by Jaima Fixsen
Rugby had nothing on this. Would he be able to wash this shame from his skin? He feared it was tattooed across his forehead. Dupe. Climber. Fool.
“Wait!” It was Jasper, running after him, half-in and half-out of his greatcoat. “Don’t leave, Tom.”
Turning up his collar, Tom kept walking. Jasper followed at his heels.
“Wait, man. There must be a reason.”
Tom froze, glaring at the hand Jasper laid on his arm until it was delicately withdrawn. “I will not make more sport for you, for your cousin, or for your sister. Good night.”
“I did not know. I would not have insulted you for the world,” Jasper spread his hands wide. “But I must know. Have you been meeting my sister?”
“Oh yes.”
Jasper stiffened. “I will trust that in other respects, you have behaved the gentleman?”
“Perfectly,” Tom snarled, increasing his pace until Jasper had to trot beside him.
“Did she tell you she was a Rushford?”
“Yes.”
Jasper swore. “I don’t know what the little fool was thinking, but she wouldn’t have meant to embarrass you. She’s no end of trouble, but she’s not a snob. Think man! Why would she be? She’s spent half her life tiptoeing around my mother. She knows exactly where she stands—tolerated on the fringes of our family.”
“She’s a lying jade!” Tom spat, curling a fist menacingly. “Condescending to my mother with her grand manners! Mocking me like I’m some kind of bloody climber!”
Jasper rocked back on his heels. His mouth hardened as he looked away, brushing the sleeve of his coat. When he spoke, his voice was cold. “It appears we cannot be friends. I suggest we part.”
“Agreed. I’m not interested in friendships with useless muck-a-mucks or their lying sisters. Honest folk are good enough for me.”
Leaving Jasper fuming, he stormed off down the street, heedless of puddles and filth, anger threatening to explode out his fists. He could not reason or be still, so he walked instead, frightening strangers out of his path.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In the Basket
A hand seized Sophy’s shoulder. Plummeting from clouded dreams, she awoke in her own bed.
“What?” she gasped, jerking upright and clutching her bedcovers. Was it fire? Flinching away from the dazzling light beside her, she blinked until her room materialized and the light became a flickering candle, held aloft in Lady Fairchild’s sculpted marble hand. Her face made Sophy’s heart seize.
“What’s wrong?” Sophy croaked.
Lady Fairchild’s voice caught. “Is it true? Did you tell them you were my daughter?"
Sinking steadily into trouble’s dark waters, Sophy felt cold waves lap over her head. She couldn’t breathe.
Lady Fairchild closed her eyes and exhaled. “Heaven help us. You did.”
Sophy squirmed but couldn’t make a sound. Lady Fairchild’s chest rose and fell, each breath louder and deeper.
“I did not teach you to lie and sneak.” Her voice was like her best china, splintered into shards. “I can only speculate which of your parents gave you that ability. Nor can I hope to comprehend how you could be so foolish. Such a lie, Sophy! And to such a man! It’s a miracle the story hasn’t infected all London.
“Alistair swore it was true, but I could not believe him. If he doesn’t take you and if the story gets out, no one else will.” Swallowing, she seized Sophy’s wrist with her free hand. “You must tell me what happened when you met this man.”
“Nothing! I swear there was nothing untoward.”
Lady Fairchild’s shoulders sagged like a tired doll’s. She released Sophy’s wrist, weaving her fingers between Sophy’s own, lifting their joined hands to place a kiss on Sophy’s thumb. “Thank God. We can save you yet. Come, we must tell your father.”
Wrapping herself in a shawl, Sophy followed Lady Fairchild into the corridor, her bare feet curling away from the cold floor when she stepped between the carpets. Her heart raced like scrambling mouse feet. Her throat felt full of sand.
She followed Lady Fairchild into the library. Her father was waiting for her, turning over a paperweight of Venetian glass in his hands.
“Well?” he asked.
“Not beyond repair,” Lady Fairchild said.
“Of course it isn’t!” Sophy said, stung. “Tom never even tried to kiss me—not like Alistair.”
