“No, thank you.” Her bravado faltered for a moment. It was one thing to boldly face her husband and another to approach her brother-in-law, whom she didn’t know all that well. Then again, did she really know her husband well either? Perhaps not, but her frustration with him and their marriage provided an excellent fuel for her audacity. “I came to, ah, ask for your assistance. I understand you do that. Provide assistance, I mean.”
One of his dark brows ticked up. “I see. Tell me how I can help.”
Sabrina moved to a chair and perched on the edge of the peacock blue cushion. Lord Lucien set his hat and gloves upon the desk and took another chair nearby.
Gathering her courage, she laid out precisely what she required. “I am in need of a new wardrobe, and I should like to receive invitations to the best events the Season has to offer. You may wonder why I’m coming to you for this, and the truth is that I don’t know where else to go. I can’t ask my mother. She thinks my wardrobe is fine, and she’ll only tell me that as the Countess of Aldington, I already have everything I need and shouldn’t desire anything more.”
“How unhelpful,” he murmured. “I am sorry about that. Are there no other women with whom you may confer?”
Sabrina shook her head, feeling the old, familiar heat in her cheeks. Anxiety floated up her throat, and she struggled to swallow.
“I know just the person who can help you,” he said warmly. “Mrs. Renshaw is one of the patronesses at the Phoenix Club. She has excellent taste and is well-versed in the latest fashions. I’m not entirely sure how to help you garner the ‘best’ invitations, but I do have an idea that will vault you to the inner circle of London gossip and intrigue.”
That sounded troublesome. Sabrina didn’t care for gossip or intrigue. “Oh dear, do I want that?”
“Yes, because it will prompt people to invite you to everything.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair.
“Well, then I suppose I must. What is your idea?”
“I’m going to present your name to the membership committee of the Phoenix Club.”
She leaned forward and forgot she was already quite close to the edge of the seat. Gripping the arm of the chair, she resettled herself more firmly on the cushion. “Is Aldington a member?” She didn’t think he was, but she was hardly informed as to her husband’s activities.
“He is not.”
“Then how could I be a member?”
“Membership has nothing to do with a husband—or wife. We have several members whose spouses have not been invited and will likely never be.”
“Aldington would hate that,” she said softly, thinking it was the most wonderful idea she’d ever heard. She met Lord Lucien’s dark—and suddenly curious—gaze. “What a lovely offer, thank you.”
He rubbed his hand against his jaw a moment, studying her. “I don’t wish to intrude, but if you’re comfortable sharing, I wonder what is prompting this?”
There was no reason to say anything other than the truth. “I wish to be more like a countess.” It was her hope that Aldington would be more inclined to give her the attention she required if she better fulfilled her role. She lifted her chin and stiffened her spine. “I’m weary of being overlooked and ignored, of being shy and afraid.”
Lord Lucien blinked, a look of admiration flickering in his gaze, his head cocking to the side, as if he were regarding her in a new light. “I am delighted—no thrilled—to help. I can only imagine what Con thinks of this.”
“He doesn’t exactly know. I didn’t expect he could help me with any of this.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” Lord Lucien winced, as if he’d stepped in a thorny shrub. “I take it the state of your marriage is as sad as it looks.”
Sabrina was mildly surprised by his bluntness but didn’t find it unwelcome. “I don’t know how it ‘looks,’ but since we spend most of our time apart and I couldn’t tell you what he likes for breakfast or whether he is a member of the Phoenix Club, I would say sad is an accurate description.”
Now, he shocked her by swearing under his breath. “My apologies, Lady Aldington, but my brother is a colossal ass.”
“I won’t disagree with that assessment. However, in his defense, I have been less than amenable. I have been shy and…afraid.”
His eyes took on a dark intensity. “Not of him, I hope.”
“Not like that. He’s…intimidating. Or he was before I decided I wasn’t going to perceive him that way anymore. Honestly, you’re intimidating.”
“Am I?”
“I suspect it’s the Westbrook way.” Or the fact that nearly everyone intimidated her. Used to intimidate her.
“That sounds like some sort of rule that my father and brother would like. Hence, I hate it.” His tone was breezy and charming, and in that moment, Sabrina decided not to be intimidated by Lord Lucien either. Their father, however, was another matter. Hopefully she’d only have to suffer his company once or twice before she was able to return to Hampton Lodge where she would delightedly await the arrival of her child.
But first she had to entice her husband to create that child.
Would this transformation snare his attention? Joining the Phoenix Club would. It could also make him very angry. She’d seen a glimpse of his temper and wasn’t sure how far he could be pushed.
“I’m not going to be intimidated by you either, Lord Lucien,” Sabrina said, circling back to where they’d left off before thoughts of a murky but hopeful future had distracted her.
“Please call me Lucien. We are brother and sister, even if only by marriage.”
“Then you must call me Sabrina. I admit I find it odd that you and Lady Cassandra refer to Aldington by his Christian name.”
“How do you refer to him?”
“I don’t, really.”
“Of course you don’t,” Lucien muttered, wiping a hand over his forehead. “What is your end goal here, Sabrina? Are you trying to make this marriage into something more than it is?”
“Since it is currently next to nothing, yes. I’m not ready to ignore it. Certainly not until after I have a child.” Once she was no longer alone, she didn’t particularly care what happened.
His dark brows shot up. “That is your goal then—a child?”
“Yes.”
He massaged his temple. “You aren’t asking for help with that, are you?”
“No.” She would not rule it out, however. Perhaps Mrs. Renshaw could be of assistance. She was a widow, after all.
Lucien sat forward in the chair, his hands braced on his knees. “I am going to pledge my assistance—and that of Evie, Mrs. Renshaw, I mean—to you. My brother might be the most uptight, remote jackass in England, next to our father of course, but I love him and want to see him happy, even if he doesn’t know what that means.”
“Do you think that’s true?” Sabrina didn’t know or understand her husband at all.
“Sometimes, yes. It’s been ages since I can recall a time when he seemed genuinely joyful, and I’m sorry to say it wasn’t when he married you.” His brow furrowed, and he looked past her. “I think it was before our mother died.”