Never Courted, Suddenly Wed

by Christi Caldwell

  Sophie glanced over at the trio on the steps.

  Emmaline followed her gaze. “Come, we’ll speak inside.”

  Again, the imposition she posed registered. She pulled back. “I shouldn’t have come. You’ve just had the babe. You should…”

  Her friend shot her a dark look. “Don’t be daft, Sophie. You are my dearest friend in the world. Is your opinion of me really so low?”

  Sophie shook her head. “No. It isn’t that. It’s just,” she held her hands up. “I’ve intruded.”

  “You are daft. I’ve been away in the country for months. Drake forbade me from doing nearly all physical activity.” A blush stained her friend’s cheeks, and Sophie now having known Christopher’s touch, understood the subtle meaning to Emmaline’s words. “I’ve missed your company.”

  Sophie swallowed. “Oh, Em. I’ve missed you so.”

  They reached the front of the house.

  She curtsied to the duke and duchess. “Your Grace, please forgive me for intruding. Lord Drake,” she turned to Emmaline’s husband, “my apologies. Though, please allow me to congratulate you on the birth of your daughter.”

  “You’re always welcome to visit,” Lord Drake said.

  A generous smile formed on the Duchess’ lips. “Hello, Sophie. I understand congratulations are in order.” Her brow wrinkled. “Where is Christopher?”

  Sophie’s heart contracted. Then the blasted tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them back. She’d thought she didn’t have any more to shed for her husband.

  The gentlemen were gracious enough to glance away from her tell-tale misery, but not before Sophie detected a flicker of guilt in the duke’s eyes.

  “Come,” Emmaline murmured. Taking Sophie by the elbow, she guided her inside. “We must talk. And you must meet my sweet Regan.”

  The enormity of her selfishness hit Sophie all at once. “Forgive me. I should have asked after her. I…I…” Her words tapered off.

  Emmaline gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Don’t be silly. I’m certain Waxham has done something absolutely horrid.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Emmaline stole a sideways glance at Sophie. “You forget. I had my heart broken once, as well.”

  Yes, she had. Betrothed as children, Lord Drake had taken great pains to avoid Emmaline over the years. There’s had been a turbulent courtship.

  “Would you like to visit the nursery? If you’re too tired from your travels…”

  Sophie expected she should be exhausted, but whenever she closed her eyes, Christopher’s pleading face surfaced and robbed her of rest. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than meet Regan.”

  “Are you certain?”

  At the thought of seeing Em’s new daughter, Sophie felt the first stirrings of something other than grief. “Absolutely,” Sophie assured her.

  They made their way abovestairs, to the main living quarters, and down the hall to the nursery.

  Em opened the door.

  “Hullo, Prudence.”

  A stunning woman with dark brown hair, and a smattering of freckles along her high-cheekbones stood with a tiny bundle in her arms. “Hello, my lady. She’s just asleep.”

  Emmaline waved her hand. “How many times must I insist that you call me Emmaline?”

  Color suffused the woman’s cheeks. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Bah, I’m not one for proper. Isn’t that right, Sophie?”

  Sophie managed a smile. “Neither of us are, Em.”

  “Forgive me,” Em said. “Allow me to introduce Regan’s nursemaid, Prudence. Prudence, this is my dearest friend, Lady Waxham.”

  Sophie hugged her arms at the chest, a meager attempt to protect herself from the pain of that reminder. “Please, just Sophie.” The reminder that she would forever be tied to Christopher, a man in love with another woman, a man who’d wed her for her fortune made her heart drop.

  Prudence rushed forward with the silent babe, and handed her over to Emmaline.

  Emmaline’s entire face lit like she’d been bathed in a summer sun. “Sweet baby,” she cooed, rocking Regan in her arms.

  For one ugly, awful moment, envy gripped Sophie in an unrelenting hold. Her friend had a husband who loved her and a beautiful baby. What did Sophie possess? Nothing more than a sham of a marriage.

  Emmaline pat Regan on her back. “That will be all for now, Prudence.”

  The nursemaid dipped a curtsy. “Very well, my lady.”

