“The old familiar litany,” he said. “The music has stopped, Soph, and it is supper time. I would hate to get back and find all the food gone. Let us walk.”
“By all means,” she said. “Let me not keep you from your supper, Francis. I would hate to be responsible for that cruelty.”
“Thank you, Soph,” he said. “You have a kind heart. But it is not quite elegant to snort, you know.”
“I shall snort if I want to snort,” Sophia said.
“Quite so,” he said. “Go ahead then. Don’t let me stop you.”
“I happen not to feel like snorting again,” she said, on her dignity.
9
MOST OF THE EARL’S HOUSEGUESTS ANNOUNCED their intention of leaving Clifton Court within a few days after the ball in order to give their host more freedom to prepare for the wedding. Everyone, though, promised to return a few days prior to the event.
It was just as well, the duchess declared, since there was so much still to do, and Olivia was going to town for a few days with Sophia and Francis. She would like nothing better than to go with them, she said, but how could she leave Clifton Court at such a time? She sent for her personal dressmaker to come to her there.
“You may avail yourself of her services, too, Olivia, if you wish,” she offered. “I am sure you would be pleased with the results. And dear Sophia, too. There is nothing Madame Blanchard loves more than the chance to dress a bride.”
But Olivia had her heart set on going away for a few days. She must get away, she felt. She needed to think. And so they were to leave three days after the ball.
Sophia was despondent. The idea she had had to bring her parents together again seemed to have developed a life of its own and taken itself somewhat beyond her control. The preparations for her wedding seemed unstoppable, and now she was being taken to town to buy bride clothes—all at her papa’s expense.
She had been hopeful at first. After the first awkward meeting, her parents had seemed comfortable, almost happy in each other’s company. And yet in the past few days, and especially since the ball, she had looked at them and wondered. Were they merely strangers being polite to each other? Would the approach of her wedding bring them closer? But how soon would that happen? How much longer could she wait before finding an excuse to end the betrothal?
And had they been quarreling during the ball? They had spent no time together at all after the opening waltz.
She was outdoors with Cynthia the afternoon before she was to leave for town with her mother and Francis. Cynthia, who lived only ten miles away, was also to return home the following day. Cynthia wanted to know when the charade was to end.
“It is to end, is it not, Sophia?” she asked. “You have not decided to marry Lord Francis after all?”
Sophia’s answer included references to toads and snakes.
“But he is so very handsome and charming, Sophia,” her friend said with a sigh. “Mr. Hathaway has been wondering, too. We both agreed that things have gone so far that they are well nigh impossible to stop.”
Sophia grimaced. But the earl, who had been out riding with some of the gentlemen but had stayed in the stables longer than they after their return, was striding back to the house at that moment.
“There he is now, Cynth,” Sophia said. “I am going to ask him if he and Mama have reconciled.”
“Just right out like that?” Cynthia said. “Is it wise, Sophia?”
“But I must ask sometime,” Sophia said. “They are unlikely to tell me what they decide or do not decide. Perhaps I will not know until after the wedding, Cynth. And yet when I say things like that to Francis, he almost has an apoplexy on the spot and either bellows ‘What wedding?’ in that obnoxious way of his or tells me I should be in Bedlam, which is not at all a complimentary thing to say to his betrothed, is it?”
“Except that you are not his betrothed,” Cynthia reminded her.
“As he tells me ten times a day,” Sophia said. “As if I could ever forget the fact. Who would want to be Francis’s betrothed?”
“Just about every woman between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five who has laid eyes on him,” Cynthia said.
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Sophia said hastily. “He is too conceited for his own good as it is. I am going to talk with Papa. Do you mind?”
And she waved her arm to her father and tripped across the grass toward him as he slowed his stride and smiled at her.
“What?” he said. “No Francis in sight, love? Is this normal?” He lowered his cheek for her kiss.
“He is playing billiards,” she said. “I came outside with Cynthia.” She linked her arm through his.
“So tomorrow you are off to town for bride clothes,” he said. “I suppose you intend to beggar me, Sophia.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, laughing, “but I daresay Mama will not allow me to, Papa. I wish things were not moving quite so fast.”
He looked sharply down at her. “With the wedding?” he said. “You are not having second thoughts, are you?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I love Francis dreadfully, Papa, and three weeks still seems a frightfully long time to wait. But I just wish … Oh, I just wish we had longer to be with you and Mama. Always I was with one or the other of you but never with both. I can scarcely remember the time when we were all together. There must have been such times, weren’t there, and many of them?”
“Yes,” he said. “We spent a great deal of time together, Sophia, the three of us.”
“And now only three more weeks,” she said, “and I will be married and going away with Francis, and when we come back from our wedding journey, I will be living with him and not with you and Mama any longer. But when I do visit, Papa, will it be the two of you together, or will I have to make separate visits?”
“Sophia.” He covered her hand with his. “You have been dreadfully hurt over the years, have you not? You have never said anything until now. I did not realize it, and neither did your mama. I am sorry, love. I am sorry more than anything that you have been the innocent sufferer.”