“And what has he done?” Lord Fairchild demanded, thumping the paperweight onto the desk. Sophy jumped.
“Kissed me,” she said, her voice small. “That is all.” Unable to meet Lord Fairchild’s eyes, she fixed her eyes on the paperweight. Green waves swirled within clear glass flecked with gold. It might have held a genie in its depths, but he was trapped as surely as she.
Lord Fairchild straightened his waistcoat. “Why were you meeting this man?”
“It was a chance meeting at first. Henrietta and Percy took me to a masquerade ball. Alistair came with us. I found Tom by accident, but seeing him made me so happy, I had to see him again.” She looked up at her father, beseeching. “I met him at the library when I went to exchange my books, and sometimes saw him from a distance in the park. That is all.”
“You shall not be permitted so much license in the future. Do I make myself clear?”
“She can have none at all,” Lady Fairchild interjected. “Society is not forgiving. She and Alistair can marry at Cordell, spend the winter in Suffolk and make an appearance in London next year. If any rumors have leaked out, they will be forgotten by then.”
“You think he will not object?”
Lady Fairchild stared at him coldly. “He is not such a fool.”
“Must I—” she had to speak now, before she suffocated. “Must I marry Alistair?”
They fixed her with identical stares. “Certainly,” Lady Fairchild said.
“But I love Tom. I have considered marriage with Alistair, and I do not think I can do it.” Her careful reasons for obeying were scorched and gone, leaving only ash. She simply could not.
“Pfft.” Lady Fairchild stepped up to Sophy, tucking her shawl around her shoulders. “Real life is not made of such candy floss. It is made of duty, family and honor. You cannot be such a child.”
Sophy could take no more. Tears spilled down her cheeks. It was too late now, but if she had spoken the truth, it should have been possible. It would have made no difference to Tom. He would have loved his neighbor’s bastard as well as the legitimate daughter of the house. Surely it was her lies, and not her birth, that were freezing his heart. She could have been happy with Tom, had she not been such a fool.
“We will explain matters to Alistair,” her father said. “Wait here. He will wish to speak to you himself.”
He was at the door, holding it open for his wife when the words broke free. “No, father. Please. Please don’t make me.”
He glanced back, but said nothing, continuing out the door.
*****
William stood with his hand on the closed door, trying not to see his daughter’s streaked face. He was not good with teary pleading. The delicate and unpleasant conversation he must have with his wife’s nephew would be infinitely worse with Sophy’s eyes haunting him. His hand tightened on the knob. For an instant he would have gone back to wrap his arms around her and let her cry out her broken heart. She could whistle away Alistair, if it made her happy.
A choked sound from Georgiana’s throat brought his feet back to earth. “What?” he asked. She spun away from him, her nightdress billowing out like a cloud, her ankles flashing as she ran down the hall. He had never seen her run. If anyone had asked, he'd have said she didn't know how.
“Georgiana?” he whispered, already too late. She didn’t stop. Hell. Breaking into a run, he followed after, taking the stairs two at a time. In the upstairs corridor, he caught her by the arm.
“Let me go!” she hissed, endeavoring to shake him off.
“Georgiana!” He kept his voice
to a whisper, mindful of the sleeping house. The servants mustn’t know tonight’s business. “What is it?”
Her face was twisted, her skin blotched red. She quivered in his grasp, avoiding his eyes.
“We need a word. Where are you going?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course.” His wildest guesses would never have predicted distress like this; it covered him like frost pictures creeping over a windowpane, turning him cold. She needed something, but he did not know what. If he tried to help, he was just as likely to set the charges of the mined ground between them.
“You’re weak,” she spat. “I can see it. You’ll let her have that rascal, just to please her. She’ll love you then, no doubt.”
“You think so? I doubt it.” Reason had taken hold of him now. “I do not foresee approving an alliance with Mr. Bagshot. He hasn’t asked my permission for any such thing, so I am disinclined to favor his suit, should marriage be his actual intent.”
