She was aware of Mrs. Brixton looking on with increasing alarm, of Sarah trundling a tea trolley into the room, and then faltering helplessly while she waited to be told what to do with it.
In two steps Freddy was beside the comestibles.
“Can’t eat in here,” he said, commandeering the trolley with one hand and cramming a wedge of plum cake into his mouth with the other. “This reek turns my stomach.” He wheeled the trolley out onto the terrace, leaving Sarah wringing her hands now that she had nothing to hold on to. The wheels creaked and rattled across the paving stones like fingernails scraping across Sophia’s nerve ends.
Trying to steer her way through this incomprehensible information, Sophia allowed herself to be guided out onto the terrace. Mr. Cavanaugh piloted her with a hand at her back, but the rest of his body was held apart. When she stepped over the sill and onto the uneven stones, a chilly breeze swept around the sunny terrace and slipped icy fingers beneath her collar.
“Deep breaths, Miss Cranston.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s words emerged from a great distance like echoes from the bottom of an empty well. “How long have you been working in there without a single window open?”
She gulped down several lungsful of air. The smell of lilacs from the tangle of trees bordering the lawn made her feel sick. She squinted up at the sun.
“It seems like no time at all, but I believe it must be several hours.”
“Egads, don’t swoon, Sophe,” said Freddy, licking crumbs off his fingers. “We have matters of import to discuss.”
“I have never swooned in my life, Freddy Beaumont!” Sophia flung up her head and was instantly sorry, clinging to Mr. Cavanaugh as dizziness threatened to unbalance her.
He made a small sound of exasperation and steered her towards one of the chairs that circled a filigreed wrought iron table. When she caught its back, the cold metal bit into her fingers through the thin fabric of her glove.
“Hold on,” he said, wrapping his hand over hers and bolstering her with his body. “You are still off balance. Freddy!” he growled, making Sophia jump. “Put that blasted cake down and come and help. Take off your jacket and cover this chair so Miss Cranston can sit down. The seat’s filthy.”
Freddy made an unintelligible sound behind his mouthful of cake, but he reacted quickly. Pulling off his coat, he stepped forward. As he neared, Sophia examined his face and, somewhat to her surprise, found no trace of the Beaumont aspect, except perhaps that Freddy’s slightly protruding blue eyes were more like the Earl of Enderby’s than the flashing dark eyes of Mr. Cavanaugh. All the while, her mind scrambled to martial information that made no sense, no matter how she tried to assemble it.
Freddy draped his coat across the chair and held Sophia’s arm as she moved around and dropped onto the seat. Peeling off her gloves, she put them carefully on the table beside her, smoothing them with her fingers and allowing herself a few moments to gather her composure before she spoke.
“Oh, do sit down,” she said in the end, waving a hand towards the two other seats. “You are giving me a crick in the neck and blocking out the sun.”
She noticed neither of the men bothered about brushing their own seats. Freddy plopped down and spread his legs about clumsily. Mr. Cavanaugh made a far more elegant descent even though his wide-shouldered form was too large for the diminutive chair he sat upon.
Through lowered lashes Sophia observed the relaxed yet powerful way he moved as he pushed back his coat tails and relaxed onto the metal seat. Her forehead began to feel hot and tight. She raised her hand and pulled her headband loose, pushing her hair away from her eyes.
Mr. Cavanaugh leaned forward. “You have crimson paint on your cheek.” He took the fabric from her hand and wiped a spot just beneath her eye. His thumb grazed her skin.
Freddy watched disinterestedly. “Don’t know why you bother with that stinking stuff.”
With the slightest pressure of forefinger and thumb Mr. Cavanaugh turned Sophia’s face and carefully wiped away another smudge of paint.
Her world coalesced into the pressure of his finger and thumb against the tender skin of her jaw. His breath brushed her cheek. He shot a glance towards Freddy. “Miss Cranston’s work is remarkable. Only last year when I was in Europe, I saw paintings by Madame Le Brun and Mrs. Cosway. I believe Miss Cranston’s work is far superior, and their work is renowned. You should be proud your fiancée possesses such a unique talent.”
