“I know. It’s just that—” Sophie broke off, swallowing the lump that had taken up permanent residence in her throat.
“Oh, Sophie.” Lady Jane gave her a quick hug.
Lady Eleanor watched them with a sad wisdom. They all knew what Sophie’s future was likely to be, and the loneliness she would have to bear. Without even a sister to grow old with.
“You’re a brave girl, Sophia, and I’m sorry you have to go through this. If only you had thought to wake me that night, I could have done something to help you. I wish I could have dealt with that poltroon and his doxy myself!”
Sophie choked out a laugh at the idea of Lady Eleanor storming The Silver Oak. Now that would’ve given the gossips something to talk about.
“That’s more like it.” Lady Eleanor smiled. “No more moping from either of you. Not tonight, anyway. Let’s be on our way—we don’t want to keep our audience waiting.”
Lady Jane gave a delicate snort. “Heaven forfend.”
All too soon, the carriage deposited them at the Assembly Rooms. They disposed of their cloaks, shook out their skirts, and prepared to head into the fray.
“Courage, my love.” Lady Jane tucked her hand into Sophie’s elbow. “This time tomorrow you’ll be far away from here.”
Away from everyone she loved, exiled by her own choice to General Stanton’s most northern estate. Robert and Annabel were following in a few days, but Sophie likely wouldn’t see her mother and grandparents for several weeks, if not longer. And Simon—she had no idea when she would see him again.
She blinked hard, trying to push his image from her mind. If she thought of him now, or how he must have reacted to the news of the scandal, she would turn tail and run. He would never forgive her. How could he? Losing the coal from her estates would be bad enough, but losing his reputation over something as tawdry as this—
“Ready, my dear?” Lady Eleanor’s question interrupted Sophie’s downward spiral.
With her godmothers flanking her, she squared her shoulders and headed into the Octagon Room. The crowd parted, giving them just enough space to move unimpeded to the opposite, less crowded end of the room. Lady Eleanor bestowed an imperial nod on the occasional acquaintance, but otherwise ignored the smirks and grins, the whispers and cutting remarks that followed in their wake. Sophie marched grimly forward, every part of her skin flushed with a maddening heat.
Just ahead, she spied Mr. Puddleford talking to one of the Heathcote sisters. She breathed a sigh of gratitude. He would acknowledge her, of course. There had been many a rout or party where no one would talk to the poor man but her.
“Good evening, Mr. Puddleford.” She gave him her best smile. “How nice to see you again.”
“I…I…” The pudgy little man rolled his eyes in panic in the direction of his companion.
“Come away, Mr. Puddleford.” Louisa Heathcote’s shrill voice rose above the crowd. “The company in this part of the room is intolerable. Not at all respectable.”
A pomaded fop behind Louisa tittered and repeated the remark to another man. It would only take moments for the ill-mannered rebuff to sweep the room.
“Come along, dear,” murmured Lady Jane. “I see Robert and Annabel at the top of the room.”
Sophie’s vision blurred, but she forced her feet to move. A scorching mix of emotions burned away at her, like vinegar on an open wound. Rage that anyone would insult her godmothers, and a sickening shame that she had brought this trouble down upon her family.
She blinked away her tears, furious that she felt like crying. She had helped save Toby and Becky and would do it again, if she had to. Louisa Heathcote and the lot of them could go to the devil, for all she cared.
“Sophie, darling.” Annabel’s gentle voice and warm hug brought her back to herself.
“Here, sis.” Robert appeared at his wife’s shoulder. “I managed to snabble some chairs for us. You look like you could do with a rest. In fact,” he said, peering at her face, “you look done to a cow’s thumb.”
“I’m fine,” Sophie automatically responded, as she had done so many times in the last few days.
“Of course you are.” Her sister-in-law patted her hand. “You just need to be gone from this horrid place. We all do.”
As they settled into their chairs, Annabel launched into a grimly cheerful recounting of her correspondence with various family and friends. Sophie smiled vaguely and pretended to listen. But, as happened whenever she had nothing to occupy her mind, all she could think of was Simon.
God, she missed him. With an ache that burrowed into her very bones. The pain of the last few days would have been little more than a fleabite if he were still by her side, protecting her as he had done for so many years. But now…now she had no choice but to go on without him. Perhaps the ache would eventually fade, and life might return to something that resembled normal. Eventually.
If only she didn’t feel so lonely. As lonely as that terrible time after the death of her father.
She grimaced, irritated with her mawkish self-pity. She had made a decision to protect her family, and she had held to her end of the bargain. As far as Sophie was concerned, Lady Randolph carried the blame for all of this. Unfortunately, the countess wouldn’t be the one to suffer.
“Oh, good God,” muttered Robert from the chair beside her.
“What is it?”
“Over there.” Her brother, looking as if he had just swallowed a bad oyster, pointed toward the archway leading into the room.
Sophie craned her neck, trying to see over the throng. “There does seem to be quite a commotion, doesn’t there? And it’s not even one that we caused.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he said morosely.
“General Stanton and Lady Stanton,” announced the master of ceremonies into the sudden hush that had fallen over the room.
