by Hilly Mason
Isabel stared openly at him, then at the cat purring in his arms. Finally, she pointed down the hall to a closed door.
“If you want, I can take the cat to Miss Markle,” she told him.
“It’s Lady Gibbs,” Alex said. “That’s her real name. Not Miss Markle. I’ll give the cat to her myself.”
Isabel looked as though she was going to argue, but his sharp look caused her to bow her head demurely and disappear downstairs. He gave the door to Sophia’s room a hard knock and waited.
A woman opened the door. She was small in stature, with red hair and owlish eyes.
“H-how may I help you?” she asked nervously, and then noticed the cat. “Oh, it’s Soot!”
“I am Alexander St. George. I believe this is Lady Gibbs’ cat?” Alex asked, peering in to see if he could catch a glimpse of her.
The woman gave him a quick curtsy, her eyes shyly downcast. “Yes, it is,” she said softly. Her spine then straightened. “I’m afraid Lady Gibbs—I mean, Miss Markle—is ill-disposed at the moment.”
“Is she awake?”
“I’m afraid not, milord.”
Alex nodded, and suddenly feeling foolish. What am I doing down here, anyway? He felt the eyes of at least a dozen servants staring at him from behind.
“Very well,” he said. “Tell Lady Gibbs once she is awake, that I pray she gets well soon.”
“I will, milord.”
He handed the sodden cat over to the woman and then turned on his heel to walk up the stairs. As he closed the door he thought he could hear the servants start to whisper.
Chapter Eight
“Is he gone?”
Joyce poked her head out the door one more time and closed it quietly. “I think so.”
Sophia sighed and leaned her head back against the pillow. Her lungs and throat felt like they had been burned by a fire iron from coughing so much, and her head throbbed terribly.
“When is this medicine supposed to work?” Sophia groaned. “If only I had my own physician here. He would know exactly what to give me to make me feel be—” her words were broken by another fit of coughs. She wrapped her arms around her middle as though to hold back the pain.
“Try not to speak so much, Sophia. It will only exacerbate your condition.”
“That goes against my constitution,” Sophia said meekly. “I fear if I do not let myself speak, I will only get worse from depression. Here, let me see Soot.”
The gray cat stuck her wet nose in Sophia’s face. Determining that she knew who Sophia was, Soot then settled down onto the warm softness of her belly and started to doze.
Sophia petted the soft fur as she willed her heart to slow down. Alex had been so near to her. She almost wanted him to come in and speak with her, even though her face was pale, her hair messy, and she in her bed clothes—if only to make sure he really existed.
“At any rate, I think the physician at Comerford House laced his medicines with more alcohol than this physician does,” Joyce said as she gave the bottle a sniff. “Hmm... Definitely smells more herbal than rum booze.”
“No wonder it’s not working quickly,” Sophia said acerbically.
Joyce shook her head as she gave Sophia another dose of the medicine.
“So, that was Alexander St. George,” Joyce mused, as she set the bottle down at the bedside table. “He is quite handsome, isn’t he? I mean no offense, Sophia. But how did you ever choose Lord Gibbs to marry and not him?”
“Because I was young and foolish, and didn’t know that some actions cannot be undone.” Sophia grimaced as she stifled a fit of coughs. “And, as it turned out, he only had eyes for my cousin, Abigail.” She shook her head. “I can’t be under the same roof as him and his wife.”
“Oh.” Joyce looked uncomfortable.
“Oh, what?”
“Well, I was speaking to Isabel earlier about Lord St. George. She told me that his wife passed away during childbirth a little over six months ago. Isabel has been without much work as she dealt mostly with serving Lady St. George.”
“Alex’s wife died?” Sophia gasped. She was surprised that she had heard nothing of the poor woman’s demise amongst her social circle. The news must’ve been kept quiet. “Oh, how very tragic,” she said, and meant it. No matter what she felt about Alex, she never wanted to have this happen to him. And with a little girl to take care of, too. Was that the sadness she had noticed in his eyes the brief moment they had locked gazes? Could he really be the same man who ordered her husband killed?
