The Beaumont Betrothal: Northbridge Bride Series Book 2

by D'Ansey, Leigh

  “Let us discuss the other portraits you require,” she said abruptly, turning away to her work table lest he see the desolation in her expression.

  He allowed a moment or two to slide by before stating without inflection; “Lord Beaumont wishes to have a portrait of myself, and I’d like you to paint the three of us together.”

  “The three of—”

  “My father, myself and Freddy.”

  Sophia glanced up at him, genuinely intrigued. “Has Lord Beaumont agreed I should paint your likeness?”

  He drew his brows together quizzically.

  “Selecting the unknown Sophia Cranston as the portraitist of the Beaumont family seems out of character. I would have thought his lordship more inclined to commission someone like Sir Thomas Lawrence. After all, Sir Thomas painted the Duke of Wellington and enjoys the patronage of the Prince Regent.”

  Mr. Cavanaugh’s lips curved in an ironic smile. “I have convinced my father.”

  Sophia found herself without words. Persuading his father to commission her work signified trust and immense progress towards a goal that had seemed dreamlike such a short time ago. She realized she had begun to separate that time as if it was another life altogether. A life before Bruno Cavanaugh and a life after, and realizing that ‘before’ had been no life at all.

  Quietly, she allowed him to guide the conversation to the details of his initial commission. Soon she was immersed in his vision for Vanessa’s portrait and excited to learn how closely his concept mirrored her own.

  “We are agreed then,” Mr. Cavanaugh said at length. He looked up from the notes and sketches Sophia had been taking throughout their conversation.

  Sophia set her stick of graphite beside her sketch pad. “Vanessa in full riding regalia alongside Morgana in the grounds of Northbridge with the ramparts of the castle just visible in the background. The dimensions to be life-size, as are your own portraits. I have not painted so large before, but I am excited by the prospect.”

  He smiled. “I have every faith in your ability. If you were a man I’d shake your hand to seal our agreement,” said Mr. Cavanaugh.

  “Do it anyway, Mr. Cavanaugh. You have contracted me to complete a piece of work and I have accepted. Surely my gender is immaterial?”

  She held her hand out, not palm downwards so that he could merely brush her fingertips with his own, but sideways, her fingers loosely splayed.

  Humor lit his eyes and brought that infernal indent to the corner of his mouth.

  “Unfortunately for me, your gender is not immaterial,” he said obliquely, slipping his palm over hers and clasping her hand with firm but gentle pressure.

  Her hand had never been held thus. His skin was warm and abrasive against hers and she curled her fingers around his. For an instant his eyes gleamed, but too quickly he shuttered his expression, released her hand and made her a brief farewell before swinging away and exiting via the French doors. As he stepped off the terrace it began to rain harder, and soon he was lost from sight.

  The next day Sophia dispatched a message to Freddy asking him to meet her at his earliest convenience, only to learn he had gone away to Newmarket with his ragtag group of cronies and had given no indication of when he would return. His lack of devotion quite cheered her. Now she had come to a firm decision, aided by the knowledge that months of work and an assured income lay ahead of her, her conscience impelled her to officially release him from his engagement. It was pleasing to know she need feel no remorse. A devoted fiancée would surely have informed his bride-to-be of his whereabouts, offered at least an estimated date for his return and dispatched loving notes from time to time.

  Informing Mr. Cavanaugh she had made an unrevokable decision however, was an undertaking that did cause her to quail. In every conversation between them he had made it plain, as far as he was concerned, her marriage to Freddy was as settled as daylight following night. Despite any declaration she made to the contrary, she sensed a steely resolve deep within him that would not be deterred from this end.

  She had no fear he would withdraw his commissions for she had been candid with him and she knew him well enough to understand he would never retract from their professional agreement. Only the loss of his friendship made her waver in her decision, for she knew she valued his allegiance above all things.

  Indeed, she felt as if her heart would tear apart if he withdrew his rapport but it was a risk she knew she must take. It was not only that she could not bear to be married to Freddy. Stealthfully but with force, the knowledge had crept upon her that if Mr. Cavanaugh did not wish her to be his bride, she would belong to no other man.