  Emmaline didn’t speak again until Prudence had gone.

  “Now tell me everything, Sophie.”

  A porcelain doll with golden curls and a white dress trimmed in pink rosettes caught Sophie’s notice. She wandered over to the child’s toy and picked it up from the bureau, studying the fragile doll. It was hard to remember a time when her life had been so blissfully uncomplicated. Sophie set the doll down. “I fell in love with him, Em.”

  Emmaline rushed over. “Oh, Sophie that is wonderful.” Lines creased her brow. “Or it should be wonderful. What happened?”

  Sophie hesitated and told her friend nearly everything. She went all the way back to the night of Lord Thomas’s masquerade and her mystery Odysseus. The only part she took care to leave unmentioned was the Duke of Mallen’s role in helping Christopher. She didn’t want to create tension between brother and sister and Sophie knew without a doubt that Emmaline would have words for the duke if she learned the truth.

  Nor did Sophie mention what Christopher had shared with her about his difficulty reading. For all the pain he’d brought her, she still would never bring herself to break that confidence. Whenever she closed her eyes, she still saw the shame, exposed in every tortured line of his face. She tamped down all sympathy for her husband.

  “He married me for my dowry, Em.” Sophie hardly recognized that bitter voice as her own. She didn’t like what she’d become.

  “Your dowry?”

  “It would seem I was worth a fortune. One-hundred thousand pounds to be precise,” she finished under her breath.

  Emmaline choked. “Did you say….?”

  Sophie nodded. “Imagine how vastly different my Seasons would have been had gentlemen been aware of my dowry.”

  “You wouldn’t have wanted that, Sophie. You deserved more.”

  Except, in the end, that was all Sophie had ended up with—a husband who’d wed her for her fortune.

  “It’s as you said when you severed your betrothal to Lord Drake, at least I would have no grand illusions as to their motives.” And she never would have been fool enough to believe that Christopher loved her.

  She looked away at the pity in Emmaline’s chocolate brown eyes. Em continued to rock baby Regan back and forth in her arms. “Is it…possible, that he did in fact come to love you? After all, there is no reason for him to lie. Not any longer. If his ultimate goal was your dowry, then he is already in possession of that.”

  Faint stirrings of hope whirred in her heart. She’d considered that same thing on the long carriage ride to Meadowbrook Estate.

  Regan let out a single, mewling cry, diverting Emmaline’s attention back to the baby. “Would you like to hold her?”

  Before she could respond, her friend came over and handed the baby over.

  With a woman’s intuition, Sophie cradled the baby close to her heart. The heart she’d thought so thoroughly shattered, warmed as Regan’s vacant eyes sought out hers. “Oh, Em,” she breathed. “She’s utterly perfect.”

  She gazed at the downy-haired babe, and an age-old yearning stirred within her for a child of her own. In her imaginings the babe would possess Christopher’s dark locks, and hazel eyes. Tears clogged her throat.

  “You can stay as long as you desire, Sophie but surely you’ve considered that you must eventually reconcile with, Waxham. He is your husband.”

  A knock sounded on the door, saving Sophie from answering. “My lady, Cook has a question about the evening menu.”

  “I’ll be along in a moment
.” She looked to Sophie. “Will you stay with her until I return? I can send along Prudence.”

  “We’ll be fine, won’t we?” Sophie cooed to Regan.

  Emmaline sailed from the room, her garnet skirts swirling about her feet.

  “It seems it is just you and I, little angel.” Regan’s wide-eyed, glassy stare wandered until it settled on Sophie’s face. “What beautiful blue eyes you have, sweet.”

  The babe began to fuss, a little cry spilled from her pink lips. “Oh no, sweet. No need to cry,” she soothed. Her movement seemed to calm Regan, for the babe’s eyes grew heavy; her lids drifted closed, and then opened. “You will not miss anything, angel. I promise. Rest.”

