La Flamme (Historical Romance) (24 page)

The dowager duchess looked from her son to his friend. "Will one of you tell me what has happened?"

With a resigned intake of breath, Garreth approached his mother and sat beside her. "I met an actress who called herself La Flamme while I was in Paris."

She looked disapproving. "Did Sabine find out about the actress? Is that why she wants to end this marriage?"

Garreth called on all his tolerance. "Remember, Mother, how father was fond of saying that the Blackthorn name had never known disgrace? Because of me, we have known several disgraceful moments."

"What are you saying, Garreth?" his mother asked in a voice filled with dread. "Tell me what you mean."

"Very well. What would father say if he knew that his only son had been accused of murder and locked in the Tower, and that the present duchess of Balmarough had earned money by acting on a stage under the ridiculous name, La Flamme?"

Adrienne covered her mouth in shocked surprise. "Oh, the poor dear. She was forced to feed herself and her brother. I can understand why she might do such a thing."

Garreth scowled at Stephen, who could only smile. The dowager had such an understanding heart.

"She has suffered enough, Garreth," she continued. "You must go to Woodbridge at once and bring her home."

Garreth shook his head. "That I shall never do."

27

There was celebration in the village of Wood-bridge, since the rightful lord now resided at the castle. Even though Lord Richard was only a boy, he had been joyously welcomed home, and it warmed Sabine's heart that he was at long last where he belonged. They spent many hours riding over the estate so Richard would become acquainted with his holding.

An uneasy two months had passed for Sabine. Each day she waited for word from Garreth—but none came. As she stood at the window of her father's study, she watched the first winter snowflakes drift into the courtyard below. She spent a lot of time in this room, trying to recapture the peace she had known in her childhood, but it eluded her.

Every day she went to the crypts where her parents had been entombed. She would kneel for a long time, immersed in prayer. Her prayers were mostly for Richard because he was still confused and a little frightened about the future.

Uncle Joseph had returned to France, and Sabine had been sorry to see him leave. Each day Richard was closeted with their Uncle Simon while he learned about the operation of the Woodbridge estate. Richard was also preparing to leave for Eton in three weeks. The Archbishop of Canterbury had been instrumental in enrolling him in school.

Ysabel came up to the window and glanced over Sabine's shoulder. "It doesn't look like it'll stop snowing today."

"No, it doesn't," Sabine answered. She moved away from the window and sat at her father's desk. "I once loved the winters here."

Ysabel had placed a tray on the desk, and now she handed Sabine a cup of tea. "Sabine, Thea has been brought home. When I admonished the coachman for transporting a person in such ill health in this weather, he said that she insisted on returning to Woodbridge, so he brought her."

Sabine set her cup on the desk. "How did she tolerate the journey?"

"Not well, I fear. I settled her in and took her some clear broth and hot apple juice, but she would have none of it. She keeps asking for you and insisting that she must warn you about someone. I believe she will not rest until she has spoken with you."

Sabine rose. "I'll go to her at once."

Ysabel was watchful. "I heard that a dispatch came today from Rome."

Sabine nodded to the table near the door. "Yes, it was from Father Santini, who put my case before the pope. The annulment is to be granted after I put my name to the papers. I must swear that Garreth and I have never been husband and wife."

"Are you prepared to distort the truth to gain your freedom?"

"I would have done that without the slightest guilt. But now I cannot sign the papers." Sabine gave Ysabel a troubled look.

"You have changed your mind and want to remain Garreth Blackthorn's wife?"

"No, it's something else."

Ysabel was mystified. "You were so sure you wanted the annulment. What made you decide otherwise?"

There was pain in Sabine's eyes, and she clutched her hands tightly, trying not to cry. "Something unforeseen has occurred, Ysabel. If the annulment is granted, that would leave my baby without a name."

Ysabel was clearly shocked. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"How long have you known you were with child?"

"I suspected since our return to Woodbridge—it took me longer to accept it. Then today I received the document from Father Santini. What shall I do?"