Fiancée. The word dropped between them like a stone into an iced-over pond, splintering the startled pleasure his praise had aroused. He dropped her scarf onto the table and retreated, his touch leaving warm imprints on her skin.
Mrs. Brixton had followed the trio onto the terrace and now beckoned the bemused Sarah forward. “Sarah. Pour coffee for Miss Cranston.”
Sophia looked up. “Thank you, Mrs. Brixton, but I would much prefer lemon cordial.”
The sharp bite of lemon would better help her gather her thoughts than the acrid-smelling coffee Mr. Cavanaugh accepted with a nod of thanks while Freddy stretched his hand towards the pewter jug of ale.
Before his fingers could grasp the curved handle, Sophia reached forward and lifted the jug away. Cold droplets of ale fell onto her skin. “What?” Freddy spluttered, giving her a startled look.
Sophia set the jug out of his reach with one brisk movement. It had become imperative to learn what was behind the sudden appearance of her betrothed in company with Mr. Cavanaugh. Until yesterday he’d certainly been a stranger to her and as far as she knew, to the entire population of Northbridge.
“Explain please, Freddy,” she demanded, injecting her tone with a chill that made him blink. “Do not let us skirt the issue any longer. What is this all about?”
Although she was deeply conscious of Mr. Cavanaugh across the table and aware of his watchful observation, she gave herself a stern instruction not to betray her confusion even by a look. In fact, recollecting his rebuff from the previous day, she would acknowledge his presence only in so far as good manners dictated.
She lifted the heavy crystal beaker Mrs. Brixton had set before her. The draught of cordial moistened her lips and soothed her dry mouth and the astringent sting went some way towards ordering her thoughts.
Mr. Cavanaugh was clearly some years older than Freddy and if, indeed, he was Freddy’s brother, what were the ramifications not only for her, but also for Mama and Annabelle? What evidence did the man have? Certainly, he would require something far more substantial than a startling resemblance to the Earl of Enderby to claim this ancient seat!
Sophia knew this was no time to be addle-brained. With Mama’s disclosure that their wellbeing relied solely on her making a decent marriage, her dream-time had truly come to an end. Moving onwards was what she must now concentrate upon, not wasting time fantasizing about a life as a working artist.
Although she had attended the balls and picnics during her London season, she had never seriously set about cutting herself into marriage material. Until the last twelve months when reality had begun to show itself and she had been forced to take steps she would not have considered previously, she had, deliberately blithe she now acknowledged, thought she would be able to continue living under her parents’ roof.
She had watched with little envy as several of her friends had entered the married state. Few of them appeared to prosper more than a somewhat elevated status in society, depending on whom they had been fortunate or unfortunate enough to snare and whether they produced the desired heirs to continue the blood line of the family they had married into. And even if they produced the desired heirs, whether they themselves survived the hazards of childbirth was a moot point.
Wrenching her thoughts to the present she set down her glass with cold fingers. Marrying a man like Freddy, of whom she was fond but could not respect, violated everything she wished for herself. But she had a duty to Mama and Annabelle.
Determinedly, she set all thoughts of disenchantment aside. She would get to the bottom
of this if she had to excavate the facts from Freddy with the sharp end of a broken paintbrush. She leaned forward and tapped her finger on the table. “Freddy? I’m still waiting.”
A scatter of crumbs embellished the lapels of his jacket and he sent a helpless glance at Mr. Cavanaugh as if an escape route might open from that direction.
“B… Bruno will tell you,” he spluttered.
“We have not yet been introduced,” said Sophia haughtily, unavoidably retrieving the depressing end to her encounter with Mr. Cavanaugh the day before—an encounter of which Freddy must surely be ignorant.
She cast a sidelong glance towards Bruno Cavanaugh and almost gasped out loud as the thought came to her, wavering at first like an arrow let loose by an inexpert bowman then gaining impetus as the notion took root. If Mr. Cavanaugh was not the product of an illicit relationship but was indeed Freddy’s older, legitimate brother and Freddy no longer the Earl of Beaumont’s heir, might there be the possibility that she and Mr Cavanaugh…?
