When You Wish Upon a Rogue

by Bennett, Anna

  Both Lily and Fiona sat beside her, frozen and speechless.

  Sophie felt her eyes sting. “I don’t want to give them up, but if I wish my relationship with Lord Singleton to succeed—and I do—I cannot begin by lying and keeping secrets from him.”

  “But it’s always been the three of us,” Lily said in a hoarse whisper. “Since our days at Miss Haywinkle’s.”

  “You’re like our sister.” Fiona swiped at her eyes. “You’re the rock that grounds us. We can’t continue the column or the secret society without you.”

  “Nonsense,” Sophie said, even though her heart was breaking. “You’ll still create your beautiful, breathtaking drawings.” Turning to Lily, she said, “You’ll still write your witty, insightful articles. The column won’t suffer from my absence in the least.”

  “That’s not true!” Lily exclaimed. “We rely on you in more ways than you know. On the days when I’m staring at a blank sheet of paper and feel like I have absolutely nothing to say, you’re the one who gives me ideas.”

  “And when I’m certain that nothing in my sketchbook will suit a particular column, you somehow flip to the page with a perfectly matched drawing,” Fiona said.

  “And let’s not forget the impact of the Debutante Underground,” Lily chimed in. “You’ve created something truly wonderful—a space where women from all walks of life can freely discuss romantic relationships and matters of love without fear of being ridiculed, or worse.”

  Sophie mustered a smile. “I’ve loved every minute that I’ve worked with both of you. It’s been an honor to be a part of The Debutante’s Revenge.”

  Fiona’s expressive blue eyes welled. “You’re talking as though you’re already done with it—and us.”

  Sophie grasped Fiona’s shoulders and met her gaze. “I’ll always be your friend. And I can continue working with you on the column and conducting my meetings for two more weeks. At next Friday’s meeting, I’ll announce that I’m stepping down as the chairperson and hope that one of our members will volunteer to continue in my stead.” She tried her best to sound matter-of-fact and optimistic, but she felt the same sense of foreboding as Fiona. Their friendship just wouldn’t be the same once she’d disassociated herself from the projects.

  Sophie had no doubt that Fiona and Lily would continue to be warm and supportive and loyal toward her, but it saddened her to think that she’d no longer be involved in the day-to-day workings of the column or participate in their passionate, entertaining conversations.

  Instead, she’d open up her copy of the London Hearsay at breakfast on Friday mornings and read the new edition just like every other young woman in the ton. And the thought depressed her terribly.

  It seemed her impending marriage to Lord Singleton was already driving a wedge between her and her friends—and she wasn’t even officially engaged.

  But that, like everything else, would soon change. In fact, she’d written to the marquess earlier that day and invited him to call on her tomorrow.

  She’d procrastinated all week in the hopes that Reese would reach out to her in some way through a visit, a letter, or even a flower delivery. But he had not, which was probably for the best. It had made it easier to write the note to Lord Singleton.

  Now that she had, it felt like there was no turning back.

  * * *

  When Lord Singleton called on Sophie the next day, Papa requested a meeting with him in the study. Sophie hoped that her father wasn’t asking for another payment or loan—but rather suspected he was.

  When the marquess finally joined Sophie, Mary, and their mother in the drawing room, he greeted Mama first, then turned to Sophie.

  “Lord Singleton,” Sophie said as she curtsied and offered him her gloved hand. “What a pleasure.” His dark hair looked like it had been freshly cut, and not even the hint of a beard marred his perfectly sculpted jaw. His cravat, white as a calla lily, was tied in an elaborate knot that must have raised his chin by two inches. Indeed, he could have posed as a model on a gentleman’s fashion plate. He didn’t scowl, and there were no shadows beneath his eyes; he was the picture of vitality and health.

  But the sight of him didn’t make her heart beat faster in the slightest.

