The Kent Heiress Page 5

  “I don’t know,” Sabrina confessed. “We—we didn’t have time to talk about it.

  Suddenly she remembered that he had looked ill and tired. Austerlitz! He had said he was at Austerlitz! In the battle? Perce? He must have been! He was with General Bagration, who had fought a desperate rearguard action when much of the rest of the army had panicked. Prince General Bagration was the hero of a lost cause. His action had permitted old Field Marshal Kutuzov, commanding the Russian forces, to rally a few remnants of the army so that the tsar and others could retreat safely. Sabrina had never thought of Perce in a battle. It wasn’t a pleasant idea. If anything happened to him… Perce hurt? Dead? A big hollow opened inside Sabrina.

  “Well, that still doesna explain why ye came home lookin’ like a poleaxed ox.”

  The sharp comment was a relief. It broke the anguish wakened by the thought of losing Perce. Stupid thing to worry about, Sabrina told herself severely, now that he was safe. But she didn’t want to answer Katy’s remark. She wouldn’t lie to Katy, but she couldn’t confess what had happened, either. All she could do was shake her head.

  Katy’s eyes narrowed, but she asked no more questions. That stupid, vicious clot of a husband must have shamed Brina publicly. Katy seethed, but she kept her expression bland. No use adding to Brina’s troubles. Besides, Brina was looking better now, more thoughtful than sad. Whatever Himself had done, it seemed to be pushing Brina to some kind of a decision.

  It wasn’t often that Katy misjudged her nursling, but she was far out this time. Her question had, of course, brought Sabrina’s mind right back to Perce’s saying he was in love with her. But the words came from a new face, not from the boyish lips that had told her stories and kissed her bruised knees and laughed at her. The lips that had said those words were thin with pain, and there were lines of bitterness around the mouth. The dark shadowed eyes had seen a great deal since Perce used to make blank fish eyes to conceal her little sins or since they glinted with mischief when he teased her. Between then and now, they had looked on the shambles of Austerlitz—and what else? Bonaparte had trapped the Russian and Austrian armies at Austerlitz, and over twenty-six thousand men had lost their lives in the battle against the French invaders. What was Perce doing in company with Russian generals?

  Sabrina uttered an exclamation of frustration when she realized she had no idea where he was staying or how to reach him.

  “What’s it now?” Katy inquired as she set the tray of chocolate and dry bread and jam over Sabrina’s thighs. She sounded relieved, and she was. Brina’s remark had been in a natural tone of irritation.

  “I didn’t get Perce’s address,” Sabrina replied.

  “Why would ye be needin’ it?” Katy countered. “Sure he’ll be here soon as he thinks it decent. And dinna be worritin’ that he hasna yer direction, either. He only looks like an idiot—sometimes. He’s got rare brains, Lord Kevern. He’ll know he can find ye by askin’ at the ambassador’s.”

  “He might not be able to come,” Sabrina replied, skirting the truth. “I think he’s here on some secret government business—and don’t say a word to anyone, especially to Charlot. I know he’s been with William for years and years and is loyal to him—but he’s French, and—and Perce isn’t William.”

  “A greater truth you never spoke,” Katy said sharply.

  “My goodness, Katy,” Sabrina exclaimed, setting down the chocolate she had been about to sip. “Do you think Charlot would help Bonaparte? Send information or—”

  “Dinna be silly, Brina. Charlot’s no more interested in Bonaparte than I am, and for all his French accent he was born in England. I meant what ye said about Lord Kevern and Himself. There couldna be two men more different.”

  Couldn’t there be? Sabrina sipped her chocolate as Katy went out into the dressing room and came back carrying underclothing and went out again. As soon as she said she was unhappy with William, the chase had started, Sabrina thought bitterly. Only Perce wasn’t as skilled as William. He had started with his mouth instead of his eyes. That was stupid. Any woman… Sabrina’s mind backed up and considered the last completed thought. Whatever Perce was, he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t clumsy, either. It was very rare indeed, for Perce Moreton to set a foot wrong in any undertaking.