Sophie came to her feet, as did Annabel and Robert. Perspiration misted the back of her neck as she watched the dignified old couple make a slow progress through the crowd. What in heaven’s name were they doing here?
Her stomach lurched. For a moment, she feared she might cast up her accounts in front of half the population of Bath. She bit back a hysterical giggle at the absurdity of the image, and forced herself to take a deep breath as her grandparents approached.
Annabel gave a swift curtsy before launching herself into Lady Stanton’s arms. “Grandmamma, Grandpapa, I’m so happy to see you.”
Robert cleared his throat and gave his grandfather a nervous smile. “Good evening, sir.” His voice sounded considerably higher than its normal pitch.
General Stanton glared back at him. “Well, grandson, will you also tell me how happy you are to see me? Spare me your canards.”
Robert blanched. The general leaned in closer, until they were nose to nose.
“Good lord, my boy! What are you about letting your sister get into so much trouble? You’re supposed to be protecting her. And because you didn’t do your duty, your grandmamma and I had to pull ourselves away from our own comfortable hearth, and come to this godforsaken place and consort with the worst set of vulgar mushrooms I’ve seen in years.”
“Really, sir, you know as well as I—ouch!” Robert scowled at Annabel, who gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence.
General Stanton switched his gaze to Sophie, his features as stern as a gothic saint.
“Well, miss? What do you have to say for yourself?”
The silence in the room thrummed in her ears. It seemed the entire world waited for her answer. She dropped into a deep curtsy, held it for several moments, then rose to her feet.
“Good evening, Grandfather.” She met his narrowed gaze with as much composure as she could muster. “It’s wonderful to see you looking so well.”
His thin mouth twitched, and then he gave a gruff laugh. “That’s my girl. Come and give your old grandpapa a hug.”
She stared at him, not quite sure her ears were working as they should. He pulled her into his arms. I
t took all her discipline not to burst into tears as he gave her a rough hug.
“There now, miss. You’ve all made a mull of things, as usual, but your grandpapa will set it right.” He glared at their eager, jostling audience. “And anyone who doesn’t think I have the power to do so will find it goes very ill for them.”
“Yes, my dear, I’m sure they will. But do let Sophie go. You’re crushing her gown.” Lady Stanton extracted Sophie from his arms and gave her a soft hug.
Sophie returned the embrace, still too dazed to ask any questions. All around them the hubbub had been growing louder by the second, but, once again, a stunned silence fell over the room.
“Now what?” groaned Robert.
“Oh my goodness,” squeaked Annabel. “Sophie, look!”
Lady Stanton released her, and Sophie turned to face the room. Her heart took a throbbing leap into her throat when she saw who stood in the archway.
Simon. Looking devastatingly handsome in his flawless black tailcoat and snowy cravat, and radiating so much power and confidence that it reached her from across the room.
He moved swiftly through the crowd, ignoring the murmured comments that followed him like a rippling tide across a wind-scoured beach. He came to a halt before her. Sophie stared into his midnight eyes, breathing so hard that her vision began to blur.
Simon shook his head, a smile playing around his lips. “Sophie, you’re fogging up your glasses.”
He carefully plucked them from her face, took the lacy handkerchief Annabel offered him, and wiped them clean.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he gravely offered them back to her.
“Well, nevvie,” groused Lady Eleanor. “It’s about time you showed up. We’ve been having a devil of a time down here.”
“Forgive me, aunt. I came back as quickly as I could.” He smiled down at Sophie. “I told you I would never abandon you, sweetheart. You know I always keep my promises.”
She still couldn’t speak. She could only stare into the imperiously aristocratic yet beloved face she thought never to see again.
He tilted his head. “What’s the matter, Puck? Cat got your tongue? I’ll have to remember to surprise you more often.”
Her mouth fell open. “Simon! How can you tease me at a time like this? Don’t you—”
“May I have the next dance, Miss Stanton?” He cut her off, unholy amusement dancing in his eyes. “That is, if someone hasn’t already claimed your hand. I did see Mr. Puddleford hanging about when I came into the room.”
She felt it best to ignore that remark, extending her hand while maintaining a dignified silence. He grinned and led her into the set just forming in the next room.
In truth, Sophie was afraid to open her mouth. She didn’t know what would come out—hysterical laughter, tears, or even a scold was likely, and the Stantons and St. Jameses had already provided enough food for the Bath gossips to last a lifetime.
For several minutes they moved through the figures of the dance. Simon ignored everyone but her, his expression relaxed and easy, his eyes smiling and full of love. She could hardly believe it. Where was her imperious earl? How could he not care she had subjected him to the worst kind of innuendo and scandal? She couldn’t make sense of it, but the fact that he was here and had convinced her grandfather—the second most scandal-averse man in England—to lend his public support spoke of a love that would trump every obstacle standing in their way.
They came back together, hands and arms intertwined.
“You’re not mad at me?” she whispered.
He gave a rueful shake of the head, his dark eyes gleaming like ebony in the glitter of a thousand candles. “No, love. This is my fault. I should have known something was wrong. That you were in trouble. If I hadn’t been such a prideful fool, you would have told me.”
