by Anne Ashley
"Yes you were...But Clem, let me remind you, was short, slightly on the portly side, and certainly no Adonis, whereas Benjamin Rudgely..."
"Is excessively handsome," Sophia finished for her, for the first time hearing a tiny alarm bell ringing, but steadfastly refusing to heed its warning. "Yes, I had noticed that myself, Robin. I'm not blind. But if you are trying to imply that there is anything improper going on between—"
"I'm not suggesting anything of the sort," Robina hurriedly assured her. "It's just that..." there was more than a flicker of concern in her soft blue eyes "...you have never been one to hide your feelings. Everybody knew how fond you were of your old groom, and no one living in the four Abbey villages thought anything of that friendship. But this is London, Sophia, a veritable hotbed of scandal and malicious gossip. If you display the same affection for this new groom as you did for Clem, then I dread to think of the vicious rumours which might begin to circulate."
Sophia sat silently digesting what Robina had said for a few moments, then, reaching for a sweet almond biscuit, gave a tiny dismissive wave of her hand. Her friend was making far too much of it!
As things turned out, Robina's fears were well-founded. Before too many days had passed, Sophia and her handsome groom had become a regular sight in the park, and gossip and speculation had not been slow to follow. A great many people, of course, saw nothing amiss in a young lady and her groom riding side by side, deep in conversation; while others, most especially those who had attended the Yardley ball the previous month, could not help wondering if there might be some truth in the gossip which had been circulating at the time. After all, Lady Sophia Cleeve had paid precious little attention to any gentleman of the Ton since her arrival in town, and yet here she was quite brazenly displaying the keenest interest in a lowly groom!
Sophia remained oblivious to the many surreptitious winks and malicious whispers exchanged behind her back. She was conscious only of the fact that London had become excessively crowded, its population seeming to have doubled overnight. No matter what time she chose to take her daily ride, it was impossible to find a street that was not teeming with traffic, or a spot in the park that was not peppered with gossiping couples, a circumstance that prompted her to complain bitterly to her parents at the breakfast table one morning, a little over a week after Marcus's departure from town.
The Countess cast her daughter an understanding smile. "I'm afraid, my dear, you must grow accustomed to it. The Season has begun, and the majority will remain until its conclusion."
"I realise that, Mama, but it seems to me that everyone has descended on the capital during the past few days." She was struck by a wicked possibility. "In fact, to be precise, the influx has occurred since Marcus's departure. Perhaps we ought to summon him back, and see if his presence cannot induce some to return to their estates."
His lordship, absently browsing through the pile of correspondence by his plate, found himself quite unable to suppress a chuckle at this impish sally. "Anyone listening to you, my girl, might be forgiven for supposing that you hold your brother in very low esteem, whereas in fact the opposite is—"
He broke off, his face turning such a sickly hue that the Countess was prompted to ask if he were feeling quite the thing.
"W-what...?" He gazed wide-eyed across the table at her, just as though she were a complete stranger. Then he seemed to collect himself and hurriedly rose to his feet, gathering together all his correspondence as he did so. "I'm fine, dear... Yes, I'm fine. If you'll excuse me, I shall finish reading these in the library."
"I do hope he hasn't received bad news," Sophia remarked the instant he had left them.
"Something certainly seems to have disturbed him," the Countess was forced to concede, but flatly refused to speculate on what might have caused her husband's momentary distress, and promptly changed the subject by voicing the hope that her daughter's letter did not contain bad tidings.
"Quite the contrary," Sophia assured her. "It's from Olivia Roade Burton. I wrote to her last week, but it would appear she hasn't received my letter as yet, for she writes that she considers me the biggest beast in nature for having forgotten her so quickly."
"That young lady," her ladyship responded, her tone suddenly clipped, "has no right to criticise anyone, not after the way she behaved."
Sophia could not help smiling at this rare display of staunch disapproval on her mother's part. "I am well aware that you do not think too highly of Olivia, Mama. Perhaps she is a trifle selfish and spoiled. But then so am I."
"Very true, my dear," her ladyship agreed, not attempting to spare her daughter's feelings. "I am persuaded, however, that you would never play fast and loose with a gentleman's feelings by promising to marry him in one breath, then changing your mind in the next, And before you come to Miss Roade Burton's defence," she went on, interrupting her daughter's attempt to do just that, "I shall tell you plainly that I never for one moment believed that farrago of nonsense dear Lord Ravensden put about, suggesting that they had never been officially engaged and that the announcement which appeared in the newspaper had been a dreadful mistake."
What her mother had said happened to be no less than the truth, and Sophia felt it would be quite useless attempting to show her friend Olivia in a more favourable light by suggesting that the events which had taken place several months before had been quite otherwise. So she merely said, "A gentleman to the last, then, Mama! That is perhaps why you like Lord Ravensden so much, and why you were so very glad when he decided to marry Beatrice. You have always much preferred Beatrice to her sister... Come, confess it!"
The Countess, truthful to the last, never attempted a denial. "And I, for one, feel that Ravensden had a lucky escape when Olivia took it into her head to jilt him."