  Oh, Perce got into trouble, lots of it, all the time—but that was youthful, deliberate deviltry. He wasn’t like Philip, barging blithely ahead where angels feared to tread. That pair was like a ship, with Philip the bowsprit and Perce the rudder. He wasn’t a very cautious rudder. He’d go along with Philip head on into the rocks to see if they’d jump aside and for the hellish joy of dodging a near thing—but he did dodge. He had it all planned out.

  No, Perce wasn’t stupid and wasn’t clumsy, but blurting out “I’m in love with you” was both. It was the wrong time too, and Perce never missed on his timing. He always knew just when to say the word that would make Roger start to laugh and save them all a whipping. He knew just when to approach Leonie to get permission to do something that wasn’t “quite proper”. So Perce had done something both stupid and clumsy and at the wrong time. Why?

  Because he hadn’t intended to say it. Because it had been forced out of him by shock—or by an overwhelming emotion. Because he was shaken up so much that he had stated the naked truth.

  That was all very logical Sabrina thought, but the conclusion was insane. When could Perce have fallen in love with her? She hadn’t even really seen him for years—not since she’d married William. She stopped there, jam-filled spoon suspended over her bread. Not since she’d married William. William! That could have been a coincidence. They had only been in England for three months after the wedding and another five months in 1804. She spread the jam over the bread slowly, thoughtfully. No it wasn’t a coincidence. It so happened that Perce was an old friend Meg’s as well as of Philip’s. It was too odd that he wouldn’t visit even once in five months.

  Well hurrah for logic. A fat lot of good it did when it provided conclusions crazier than plain guessing. A man doesn’t fall in love with a girl who isn’t there. Or does he? Was it because he missed her? But that was ridiculous, too. Perce used to visit often, but he didn’t live with them. There were often months between visits. He had had plenty of chance to miss her before she ever set eyes William.

  Absently, Sabrina ate her bread and jam and sipped her chocolate. She was never going to find the answer this way. Her logic was full of holes. Perce could have said he loved her because he thought she needed it said, because he thought she was hurt by William’s playing around and needed to feel loved.

  Whatever his reason, Sabrina knew she couldn’t let the matter rest where it was. That would mean losing him. Also, there were too many questions unanswered, one of them damned dangerous. She had said to Katy that Perce must be involved in government business, but she wasn’t really sure of that it all. It was a possibility and a good excuse for his inability to visit. But it was just as possible that this was another case of Perce looking for trouble, to make life interesting. If so, she was going to have to do something about that. Bonaparte wasn’t going to stop. There would be more battles. Even Perce’s perfect timing wouldn’t help him dodge bullets.

  Sabrina put aside the remains of her breakfast and got out of bed. She threw off her nightdress and slipped on her undergarments, pale yellow silk pantalettes, edged and flounced with natural lace and buttoned at the waist. Sabrina ran a hand automatically along the hip. Wrinkling meant she was gaining weight, the well-fitted garment pulling a bit at the seams. No wrinkling. In fact, the fabric slipped about more than usual; she was getting thinner. Sabrina sighed. She was unfashionably slender already.

  A narrow breastband followed. Many women no longer wore them, having cast them aside with their corsets in the name of freedom, but Sabrina had rather full breasts and found herself uncomfortable without some support. Besides with necklines as low as they were these days, there was the danger that a full-breasted woman
would bob right out of her dress if she moved energetically. On the other hand, Sabrina did not use or need the bodyband that controlled the abdomen. Hers was flat and hard still, although she really did not get enough exercise these days.

  A simple chemise and petticoat, also pale yellow silk with lace trim, followed. Sabrina sat down and drew on her stockings. These were rather heavy wool, not at all fashionable but more practical than thin silk with the temperature below zero and the floors cold. Her long skirt would hide her concession to practicality. She tied her garters above her knees just as Katy, who had heard her moving around, came in carrying her dress. This too, was pale yellow silk, its bodice so short that it came barely one third of the way up, exposing about two thirds of her breasts. Katy clucked and mumbled as she twitched the dress into place, fastening the tiny buttons at the back.

