by Mary Nichols
Anne scuttled away and he turned to Sophie. ‘Now, you had better go up to bed. I shall wait for Charlotte and Lady Fitzpatrick.’
She could not let Charlotte bear the brunt of his anger, just because she had pretended to feel unwell. ‘Uncle, why don’t you retire too. There will be plenty of time to talk in the morning. It is very late.’
‘So it is. I had intended to be here earlier, but the coach broke down miles from anywhere and the passengers were left stranded while the guard rode on with the mail.’ He smiled wryly. ‘His Majesty’s mail takes precedence at all times, never mind that people are left wet and hungry in a hedge tavern which was no better than a pig-sty.’
‘Then you must be very fatigued. Why not go to bed?’
‘You seem to be very anxious to see the back of me, Sophie. I am beginning to think His Grace might be right.’
‘His Grace?’
‘The Duke of Rathbone. He wrote to me, told me there was something havey-cavey going on and if I didn’t want my daughter and my niece to make complete fools of themselves and me too, I had better come and see what was afoot.’
His Grace had recognised her! ‘But how—’
‘Oh, so there is something. What is it, Sophie?’
She sank into a chair and put her head in her hands, unable to meet his gaze. ‘I have been very foolish, Uncle William, and ruined my life.’
‘Oh, come, it cannot be as bad as that.’ He sat beside her and patted her hand. ‘You had better tell me all about it.’
It was some time before she could begin, but then it all poured out, the fear of being married for her money, the need for Madderlea to have a benign master, her own longing to be loved and Lady Fitzpatrick’s mistake.
‘It seemed as though fate was offering me a way out,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise how complicated it was all going to be, nor how much gossip there would be among the haute monde, watching and speculating…’
‘I can hardly believe my ears,’ he said. ‘Sophie, this is dreadful. How did you suppose it would all end? You could not have allowed it to go on if either of you had an offer…’
‘At first I thought I could tell whoever offered for me and he would not mind finding out I had a fortune when all he expected was a small dowry, but then when I realised I would not receive an offer, not from the man I wanted at any rate, I decided we need not tell anyone, because when we returned home, I should live in seclusion. I thought if Madderlea was too much for you, then you could find another trustee, or sell it.’
‘Good Lord! I never heard such a fribble. I have a duty to you and your late uncle to do my best for you and I shall discharge that duty until you are married. Though how that is to be brought about after this I do not know. This piece of mischief has done untold damage to your prospects.’
‘I know, Uncle, I know.’
‘And what about Charlotte? I suppose she followed where you led, as usual. As for Lady Fitzpatrick, she must have lost whatever sense she was born with to be so easily gulled. I do not know who is the more to blame.’
‘It was all my fault, Uncle, truly it was. Do not blame Charlotte, or Lady Fitzpatrick.’
‘How in heaven’s name did you manage to carry it off for a single day, let alone several weeks?’
‘It became harder and harder, especially with Viscount Braybrooke a constant visitor and Freddie…’
‘Of course, Frederick Harfield is in Town, I had forgot Sir Mortimer sent him to get a little town bronze. How did you silence him? No, you do not need to tell me—he would do anything Charlotte asked of him.’
‘You know?’
‘Of course I know. He came to see me before he left. I have no objection to a liaison if that is what Charlotte wants, but he has to deal with his father himself. And he will find it doubly difficult after this.’
They were interrupted by the return home of Lady Fitzpatrick and Charlotte who stood just inside the door, staring at him, her eyes wide with shock.
‘Papa! What are you doing here? How did you get here? It is nearly dawn…’
‘You may well ask. I sent you to have a Season, to learn how to go on in Society, perhaps to find a husband. Certainly I hoped Sophie would do so. Instead I find you indulging in a masquerade which is set to make us all a laughing stock.’
‘You know?’
‘Your cousin has seen fit to take me into her confidence,’ he said laconically.
‘Oh, Papa, I am so relieved you know. Poor Sophie…’
‘Papa?’ queried Lady Fitzpatrick. ‘But surely…’ She looked from one to the other in puzzlement.
