by Laurel McKee
“I hope I never will, either,” Sophia said. Katherine’s kind welcome had assuaged some of her doubts, but she still didn’t know what Dominic’s real motives in their marriage were. She feared they were not quite as “romantic” as his mother supposed.
“You were married before, were you not?” Katherine asked.
“Yes. My first husband, Captain Westman, died last year,” Sophia said. “We were not married very long.”
“And before that you were Lady Sophia Huntington.”
“Mama!” Isabel protested. “That was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
“No, it is true,” Sophia said, watching Katherine steadily, wondering if this was some sort of test. “I was Lady Sophia Huntington. But I haven’t lived with my family since I married Captain Westman.”
Katherine nodded, her expression serene. She gave away no clue to her feelings. “And Dominic knew this.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well then, I was right. It was romantic. Love conquers all,” Katherine said with a smile. “Now, tell me, Sophia, do you enjoy the theater? You shall certainly have to, now that you are a St. Claire!”
They went on to talk about the London theater scene and new plays to be presented that season, light, innocuous chatter that set Sophia at ease again. She was good at being sociable, at knowing about fashion and gossip. But playing cards had also taught her to sense hidden meanings, to know when something unsaid and unacknowledged lurked beneath.
Once they finished their tea, Dominic had still not appeared. Sophia tried not to worry about what he and his father were talking about and listened to Katherine as she pointed out portraits around the room. There were images of Katherine and her husband as Romeo and Juliet, charming pastels of all the St. Claires as children, and a new one of Lily St. Claire as a bride.
And hanging in one shadowed corner was the oval image of a lady in a loosely draped satin gown of the 1660s, her golden ringlets looped up to fall loose on her bare shoulders. She looked out from the image with wide, sad dark eyes, a ghost of a smile on her painted lips.
“And this is one of our ancestors—Mary St. Claire,” Katherine said softly. “Perhaps you have heard of her?”
“Yes,” Sophia answered. She stared into Mary’s eyes, and it felt as if she was seeing a lost friend for the first time. The woman whose words had been her only friend for a long time looked back at her. “I have heard of her.”
Katherine gave her a shrewd glance. “Then you know her sad tale. It was such a turbulent time in history, was it not? I suppose we must be grateful to live now, when things are so peaceful and prosperous. And this painting over here is my mother. She was also an actress, quite well-known in her day, though I fear she died rather young…”
After being shown the rest of the family images and having another cup of tea, Sophia realized it had grown rather late and Dominic had not yet appeared. Katherine seemed to notice it, too, for she laughed and said, “I’m afraid when my husband and sons start talking about the theater they never stop! They will be quite late to dinner. Isabel, my dear, perhaps you could summon them?”
“Of course, Mama,” Isabel said, half-rising from her chair.
“Oh, no, you had best not,” Katherine said. “You also get caught up in the theater talk, and then I shall lose you all. I will go.”
“Let me go, Mrs. St. Claire—Katherine,” Sophia said. “I must find the ladies’ withdrawing room anyway, and I would love to see more of your house. I promise I will not get caught up in any theater talk.”
Katherine laughed. “Of course, my dear, if you are sure.” She gave Sophia directions to the library, and as Sophia left the drawing room, Isabel’s laughter faded away behind her.
The rest of the St. Claire house was as lovely and tasteful as the drawing room, filled with porcelain objets d’art and intriguing-looking books and theatrical artifacts. Sophia paused to examine a few of the paintings, but she didn’t find any more images of Mary. All in all, she felt rather happy about this first meeting. What could have been uncomfortable, or even angry, had been smoothed by Katherine’s kindness and Isabel’s good spirits.
She turned down the short corridor Katherine had said led to the library. It was darker there, the heavy curtains drawn over the windows. She could hear the muffled sound of voices as she drew nearer, and as they became louder she realized the door was half-open. Unlike in the drawing room, this conversation seemed more an argument than a polite exchange. She raised her hand to knock, but when she heard her name, her hand fell back to her side, and she took a step back.
“… and what is Sophia’s last name?” a man said.
“It is St. Claire now,” Dominic said, and she recognized that stubborn note in his voice.
“But it was Huntington! Don’t think I don’t know that. Isabel told me all about your wedding. Is this why Brendan stayed in France? Because he knew you were making a terrible mistake and he couldn’t bear to see it?”
“I don’t know why Brendan stayed in France, Father. He did not confide in me. But I assure you it was not because of my wife.”
“Your wife! A Huntington. You have brought a Huntington into our midst, just as your sister did. At least Aidan has his uses. What use is this woman? I don’t understand you at all…”
Sophia felt her cheeks burn hot and then turn icy cold. She didn’t wait to hear what Dominic had to say. She had heard enough. She backed away from the door and rushed away, holding her skirts so they wouldn’t rustle as she ran down the corridor.
Good God. What had she done?
“You don’t need to understand me, Papa,” Dominic said as he watched his father pace the length of the library floor. “All you have to do is accept that Sophia is my wife now. She’s not a Huntington any longer. She’s a St. Claire.”
“But why? You have always been impulsive, Dominic, but why marry this woman?”
