Hell In A Handbasket

by Anders, Annabelle

  Other encouraging aspects materialized that day as well. It seemed that as soon as Sophia decided to take a modicum of control over her life, good things followed.

  First, the midwife declared Sophia’s womb to be the size of a woman who had conceived perhaps eight weeks earlier. It was mostly filled with water, she told Sophia, the baby barely the size of a bean. Sophia wondered how a person could know this.

  Mrs. Fletcher, the midwife, asked Sophia several questions about how she was feeling and then gave her advice as to how to cope with some of the ailments of her condition. All in all, she announced, Sophia and the baby seemed perfectly healthy.

  Gilly had arrived just before the checkup and was taking to her position quite instinctively. She’d a prior acquaintance with the midwife, in fact, and this helped remove some of the awkwardness from the examination. And, although likely not as educated as Penny, Gilly was able to write down Mrs. Fletcher’s instruction and even asked a few questions.

  Sophia was pleased, all in all, with the afternoon.

  Even more so when she received Cecily’s letter!

  Cecily was free of Lord Kensington forever! Even so, she had not stayed a single lady for long. She’d married Mr. Stephen Nottingham, the earl’s cousin, whom Sophia had known Cecily loved. Of course, Cecily had told them adamantly that she did not, but Sophia had not believed a word of it. And now Cecily herself was expecting a baby just a few months earlier than Sophia.

  Cecily’s situation had seemed to be a hopeless one, and for Sophia to hear of such news, she could almost believe that anything was possible.

  * * *

  The solicitors, upon obtaining confirmation of Sophia’s condition, advised Dev that he ought to insist a physician be in attendance, at the least, to witness the birth of his niece or nephew.

  They advised him that it would benefit Lady Harold to give birth to a son, and that he knew of one occurrence, anyhow, where an infant boy had been substituted intentionally, so that the title was not transferred to another relative.

  Dev assured them that Lady Harold could be trusted implicitly. He did not tell them he intended to attend the birth himself when the time came. It would be unusual, he knew. But he refused to allow her to go through childbirth without him by her side. He would do what he could to comfort her, if she allowed it, that was.

  He could not imagine lazing in the library, drinking brandy, listening to her cries of pain from a distance. He wondered how Sophia would react when he told her this.

  What with the duchess’ blessing, her desire for Dev to marry Sophia, he relaxed the distance he’d kept from Sophia earlier. In fact, on a daily basis now, he walked with her outside for a half an hour. He often took tea with her and the duchess.

  Spending even a small amount of time with Sophia openly, alone, was balm to his soul. They chatted about all the things they’d not had time to discover about one another before. He told her of his childhood, his travels, and some of the trials he was having over the dukedom, and she, in turn, confided stories about her friends, the relationship she had with her mother, and fears she had of childbirth. They were coming to know each other in a much different way than they had before.

  Dev was proud of Sophia for hiring a new lady’s maid. She was finding her place — discovering her own strength.

  The duchess had been slightly cooler than usual for a few days after that but had warmed up again quickly enough. It went without saying that his aunt was overjoyed at the prospect of a grandchild.

  The duchess — and everyone else, of course — believed the child to be Harold’s.

  Despite the horrible tragedies they’d endured that summer, hope had crept into the house again, with the expectancy of a new life.

  Cooler weather was just around the corner, with a hint of frost covering the landscape in the early mornings now. The leaves turned from green to reds and yellow and before long had all fallen to the ground.

  On the first day of October, Dev was perusing a few reports on various harvests throughout the dukedom when he finally came across the letter he’d been watching for.

  He recognized Harold’s handwriting right off.

  Feeling as though he held a bomb in his hands, he tore open the seal and methodically deciphered the code he’d taught Harold so many weeks ago.

  The wording was awkward, but it took only a moment for the meaning of the letter to become apparent.

  Received your letter before sailing. Distraught hearing of the tragedy but sailed anyway. I cannot return. Please understand and support my decision. Happiness at last within my grasp. You were born for this. More a brother to me than the Saint. Be happy with her. No turning back. A free man at last.

  Joy and satisfaction assailed Dev at the news.

  Harold was alive.

  He was happy.

  And with Harold’s happiness, Dev knew what he must do.

  Pulling the bell pull, he sent Mr. Evans to request that the duchess and Lady Harold join him in the library.

  If he and Sophia were to have a future together, free of deceit and guilt, the truth must be told. He’d considered this conversation for weeks now. At last the time had come.

  The ladies arrived together. He rose from his chair and bowed when they entered.

