by Anne Ashley
"Ben, what's wrong?" Her evident anxiety was almost more than he could bear. "Don't you wish to marry me?"
"More than you realise, my darling, but we'll leave that for the moment. Let us discuss instead just how good a wife you'd make for a hardworking groom."
Planting his feet firmly apart, he folded his arms across his chest, and looked her over, just as though she were some prize filly up for sale at Tattersall's. "You're pleasing on the eye, and there's no mistaking that air of breeding. But a sensible man wouldn't purchase a thoroughbred to pull a plough."
He could easily detect the first stirring of her temper, even before she advised him in no uncertain terms to keep a civil tongue in his head.
"I doubt you can cook," he continued, just as though she had not spoken, "and I doubt you've ever held so much as a broom in your hand, either. I would be astonished if you've ever attempted to starch a cravat, or wash an item of clothing, come to that. All in all you'd be of precious little use to a poor man, my darling, and I think any would do well to consider very carefully before contemplating taking you to wife."
To Sophia the implication seemed perfectly plain: the man whom she had just discovered that she loved, the man for whom she would quite happily have sacrificed everything in order to be with, was himself having second thoughts about her!
She felt bitterly hurt, especially after the loving exchange which had taken place between them only a short time before, and thoroughly humiliated by the catalogue of what he evidently perceived as her shortcomings. She had never considered herself to be a vindictive person, but she found she was totally unable to suppress the overwhelming need to hurt and humiliate him in return.
Tapping into that deep well of feminine pride, she rose from the bed and faced him squarely. "I think, all things considered, we would both do well to think long and hard before making a decision which in the future we might come to regret," she announced, sounding every inch the haughty aristocrat. "You most especially, because it must be perfectly plain that you cannot possibly continue as my groom, not after what has taken place between us."
"I could not agree more," he obligingly concurred. "Furthermore, I have no intention of spending the night with you in this cottage, but shall relieve you of one of your blankets and await the arrival of dawn on the porch." And so saying, he did no more than whisk one of the covers off the bed and move over to the door, remaining only to murmur what sounded suspiciously like, "Goodnight, Duchess."
Several times before she eventually fell asleep Sophia was on the point of calling out to him to come back inside and spend the night on the settle before the fire, but stubborn pride prevented her. Long before she awoke to find bright sunlight filtering through the cottage window, she had come to regret hasty words spoken in anger, and was determined to persuade him to stay, certain that they could find some way out of their difficulties. But it was already too late. Although she wasn't to know it as she threw off the covers and hurriedly scrambled into her crumpled gown, Benjamin Rudgely was already heading off down the road on a borrowed mount and out of her life for ever.
Chapter Twelve
"Flagrant ingratitude!" One or two of the breakfast dishes came perilously close to ending on the floor as the Earl of Yardley gave vent to his annoyance by bringing the flat of his hand down rather hard on the table. "What else can you call it, pray? I knew at the time I was being less than sensible to consider taking the fellow on without so much as a reference, but, kind-hearted fool that I am, I did so against my better judgement. And how does the rogue repay my generosity?" he demanded of neither of his listeners in particular. "I'll tell you how—by taking himself off without so much as a by your leave, and leaving us short-handed! Ungrateful scoundrel!"
The Countess, having listened with a sympathetic ear to her husband's justifiable grievances against the errant groom, Benjamin Rudgely, could not forbear a smile. It was a pleasure to have her husband's company at breakfast again, even if he did on this particular occasion happen to be bemoaning life's iniquities. At least, she reminded herself, these instances of ill-humour were becoming far less frequent of late, and although she could hardly say that he was anywhere near back to his normally even-tempered self quite yet, there had been a noticeable improvement in his attitude during the past few days.
"His actions might have been, shall we say, a trifle thoughtless, dear, but I think it's unjust to brand him a scoundrel," she pointed out, fair-minded as always. "It was inconsiderate of Master Rudgely, I'll own, not to take the trouble to work his notice, but at least he did not help himself to the family's silver, or anyone else's as far as we're aware, before he disappeared."
"True enough," his lordship conceded, his frown of disapproval marginally fading. "But it's still deuced odd." His eyes moved from his wife to the third occupant of the table. "And you can shed no more light on the matter, Sophia?"
"She's already told us all she can, dear," her ladyship put in, instantly coming to her daughter's aid. "If anyone should bemoan the disappearance of Benjamin Rudgely, then it is our daughter." She cast a sympathetic smile across the table. "You had grown fond of him, hadn't you dear?"
"Very," Sophia responded, marvelling at her continuing self-control and—yes—feeling more than just a little proud of herself too.