Dominic shrugged. In truth, he could no longer remember why he had married Sophia. It had seemed so obvious in France. She needed protection from Lord Hammond, a man Dominic loathed. They had fun together, especially in bed. If he couldn’t marry a woman like Jane, it might as well be Sophia. And, above all, it was one more blow against the Huntingtons.
All that had made a strange, wild kind of sense in Paris. But somehow, on their journey home, it had all been turned upside-down in his head. Sophia didn’t seem like a Huntington, some faceless enemy. She only seemed to be—Sophia. A beautiful woman who bore the marks and scars of her own past and fears.
He couldn’t make sense of that imperceptible shift yet. But he did know that he didn’t like his father’s anger toward his new wife.
“Sophia is my wife now,” Dominic said. “We have to make her a part of this family, Papa. When you come to know her, you will see that she is different. And you know how much the Huntingtons will hate the gossip.”
“Different!” his father snorted. But he did quit his pacing. He leaned his fists against the edge of his desk and closed his eyes. “I will be civil to her. Your mother wouldn’t stand for anything else. You know how she is always going on about manners. And you are quite right about the gossip, I suppose.”
Dominic grinned. He knew his father would understand the part about spiting the Huntingtons, if nothing else. “Mama does temper the barbarian in all of us. That’s all I ask. Give her a chance.”
His father slowly nodded. “Very well. Shall we go in to tea then? I have to greet your wife.”
They made their way to the drawing room where the ladies were waiting. Isabel played a Mozart concerto at the pianoforte as their mother rearranged the tea tray.
Sophia sat across from her, staring out the window with a faraway look in her eyes. When he had left her, she seemed a bit nervous but happy. Now when she turned to look at him, she hardly seemed to see him.
Mystified, Dominic went to take her hand. Surely he would never understand the mercurial moods of his new wife. But he did look forward to trying.
Quelle scandale! Are the SCs at it again? After a period of quiet respectability, London’s favorite family of the theater seems to be coming to life again. First D SC marries—to London’s famous eloper Lady S, who we are told was seen in the company of that dashing Lord H many times on the Continent. Sources tell us there was a great romance going on there that went very wrong. Surely there is much to that tale we have not yet heard? And now word has arrived that perhaps the youngest SC pup ran afoul of the French at the Parisian card tables. Must these poor writers—and the rest of London—be wary of their purses when they face him over whist?
We are all agog to see what happens next. Perhaps the beautiful Miss I SC will run off with the Turkish ambassador…
Sophia shoved the newspaper away from her untouched breakfast plate as anger flared up inside her. She had always hated the tittle-tattle of the Town Talk column, the anonymous bits of gossip, rumors, and party chatter that appeared twice a week. But her mother had followed them avidly, living in dire fear that the Huntingtons might appear there, and Sophia had gotten into the habit of reading them.
Before she married Jack, she had found herself mentioned there a few times. Descriptions of her gowns and her dance partners, mostly. Surely they had had a gleeful time documenting her elopement, but she hadn’t been there to read it. She had never cared what they said about her.
But it was different now. She cared very much what they said about Dominic and his family. She had to prove herself to them now, and trailing fresh scandal in her wake didn’t seem like a good way to do that.
This seemed to be Lord Hammond’s doing. Why else would they have mentioned him in their scurrilous column? She had been foolish to think he could be left behind in Paris. His influence in London was too great.
She glanced across the table at Dominic. He was calmly—too calmly—drinking his coffee. He watched her with no expression on his face.
“You read the papers already, didn’t you?” she said.
Dominic shrugged. “I always read the papers first thing in the morning. It’s useful to keep up with the theater reviews.”
“But you saw today’s Town Talk?” Sophia persisted. His very calmness seemed to drive her anger higher. She crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it on the floor.
Dominic watched it roll across the carpet before he looked back at her, his brow arched. “I did see it. They often mention the St. Claires. Surely you’re accustomed to being gossiped about, Sophia.”
“I’ve been gossiped about all my life. I hardly notice it anymore,” Sophia answered. “But your siblings are the subject of today’s tittle-tattle! James and poor Isabel. And it’s all my fault.”
“I agree that it’s unfortunate Issy’s name got dragged into the matter. She’s a young lady, and even for an actress these days, it’s important to be thought respectable,” Dominic said coolly. “But James has to learn to be more careful, or he’ll have to get used to being thought a rake.”
“They are doing more than calling him a rake!” Sophia burst out. She couldn’t sit still any longer. She shoved her chair back from the table and paced the length of their small dining room, the hem of her dressing gown whipping behind her. “They are calling him a cheater.”
“Only in the most obscure way possible.”
“Everyone will know very well what they’re saying. And there is only one way they could have gotten that particular piece of gossip—through Lord Hammond.” Sophia paused next to the window to peer outside. It was a warm, bright day, and the blue morning sky seemed to mock her dark mood.
She felt like such a fool for thinking even for a moment that her marriage would make a man like Hammond go away. It had only made him angrier at losing something he wanted.
“I should not have done this,” she murmured.
