Chapter 4

Sabre had reached such a low point that if she could have reversed her decision about selling her land, she would have done so. She realized the money would have enabled her to escape even if she had forfeited it to Reverend Bishop in return for her freedom.

Reverend Bishop also wished he had acted differently when the solicitor had interviewed his stepdaughter. Perhaps if he had treated her with kid gloves and showed her some fatherly affection, he could have altered the little hellcat's decision. So when Jacob Goldman once more arrived at the large rectory house in Cheltenham, he was ushered in with the greatest deference, introduced to Mrs. Bishop, and served refreshments.

"Reverend and Mrs. Bishop, the man I represent is Captain Hawkhurst, heir to the great Hawkhurst shipping enterprise. His father, Lord Devonport, is gravely ill and in the event of his death his title will be passed on to Captain Hawkhurst."

Reverend Bishop was suitably impressed to be dealing with the nobility. Therefore, when Goldman broached the subject of marriage, the reverend's mouth fell open.

"I bring an offer of marriage from Lord Devonport's heir to your daughter Sara, providing the wedding can take place June fifteenth."

His youngest daughter, his precious Ann, jumped into the reverend's mind, but as soon as he proposed her name for the brilliant match, he realized that of course the girl who owned the coveted land would get the noble husband.

"Captain Hawkhurst sends his apologies for the un seemly haste, but I have drawn up the marriage contracts and he has most generously agreed to a settlement for Sara's family as well as herself."

Mrs. Bishop was effusive in her praise for her child. "I always knew Sara would marry well. She's special, you know."

"Then you don't forsee any objection on her part to this proposed union?" asked Jacob Goldman, feeling most uneasy about broaching the matter to the beautiful young woman they were discussing.

"Objection?" demanded her stepfather irritably. "I shall overrule her objections, sir. It is my place to accept or decline offers of marriage for my daughter—she has nothing to say in the matter!"

"Ah, Reverend Bishop, that of course is true," agreed Goldman tactfully, but don't you think perhaps if Sara thought it was her decision to make, we would stand a better chance of a speedy and mutually beneficial conclusion to this matter?"

"Yes, George, you do have a tendency to make Sara do exactly the opposite of what you wish, although I have no idea why that is so." Mary Bishop sent him a look that beseeched him not to spoil their chance of being connected with the nobility.

"Very well. Just to please you, my dear, we will have her down and ask her, rather than tell her."

When Sabre had heard the whole story, she couldn't quite believe that this was happening to her. She looked from one to the other, hoping that she wasn't dreaming the whole thing. She realized she had received the offer because of the land, but that was what it was intended for —her dowry. To marry a stranger was frightening, but it was also exciting, and the prospect of going to court was like a dream come true. She realized that if she didn't grab this chance, she might never have another. When offered two alternatives she had always chosen the bolder course. When she smiled at Jacob Goldman, his heart lurched. "May I sign the contract now?"

Her mother was making a great fuss over her and even her stepfather looked fatuously pleased. Mr. Goldman directed her to read everything carefully and showed her where to affix her signature, and she signed Sara Bishop in triplicate, but all she was aware of was the bold, dark name already on the bottom of the contracts—S. Hawkhurst.

As if a magic wand had been waved over her, her life changed dramatically. Suddenly she had become the center of attention. As well as being the pivotal figure of the family's fevered activity, she was the focus of great curiosity and envy from all the aunts and cousins, and word was spreading throughout the congregation and beyond to all the townspeople of Cheltenham and Gloucester.

Sabre basked in her moment of sunshine. At every opportunity she emphasized, "My husband-to-be is a great favorite at court, you know; I will be spending much time there." Her excitement grew daily until she could not sleep at night, and she could not resist sending smug little smiles in her half sisters' direction when she was being fitted for her wedding gown.

Finally she was having her choice honored and she had chosen a cream-colored satin embroidered all over with pearllike beads. She would have a cream lace half-ruff, so she could wear her glorious hair down in display for her bridegroom, and when she tried it on and preened in front of the looking glass, the copper curls sat on the ruff as pretty as a wedding cake!

