CHAPTER SIX

      SABRINA STOOD IN a corner.

      Her mother stood in the middle of the room in floods of tears and Chloe was providing a shoulder to cry on. Queen Katherine was offering her a glass of brandy, almost as large as the one she was drinking herself.

      Her father was standing, his back turned to her, deep in conversation with Luis’s private secretary and a group of palace officials. The conversation was not private; her father’s comments could probably be heard a mile away.

      People seemed to have forgotten she was there.

      She really wished she weren’t. She closed her eyes and imagined herself in the mountains, the wind in her face, the... A throb of pain in her hand dragged her back to the moment.

      Her fingers, which were curled in a death grip around the scrunched-up paper, were white. She lifted her hand to her chest and flexed them to encourage blood back into the cold extremities.

      With no pockets in her wedding dress to tuck the letter into, she transferred it to her other hand. She had read it three times before it had made any sense. Actually it still didn’t, but she had finally gone to her mother’s room and announced that the wedding was off, would someone tell the guests?

      ‘Last-minute nerves, darling. I remember it well. Oh, my, you look beautiful and that shade of lipstick really suits you. The flowers will be—’

      ‘No, Mum, it’s really off. Luis has left—there’s a letter. He loves someone else apparently and he can’t live without her.’ She didn’t add that Luis had revealed the secret of his parentage, that he and not Sebastian was the bastard.

      ‘Don’t be silly, darling.’

      ‘He’s abdicated.’

      The word seemed to penetrate. It had done the same for Sabrina when it had leapt out from the page; it had made her go back and read it again. The shocking contents evoked a multitude of emotions; humiliation was there and with it relief, a relief that made her feel guilty. She had been given her life back, her freedom, but at what cost?

      ‘But he can’t do that. You’re going to be the next Queen.’ Her voice rose with each successive word until Queen emerged as a screech that hurt Sabrina’s ears. And not just her ears; belatedly aware of the open-mouthed audience, Sabrina got to her feet, shooing away the team of make-up artists who were putting the finishing touches to the Duchess’s face.

      Her mother didn’t react to their expulsion. ‘Dame Olga is singing at the service. She turned down a concert at the Met to be here. Call your father—let him sort things out.’

      ‘I don’t think it can be sorted out, Mum.’

      ‘What did you do?’

      The unexpected attack made Sabrina back away.

      ‘What did you say to make him do this? Did you say you wanted to carry on working? I knew it! I said to your father that it was a mistake to allow you to have a career... Here he is now.’ She gave a sigh of relief as the door opened.

      Her father, flanked by senior members of his staff, stood in the doorway. The expression on his florid, good-natured face was grim.

      The Duchess’s wail was muffled by the hands she pressed to her face.

      ‘Pull yourself together, Olivia,’ her husband snapped unsympathetically. ‘We need to limit the damage. Where is...? Oh, there you are, Sabrina. At least one person isn’t falling apart,’ he approved. ‘We can’t talk here. Come down to the...?’ He raised a stern questioning brow at one of the palace staff that had entered with him.

      ‘The King instructed me to make the south salon available, Your Grace.’

      * * *

      So here they all were in the south salon and after half an hour all the talk was going pretty much nowhere.

      Sabrina looked at the clock ticking away in a corner, her eyes fixed on the hypnotic swing of the pendulum. She knew she should be feeling more; she was after all the person who had been humiliated. Something she was not likely to forget as her mother kept screeching the information at her every few minutes.

      Would anyone even notice if she weren’t here?

      She unclipped the veil—a family heirloom—and dropped it to the floor. She would have stripped off her finery there and then if she could have but then someone might notice she was there. A naked woman in the room generally got attention.

      She fought the temptation to tear at the tiara that felt heavy on her head, and the saucy blue garter, her sister’s contribution, had slipped down her thigh. It was all so wrong, even before Luis had followed his heart.

      And now, even though she knew it would be considered treasonous by many to even think it, she admired him for having had the guts to walk away. His dumped bride was probably the only person in the room who felt some sympathy for his decision.

      But then she knew what it felt like to agree when you wanted to scream no. She knew what it felt like to do your duty. Luis had done what she hadn’t had the strength to do. He’d been honest, but how would he live with the guilt?

      Suddenly the need to escape the room became overwhelming. If she stayed in it any longer she’d explode!

      The men stationed outside the door continued to look ahead as she slipped past.

      She wanted to go home.

      ‘Sabrina!’

      She ignored the voice and began a perilous descent of the spiral steps, going far too fast for someone wearing three-inch heels.

      The palace was a maze and built on a massive scale but she was pretty sure that she was headed for the stables. After that her plan was a little hazy but so far plans had not worked out so well for her—maybe it was time to wing it.

      ‘Sabrina, stop!’

      She heaved a sigh, grabbed the wooden balustrade and tilted her head back to view her sister, who stood resplendent in the sea-green silk froth of her bridesmaid dress.

      ‘Sabrina, what are you doing?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ Her expression blank, she looked at the piece of crumpled paper in her hand—actually, she felt blank inside. She cleared her throat. ‘It was getting a bit...hot in there for me. I need some fresh air.’

      ‘Outside is probably not the best place to be. There are several hundred guests being—’

      ‘Told the groom has bolted before the stable door closed and, speaking of stables, I think this staircase leads to the stables. There aren’t going to be any guests there.’

      ‘It does, but you should come back. They are—’

      Sabrina shook her head, cutting her sister off. ‘Whatever they want me to do the answer is no. Just for today I want a day off from doing and saying the responsible thing.’

      Chloe, her skirt hitched high, skipped lightly down the stairs to join her. ‘Fair enough. Well, I’d be delighted to tell them to go and stuff it, or I could run away with you. Are you up for this?’

      ‘Why not?’

      Her