The Arrangement: Number 2 in series (Survivors' Club)

by Mary Balogh

  “Havey-cavey stuff, is it, then?” Lord Trentham asked, looking doubtfully at Sophia. “You had better come inside, the two of you. Four paces forward, Vince, and five steps up to the front door. Where is your cane? Ah, here comes Fisk. He will see to you. Miss Fry?”

  He was offering her his arm and favored her with a steady stare, which she found more than a little frightening. But of course, most of Lord Darleigh’s friends of the Survivors’ Club had been military officers in the late wars. They must all be formidable gentlemen.

  A lady was hurrying into the hall by the time they got inside, limping rather heavily as she came. She was small and slender with blond curls and an exquisitely lovely face. She was smiling warmly.

  “Lord Darleigh!” she exclaimed. “I looked out through the sitting room window to see who the visitor was, and I could see it was you. How delightful, even if you did miss our wedding. Hugo was disappointed about that, but now he will be happy again.”

  She was approaching Lord Darleigh as she spoke, and somehow he seemed to know that both her hands were outstretched toward him. He raised his own and they squeezed each other’s hands. He was smiling directly at her.

  “I feared Hugo might be too much of a slowtop to go after you when he left Penderris,” he said. “I am glad I misjudged him. I thought you perfect for him from the moment I met you. And what could be more romantic than his finding you wounded down on the beach and carrying you all the way up to the house? I wish you happy, Lady Trentham. May I kiss the bride, Hugo, even though I am two days late?”

  He drew her closer without waiting for permission and kissed her, half on one cheek, half on her nose.

  They both laughed.

  “Thank you,” she said, and turned to look with polite inquiry at Sophia. “And your friend, Lord Darleigh?”

  “Miss Sophia Fry,” he said. “I have brought her here in the hope that she may stay for a couple of nights until we can marry by special license the day after tomorrow.”

  Lady Trentham raised her eyebrows and looked fully at Sophia, who wished she could be anywhere else on earth but where she was. Even her dark corner of the drawing room at Barton Hall suddenly seemed infinitely desirable. The smile in the lady’s eyes had died. She spoke politely, however.

  “You look exhausted and apprehensive and even downright frightened, Miss Fry,” she said. “I do not doubt there is an interesting story behind this unexpected announcement and plea for shelter, but we will not demand to know it at this very moment, will we, Hugo?”

  And she came closer and linked an arm through Sophia’s. She was not a tall lady, but even so she was half a head taller than Sophia.

  “Of course you may stay here,” she said. “If you are a friend and even a betrothed of Lord Darleigh’s, that is a good enough recommendation. Let me take you up to a guest room and get you settled. Hugo, your stepmama will not mind my taking charge?”

  “You are the lady of the house now, Gwendoline,” he said, “and you know she loves you. I’ll take Vincent up to the drawing room to meet her and Constance—and my uncle. They will be charmed. Everyone loves Vincent. He does not frown and frighten little children the way I do.”

  “Oh, Hugo,” she said, laughing, “you do not. Children take one look at you and know you are just a cuddly bear.”

  He pulled a face, and she drew Sophia away in the direction of the staircase.

  “You look on the verge of collapse,” she said quietly as they began to climb. “Let us get you settled, and I will leave you alone to rest if you wish, or we will sit down if you would prefer and you may tell me everything, or as much as you wish to divulge. You are quite welcome here. You may relax and rest. Have you traveled far?”

  That slack, almost hostile look with which she had first favored Sophia when she learned of her relationship to Lord Darleigh had been dropped and replaced with perfect good manners.

  And she was exhausted and on the verge of collapse, Sophia realized.

  “From Barton Coombs in Somerset,” she said. “And I know what you are thinking. I know that I am plain and unattractive and dressed like a fright. Yet here I am about to marry a wealthy viscount who is charming and kind and beautiful—and conveniently blind. I know that you must despise me as the very worst kind of adventurer.”

  And she did something that she never, ever did. She burst into tears.

