“What happened?” Mary suspected that Miss Dalrymple would tell her that her question was rude, but she could not keep from asking.
“My family’s lineage is quite good—my mother’s cousin is an earl, and my father is the son of a baron. However, they had no fortune, and it was necessary that I marry well. They refused to let me marry Sir Royce.”
“But I thought Royce was—”
“Royce’s fortune and name are quite adequate. But my parents were in dire straits; they needed much greater wealth. And Lord Humphrey sought my hand as well.”
“They forced you to marry him?” Mary asked, appalled.
“No, they were not so brutal. But they forbade my marriage to Royce, and I could not go against them.”
Mary could not envision being in love with one man and marrying another, no matter what one’s parents wanted, but she held her tongue.
As though she guessed Mary’s thoughts, Sabrina released a small sigh. “No doubt you think me poor-spirited. You would have answered them with that bold American defiance. But I could not be responsible for my family’s ruin. Perhaps it is different where you come from, but here, among people like us, one marries as one’s family wishes. Lord Humphrey is a good man, a kind man; he has been the very model of a husband.”
Mary thought of her own mother’s defiance of her father’s wishes. She thought it was not so much an indication of one’s nationality as of one’s nature.
“I cannot regret what I did,” Sabrina went on softly, her eyes sparkling with tears. “But I do regret hurting Royce. He was so angry at me. He wanted me to refuse to do as they wished. We should run away to Gretna Green, he said. But I could not—the scandal would have made my family’s problems worse. I feared Royce would create a dreadful scene, but the old earl and Oliver shipped him off to one of the Talbot holdings in Scotland. I hoped that in time Royce would forgive me, that he would find wedded happiness, too. But he has never married.”
Of course he had not.
It was all clear to Mary now. Everything Royce had done made sense—dreadful, appalling sense. No wonder he was short, even rude to Sabrina. It was too painful for him to be around her. He blamed her for breaking his heart. He had loved Sabrina; indeed, his feelings for her had probably never died.
“I-I am sorry to hear about … your past sorrow,” Mary said, groping for the right words. She wanted only to get out of here, to rush home, to hide in her room and try to absorb this news. Why had Royce told her none of this?
“You are kind.” Sabrina squeezed her arm affectionately. “It is such a relief having someone in whom I can confide.”
Mary smiled noncommittally, hoping she would not have to hear any more confidences. Sabrina, as though sensing her mood, strolled back to the other women. Mary slipped into the space between Rose and Camellia on the sofa.
The men rejoined them soon, and after that the evening wore down quickly. It was clear that Royce was impatient, and even Fitz made little effort to keep the conversation going. In the carriage on the way home, everyone was quiet, even the usually voluble Lily and Charlotte. Mary closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat, her thoughts boiling. She went over everything that had happened between her and Sir Royce, viewing it this time from the vantage point of her new knowledge. No wonder he had told her he did not expect to fall in love. He was already in love with a woman whom he could never have. What did it matter to him whom he married?#p#分页标题#e#
At least she had not accepted his proposal, which made Mary feel a little less a fool. Still, she could not help but burn with resentment. How could Royce have asked her to be his wife without revealing his past with Sabrina? Granted, he had made it clear that he would never love Mary, but that was not the same thing as admitting that he loved another. Mary could not imagine that any woman would want to marry a man who yearned for another woman he could not have; certainly she had no desire for such a marriage.
Pleading a headache, Mary went straight to bed when they got home, never once glancing in Royce’s direction. She could not bear to have the maid fussing over her, so as soon as Prue had helped her out of her evening gown, she sent her to bed, telling her that she would deal with her hair herself.
Flinging herself down on the chair in front of the vanity, she yanked the pins from her hair, tugging her curls so painfully that her eyes watered. Frankly, she would have liked to cry; it would be easier to give way to a fit of sobs. At least then she could purge some of the emotion churning inside her. But tears came no more easily than sleep, and by the time the sun was first streaking the sky the next morning, she was still tossing and turning in her bed.