  To her surprise, it was Annabelle who unknowingly underlined this quietly-held but vehement sentiment. Catching a glimpse of her disheveled, paint-spattered image in the atelier cheval glass, she’d decided on impulse to change her clothes and apply soap and water to face and hands before joining her mother for a late nuncheon.

  A short time later, dressed in a crisp blue-and-white striped gown, her face and hands scrubbed pink, she had lowered herself onto a tapestried stool and was about to tame her hair when Annabelle burst unannounced into her bedchamber.

  “I thought you to be on a jaunt with the Hilliard’s,” said Sophia, smiling at her sister’s exuberant reflection.

  Visits and outings with Susan Hilliard’s assorted friends and relatives had done Annabelle a world of good and Sophia rejoiced in her sister’s happiness. She studied her image now, siezed by the notion that today Annabelle almost quivered with joy.

  She turned and held out her hands. “What is it? You are quite euphoric!”

  “Oh, sister!” Annabelle clasped Sophia’s hands and dropped to her knees, her rose-pink skirts pooling on the rug like spilled sherbert. “I am in love!”

  “In love!”

  “With Neville! Neville Whitford. Oh, you know him, Sophia!” Annabelle gave Sophia’s hands an impatient shake. “You met him at church only last week!”

  Sophia ransacked her brain and came up with a slight young man whose wheat-coloured hair topped a pair of attractive blue eyes and a rather charming, if hesitant smile.

  “But you hardly know him!”

  “I know all I need to,” said Annabelle with a confidence that startled Sophia. “He is the only grandson of General Whitford, and General Whitford was an acquaintance of our grandfather’s. There is no title, but their line is distinguished and the estate in Buckinghamshire—or it could be Pembrokeshire—” here her brow furrowed, but only momentarily, “is more than noteworthy.”

  Sophia stared at her sibling as if she had descended from the stars. “Annabelle. You take my breath away.”

  “We shall be married,” Annabelle said with utmost confidence.

  “But he must ask Mama!”

  “Pooh! Of course he must.” She sank back on her haunches, a smile playing on her lips. “He will when he knows.”

  “Annabelle!”

  “Don’t look so shocked, sister. I have made up my mind. Neville will have offered for me before the season is over.”

  “When did you know you loved him?” she asked, hearing a strangely wistful note in her voice.

  “Immediately I saw him,” said Annabelle with assurance.

  Sophia sat back, only half-listening to Annabelle’s chatter. From the instant she’d seen Mr. Cavanaugh her world had shifted. His was the last face she saw every night before she slept, he invaded her dreams and when she woke, she longed to hear his voice.

  Sometimes when he was near she could scarcely stop herself touching him—just a fingertip on the back of his hand, the plane of his cheek, the pulse in his throat.

  Annabelle sprang up, her next announcement striking Sophia like a dash of iced water. “Thank goodness you have promised yourself to Freddy Beaumont!” she cried gaily, “otherwise we would never have the means for me to come out, let alone confer a respectable dowry!”

  Blowing Sophia a kiss, she hurried away, declaring she and Susan were to spe
nd the remainder of the afternoon perusing the latest ladies magazines to ensure they would be fittingly gowned for every occasion.

  A short time later, Sophia sat down with her mother to a simple nuncheon of cold meat followed by a flummery with cream and sugar. Although occupied with her thoughts, Sophia soon became aware of Lady Cranston eyeing her warily.

  She halted her spoon on its journey to her mouth. “Mama? You are staring at me as if I have grown horns!”

  “I’m afraid you will bite me if I pursue the topic of conversation I have in mind,” said Lady Cranston, taking the napkin from beside her plate and dabbing her lips.

  “What conversation, pray tell?”

  “The dinner and dance at Enderby after Vanessa’s picnic… if you collect,” she added with a sting in her tone, “your engagement was also to have been announced.”

  Sophia inclined her head. “I am aware of that, Mama,” she said kindly.