  It was a pretty room to which Lady Trentham had brought her. The bedcover and the curtains were made of the same floral print on an ivory background. It was a cheerful room.

  And here she was, standing in the middle of it, as out of place as a scarecrow in a ton ballroom.

  “Come and sit on the bed,” Lady Trentham said as Sophia blew her nose into her handkerchief, “or lie down on it. Do you wish me to go away for a while? There are two hours before dinner. Or do you want to tell me how it came about that Lord Darleigh offered you marriage and brought you here to marry you by special license? And please forgive me for the shock I must have shown when I was first told downstairs that you were Lord Darleigh’s betrothed. I know better than to make instant judgments based upon appearance alone. Give me a chance to make up for my rudeness, even if I can do it at present only by leaving you alone to rest.”

  Sophia sat on the edge of the bed. Her feet dangled a few inches above the floor.

  “He persuaded me,” she said, “that there were as many advantages to him in our proposed marriage as there were for me. That is absurd, of course, for I would be alone and destitute without him, and that fact weighed heavily in my decision, though I did try to fight my baser nature. I said no more than once, and meant it each time. Though I suppose I could not have done so, could I, or I would not have ended up saying yes.”

  She swiped at her wet cheeks and spread her hands over her face.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I am so sorry. How you must hate me. You and Lord Trentham are his friends.”

  Lady Trentham, who had sat down beside her, patted her knee and got to her feet again to pull on the bell rope beside the bed. She stood there in silence until a light tap on the door preceded the appearance of a maid.

  “Bring tea and some cakes, please, Mavis,” she said, and the maid disappeared again.

  Sophia dried her cheeks with her damp handkerchief and put it away.

  “I never cry,” she said. “Well, almost never.”

  “I think you have probably earned a good weep,” Lady Trentham said. “There are two chairs over by the window. Shall we sit there and have some tea? Tell me how this all came about, if you will. I do not hate you. My husband and your future husband are close friends. You and I are likely to meet many times in the future. I would far prefer to like you, even to be fond of you. And I would hope you will like me and be fond of me. Who are you, Miss Fry?”

  “My uncle is Sir Terrence Fry,” Sophia explained as she seated herself on one of the chairs. “Though he has never had anything to do with me. He is a diplomat and is gone from the country more than he is here. My father was killed in a duel by an outraged husband five years ago, and I have lived with two different aunts since then. I am a lady by birth, but we did not live a respectable life, my father and I, after my mother left when I was five—or even before she left. My father was a rake and a gambler. He was forever in debt. We were always moving and hiding, hiding and moving. I never had a governess or went to school, though I did learn to read and write and figure—my father insisted upon that. I never had a maid. I am not … worthy of Lord Darleigh.”

  “Did your aunts cherish you during the past five years?” Lady Trentham asked.

  “Aunt Mary ignored me for three years until she died,” Sophia said. “She took one look at me and pronounced me hopeless. Aunt Martha, Lady March of Barton Hall, gave me a home after her sister died, but she has a daughter of her own to bring out and marry. And Henrietta is beautiful.”

  The maid returned with a tray, which she set down on a small round table close to Lady Trentham before withdrawing quietly a
nd closing the door behind her. Lady Trentham poured a cup of tea for Sophia and set two little pastries on a plate, which she handed to her.

  “It was there, at Barton Hall, was it,” she asked, “that Lord Darleigh met you?”

  “In a way,” Sophia said, and she proceeded to give Lady Trentham an account of everything that had happened in the last week. Not even quite a week, in fact. How amazing that was. That first sight she had had of him arriving at Covington House seemed as if it must have happened months ago.

  “So perhaps you can understand,” she said in conclusion, “how tempting the offer was for me, especially when he repeated it after I had said no. I ought to have held firm. I know I ought.”

  She had almost finished drinking her tea. Her plate, she noticed in some surprise, was empty apart from a few crumbs.

  “I can understand,” Lady Trentham said. “I believe I can also begin to understand why Lord Darleigh persisted after you had said no. I can see that he saw something in you that he liked.”