  Waving at him to sit, the duchess smiled benevolently. “Evans said you wished to speak to us.”

  Sophia found a wing-backed chair off to the side, and the duchess sat in her usual place.

  Dev cleared his throat and, despite having rehearsed his words a thousand times in his mind, suddenly had no idea where to begin.

  “You poor dear…” His aunt was in a gracious mood today. “…I know you did not anticipate any of this falling upon you. But you must know you’ve handled everything wonderfully. I don’t know what Sophia or I would have done without you these past weeks. Do you, Sophia?”

  Sophia must have sensed that he had something of importance to discuss. She merely smiled timidly and agreed. “I do not, your grace.”

  “Aunt,” Dev began, “I must confess something to you. Before I explain, please understand that the blame ought to rightfully be placed upon me. I could have stopped the events of what I am to tell you at any time, but I did not.”

  Sophia sat up straighter at his words.

  Her grace’s brows furrowed at his statement. “What is it, Dev?”

  “Before Harold and Sophia married, before they traveled to Priory Point, you must have known that Harold’s life was in grave danger, as was Stewart’s.” At the mention of Harold’s lover’s name, the duchess looked away from Dev and pinched her lips together. “My father,” Dev continued, “informed me at the time that Prescott had received some threats, as had Harold. Did you know of any of this?”

  “Vile creatures.” She surprised him with her answer. “Blackmailers and hypocrites, the lot of them.”

  Dev nodded and then forced himself to continue. “Harold did not wish to marry Sophia but conceded in order to protect you –– and Stewart –– in order to protect the family from scandal.”

  The duchess blinked away tears. “Why are you bringing all of this up now?” She shifted her eyes in Sophia’s direction, obviously not wanting to share such skeletons with her daughter-in-law. She had no way of knowing that Sophia had learned of Harold’s proclivities firsthand. And, of course, no one was happy to discuss such matters openly. “None of it matters any longer, after all.”

  “Ah, aunt, but it does. Because Harold devised an alternative solution, one where he and Sophia would not be required to live out their lives as man and wife, one where he could live openly with the person he loved.” He then handed Harold’s letter, with his own translation scrawled in the margins, across the desk to the duchess.

  “This is gibberish,” she said at first. And then realizing the carefully written letters were familiar somehow, she set to examining both the handwriting and the decoded words.

  “It came in the mail today.” He would divulge all. “Harold fak
ed his death. The jump was planned and executed in a way that it would appear he could not survive.” He went on to explain about the cave, the getaway, the planning they’d all put into it.

  As the duchess gradually comprehended what he was saying, tears began to fall unheeded. “He is not returning, though?” she asked, waving the paper in the air. “What about Sophia and the baby? He loved Sophia! Penny told me!”

  What he had to confess now was even more difficult. But Sophia spoke up first. “Penny was wrong.”

  “But that cannot be so! Sophia, dear, you are with child! Dev is mistaken on this. Oh, Harold must return to you, Sophia. He must take up his rightful position!”

  “He was unhappy here, your grace.” Sophia spoke softly but with great conviction.

  “The rumors were becoming dangerous,” Dev interjected. “You know this. Read the letter again, Aunt Loretta. Harold has done all of this so that he can live his life in his own way.”

  She read it through again and then blew her nose into a handkerchief. “But what of the baby?”

  Dev had already decided to tell his aunt everything… well nearly everything. Looking across the room into eyes as blue as the sky, Dev held back nothing. “I love Sophia. I’ve loved her since the day we met. The child she carries is mine.”

  Barely able to tug his gaze away from the woman he loved, Dev faced his aunt once again. Would the duchess lash out at him? Would she blame him for the other tragic events of the summer? Would she hate him forever?

  No, she merely shook her head sadly. Dev handed her a new handkerchief. “It was too good to be true, wasn’t it?” She smiled wanly at Sophia but did not break down sobbing. This woman hadn’t lived most of her adult life a duchess for nothing. She raised her chin and glanced between the two of them. “But Harold lives? My son is alive?”

  “He is,” Dev confirmed.

  Over the next thirty minutes or so, Dev answered every question the duchess could think of pertaining to the summer’s events. She was surprisingly agreeable, even acquiescing to the decision they’d made to keep Dudley’s demise from the Scofields.

  And then, at last, she had just one question left.

  “What do we do now?”

  Epilogue

  The sun shone bright, exactly six months to the day since Sophia’s first wedding day.

  Whereas the dress, the cathedral, the large congregation had made her first wedding seem like every girl’s dream, it was her future husband who’d put the sparkle in her eyes today. It was the groom who caused the bride to glow.