She touched her fingers to her throat, pressing against the pulse that had begun to throb at the side of her neck. As quickly as the thought came to her, it took wings and dispersed like dandelion fluff. Indeed, his austere expression made her wonder if he was about to let her know he did not approve of Freddy’s betrothal to the daughter of a man whose escapades at the vicarage had been widely broadcast and whose improvident habits had left his wife and daughters all but penniless.
After a few moments he leaned forward and clasped his long fingers on the table just inches away from Sophia’s. She tightened her grip on the cold glass.
He looked into her eyes and she found herself staring back, held by the gravity of his expression and his calm, controlled tone. “My name is Bruno Cavanaugh,” he said, as if he had not pronounced those words to her only the day before.
“He’s m’brother!” repeated Freddy, almost bouncing off his seat.
“Half-brother,” corrected Mr. Cavanaugh, still holding Sophia’s gaze. “I’d rather have waited for Lady Cranston to return but Freddy—” here he cast a glance at Freddy that was a curious mixture of exasperation and affection “—got away on me.”
Despite her apprehension at what might follow, Sophia could not stifle a smile. She had suffered the experience of Freddy getting away on one. He could burst out with the most inappropriate information halfway through a perfectly ordinary conversation, or during a walk should he see a horse in the distance whose form he admired, he would simply bolt away and leave one stranded.
Mr. Cavanaugh’s compelling gaze searched her face. With a sense of desperation, Sophia felt her throat constrict. She wanted nothing more than to escape, but she sat as if spellbound, unable to move a muscle.
His next words struck her incapable of speech. “I’m the first-born son of the Earl of Enderby and—”
Before he could say another word, Sophia heard the clatter of pony and trap being driven at excessive speed along the drive. Then came the dull thud of the pony’s hooves as he was turned onto the lawn and within a few moments the ungainly little contraption swung precariously around the corner of the house, Lady Cranston at the helm.
“Lady Cranston’s driving that poor beast damned hard,” observed Freddy, taking advantage of the diversion to snag the jug away from Sophia and pour himself a generous tumbler of ale.
Looking astonished at the speed he’d achieved, old Knobby drew to a skidding halt, leaving an uneven trail of hoof prints engraved in the grass behind him.
Mr. Cavanaugh immediately rose, firing a look at Freddy that caused him to spring out of his own seat, splashing a puddle of ale on the table as he hurriedly set the jug down.
The two men made to cross the terrace but Sophia’s mother, head high, cheeks flushed from her brisk drive, did not wait on their assistance. She hurried up the shallow steps and stalked towards them. The skirts of her steel-blue redingote scattered pebbles from the terrace as she approached.
She directed a speaking look at Sophia. “Sophia,” she said, holding out her hand.
Sophia knew the smile she gave in return wavered at the corners despite her efforts to hold it steady. While she had, in the instant before, adamantly avowed her ability to handle the perturbing new intelligence, she could not help but be pleased that Mama had arrived to lend her support, for she had in truth been at a loss as to how to quiz a gentleman about the nature of his birth!
“Mama.” She reached out her hand and clasped her mother’s, finding reassurance in its cool, firm grip.
Lady Cranston turned towards Freddy. “Freddy.” The smile she bestowed upon him was inscrutable. Reddening at the roots of his pale hair, Freddy shuffled his feet.
“I believe an introduction is in order.” Sophia noted Mama’s smile did not warm as she inclined towards Mr. Cavanaugh. The ostrich feather on her bonnet fluttered against her shoulder when she relinquished Sophia’s hand and extended hers to their visitor. “You are surely Mr. Bruno Cavanaugh. I have been visiting the Duchess of Northbridge, and her grace informed me of your arrival.”
Mr. Cavanaugh’s smile was charm itself. He took Lady Cranston’s hand and touched his lips briefly to her gloved fingers.
“Lady Cranston.”
While Freddy shunted himself from foot to foot Mr. Cavanaugh removed his coat, draped it across one of the vacated iron chairs and guided Sophia’s mother onto its seat. When she’d made herself comfortable, she indicated with a gracious nod that the two men could resume their seats.