  A look of extreme relief crossed her mother’s features. “Then…?”

  “There is no change on my stance in regards to my marriage to Freddy. So no engagement will be announced.”

  The vision of Annabelle’s joyful face smote her momentarily, but she fortified herself with reminders of the list of commissions and the potential sales resultant from the forthcoming exhibition. Annabelle may not be gowned as extravagantly as she might wish, but gowned she would be, and a dowry would be presented to Neville Whitford even if it meant Sophia selling every last item she owned and existing on little more than bread and cheese for the next twelve months.

  Lady Cranston raised her jaw. “Is Freddy aware of your decision?”

  “I have not had the opportunity to tell him myself, and he certainly should be informed before any other person.” Sophia sent her mother a sharp glance.

  “Well, you are running out of time. The event is no more than a fortnight away now.”

  Sophia scooped up another spoonful of flummery. She disliked dinners and parties in general and had not been looking forward to this one in particular. But Mama was correct. Although Mr. Cavanaugh had made the acquaintance of many of his neighbours, it was only proper that a formal introduction should be made, both in the family seat and later, at Enderby House in town. It would be exceedingly vulgar of Sophia not to attend, particularly as Vanessa would be hostess in lieu of a suitable female from the Beaumont family.

  “Actually, Mama. I had been going to ask your advice.” She truly did feel for her mother because she knew choosing to earn her own living was an inconceivable route for one who all her life had adhered to the manners and conventions of her upbringing. Her request was in the nature of a peace offering.

  “I do not believe you,” countered her mother astringently. “I have done little but endeavour to advise you over these past weeks and you have dismissed all my counsel out of hand.”

  But Sophia knew the invitation would be more than her Mama could resist. And after a few moments while she quietly finished her pudding, her patience was rewarded.

  “Well, Sophia. What advice may I do you the honour of extending?” ventured Mama.

  “I should like you to advise me on my gown.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows climbed towards her hairline. “Are you quite well, my dear?”

  Sophia smiled. “I am exceedingly well, thank you.”

  Lady Cranston put down her spoon. “It has never been my experience you have cared a jot for your appearance.”

  “I still do not care overmuch,” said Sophia, putting her dish aside. She looked over her mother’s shoulder, through the window where the parklands were almost in full summer dress. “But I have decided to pay a little more attention for this event.” What color and style of gown would most move Mr. Cavanaugh?

  Lady Cranston sniffed, still not entering the spirit of Sophia’s unlikely offer. “Perhaps your outfit should be demure. If there is to be no announcement, you do not wish to look flashy. There will be enough gossip as it is.”

  Sophia pressed her fingers against her temples. “What difference would it have made, anyway, Mama? Freddy would certainly be blind to my apparel unless it was an especially stylish horse blanket!”

  Unaccountably, she found tears stinging her eyes.

  “Oh, my dear.” Lady Cranston reached across the table and took Sophia’s hands in hers. Her own eyes were bright. “I have changed my mind. You should look spectacular.”

  “Spectacular, Mama? A moment ago you were advocating demure.”

  “Spectacularly demure. After all, we have done nothing to be ashamed of.” Lady Cranston tightened her grip on Sophia’s fingers. She leaned forward and said almost fiercely. “I cannot approve of your scheme, Sophia. It goes against everything that allows our society to function. It makes me fear for your safety in the years ahead. However, and much against my better judgement, let us speculate that this is indeed the path you choose. All the more reason for you to appear as a woman who is an expert in her field. Not an addle-brained eccentric.”

  Sophia could not help but smile. “Mama! You never fail to surprise me.”

  Lady Cranston sniffed. “Children rarely grasp the full worth of a parent. And I shall tell you something else that you have probably not even considered.”

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “Being commissioned to execute a portrait of the Duke and Duchess of Northbridge along with the Lords Beaumont, is no small feat. Others in the ton will follow suit, mark my words.”

  Sophia laughed. “I shall, Mama!”