Sabre could not help rubbing raw the nerves of her sisters and cousins when she saw their mouths tighten with envy. She laughed when their whispers reached her ears; it would take more than their venom to ruin her wedding day; in fact, she believed nothing on earth could spoil it for her.

She walked about in a dreamlike trance thinking of the bridegroom who would come to claim her. Her thoughts were obsessed with him as she envisioned his height, his hair, his eyes, his mouth, his hands, and then she would shiver with excitement. His manners would be courtly, for he was used to the company of the glorious queen of England, another magnificent being her imagination gifted with all the graces. Someday in the not-too-distant future he would become Lord Devonport and he would transform her into Lady Devonport. She was breathless at the thought of it, though it saddened her that his dear father must depart this earth before it became a reality.

She displayed her small trousseau of busks, petticoats, night rails, slippers, and one traveling outfit to her cousins, and when they pointed out how meager it seemed, she waved her hand airily and explained her husband would provide her with a whole new wardrobe in London, for the fashions of the court were far ahead of anything that Gloucester could provide. The styles were so daring at court, she told them, that worn elsewhere they would create a scandal. Each and every female was consumed with envy, for they knew Sabre Wilde was quite capable of creating a scandal, daring fashions or no.

Hawkhurst and Drake sat on the balcony of the Grapes in Narrow Street. It jutted out over the Thames, affording them a clear view of the river and its traffic.

"I can confirm the rumors of Philip's Great Armada. It is being built at Cadiz," said Hawkhurst in low tones.

"Of course! Cadiz is so well hidden," said Drake, his eyes flashing with the intensity of his feelings for the subject. "I scouted the Bay of Biscay from San Sebastian to La Coru?a, then all down the coast of Portugal to Lisbon, and found nothing!"

"Philip is raping Mexico and Peru of silver and gold and is pouring it into ships to conquer England."

"Have you told the queen?" asked Drake.

Hawkhurst shook his head. "Pointless, Francis. You know she has a woman's fear of war and accuses us of inciting Philip's hatred for our own glorification. Essex gets the full force of her wrath each time he brings up the subject of war. She disassociates herself from our pirating Spanish treasure, pretending ignorance of our actions, though she is quick enough to hold out her hand for the profits."

Drake nodded his agreement. How many times had he argued with Elizabeth until he was blue in the face? All to little or no avail. "We'd do better to furnish the information to Walsingham and Cecil," he said decisively.

Hawkhurst inwardly blanched at the mention of the queen's secretary, Walsingham, then replied, "You see Walsingham and I'll talk with Cecil."

The two men operated quite differently. Hawkhurst believed you should always cloak your real desires, think twice before you spoke a word, and never ask directly for what you wanted, while Drake, the son of a country parson, was respectably married and honest and open to a fault. On the other hand, he was a genius at sea and Hawkhurst would choose his company over any other when a Spanish man-of-war was firing cannonballs up your arse!

A Hawkhurst merchant ship arrived in London bringing messages from Georgiana and his brother Matthew, urging him to return to Devonport with all possible speed. He had accomplished so much in the quick trip to London that he felt he could afford to quit the court for a short time, and dusk that day saw him and the baron saddled up for the long ride to Devonport, almost two hundred miles across country.

They rested a few hours only after the first hundred miles was behind them and reached Devonport House in the middle of the night. He had arrived barely in time to see his father breathe his last labored breaths, and by the time the red fingers of dawn reached up from the sea toward the sky, he was the new Lord Devonport.

With his usual energy he saw to the details of the burial and the comforting of his mother, and made the myriad decisions concerning their shipping empire. Along with the title, he had inherited the queen's lieutenantship for Devon, which meant he was responsible for supplying foodstuffs to the navy and overseeing musters of all able-bodied men between sixteen and sixty in case war broke out.

Shane knew the first thing he must do was appoint a deputy lieutenant in his stead and toyed with the idea of bestowing the honor upon Matthew, but finally he appointed a younger brother of his father's, another Hawkhurst and one of his best captains. He had other tasks for Matthew at the moment, and the sooner he laid the plan before his brother the better, for the days were galloping toward June fifteenth.

He invited Matthew to dine with him in Devonport's east wing, and his younger brother was sorely disappointed that Larksong was nowhere in evidence. The two men had large appetites and Shane let Matthew enjoy the hearty food before broaching his subject. Then he settled his brother with a large brandy and deemed him to be in a pliant mood.

