Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2)

by Lee, Jade

  Sophia shifted, poking her head out from under the pillow. "People? What people?" Could it be Anthony had changed his mind?

  "Friends of yours, so they say. From London. Come to comfort you in your hour of need."

  Sophia winced. "Come to gawk, you mean."

  "Yes." Sophia could hear the disgusted note in her aunt's voice and most heartily agreed with the sentiment. But it did not prevent her aging relative from speaking in an excessively stern voice. "Now, will you talk with me or shall I bring them upstairs? A Countess of Ashbury seems most anxious, as she is your dear, dear friend."

  Sophia groaned into the mattress and wished she could hide in it for the next decade. "Lord, not Drusilla. Anything but Drusilla."

  "She is quite determined."

  Sophia waited, but her aunt would not comment further. Neither did she leave. Eventually, Sophia had no choice but to push herself into a sitting position and regard Agatha with a dark look. "You have not invited them to stay, have you?"

  "Nonsense. We have only enough room for a few guests. The rest have taken up lodging at the Stag's Heart Inn."

  Sophia almost asked who had been fortunate enough to manage an invitation to their house, but then she stopped herself. There was not a soul she wished to see. Even were it the King of England himself, she would tell him she had the migraine.

  "Talk, young lady."

  Sophia searched her aunt's face for a glimmer of sympathy, some weakness that would allow her to delay this moment of reckoning. But there was no quarter in Agatha's expression, and Sophia sighed, knowing she would not get any peace until she gave in. She folded her hands primly in front of her and eyed her aunt. "Very well. What do you wish to discuss?"

  "Exactly what happened. And in great detail. I trusted the major, you know. He seemed quite smitten with you. I cannot believe this betrayal. I am most disappointed with the man. Most disappointed. Now, tell me, what exactly did happen?"

  Sophia blinked at her aunt. "What makes you think that it did not happen exactly as the major explained this morning?"

  Agatha folded her plump arms, her expression bordering on the insulted. "I am not a peagoose, Sophia. The major does not strike me as a man who lets a simple piece of broken glass keep him from what he wants."

  "But—"

  "And I have never seen you hurt anything so much as a fly, much less a man. You could never have cut the major, no matter what he did."

  Sophia did not know whether to be offended or not. "My virtue was threatened," she said in stiff accents.

  "Piffle."

  Sophia stared at her aunt, but the woman glared right back. And, in the end, it was her aunt who was stronger. Sophia crumbled, her spine sinking back into the pillows as she released a heavy sigh. "You are right, of course. I have never been so frightened in my whole life as when he cut himself."

  "But why would he do it?"

  She blinked, suddenly appalled to feel tears slipping down her cheeks. "He did it to save my reputation," she whispered. And then Sophia Rathburn, Ice Queen, began to cry in earnest.

  * * *

  The sad truth about tears is that as much as one might wish, one cannot sustain that level of heart-wrenching emotion for long. Especially when one is of an analytical bent and has absolutely no idea why the tears are flowing so freely. Or so Sophia told herself before a half hour had expired. Though she had never in her life cried so long or so hard, eventually the tears stopped, and she was left drained, exhausted, and no more enlightened than before.

  "What is wrong with me?" she asked her pillow.

  "You do not know?" responded Aunt Agatha. In truth, Sophia had not even realized the woman was still with her. She wanted to be alone with her misery. But then she felt her dear aunt's hand gently pat her shoulder, and Sophia had to admit she was grateful for her presence. She needed insight, clarity, from an older and wiser woman. So she turned, looking up at the person she most adored.

  "Tell me what to do," she whispered.

  Agatha's hand slipped from Sophia's shoulder to gently pat her niece's cheek. "You think on it, my dear. I am sure it will come to you soon enough."

  The odd note in her aunt's voice prodded Sophia into finally reaching out. She grasped her aunt's arm, tugging on it in her desperation. "Aunt—"

  Gong.

  Both women started at the sound, but it was Agatha who sighed, her lavender ribbons fluttering in dismay. "Oh, dear. There is the dinner gong, and I am not even dressed appropriately."