  The quiet, click of the door filled the now silent room, followed by the soft thread of footsteps, which seemed to jolt Regan. The baby let out another sputtering cry. Sophie’s gaze remained fixed on the precious bundle in her arms. “Shh, sweet,” Sophie whispered. “I have her, Prudence,” she assured the nursemaid. “I…” She glanced up and her voice trailed off as she faced the Duke of Mallen. “Your Grace.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “Miss W…Lady Waxham.”

  Sophie chewed at her lower lip, careful to avoid the duke’s eyes. Despite his lofty title, there had been a time when she’d been so at ease in his presence. Now, humiliation burned strong at the mere sight of him. He served as a reminder of Christopher’s indifference, and the lengths both gentlemen had gone to circumvent a marriage between Sophie and Christopher.

  “You left Waxham,” he said, with bluntness that made her flinch.

  She rocked Regan back and forth until her eyes again closed.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  Sophie raised a brow. “Just one?”

  He walked over, and came to a stop in front of her. “For whatever value it has, I told him it was a deplorable idea.”

  “There is no value in that,” she said. “Tell me, Your Grace. Did you truly find me so unacceptable that you sought to deceive me or were your actions motivated by boredom?”

  Color crept up his neck. “It would cause me much pain if you truly believed that, my lady.”

  The rancorous laugh that burst from her lips caused Regan to stir. Sophie tamped down her ill-amusement. As a duke, he needn’t answer to anyone. Let alone, her, the Incorrigible Lady Waxham. Yet Sophie said, “Tell me what I should believe?”

  He made an impatient sound. “When Waxham first came to me, I thought him mad for having concocted such a plan.”

  “And yet, you still agreed to help him.”

  His square jaw hardened. “I don’t know how much Waxham has shared with you. He didn’t have a pleasant childhood. His father found fault with nearly everything he did. When Waxham struggled in his studies, the marquess beat him. I learned as much at Eton. I began to…assist Waxham with his studies.” He trained an unrelenting, ducal stare on Sophie. “I make no apologies for having helped him through his schooling.”

  Sophie hugged Regan close, trying to imagine what manner of parent could ever inflict pain upon their child. Her heart clenched at the thought of a young Christopher, struggling to read and being met with his father’s scorn and physical abuse.

  “I’ve always tried to protect him, my lady, and I will not apologize for that, either. I’m sorry you were hurt, but my motives were good. I believed Waxham in fact cared for you, and I could…encourage him to court you.” His gaze wandered to the window. “What I failed to consider was that I would come to care for you.”

  “As Emmaline’s brother…”

  “No,” he said, his tone sharp. “My feelings derived not from your relationship with my sister…but from the woman I came to know.”

  Sophie’s head snapped up.

  The duke walked over to the window, and he made a show of looking down into the grounds below. “I’m still sickened by my greed. I’d made a silent pledge to help Christopher make a match with you, and even knowing he cared, mayhap even loved you, I courted you with the most selfish of intentions.”

  With the tip of her tongue, Sophie traced the seam of her lips. “I...I would have made you a terrible wife. Lady Ackerly is correct, I really am quite incorrigible. I say all the wrong things. I have a disastrous tendency to fall down, I—”

  The duke laughed. “There is no need to disparage yourself on my behalf. You won’t convince me of your unsuitability. And Lady Ackerly can go hang.” He turned back to face her. “He loves you, you know.”

  Yes, Christopher had said as much. She placed a soft kiss upon the top of Regan’s sleeping head. “He merely feels a sense of guilt.”

  Mallen snorted. “Really, my lady. I expected you knew him a good deal better than that. Christopher cannot be forced to do anything. He was willing to forsake his family’s holdings, even his own respectability to avoid being turned into a fortune-hunter.” And if Christopher were to be believed, he’d also braved his father’s threat of Bedlam. “He loves you.” He glanced back out the window.

  “How do you know?” The question tumbled from her lips, exposing the hope and dream in her heart.

  A slight smile pulled at his lips. “How do I know?”

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said, remembering he couldn’t see her.

  “Because it looks as though he’s been dragged through hell without his valet.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “What?”

  Mallen nodded toward the window. “Your husband has arrived, my lady.”

  Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

  Lady Ackerly has it on good authority that the earl of W returned to London without the countess of W to attend very important matters of business. No one, however, can speak to the particulars of the earl’s affairs.

  ~26~

  With his free hand, Christopher pounded on the front door of Meadowbrook Estate, battling back impatience. But after two days with little sleep, a body aching from arduous travel, and fear for Sophie who’d set out on her own, he’d run remarkably short of the emotion.

  The door opened with such alacrity, Christopher stumbled forward.

  A younger man, missing an arm, glared down at him. “May I help you?”

  So this surly fellow was Lord Drake’s butler. Somehow, Christopher was not shocked by the unconventional servant.

  He held out a card. “I’d like to see Lord Drake.”

  The man studied his outstretched hand and at last, took the card. He studied it. A flicker of something registered in his eyes, but then was quickly gone.

  “That will be all, Jones.”

  Christopher glanced over the butler’s shoulder at Lord Drake’s frowning visage. “Drake,” he said.

  Drake passed a hard stare over him. “You look like hell, Waxham.”

  He didn’t wait to be admitted, storming past the tall war hero. “I’m looking for my wife. Is she here?”

  The other man must have heard the desperate edge underlining Christopher’s words.

  Christopher expected a mocking response to his admission.

  “She is.”

  A shocked gasp met Drake’s admission. “Drake!”

  Christopher looked up the stairs to where Emmaline stood, arms akimbo, outrage in her expressive, brown eyes. His gaze moved between the husband and wife. Christopher held his hands out in a desperate entreaty. “I miss my wife, my lady.”

  Drake and Emmaline exchanged a look. She sighed. “Sophie is here.”

  He staggered under the weight of relief.

  Drake gripped him by the arm. “Come with me.”

  Christopher dug his heels in. “I need to see her.”

  “You will,” Drake assured him.

  Christopher allowed Drake to guide him abovestairs. They paused alongside Emmaline, and Christopher sketched a bow. “My lady.”

  Emmaline favored him with a gentle smile. “There is no need for such formality, Chris…” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that…?” Her words died on a flush of embarrassment as she seemed to realize the smell of sweat and horse
flesh clung to Christopher. “Drake, why don’t you show him to the Blue Chamber, this way Lord Waxham can…can…” She waved her hand.

  “I need to see Sophie,” he murmured.

  “You need a bath,” Drake muttered.

  They reached the Blue Chamber and Drake ushered him inside. He turned to leave.

  “How is she?” Christopher called, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Drake paused. “Sad.”

  His stomach tightened. Until the day he died, he would forever remember the lines of grief etched in Sophie’s heart-shaped face. He stared sightless at the blue floral wallpaper. He’d journeyed for two days, searching for the words to convince her that she’d not been wrong in trusting her heart to him.

  He set his bundle down on a nearby bureau.

  “As you know, my own mistakes nearly cost me Emmaline’s heart.”

  Still, one year later, that stiff pronouncement spoken by Drake served as testament to the other man’s resentment and jealousy.

  Christopher tried to imagine how it would have felt to lose Sophie, only to watch her be courted by another man. His hands curled into tight fists at his side. “I’m sorry for having courted Emmaline.”

  Drake waved him off, clearly a more gracious man than Christopher. “In time, Sophie will forgive you.”

  “You sound so very certain,” he said with a trace of bitterness. It was so very easy for the other man whose life had sorted itself out to speak so confidently about Christopher’s marriage.

  “Do you love her?”

  His throat worked convulsively. “I do.”

  “Then she’ll forgive you.” Several servants appeared with a tub. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Drake?”

  The other man paused at the door.

  “Thank you.”

  Drake nodded, and closed the door behind him.

  ***

  Sophie’s heart thundered and she looked out the window for a sight of Christopher.

  “I believe he’s been granted entrance,” the duke said, leaning over her shoulder to peer outside.

  Emmaline raced into the room. “He’s here,” she panted, breathless from her exertions. “Oh,” she drew to a sudden halt at the sight of her brother. “You’re spending time in the nursery?” Surprise laced her words.