‘We did try to tell you we had been hoaxing everyone,’ Sophie said, standing up to take her hand and lead her to a seat. ‘I am afraid you misunderstood.’
It took some time to explain everything to Lady Fitzpatrick, who was so distressed she had to be calmed with several glasses of brandy.
‘Lord Braybrooke must be told,’ William said. ‘I shall go and call on him after I have had a few hours’ sleep. Now, off to bed, both of you.’ He looked down at Lady Fitzpatrick who was sprawled across a sofa, moaning. ‘Tell her ladyship’s maid to come down and help her. I fear the brandy has taken its toll. Tomorrow we will decide what is to be done. I sincerely hope the Duke and Lord Braybrooke will agree to keep silent and we may avoid a scandal.’
It was also Richard’s wish, though how he could obtain his heart’s desire without everything being made public he did not know. He walked home in the rain, still pondering on the reason for Sophie’s masquerade. He felt sure she had been going to tell him when Mr Hundon arrived and thrown her into a spin. Her uncle was obviously not party to the deception and he wondered what he would have to say about it. Was it all about to come out? It would be the story of the year, of several years.
It was almost dawn and the last of the guests were leaving as he arrived, wet and bedraggled from the rain. Rather than be seen, he slipped in at a side door and went up to his room, where he stripped off his wet clothes without calling for his valet and climbed into bed. If there was to be a scandal, then it would be better if his grandfather knew of it before it broke.
He would seek an interview in the morning, tell him everything and see what they could contrive. He was as determined as ever to marry Sophie. He smiled to himself, remembering how beautiful she had looked, how spirited, not in the least overawed and able to give him as good as he gave. He fell asleep, reliving the feel of her lips on his, her body pressed close to his.
He woke in the middle of the morning to a room flooded with light. His valet had drawn back the curtains and was busying himself about the room, laying out shaving tackle and towels beside the bowl of hot water he had brought into the room. Richard yawned and stretched and climbed out of bed.
‘Good morning, my lord.’ The valet turned from the washstand. ‘It is a fine day. The rain has gone and I believe it may turn out warm. What will you wear today?’
‘Oh, anything, it’s of no consequence. I shall be making calls later so perhaps the blue superfine. And trousers, yes, trousers. The light kerseymere, I think.’
The valet smiled; his master knew that trousers were more flattering than pantaloons and made his legs seem longer. Not that he needed to look taller—he was over six feet in his stockings. ‘Very good, my lord.’
‘Is His Grace up?’ He knew his grandfather had only put in a token appearance at the ball and retired early as he would have done in the country and, as in the country, he would also rise early.
‘I believe so, my lord.’
An hour later, shaved, dressed and with his hunger alleviated by a good breakfast, he presented himself in the library where his grandfather was reading the Morning Chronicle. He put it down when Richard entered.
‘Ah, Richard, my boy, come in. Ball go according to plan, did it?’
Richard smiled. ‘No, not exactly.’
‘Philippa cut up rough, did she?’
‘No, surprisingly she did not. Perhaps Emily managed to
turn her up sweet.’
‘So, it is to be Miss Roswell.’ He peered into his grandson’s eyes. ‘Miss Sophie Roswell.’
The emphasis on Sophie’s given name was not lost on Richard. ‘You know?’
‘There is not much escapes me.’
‘But how do you know?’
‘She is the image of her mother. The same features and the same colour hair, almost impossible to describe, but unforgettable.’
‘Gold with red highlights, as if streaked with fire.’
His Grace smiled. ‘Very poetic, Richard, but what have you done about her?’
‘I have asked her to marry me.’
‘An offer she had no hesitation in refusing, I’ll wager.’
‘Yes, but I am sure it was only because she has been playing this game of make-believe and it has gone wrong.’
‘So I conjectured, which is why I alerted Mr Hundon.’
‘He arrived this evening, but she would not let me speak to him…’
‘Of course she would not. It would have meant her secret was out.’
