The Scandalous Life 0f A Betrayed Heiress (Historical Regency)

by Lucy Langton

  “Although this is unfortunate news, it was inevitable,” he began. Sophia feared that she might burst into tears. “But the timing makes a great deal of sense. This is the evening where I wish to proclaim that I’m ready to devote myself to this marriage.”

  Philip looked up at his brother, fury written on his face.

  “And now that I’m officially the Duke of Clumber, I ask the Duchess of Clumber to join me in returning to Willow Grange where our new life together can finally begin.”

  Sophia was in utter shock. She turned towards Philip, worried for how he might be taking the news. Philip looked towards her as well, the grief in his eyes undeniable. That grief quickly turned to fury, and Philip got up from the table and left the room. Sophia stood up, wishing to chase after him.

  “Let him go,” Timothy said. “All of this was inevitable.”

  “Allow me to comfort him,” Sophia said.

  “Comfort him in what way? From what I saw tonight, it seems as though there are various ways in which you wish to comfort him.”

  “M’Lord,” Sophia protested.

  Timothy walked around the table to her, placing his firm hands on her shoulders.

  “Sophia, we can begin again now,” Timothy said, looking down at her.

  “I fear that it is too late,” she said, still in shock from the horrible news.

  “It’s never too late. Now is the time. Give me your hand,” he said, taking hers in his own. “I am your husband, and you can trust me from here on out.”

  “How can I be sure?” Sophia asked, surprised that she had said it aloud.

  “We can never be sure of anything in this life,” Timothy explained. “But know, from this day forward, I demand your trust. I will make myself deserving of it.”

  “Very well,” Sophia relented, thinking there was no other option.

  He was her husband. There was nothing else she could say. She had to entrust him with her heart and soul. But still, it seemed too late. Her heart and soul had been given to Philip, without him even needing to ask for it.

  Chapter 18

  The trip back to Willow Grange was undertaken with haste. Timothy desired that they should get out of town as quickly as possible, and not just for reasons concerning Lady Helena.

  Due to Philip’s strange behaviour of late, Timothy took it to mean that something was amiss that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Things had been going well in the House of Lords. It seemed as though he was deeply respected and his opinion valued, but they were upset when Timothy announced that he was taking a leave of absence in order to return to the country and deal with the death of his father, the initiation of his dukedom, and general business that he could not accomplish in town.

  The business dealings were the driving force that took Timothy out of town, he had to admit. Although business had been going well, he was beginning to perceive that his business was being threatened by jealous fellows in town. He even suspected that his brother, Philip, wished to intrude upon his affairs. Should that happen, Philip would be banished from Willow Grange in no uncertain terms.

  Business affairs were Timothy’s secret world, where no one could touch him. His brother knew nothing of it, his wife knew nothing of it, nor did Lady Helena. When he was hard at work, Timothy felt free, as though indulging in the private self that no one else could touch. That is why, upon returning to Willow Grange and despite his father’s death, there was a contented smile upon his face. He was finally free to be himself again.

  “Don’t look so sombre,” Timothy said to Sophia, sitting on the opposite side of the coach.

  “There are plenty of reasons to look sombre,” Sophia replied. “The duke is dead, and I mourn the loss.”

  “Nay, the duke is very much still alive. He’s seated across from you.”

  There was a puzzled expression upon Sophia’s face, but Timothy disregarded it. She should be proud of him, her titled husband. Timothy was a success in every sense of the word.

  As the carriage came to a halt, he got out first in order to put out a hand and help her down. The time was coming fast upon them when their marriage would finally be consummated. Timothy was ready now. He had ripped Lady Helena White from his heart and would only open it to her again if she came back and begged him to do so.

  “You’re free to attend to your garden once more,” Timothy said, holding Sophia’s hand as they walked towards the estate.

  “The weather is so dreary,” Sophia said sadly, looking up at the grey sky.

  “This is England, darling. It will always be this way.”

  Timothy watched as Sophia frowned. A pretty frown that he was beginning to cherish. Who needed vanilla when one had a delectable chocolate ice cream right next to them? These little thoughts would help to erase the pain that Lady Helena left in her wake.

  “I have an idea,” Timothy said, wishing to cheer up the wife. “Let’s take tea at The Mount this afternoon. It will give the staff a chance to prepare the house and Rudolph a chance to ready the kitchen for supper.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea,” Sophia replied with a faint smile.