Ysabel leaned forward, her eyes probing. "You already know what you must do. This child is issue from your husband, and there must never be any doubt that it is his child. You will have to inform his grace."

"Yes, I know that. I wish it were not so."

"The sooner it is done, the better for all."

"What if Garreth insists that I move to Wolfeton Keep?"

"He will want the baby born in his home, and it is only right that it be thus."

Sabine looked dejected. "I have no desire to go to Wolfeton Keep." She walked to the door. "I must see to Thea, and then I will write Garreth, informing him about the child."

Ysabel shook her head as she watched Sabine leave the room. It was sad that Sabine was never to be master of her own destiny. First she sacrificed herself to a marriage she did not want—then she became an actress for her brother's sake. Now, she would be under the dictates of her husband because she was to have his baby.

Sabine entered the darkened room where Thea lay pale and listless upon her bed. The old nurse was so weak that she could hardly raise her hand to motion Sabine forward.

Sabine sat beside Thea, taking her hand. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Thea?"

"There is no comfort for me. I am dying, and we both know it."

"I will not hear such talk, Thea." Sabine tried to sound cheerful. "1 didn't find you again only to lose you. Do you want me to read to you? You once liked that."

"No, I must talk. I must.. . tell you about the night your father died."

Sabine tensed. She was afraid to hear what Thea had to say—what if she further implicated Garreth? "There is no need to speak of that night. It will only cause you distress."

Thea's hand tightened on Sabine's. "You must listen to me. You still have an enemy, and you must be aware."

Sabine froze, her heart pounding fiercely. This was not the ravings of a dying woman, but the terror of one who had loved her and Richard and feared they were yet in danger. "What is it you want to tell me, Thea?"

Thea's voice grew stronger with urgency. "That night the soldiers thought I was . . . dead. I heard them talking." Her eyes widened, and she tried to rise, but Sabine gently pushed her back against the pillow.

"Please do not speak of this now. When you are better we will talk."

Thea licked her dry lips, praying for strength. "Hear me! I must tell you what I overheard."

"Very well," Sabine nodded. She must know what Thea had learned that night, even if it proved Garreth's guilt.

Thea began to cough, and Sabine handed her a drink of water after the spasms passed.

She looked tenderly at Sabine. "I always knew in my heart that you were alive."

"We survived because of the chance you gave us, Thea."

"Listen to me, Your Grace. This is what I heard one of the men say that night. He did not guard his tongue because he thought I was dead—I very nearly was." Thea stopped as if she were gathering her fragmented thoughts. "I heard a man boast that they had made it look as if the duke of Balmarough was the guilty one."

Sabine's heart contracted. "Are you certain!"

"Yes. There is more. They said that the cousin had finally avenged himself against the duke."

Sabine felt tears of shame swimming in her eyes. Though she had fought against it, she had known in her heart that he was honorable. If only she had believed in his innocence, they might have been happy together. He had loved her, but she had killed that love, and now she must face the consequences—whatever they might be.

"You are not yet safe," Thea continued. "There is another who wished you harm. It chilled me to hear the man speak of some woman wanting your death."

"What did he say?"

"He said, her ladyship won't rest until the duke's wife is dead. He said . . . her ladyship'll want proof that the deed's done."

Sabine stared at Thea. "Garreth is truly innocent."

Thea nodded. "Aye, that he is. I told as much to the king's man long ago. Your husband did not have anything to do with your father's death, as we thought that night. He was betrayed, the same as you."

Sabine glanced upward so Thea would not see her tears. "For so long I have hated and feared my husband, believing that he was a villain. I have wronged him, Thea."

Thea's eyes took on a look of fear. "Beware of this woman who wanted your death. If she is yet alive, she may still wish you ill."

"I can think of no woman who would despise me that much."

"Be alert," Thea warned. "I can no longer watch over you. But you have a good watchdog in Ysabel. She has given me her pledge that she will protect you, and I believe her."

Sabine could see that Thea was in pain. "Rest now, dear Thea. Think only pleasant thoughts."

"Yes ... I am ... so weary." The old nurse's eyes became misty. "I can go now that I have warned you."

