Chapter Four

The short November day was drawing to a close as Jack’s elegant travelling chaise pulled up at the south front of Hartland Hall. Lamps were already glowing from most of the windows, and he was glad to see Garrick coming out of the stone porch to greet him.

‘Welcome back to Hartland, Jack. Good journey?’

‘Yes, it was, but you are a dashed long way from civilisation!’ he retorted, grasping the Duke’s outstretched hand. He turned to greet Pru, who had come out to join them. He kissed her cheek. ‘And how is my favourite duchess?’

‘Relieved to see you safely arrived before dark.’

‘Aye, and I hope my baggage coach arrives soon. I do not want to sit down to dinner with you in all my dirt.’

‘But you have your portmanteau with you,’ Garrick pointed out.

‘I do, but I need Weald here if I am to dress properly.’

‘Fustian,’ growled the Duke. ‘You can manage very well without your man.’

Pru laughed. ‘Of course he can. Stop teasing us, Jack. You wish everyone to think you are something of a fop, but we know it is very far from the truth. And in any case, we do not stand upon ceremony when you are here. You may come down to dinner in your nightgown and banyan, if you wish.’ She took his arm and urged him towards the house. ‘Come in now, and take wine with us.’

Jack accompanied his friends into the house. Hartland Hall had started out as an old manor house and still retained many of its original features, but they passed through the original screens passage and into the great hall with its minstrels’ gallery before moving on to the drawing room in the newer west wing, where a cheerful fire burned in the hearth.

‘I was surprised when you said you were coming here so soon,’ remarked Garrick as they made themselves comfortable. ‘The ball is still two weeks off.’

‘Can it be that you are tiring of town life?’ Pru teased him, ‘or are you escaping some romantic entanglement?’

Jack started. The Duchess’s question was far too close to the truth for his comfort. However, one look at her innocent smile reassured him that she knew nothing of his encounter with the Wicked Widow.

It was four weeks since the Tarleton House masquerade and he had not seen Sabrina again. He was kept busy attending to his business affairs, and if he did venture out it was to card parties or gatherings where he was sure the notorious Lady Massyngham would not be welcome. Yet somehow, just knowing she was in town was too distracting, so he had packed up and set off for Hartland. Not that he was about to admit that to anyone.

‘I wanted to spend time with my best friends,’ he said. ‘I mean to stay at least a month, having seen too little of you in town.’

‘We were not there for long,’ said Garrick.

‘That is my fault,’ added Pru. ‘I was anxious to return here and see Baby John.’

‘Ah, my godson,’ said Jack. ‘How is he?’

‘Growing apace,’ said Garrick proudly. ‘He is walking now, as you shall see for yourself. Nurse always brings him down to the drawing room before dinner, to say goodnight.’

‘Not for long, I assure you,’ put in Pru quickly. ‘Tired young children are not the best company and certainly of very little interest to single gentlemen! Garrick, however, is proving himself a very good father. He spends some time every day with the baby, but I think he will like little John even more when he is older, and he can teach him to ride and play cricket.’

‘Aye, I will,’ affirmed Garrick. ‘You will be shocked, my friend, but I am very much enjoying the quiet country life with my family.’

Jack observed the loving look that passed between the Duke and Duchess, and he was aware of a sudden and unexpected feeling of envy. Not that he wanted to spend his days with Pru, lovely as she was. No, his ideal partner would be someone far more spirited. A gold-haired goddess, perhaps. He thought of Sabrina dressed as Diana in a diaphanous white gown that clung to her every curve. Angrily he tore his thoughts away from that image. The Wicked Widow was no goddess, and in no way his ideal partner. He had come here to forget her.

‘I do not think it shocking at all, Garr,’ he said quietly. ‘In fact, I am rather envious of your happiness.’

‘By Gad, Jack, that’s the first time I have ever heard you speak thus!’ declared Garrick, regarding him in some surprise. ‘Can it be that you are thinking of settling down at last?’

Jack hastily denied it, adding with a laugh, ‘You know I am a confirmed bachelor.’

‘Truly?’ said Pru. ‘Have you never met any woman you wanted to marry?’

‘No.’ Jack lied without a blink. ‘Never.’

He was glad now that Garrick had been out of the country when he had committed the gross folly of falling in love with Sabrina Kydd. If not, Jack would have been sure to confide in his oldest friend. And thank heaven his courtship had been carried out with perfect propriety. He had told no one he intended to propose, and thus there was no one who knew of his true feelings.

Except, perhaps Sabrina herself, and she had proved herself quite heartless.

