Chapter Fifteen

They left Hare Hall at dawn on Saturday morning, Sabrina and Jack in the luxurious chaise with Jane and Tom Weald following in the baggage coach, which was almost as well equipped. At first they drove along roads that still showed signs of the recent snows, with the fields on either side white and gleaming in the fitful sunshine. However, as they drew nearer to London the snow disappeared and the landscape was all dull browns and greens beneath an overcast sky.

Inside the travelling chaise the atmosphere was strained. Sabrina and Jack were unfailingly polite to one another, but Sabrina could not help a creeping feeling of depression. She had spent years honing her acting skills, first in her marriage, where she hosted balls and parties with every semblance of enjoyment, then when she returned to Society, pretending to be the Wicked Widow everyone thought her, surrounded by admirers but keeping them all at a distance.

Only once had she allowed a man past her defences, and he was now sitting beside her in this sumptuous carriage, treating her with a deference that irked her almost beyond bearing. There was a constraint between them. When they stopped to change horses, and she found the obsequious behaviour of the landlord amusing, the laughing glance she threw at Jack was met with only a cool, distant smile. And when he helped her down from the coach at each stop, he released her so quickly it was almost as if he could not bear to touch her.

It did no good for Sabrina to tell herself this was what she had wanted. That it was she who had insisted on this level of propriety. It was difficult not to share a joke with him, to keep their conversation to the merest commonplace. It irked her almost beyond bearing to keep her hand from seeking his when a sad thought occurred to her, and not to ask him for his thoughts when he was sombrely gazing out of the window. She missed the unguarded glances, the warm smiles. She even missed their arguments. At least she had felt alive then. Now she felt bereft. She loved him too much to be his friend, but this unnatural politeness was almost unbearable. Not only did she find it depressing, it shredded her nerves.

The distance between them was only inches, but it might as well have been a mile.

It was growing dark when they reached the Punch Bowl, the final posting inn on what seemed to Jack to have been an interminable journey. He jumped down and spoke to the landlord before turning back to hand Sabrina out of the chaise.

‘I have ascertained that they have sufficient rooms available. We will stop here tonight and travel on to London tomorrow. If we make an early start, you will be back at your own house by noon.’

She looked up at him, surprised.

‘But it cannot be more than two hours journey from here,’ she objected ‘I would by far rather continue tonight.’

‘You might, madam, but my servants and horses need to rest before we cross the Heath. I will not risk driving over that lonely stretch of road exhausted and hungry, and in the dark, too. We shall finish our journey in the morning.’

He was tempted to add that it was not his choice. He, too, would by far prefer to travel on and put an end to this miserable journey, but he refrained. They had both maintained a reasonable level of civility so far, and he would not spoil it now.

The inn yard was well lit by torches that made it as bright as day. The landlord had secured them a private dining room, and Sabrina and her maid were escorted to their bedchambers, where they might rest until dinner was served. Jack remained in the yard to have a few words with the ostler and assure himself that his carriages would have the best horses available in the morning for the final leg of their journey, then he followed a servant into the inn.

As they stepped into the entrance, he heard a blast of noisy laughter from the taproom on one side.

‘They seem to be enjoying themselves,’ he remarked to the servant.

‘Aye, sir. We’ve had a group of gentlemen dining here tonight, and one of ’em’s been sporting his blunt very freely.’

Jack followed the man’s glance into the taproom as they passed and saw a stocky, crop-haired gentleman calling for more drinks. The crowd, which included a large number of soldiers in their colourful uniforms, was loudly cheering this open-handed behaviour. It was not unusual for fashionable rakes and Corinthians to drink in local taverns and gin houses but Jack did not recognise the man as anyone he knew, although the fellow was respectably dressed and clearly no local farmhand. By the sound of the raucous laughter already issuing from the room, Jack guessed there would be some sore heads in the morning, but at that moment he wished he might change places with one of the revellers. Anything rather than spend another awkward dinner with Sabrina.

