by Brenda Joyce
Sofie shot a worried glance at Henry. “What did she say?”
He hesitated. “She said she is withholding your money until you come home … alone.”
Sofie flinched. A pink color had suffused Henry’s face. Dismay filled her. She knew he did not understand. But what did he comprehend from Suzanne’s words? And should she tell him the truth about why she was so desperate for funds? It would be a relief to share her predicament—and all of her worries—with him. But he might very well be appalled. Sofie was afraid to risk losing his friendship. “Can she do that? Withhold my money from me?”
Henry sighed. “I attained copies of the trust contracts from her lawyer. And the answer is yes. It is not proper, nor is it ethical, but technically she can withhold the funds. We do have a recourse. But it is not timely. We can sue her personally, or we can appeal to the courts to have a new trustee appointed in her stead.”
Sofie halted and faced Henry, aghast. “I cannot believe this! I must sue my own mother? Or go to court to have her removed as trustee? This is horrible. A nightmare!”
“It is not pleasant,” Henry agreed, regarding her closely.
Sofie felt hysteria rising up in her. And anger. Some of the hurt over her mother’s betrayal had been diminishing these past few days. In its place was a seeping rage at the callous cruelty and injustice of her behavior. “I have savings in France. Unfortunately I left in such haste that I did not receive any letters from my bank. I am having those savings transferred here, but without those letters, it will take four to six weeks.” Her voice trembled. She was so worried about the future that she could barely sleep at night. She had never been more tired. She needed someone to lean on other than Rachelle.
Especially because, as every day passed, the probability of Edward’s arriving in the city increased.
Sofie fought for control, aware of Henry’s probing gaze. “In another few weeks Durand-Ruel is holding an exhibition for me. If I am lucky, it will be a success. Much of the work he is showing, he already owns, but several new works will be sold on commission. I think Paul will agree to advance me funds in any case against future work and future sales. I will ask him immediately.” The gallery was only some dozen blocks away, and she was ready to run there on foot right now.
Henry plucked her sleeve. “Sofie, wait. You are distressed. Are you sure you cannot go home? Perhaps if I intervene—”
“No!” she cried vehemently, startling them both.
Henry dropped his hand from her arm.
She squared her shoulders, trembling. “Henry, you do not understand why I cannot go home alone.”
“No. I do not understand.”
Sofie swallowed, feeling shaky and faint. “I cannot go home because Suzanne wants me to give up my daughter for adoption.”
Henry gasped.
Sofie dared to meet his shocked gaze. “Yes, I have a child. An illegitimate child—a little girl named Edana Jacqueline O’Neil whom I love with all my heart.”
“Dear God,” Henry said. And then his face flushed with anger. His gaze became wide with comprehension. “Delanza? Is he the father? The bastard!”
Sofie cried out, gripping his wrist. “Please. I cannot tell you who Edana’s father is, I cannot!” But she knew he knew that it could not have been anybody else. And she realized that his reaction would be typical of the rest of society once Edana’s existence became public knowledge.
Henry nodded, mouth tight, shoulders stiff and rigid. “I understand.”
“How can you? When I am not sure that I do?” Sofie asked, almost in a whisper. She had not thought it out yet. There was too much on her mind for her to consider the ramifications of revealing who Edana’s father was to the world at large. It would be for the best, she knew, to reach an agreement with Edward first on whether they would make public the fact of his paternity. Yet such a discussion could not take place when she was hiding from him. Sofie faced Henry, feeling lost, alone, overwhelmed. “Henry, I love her. I am not going to give her up. No compromise is possible on my part. I am furious with my mother—I am not going back.”
“Now I finally understand,” Henry said slowly.
She looked at him, searching for signs of revulsion and condemnation, but she only saw sorrow. “You are shocked, and rightfully so. But … you will still represent me?”
“Sofie, I am your friend. Of course I will continue to represent you—and help you in any way that I can.”
Sofie stared at him in mute gratitude.
Henry handed her a handkerchief.