‘Well, perhaps you will meet your match at our ball,’ said the Duchess comfortably.

Jack was saved from replying by the entrance of a footman to announce that Tom Weald had arrived with the baggage coach and he escaped further questioning by going off to change.

The last days of autumn blazed over the Devonshire countryside and Jack was determined to enjoy himself. He drove out with the Duke and Duchess, spent full days shooting with Garrick or riding over the estate with him, seeing all the improvements he had initiated. In the evenings the three of them met for a quiet dinner followed by a few hours of cards or music before retiring well before midnight. Pru might apologise for the lack of entertainment, but it was a balm to Jack’s spirits to be able to relax with his friends, and he said, quite truthfully, that he did not miss London at all.

The day of the ball was very different. Not only had the weather turned noticeably colder, but from the moment Jack left his room he found the house bustling with noise and activity. Pru was quite distracted with all the last-minute arrangements. When she suggested the two men should spend the day out of doors, saying that all she required of them was to be back in time for dinner, they were only too pleased to oblige.

The weather was icy cold but it was a dry, clear day, and they took the opportunity to ride along the coast to Appledore, where Garrick was keen to visit the shipbuilders and see for himself the progress on the yacht he had commissioned. They returned at sunset and in plenty of time to bathe and change into their evening clothes before going downstairs to meet the guests who had been invited to stay at the Hall overnight and those invited for dinner.

Jack had enjoyed the day and would have preferred to spend the evening quietly closeted with his hosts rather than attend a party, but he knew his duty. He dressed with his usual care in his newest coat of blue superfine, white waistcoat and black pantaloons before making his way to the drawing room, where he was determined to please and be pleased by the company gathered for dinner. The Duke and Duchess were already present, and Pru immediately took his arm to draw him further into the room.

‘We are quite a small party, you see,’ she told him, when all the introductions had been made. ‘There will be only fourteen of us sitting down to dinner. Everyone else will be arriving later, for the ball itself.’

Fourteen? Jack frowned. He had not thought it was that many. He glanced around him, then said, ‘I can only count eleven.’

‘Ah, well, there are three more to come. A neighbouring family, at least one of whom you will have met in town.’ She broke off as the door opened. ‘Here they are now!’

Along with the rest of the company, Jack turned, the welcoming smile on his face freezing when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

Hope had been building within Sabrina since she left London, but it evaporated like the morning mists when she followed her parents into the room and saw the look on Jack’s face. She knew him too well to miss the tightening of his jaw and the fleeting shadow that crossed his features before he concealed his displeasure behind a charming smile. She had dressed very carefully for this occasion, leaving off the eye-catching creations she wore in town and choosing a pale green satin slip with an overdress of white lace. The bodice of holly green satin had a modest neckline, which, along with the sleeves and hem of the gown, was decorated with scallops of white lace. The ensemble was completed by white gloves and shoes and a single string of fine pearls around her throat. When she had looked in the glass earlier, she had seen nothing in her appearance that could offend the sternest critic.

Sabrina always dressed far more soberly when she was at Hartland, and she had hoped her modest appearance might appeal to Jack and remind him of the young lady he had known all those years ago. She wanted him to see that she was not the flighty Wicked Widow she appeared to be in town. One look at his cold, unsmiling face told her she had not succeeded, and her heart sank. She wished desperately that she had stayed in London, but there was no avoiding the meeting now. The Duchess was dragging Jack closer, intent upon introducing him to Mama and Papa.

‘Unnecessary, Your Grace, we are already acquainted with Lord John,’ said her father, giving Jack a friendly nod.

‘Oh, of course, Sir Anthony.’ The Duchess smiled. ‘I was forgetting you will have met at last year’s ball.’

Sabrina’s hands tightened about her fan, wondering how the conversation would proceed.

‘Oh, our acquaintance goes back far beyond that,’ declared Papa. ‘We met in London, when we were living in Russell Square, although it was several years ago now.’

‘Yes, it was,’ replied Jack politely. He followed the words with an elegant bow to Sabrina. ‘It was the year of your daughter’s wedding.’

She made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and the full force of his rage hit her like a whiplash.

She was shocked and dismayed to think of him, harbouring such anger for all these years, but she concealed it well, only the merest flicker of her eyelashes acknowledging the searing disappointment. But Sabrina did not dwell on her own discomfort. The mention of her wedding had put her mother on edge, and Lady Kydd replied now, her voice unnaturally bright.

‘Yes, we left London soon after. We have not been back since.’