“What passed between you two?” Joyce suddenly asked. “If you don’t mind me prying.”
“No, it’s fine,” Sophia said, leaning her head back against her pillows. “I thought I would keep it from you, but by now you have seen the worst of me.”
“I’ve stuck with you this far,” Joyce told her, not bothering to hide a grin.
“That’s true enough, but will you promise not to judge me?”
“I will never judge you.”
Sophia stared up at the ceiling as she took the deepest breath she could with her limited lung capacity. “I had fancied Lord St. George for a very long time, since Abby first introduced me to him while his family was visiting my uncle’s town house for a few days. This was only a few months after I had arrived from India. My aunt and uncle hosted a ball during the London Season—my first one. I was nervous that nobody would want to dance with me, as I was somewhat of an outsider, with me being from India. I didn’t understand a lot of the customs here, but I tried my best to fit in. When I danced with Alex—Lord St. George—he mentioned he liked the way I talked, and the way I openly laughed, not hiding it behind fans as most women do. We became very good friends. And that friendship turned into something more a few years later when he kissed me. I thought for certain he was going to propose soon after.
“My cousin, Abigail, whom I thought to be perfect in every way, was also my best friend. I told her how I fancied Lord St. George, and how he seemed to have showed an interest in me. She told me that he was only joking, that my personality was something to be ridiculed, and that he would never in his wildest dreams propose to me.
“I believed her. I hid my emotions behind a fan and acted docile and simple-minded like the other girls. And it worked. I tried to emulate more of Abby’s characteristics after I noticed that more men flocked to her than to me. She had at least five proposals that she had turned down, waiting instead for Lord Gibbs to ask for her hand.
“Although Alex stopped speaking to me, other men were always in a quarrel to be the first to dance with me. I only wanted him, but he didn’t speak to me since the night he kissed me.
“At one ball in London, toward the end of the Season, I found Abby kissing Lord St. George in the garden. I was heartbroken. But I had reached a point where I didn’t know where the fabricated Sophia ended and the real Sophia began. I was lost. And it was at that same ball that Lord Gibbs, whom I only met once before, proposed to me. I knew that Abby had fancied Lord Gibbs, but seeing that she clearly preferred Lord St. George, I accepted his offer immediately.
“In retrospect, I knew that I was also seeking revenge on my dear cousin for stealing the man I truly loved away from me, which now seems completely reprehensible. If I could turn back the hands of time I would change my actions that night, even if it meant I would remain alone for the rest of my days.”
“Oh, how tragic,” Joyce said softly.
Sophia had a bout of coughing before she continued. “Abby never spoke to me again. She never answered my letters or paid me a visit. At first I thought she had ran away to elope with someone, as was her disposition, but she ah... she died.”
Joyce gasped loudly. Startled, Soot jumped down from Sophia’s lap and walked over toward the wall and began licking her paws.
“That is so dreadful,” Joyce said, once she was able to find words to speak again.
Sophia nodded in agreement. “My aunt and uncle blamed me for what happened to Abby. They said that Lord Gibb
s was supposed to marry their daughter, and they would never forgive me for tearing that happiness away from her. I wanted to say to them that I didn’t even want Lord Gibbs. I wanted them to forgive me for my foolishness. But they never took the time to listen to me. I almost felt like it was my punishment to bear, to stay in my loveless marriage. And now I will never see my cousin again.”
In the years since Abby’s death, Sophia had repressed what happened. Oh, she would shed a tear now and then, but she quickly pushed away the emotions with a good drink, or the company of friends at a party. But she had never told the story to anyone, not even to her cellmate who had told her own tragic life story. Sophia was ashamed, and telling her story out loud made her realize how long she had been carrying that shame on her shoulders. Tears that she had held back for years fell from her eyes. Quickly, Joyce handed her a handkerchief and, after filling a glass of water from the basin, sat next to Sophia hand wrapped an arm around her, letting the woman find her release.