Sabrina was shown to a bedchamber off the first-floor gallery. It was comfortable enough, but she already had a headache coming on and decided she would prefer to have supper sent up to her rather than struggle to sit through another meal with Jack. She did not like the restraint that had sprung up between them. It felt as if they had already said their goodbyes and were now merely strangers.

No, worse than strangers. There was an awkwardness now in his company that was far too painful.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, but it was not Jane, returned with her supper on a tray.

‘I met Mrs Nidd on the stairs.’ Jack’s frame blocked the doorway. ‘She tells me you are minded to dine alone.’

‘Yes. That is correct.’ She stood her ground, determined not to invite him in.

He nodded. ‘When we arrived here, I thought I should prefer that, too, but then I realised that after tomorrow we will not see one another.’

‘It is what we agreed—’

‘I know.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘I would like us to enjoy our last night together.’

‘No!’ Her response was immediate, uttered in panic, and he went on quickly.

‘Pray listen to me, Sabrina. I am suggesting nothing more than dinner. A dinner for friends, not the stilted polite acquaintances we have been recently. It feels as if, once Mary’s father returned, everything changed between us. All our energies went into packing up and leaving Hare Hall. We have barely spoken to one another since then, save out of necessity.’

Sabrina sighed. ‘What does it matter, when tomorrow we shall go our separate ways?’

‘I don’t want it to end like this. I want to sit and talk with you. Laugh with you. To raise a glass to your future happiness and have you do the same for mine. One final happy memory of our time together before we take our leave of one another tomorrow.’

She shook her head. ‘I do not think that would be wise...’

‘Since when have we ever been wise, Sabrina?’

She was not proof against his rueful smile. She had no illusions. She knew where it could lead if she agreed to this. If she let down her guard in his company. The attraction that was never far away would break through her weakened defences. It was there now, drawing her in, filling her senses with the scent of him. She wanted to reach out and rest her palm against his chest, feel his heart beating in time with hers.

‘I give you my word we will do nothing but eat and talk,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘Nothing will happen unless it is what we both want. He leaned a little closer. ‘Dine with me, Sabrina. This is our last night together. Let us enjoy it.’

Would she come?

Jack paced the floor of the dining parlour. She was right. It was not wise. It was not sensible. It could only postpone the inevitable, the time when he would not see her again, save from a distance. Yet the thought of dining alone while she supped in her room, the both of them unhappy, was not to be borne.

‘I hope I am not late?’

He turned, already smiling in relief at the melodious sound of her voice. She was here. That was the first hurdle over. Now to see if they could actually spend a pleasant evening together.

Dinner went well. Jack exerted himself to please Sabrina, while she was determined to be pleased. Nothing occurred to mar their enjoyment of the meal; they found plenty to discuss without touching on delicate subjects. When he had poured the last of the wine into their glasses, she raised hers to salute him.

‘Thank you. This augurs well for the future,’ she said, smiling. ‘Should we by chance encounter one another in town, it need not be awkward.’

‘No.’ He touched his glass against hers. ‘We have proved it is possible to meet as friends.’

Who are you trying to fool, man? You want her as much as ever. If she was to turn from saint to seductress again, you would be lost!

Sabrina met Jack’s eyes across the wine glasses. She was outwardly calm while her conscience pricked uncomfortably. Her smiles had been genuine, as had her enjoyment of his company, but for her, the evening had not been an unalloyed success. She had been constantly aware of a small, insistent tug of desire. She had been determined to ignore the temptation, but she was not strong enough to banish it completely.

‘I should retire,’ She finished her wine and carefully put the glass down on the table.

‘If that is what you wish.’

‘It is.’

It is not at all what you wish! You want him to persuade you to stay.

They both rose from the table, and he walked across to pick up the cashmere shawl she had brought with her.

‘You had best wear this. There is a chill in the night air.’

