stories about her. In her letters to him, she hadn’t written of what had happened, fearing to hurl him into a confrontation. She raised her head slowly and gazed into his fierce blue eyes.
“You are so very much like her,” the old earl said, the tips of his fingers gently tracing her jaw, her nose, her eyebrows. “It’s such a pity that you never knew your grandmother. Camilla had such grace, such goodness, just as you do. And those eyes, they are her eyes as well, Sabrina.” He gave her a grave smile, his twisted fingers cupping her face. “You’re a beautiful, vibrant woman, Sabrina. I am very pleased to see you, relieved, truth be told. Is your husband here? I must look him over, you know, make certain that he is indeed the sort of man to deserve you.”
Jesperson said from beside the earl’s chair, “Dinner is here, my lord. My lady, would you please sit in this chair? Then you may continue conversing while you eat.”
But Sabrina didn’t want the formal chair. She eased down on her grandfather’s footstool, where she’d spent so many happy hours. Of course
then he hadn’t been ill. No, he’d be working at his desk, dealing with family matters, with estate matters, vigorous and boisterous and laughing.
“You’re looking well, Grandfather,” she said, watching him eat a small bite of roasted chicken in Cook’s famous cream sauce, quite in the French way, Cook would say with a superior smile.
“I’m but an old eagle chained to his nest, Sabrina. Even my spirit grows weary.”
She laughed and said, “You’re an old poet who loves the simile and I refuse to allow you sole claim to tired spirits.”
“What does a girl like you know about weary spirits and such?” Then he frowned. “You’ve seen your sister?”
“Yes.” She tried to keep all feeling from her voice, but the earl had known her since she was born. He wasn’t having it.
“She’s become even more a whining termagant now that she’s married to that scoundrel. Bedamned, if only I’d seen through him. I could have protected all of us.”
“Please eat, Grandfather.”
He forked down a bite of potatoes. “She’s not happy, but then, how could she be?” The old earl looked away from her, toward the fireplace, where comfortable flames flared and danced. “Elizabeth won’t ever be happy, Sabrina. I should have realized that long ago, but I didn’t. I thought all she needed was a husband. I looked upon Trevor and believed him a gift from a beneficent God. More fool I. But you see, even if she were married to a kind man, she would still be miserable because she dislikes herself.
“I did give her what she wanted. She is now mistress of Monmouth Abbey. Someday she will be the Countess of Monmouth. She has always wanted to be the great lady, lording it over those about her, but it has brought her nothing. No, less than nothing. Now her misery is based on the behavior of someone outside herself. It is a pity, Sabrina, but there is nothing anyone can do about it.”
Sabrina laid aside her tray. She slipped back to the floor, nestling her cheek against the earl’s dressing gown. She felt the skin of his leg stretch against the bone.
“She never comes to me anymore,” the earl said, his fingers patting her hair. “It’s probably because she feels guilty. No, don’t look so surprised, Sabrina. Now you’ve insulted me. How could you ever imagine that I’d believe the filth she and Trevor told me.
“In all truth, I’d like to kill him, but then my family would be done. But perhaps it would be best if the line died with me. It makes me shudder to think of the sort of children Trevor and Elizabeth will have.” He paused a moment, still running his fingers through her hair. His breathing sounded calm, normal. It relieved her enormously.
“I remember when I brought that honey-voiced pretty boy here to Monmouth Abbey. I believed he was a fop, but harmless for all that. He’s not, Sabrina. I know that it’s your husband’s hand and Richard Clarendon’s that keep him from murdering me. Still, it grates that I could have been so wrong with respect to his character.”
Was he seriously considering killing Trevor? She didn’t know. She’d never thought of her grandfather in a way that would allow him to do such a thing. She leaned back, looking up at him. “Thank you for believing me.”
“Your husband told Jesperson what had happened. Jesperson told me. I’m in your husband’s debt for all my days, Sabrina.”
She paused just a moment, just a veritable instant. “Phillip is very kind. He is honest and honorable. Oh, enough of this. We are together again and I want us to talk and laugh the way we used to until you groaned with weariness and finally sent me to my bed.”
“You came home because you have no place else to go.”
She couldn’t look away from those eyes of his that seemed to see everything both outside and inside her all her life. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. How could he know that she’d left her husband? She tried to smile, but it wasn’t much of a success. “Could you read Grandmother Camilla’s thoughts?”
“No, love, but I read what you didn’t write to me in your letters. I know you very well, Sabrina. There was little joy in the words you wrote, then there was none at all. If I hadn’t been tied here, I would have been in London immediately. Probably I would have challenged that viscount of yours to a duel.”
“No, I doubt you would have done that.”
“Well, possibly you’re right. Richard Clarendon told me all about him.”
“Richard? He praised Phillip?”