"I'm transferring ownership of the Devon Rose to you, Matt. You've had command of her for over a year, so now she's yours."

Matt's eyebrows rose in surprise. His father would never have taken a ship from the family company and given outright ownership of it to a family member, son or no. Shane had had to purchase his ships (or steal them), for none had been given to him.

"It's time you started making money for yourself as well as for the family."

"How can I thank you?" asked Matt, delighted with his good fortune.

"Well, there is something I need you to do for me, Matt."

"Name it!" offered Matt wholeheartedly.

"I'm to be married June fifteenth to a young woman from Cheltenham. I want you to go up there and take care of all the details for me."

Matt let out a whoop. "God's teeth, you're a dark horse! When did you meet her? How long has this been going on? I'm honored to be your groomsman. When do we leave?"

"We don't," said Shane shortly. "I'm commanded back to court in a few days time. I want you to go up there and marry her by proxy." He observed his brother's reaction through half-closed eyes.

"You're jesting!" said Matt with disbelief.

"Not for a moment," said Shane smoothly. "The young woman I am to marry is Sara Bishop; her stepfather is a reverend of the English church. The legal marriage contracts have been drawn up by Jacob Goldman and signed by all parties. You will simply marry her in my name. All quite legal and binding, I assure you."

Matt whistled through his teeth. "Christ Almighty, you're being cool about this. Do you mean to say you've never even seen her?"

"Nor do I intend to. After the ceremony you will convey her to Blackmoor Hall, where she will reside, and I will have fulfilled my promise to Sebastian. It is a simple legal arrangement."

"Blackmoor?" Matt gasped. "You'd send a young girl from the pretty Cotswolds to that bleak, lonely pile of stone near Exmoor Forest?"

"God's teeth, boy, you don't expect me to have her dangling round my bloody neck at Bess's court, do you?" demanded Shane.

"Well, no—a bride is a secret you'll have to guard well. But Blackmoor?" Matt protested. "That's cruel, even for you," he said bluntly.

"Damn it all, Matt, this marriage brings her wealth and a title. What more could she want? She's a simple country girl who will be amenable to my wishes. Blackmoor needs a chatelaine; its been run solely by servants for too long. She'll have a free hand to practice her housewifery and there will be enough to do managing the estate to keep her from mischief. I can't bring her down here and palm her off onto Mother, for two women under one roof would be hell for both. I think it is a perfect solution."

"But what will Sara think?" asked Matt with daring.

"I'm not in the habit of consulting a woman concerning my decisions," said Shane curtly. "Matthew, the easiest for you will be to sail from Devonport into the Bristol Channel and anchor somewhere up the River Severn, then sail back, take Sara to Blackmoor Hall and see that she's settled, then sail the Devon Rose up to London. I've a profitable cargo you can take from my warehouses across the pond to Calais."

Matt shrugged. It was blackmail pure and simple, but when had his brother ever caviled at something so tame as blackmail? The scent of sandalwood incense emanated from the adjoining room, along with the whisper of silken garments. Matt licked his lips and began hesitantly, "I don't suppose … you'd consider—"

"Don't even ask," said Shane, cutting short his young brother's fantasy.

Sabre's three brothers-in-law had each cornered her separately to test her reactions to what was happening. Each man had a corner of his heart reserved for Sabre. Each was convinced she had been his first love, and equally convinced she held a soft spot for him in her affections. Each knew the other two men had offered for her before settling for the wives they got, but there was no jealousy among them because each man was convinced Sabre preferred him in her heart of hearts.

Now everything would change. A stranger would have her, a wealthy, titled man from the queen's court, and their jealousy ran very deep and very hot. David caught her in the vestry of the church where she had gone alone to give thanks for her deliverance and to pray to St. Jude for a husband who would love her. He pressed her against the thick oaken door. "Sabre, you'll never know how I always wanted you." The moment he touched her, he almost lost control. Though it was impossible for anything to penetrate the velvet of his doublet, he could have sworn he felt the heat of her lovely breasts pressed against him.

"Take your hands from me, David. I am now private property," she warned haughtily.