  “He said he liked my voice,” Sophia told her.

  “There are voices that are lovely for various reasons or annoying for other reasons, are there not?” Lady Trentham said. “But when we can see, a voice is often of secondary importance. How very important it must be to someone who is blind. Permanent blindness is very hard to imagine. It is easy to understand, though, that your voice is of greater significance to your betrothed than your looks.”

  “But I have no figure,” Sophia said. “I look like a boy.”

  Lady Trentham smiled and returned her empty cup and saucer to the tray.

  “Is that why you wear your hair so short?” she asked. “Do you cut it yourself?”

  “Yes,” Sophia said.

  “An expert hairdresser could make it look prettier,” Lady Trentham told her. “And the right clothes with the addition of stays can make even the most slender of figures appealing. Do you have better fitting dresses than the one you are wearing?”

  “No,” Sophia said.

  “I wonder,” Lady Trentham said, “if Lord Darleigh has thought of your need for bride clothes?”

  “He has,” Sophia assured her. “He hoped that perhaps Mrs. Emes or Miss Emes would go shopping with me tomorrow.”

  “I imagine either or both of them would be delighted,” Lady Trentham said. “But may I come instead?”

  “I cannot so impose upon your time,” Sophia said.

  “Oh.” Lady Trentham’s smile deepened. “Ladies love to shop, Miss Fry. Often we shop when there is really no need to, and end up buying bonnets and fripperies for the sake of buying. It will be a wonderful treat to shop with someone who needs simply everything. Lord Darleigh is willing to foot the bill?”

  “He says so.” Sophia flushed. “It does not seem right, though.”

  “It would be worse,” Lady Trentham told her, “if he were to take his bride home to meet his family dressed in clothes even servants would reject—forgive me. You owe it to him to dress well, Miss Fry, and to allow him to pay the bills. I believe he is a wealthy enough man not to suffer from the expense.”

  Sophia sighed. “You are being very kind,” she said. “I am so…”

  “Weary?” Lady Trentham suggested, getting to her feet. “I would advise you to lie down and rest for an hour. I will send my maid to you when it is close to dinnertime. May I please lend you a dress to wear this evening? You are smaller than I am, but not hopelessly so. My maid is very skilled at making hasty and temporary adjustments. Will you be offended?”

  “No,” Sophia said, not knowing quite how she felt. She was actually feeling numb and more tired than she had ever felt in her life. “Thank you.”

  And then she was alone in the pretty guest room. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on top of the bed to think. But fortunately, given the confused state of her mind, she had no chance to do so. She fell instantly and deeply asleep.

  Hugo took Vincent to the sitting room and introduced him to Mrs. Emes, his stepmother; Miss Emes, her daughter and Hugo’s half sister; and Mr. Philip Germane, his uncle. Hugo explained to them that Vincent’s newly betrothed was upstairs with his wife, too tired to be sociable for a while. She was to stay with them for a few days.

  “We have come here to be married,” Vincent explained as Hugo led him to a chair. “Sophia has no family and I do. It seems to me that it is fairer to her that we marry quietly in London by special license and then go home. But I do beg your pardon for the intrusion.”

  “You are one of Hugo’s friends from Cornwall, Lord Darleigh,” Mrs. Emes said. “You are always welcome here.”

  “Hugo was disappointed that you were not here for his wedding,” Miss Emes said. “He is beaming with pleasure that you have come now.”

  “I am sorry to have missed it,” Vincent said. “Do tell me all about it.”

  Miss Emes needed no further encouragement.

  “Oh,” she said, “it was at St. George’s on Hanover Square, and I am quite sure everyone was there, even though Hugo insists that only family and close friends were invited. Gwen was wearing pink, a gorgeous shade of deep rose, and…”

  Vincent smiled and listened with half his attention. With the other half he wondered and worried about Sophia. She had been looking exhausted and apprehensive and frightened, Lady Trentham had said. This must all be quite overwhelming for her. But better, surely, than the alternative. She had been fully intending to take the stagecoach to London with no plan for where she would go or what she would do when she got here. The very thought was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.