  Good. He was making progress. He could have a positive effect on his wife’s emotions and moods, and this was a boon to any husband. Timothy was ready to please Sophia, and delight in the power of it.

  Although he wished that Philip would not follow them back to the estate, his brother had insisted upon it, to Timothy’s annoyance. Philip stated that he would spend one more day in town before returning, which meant that that very night Timothy would come to Sophia’s chambers and make a woman of her. Or, if he was feeling a tad fatigued, he’d have her come to his chambers instead.

  The trunks were brought into the estate and the staff went fast to work at making all the necessary preparations. Timothy did not feel the need to secure a table at The Mount because, considering that he was now a duke, they would surely clear a table for him no matter what time he arrived.

  “The Duke and Duchess of Clumber,” Timothy announced to the fellow who stood behind the small podium at The Mount, assigning tables. Sophia turned and looked at him as though he were being silly announcing themselves so. “Allow me a little fun, darling,” he protested.

  They were shown to a table by the window where the lovely garden outside was shrouded in grey. The poor weather did not dim his mood in the slightest.

  “How do you take your tea, M’Lady?” an attendant asked Sophia.

  “With lemon, thank you.”

  “Come on, darling,” Timothy intervened. “Milk and sugar. That’s how all titled ladies take it.”

  “Is that so?” Sophia asked, her expression a mixture of humour and bafflement.

  “For certain. Is it not so?” Timothy asked the attendant.

  “I suppose,” the attendant replied.

  “Very well,” Sophia relented.

  Timothy carried on a delightful conversation for the better part of tea. He talked of the sport that he would engage in now he was a duke, the greater standing he would have in the House of Lords, and how he intended to buy Sophia many jewels. Although Timothy thought it the perfect afternoon, he couldn’t help but wonder at the sad expression on his wife’s face.

  ***

  Sophia felt like crying but was too proud to do so. They were seated in the very same table where she had sat with Kitty, where she had sat with Philip. Two people whom she loved. Seated at that very same table with Timothy was a rather different experience.

  She was happy for her husband, that he felt so proud and couldn’t help holding discourse on it. Yet, he simply wouldn’t stop talking. Sophia wished to talk as well, about plans that she had as the Duchess of Clumber, delightful things she wished to do when the weather improved, and ideas she had for that night’s supper. She also wished that her tea was prepared with lemon and not milk and sugar.

  But these were minor objections compared to the deeper problem that she was feeling within her heart. She needed Philip with her, increasingly it seemed like ev
ery moment of the day. Sophia missed his smile, the way he teased her one moment and looked serious the next. If she were to now devote herself to her husband, what would that mean for her future relations with Philip? Would the promise of what happened in the study that night never be fulfilled? Every time Sophia thought of it her heart felt as though it might burst.

  The afternoon at The Mount passed by in a haze. Much of the conversation with her husband – which was one-sided – was lost on Sophia. There was too much else to think about, and Sophia did so as she sipped on her sugary tea and nibbled on the savouries and sweets.

  Upon returning to Willow Grange, Sophia was happy to go to her room, which was much bigger than the one at the townhouse. Arabella was putting away Sophia’s garments in silence.

  Looking at her maid, Sophia noticed that Arabella seemed a little melancholy as well. Was she able to perceive Sophia’s own feelings? They were so aligned in so many ways that Sophia would not be surprised in the slightest.

  “I’m told that you’re to wear a formal gown tonight,” Arabella finally said.

  “Is that so?” Sophia asked.

  “Indeed. The duke insists upon it.”

  “Very well,” Sophia replied, thinking that it was just another of Timothy’s celebrations.

  Preparations would need to be made for the funeral, and since Sophia assumed that Timothy would not do it, she got to work at once at her little desk with pen and paper.

  Sophia did not wish the occasion to be sombre, but rather joyous. It would take place in the garden, and hopefully the sun would be shining. She would find a small orchestra and, should she need to bring someone in from town, then so be it. There would be plenty of gay flowers ordered for the occasion, and Sophia took note that she would need to make a list of guests. After all that planning, Sophia considered how strange it was that Timothy did not seem to mourn the loss.

  The day passed quickly into evening and Sophia was arrayed in her finest silver pearlescent gown. It was purchased for her to wear in town but considering that Sophia did not get very far making acquaintances there, there was never a reason to wear it.