  Sophia clutched her aunt's arm even tighter. "But—"

  "Hush, now," the older woman said as she gently disengaged her niece's fingers. "It cannot be helped. All those wretched guests will just have to accept me as I am. After all, I did not invite them here."

  Sophia blanched, her tears momentarily forgotten in a wash of shame. It was not only her own life in such chaos. She had managed to thoroughly disrupt her aunt's once-peaceful home as well. "I am so dreadfully sorry for all this mess."

  Aunt Agatha blinked; then her eyes began to twinkle with a mischievous smile. "Nonsense, my dear," she exclaimed as she rose from the bed. "This is the most entertainment I have had in years. In fact, no doubt most of the county feels the same."

  Sophia could do no more than groan, but her aunt absently patted her shoulder before moving to the door, her ribbons trailing away behind her.

  "Try to rest," Aunt Agatha called over her shoulder. "All will look better tomorrow."

  * * *

  The morning dawned disgustingly beautiful. Sophia's first admittedly cowardly thought was to hide in bed for another week at least. Unfortunately, she knew her aunt's unwanted guests would not leave until they had actually discussed her trauma ad nauseam. Therefore, for the sake of her aunt's limited means, she rang for Mary and made herself get dressed.

  Forcing herself to leave her room, however, was almost beyond her abilities.

  Fortunately, Drusilla was at hand to push her the rest of the way.

  "Good morning, my poor dear," the shrew exclaimed as she burst into Sophia's room. "Ah, I see you are dressed already. Good, good, though I am afraid that shade of blue is not quite right for your face. It brings out the smudges under your eyes. Ah, well, never mind. We are late for breakfast, and you will just have to do. Besides, after what you have been through, it is no wonder you look fagged."

  As she spoke, Drusilla pushed Mary aside and toured the room, picking up this and that, inspecting everything as she moved. Sophia merely stared at her, noting that the woman's dark hair was a perfect complement to her flawless skin. Over the years, she and Drusilla had constantly fought for the status of reigning beauty.

  At first, Sophia had not cared a whit. In fact, she would have been happy to relinquish the spot to anyone, but Drusilla had been grasping, manipulative, spiteful, and every other wicked name she could think of. By the end of the first month, Sophia had entered wholeheartedly into the rivalry.

  But then Drusilla married brilliantly, and Sophia began to see the emptiness that filled the London ballrooms. Drusilla had obediently begun breeding, and Sophia had commenced the retreat into herself that earned her the title Ice Queen.

  Now, five years later, she could hardly care what Drusilla or anyone else thought of the color of her gown. In fact, she could hardly believe she had ever thought Drusilla worthy of a second thought, much less a rivalry.

  "Good morning, Drusilla," Sophia said wearily as Mary began brushing out her hair. "You look pretty as always."

  Drusilla stiffened, her gaze narrowing. "Pretty? My dear, one does not call a married woman pretty."

  "Hmm? Oh. I am terribly sorry. You look divine." She purposely made her voice flat and weary, hoping Drusilla would take the insult and leave. If she was truly lucky, Drusilla would be so insulted, she would flee Staffordshire entirely.

  Contrary to the bone, Drusilla chose instead to supplant the maid at the dresser. "Goodness, you cannot wear your hair like that. Whatever possessed you to cut it so short?"


  "It was part of a ritual."

  Drusilla paused. "A what?"

  Sophia merely shook her head, too tired to explain.

  Suddenly, Drusilla was all hands as she fussed about. "Go, go," she said as she waved Mary away. "Let me do it."

  The maid hesitated, but Sophia nodded, allowing her to escape. She would not, however, allow Drusilla to touch her blond curls. The shrew might take scissors to them. "I think I shall wear it down," she said as she rose from her chair.

  "No, no!" cried Drusilla as she pushed Sophia back down. "We mustn't leave just yet. Please, sit down and tell me all about it."

  Sophia merely blinked at Drusilla's reflection in the mirror. "About what?"

  "Why, what happened at Baron Riggs's! Did Major Wyclyff attack you? Did you truly defend yourself with a wine bottle?"