‘Never felt the desire to travel again,’ put in Papa, with a laugh that sounded false, at least to Sabrina. ‘We are very happily settled in the country now.’

‘I am delighted to hear it.’

Jack’s polite if slightly bored response led Sabrina to hope that he might now move on, but her torment was not yet over, for he turned and addressed her.

‘However, I am surprised, Lady Massyngham, that you have never mentioned to me your connection with Hartland.’

The years Sabrina had spent disguising her true feelings now came to her aid, and she was able to reply with apparent ease.

‘Why, my lord, you and I meet so rarely in town, the opportunity has never arisen.’ Then, with a glittering smile, she excused herself and moved off.

Jack made a conscious effort not to watch Sabrina as she walked away. Instead he kept his attention fixed on exchanging pleasantries with her parents. They were older than he remembered, and Sir Anthony in particular looked thin and worn down, despite his assurance that he was very well. Jack remembered him as a genial, outgoing gentleman, but now he seemed quiet. Shrunken, somehow. Jack wondered if he had been ill, and he put the question to Garrick later.

‘It’s possible, I cannot really say.’ Garrick shrugged. ‘He and Lady Kydd moved here from London a few years before my father died, and they live very quietly. I am barely acquainted with them. You could ask Pru. She knows them better than I.’

‘No, I shall not trouble her. It is not that important.’

The Duke moved on to speak to his guests, and Jack put the matter from his mind. He had no interest now in Sabrina or her family. Or so he told himself. Yet when he saw Sabrina standing alone in the large bay window, the siren call was too strong to ignore. She was looking down into her wine glass, lost in thought, her beautiful mouth drooping a little, and he walked across to join her.

‘Do you visit your parents frequently, Lady Massyngham?’

He had caught her unawares. She started, and he noted the effort she made to arrange her features into a smile.

‘Not as often as I should, I fear.’

‘What made them choose this area?’ She looked at a loss how to answer, and he went on, ‘I would have thought it very remote for one accustomed to the hustle and bustle of London.’

‘It was my mother’s wish.’

‘She has connections in Devon, perhaps?’

‘N-no. She visited the coast here, as a girl, I believe. But more importantly the property was available, and they were able to move in immediately.’

‘Almost before the ink was dry on your marriage settlement.’ Her eyes flew to his face, but he could not resist continuing, goading her, ‘It was rumoured Massyngham paid most handsomely for his bride.’

She bristled at that. ‘One should not always believe rumours, my lord. My father was perfectly capable of purchasing their house in Hartland for himself.’

Surely it was not his imagination that Sabrina was looking discomposed? Good. Why should he be the only one put out by this chance meeting?

He said, ‘But to give up a lucrative government post to move here...’

‘My father took that position in the hope of doing some good,’ she told him, a little sternly. ‘He gave it up because Mama no longer wished to live in town, once...’

‘Once you had made your brilliant alliance?’

‘Quite. Excuse me—’

She went to move away and he stepped in front of her.

‘I understand this is the first time you have attended the November Ball at Hartland, my lady. What made you decide to come this year?’

He waited, but she said nothing and he leaned closer. ‘I hope you are not planning to set your cap at the Duke. You will not succeed there, you know.’

She glared at him, two spots of angry colour staining her cheeks, and her bosom swelled with indignation.

‘How dare you!’

‘Easily, my lady. Your name has been linked with so many noblemen.’

‘Mere tittle-tattle.’

‘Really?’ His lip curled. ‘It is well known your husband connived at your...liaisons. And since his death...well.’ He spread his hands. ‘Your soubriquet is the Wicked Widow, is it not?’

He knew he was insulting her. He saw the flash of anger in her eyes and gave a cold little smile.

‘Yes, you would like to hit me, would you not, Sabrina Fair? But you tried that at Tarleton House, you will recall.’

He knew he was upsetting her; part of him felt ashamed at such unchivalrous behaviour. It was unworthy of a gentleman, but to see her here, looking so damned beautiful, reminding him of the disappointment he had suffered, he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to punish her for the pain that her rejection had caused him. He thought this time she would respond, fly up at him, but instead, she gave a little shrug.

‘Yes, I do remember,’ she replied coolly. ‘What followed was most...disappointing.’

And with a toss of her head she walked away from him.

The hour before dinner was a trial for Sabrina. She regretted the impulse that had made her come all the way from London, chasing a dream that should have died years ago. Jack Callater had no wish to renew their acquaintance, and with good reason. Six years ago she had encouraged his advances and then dropped him without a word. If there was one thing she had learned during the intervening years, it was how much men hated to be ignored. It hurt their pride, where they were most vulnerable.