  “Well, I agree with you,” Sabrina said in response to Katy’s grumbling. “I think it’s idiotic to wear low-necked thin silk dresses in the middle of a Russian winter, too, but William’s position must be supported. He can’t have a dowdy wife. Frankly, I’d like to try traditional Russian dress, but there’s so much bad feeling about it because of the last tsar’s stupid laws that I don’t dare.”

  Katy came around in front, having done up Sabrina’s buttons and looked at her. “I didna say a word about the dress,” she remarked as she pulled a rich gold overdress up Sabrina’s arms. “What’s wrong with ye, Brina?”

  “What did you say?’ Sabrina asked guiltily. Her mind had been miles away and she had answered Katy’s usual complaint without really listening to her.

  “It wasna important, but ye’re actin’ queer, luv.”

  “I’m just worried, Katy. Whatever I do is going to make trouble…”

  Her voice drifted away. She was talking of her marriage, of course, so why did she think of Perce? She was going to have to see him. It didn’t seem possible to concentrate on anything else. But Sabrina was very much afraid Perce would not come or even write to her. He must have seen that he had offended rather than reassured her. In that case, he would do his best to avoid her. She would have to send him a note, but she didn’t know where to send it. Well, William could find out for her. Sabrina grabbed for her shawl and hurried down to catch William at breakfast.

  Perce was having a very similar argument with himself, although he had not enjoyed pleasant dreams. In fact, he had hardly slept at all, and his memory of the ball, unlike Sabrina’s, was all too vivid. Nonetheless he, too, felt he could not allow matters to rest where they were and was racking his brains for a way to approach her—no, not so much that. Elvan, damn and blast him, would arrange the approach. Perce was trying to think of some explanation for what he had blurted out that would permit Sabrina to look at him without feeling sick.

  Damn Elvan! Curse, rot, and damn Elvan! It was all his fault. If he hadn’t made Brina miserable to start out with, the whole situation wouldn’t have occurred. If he had just kept his damned mouth shut about personal matters when he was talking to General Bagration, that kind, thoughtful Russian would not have withdrawn his invitation to Perce to stay at his estate near Moscow. Elvan had told the prince of Perce’s long friendship with Sabrina’s family. Bagration had smiled on Perce kindly and said he could come to his estate another time, that Perce should stay and taste the joys if St. Petersburg in the company of his friends right now.

  For a while after realizing that protest was useless, Perce had given some thought to murdering Elvan. He knew quite well why that sly son of a bitch had been so passionate in urging him to stay. Elvan thought he had found a nice safe escort for his wife, a cavalier servente who would take her anywhere and keep her occupied so that Elvan himself could concentrate on his romantic escapades.

  Perce sat on the edge of his bed and held his head in his hands and groaned. If he had known! If he had only known! He had been so furious that only Bagration’s rather abrupt departure soon after the supper had been served had prevented Perce from telling Elvan the truth. Perce sighed. That was one time it was lucky he had never been able to get Elvan alone. If he had confessed, it might have made serious trouble for Brina. Unfaithful husbands always seemed to be suspicious. Logic never influenced such, suspicions. It made no difference that he and Sabrina had not exchanged more than a few words at a public ball since her engagement, had not even been in the same country most of the time. If Elvan wanted to dream up an affair…

  There was no use crying over spilt milk. He would have to… Suddenly Perce jerked upright and snatched his watch off the table. What a fool he was! Instead of confessing he loved Sabrina, he should have told Elvan the other truth to his face—that he didn’t intend to play cavalier servente so that Elvan could whore around with another woman. Grinning viciously, Perce began to strip off his nightshirt. He would catch that sly, sneaking bastard at breakfast and put a flea in his ear before Sabrina came down. As for Brina… Perce shrugged. He would leave his card. If she wanted to see him, she would write.