“What happened?” she asked. Her father, she noticed, had changed his course so that they were no longer walking toward the house but toward the parterre gardens before it. “Why did you never come back? Why did you not send for Mama? Why did I always come alone when I visited you? What happened?”
“We just discovered that we could no longer live together,” he said slowly.
“Papa,” she said, “I am no longer a child. Something must have happened. Was it Lady Mornington?”
He looked at her sharply. “What do you know of Lady Mornington?” he asked.
“That she is your mistress,” she said. “Though she is not one-tenth as lovely as Mama. Is she what happened?”
“No,” he said. “I did not even meet the lady until six years ago, Sophia. And good Lord, she is my friend, not my mistress. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“It was someone else, then,” she said. “Another woman. It was your fault, wasn’t it, Papa? But how could you have wanted another woman when there was Mama? That is what men do, though, is it not? They marry and then they become bored with their wives and take mistresses. If Francis ever tries to do that, I will kill him. I will take the very largest book from our library and break his skull with it. I swear I will. But how could you have done it, Papa? I always looked up to you. You were my hero.”
“I was your mother’s hero, too,” he said harshly. “I am human, Sophia. You say you are no longer a child. Well, learn that, then, that I am human. But it was not quite as you think. I did not take a mistress. Not until we were irrevocably apart, anyway. And I did not become bored with your mother. Never that. I loved her. I want you to know that. You were a child of our love and the two of you were my world.”
“Then what happened?” she said rather petulantly considering her claim to be an adult. “If you loved her, you should have lived happily ever after. Why have you been estranged for most of my life?”<
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“Sophia,” he said, and he gripped her hand very tightly as she fought to control her tears.
“Don’t you love her any longer?” she asked. “Don’t you, Papa? Are you merely being civil to each other because of the duke and duchess and the other guests? Is it all for show? Don’t you love her?”
“I love her,” he said. “I have never stopped, Sophia. Never for a single moment.”
“Well, then,” she said, brightening instantly and stopping in order to throw her arms up about his neck to half throttle him. “I will have the two of you to come back to after my wedding. My mama and papa together again. Oh, just wait until I tell Francis. Just wait until I do.”
“But it is not as simple as that, Sophia,” he said, taking her gently by the waist. “Life never is, love. What happened, happened. Fourteen years ago. It is a long time. We have both built and lived new lives since then. We are different from the people we used to be. There is no going back. There never is in life. Only forward. And love cannot bind two people who have lived apart for that long.”
“Why not?” The tears were back in her eyes.
He shook his head. “It is hard to explain,” he said. “Your mother was twenty-two, Sophia. Now she is thirty-six. I was twenty-six. Now I am forty. We cannot resume our relationship just as if those years had not passed.”
“You could if you loved each other,” she said. “I don’t believe you, Papa. I don’t believe you really love her after all. You just say you do because you are talking to me and it would seem wrong to tell your own daughter that you do not love your wife. Nothing is going to change, is it? This past week and a half had been for nothing, and nothing more will be accomplished in the remaining three. There will be Francis with his parents and his brothers and their wives. And then there will be me with you. And with Mama. And the two of you will be wonderfully civil to each other.”
“Sophia,” he said.
“No,” she said, “don’t say it. There is nothing more to say. You must be longing for this nuisance of a wedding to be over so that you can rush back to Lady Mornington. Your friend.”
“Sophia,” he said, and he took and held her hands very tightly. “I am sorry in my heart that you have conceived the wrong idea about Lady Mornington. But forget about her anyway. I shall not be returning to her even as a friend. I promise you. And I will tell you the reason why, too. Having seen your mama again, I know that I cannot return to a relationship that has been generally miscontrued—not just by you. Having seen your mama again, I know that she is the only woman I have ever loved or ever will.” He squeezed her hands even more tightly. “But that does not necessarily mean that we will ever live together as man and wife again, love.”
She dropped her head forward to look at their clasped hands.
“But there is one bond between us,” he said. “A firm one that has never ever wavered. We both love you to distraction, Sophia. We both want your happiness more than anything else in life. For the next three weeks and for your wedding day we will not merely be practicing civility. We will be rejoicing together in your happiness. Together, love. And if it is important to you in the future to see us together, then I daresay we will come together occasionally. We love you that much. Both of us. Together, Sophia.”
She raised her hand suddenly and set it against his cheek. “Papa,” she said, and her voice was thin with suppressed tears, “I would do anything in the world to see you and Mama together again. Not just because of me, but because of each other. I would give up Francis if that could happen.”
He laughed softly. “What?” he said. “Give up the love of your life, Sophia? For us?”
“Yes, I would,” she said.
“Well,” he said, releasing his other hand and stroking her hair, “that is quite an offer. You love him very much, don’t you?”
“But I would give him up.” She closed her eyes very tightly.
“You must marry him,” he said, “and be very happy with him, Sophia. That is the very best thing you can do for Mama and me. And I will promise you that I will see what I can do about the rest of it. Do we have a deal?”