  Lord Singleton pressed a brief and very proper kiss to the back of Sophie’s hand, then gallantly bowed over Mary’s hand as well. “I’m delighted to see you again, Miss Kendall,” he purred, causing Mary to blush to the roots of her flaxen hair.

  Sophie squashed a sigh. If her sister left the comforts of her bedchamber now and again to attend a social gathering, perhaps a simple greeting from a gentleman wouldn’t have had the power to fluster her so. An admittedly uncharitable thought, but it crept into Sophie’s head, nevertheless.

  She shook off the sentiment, for there was no reason for her to take her decidedly ill humor out on Mary. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been protected and sheltered all her life. The marquess would soon be her brother-in-law, and Sophie resolved to put her sister at ease.

  At Sophie’s invitation, Lord Singleton settled himself on the settee between her and Mary. Before long, he was regaling everyone with a tale wherein he found himself quite lost in the countryside during the Duke of Harkenwood’s house party. The story, which was charmingly self-deprecating and funny, involved a broken boot heel, a drunken villager, and an eight-hour ordeal in a forest.

  “I thought that if I climbed high enough up the tree,” the marquess was saying, “I’d be able to get my bearings and find my way out of the woods. Instead, I fell.”

  Lord Singleton paused as all three women gasped appropriately.

  “Fortunately,” he continued, “my sleeve snagged on a branch and prevented me from landing too hard.”

  Mama fanned herself, and Mary stared at the marquess with a mixture of horror and relief—as though she could scarcely believe he’d escaped the greedy clutches of death.

  “Unfortunately,” he said dramatically, “my jacket ripped from shoulder to shoulder. By the time I returned to Harkenwood’s house, I was barely recognizable and utterly unfit to be seen. I attempted to sneak past the guests and up to my bedchamber to change but was intercepted by the duke’s near-sighted grandmama. She latched onto my arm and insisted I escort her into the dining room without delay.”

  “Oh no,” Mama breathed.

  Lord Singleton nodded and grinned wryly. “When we walked in, the entire dinner party was aghast. Upon seeing me, the dowager duchess dropped her fork and Lord Brockton toppled his wineglass. Then Harkenwood started laughing … and carried on for at least an hour.”

  Sophie shot him a sympathetic smile. “I imagine he won’t let you forget the incident anytime soon.”

  “No,” the marquess said. “And I can’t say I blame him.”

  Mary and Mama giggled, their faces glowing with admiration. But while they were thoroughly entertained, Sophie was valiantly struggling to stifle a yawn. She found his story too practiced and polished for her liking. He delivered it so smoothly, one had to wonder if he’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror a dozen or more times.

  But she knew she wasn’t being fair. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Lord Singleton. Nothing, except … he wasn’t Reese.

  “Sophie, dear,” Mama drawled. “The sun is shining and it’s an especially lovely day. Perhaps you’d like to show Lord Singleton the garden?”

  The marquess’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. “I should very much like to see it.”

  “Of course,” Sophie said, leaping at the suggestion. Perhaps if she moved, she’d be less likely to nod off. Besides, she could no longer put off the inevitable. The garden was as good a location as any to tell him she was finally ready.

  And willing to become his fiancée.

  Chapter 25

  The garden area behind her parents’ townhouse was tiny, so Sophie had populated the space with miniature hedges, small flowerbeds, and a narrow stone path leading to a single bench tucked beneath a vine-covered trellis.
It was an ideal spot to read a book or sip a cup of tea. And it would have been a perfectly lovely spot to accept a marriage proposal—if only that offer had come from the man she loved.

  “I confess I was surprised to receive your letter,” Lord Singleton began. He sat beside her on the bench, sweat glistening on his forehead. “You said there was something you wished to discuss?”

  She’d already decided to approach the conversation in as forthright a manner as possible. “Yes, my lord.”

  “I think we should dispense with formalities,” he said kindly. “Please, call me Charles.”

  “Very well … Charles. I’m ready to announce our engagement.” The words were easier to say than she’d anticipated. Perhaps because there was no feeling behind them—it was almost as though she were hollow inside.