Sofie wiped her eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”
He took her arm and they walked again, this time in silence. After another block they entered Union Square. Henry led her to a deserted park bench, where they both sat down, scattering pigeons. He shifted to face her, their knees touching. He coughed.
Sofie clenched the wadded-up handkerchief. “I am sure Paul will advance me funds,” she said, as desperate as she was hopeful.
“I will not let you starve, Sofie. Don’t you know that?”
“You are so kind,” she whispered.
“It is more than kindness.” He appeared ill at ease. “Don’t you know that by now?”
She became utterly still.
He was red of face. “I am very fond of you, Sofie.”
Sofie stared, shocked.
He seemed to feel that he owed her an explanation. “You know, two summers ago, I came to Newport Beach to meet you—for all the wrong reasons. But now I am motivated by the right reasons.
“I hoped to marry you then. I was encouraged by my aunt because of your inheritance. But when I met you I found you both fetching and fascinating. Even though your mother did succeed in putting me off, at first.”
Sofie stared. “She … did?”
“She did. She was very discouraging. Still, you are one of the most sincere, kindest women I have ever known—and the bravest, too. I would like to marry you, Sofie. Not for the wrong reasons—but for the right reasons.” He was beet red. “I have been fond of you for a long time. More than fond, actually. You should not be so surprised.”
“Henry … I did not know.”
“I know. You only had eyes for him.”
Sofie said nothing, for he was right. She thought about Edward, filled with anguish. She wondered if this would be her only chance for love.
Henry said, low, “I have never said such things to a woman before. I cannot bear to see you suffer like this. You should not be alone. You need a husband, and your daughter needs a father.”
Sofie shook herself free of Edward’s image with vast effort. She took his hands in hers. “I don’t know what to say. I am moved beyond words.”
“Say yes. Would you become my wife, Sofie? I know I have not met Edana, but I would be a good father. I would never hold the past against her—or against you.”
Instinctively Sofie knew that Henry would be a good father—and that he would be a good husband, too. He would be loyal, kind, affectionate, and faithful. She closed her eyes, stabbed with both grief and longing. How could she marry him when she loved another? Yet she yearned for a home of her own, for a man to love, for a man to love her. “I am overwhelmed by your offer. Henry, please, I need some time.”
Gravely he nodded.
Sofie could not miss Lisa’s engagement party. She had not returned to the house since the day she had seen Benjamin and fled when she realized he also approved of Suzanne’s plans. She had been so immersed in her own problems and in taking care of Edana this past week that she had hardly spared her sister a thought. Lisa must be on pins and needles, Sofie thought.
The afternoon before the ball, Sofie dared to go home, leaving Edana with Rachelle at the hotel. She chose her time carefully. Suzanne dined out every afternoon with other ladies, and Sofie was counting on that fact. She had no wish to even see her mother, much less engage in another heated battle.
Sofie found Lisa in her bathtub covered with Saratoga mud. “Hello, Lisa. I hav
e come to borrow a gown for the ball tomorrow.”
“Sofie!”
Sofie had to smile at the sight her sister made. Only her eyes and mouth were visible. The mud was black and it was a sight both comical and gruesome. She sat down on a footstool. “Does that mud really improve one’s skin?”
Lisa was sitting up. “Where have you been? Oh, God! I have been so worried about you and the baby!” She began to cry.
Sofie sank down on her knees beside Lisa, and gingerly patted her muddy back. “I am fine. Really.”
Lisa gulped down her sobs. “Your mother is a witch—and so is my father. How could they be so cruel to you?”
“They are only doing what they believe to be best,” Sofie said.
“You are defending them?”
“No.” Sofie sighed.
“Are you both all right?” Lisa asked, gripping the sides of the claw-footed tub.
“Yes. We are making do. Suzanne has cut off my funds, but Henry Marten has lent me money—and so did Paul Durand-Ruel.” Sofie had seen him immediately after receiving Henry Marten’s shocking offer of matrimony. He had been sympathetic to her plight and more than willing to help.
“I know,” Lisa said. “Sofie, you are almost all they talk about.”