"Sabre, let me have you just once … let me initiate you." He was panting heavily now that he was fully aroused, and his arms turned into bands of iron with his heightened passion. She could feel him full and hard against her and experience had taught her if she cried the alarm and someone came, she would receive the blame for being a teasing wanton. She had learned to rely upon her own devices, so quite deliberately she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. He doubled over and uttered a filthy obscenity.

"Initiation can be painful, David," she whispered with relish.

"By Christ, I hope yours is, you wild little bitch. I hope Hawkhurst rapes you!"

The second encounter was in her very own chamber, where she had assumed no man would ever dare, but she had not reckoned on John's daring. She was just leaving her room one morning as he happened to be passing her door. Without hesitation he pushed her back into the room and closed the door behind him. He knew she wouldn't want to be found compromised a few days before her wedding and gambled that she would keep her mouth shut.

"Sweetheart, we have some unfinished business. You eluded me at the lake, but I've snared you well this time."

"John, you're a good-looking bastard, but you have a yellow streak up your back a mile wide. I could have forgiven you for trying to swim nude with me—after all, you can't help it if you're ruled by your lust—but I'll never forgive you for telling my stepfather. He punished me by taking Sabbath away."

"I'll let you ride me," he said with a leer, and before she knew it he had her laid out flat upon the bed, her skirts lifted to expose her thighs. He undid his breeches quickly and was about to push them down. With a thankful prayer upon her lips Sabre felt beneath the bed and withdrew her father's weapon; the one she had been named for. The long, curved blade touched his belly.

John was whispering frantically, "Sabre, for God's sake, be careful. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. Let me leave now unscathed and I promise I'll not bother you again." He was almost babbling, so great was his fear. She carefully pressed the tip into his belly so as to draw a drop of blood without really hurting him, before he fled.

Her third encounter was more subtle. Andrew found himself alone with her in the stables. It brought back to them both the earlier time when he had asked her to marry him and they had almost made love. Though he drew close, he made no effort to touch her. In fact, he knew if he did touch her, he would be undone. "Sara," he said hoarsely, not teasing her by using her nickname. There was an awkward silence between them. "Please forgive me, Sara, I made a terrible mistake."

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Do you know how much you hurt me, Andrew?"

"I've been punished a thousand times over. Beth is selfish, shallow, unbelievably spoiled … and useless in bed, like a little girl."

"Damn it all, Andrew, she is a little girl. She's only fifteen!"

"I cannot bear the thought of Hawkhurst having you. I love you, Sara … I still love you!" he said miserably. "My parents and Reverend Bishop were the authors of my marriage to Beth instead of to you."

The scent of the stables—leather, hay, horses—made her nostrils flare as she remembered the sweet tenderness between them that other time. "I thought I loved you, too, Andrew, but I was wrong. You are hardly more than a boy … I need a man." She saw Andrew's weakness now and was glad she hadn't married him, but still she felt the need to gloat a little. "By all accounts I'm marrying a man of strength. When he arrives, take a good look, Andrew. Take a good look at a real man!"

Actually, she had neither patience nor time to think of the previous men who had been in her life. The center of her being, of her very existence, was Hawkhurst. She daydreamed of the first words he would say to her and she practiced offering her hand for him to kiss. At night, when she did manage to fall asleep, she dreamed of a bridegroom who was beautiful, gallant, and who cherished her with every look and word.

The days ran together with such speed that suddenly it was the day before the wedding and she found herself with her nose glued to her chamber window for the first glimpse of his arrival. She prayed fervently, "Please, please, St. Jude, don't let me be disappointed. This is to be the most important moment of my whole life. Please, please!"

One brief glimpse was enough to set her pulses racing. He was so tall! If her eyes weren't playing tricks, he was handsome too! Oh, thank you, thank you, she kept whispering under her breath. Suddenly she really felt like a bride, all fluttery and shy, and because she was letting her guard down a little to allow her feelings to show, she felt helplessly vulnerable. She flew to her mirror for the hundredth time. This time she wasn't admiring the lovely pale green day dress, the first such flattering color she had ever owned, this time she was searching for a flaw in her dress or her face which might mar the first impression her bridegroom would have of her.