  Germane took his leave after a while, and Hugo suggested that Vincent accompany him to his study.

  “It’s a grand notion, is it not?” he said, clapping a hand on Vincent’s shoulder as they walked. “Me with a study. But I owe it to my father to show an interest in all the businesses, Vince, and actually I am interested. More than that, I am getting involved. And my father was quite right about the man he left in charge of everything. He is an intelligent, earnest, conscientious soul who manages the businesses with meticulous care—except that he has not one grain of imagination. Nothing will ever change with him in charge, and everything in life must change or stagnate and wither away, as we all very well know. Sit here and I will sit behind this large oak desk of mine. It is a pity you cannot see. I now look quite important and imposing, and you look like a lowly supplicant.”

  “You are going to settle here in London as a businessman, then, are you, Hugo?” Vincent asked. “How does Lady Trentham feel about that?”

  He heard Hugo sigh.

  “She loves me, Vince,” he said. “Me. Just as I am, without any conditions attached. It’s the grandest feeling in the world. She would accept it even if I did want to stay here all my life. I don’t, though. I want to spend most of my time in Hampshire, at Crosslands, and Gwendoline has all sorts of ideas on how to transform the house into a home and the large garden into a park. I have turned into that most embarrassing of all creatures, you know—a happily married man. Easy to say, I suppose, when I have been married for all of two days. But I am confident it will last. You may call me naïve for believing so, but I know. And Gwendoline knows the same thing. And that brings us to you.”

  “I ran away from home,” Vincent told him. “That is why no one knew where I was when you sent your invitation. I ran because my mother and sisters had decided that I will be far more comfortable if I am married. They began the campaign in earnest after Easter by inviting a young lady and her family to Middlebury, and it soon became obvious that she had come, not to be courted, but to accept my addresses. She even told me that she understood and that she did not mind.”

  Hugo chuckled, and Vincent too smiled. Had he expected words of sympathy?

  “So I ran,” Vincent said. “Martin and I went to the Lake District for a few weeks of sheer bliss, and then I went, on impulse, to the old house in Somerset. My intention was to relax there in quiet solitude, not to let anyone know
I was home. I was quickly disabused of that notion.”

  He proceeded to give Hugo a brief account of everything that had happened after his arrival.

  “And so here I am,” he concluded. “Here we are.”

  “And you could think of no alternative to marrying her,” Hugo said.

  “None that was satisfactory,” Vincent told him.

  “And so Lord Darleigh rode blindly to the rescue,” Hugo said.

  “I need a wife, Hugo,” Vincent explained. “I will have no peace from my family until I wed. Sophia needs a home and someone to care for her. No one ever has really cared, you know. It will work. I will make it work. We will.”

  Even if that meant giving each other the freedom eventually to live alone—stupidest of stupid ideas.

  “You will.” Hugo sighed. “I have every confidence in you, Vince.”

  The library door opened at that moment.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” Lady Trentham asked.

  Vincent turned his head. “Is Sophia with you?”

  “She is lying down,” Lady Trentham told him. “I suspect she is already asleep. She will come down for dinner. While you are busy tomorrow making arrangements for your wedding, Lord Darleigh, I shall take Miss Fry shopping for bride clothes if I may. She needs a great deal, as well as a good haircut. May I assume that we have carte blanche to spend whatever needs to be spent?”

  “Of course,” Vincent said. “And please do not allow her to persuade you that she needs only the very barest of necessities and the plainest and least expensive of everything. I am sure she will try.”

  “You may depend upon me,” Lady Trentham said. “She will look presentable when I am finished with her.”

  “She tells me she is not ugly enough to turn heads,” Vincent said. “But she believes she is hopelessly unattractive.”

  “She is not ugly enough to turn heads, lad,” Hugo assured him. “I did not even notice her in the carriage when you first arrived.”