“Sophie.” He squeezed her fingers. “That day we met each other on the beach—I had made a decision to give it all up.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t have both—you and Highclyffe. And I had come to realize that I didn’t want a life without you in it.”
“What are you saying?”
“I had decided to let Highclyffe go.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew how I felt! You made such love to me—I thought that day on the beach was everything we needed to say to each other.”
Color flared on his cheekbones, and she felt herself flush in return as she slowly rose to her feet, realizing that affairs had gone horribly wrong between them, worse than she had ever imagined.
“I thought it was lust on your part,” she whispered. “You never spoke of love.”
“I know. I was a fool to assume you knew how I felt.”
He lay half-dead on a bed, but he was suddenly more accessible to her than she had ever known him to be.
“You were in love with me?”
“Aye. But you insisted upon marrying Metcalf. I was devastated. I could only guess then that you didn’t return my love.”
“Ian, how could you think such a thing?”
“You never spoke of love either,” he replied with a sad smile. “So I assumed you valued a title and property over the affections of a common American.”
“Surely you knew me better than that!”
“I thought I did. But, dammit, Sophie, I couldn’t fathom why you would choose Metcalf over me. And I knew you were quite a little actress. I was aware there was a possibility that you were just pretending to care for me. What was I to think?”
Sophie passed a hand over her forehead, overwhelmed by his startling revelations. Her opinion of Ramsay had shifted considerably.
“And all this time you thought I was dead?”
“Aye.”
“Then why did you endanger yourself going after the Edward?”
“To avenge you.” His eyes blazed. “‘Twas the only thing that kept me from losing my bloody mind.”
Sophie stared at him. “Ian, I never would have guessed—”
“I rode back to Highclyffe that night after we met on the beach.” His expression went dark with the memory. “I was going to tell you everything, make you admit that you loved me, and get you away from Metcalf. But by the time I got there, you had already jumped. It was a nightmare, Sophie. A nightmare from which I’m just now awakening.”
Sophie’s flush paled and her knees felt weak from the shock of learning how close they’d come to each other and how far they’d fallen away.
“The tides,” she explained. “The tides you told me about in Loch Lemond? They swept me away in a great undertow that night.”
He listened to her now as she filled in the part of the story he had never imagined had transpired.
“I thought I was going to drown in that river beneath the surface. But it didn’t drown me. It saved me. It carried me far from the cliffs and into a small cove surrounded by trees.”
“I know of that place,” he put in.
“A tinker found me. I was nearly dead. She saved my life. When she saw my plaid blanket, she assumed I was of the MacMarrie clan and took very good care of me.”
Ian nodded and his dark expression eased. “But why did you jump in the first place?”
She sighed and looked down. “I never intended to go through with the wedding to Edward. I was just using him to get out of England. I was desperate, you see, because of a constable who was after me. I didn’t think he would ever follow me to Scotland, but he did. He had discovered my true identity. And then Edward caught me when I was leaving Highclyffe. I was going to try to find you, to tell you everything, and ask you to help me clear my name.”
“You were going to come to me that night?”
“Yes. But then I learned of your plan to ruin us all. I was astounded by the news—that you had betrayed me.” She paused and looked at the ceiling, fighting off the vision of that terrible night when she’d decided to take her own life. “I can’t tell you how it shattered me, to learn that you had used me. It was more than I could bear. I felt I had nothing left. I knew I would be executed for a crime I did not commit, so I jumped.”
“Sophie forgive me!” He reached for her wrist and drew her close. “I should have spoken sooner. I should have told you everything.”
“We were both at fault, Ian. I see that now.”
Sophie reached out to caress his grizzled jaw with her hand and gently stroked his face. She had wondered if she would ever touch him like this once more, with his eyes blazing into hers.
“You will forgive me, then?” he breathed.
“Yes.” Tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them. “I love you, Ian. I always have. I always shall.”