‘Thank you.’

Sabrina stood, silent, while he arranged the woollen shawl around her, trying not to think of the way her spine tingled to know he was so close. His hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment, and she held her breath. Would he kiss her? She closed her eyes, imagining him turning her about and pulling her close, lowering his head so that their lips could meet. She wanted it so much that her body burned with longing.

‘I will escort you to your room.’

As he spoke, he moved away from her, and the sudden chill of loneliness was almost too much to bear.

He walked to the door and Sabrina could only follow. It was the right thing to do. The sensible choice and she must comply, even though inside she was screaming for something else entirely.

Silently they went up the stairs to the gallery. After opening her door for her, Jack stood aside for her to enter. Once she was over the threshold, Sabrina turned back to look at him. Even in the shadows she could feel the heat of his gaze upon her before he looked away, muttering under his breath.

‘What is it?’ she asked him. ‘What is wrong?’

He looked up at the starry sky, his breath escaping in a hiss. ‘I should have been stronger. I should never have allowed things to go so far between us.’

‘Do...do you regret it then?’ Something twisted around her heart, squeezing it hard.

‘No. No, but I should have taken more care.’ His eyes came back to her. ‘Sabrina, there is something we have not discussed, and I am not so irresponsible that I can ignore it. What if.’ He stopped, took another breath. ‘What if you are with child after, after what we have done?’

She shook her head. ‘I am not.’

‘You cannot be sure about that.’

‘Yes, I can.’

She clutched her shawl about her a little tighter, but she knew the chill was deep in her core, rather than outside.

‘I am barren,’ she said bleakly. ‘My husband brought in his doctor to examine me, a few months after we were married. He wanted an heir, you see, and he was...disappointed when I did not conceive.’

‘I am so sorry.’

Her head came up and she said, with a hint of defiance, ‘I am not. Sir Roderick’s passion for his new bride waned very rapidly. I was too...innocent for him, and after the first night he bedded me only for an heir. Once he knew I could not give him one, he left me alone.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘So you see, Jack, you should be pleased I did not accept your proposal. As Massyngham told me, a wife is worthless if she cannot fill the nursery with brats.’

Her voice cracked on the last words, and she did not protest as Jack stepped over the threshold and folded her in his arms.

She blinked back the threatening tears as he held her, his cheek resting against her hair. She drew immense comfort from him, but only for a moment, then she pushed him gently away. He released her immediately and she dashed her hand across her cheeks.

‘You should go now.’ She marvelled at the steadiness of her voice. He put out a hand and she quickly backed away. He was very kind, but she must not mistake that for anything stronger. ‘Goodnight, Lord John.’

Jack hesitated. Sabrina’s evident distress caught at his heart. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but how could he remain when she had dismissed him so finally? Silently he turned and made his way to his own bedchamber.

The morning brought no relief to Sabrina’s low spirits. The idea of returning to Brook Street and her old life held no appeal, but what else could she do? She did not want to go back to the Dower House. The new baronet was trying hard to emulate Sir Roderick’s dissolute ways, and she had no wish to live in the vicinity. If her parents did not live so close to Jack’s best friend, she might be tempted to buy a house nearby, but she knew that would not do. She needed to get away completely from Lord John Callater. At least until she had conquered this passion she had for a man who no longer loved her.

Had he ever truly loved her? She wondered. He had been but five-and-twenty when they first met, and they had known each other for only a few months. Long enough for her to form a lasting attachment, but perhaps it had been different for a man of the world, like Jack.

Sabrina took breakfast in her room and then instructed Jane to inform His Lordship that she was ready to depart and would wait for him downstairs. She put on her bonnet, fastened her cloak and stepped outside onto the gallery. Below her the yard was bustling with activity as coaches and horses were being prepared for imminent departure.