Sofie did not like the sound of that.
“When I get my next allowance, you can have that, too,” Lisa said firmly. “So you plan to come tonight after all?”
“I would not miss your engagement ball for anything, Lisa, and thank you,” Sofie said, smiling ruefully. “I guess I am not quite as alone as I feared. Everyone has rallied to my side in this small crisis.”
“Sofie—you are not alone!” Lisa was fierce. “When Julian and I wed in May, you and Edana can come live with us.”
Sofie was stunned by the magnitude of the offer. “Lisa, surely you do not want your sister and niece underfoot as you begin your married life.”
“Yes, I do.” She was stubborn.
“And the marquis?”
“He will be as eager as I am, I am sure of it.”
Sofie doubted it. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was the passion that could be had between lovers on a honeymoon. The marquis would not appreciate company. “And how is your illustrious bridegroom?”
Lisa’s smile faded.
“Lisa? Is something wrong?”
“Oh, Sofie,” Lisa cried, “I am in love with him and have been since we first met, but I have finally faced the truth! I do not think he is enamored of me!”
Sofie had only met Julian St. Clare that one single time the day she had arrived. But she remembered how stiffly courteous he had been—and how quick he had been to note her ringless hands. She remembered now that she had not seen him smile, not even once. Had she not seen the burning glitter in his eyes, had she not seen his kiss, she would have thought the man as cold as his facade.
And Lisa was more than just a pretty young woman. She was intelligent, kind, and terribly generous. A man would be a fool not to fall in love with her. But on the other hand … St. Clare reminded Sofie so much of Edward.
He reminded her of Edward, despite his being golden-haired, because he was another version of virile male perfection. Such a man would always have his choice of women, even without charm, and it would be idiotic to think that St. Clare had lived his life as a saint. Clearly he was attracted to Lisa. But Sofie knew firsthand that lust was not love. “What makes you think that, Lisa?”
She hesitated. “He doesn’t smile, Sofie. He is perfectly polite, but he doesn’t smile—not with me.” She hesitated. “And his conversation is perfunctory.”
“I hope he does not smile with other women?”
“No. I wonder … Perhaps he doesn’t really like women,” Lisa said uncertainly. “Could that be possible? When his kisses are so passionate? When he is so—” Lisa paused, blushing “—virile?”
“Anything is possible,” Sofie said, worried now and thinking about his first wife. “What else do you know about him?”
“I know that he is the only son of the Earl of Keith, and that his mother also died many years ago.”
“Lisa, perhaps you are rushing this,” Sofie said gently. But she wondered at the void of information about the marquis.
Tears filled Lisa’s eyes. “But I do love him—to distraction! If I could, I would many him tonight. I pray his reserve is just stiff British cordiality, and that after we are wed, I will be privy to his real personality—and to his love.”
Sofie did not like the sound of things. “I think you should have a long talk with the marquis as soon as possible. Be direct and honest and voice all the concerns you have shared with me. I think you must learn more about his past—and about his first wife.”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “I am not seeing him until the ball tomorrow.”
“Then that will have to do.” Sofie forced a cheery tone into her voice.
Lisa was aghast.
“I must leave.” Sofie stood. “Edana will be hungry soon, and I do not wish to see Suzanne.”
“Wait,” Lisa cried, standing and wrapping a towel around her muddy body. “Sofie—where are you staying? How can I reach you?”
“I am staying at the Lexington Inn on Thirteenth Street,” Sofie said.
Lisa stepped from the tub. “He was here, last week.”
Sofie froze, certain she had misunderstood. “I beg your pardon?”
“Edward Delanza came to the house, looking for you. I was not home. Suzanne sent him away. Mrs. Murdock told me that she told him you have gone to Boston to stay with relatives.”
Sofie knew she should be relieved that Suzanne had put Edward on the wrong track. Crazily, she was dismayed instead. “What did he want?”
“Just to see you. Does he know about Edana?” Lisa asked.
Sofie nodded.
