Page 82 of Impassioned
Constantine’s fingers skimmed along her lower spine. “She looks stunning, doesn’t she?”
“She seems a bit thin, honestly.” The implication was clear—she couldn’t possibly be increasing. Sabrina gently bit the inside of her mouth lest she blurt that she could, in fact, be expecting an heir.
Before Sabrina could summon a retort—and she doubted she could—Constantine clasped her waist. “I hope you have a pleasant evening, Lady Tarleton.” He nodded toward the viscount. “Tarleton.”
Dismissed, Sabrina’s parents moved along toward the staircase hall. Though the downstairs was mostly open to guests, since the dining room contained the refreshments and the parlor held gaming tables, everyone funneled upstairs to the drawing room when they arrived.
Sabrina exhaled as her parents departed. She leaned her head toward Constantine. “Thank you.”
“Ignore them,” he whispered. “They are completely beneath your concern.” The frigidity in his tone made her shiver. She’d once thought she was beneath his concern, or at least his notice, and that was a terrible place to be. It was, however, a deserving situation for her parents.
Shortly thereafter, they finished their duties in the foyer. Anyone arriving after they left would simply be admitted without a personal greeting.
“I’m going to do a circuit and see how things are going,” Sabrina said. “Would you mind checking the parlor and seeing if the games are running smoothly?”
“I am at your command.” He kissed the back of her hand, then winked at her before taking himself off.
Smiling with a contented sigh, Sabrina went first to the dining room. The sideboard, set with the first small wave of food, looked lovely, but there was an empty space. Something was missing. Scanning the room, Sabrina saw a footman in the corner and strode to him.
“Archer, did something happen to one of the dishes meant for the table?”
He grimaced just slightly before he schooled his features into a serene mask. “There was a problem with the lobster cakes, my lady. Two of the kitchen maids who sampled them this morning fell ill.”
“Oh dear, are they all right?” Sabrina made a mental note to talk with Mrs. Haddock as soon as possible.
“I can’t say.”
“Well, at least the cakes didn’t arrive on the table.”
“Actually, they did, ma’am. The maids only became sick in the last half hour or so. Mrs. Haddock just had the cakes removed before you came in.”
Sabrina wanted to ask if anyone had eaten them before they were taken from the table but was afraid to learn the answer. Offering him a tepid smile, she left the dining room on wooden legs. They were short a musician, the champagne supply was low, and they might have made a guest—or ten—ill from bad lobster cakes.
What more could go wrong?
Sabrina didn’t want the answer to that either.
Her wishes didn’t matter since not five minutes later, a footman informed her that the second delivery of ice hadn’t arrived. After instructing him to make the current stock last as long as possible, she considered retreating to the second floor for the remainder of the evening.
She could not, of course, so she went to the drawing room and braced herself for yet another disaster. And there he was across the room scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes and a deep frown. The Duke of Evesham had apparently arrived while she was in the dining room. Blast, Sabrina had prayed, rather foolishly, that he’d decided not to come.
Hoping to avoid Constantine’s father, at least for a short while, she went in search of Evie or Cassandra or Miss Lancaster—anyone but him. Or her parents. She found a great many people and spent the subsequent half hour or so conversing with guests until the next set of music began and dancers flocked to the dance floor.
As she made her way through the throng, she walked straight into her father-in-law. She ought to have known she couldn’t avoid him forever. Was it too much to hope she could have evaded him tonight though?
“Your Grace, I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she managed to say. “Is there anything you require?”
“A full complement of musicians would suffice. Or a glass of punch with a decent amount of ice. Everyone is complaining about the shortage of ice.” He frowned at her, and she wished she could melt into the floor. “But all of that will fade from my memory when you find a suitor for my daughter. It’s been nearly a fortnight and you’ve nothing to show for your efforts.”
“That’s not exactly true. Lord Glastonbury is a worthy candidate.” She hoped so, but Constantine hadn’t confirmed his viability as a potential husband.
The duke’s brows shot up. “Glastonbury is in the mix?” He grunted softly, then narrowed his eyes at her, which seemed to be the way he typically preferred to regard her. “Until he pays a call, it’s just your wishful thinking. You’ll need to do better than this if you want to keep your position.”
Sabrina’s frustration and distress from the succession of troubles neared a boiling point. “What position is that? I am the future Duchess of Evesham,” she said sweetly, feeling rather proud of her ability to stand up to him.
“As Cassandra’s sponsor,” the duke said sharply. “There is nothing I can do about your position in my family as Constantine’s wife, but hopefully you will serve your purpose.” His gaze flicked to her midsection, and it was clear he meant that she would bear her husband an heir.
“If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I’ve a ball to oversee.” She didn’t bother trying to smile pleasantly or otherwise.