Freddy subsided into the chair he had ejected himself from while Mr. Cavanaugh pulled a weathered oaken bench from against the wall and lowered himself onto it with animal grace.
Lady Cranston sat upright with her hands composedly one over the other in her lap. “Another cup, please, Sarah.”
Sarah immediately turned and fled into the interior, clearly pleased of the excuse to escape. Mrs. Brixton, on the other hand, remained planted nearby, catching Sophia’s eye with a grimly protective stare.
Sophia admired the way her mother encompassed both men with a penetrating, interrogative glance. “Well gentlemen? I understand you have surprising news. Her grace bid me call on her this morning and she has acquainted me with recent events. I believed it incumbent on me to return to Foxwood without delay.”
Freddy’s fine hair lifted like thistledown from his scalp. Sophia could not help but feel sorry for him. His mouth moved, and he made talking noises, but he seemed totally unable to dredge up the explanation his inquisitor clearly awaited.
“I’m pleased to see you, Lady Cranston.” Mr. Cavanaugh glanced briefly towards Sophia. “I had no desire to spring this on your daughter without you at her side.”
“Do please tell me what is happening!” Sophia set her glass upon the table with enough force to rattle the crystal against the tabletop and cause liquid to spill over the side and splash onto the surface. She thrust her fingers into her hair. “Whatever this enlightenment is, it appears to have been broadcast to every single person in the entire county except me!”
At this juncture Sarah exited the French doors carrying a mahogany tray set with a white linen napkin and bearing a blue and gold coffee cup and saucer. Exasperated, Sophia sat back. A sharp fragment of metal bit into her spine. A strained silence ensued while Sarah unloaded the items onto the table and poured coffee from a tall silver pot before backing away to stand silently beside Mrs. Brixton. She hugged the tray in front of her, rather like a shield. Sophia wondered if she herself needed something similar to ward off whatever might eventuate next.
“You’re surely due an explanation.” Mr. Cavanaugh leaned forward, elbows on the table, long fingers linked.
Sophia didn’t even bother searching for that charming indent at the corner of his mouth. By the severity of his expression she knew he was unlikely to impart any information that would provoke a smile.
He lowered his head slightly but raised his gaze to encompass them all.
“Undoubtedly, what I’m about to tell
you will be a shock,” he said, measuring his words. “Before I begin, I want you to know above all things I do not wish to distress you, Miss Cranston.” He shot Sophia a look.
“Above all I don’t want to jeopardize your future arrangements. Be assured that in most particulars, nothing—nothing—” he emphasized with an authorative slice of his hand, “will be altered.”
On the lawn a thrush thrust its beak into the earth, extracted a worm and swallowed it whole.
Sophia swallowed. “Something will change,” she said, feeling the earth shift beneath her feet.
Mr. Cavanaugh netted her gaze and she could not drag her own away. Her heartbeat sounded thunderous in her ears. The world around seemed to come to a standstill while she waited for him to speak.
“Miss Cranston. I’m the Earl of Enderby’s eldest son,” she heard him say, the words coming to her ears as if he voiced them through falling water. “The only son of Isobel Hexham, the earl’s first wife.”
Sophia caught her breath. “But… but Lord Beaumont’s first wife has been dead long since. I do not understand.” She felt her mother’s fingers tightening around her cold hand.
Mr. Cavanaugh lifted his head and regarded them all with an unfaltering gaze. “My mother suffered an unspeakable ordeal before I was born.” A shadow crossed his face, but his gaze did not waver. “After my birth, her health was fragile to the point of death. She had lost all recollection of the torment she had undergone, or indeed, even of who she was.”
A muscle flickered in his jaw. “We were separated, and I was brought up far from her, unaware of my origins. It is only in recent times, following a severe blow to the head, that her memory began to return and she was able to send emissaries to find me.” He released a controlled breath. “Believe me when I tell you I was as much shocked as I know you are. But under the laws of primogeniture, and the Beaumont entailment, I’m the Earl of Enderby’s legal heir.”
The Beaumont Betrothal: Northbridge Bride Series Book 2 Page 6