“Was this—tonight—part of your plan to respond to the scandal?”
“I didn’t have a plan, Sophie. I wasn’t even sure you would want to see me again, after the way I acted. Your grandmother, though, seemed quite certain you would.”
“How did she—never mind. Go on.”
He flashed a brief smile. “The one thing I did know was that I had to get to your grandparents before word of the scandal reached them. It was your grandmother’s idea to face the gossip head-on. In public, and right where it started. There may be some rumbles for a short time, but when people realize the general and I are behind you, the rumors will die down soon enough. Especially once we’re married.” He grinned. “Which will be soon, I assure you.”
She smiled back, unable to resist the pull of his blatant happiness. The lump in her throat still made it hard to speak, but it lodged there now from joy, not sorrow. There was, however, one thing still troubling her.
“What about Mr. Russell and all your plans?”
He shrugged, truly seeming not to care. “Russell will make his decisions, and I will make mine. You’re all I want or need, Sophie. Not wealth or factories, nor Russell and his damned, disapproving lectures.”
That didn’t sound like the Simon she knew. She pointedly raised her eyebrows.
“Well, I do want the factories, and I will find a way to build them,” he amended. “But it means nothing without you, my love. And it’s taken me much too long to figure that out.”
The joy had moved from her throat to flood her entire body. “Really?”
He cast his eyes to the ceiling in amused exasperation. And stopped. Right in the middle of the dance floor. He threw the whole set out of line, and more than one lady shrieked as her partner stumbled into her.
Sophie gasped as Simon went down on one knee.
“What are you doing?”
“Proposing to you,” he answered solemnly.
He extracted something from his waistcoat pocket, grasped her trembling hand, and eased a simple gold ring onto her finger.
“Sophie Stanton, I love you, and I want to marry you. And I won’t get up off this floor until you agree.”
Her face burned with embarrassment, even though her heart soared into the heavens. “Oh, Simon, you fool. Do get up! Everyone’s staring.”
He looked like he was preparing to stay on his knees all night. “Not until you say yes.”
She grabbed his hands and tugged. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. All right, I’ll marry you—just get up. Before everyone thinks you’ve gone completely mad!”
He laughed and surged to his feet, taking her into his arms and sweeping her down the line.
“Very well, my sweet. God forbid we should cause any gossip.”
Epilogue
Kendlerood House
Manor of the Earl of Trask
January 1816
Simon opened the door to the master bedchamber. The longcase clock in the gallery had just chimed out the midnight hour, but Sophie was awake, propped up in bed in a comfortable shamble of pillows and bed linens and wrapped in a thick wool shawl to keep her warm. Her gold spectacles winked in the firelight. Soft, tumbled curls gleamed the color of flame as she bent her head over the pile of documents in her lap. She looked young and innocent, and oh, so serious.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her, savoring the quiet satisfaction of knowing she was safely in his bed—in his life. For too long he had been a fool. He had made so many mistakes when it came to her, but she had forgiven him and still loved him. It was a miracle he would never forget.
She looked up and smiled a welcome. And, he hoped, an invitation. He had already taken her three times today, but he rather thought they should do it again. When it came to Sophie, he could never get enough.
He strolled over and sat beside her on the bed.
“It’s good to have the house to ourselves again, isn’t it, Puck?” He took her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. “I thought that small army of your relatives would never leave.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, because this house is so cramped we all kept bumping into each other. Simon, I still get lost at le
ast once a week, trying to find my way from one end of this pile to the other.”
“Perhaps, but one does grow weary of the bickering between Robert and the general. How Lady Stanton puts up with it is one of life’s eternal mysteries. Besides, I like it best when it’s just the two of us.” He abandoned her palm for the sweet curve of her neck, nibbling his way up to her earlobe.
She giggled and squirmed away from him. “Simon, do stop. I’m trying to work. You’ve made love to me three times today, already. And it was scandalous of you to insist we do it in the small drawing room in the middle of the day. I almost fainted when I heard the general out in the corridor.”
“I thought something else almost made you faint.” He followed her across the bed, trying to push the papers from her lap.
“Not now,” she said.
He sighed, recognizing her tone.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he settled in next to her, leaning against the headboard of the massive tester bed.
Enthusiasm set off amber sparks in her eyes. “These are the plans for the new hospital for women and children in Bath. Mr. Crawford just sent them, along with a list of those who might be willing to donate funds.”
Simon frowned. “Crawford, eh? Writing you again? He seems to take up quite a bit of your time.” Time he wanted her to spend with him, not with same damned earnest cleric.
Sophie gave him a stern look over the top of her glasses. “Simon, don’t be such a looby.”
He grinned, feeling sheepish.
She stroked his chin. “Let me finish reading this letter, then we can talk.”
He arranged a few pillows behind his back and relaxed, content, for now, to let her work. But he had every intention of doing something more than talking as soon as she finished.
When Sophie reached for another sheaf of papers, he clasped her wrist, stroking the coral bracelet that encircled it.
“I’m glad you got your bracelet back, Puck.” He fingered the delicate beads. “I know how much it means to you.”
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