She felt his other arm rise to drape across her back, urging her closer to him. Gingerly she lowered herself to his chest, enough to feel his warmth radiating upward, but not enough to cause him any pain with the pressure of her body. He held her to him, and she buried her nose in the small of his shoulder, while her own shoulders shook with sobs of joy.
“I am the happiest man alive,” Ian whispered in her ear. “The absolute happiest man alive.”
Epilogue
A week later Ian was recovered enough to leave his bedchamber. In celebration, Lady Auliffe requested an extra special tea to be set out in the afternoon. Sophie helped Ian to a big wingback chair near the fire in the parlor and covered his knees with an extra robe, while the lady of the house urged Mr. Puckett to take a seat as well. Both her dogs insisted upon sitting at Ian’s feet, curled up on the ends of the blanket. More content than she had been in a long time, Sophie straightened and looked out the window, where huge white flakes of snow drifted from the yellow gray sky.
The sight of snow never ceased to amaze her, but she was grateful to be safely lodged in a warm house away from the damp flakes this time and surrounded by people she cared about and who cared for her in return. She wondered, however, what was to become of her once Ian healed completely. He hadn’t brought up the subject of marriage, and she didn’t wish to rush into nuptials anyway. But she couldn’t stay with Lady Auliffe forever. It wasn’t right or proper, her being a maidservant treated as an equal by a member of the English nobility.
Not once in the past three weeks had Mary Auliffe brought up the disparity between their social ranks, and she was grateful for the older woman’s kind broadmindedness.
Just as Lady Auliffe lifted the china tea pot, she was interrupted by William, who appeared in the doorway and coughed discreetly.
“Yes?” Mary Auliffe said, turning to glance at him.
“You have a visitor, madam.”
“At this hour?” Lady Auliffe put down the pot. “Who?”
“A Mrs. Lindner.”
“I can’t say I recognize the name.” Mary Auliffe waved him off. “Show her in.”
She raised the pot again and had time to pour three cups, before a short dark-haired woman bustled into the room.
At the woman’s appearance, Sophie slowly turned from her stance by the window and her heart caught in her chest. She hadn’t recognized the name of the woman either, but she certainly recognized the disdainful turn of her mouth.
The visitor’s glance devoured the contents of the room and then landed on Sophie. The woman’s expression turned more disdainful than ever as she raked Sophie with her unforgettably cruel stare.
Mr. Puckett rose to his feet, and Ian began to struggle upward, but Sophie placed a hand upon his shoulder and encouraged him to remain seated. She wouldn’t allow Ian to needlessly strain himself on behalf of hard-hearted, ill-natured Agnes Preston.
“Mrs. Lindner,” Lady Auliffe greeted. “Do come in.”
“Thank you, your ladyship.” She swept across the floor, her nose in the air, her body as compact as a frigate in full sail. She had obviously dressed
for the occasion, in a dark blue gown heavily trimmed in black satin ribbon, complete with black lace gloves and a blue bonnet.
“Do have a seat. We were just having tea.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but it took much longer to get here than I—”
“No trouble.” Lady Auliffe bestowed a small smile on her. “Come, sit down next to me on the settee.”
“Thank you, madam.”
Mary handed a delicate cup and saucer to her guest. “Now, do tell us to what do we owe the pleasure?”
Agnes held the cup in front of her large breasts and shot a dark glance at Sophie. “Not meaning to sound presumptuous, your ladyship, but I come as a friend with your best interests in mind.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I couldn’t rest, your ladyship, knowing what I know about the Metcalfs and the Hinds. And I simply had to come when I heard you were here—and so was she.” Agnes nodded toward Sophie.
Involuntarily, Sophie took a deep breath and threw back her shoulders. Agnes had never frightened her, but she was wary of her nonetheless. She had been the object of Agnes’ vitriolic diatribes far too often.
“You mean Sophie?” Lady Auliffe remarked, looking at her as well.