She heard Dominic rise from the table. He came to stand behind her, and she glimpsed his reflection in the window glass, his hair tousled, his dressing gown loosely wrapped around his lean body, as he rested his hands on her shoulders.
“There will be some new rumor tomorrow,” he said. “Some earl’s daughter will run off with her music teacher, or a duke will marry a rich, vulgar American. James, and even Issy, will get over it.”
“But if it was Lord Hammond’s doing, you know this is only the beginning. And they would never have mentioned a man like him without his complicity,” Sophia said. “He has much influence in Society. If I have hurt you by bringing him into your life…”
“Sophia.” Dominic gently turned her in his arms and held her by the shoulders as he looked down into her eyes. The calmness that had made her mad earlier now made her feel a little steadier. She was no longer alone.
Even if a part might wish she was. She wasn’t accustomed to her choices’ affecting anyone else, especially not someone she feared she was coming to care for far too much.
“Sophia,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Many people have tried to hurt my family over the years, but they have never succeeded. We have thick armor, and so do you. Hammond might try, but he will find he is just like the rest—he can’t touch us. Gossip is nothing.”
Sophia wasn’t completely reassured. Gossip wasn’t always nothing. Sometimes it was like a slow-eating poison, seeping into everything that was good in life and turning it twisted and dark. “We can’t let such rumors spread,” she said. “They have a tendency to grow and grow until they’re no longer recognizable at all.”
“Then surely the best way to stop it is by showing everyone we don’t care,” Dominic said. “By going about our business.”
Sophia nodded, and she felt Dominic’s hand slide under her chin to tilt her face up to his. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw set in that hard line she had come to mistrust.
“Unless you are worried about what your family will think about your name appearing in the papers,” he said. “About them seeing your name paired with the St. Claires.”
Sophia broke away from him and turned to pick up the papers she had scattered on the floor. In moments like that, she wondered what her husband was thinking, what he was trying to tell her.
She wondered if she knew him at all.
“If I cared about that, I would never have married you,” she said. “Surely they can no longer care what I do.”
“Of course they must care what you do,” he said. “You will always be a Huntington.”
Sophia slowly rose to her feet, the papers clutched in her hands. A shiver tickled up her spine. A Huntington. Was that what he thought of her? Was that all she was in his mind?
“I’m a St. Claire now,” she said quietly.
He was silent for a long moment, leaning back on the window ledge to watch her as she straightened the breakfast things. There was no point to moving around plates and cups the maid would just clear away, but Sophia had the sudden urge to be busy.
“Are you done eating?” Dominic said. “You hardly touched your food.”
“I’m not very hungry this morning,” she answered.
“Then shall we get dressed and go for a walk in the park? It’s a warm day, and I’m not due at rehearsal until this afternoon. You have been too kind to run lines with me every evening, and I think we should have a little treat.”
Sophia looked back at him. Was he offering a small peace token? A morning spent together, just the two of them? “I would like that.”
“Good. We can get started on that ‘let everyone see we’re happy and we don’t care about gossip’ business.” Dominic smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand.
We’re happy and we don’t care. Sophia only wished that were true.
“You’re very right,” Sophia said as they strolled along one of the graveled footpaths of Hyde Park. “It does feel good to get out of doors for a while.”
Dominic smiled and took her hand. “I told you it would be. Do you feel like an old domesticated couple yet, with nothing better to do than go walking hand in hand in the middle of the day?�
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Sophia laughed. Some of her misgivings that morning seemed to have vanished, or at least gone into hiding for a while, burned away by the sunny day. “Not quite old yet. And domesticated—never. Not with you.”
“No? Shall we not spend all our evenings in front of the fire, me with my dressing gown and pipe and you with your knitting? We might need to get a puppy to gambol about on the hearthrug…”
Sophia laughed even harder, trying to imagine the cozy little scene. “It sounds like a lithograph of the queen and Prince Albert, not something real. Besides, I don’t know how to knit and dog fur makes me sneeze.”
“Ah, well. We’ll just have to stay with gambling clubs and theaters then.”
“That definitely sounds like more fun.” Sophia surveyed the park from under her lace-edged parasol and smiled at the picture-pretty scene. It seemed they were not the only ones with time for strolling in the sun. Couples walked along arm in arm, whispering together quietly, while children rolled their hoops along the path with shouts of laughter. Babies peered out of prams pushed by nannies in their starched caps, while an elderly man was led along by his resolutely cheerful daughter, as she told him what a grand day it was.
“I forgot how pretty the park is,” Sophia said. “When I used to come here, I had no time to look around and see all this life. I was too busy trying to not listen to my mother’s lectures.”
“I haven’t been here in a long time either,” said Dominic.
“Because there are always rehearsals and meetings during the day? Or because you are too tired to go out?” she said with a laugh.
“Rehearsals, usually. But now I can see its time to slow down a bit, learn to enjoy life.”
Sophia smiled up at him, thinking how very handsome he looked in the sunshine, all burnished gold. “How shall we do that, then?”
“Well, I would say finding a proper house is the first step,” he said. “And my mother wants to give a party for us, to prove to all her friends that I really did get married.”