The door closed, and Sabrina turned back to the bed, or, rather, to the nightstand, where she placed the tray. She could feel Harry’s eyes on her but did not meet them.
“I do not need you to explain anything to me, Mr. Stillman. You have made yourself quite clear.”
He reached out to touch her arm, and she stepped quickly away, keeping her eyes on the floor. How could she have let down her guard? And with him of all people? She knew better. She was better. She needed to get out of this room before she lost all dignity.
Her hand was on the knob when she heard his voice from behind her.
“Good night, Sabrina. I am sorry that such a wonderful evening ended poorly. I pray you will forgive me.”
He would go to London in the morning and not come back. He would be out of her house. Out of her life. And then she would do everything she possibly could to help herself forget how he had looked when he waited for her at the bottom of the stairs tonight.
What it had felt like to talk with him over dinner at a table she’d sat alone at for so many dinners over the years.
How it had felt to be touched.
What she would not allow herself to forget, however, was how it had felt to be rejected. That feeling was one she would hold close—one more brick in the wall she would keep around her heart that obviously could not be trusted to act in wisdom or prudence.
Therese was in her office going over the daily book when Sabrina found her the next morning. “What time is Mr. Stillman removing to London?” she asked, trying not to let her words sound clipped.
Therese looked so closely at her that Sabrina feared there were signs of her late-night tears, even though she’d inspected her reflection in her looking glass and deemed it acceptable. The woman would not ask, however, and Sabrina would not explain.
“Steven will have the carriage ready at eleven thirty. Mr. Stillman’s appointment is at two o’clock.”
Sabrina gave a sharp nod. “Very good. I shall be calling on Mrs. Clemson this morning and will likely not return before he leaves. It is a pleasant enough walk so I will not need the carriage.” She lifted the letter she’d written to Harry and slid it across the desk toward Therese. “I’ve included my farewell here. If you would be so kind as to give it to him when he is prepared to leave.”
“Would you not rather give it to him yourself?”
“No,” she said coolly. “This is mostly well-wishes toward a full recovery and acknowledgment of his dedication toward improvement.”
It had occurred to her that morning that his rejection could have been because of his commitment to pursue a more noble life. Allowing him honorable motivations brought small comfort to her jagged humiliation. She wondered why she was not yet used to rejection after so many years of it. She had not been enough as a daughter, a wife, or a mother either.
Yet Harry had done her a favor; she would have woken up today with unfathomable regret had he not pushed her away. Her shame now served as the very blade she’d needed to cut through the draw she’d felt toward him.
She was finished with Harry Stillman.
Therese watched her closely, but Sabrina pretended not to notice. She pushed the letter closer to Therese, who finally picked it up.
Sabrina forced a smile. “Well then, I shall be off. After my return, I shall be finalizing my schedule and hope to have a written version for you by this evening.” Sabrina put on her gloves—pink to match the pelisse she had chosen, hoping the cheery color would invite a brighter mood than she felt.
“Very good, ma’am,” Therese said, rising to her feet. She glanced at the letter in her hands. “Are you sure you would not like to give this to Mr. Stillman yourself?” she asked again. “He looks forward to your time together like a child awaiting sweets. I believe he will be very disappointed not to say goodbye. You remember he will be going on to his uncle’s house upon the completion of his appointment?”
“I am well aware of his arrangements,” she said with enough ice in her tone to make her teeth hurt. “It is time for all of us to move on with our lives—Mr.