  “That’s … that’s wonderful,” he said with gusto, clearly hoping to convince her. Granted, she probably should have summoned a little more enthusiasm, but she didn’t want to be false with him.

  “Forgive me for speaking plainly,” she said earnestly. “I admire and respect you, but the truth is that it may take a while for my romantic feelings to develop. I hope you understand.”

  “I do.” He swallowed, then smiled a bit too brightly. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  She laid a hand on his forearm and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “You should know I intend to be a dutiful wife. I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

  “You’ll make a fine marchioness. And I hope to make you happy as well.”

  Sophie nodded but couldn’t imagine she’d ever be truly happy again. Not without Reese. But perhaps she’d have peace of mind—the kind that came from knowing her family’s future was secured. She’d be comfortable and content, which, she reminded herself, was not a terrible trade-off for happiness.

  “Now that it’s decided, I think we should move ahead as quickly as possible,” she said firmly.

  “Agreed.” Lord Singleton—Charles, that is—slapped his hands on his knees. “But an engagement is a momentous event and must be celebrated in the proper way.”

  Sophie shrugged. “I could ask Mama if we have a bottle of champagne,” she said, knowing full well that their wine cellar was almost dry.

  “No,” he said excitedly. “We can do better than that. I shall host a ball—two weeks from now—and we shall announce our betrothal there.”

  Sophie suddenly felt as though someone were mercilessly yanking on the laces of her corset, tightening them inch by inch. “Excellent,” she managed. “You must let me know what I can do to help.”

  Charles waved away the offer. “My staff will see to the preparations. All you must do is find a gorgeous gown, so that when you glide into my ballroom, the other guests will be stunned by your beauty.”

  “Is that all?” Sophie said with a hollow laugh. She felt oddly detached from her body—as though she were simply an actress performing a part onstage.

  “I have every confidence in you, my dear.” Charles stood, pressed a perfunctory kiss to the back of her hand, and arched a dark brow as he met her gaze. “I shall see you in a fortnight.”

  * * *

  Reese stood on the Conroys’ doorstep, a potent mix of guilt, fear, and grief churning in his gut. But he needed to fulfill his promise to the man he’d fought alongside. To his friend.

  He’d brought a bouquet from his and Sophie’s garden, where he spent a couple of hours each day sweating in the sun, working in the dirt, and exorcising his demons. The flowers, hollyhocks—he’d looked them up—had come from the best part of the garden, hidden in the back, behind the rotunda. Reese had surmised that the lush, tranquil area was meant to represent Elysium—the part of the Underworld reserved for the worthiest of souls.

  In other words, not him.

  But it was the area of the garden with the most potential, so he’d spent the last several days there, doing his best to restore it to its original state. He’d found at least a dozen different kinds of flowers hidden among the weeds and overgrowth, but he suspected Sophie would have loved the hollyhocks’ tall stalks and bell-shaped blooms in every shade of pink.

  He’d brought the bouquet for Sarah Conroy, but as his clammy palm clutched the stems, he realized he’d brought it for himself too. As long as he held the hollyhocks, he had a little piece of Sophie with him, and knowing that gave him the courage to knock on the door.

  A few seconds later, a woman with auburn hair and a riot of freckles sprinkled across her nose answered the door. “May I help you?” she asked warily.

  Reese nodded. “I’m Henry Reese, Earl of Warshire.”

  He’d barely managed to get the words out of his mouth before Sarah threw her arms around him, crushing the bouquet and knocking the wind out of him.

  “You came,” she said, choking back tears. “I knew you would.” She unceremoniously pulled him into the modest apartment and invited him to sit.

  Reese held out the slightly crumpled flowers. “These are for you,” he said, clearing his throat. “I visited your husband’s grave before I came here. I left some flowers there as well.”