  "Drusilla—"

  "You must know that you have been my dear friend for years. Surely you realize we can discuss anything!"

  Sophia allowed herself her first smile in days. "Of course I realize exactly what I can tell you, my dear. But, right now, I am absolutely famished." And with that she straightened her gown and made for the door.

  "Wait!"

  Sophia did not wait. The threat of an intimate tete-a-tete with Drusilla had her descending the stairs and walking into the breakfast parlor in record time. Even so, she took a moment to steel herself to confront more than one overly curious guest as she crossed into the sunny room. What she had not prepared herself for was the sight of the major, calmly eating eggs at her breakfast table.

  "Anthony!" The exclamation was one of shock, and she instantly regretted it. With one word, she had informed everyone in the room that she and the major used Christian names. And there were a lot of people at the table who were gossips.

  Just inside her peripheral vision, she counted five of her London "friends." She noted Percy immediately. No doubt he was the reason for her current overabundance of visitors from London. Beside him sat Miss Lydia Smyth—his intended—and her mother. Next to the older woman sat Drusilla's husband, and beside him sat Reginald Peters, Lord Kyle, her neighbor and sometime good friend. Aunt Agatha fluttered near the sideboard, looking less than well.

  Sophia barely spared them a thought as the major stood up from his chair.

  Sweet Heaven, she had forgotten how good he looked in his uniform. His shoulders never seemed so broad, his carriage never so impressive as when he dressed for the occasion. Add to that the warm sun that seemed to bathe him in a special golden aura, and he was truly magnificent.

  She wanted nothing more than to step into his arms and tell him without words just how handsome a man he was. But she could not do that. Indeed, she could not seem to do anything but stare at him. She knew every curve of his face, every muscle in his body—intimately. And yet all she could do was take it in again, filling her hungry eyes with the sight of him.

  "Lady Sophia," he said stiffly.

  She blinked and swallowed.

  "I apologize for intruding on your breakfast in such a way."

  "I am afraid we insisted, Sophia, dear," drawled Lord Kyle as he came leisurely to his feet. "Can't starve the man, you know. Especially when he came most particularly to speak with you. And in all his colors, too."

  "Oh, do stop, Reg. You are beyond boring today."

  Lord Kyle blinked, startled by her curt tone. Sophia was a bit startled herself. She had never snapped like that at anyone in her life. But she did not have time to dwell on it as her thoughts all centered on the major.

  If only she could think of something to say instead of gaping at him like a fish. But her body seemed unwilling to perform the simplest of tasks. She stood stupidly, staring at him, reading his body as she might a Minerva novel. She took in the way he favored his injured leg. She noted the tight set to his shoulders and the lines of fatigue that creased his face. He must not have slept well last night.

  Perhaps he had been plagued by the same memories she had.

  At that thought, her face began to flush, her entire body burning with... with... what? It was part embarrassment, part something else. Something she might label longing or pleasure—or perhaps hunger.

  She was not ready to think such thoughts, so she merely swallowed and locked them away. After all her years in London, she was quite adept at the process.

  Then Anthony spoke, his rich voice low and husky even as he obviously strived for a formal tone. "Lady Sophia, I wonder if I might have a word with you in private."

  "Absolutely not!" cried Drusilla as she stepped forward into the room, placing possessive hands across Sophia's shoulders. "The dear girl is much too distraught to spend any time with you, much less time alone. I am afraid whatever you have to say must be said here. We are, after all, Sophia's dearest friends. She has no secrets from us."

  Sophia did not so much as blink. She merely glanced behind the major at the broad expanse of garden and lush greenery just outside the window. Without a second thought, she shrugged Drusilla's hands from her shoulders, then moved for the outside door. "I believe I shall take a walk," she said firmly. "Major, you may accompany me, if you wish."

  "But my dear," came Lord Kyle's amused drawl, "do you not fear for your virtue?"

  "I shall simply cry out. I am sure I can count on you, my dear friends, to remain within earshot." She made sure the sarcasm fairly dripped in her voice but did not take the leisure to remain and view their reactions. Still, she managed to get a glimpse of Percy's flushed face as she swept from the room.