She jerked back her head and looked up at him with shining eyes. “You are going to keep Mama here?” she asked. “You are going to be reconciled? You are? You promise?”
He frowned and shook his head. “Only that I will see what I can do, Sophia,” he said. “I cannot make any promises about the outcome.”
“Oh,” she said, “but you always meant yes, Papa, when you used to say you would see what you could do. I always knew you meant yes, though I would pretend still to look anxious. Oh, I knew it would work. I knew all would be well. I am going to tell Francis. He will be so excited for me. I am going to find him now.”
And the Earl of Clifton found himself with arms outstretched to the disappearing figure of his daughter, who was dashing down one diagonal path and across a flower bed toward the house with quite unladylike haste.
He bowed his head and set one hand over his eyes.
SOPHIA BURST INTO the billiard room just as Lord Francis was bent over his cue, fully concentrating on a difficult shot.
“Francis,” she said, totally forgetful of the fact that ladies did not normally enter that particular room. “You must come. You are going to be so very pleased.”
Lord Francis, unable to prevent the forward movement of his cue, hit by far the worst shot of anyone all afternoon. He straightened up, shaking his head ruefully.
The Duke of Weymouth chuckled. “Just in time, Sophia, my dear,” he said. “Francis had not missed in ten minutes. The rest of us are feeling a trifle bored.”
“Oh,” she said as Lord Francis turned toward her, a resigned look on his face, “I am so sorry, Francis. I would have crept in had I known and waited until you had finished.”
“Don’t mention it, Soph,” he said, smiling. “What better way is there of losing a game?” He took her hand on his arm and patted it. “You will excuse us, Papa? Gentlemen?”
“More than that,” the duke said. “We will rejoice, lad, at your quitting the table.” He laughed heartily.
“Well, Soph,” Lord Francis said when they were outside the room, the door closed behind them, “this had better be worth losing a game over. You have told your father? And he now has all the embarrassment of breaking the news to mine? I had better go upstairs and make sure that all my things have been packed. I had better take myself off before my mother finds out and drowns me with her tears. If I were you, Soph, I would hide.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” she said, frowning and leading him in the direction of the front doors.
“You have not ended our betrothal?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” she said. “How absurd.”
“But you said I would be so very pleased,” he said.
She looked at him indignantly. “Oh,” she said, “it is just like you, Francis, to remind me just how delighted you will be to be free of me. It will happen, never fear.”
“But when, Soph?” he asked. “There are nineteen days to our wedding. Can a fellow be blamed for getting a trifle nervous?”
“I have heard that men always get nervous before their weddings,” Sophia said kindly. “Women get excited and men nervous. It is quite natural that you should be feeling so.”
“Soph,” he said, “can I save time and just mention the word ‘Bedlam’? Would you understand my meaning? And don’t bother to answer. What will I be so very pleased about?”
“I am to marry you and live happily ever after,” she said, drawing him down the steps outside the house onto the cobbled terrace. “And in the meantime, Papa will see what he can do about getting Mama to agree to stay with him. He just said so. We agreed on it.” She beamed up at him. “You see? It is working after all and I need not have been burdening you with all my doubts in the past few days.”
Lord Francis scratched his head with his free hand. “The one is not totally dependent on the other, by any chance, is it,
Soph?” he said. “Am I to sacrifice my freedom just because you have an agreement with your papa?”
“Of course not, silly,” she said. “But he told me that he loves her, you see, and he has agreed to see what he can do. That always means an undoubted yes when Papa says it. And he will work on it immediately, Francis, because there is not much time left. Within a week all their differences will be settled and they will be together again. You mark my words. And then we can announce that we have irreconcilable differences.”
“Just to help them celebrate,” he said.
“It will be quite a blow to them, of course,” she said. “To all four of them. We will have to break the news gently.”
“Is there a gentle way to break such news?” he said. “The trouble with us, Soph, is that we have no imagination. Neither of us. We did not picture it being quite like this, did we?”
“No,” she said. She reached across and touched his hand with her free one. “And it will be worse for you, Francis, for you will be the jilted one. Would you prefer it to be the other way around? Shall we pretend that I still love you dreadfully and that you are the one with no heart?”
“Good Lord,” he said. “There is not a stronger word in the English language than Bedlam, is there, Soph? If there is, you had better tell me what it is, because I am in dire need of it.”
“I am merely trying to save you from some humiliation,” she said. “I would take it on myself if I could, Francis. After all, I am the one to blame for all this.”
“No, you are not,” he said. “No one exactly stuck a dueling pistol to my head to make me do it. I thought it would be amusing. Amusing—ha!”
“I am sorry,” she said. “Perhaps we can make it a mutual thing, Francis. We can go to Mama and Papa and your parents together, and tell them that we have discussed the situation quite rationally and in a perfectly amicable manner and have decided that after all, we would not suit. Then neither one will bear the blame or be humiliated. Shall we?”
He sighed. “We had better see how things develop after we return from London, Soph,” he said. “But good Lord, you are going to be returning with five trunkfuls or so of bride clothes, aren’t you?”
Mary Balogh Page 12