"You are perfectly right," Sophia agreed. "I might not approve Olivia's methods, but the outcome of her actions was to the benefit of all concerned. Furthermore," she added, with a little knowing smile, "I do not truly believe you blame Olivia for refusing to marry a man who did not love her."
"Perhaps not, dear," her ladyship answered, but flatly refused to concede more than this, and changed the subject by asking if the letter contained any interesting gossip.
"Not very much, no." Sophia quickly scanned the single sheet. "She mentions that the Abbey villages seem deserted. Which is hardly surprising since I swear that most of the inhabitants have descended on the capital. I'm certain I spied Beatrice herself driving out with Ravensden yesterday, and I feel sure I saw Lord Isham, looking as grim as a thundercloud, riding in the park the other day, though I cannot say that I noticed whether or not India was with him. And, of course, you know yourself that the Percevals have at last arrived in town."
"Yes, I did." Her ladyship found herself quite unable to suppress a smile. "From what dear Hugo was saying the other day, it would seem his mama is not best pleased with me for holding your ball before she and Hester had arrived in town. He, the darling boy, fully understood my reasons for having done so. With the hectic social calendar it would have been quite hopeless trying to squeeze in our little event once the Season had officially got under way. Which reminds me," she went on, after fortifying herself from the contents of her coffee cup. "You haven't forgotten that dear Hugo is to escort us to Lady Sefton's soiree next week?"
"No, I hadn't forgotten," Sophia assured her, smiling at her mother's habit of always adding a mild endearment when mentioning the name of someone she particularly liked.
"I cannot help wondering, Mama," an imp of mischief prompted her to add, "why you have never attempted to promote a match between dear Hugo and myself, as you quite evidently hold him in such high esteem."
Her ladyship's eyes began to twinkle. "It is for precisely that reason that I have never done so, child. I should never dream of foisting such a mischievous little minx on the dear boy. You would never give him a moment's peace, and he is far too much of a gentleman to deal with you as you so frequently deserve."
Sop
hia could not help laughing at this candid, though unflattering, assessment of her character. "Yes, you may possibly be right. Hugo's brother would be a far better choice."
"On the contrary, he most certainly would not!" Her ladyship countered, shuddering at the mere thought. "Lowell's as harum-scarum as you are, besides being far, far too young. Oh, no, my dear. You must marry a man whose views you respect and whose decisions you'll accept without question. And I assure you that if and when I meet such a person, I shall do everything within my power to promote a match between you."
Sophia fixed her attention on an imaginary spot on the opposite wall as, unbidden, a vision of a tall man with long golden-brown hair and intelligent blue eyes sprang before her mind's eye. Ben had never been slow to issue a mild reproof if she ever uttered something unladylike whenever they had ridden out together, and not once had she come remotely close to bridling at his mild strictures. How very strange that was!
Suddenly aware that her mother was regarding her closely, she hurriedly rose to her feet. "Well, no doubt, Mama, I should be happy to marry such a man, if ever we should meet. In the meantime, I mustn't delay in replying to Olivia's letter."
Completely forgetting that her father had sought solace in the library, she entered the room to discover him standing at the window. Staring out at the square, his shoulders stooped, his expression grave, he looked for the first time, Sophia thought, very much the elderly gentleman.
He appeared lost in his own private gloom, oblivious to her presence, and she was just debating whether to slip quietly away when he suddenly demanded to know what she wanted.
"I'm sorry I disturbed you, Papa." Having rarely been on the receiving end of his sharp tongue, she was startled by his brusque tone, but didn't allow it to upset her. Anyone could tell just by looking at his haggard features that he was deeply upset over something. "I had forgotten that you were in here. I wished to write a letter, but I can come back later."
"There's no need." He merely sounded weary now, and the customary spring was singularly lacking from his step, too, as he moved across to the desk to pick up a single sheet of paper and thrust it into his pocket. "I shall be going out for a short while, so you may stay to write your letter."
Concerned, Sophia moved to one side to allow him to pass and thought how grey he looked, the lines in his face seeming far more pronounced. She recalled that several years ago, when he had learned that one of his sailing vessels had sunk during the passage home from India, his face had worn just such a grave expression for several weeks. It was not the loss of a fine ship or its cargo which had upset him so much, but the loss of life, and she could not help wondering if just such a catastrophe had occurred again.
Praying that this was not the case, she seated herself at his desk and reached into the top left-hand drawer for a sheet of paper, dislodging the lid of a, small box as she did so. In the normal course of events she would merely have replaced the lid, but what she saw so captured her attention that she took out the box to study its contents more closely.
She vaguely recalled that Cardew had placed a package with the letters by her father's plate at the breakfast table earlier, and could not help wondering if this was what the package had contained, for she felt certain that she had never seen this pretty box before, nor its strange contents. The lock of silky black hair might well have been her father's, for Sophia was well aware that his lordship's locks had been as dusky as hers in his youth. There was not the slightest possibility, however, that the tiny ring lying beside the silken strands had ever been worn on his hand. Its setting was delicate, undoubtedly old, and had been fashioned for a finger as slender as her own.
Sophia shook her head in wonder, unable to comprehend why anyone should send such things to her father, for they were surely someone's treasured mementoes...Love tokens, perhaps...