  As expected, the major followed after. As soon as she was out of the room, she moderated her pace so that he could catch up to her.

  "Anthony—" she began.

  "Not until we are outside."

  She nodded and pressed her lips together.

  Though she did not say anything, her mind was whirling. Yesterday, she had thought him completely out of her life, and yet here he was again. Rather than feeling annoyed at the intrusion, she was unaccountably cheered. It was a truly odd sensation, and one that she would have to examine more closely later.

  They rounded a bend decorated with Aunt Agatha's clematis, and Anthony stopped walking and turned to address her. "I shall make this short."

  "Anthony—"

  "I realize you have as little wish to speak with me as I with you, but it occurred to me that I made an error in judgment yesterday."

  Sophia blinked. Did he mean when they made love? Or when he publicly swore he wanted nothing to do with her? Oh, why did her thoughts insist on whirling when all she wished was for some clear thinking?

  Heedless of her turmoil, the major took a deep breath and continued. "Have you thought that perhaps you might be with child?"

  Sophia gasped. "A child!" The words came out as a startled whisper, but it seemed to echo in her mind. A baby? The major's baby! Her hand found her belly and she bit her lip, not knowing what to think. On the one hand, she felt an overwhelming sensation of terror. To be pregnant would upset all her carefully laid plans of a peaceful spinsterhood. Which was what she wanted, wasn't it?

  On the other hand, he was speaking of a tiny child to cherish and raise. What could be more joyful? Especially if it was a little boy who looked like his father, with dark brown curls and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

  "I see you had not thought of this." The major's tone was curt, effectively damping much of Sophia's enthusiasm.

  "No," she said slowly. "It had not occurred to me."

  "Well," he continued, his voice excruciatingly dry, "I have had all night to ponder the possibility."

  So, Sophia thought sadly, he had not been tormented by the same erotic dreams as she.

  Before she could think of an appropriate comment, Anthony took her by the arms, swinging her around to face him fully. "I will not allow my child to be raised as a bastard."

  Sophia felt herself straighten with horror. "Absolutely not!" No child of hers would be so branded.

  The major nodded, as if he had expected as much. "V
ery well. Then we will be forced to wed." He did not seem at all pleased by the thought, and Sophia found her spirits sinking dreadfully fast.

  She frowned, staring hard at him, wishing she understood his thoughts. Unfortunately, the major was as unreadable as ever, so she eventually turned away, curling her hands protectively over her belly. "Are we not getting ahead of ourselves? There is nothing to suggest I am with child." Nothing but a tiny flutter of hope quivering within her.

  "When should be your next course?"

  She blushed at such frank speech, but it did not stop her from answering. "Two weeks. Or perhaps a little sooner."

  He nodded, the movement as crisp as a salute. "A fortnight it is, then."

  She looked up, squaring her shoulders as she faced him fully. "What do you mean?"

  "I have some business in London, but I shall keep my man here. You may contact him at the inn whatever occurs."

  Sophia took a hesitant step forward, then stopped, uncertain what she was doing. She had believed her thoughts in turmoil when he appeared this morning, but that was nothing to what she was experiencing now. She felt completely lost in a world that would not settle for one minute.

  "Sophia!"

  She had not even realized her knees had weakened until he was beside her, gently guiding her to a stone bench. When she felt the solid granite beneath her, she looked down at her hands and spoke to them, focusing on the tight clench of her fingers rather than the man to her left. "I am sorry. It is just that everything moves so fast. I cannot seem to catch my breath."

  "I know what you mean," he agreed dryly. Then, with a tenderness belied by his gruff manner, he touched her face. His fingers were callused where they caressed her cheek, but Sophia could not imagine a gentler touch. "You were correct," he said. "We are rushing things. Many go months, even years, without conceiving a child."

  There it was again. The word. Child. His child. She began to smile, looking up into his handsome face. "We are worrying overmuch. In two weeks, we shall see that there was no cause for concern."

  He stiffened, and she felt his withdrawal though she could not understand the reason. There was no time to ponder as he abruptly straightened and looked to the sky. "It is time I left," he said.