Hope gleamed in her eyes, quickly concealed. “You think him an adventurer?”
“I see little evidence to the contrary.” Sophy was too young and raw to know the difference. Even a plebe like Bagshot knew the proper course to take, if his intentions had been honorable. A quick marriage was probably best. Alistair was a smooth fellow and would know how to turn Sophy’s wounded heart in his favor.
“I’m upset too, Georgy,” The old name slipped out, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Sophy’s mistake is serious and unkind to you. But I cannot understand this response. You said yourself we can mend this.”
She refused to answer, gathering her skirts. Tightening his hold on her arm, he moved to block her path.
“Let me by,” she demanded.
“After you tell me why you are so upset.”
“You have no right to my thoughts.”
“True. But I ask you to share them, so I may help if I can.”
She turned her face aside, her words coming forth haltingly. “It must be Alistair. Without Sophy I have no one. I’ll be alone.”
She shut her eyes, waiting for him to speak, but he had no words.
Silence was a mistake. Lashed into a fury, Georgiana spat, “You’ll give her what she wants. She’ll take your heart and walk away with it, just like her mother, that little bi—”
“Stop.”
Taking advantage of his shock, she ripped her arm free. “You defend her to me? Still?”
“I am the one you should blame.”
“Believe me, I do.” Shouldering past him, she swept down the corridor.
“Georgiana.” He did not trouble to whisper now. She stopped, but did not turn around. “You needn’t worry. I will not see you left alone.”
*****
Sophy refused to show Alistair a tear-stained face. Because she had no handkerchief, she dried her eyes with the sleeve of her nightdress and held the backs of her cold hands to her hot cheeks.
Her father should understand. He had known love. Her mother’s painting, hung so he could see it from his desk, made that very plain. If he cared for her he would not be impervious to her pleas.
It was a lovely painting, executed with tenderness and skill, but it was not the real thing. Had her mother known the difference? Had she left her lover determined or despairing? Tonight her father was ordering her into another kind of counterfeit life and giving her no choice at all. Then again, what kind of choice had her mother’s been? Sophy turned away from the picture, wondering what had driven her mother. Did she have enough hope of her own?
The door clicked. It was her father, bringing Alistair and Jasper with him, Jasper hanging back like a shadow. She looked Alistair in the eye.
“Did my father tell you why?” He would not wed her if he knew she loved Tom, whatever Lady Fairchild said.
“I did not ask,” he said, his cool outplaying her belligerence. “Making sport of the Bourgeois made perfect sense to me. I shall not soon forget his face changing color as he realized the truth. It was rather gratifying.”
Of course, Sophy thought numbly. He feared no rival now. She’d been a complete fool, leaving herself open.
“You’ve framed our difficulty exactly,” her father said, frowning at Alistair and Jasper. “If he is as angry as you say, how can we hope for his silence?”
Alistair smiled faintly. “You worry too much, uncle. Who would he tell? More to the point, who would listen? You may trust me with Sophy’s honor. I shall not permit anyone to use her name lightly.”
That she could believe. Alistair was known for his marksmanship.
“Obliged to you.” Her father looked pleased.
“May I see Sophy alone?” Alistair asked.
Her father wouldn’t permit that. Not with her in her nightdress, her toes naked and exposed.
“I’ve rung a peal over Sophy already, Alistair. She looks tired.”
“You mistake my intent, sir,” Alistair said. “I wish only to reassure her. This situation might have been avoided, had she not been so apprehensive. I ought to have done more to relieve her anxiety.”
They exchanged smiles.
“Five minutes,” her father said. “I’ll be waiting outside the door. Coming Jasper?”
Jasper followed without a word.
Alistair crossed over to the sofa. “Come sit by me,” he commanded.
Sophy obeyed, wondering if she would strangle on his beneficence.
“I’ve always thought you an endearing little rogue,” he said, moving closer and trapping her against the arm of the sofa. “It’s all right. I did not act so well either. Better if we had been honest with each other from the first.” He gave her plait a little tug, then brushed it over her shoulder.