Chapter Eight
The Earl of Yardley left London by hired carriage early the following morning, the twenty-second of April, without informing any member of his household, not even the Countess, where he was bound, or the reason behind his sudden departure. It so happened that he remained away from town one night only and appeared, if anything, more perturbed than ever on his return.
Sophia grew increasingly concerned, for as the days passed her father seemed to withdraw more and more within himself. He rarely attempted to indulge in any form of conversation when they did happen to meet, and remained for the most part alone in his library, with the door firmly locked against intruders.
As he never once attempted to offer any kind of explanation for his continuing depressed state of mind, and both Sophia and her mother were disinclined to pry, the reason behind the drastic change in him remained a complete mystery until Sophia received information from a most unexpected quarter which, although offering no explanation regarding his present mental state, at least disclosed his lordship's whereabouts during his brief absence from town.
Sitting in the sunny front parlour with her mother in readiness to receive morning callers, Sophia was surprised to see her father enter the room with a letter in his hand.
"Cardew inadvertently placed this among my correspondence," he explained, handing her the missive, before unexpectedly seating himself on one of the spindle-legged chairs.
His actions ignited a spark of hope in Sophia, for although he didn't attempt to indulge in small talk, at least he seemed inclined to bear her and her mother company for a while, something which he had certainly avoided doing in recent days. She glanced briefly at her mother, sitting on the sofa beside her, quietly plying her needle. The Countess didn't attempt to make conversation either. So, following this example, Sophia remained silent, and turned her attention to the letter.
She recognised the handwriting at once, and knew even before she broke the seal precisely who had written. After quickly digesting its contents, her eyes became riveted to the hurriedly scrawled postscript, where her friend Olivia clearly stated that she had been astounded the previous week to see the Earl on horseback riding in the direction of Steep wood Abbey.
"Good heavens, Papa!" Sophia exclaimed, not thinking twice about voicing her own astonishment. "What on earth prompted you to return to Jaffrey House last week?"
She realised her mistake the instant she had spoken. The Earl, his complexion acquiring an alarming purple hue, rose so abruptly that he almost sent his chair toppling to the floor. "Where I go, and what I do, is purely my affair, Sophia!" he ground out. "You would do better to concentrate on finding yourself a suitable husband, instead of interfering in matters that are none of your concern!"
Masterfully concealing her distress at what she considered an unwarranted outburst, the Countess reached across the sofa to grasp her daughter's hand the instant her husband had stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him with quite unnecessary violence. "There, there, child," she soothed. "Do not look so injured. Your father is not himself, otherwise he would never have spoken to you in such a fashion."
Sophia was not a female easily brought to tears, and she wasn't remotely close to weeping now, but she couldn't disguise her distress as she said, "I know, Mama." Her faint sigh was clearly audible too. "It would be easier to bear if I had some idea what was causing Papa such concern. At first I thought he might have received some tragic news about one of his sailing vessels, but I don't imagine for a moment that that can be the reason for his deep depression, otherwise I'm certain he would have confided in us by now."
Her ladyship nodded her head in agreement, at a complete loss herself to understand what had wrought this drastic change in her husband. "I'm afraid, my dear, that your father has always been a man to keep his own counsel over many things. He is not a man, however, to brood unnecessarily, so I'm afraid that until such time that he overcomes his present melancholy state of mind, or perhaps takes us into his confidence, we must bear with his moods as best we can."
Sighing again, Sophia reluctantly agreed. "I sincerely trust, though, Mama, that we are not forced to be
ar with this situation for too much longer. The atmosphere in this house is becoming daily more strained. Why, even poor Cardew has taken to tiptoeing past the library door whenever he crosses the hall."
The butler, not noticeably tiptoeing, entered the room just then to announce the arrival of the first callers to the house that day, and a moment later Lady Elizabeth Perceval, accompanied by her daughter, came tripping lightly into the room.
Sophia, for some reason which escaped her completely, was growing increasingly more sensitive to the moods of others these days, and sensed at once that something was troubling her friend. So, as soon as the Countess had engaged Lady Elizabeth in conversation, she drew her friend over to the window embrasure, asking outright what was wrong.
Robina couldn't forbear a smile. "I didn't realise I was quite so transparent." The brief attempt at a lighter mood soon over, she went on to divulge, "There's no easy way of telling you this, Sophia, and I know you're not going to like it one little bit, but I think you ought to be aware of what a few very nasty-minded people are saying about you...about you and your new groom, that is."
Robina was not slow to notice the slender body, clad in the pretty pale green morning dress, stiffen slightly, but didn't allow this to deter her from relating what she felt she must. "Mother and I attended a small and rather informal party last night at the house of Lord Exmouth. He and his mother arrived in town only last week, and the Dowager, for some reason, appears to have taken quite a liking to me. She's a charming lady," Robina continued, digressing slightly, "certainly something of a character, full of life and not afraid to speak her mind, but she isn't in the least spiteful, and it was she who first mentioned this nasty rumour concerning you."
"And what precisely did Lady Exmouth tell you?" Sophia prompted in an undertone, after casting her eyes briefly in her mother's direction.