“Do you know who she is?” Agnes gasped.
“Of course. But how do you know of her?”
“I know her well. My maiden name is Preston.” She bowed her head slightly. “I was governess to your granddaughter, God rest her soul.”
“You were my granddaughter’s governess?” Lady Auliffe regarded her with more interest.
“Yes.”
“But we all thought you had died in the fire!”
“Yes, well, I didn’t, your ladyship.” Agnes nearly blushed. “I ran off to get married that night.”
“Lucky for you.”
Agnes nodded and leaned forward. “I didn’t come here to collect the last of my salary or any such thing, I want to assure you of that. I simply haven’t been able to rest, madam, since I heard about Sophie Vernet and all the goings on up here. I couldn’t sleep, I tell you.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know what she’s told you, or how she’s inserted herself into your good graces, but I have to warn you, madam, that she’s a devious little chit. I don’t care if she hears me saying it either. She’s lazy and mouthy and devious.”
“My good woman!” Mr. Puckett sputtered, jumping to his feet.
“Toss her out,” Ian called from his chair.
Agnes turned on Puckett like a vicious little dog. “Aye! Come to her defense!” Agnes hissed at Puckett, who was a better target than Ian bundled securely in his chair. “She’s charmed you, sirrah. Anyone can see that.”
Puckett stepped toward her, his eyes blazing. “She’s done nothing of the sort!”
“She’s just a maidservant!” Agnes pointed a stubby finger at Sophie. “You’re just a maidservant, my girl! And don’t you forget it! All this grand life you’ve been living has gone to your head. Look at you, standing there in such finery, you little hussy!”
“Really, Mrs. Lindner!” Lady Auliffe put down her own teacup. “What Sophie has been in her other life doesn’t concern us overmuch.”
“It should. She’ll steal you blind,” Agnes continued. “I know her. She’ll run off with your jewelry!”
“Unlikely.”
“She pretended to be your granddaughter, your ladyship! She can’t be trusted!”
“Sophie never pretended a thing.”
“What?” Agnes let out an unladylike guffaw. “Pshaw!”
“Really! And should I hear any further slander of her, Mrs. Lindner, I shall have to ask you to leave.”
Agnes gaped at her, stunned into silence.
Sophie stared at Lady Auliffe, stunned as well that the woman would stand up for her with such vehemence.
Lady Auliffe took a sip of tea and then lowered her cup, as unruffled as if she were entertaining her closest friends. “I meant this tea to be a special celebration, including toasting Captain Ramsay’s amazing recovery. In truth, I didn’t expect company, but—” She shrugged and smiled. “—the more the merrier as they say, as long as you can promise to be merry, Mrs. Lindner.”
“Ma’am.” Agnes sat back, chagrined and deflated, shocked that her words hadn’t produced the expected effect upon the countess.
“Biscuit, Mr. Puckett?” Lady Auliffe asked, holding the plate up to him where he still stood, too agitated to sit down again.
“Thank you, madam.”
“And will you be so kind as to fetch that box on the sideboard over there. By the vase of flowers?”
Puckett pointed with his biscuit in the proper direction, Mary nodded, and he set off to do her bidding.
“First, I would like to say how happy I am that Ian is nearly as good as new.”
“Hear, hear!” Ian raised his cup.
“A real miracle.” Sophie echoed, speaking her first words since Agnes had burst into the parlor.
“And much to do with the excellent care he received from you, my dear.” Lady Auliffe smiled at her, and her brown eyes brimmed with fondness. Sophie felt herself flush. Then she felt Ian’s hand slip around hers and squeeze it gently.
“Next,” Lady Auliffe continued, holding up a large sealed scroll. “I have in my hand the deed to Highclyffe, delivered only this morning by an agent of Lady Metcalf, on behalf of her recently deceased son.”
Puckett glanced at Ian and reached out for the scroll.