“Why do you want to marry me?” Sophy said, too frayed to conceal her distress. A tear slipped out of her eye and ran down her nose. “Is it the money?”
“Partly. But there are other ladies I could choose. Of them all, I like you the best Sophy. A man would have to be a fool to tire of you. I have not been wise, perhaps, but I do not think I am a fool.”
He had chosen her like he might choose a horse or a hat. She sat, unmoving, as he drew out his handkerchief and wiped the tear off the end of her nose. “Of everyone, I believe I mind this fracas least. You had him well and truly fooled, my dear. It was quite entertaining. I think it will be best though, if you don’t entertain me in this way again.”
Sophy swiped her nose with the edge of her shawl, scowling bitterly into her lap. “I am so pleased you find it amusing. That makes my heart’s breaking all worthwhile.”
He raised her chin with his thumb. “Truly Sophy? Is your heart breaking?”
“Can’t you tell?” She let her voice rise, trying to hit him with her words. He did not retaliate. Gently he smoothed her hair, shushing her like a young child. “You’ll find that hearts can break and mend an astonishing number of times, little one. Sometimes even with the same person. If you give me the pieces, I will do what I can to make you whole.
“Tell me the truth, now,” he said. “You never kissed him?”
“I told my father everything. You’re the only one who has done that.”
“And he was not pleased to learn of it,” he chuckled. “I like that color in your cheeks, Sophy. It tempts me to be disagreeable more often.”
“I dare say if we marry, we shall find each other very disagreeable,” Sophy retorted. “It won’t work, Alistair.”
“There’s no reason it should not. You are too young for your affections to be fixed. This infatuation will pass, and indeed, our marriage will probably be better for your experience. First love is like the measles—a hot rash that one is stronger for surviving. You will not find me a bad husband and you will learn to love me well enough.”
“You cannot be certain.”
He gave her a flat look. “Nothing is certain.” He shifted closer. “But I think I have seen somewhat more of the world than you.”
Cornered by the sofa, she could not move away.
Alistair set his hand on her cheek, brushing her lower lip with his thumb. She turned her head away, pressing her lips firmly together.
“As you please,” Alistair said, dropping his hand. “It is too late for you to have him. Go to bed then. You will feel better once you have watered your pillow. I will see you in the morning.”
He was all politeness, escorting her out the door. Sophy did not meet her father’s eye and hurried to the stairs. Jasper was nowhere to be seen.
Upstairs, she sat on the edge of her bed, heedless of the cold. She thought and listened, and thought some more. A biddable girl would gratefully accept what Alistair and her family offered, but that wasn’t how she was made. Maybe it was because she’d been born of unlawful passion, but whatever the reason, Sophy knew she could not subdue her unruly heart.
When the house was quiet, she began to dress. It was difficult in the dark. She had no idea what color stockings she wore. Her dress and petticoat, fastening up the back, probably took her a half hour. She donned a spencer, bonnet, gloves and her sturdiest boots. Rolling up a second dress and a change of underclothes—they would be a mass of creases, but that was a small concern—she tucked them in an empty bandbox. Toothbrush, hair ribbons, nightdress: she stuffed them in the box along with any gewgaws she could sell.
She tiptoed through the house, unbolted the front door, and let herself outside. There was a chance, albeit a slim one, that her golden future was yet possible. But even if it was not, she would not marry Alistair. It was time she made a life of her own.
Dawn was not far away. Tired folk shambled along, heading to the day’s labors. She was barely ahead of the baker’s boys and milkmen, busy already with deliveries.
I will be like them, she thought. If this doesn’t work, I will be like them and they do not look unhappy. She would have liked to say goodbye to Jasper, and to thank Lady Fairchild, but they would not have understood or allowed her to go.
The sun was up when she reached the building with Tom’s offices. She had needed to ask directions numerous times. Though she had driven through the city, she had never walked it before and was more frightened now than when she had left the house. There were so many people, all with very little. Would they make room for her to join their ranks?