  He shouted for the Russian serf who served him. Sergei was a bear of a man, thick and dark and broad. He was solidly built with rock-hard muscles and massive short legs. His face was flat and open. Dark, bright eyes twinkled under bushy brows, and a broad forehead was hidden under curly black hair touched with graying streaks. Sergei had been someone’s serf—Perce had never been able to figure out to whom he had belonged—but he had been singled out for the army when he was little more than a boy, and by virtue of long separation from his home he was as much a free man as any soldier could be. Perce had come upon Sergei very soon after he arrived at the Russian army camp. Having had no previous connection with any army, British or foreign, Perce was not accustomed to the brutality with which the troops were treated, and Sergei was about to be whipped for some infraction of the rules. Although Perce knew he should mind his own business, he had asked what the man had done, mostly through pantomime. From expression and gesture, he guessed it was a minor matter, usually settled by paying a fine—only Sergei had no money. Casually, Perce had flipped the sergeant a gold coin.

  “Take it out of that,” he said in French, hoping someone would understand him. Then he looked around at the ragged troop and tossed over several more guineas. “And get your men something decent to eat and some shoes.”

  How much any of them understood of what he said he didn’t know. Perce could comprehend some Russian but could speak only a few words—all unsuitable for this occasion. Obviously the sergeant realized that Perce had paid Sergei’s fine, because the man was released and allowed to put on his shirt. That was all Perce really cared about. If the money disappeared into the sergeant’s pocket, it would still benefit the men by improving the sergeant’s temper.

  Thus he was somewhat surprised five minutes later to find Sergei trotting behind his horse. First he thought the man wanted to thank him. However, he was stunned, after an interpreter had been found, to discover he had bought Sergei. Realizing he was in out of his depth, he had sought out his friends on General Bagration’s staff and discussed the matter with them. It was made clear to him that it would be a great cruelty to dismiss or even to attempt to free Sergei. The man had long lost touch with his relatives and did not even seem sure from what part of Russia he came. Perce was somewhat worried about what he would do with Sergei when it was time to leave Russia, but he set about using him to learn Russian while he taught the serf French and trained him to be useful in other ways.

  Over the nine months that Perce had been with the Russian army and guest of various officers of that army, Sergei had proved invaluable. Perce made no pretense of being able to understand him. In a sense Sergei had a real slave mentality. He had to belong to someone, but had no particular loyalty. Perce had bought him and was now his personal “little father”. He would, and nearly did more than once, die for Perce. If, however, Perce sold him, he would be equally loyal, to his new master. Once Perce had even tried to discuss the matter but could get no more out of Sergei than that the “
soul” was sold.

  Not that Sergei was unfeeling. One of the reasons Perce never got to the bottom of the selling of souls was that Sergei became so frantic with terror at the thought of being sold to someone else. He, who faced bullets and cannon without flinching, fell on his knees and wept and begged Perce to inflict any punishment on him for his wrongdoing but not to sell him. It took Perce nearly an hour to explain to his servant he had done nothing wrong, that the question had been asked only out of curiosity. Whether he had convinced Sergei, Perce didn’t know. For weeks the man had looked hunted and haunted, trembling every time someone visited Perce or whenever he had to accompany his master anywhere. He had not quite recovered from his fright, even several months later.

  On the other hand, Sergei was never cringing or even dependent in a slavish way. He assumed that Perce held the ultimate responsibility, but he was clever in general and could be fiendishly inventive when it came to practical matters like obtaining food and shelter on the march and in dangerous situations. Perce was not sure he would have survived the retreat from Austerlitz if it had not been for Sergei—and certainly not with his baggage intact. Another oddity was the complete lack of formality with which Sergei treated his master and dealt with him. He might fling himself on the floor and kiss Perce’s feet while begging pardon for a mistake, but in an ordinary situation he laughed and joked and gossiped in a way no English servant would dare imitate.

  Now, in answer to Perce’s shout, Sergei stuck his head in the door and asked, “What do you want?”

  “My clothes and my horse—and quickly,” Perce said in Russian.

  “Quickly, quickly,” Sergei grumbled. “Always everything quickly. Take the sleigh. It’s too cold to ride. And what about food? You can’t go without eating.”’

  “Mind your own business,” Perce responded. He had long since gotten over being shocked by Sergei’s unsolicited advice and merely answered the man in his own terms. “It will take too long to get the sleigh ready. I want to catch someone at breakfast—an Englishman, not a Russian,” he added as he saw Sergei’s mouth open to say that it was too early for any sane man to be eating breakfast.