Sabine sat beside Thea long after she had fallen asleep, trying to make sense out of all that she had been told. What woman had plotted with Cortland Blackthorn to have her killed? Who would have hated her so much?

During the night, Thea died in her sleep, and the next day she was buried in the churchyard in the village. A large number of friends tramped through the snow to pay their respects, the duchess of Balmarough and the earl of Woodbridge at their head.

Sabine was haunted by the thought that she had wronged Garreth. Would he ever forgive her for tricking him? She thought not—and she did not deserve his forgiveness. Once she had held his love in her hand, only to kill it by humiliating him. A man like Garreth would not easily forget such a blow against his pride.

Three weeks had passed since Sabine sent a message to Garreth about the baby. Every day she expected to hear from him, but thus far there had been only silence.

Sabine was watching Ysabel fold Richard's woolen doublet and place it in the trunk. "You must prepare yourself to face his grace," Ysabel said, pausing. "You know he will want this baby—especially if it is a son."

"I would expect that. I wonder what I'll do if he decides to take the child and reject the mother. Already I love the baby that stirs within my body. I will never give it up, not even to Garreth."

Ysabel closed the trunk. "This is a muddle of confusion."

"The waiting is the worst," Sabine said. "If he had ridden here demanding that I go home with him, I would have understood that. Now I'm afraid that he might refuse to acknowledge the child as his."

"Garreth Blackthorn did not seem a man who would put his feelings in a letter. He will come in person, I think, and he knows that the child is his."

Adrienne Blackthorn closed the door to the study and approached her son. "Garreth, I want to speak to you."

He was seated at his desk and rose as she entered the room. "I wondered when you would approach me about Sabine, Mother."

"It's not only that. I am most concerned about this bitterness in your heart. You never told me all that happened in Paris, and I don't want to know. What concerns me is this change in you." She placed her hand on his arm. "You did not want to marry Sabine, but she is your wife, and she's going to have your child, so she deserves some consideration."

He glanced up. "She was my wife for exactly one night. The results of that night is this baby. If it were not for the child, we both know that she would have gone through with the annulment."

"I wish I did not have to ask this, but 1 must. Are you certain that the child is yours?"

"There is no doubt."

"Of course, forgive me for questioning, but I knew of no other reason that you would be so reluctant to bring Sabine here."

"Fear not, your grandchild will be born at Wolfeton Keep."

Adrienne could see the pain he tried to hide. "I have only seen you this disheartened one other time, and that was the night you promised your dying father that you would marry Sabine Woodbridge. I now realize that the marriage has forged your life, Garreth. Had I known the unhappiness it would cause, I would have objected to the match."

"It's hardly worthwhile to lament about that now, Mother."

"I suppose not," she said. "What do you plan?"

"I go to bring my wife to Wolfeton Keep."

She smiled. "Oh, Garreth, I'm so excited about the baby, and I have wanted to meet Sabine for a very long time."

When Garreth remained silent, she looked perplexed. "Tell me about her."

He shifted some papers on the desk, avoiding her eyes. "She is the most independent woman it has been my misfortune to meet—she is strikingly beautiful, witty, and charming. You will find her honorable and ready to fight for that which she believes to be right, no matter how misguided. After seeing her with her brother, Richard, I am convinced that she will make an admirable mother." His eyes bore into hers. "What else would you like to know about her?"

The dowager heard more in her son's voice then he realized. He sounded like a man in love. "You described qualities I would want for you in a wife."

Garreth moved around the desk and turned to the door. "I have this day received a summons from the king, asking me to come to London with all haste."

"He sends for you to speak of Sabine."

"I daresay," Garreth agreed. "I shall first go to Wood-bridge Castle, and then to the king."

Adrienne rushed to her son. "Be kind to her, Garreth. And remember what she has suffered. Would it not be better to wait until after the child is born to bring her here—the journey is a long one, and the weather is unpredictable this time of year."

"I'm determined that my child will be born at Wolfeton Keep," he said, the coldness back in his voice. "After that, Sabine can either stay or leave—I care not which."