She was exultant that all four of her half sisters and two of her hateful female cousins were below to witness his arrival. She tried to be patient while she awaited her summons, but patience wasn't in Sabre's nature. She was breathless to race downstairs and come face-to-face with her future, her fate.

Matthew Hawkhurst found the situation disconcerting, to say the least. He managed his introductions well enough, but realized almost immediately that Jacob Goldman had not prepared them for a proxy wedding. The damned coward, thought Matthew with disgust, but he understood Goldman's reluctance when he'd had a chance to size up Reverend Bishop.

As well as Mrs. Bishop there were six young women present and Matthew could not discern which one was the bride, for they all seemed avid for details of the unusual proxy arrangement. He explained firmly that circumstances made it impossible for his brother to be there in person to exchange vows, and he was acting as proxy. He glanced about the room, uncomfortable to be making excuses and explanations in front of the whole family, but to his surprise each girl looked suspiciously happy.

"Under the circumstances it will be inappropriate for the lavish church wedding and reception we had planned. I will dispatch messages immediately, canceling the affair," said the reverend with deference to the wealthy Hawkhurst, yet still needing to control the situation. "Since it will require only a legal, civil ceremony it can be done in the privacy of my study."

Relieved, Matthew nodded his agreement and glanced again at the young women to see if he could identify the bride. He was shocked to see them exchanging gleeful glances and laughing behind their hands. Only Mrs. Bishop looked unhappy and confused.

"I think we had better have Sara down and explain matters to her," the reverend said calmly.

Mrs. Smite, who had hovered behind the door long enough to hear most of what was transpiring, was dispatched for Sara. The iron-faced woman gave her a sly smile and muttered something about "comeuppance," but Sabre was in such a rosy glow, she almost apologized to the woman for calling her "Mrs. Spite."

She ran lightly down the stairs and along the center hallway, her steps only slowing with sudden shyness when she reached the archway to the elegant drawing room.

Matthew was stunned. His first thought was that his brother had gulled him, pretending not to know her. This bride had been chosen with more care than he had taken in selecting an entire crew for one of his beloved ships. She was so breathtakingly, heartstoppingly lovely. From across the room she lifted her heart-shaped face to him and their eyes met before she swept her lashes to her cheeks. They were pale green pools in which a man might drown … willingly. She approached him and sank into a graceful curtsy, and barely above a whisper she breathed, "Mr. Hawkhurst."

He cleared his throat and replied, "Matthew Hawkhurst, your betrothed's brother, Mistress Bishop."

Her face fell and he could have kicked himself for wiping the beautiful, expectant smile from it. Clearly she was disappointed that he was not to be the groom, and in that moment, so was he. However, it told him that without a doubt she had never met his brother.

He clasped her hand and raised her from her curtsy. "Mistress Bishop, I am here as proxy for my brother. I am to give his responses in the marriage service. It was impossible for him to leave court at the moment."

Her body went stiff and her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. This couldn't be happening to her! The bridegroom she had flaunted and bragged about couldn't even be bothered to show up for the wedding! She was aware of eight pairs of gloating female eyes at her back and a shameful blush crept up her throat and suffused her cheeks. She was utterly devastated.

Matthew strove to fill the awful silence. "My ship is anchored in the Severn. It will be my honor to give you safe escort, mistress."

"To court?" she managed to whisper.

It was Matthew's turn to flush. He looked away from the accusing eyes and said quietly, "No. I am to escort you to Blackmoor Hall near Exmoor Forest. It is one of my brother's estates which is in need of a chatelaine. He has sent you letters of instruction about the estate," he finished lamely.

Her eyes burned with green fire. Anger and hatred consumed her to such a degree, it made it impossible for her to hear and think clearly. The whoreson Hawkhurst had slapped her in the face with the greatest insult she had ever received. It was the final, ultimate humiliation. She tried to speak, but the words choked her. Her hand went to her throat, then groped the air as her body swayed toward him. Matthew saw she was about to faint and swept the delicate burden into his arms. He looked down at her with a deep tenderness he had never felt before. Her eyelids fluttered like the wings of a dying butterfly and came to rest upon her cheeks. Her sweet mouth looked so young and so vulnerable. His brother was a swine to have done this to an innocent girl.