  For the bridal gown was a simple lavender muslin, the church a small family chapel, and the congregation made up of only the closest of family and friends.

  The groom’s side of the church held the duchess and a handful of her sisters and cousins. On the bride’s side sat Mr. and Mrs. Scofield, Rhoda and her mother and two sisters, Emily and her aunt, and Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Nottingham. Behind them, Gilly sat in a pew and held tightly to Peaches, who had a silk ribbon tied around her neck in honor of the occasion.

  No one complained of the bride’s stepbrother’s absence.

  Cecily glowed. Emily was her normal studious self, and Rhoda, although obviously pleased for Sophia, seemed unusually quiet.

  But nothing could subdue Sophia’s joy that morning.

  For she and Dev would finally be wed. And they would be wed without any hovering clouds of deceit. Their future would hold only the promise of love and new life to come.

  After confessing all to the duchess, the three of them had discussed what would be best.

  Harold would not be returning to London, and so they would continue perpetuating the story of his death for all intents and purposes.

  The duchess had cried tears of relief as well, knowing that he lived. Perhaps, someday, she would be able to go to him, to see the son she’d once believed dead. But not for some time. It was difficult for her to give up her hope that he would turn out to be a normal boy, like St. John had been. But she would always love him. Of course, she would always love him!

  When Dev had announced his plans to marry Sophia, he had begged the duchess for forgiveness, and she’d granted it to both of them.

  And then she’d surprised them.

  She’d apologized to Sophia for her part in manipulating the marriage in the first place.

  She’d asked Sophia for forgiveness.

  After more tears and hugs even. She’d asked Sophia to call her by her given name, Loretta. “But not Lettie, please, dear,” she’d clarified. “Reminds me too much of the days before I married.”

  And so, they’d begun planning another wedding.

  This time, Sophia had done things her way.

  She had refused to be given away. Not by Mr. Scofield, not by Peaches, not by anyone.

  Now, as the music played, Sophia proceeded confidently down the aisle alone, a free woman, willing to give herself to only one man. The man she loved.

  At first he’d been her hero, and then her lover. He was soon to be her husband.

  He awaited her at the altar, most solemnly –– her Dev. His attire was simple, yet elegant. He’d finally hired himself a valet, and the man had done himself proud.

  When she arrived, Dev took her hand, raised it to his lips, and then turned them so they both faced the vicar.

  Dev’s cousin, Mr. White had been more than happy to perform the ceremony for them. And this time, as the age-old vows were recited, Sophia concentrated intently upon them. She repeated the words earnestly to her equally sincere groom.

  And in the end, when the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, Dev tilted her head back and placed a chaste-but-loving kiss upon her lips. It held the promise of a lifetime of love.

  Peaches took that moment to escape from Gilly and rush to the altar with a series of celebratory barks. At first, a few gasps broke the silence, but when Mr. White bent down, picked the dog up, and got a wet kiss on his face for his troubles, laughter erupted.

  For there was a time to mourn and a time to dance. There was a time to weep and a time to laugh. And of course, there was finally a time to love.

  At last, it was time.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  To my ROCKSTAR READERS!

  If I start listing names here, I will end up in big trouble. There are so many of you, who I’ve not met in person but have encouraged and supported my writing that, knowing my scattered brain, I’d accidentally forget a name and feel horrible for ever! And so, instead I say: Thank you to every single person who read Hell Hath No Fury. And thank you again to those who reviewed, liked my pictures, shared my posts, and made fun comments on all the “stuff” I post daily. I love to write, but this business is insane so I just want to say that YOU KEEP ME GOING! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

  About the Author

  Married to the same man for over 25 years, I am a mother to

  three children and two Miniature Wiener dogs After owning a business and experiencing considerable success, my husband and I got caught in the financial crisis

  and lost everything; our business, our home, even our car.

  At this point,

  I put my B.A. in Poly Sci to use and took work as a waitress and bartender.

  Unwilling to give up on a professional life, I simultaneously went back to college and obtained a degree in Energy Management.

  And then the energy market dropped off.

  And then my dog died.

  I can only be grateful for this series of unfortunate events, for, with nothing to lose and completely demoralized, I sat down and began to write the romance novels which had until then, existed only my imagination.

  I am happy to have found my place in life.

  Finally.

  Want more of my books? Click below to keep reading!

  www.annabelleanders.com

  Annmartinez11331@gmail.com

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  sp; Anders, Annabelle, Hell In A Handbasket