  As she gave further thought to the matter, her mother’s expression became speculative. “And it won’t only be the nobility who seek to reproduce themselves via your brush, Sophia. There are many Cits growing wealthier by the day who will be falling over themselves to offer their patronage.”

  Sophia lifted her eyebrows. “Mark your words, Mama?”

  “You could do worse.”

  “Why, you are so astute, I think I shall employ you as my agent!”

  “Stuff and nonsense! You may choose to toil away all the hours God sends, Sophia. But it is not my goal. If you succeed in your bizarre ambition, I shall allow you to provide for me in the Dower House and I shall endeavor to limit my extravagance to suit your purse. But I shall never approve!”

  “You are too kind, Mama,” said Sophia, releasing her mother’s hands and rising from her chair. “It is a shame Annabelle is not here. She has a better eye than mine for fashion.”

  Lady Cranston gave a sorrowful smile. “You have the eye, my dear, it’s simply the interest you lack. You have never paid attention to the latest modes.”

  “It’s true, I have been a great disappointment on all fronts,” said Sophia cheerfully. “Now, let us raid the household trunks to see what we can find.”

  “Beginning with Annabelle’s,” declared Lady Cranston, rising purposefully. “She has yards of ribbons, laces and fabrics in the trunks and wardrobes in her bedchamber. I do not know how she came by them all.”

  Through Gabriel’s shrewd hawking, thought Sophia, taking her mother’s hand and tugging her upstairs and down passageways until they reached Annabelle’s spacious bedchamber.

  “This?” Lady Cranston offered several minutes later, holding up a measure of butter-colored satin.

  Sophia shook her head. “I do not see myself in yellow on this occasion,” she said.

  Her mother sat back “Sophia! I can scarcely believe the improvement. It’s not usual for you to see yourself in anything but that rag of a jacket and that ghastly old buff dress.”

  Sophia turned away and continued rummaging in the recesses of Annabelle’s wardrobe. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but she felt sure she’d recognize it when she saw it.

  “This!” she said triumphantly, bringing forth a swathe of pale mint watered silk. When she had presented it to Annabelle the year before, her sister had wrinkled her nose and declared it not quite her color.

  After a cursory perusal, her mother seemed dubious. “It looks rather dra
b.”

  Sophia rose, held the fabric against herself, and examined her reflection in the oval mirror that stood against the wall.

  “It brings out that strange green in my eyes, Mama. Imagine it with crystals about the neckline, silver net over-sleeves and a triple layer of point at the hem.” She visualized herself and Mr. Cavanaugh on the bridge over Huggleton Brook. “I shall resemble a drift of water.”

  “Mmm…” her mother considered, inspecting Sophia thoughtfully. “I think a glitter of silver among the point would be a nice embellishment, a demi-train only—and your grand-mamma’s diamond necklace,” she added, taking hold of Annabelle’s iron bedstead to lever herself up awkwardly.

  Sophia stared at her mother’s reflection over her shoulder. “Oh, no, Mama! The necklace would make the ensemble too…too… flashy.”

  Lady Cranston frowned. “It would finish it off nicely.”

  “Diamonds are a trifle ostentatious, Mama. I prefer something more original about my neck.” She brought the silken length lower until it rested just above her breasts and spilled down her body.

  Her mother squinted suspiciously. “What do you suggest?”

  Sophia thought quickly. “A wreath of silver oak leaves,” she said. “I know there are some in that old trunk of Grand-mama’s in the attic.

  Lady Cranston still looked doubtful.

  “Just think, Mama! How unaffected I shall look. You have always advocated the simple over the showy.”

  Charlotte gave her an impaling stare. “Why are you trying to butter me up?”

  Sophia stepped forward and took her mother’s hand. “I am not trying to butter you up, Mama. I am merely trying to follow your example.”

  She sugared her smile and was relieved to see Mama’s features relax.

  “Lord knows it has taken long enough. Bear in mind, you may be meeting other likely patrons over the coming weeks. The invitations have been piling up as society prepares to welcome Mr. Cavanaugh into its midst. You will need more gowns than your depleted wardrobe offers.