Lady Auliffe placed it carefully in his hand and then looked at Ian. “Apparently Edward owed you a gambling debt of some kind?”
“Yes.”
Sophie saw Ian struggle to retain his composure as his assistant placed the scroll in his hands. Ian’s black eyes shone brightly with emotion as he broke the seal and slowly unrolled the parchment. Sophie watched him read the document, her heart breaking for joy as proof of his claim to the family home finally unfurled before him.
Suddenly and spontaneously they all began to clap, save Agnes Lidner. Even William and a maidservant joined in, while Ian roughly wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. Then Sophie reached down and kissed him on the cheek.
“Oh, Ian!” she whispered, her voice brimming with happiness.
“But that’s not all!” Lady Auliffe held up her hand. “There’s more!”
Sophie straightened. What could be better than Ian getting the deed to Highclyffe? This was a happy occasion indeed.
“Sophie.”
Sophie leveled her gaze upon the older woman, as Lady Auliffe held out another scroll.
A strange feeling twisted in Sophie’s stomach, but she couldn’t define it as pleasure or pain. It was as if she had swallowed a ball of wool and all the fibers were tickling her and prickling her at the same time. Her unease mounted with every step she took toward the settee where Mary Auliffe sat.
As if in a dream, she saw her hand reach out for the roll of paper, grasp it, and raise it upward.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Open it, my dear.”
Sophie blinked, suddenly feeling faint.
“Go ahead, Sophie, if only to assuage poor Mrs. Lindner’s curiosity.”
“I hope it’s an official statement from you forgiving me for my duplicity,” she answered.
“Oh tish!” Lady Auliffe rolled her eyes. “Would you just open it?”
Carefully, Sophie broke the seal on her own document and gently unrolled the thick paper. It was a court document with long strings of gibberish, unfamiliar names, save for her own, a seal, and three flourishes of signatures and dates at the bottom. The flowery script swam before her eyes, and in her agitated state, she could make neither heads nor tails of it.
“What is it, Sophie?” Ian asked, tilting his head anxiously.
“I don’t know! I’m not sure—”
“It’s an official document, my dear,” Lady Auliffe rose, her silk dress swishing elegantly. “Making you my
legal heir.”
Sophie stepped back in utter amazement. “Your what?”
“My heir.”
“That’s rubbish!” Agnes Lidner leapt to her feet with amazing speed. “That’s absolute rubbish!”
“No, it is not.” Lady Auliffe didn’t so much as look back at the former governess. Her gaze was fixed upon Sophie’s face.
“She’s but a maidservant!”
“She is my granddaughter.”
“I mean no offense, madam, but you’re suffering under a complete misconception!”
“No. It is Sophie who has suffered.”
An eerie chill swept down Sophie’s spine. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you are my granddaughter. Just as much as Katherine was.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re as much my blood as Katherine was. Maybe even more.”
“How can that be?”
“Plain and simple, my dear? Through that fine institution of adultery. My son fell in love with your mother. She was a French woman from a neighboring island, apparently from a highly respectable family. He told me he was going to divorce Katherine’s mother and marry yours, that he had found true love at last. But she died giving birth to you. The last letter I got from your father told of his plans to take you to his sugar cane plantation. He was confident that he could convince his wife to take you in and raise you as her own. But he had always misjudged that woman. She was as bitter and as vindictive as they come. I should have known better than to believe everything was all right with you.”
“Your son was my father?”
“Yes.” Lady Auliffe reached out and gently touched Sophie’s arm.
“What happened to him?”
“Died of apoplexy soon afterward. That’s what they told me. But if I know Richard, he died of a broken heart. He was such a sensitive sort.”
“Richard Hinds was my father?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew about me?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you know that I was treated as a servant?”
“I’m afraid not.” Lady Auliffe sighed. “What few letters I ever received from Katherine’s mother were packs of lies—saying how Sophie did this and Katherine did that—all lies, I know that now.”
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