The sun was rising in a clear sky, and she stopped for a moment to take in a deep breath of the crisp air. It was impossible to remain melancholy on such a bright day. She had much to be thankful for, and many years ahead. She was determined she would not repine. Not that she thought there was any possibility of her and Jack becoming reconciled, but she was still young. There was time yet for her to live a full and satisfying life. She would give up London and the round of balls and gaiety. She might even travel. A grand tour, perhaps. She had always wanted to visit Italy. Perhaps she might go to Paris, too...

A sudden altercation in the yard below caught her attention. She glanced down to see a group of ragged urchins who had been begging at the yard entrance being driven away by a groom brandishing a riding crop. Sabrina watched them, frowning a little. The biggest was a girl, probably only a little older than Mary Steadmarsh. She was ushering the younger ones away, keeping herself between them and the angry groom.

Those children should be in school, she decided. Or perhaps the older ones should be found gainful employment.

Perhaps she could put her energies into helping such poor wretches. That would certainly fill her days! Papa had been involved in politics; she could be more useful, too. It was not unknown for ladies to engage in worthy causes. She was rich, and not without friends...

‘Miss Kydd?’ The enquiring voice at her elbow made her start. Sabrina turned to find a stocky gentleman standing beside her.

‘It is you, Miss Kydd,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘Or, more rightly, Lady Massyngham these days, is it not?’

‘Why Dr Watson!’ she exclaimed. ‘How do you do, sir?’

She greeted him happily, her recent thoughts of Papa making her very glad to meet his old friend.

‘I am very well, ma’am, very well. And your parents, how are they? You are travelling with them, perhaps.’

‘No, no, but I am just returned from a visit to them. In Devonshire.’

‘Ah, yes. I hope they are in good health?’ He exhaled and shook his head. ‘How I miss those conversations with your father, my lady. We had such lively meetings at your house, did we not? Such a good friend as he was to us all.’

Knowing Papa had cut all ties with his London friends, Sabrina thought it best not to respond to this. Instead she said, ‘And your son, James, how is he?’

‘Oh, never better, ma’am, never better. Full of plans and energy for the cause, you know.’

Sabrina smiled but once again, she did not reply. Mention of “the cause” reminded her of why Papa had been obliged to retire from public life. She had had no contact with any of his more radical acquaintances since her marriage, but she had seen their names in the newspapers occasionally. Of course, the reports were biased against any anti-government protest, but she was very much afraid the men with whom Papa had met and discussed political reform were now dangerously impatient for change.

‘You should come along to our next meeting.’ Dr Watson interrupted her thoughts. ‘You might renew your acquaintance with old friends. Something to tell your father when you see him next, eh?’

Sabrina said nothing. From all she had read, she was sure Papa’s old friends were no longer satisfied with the peaceful protests and petitions he had advocated. It would be unwise to mention anything of this to her father.

‘Henry Hunt is going to be there,’ Dr Watson went on. ‘I am sure he would be pleased to see you, my lady, and to hear news of your father. He is to speak for us. We are trying to persuade the Prince Regent to receive our petition for Parliamentary reform. In fact, you might be able to help with that, Lady Massyngham. I am sure you have the ear of any number of influential men, eh?’

Sabrina did not like the sly look that accompanied these words, and she found herself resorting to the polite smiles that she had employed so many times to hide her true feelings without giving offence.

She said, ‘My husband moved in influential circles, it is true, but I have no dealings with that society now. I shall not be able to attend your meeting, Dr Watson, but I pray you will remember me to your son.’ She decided to bring their conversation to an end and held out her hand. ‘Give my regards to Mr Hunt, too. Please tell him I wish him well in his endeavours, as long as they are peaceful.’

The doctor’s smile slipped a little, but he recovered and said, as he bowed over her hand, ‘Well, well, we shall be assembling at Spa Fields, opposite Merlin’s Cave Public House on Monday next, if you change your mind, my lady.’