She had thought tonight she could show him she was not the giddy, pleasure-loving and scandalous widow everyone thought her, but her modest dress had made no difference at all. And his suggestion that she would try to flirt with the Duke of Hartland proved just how little he thought of her.

The man was despicable, and a hypocrite, too. How dare he criticise her behaviour, when he openly acknowledged his own mistresses? He was well known for being a flirt and a dandy. A frippery fellow, no better than the infamous Mr Brummel, whose fashions he imitated, and who had been obliged to flee the country earlier in the year. Jack Callater deserved nothing but her contempt.

She was tempted to plead a headache and go home, but how could she, without causing comment? It would ruin the evening for her parents, and besides that, Pru had always been kind to her, so she must stay and do her duty. She ignored Lord John Callater and talked, laughed and chattered with the other guests until dinner was announced. Only then did she discover, to her chagrin, that she was to sit beside Jack at the table.

Sabrina had quite lost her appetite. She only picked at her food, selecting tiny amounts from the dishes around her. She understood why her hostess had arranged it so. Pru knew she and Jack were acquainted, although thank heaven she had no knowledge of their history. She should have foreseen that good, kind, Prudence might try to bring her and the Duke’s best friend together, but foolishly Sabrina had been so caught up in her own concerns that the idea had not occurred to her.

This could not have happened if she had informed the Duchess that she and Jack had once been close, but Sabrina had told no one of that early romance, and it had seemed unnecessary to confide in Pru, since Sabrina had always timed visits to Devon for those occasions when it was impossible for Jack to be at Hartland. That had been easy enough; a close study of the society pages informed her of Lord John Callater’s movements. In London, her meetings with the Duke and Duchess were rare, and there had been no opportunity since arriving in Devonshire for Sabrina to talk to Pru about such a delicate subject, even if they had been close friends. She stared miserably at her plate, thinking once again what a fool she was to have come.

‘Allow me to help you to a little chicken, ma’am,’ said Jack, interrupting these dismal reflections.

She was about to refuse, then thought better of it. She did not want him to think he had caused her a moment’s discomfort.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘The Duchess speaks very fondly of you,’ he remarked. ‘I had no idea you were such good friends.’.

‘We are not,’ she replied, surprised. ‘That is, we meet when I come into Devonshire, which is rarely, but in town we move in very different circles.’

‘Naturally,’ he drawled. ‘You would not wish to embarrass Pru, I am sure.’

Sabrina blushed with anger and mortification, although he spoke no more than the truth. It had suited her to adopt the role of a disreputable widow with a host of admirers, and it would be useless to deny it now. And yet...

‘The Duchess is very generous,’ she replied. ‘She is aware of my...reputation but pays no heed to the gossip.’ She dared to look at him then. She said earnestly, ‘And it is only gossip, my lord.’

Looking into those green eyes, Jack caught a glimpse of the young and vulnerable Sabrina he had once known. He wanted to believe her, but how could he? Everyone knew she had married Sir Roderick Massyngham for his wealth, and it was no secret that she had been present at his notorious parties. If only half the rumours were true, the man had been as licentious as the legendary Sir Francis Dashwood almost a century earlier.

He shrugged. ‘If you say so, madam.’

Sabrina said nothing but Jack knew he had hurt her. It was evident from her little moue of disappointment. He should be pleased; he had been trying to punish her, but somehow the idea of making her unhappy did not sit well with him.

What does she expect of me? he thought angrily. She rejected me in favour of a dissolute old man. I will give her no sympathy now!

She hunched one white shoulder and turned away, affording him a perfect view of her exquisite profile and elegant back. As if she was not perfectly aware of her charms! He felt his anger growing. Beneath that beautiful exterior, she had the soul of a courtesan.

Jack divided his attention between his dinner and the lady sitting on the other side. He was determined to pay no more heed to Sabrina, but he found it impossible to ignore her. He was painfully aware of her talking in a very animated fashion with the man sitting beside her. She even joined in with conversations across the table, laughing and joking as if she had not a care in the world. Well, let her enjoy herself, he thought grimly. It was nothing to him. She was not his concern.

He pushed his food about his plate and let his mind wander back to his first meeting with Sabrina Kydd, six years ago. She had been wearing green then, he remembered. To be precise, she had been wearing a gossamer thin muslin gown decorated with green acanthus leaves and a green ribbon threaded through those glorious honey gold locks. It had been an unforgettable moment at one of the many very forgettable balls of the London Season.