‘But you and I had guessed it, so did it matter?’
‘I fancy she would like to come out of it with some remnant of dignity. Perhaps saving face is more important to her than marriage.’
‘Perhaps. I should also like to avoid a scandal, for everyone’s sake, not least Sophie’s, but I do not see how it can be done.’
‘Give up this idea of marrying her and allow her to return to Leicestershire where she can revert to her true identity without anyone of consequence knowing she had ever repudiated it.’
‘I will not give her up. Grandfather, apart from this bumblebath she seems to have fallen in, you have no objection to her as a granddaughter, have you?’
‘None at all. In fact, it would delight me. She must have a great deal of spirit to have embarked on such a hoax and to have carried it off so successfully for so long.’
‘But why do you think she did it? Was she coerced?’
‘Do you think she is a young lady easily persuaded? After all, you failed to induce her to marry you and most young ladies would sacrifice almost anything for the prospect of one day becoming a duchess.’
‘Not Sophie, it seems,’ he said bitterly.
‘No, but is that not one of the things you find so endearing about her, that she does not behave in a conventional way?’
Richard smiled wryly. ‘Yes, of course, but what can she have been thinking about to have embarked on it in the first place?’
‘What were you thinking about when you made that list of attributes a prospective wife must have?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Not being duped by fortune hunters, I suppose.’
‘Then you have your answer.’
A broad smile lit Richard’s face as he realised what his grandfather meant. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Only one way to find out, my boy. Ask her.’
As he rose to go, a footman came to the door to say that Mr Hundon wished to see His Grace and asked if he would receive him.
‘Yes, yes, show him in.’ To Richard, he said, ‘You might as well stay, hear what he has to say.’
William betrayed nothing of his unease as he was shown into the room. He bowed slightly to both men and took the chair offered to him.
‘Your Grace, I am indebted to you for taking the pains to alert me to what was going on in my own household. I need not say I am mortified by it all. How we shall come about without a major scandal, I do not know. I am doubly sorry that you and yours have been involved.’
‘Oh, we shall contrive to endure it,’ His Grace said, with a twinkle in his eye.
‘That is what we must do too,’ William said. ‘We shall return to Upper Corbury almost immediately.’
‘You surely do not mean to go before the young ladies’ ball?’ Richard queried. ‘That would only fuel the flames.’
‘You are not suggesting I should condone the deception? My lord, I cannot pretend to be my niece’s father, I really cannot. I am a lawyer, a man of integrity. And Lady Fitzpatrick has been in such a quake ever since she discovered how she had been gulled, she is in no state to be hostess to a Society ball. She has been resorting to the laudunum and the brandy bottle and lies on her day-bed, hardly aware of what is going on around her.’
‘It is not to be wondered at,’ His Grace murmured. ‘She would not have been my choice for a chaperon for two such lively chits.’
‘But that is the answer,’ Richard said suddenly. ‘Lady Fitzpatrick has been taken ill, so you have reluctantly been obliged to cancel the ball.’
William turned towards the young man. ‘I am sorry you were duped, my lord.’
‘Oh, I was not. I knew some time ago. But Sophie does not realise I know. I have been trying to encourage her to confide in me, but she would not.’
‘She is too ashamed, my lord.’
‘Did she tell you I had proposed to her and asked permission to speak to you and that she refused?’
‘No. She said nothing of that. I wonder what else she decided not to tell me? I expect she realised she had thrown away any respect you might have for her—’
‘On the contrary, I can only admire her the more for sticking to her guns.’ He stood up. ‘Mr Hundon, if I go to Sophie now and can persuade her to consent, may we have your blessing?’
William looked startled and turned to the Duke. ‘Your Grace…’
‘Oh, do not mind me, my grandson knows his own mind and I shall not interfere.’
‘But what about the scandal?’
‘Oh, we shall contrive something. If not…’ He shrugged. ‘Give the boy your blessing, Mr Hundon, and let him be on his way. I fancy he is a touch impatient.’
William nodded and Richard left the room, calling for someone to saddle his horse. It was not far to Holles Street, but walking would take too long.