Lisa stared. “Sofie—you must see him. Immediately.”
“I cannot.”
“Whyever not?” Lisa cried. “He is the father of your child. Dammit, Sofie, he should marry you!”
Sofie had never heard Lisa curse before. “He has already asked me,” she said hoarsely. “But I refused.”
Lisa gaped. “You refused! Why?”
“Because I love him. Because he does not want me. Because he only wants Edana. Because I cannot tolerate the thought of being married to him while he consorts with other women.”
“Sofie, if he comes back—”
“No! Don’t you dare tell him where to find me!” Sofie cried.
Lisa did not answer. And because Sofie did not like the gleam in her eyes, later that afternoon she, Rachelle, and Edana moved from the Lexington Inn to a boardinghouse down by the river.
As Sofie dressed for Lisa’s engagement party, she developed a plan of hiding behind stiff-backed formality when she next saw her mother and stepfather later that night. After all, it worked so well for servants—why should it not work for her?
She assured herself that no fiasco would occur at the ball. Suzanne would have her hands full with her five hundred guests. So would Benjamin. There would be no opportunity for them to drag her aside and badger her with their ludicrous scheme to give up Edana for adoption. If Sofie was adept, she might very well avoid them entirely—and she might even enjoy herself.
It had been a very long time since she had gone to a good party. She grew wistful, thinking of her birthday last May. Although she had not danced with Georges, it had been fan to watch the revelers. It occurred to her that she had never attended a society ball before.
Undoubtedly this would be her last and only time, as well.
“Sofie, how lovely you are,” Rachelle cried.
Sofie turned, brows raised.
“Edana is asleep—and you are beautiful,” Rachelle said.
Sofie had not even tried to view herself in the hand mirror she shared with Rachelle. The boardinghouse was run-down and they had let two rooms, not one, quite cheaply—but each room contained nothing but a single bed with a thin mattress, thr
eadbare sheets, and ancient blankets, a small bureau with a washstand, and a single light.
Sofie had borrowed a gown from Lisa in a son coral, a color that, Lisa had remarked, did wonderful things for Sofie’s golden hair, amber eyes, and tawny complexion. Sofie had loved the gown the moment she had spotted it in Lisa’s armoire. It was far brighter than anything she had ever worn before, but Lisa had insisted she take it—almost wickedly. “Bright colors are cheerful, unlike your navy blue and gray clothing, which is mournful and depressing,” she had stated, shoving the gown into Sofie’s arms. “I do not even own a gray gown. Of course, I do have something very straight, very low-cut, and silver.”
Sofie had taken the coral gown.
Now she faced Rachelle. “This gown did not seem as daring on the hanger as it does on me,” she remarked, not particularly liking the display of cleavage she was faced with when she happened to look down at herself.
“You are nursing. You cannot possibly hide your bosom in this circumstance.” Rachelle smiled. “You look very sexy, mon amie. Monsieur Marten will be troubled not to goggle you.”
Despite feeling half-naked, Sofie smiled. “Ogle. The word is ogle.”
Rachelle shrugged gracefully. “Ogle, goggle, who cares? I am ogling you. I have never seen you look like such a siren, petite amie.”
“Please, Rachelle! We both know I am no siren.” Sofie walked hesitantly to the bed and sat down. “Thank God this dress is not tight everywhere.”
“You have lost too much weight,” Rachelle said disapprovingly. “Otherwise you could not wear Lisa’s clothes. Henry is downstairs.”
Sofie jumped to her feet, her heart slamming with real nervousness now. “Why didn’t you say so!” She grabbed the beaded satin reticule she had borrowed with the gown, and the black velvet wrap. “How is my hair?”
“Considering you pinned it up without a mirror—excellent, chère.”
“Is it even?”
Rachelle laughed, kissing her on bom cheeks. “It is perfect. Allez. Amuse yourself tonight.”
Sofie darted into the other room to kiss her sleeping daughter good-bye. “I will not stay late,” she promised.
“If you come home before two in the morning, I will not let you in,” Rachelle called after her.