She tucked her hand back into her muff as he walked away from her. There was no doubt Dr Watson and his son were very passionate in their belief that political reform was needed to help those struggling to survive. Perhaps there was something she could do to help such people. Papa would approve.

‘Who the devil was that?’

She turned and saw Jack standing in the doorway of his chamber.

‘What is that to you?’

‘He is not the sort of man with whom you should be associating.’

A spurt of irritation flashed through Sabrina. How dare Jack look down upon anyone who was not of his own station! She did not doubt he would order the very best of everything for himself and ignore the plight of those less fortunate.

‘He is Dr James Watson,’ she replied coldly. ‘An old friend of my father’s. Not that it is any business of yours!’ With that she swept past him and hurried away to the travelling chaise waiting in the yard.

Jack did not follow her immediately. He had recognised Dr Watson as the fellow carousing in the taproom last night and thought him a strange companion for such a mild-mannered man as Sir Anthony Kydd. But Sabrina was right, it was none of his business. With a shrug, he set off down the stairs.

A chill breeze had sprung up, and as he stepped into the yard a piece of paper blew across and settled on the toe of one of his highly polished Hessians. He bent and scooped it up, idly glancing at the print, It was a handbill.

‘“A meeting in Spa Fields”,’ he read aloud, ‘“Petition to the Prince Regent...the present state of Great Britain...arrogance, folly...crimes...dread Crisis...”’ Frowning, he let his eyes go back to the headline, which was a quote from Lord Nelson. ‘“England Expects every Man to do his Duty”.’

Fighting talk, if ever he had heard it. Jack glanced back towards the taproom, narrowing his eyes as he tried to summon up a picture of just what he had seen last night. Watson had been calling on the tap boy to bring drinks for everyone, but Jack recalled now the sheaf of papers the fellow had been holding in one hand. It might have been a supply of these printed handbills, inviting the poor and oppressed to join a meeting. Jack gave a low whistle. If his suspicions were correct, Dr Watson was a very dangerous man. He screwed up the paper, and as he walked on, he tossed it to a waiting ostler, suggesting the lad throw it on the fire.

Shortly after noon the elegant travelling chaise bowled along Brook Street and pulled up outside the smart town house that Sabrina had hired. Jack opened the door and jumped out.

‘Well, madam, we have come to the end of our journey.’

He turned back and held out his hand to Sabrina. She took it and stepped down to join him on the pavement.

‘Thank you, my lord. I am excessively grateful to you.’

He said irritably, ‘Let us be done with this false civility, madam. I have delivered you safely to town and now you are free of me.’

She lifted her head. ‘We are free of one another, Lord John. Which is what we both want.’

No. He wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her. To undress her slowly, pulling loose the ribbon garters and kissing every inch of skin as he rolled down her silk stockings. He wanted to take her to his bed, to kiss and caress her until she was moaning with the sheer pleasure of it.

He firmly stamped down the disquieting thoughts.

‘Well then, “Since there is no help...”’

He saw her eyes widen at his quotation. She knew the next line of Drayton’s sonnet as well as he. His lips curved into a smile of self-derision.

‘Don’t worry, Sabrina Fair, I shall not ask you to kiss and part from me. Instead I will show you what a gentleman I can be. I bid you adieu, ma’am, and wish you nothing but happiness.’

He realised he was still holding her hand and would have released her, but her fingers suddenly tightened.

‘Jack, I am sorry. I wish this might have ended differently.’

He looked at her, taking in the lovely face, the sea green eyes shadowed now with remorse, the full red lips that he still wanted to kiss, even though he knew she could never love him. Then he shrugged.

‘So too am I, madam.’

With that, he freed his hand, shouted a word to his driver and jumped back into the chaise. As the coach rattled away, more lines of the sonnet ran through his head.

...you get no more of me/And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart/That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

There was still a hint of her perfume in the carriage, and with something between a groan and growl, he threw himself back into the corner.

‘If only it was that easy to be free of her!’