Page 20 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

“Until tomorrow. Good afternoon, Lady Pepperdon, Miss Tuttle.”

As she exited the school, a weight lifted from her soul. Soon she would be free. Live her life on her own terms. Though Sabrina barely knew Riordan Black, a small part of her did trust him.

“My lady, if I may.”

Mary’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “What is it?”

“May I make a suggestion?” Sabrina nodded. “In your future dealings with Mr. Black, you may wish to…soften your tone. He is doing you a great service and deserves your gracious consideration.”

Sabrina halted. “Did I sound…harsh?” What a silly question—she knew she had.

“Yes, my lady. I know you don’t mean to; how can you help it with what you’ve had to deal with? Mr. Black was teasing you, good-naturedly. I heard no mockery in his voice. I believe you’ve forgotten what affectionate teasing sounds like. Be open to his friendship. It will make the next three months all the more bearable and…enjoyable.” Mary tsked. “I’m speaking out of turn.”

Affectionate? Truly? “My dear Mary. You are well aware you may say whatever you’re thinking. We are friends. I welcome your counsel.” Sabrina sighed. “You’re right. I cannot tell the difference between a teasing remark and a deliberate insult. I am not used to being treated with…with…”

“Respect? Compassion? Kindness?”

Sabrina smiled. “Yes. All of it.” She looped her arm through Mary’s and they continued toward the woods. “This is a fresh start in all ways. I will heed your suggestion and be more solicitous.”

Sabrina glanced at her surroundings as they strolled toward home. Everything was enhanced and reflected vivid color and splendor, especially the autumn leaves with their shimmering red and gold tones. Birdsong filled her hearing, as did the crunching of the multihued leaves as they walked. Hours before her meeting with Riordan she’d taken little notice of such, and if she had it would have been a dismal cacophony of sound, and the leaves falling from the trees would have reminded her of death.

Today? All of it became a lush symphony of beauty and rebirth. Indeed, it was concerto of life itself. She looked up at the sun, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. For the first time in a long while, she was happy.

Mary squeezed her arm, returning her attention to the conversation. “You won’t regret it, my lady. I knew right off he was a decent man when I looked into his handsome face. As my sailor father used to say, ‘I like the cut of his jib.’ He will do right by you. I know it.”

“I am glad to hear it. Your opinion means a great deal to me. You know, I’m famished. Let’s head to the kitchen when we return and see what cook can whip up for us. I foresee slices of chicken swimming in a creamy, decadent sauce. Something chocolate for afters.”

Mary laughed as they stepped across the front entrance—but the laugh died in her throat as they were greeted by Sabrina’s father, his face mottled and his expression angry.

In three long strides he stood before Sabrina and grabbed her arm. “Where have you been?” he hissed through clenched teeth. He squeezed and she cried out, pain shooting up to her shoulder.

“You are hurting me,” she snapped, biting her lip to stem the acute throbbing from his cruel grip.

“I will do worse than this if you do not do as I say. Sutherhorne is here, and has been waiting for more than an hour.”

Sabrina stopped struggling and her eyes widened in shock. “But…he was not supposed to be here until tomorrow,” she gasped.

Finally, he released her arm. “Apparently he is anxious to see this marriage take place, and I am equally anxious to be rid of you.”

And I you, Father. She nearly spoke the words aloud, but this was not the time to enter into an argument. “I’m not prepared to see or speak to him today,” she said, her tone flat. Her insides roiled with apprehension.

“I do not care. Speak to him you will. And you will say one word: yes.” He pushed her toward the sitting room.

“Wait. Let me give Mary my cloak.”

She scurried away from her father, and as she handed Mary the wool cloak she whispered in her ear, “Run to the school. Inform Mr. Black of the developments. Whatever he has planned must be put into motion immediately.”

Mary gave her a quick nod and headed for the back stairs. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she turned to face her father. How to handle this? She had not completely prepared herself for the conversation with the marquess. First, do not show fear. Not to her father or to Sutherhorne. Second, do not give a firm yes. You can do this.

“Come, we do not have all day.” Her father held out his arm. Moving her shaking legs forward, she entered the sitting room. Standing, facing the fire, was a tall, thin man leaning on a cane. He turned to face her.

This man was not the marquess she had met at a ball, who smelled of horse and had missing teeth. That man was weak and harmless. This man was none of it. The Marquess of Sutherhorne was frosty and formidable.

This man was far worse than she had imagined.

Chapter 9

“Sutherhorne, my daughter, Lady Sabrina Pepperdon, widow of the late Earl of Pepperdon. Sabrina, this is Brendan Whiddon, the Marquess of Sutherhorne.”