  Horrible remembrances of Lady Hortensia’s tea came back to mind. Could she truly love and accept her husband after all that had happened? Sophia feared that she did not have a choice.

  The roast duck that was served at supper was delectable, as always, and Sophia noticed that her husband sat closer to her than he’d ever done before. Whilst Sophia chewed on the crispy outer layer of the duck, she listened as Timothy seemed to talk as much as he had over tea that afternoon. Sophia sighed and looked around the dining room, noting that there was not a servant in sight. Perhaps he had banished them for the evening for the sake of privacy between the two of them. Sophia considered how she wished to invite the servants to the funeral as guests, and not as attendants. They did so much to help the duke and make his last days bearable, but she knew that Timothy would not approve of such a request.

  Supper being done, Timothy led Sophia up the winding staircase by hand. Her heart pounded in her chest as she considered what was about to happen next. It was the moment she had waited for for so long, and now it was actually happening. She was led to Timothy’s room, where he gently opened the door and invited her in.

  “M’Lord,” Sophia protested, suddenly filled with fear.

  “Yes, wife,” Timothy replied, bringing his lips to her ear. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her in.

  “So much has transpired,” Sophia went on, allowing her husband to pull her in. “And all of it has left me . . . distant.” She couldn’t think of a better word.

  “Distant?” Timothy asked.

  “What I mean is that,” Sophia said, finally pulling away, “the connection between us has not been strong of late. I respect you very much, and I ask that, as my husband, you respect me, as well.”

  “Of course, I do,” he replied, confusion on his face.

  “Thank you,” Sophia said, looking down at her feet. “If you respect me, then please, allow me to get to know you, the real you, before taking this step.”

  Sophia looked into her husband’s eyes. Her words were genuine, and she deeply hoped that he would comply.

  “Very well,” he said, kissing his wife on the forehead.

  Sophia gently walked down the hall to her own room, feeling incredible relief.

  ***

  The very next day, Philip returned to Willow Grange, happy to be out of town and away from the suspicion that the general had stirred up. He had made an important decision on the carriage ride back to the country: he was going to investigate Sophia no further. There was no chance she was guilty, and Philip wished to spend all his energy in repairing their relationship.

  But was it past repair?

  The events of the previous few days had done nothing to help him believe that he and Sophia even had a chance. Timothy seemed determined and, what’s more, their titles were now official.

  Upon Philip’s last night in London, he could not sleep. As he lay in bed, he considered the fact that in that very moment, Sophia could be sharing his brother’s bed. The thought filled him with such fury and pain that he tossed about from side to side, trying to get the image of it out of his mind. For a moment, he even considered going out into the city streets and finding a doxy to relieve him of all the tension, but to do so would not improve his situation in the slightest.

  Philip pined for a woman that he could not have. As a soldier, his instinct was to refute that thought, to claim what was his and go to battle in the process. This would accomplish what he hoped to accomplish. Yet, the painful fact was that it would perhaps lower his stature in Sophia’s eyes. Nothing would pain him more. What added to the pain was the fact that Sophia should be his, because Philip would make her happier and give her a better life than Timothy ever could.

  Although Philip did not know how to proceed in the matter, he was still determined to find a way. Even if Sophia had given herself to his brother the evening before, he was quite sure that she did not give her heart and soul. Philip wished to have her body – past question, it was all he could think about – but he would not take an empty vessel. Philip wanted all of Sophia, and that he was quite sure she hadn’t given away yet.

  Upon reaching Willow Grange, Philip looked up at the great structure – more specifically, where his brother’s room was on the third floor – and felt a pounding in his chest. Was that the very room where Timothy took Sophia’s maidenhead? Was she still in that room, lying between his sheets? Philip was continuously repulsed by the thought of it.

  That’s why he was delighted when he walked through the front door to discover Sophia arranging some flowers in the hall.

  “Philip,” she said softly, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “Sophia,” Philip replied, feeling equal wonder and awe by just being in her presence.

  “I did not know when you would return,” she said, turning away from the flower vase.

  “It was lonely in that townhouse all by myself,” he said with a smile.

  “I can imagine so.”

  “Are you all right?” Philip asked. Has he put his unclean hands upon you?

  “I am well. Making preparations for the funeral. I wish it to be a great celebration of the duke’s life.”

  “He would appreciate that,” Philip replied. “May I be of assistance?”

  “I’m not sure how good you are at arranging flowers,” Sophia said humorously, returning her attention to the arrangement.