  Sarah’s eyes welled, but she laughed softly. “He never brought me flowers,” she said without a hint of bitterness. “But he showed me he loved me in countless other ways. Thank you for these,” she said, taking the hollyhocks. “I’m going to fetch a vase. May I bring you some tea or a glass of port?”

  “No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “It’s no trouble at all,” Sarah protested, even though he could see she had a pot of something cooking on the stove and a basket of laundry sitting by the back door.

  “I should have told you I was coming, but I was in the neighborhood…” he said, letting the lie trail off his lips.

  “I’m just glad you’re here.” She placed the flowers in a pitcher of water and set them on the table before gracefully removing her apron and hanging it on a hook by the door. Tucking a long red curl behind her ear, she said, “Your timing happens to be perfect. The girls are down for their naps”—she inclined her head toward a room in the back—“so we have a moment to talk.”

  He sank into an armchair, and she took a seat on the sofa opposite him, smoothing the skirt of her lavender gown. “William wouldn’t have wanted me to wear black for months on end,” she said self-consciously.

  “No,” he said firmly. “He wouldn’t have.”

  She shot him a grateful smile. “He thought the world of you, my lord.”

  “Please, call me Reese,” he urged.

  “William said that on the coldest, loneliest of nights, you always found a way to make him and the rest of the men laugh. He said that even when it seemed the enemy was breathing down your necks, you were never afraid.”

  “That’s not true,” he said. “William was the bravest of us all. The men looked up to him, and when I had to leave—after my brother’s death—he was the one who stepped in to take my place.” Reese looked deep into Sarah’s eyes. “And I’m so sorry that I left him. That I left all of them. I’m so sorry that he didn’t come home to you.”

  Sarah shook her head slowly. “You have nothing to apologize for, my lord.”

  “Actually, I do,” Reese said. “I apologize for taking so long to reply to your letters. For taking so long to visit. And especially for waiting so long to deliver this message from William.”

  “He gave you a note for me?” she asked, her expression devastatingly hopeful.

  “Not exactly. He said that if anything were to happen to him, I must tell you three things.”

  “Three things?” she repeated.

  Reese nodded. “Sometimes at night, while we sat around the fire, he’d make me repeat them back, just to be sure I memorized them.”

  Sarah covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a sob, and Reese hurriedly dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  He gave her a few moments to compose herself, and when she nodded at him, he began. “First, he s
aid he loved you and the girls more than anything—even more than your suet pudding, but that it was a very close call.”

  “Goodness.” She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and shot him a watery smile. “That sounds just like William.”

  Reese cleared his throat and continued. “Second, he said not to mourn him for too long. Three months at the most. He wanted you to be happy, and eventually, to love again.”

  Fresh tears fell down Sarah’s cheeks, and she drew in a shaky breath. “How like my husband, to think he could dictate such things. I may refuse to smile again, just to spite him,” she teased, but there was a softness in her eyes that made Reese’s chest ache. “And the third thing?” she asked.

  He forced himself to look directly at Sarah, to absorb some of her pain. “Third,” Reese said soberly, “he said he wasn’t sure where he was going, but he hoped they had skies as clear and as blue as your eyes. He said he’d know he was in heaven if they had sunsets the color of your hair.”

  For several seconds, Sarah sat there, gripping the arms of the chair as though she was trying to hold herself together. But then her chin trembled, and her whole body seemed to collapse. Sobs racked her shoulders, and she smothered her cries with his handkerchief. Reese couldn’t recall ever feeling so useless.

  He went to sit beside her and patted her back in a stilted attempt to comfort her. But she didn’t seem to notice his awkwardness; instead, she rested her head on his shoulder and cried until she hiccupped. When her tears ran out, she sniffled and looked up at him, her nose red as a tomato.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For coming here. For giving me one more wonderful piece of my William. And thank you for letting me soak the sleeve of your jacket.”

  Before Reese could reply, two small urchins padded into the room. The taller one had a head of ringlets a few shades brighter than her mother’s; the other had straight dark hair, like her father’s.