But she hadn’t said the entire truth. She wasn’t sure if she ever could.
“I had no idea,” Joyce said quietly, after a while, when Sophia’s tears turned into hiccups.
“I do feel guilty every day for it. I suppose I just drowned that out with parties and fancy dresses. None of that can change what I did, though.”
“But I don’t believe it is your fault that your cousin d-died,” Joyce went on, obviously struggling with the concept of something so horrible. “As you said, she had many suitors, and could have easily found a match better than Lord Gibbs, God rest his soul.”
“Yes, but I knew Abby well. It’s very hard to sway a young woman’s heart when she is so focused on one man, one goal. As you can imagine, I know that far too well.” Sophia took the handkerchief away from her face and crumpled it in her fist. “I cannot stay here much longer. I cannot be under this roof and constantly imagine what might have been if I hadn’t been so stupid in my youth.
“And now here I am, housed by the very man who took my own home away. Do you think God is punishing me?”
Her cough was getting worse. Joyce gave her the glass of water for her to drink, and then propped Sophia’s pillows against the headboard for her to sit up.
“Sometimes I wish I had just stayed in India after my parents died,” Sophia said once she caught her breath. “Then I wouldn’t have made such a mess of things.”
“Do you still love him?”
Sophia turned her head sharply to Joyce.
“What did you say?”
“I’m sorry. It was not appropriate for me to ask such a thing.”
Sophia leaned her head back onto her pillow, knowing that irrevocably, and alarmingly, the answer was yes.
It was early in the morning when Isabel came into her room. Almost a week had passed since Sophia had collapsed in Alex’s drawing room, and she was feeling much better. Her body was still weak, however she was able to eat more food and even stretch out her legs a bit by walking around the room. She longed to be well enough to take a long walk outside. She hadn’t been out of the house since she first arrived at the estate, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.
Sophia was in the midst of walking around the room when the head maid walked in on her. She gave her a long look, starting from her bare feet to the top of Sophia’s messy, unkempt hair.
“It looks like you’ve recovered.”
Sophia colored, but she raised her chin high. She decided that she wasn’t too fond of Isabel. The older woman always made her feel like she was a child getting caught stealing sweets from the kitchen.
“Thanks to Lord St. George and his physician, I should be ready to tutor Lady St. George in no time.”
Not that Sophia was still considering working for Alex. For some reason, whenever Sophia mentioned her role as a governess, it would always result in a glare from the head maid. It had turned into a game for Sophia to see how many glares she could get from her in a day. Perhaps she was getting cabin fever from being so cooped up in this cave of a room to think of that as a fun diversion.
However, ever since the servants learned of Sophia’s real name, none of them had treated her warmly. Did all of Chertsey know of her scandal as well?
“Master St. George says that you are to move upstairs.”
“What do you mean, upstairs?”
The woman looked at her impatiently with an air of annoyance. “He doesn’t want you in the servants’ hall anymore. He said it would do poorly for your current state of health. The physician recommended you be in a room with windows to let fresh air in.”
Sophia stared at her in bewilderment. Alex was giving her own room up in the main house?
Isabel tapped her foot impatiently. “Don’t just stare at me. Joyce has already packed your things. Let’s hurry. I have work to do, you know.”
Sophia quickly put on her slippers and followed Isabel up the stairs. They entered into the cavernous hall, which seemed darker than Sophia had remembered. The statues cast long shadows on the polished marble floors, and the only sounds were the two women’s soft footsteps as Isabel led her up the main staircase to the east wing of the house.
Sophia lost count of how many doors she walked by before Isabel finally stopped. “Here we are,” she said, not bothering to open it. “Tell Joyce to come down at ten to supervise the new chimney boy.”
Sophia nodded her head in acknowledgment as Isabel left.