Even so, he was too late. Everyone, except Mr Hundon, had been late rising and it was not until Anne went to wake Sophie and found her bed empty that they realised she had left the house. Charlotte, worried by her cousin’s state of mind, was at her wits’ end and pacing the drawing-room floor until her father should return. When Richard was shown in, she almost flung herself on him.
‘My lord, Sophie has disappeared and Pa—’ She stopped and began again. ‘She was upset last night and I am afraid…’
He smiled. ‘I know. And I know why too.’
‘You do?’ She looked at him, wide-eyed in astonishment.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh. Do you think she had run away because she could not face you? Oh, dear, whatever shall we do?’
‘Calm yourself, my dear Miss Hundon. If I know Sophie, she has pulled herself together, made up her mind to make the best of it and gone off to Maiden Lane.’
‘Oh, yes, I had forgot Maiden Lane. But she was not supposed to go unescorted, was she?’
‘No, but she might have thought it did not matter, after all. Now, you wait here for Mr Hundon. I left him talking to my grandfather. I will go and bring her home and we will sit down quietly and work out a strategy for coming about.’
He sounded more composed than he felt about it. He had never liked the idea of Sophie going among the soldiers on her own and today, for some reason he could not explain, he felt a tremor of unease, of danger lurking.
He rode to Maiden Lane with all the haste he could muster, almost colliding with a carriage as he galloped out of the street. He hoped he was right and she really was at the refuge. Sophie. Sophie. Her name went round and round in his brain as he rode in and out of the traffic. Sophie. Sophie.
Chapter Eleven
‘Major, how good of you to come.’ Mrs Stebbings, clad as ever in a huge white apron over her black mourning dress, was her usual cheerful self. ‘Your legal man came to see me yesterday. I want to thank you on behalf of the Association and of the men. It will make so much difference to know that this refuge will always be here for them and others like them…’
‘
Yes, yes,’ he said, a little impatiently. He had arranged to buy the freehold of the property and set up a trust to administer it. He had also engaged a man to act as an employment agent, much in the manner Sophie had suggested. But just at the moment he was not in the mood to listen to effusive gratitude. ‘Where is Mrs Carter?’
‘Oh, Major, I am sorry, but you have missed her. She was here earlier, but she seemed somewhat distracted, a little out of sorts, and I suggested she ought to go home.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘She came alone, but I did not like to think of her walking back unaccompanied, when she was obviously not feeling at all the thing and Sergeant Dawkins offered to escort her…’
‘Dawkins!’
‘Yes.’ She stopped when she saw the startled look on his face. ‘Why, is there anything wrong, Major?’
Richard gritted his teeth and told himself to remain calm. Dawkins was not an unusual name; there must be dozens of Sergeant Dawkinses and, even if it were the same one, he probably would not remember making that threat of revenge. And if he did, he had no reason to connect Sophie with the officer who had had him court-martialled.
‘I certainly hope not,’ he said. ‘How long ago did she leave?’
‘Oh, some time ago. Two or three hours, I should think.’
‘Three hours! Good God! Are you sure she meant to go straight home?’
‘That is what I understood. She said she was leaving town tomorrow and came to say goodbye. She said she would see that the rent was always paid, but I told her about the trust and how you had bought the house for us and she seemed very pleased and said it was just the sort of kind action you would take.’ She paused. ‘I do not know where she lives, but if you do, you could check if she arrived safely.’
‘I have just come from there. She had not returned home when I left.’
‘Oh, Major, you don’t suppose anything has happened to her? I could have sworn Sergeant Dawkins was reliable.’
‘I must go,’ he said, suiting action to words.
‘Please let us know she is safe,’ she called after him.
He returned to his horse and sprang into the saddle. Sophie had told Mrs Stebbings she was leaving town; had she meant immediately and not tomorrow? Would she go on her own? Travelling alone would not frighten her, he realised that, but she would not be so inconsiderate of her uncle and cousin as to go without telling them or leaving a message.