Joyce was already inside, waiting for her.
“I’m quite certain I’m going to get lost if I ever need to find my way back here,” Sophia remarked.
“Seven doors to your left,” Joyce said automatically. She then waved her arms emphatically. “You are to have a bath! I have the hot water waiting for you and everything. And oh, isn’t this room just so grand! Look how large these windows are!” Her maid pulled back the blinds, revealing a lush, green landscape dotted with trees. The large lake they had ridden past the day of their arrival sparkled like diamonds under the partly cloudy sky. Sophia stared, marveling at the beauty. Perhaps living in the country wouldn’t be so bad if she were to wake up to this every morning.
No, she was not staying here. She would have a bath and freshen up, but the moment she saw Alex again, she would tell him of her intention to find work elsewhere.
Sophia almost didn’t notice the bath in the corner of the room, shielded by a wooden screen. Steam lifted from the water as the smell of rosebuds hit her nostrils.
“Oh this is lovely, isn’t it?” she admitted.
As she bathed, Joyce washed and brushed her hair. The warm steam coated her lungs, letting her breathe easier for the first time in days.
But even bathing made her weary and she soon needed to rest. After drying off, Sophia dressed back in her nightgown. Before lying down in her bed, she glanced out the window and noticed Alex walking alongside a small girl, who was holding his hand. The girl was no older than four, with brown, straight hair tied back from her face with a big, yellow bow, matching her pale, yellow dress. She had a doll in her arms, which she now held out to her father for him to play with. Alex took the doll in his hands and crouched next to her. Sophia wished she could hear what he was saying to her that made the girl’s face light up with laughter.
Feeling as though she were intruding, Sophia left her view at the window and retired back to her bed, feeling her fever returning.
“Would you like anything else before I leave?” Joyce asked her.
“Just some tea, thank you.”
“I have washed your dress for you,” she continued. “And dyed it to a darker lavender.”
“Well, that will hide the stains, at last,” Sophia muttered.
Joyce raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, at the very least, by the time you are out of mourning, you will have saved enough money to buy some of the latest fashion.”
Sophia held onto that hope as best as she could, praying that she would find work quickly.
The days passed in a hazy blur. Her illness worsened, and
Sophia was in and out of sleep as she battled against a high fever. The physician was called in eventually, and some blood was let. But what little good that did, for her fever still raged.
It got to a point where Sophia wasn’t sure whether she was dreaming or awake. At some point, Joyce was called out of her room by Isabel to do some housework, and Sophia was left by herself. Soot was curled at her feet. The door opened, startling both her and the cat. She lifted her head up warily to see who it was. The figure was dark against the light from the hall, making it hard for her eyes to adjust.
“Who is it?” she called out fearfully. The delirium caused by her fever made her imagine some awful things. Was this her husband’s murderer, coming for her as well?
The figure took a seat next to her bed. “It’s Alex.”
Alex? Why is he here? She turned her head away from him lest he see how sickly she knew she looked.
“You shouldn’t be in here. You might catch what I have. And… it’s indecent.”
His voice was just as she remembered: low, slow and deliberate. “I just needed to see with my own eyes that it was in fact you. I thought I had imagined that scene in my drawing room. And since then I’ve only heard word of your existence through my servants.”
Sophia laughed bitterly. “Oh, I very much exist. At this point I can feel every inch of my body aching with fever and malaise.” She glared at him. “Have you been enjoying Comerford House?”
Alex gave her a strained look. He then glanced toward the door, as though regretting his decision to pass through the threshold.
She turned away. “Don’t worry. Once I recover I will leave right away. Perhaps the next store I work for won’t be so dreadfully cold.”
A pregnant pause. Sophia turned her head, thinking he had quietly left. Her eyes met his and her entire body warmed, but not from her fever.
It was his turn to glance away.
“We will discuss it more once you’ve recovered,” he said, standing up. “I pray that it will be soon.”