Not once since she had woken that morning to discover not Ben sitting on the veranda outside the cottage, but Lord Nicholas Risely and the wife of the innkeeper whose hostelry they had patronised briefly the previous afternoon, had she betrayed to anyone the searing heartache which never left her for a moment. She recalled clearly that Ben had always considered ladies of her class who indulged in forceful displays of emotion in public faintly vulgar. She had always listened with interest to his opinions and, quite surprisingly, had very nearly always agreed with his point of view.
She was fast coming to accept too, painfully hard though it was, that everything he had said during the unforgettable night spent in that cottage just one short week ago, one week which seemed more like a year, had been no less than the truth. Only in fairy tales did princesses marry frogs. Only foolish childish fantasies could permit ladies of quality to marry their grooms and live happily ever after. Oh, yes, he had been painfully all too right, she reminded herself silently. She could only hope that one day she might be granted the opportunity to tell him so—tell him that although she loved him still, and perhaps always would, a match between them could never have taken place.
"I do not believe there is anything I can add to what I've already told you," Sophia confirmed, abruptly abandoning her reverie when she became aware of two pairs of eyes firmly turned in her direction. "I've already explained the reason why I decided to take Ben with me. Although," she amended "to be perfectly honest with you, I do believe it was Lord Nicholas's suggestion. When his aunt's carriage failed to turn up, he felt I couldn't possibly accompany him about town without even a groom to lend me countenance."
His lordship tutted. "Lady Tabatha Risely always was an idiotish female. Fancy forgetting to send the carriage for one of her guests when she'd promised faithfully to do so!"
"Perhaps there is some excuse," his wife pointed out. "After all, she has turned seventy, dear."
His lordship's grey brows rose sharply. "Well? And what of it? So have I turned seventy, and there's nothing wrong with my memory."
"No, dear," the Countess thankfully agreed. "But you are rather exceptional. And as you've already remarked, Lady Tabatha has always had a tendency to be—er—slightly scatty. Thank heavens it doesn't run in the family! Lord Nicholas, the dear boy, showed great presence of mind insisting on taking our groom along, although I could have wished he had not taken it into his head to travel the whole distance to his aunt's house in an open carriage when he failed to catch up with his friends."
"No, perhaps that wasn't the wisest course of action," Sophia was forced to concede, "but as I've already explained, Mama, by the time we'd stopped at that inn to change horses, it would have taken
us just as much time to return here to collect the travelling-carriage as it would to travel on to Lady Tabatha's home."
Sophia had considered the explanation a reasonable one, and both her parents seemed to have accepted it as such. "I didn't realise that his lordship hadn't intended staying the night at his aunt's home, but had arranged to stay with his friend Toby Alderman who resides nearby," she went on to explain, remembering clearly what Lord Nicholas had advised her to say in the event her parents should ever enquire further.
Somehow her numbed brain had managed to assimilate everything he had said to her during the short journey back to town in Toby Alderman's carriage, with the landlady of that small inn acting as chaperon. Their return to town could not have appeared more proper, and he had had every intention of its remaining so by the wonderful tale he had concocted.
Sophia had accepted his suggestion at the time without question, Ben's unexpected disappearance having left her so numbed that she had been in no fit state to do otherwise. It was only during the past day or so that she had begun to wonder why Lord Nicholas had been so set against her offering the true account of what had taken place. After all, nothing very improper had occurred. Ben had spent the entire night out on the veranda. Nevertheless she had given her word to Nicholas, and she had no intention of breaking it now.
"When his lordship suggested that he take Ben along with him to spend the night at the Aldermans' place, I never thought anything of it. As you remarked yourself, Mama, Lady Tabatha's house isn't large, and she really didn't want to be troubled with the added burden of having to cater for unnecessary servants. Of course it came as a shock when I discovered Ben had taken himself off without telling a soul where he was bound.''
"Yes, I'm sure it must have, dear. Most odd of him!" Her ladyship, looking decidedly thoughtful, took a moment to finish the contents of her cup before enquiring, "I do not suppose Lord Nicholas has managed to discover anything further?"
"Not as far as I am aware, Mama. He knows that part of the country very well, and has promised to make enquiries. As you know, the whole town is now talking of his brother's return, and I believe Lord Nicholas has gone into Hampshire to spend a few days with the Duke at Sharnbrook. I'll see him when he returns to town, and find out if he's discovered anything further then."
"It's a great pity young Rudgely did take it into his head to leave us," his lordship unexpectedly remarked. "I wish now I'd taken the trouble to get to know him a little. Apart from passing the time of day on one or two occasions, I don't believe we exchanged more than half a dozen words during the whole time he was here. Trapp came to see me the other morning," he went on to divulge. "Very concerned he was that the lad hadn't even bothered to return to collect his few belongings."
Dry-eyed and remaining remarkably composed, Sophia looked directly at the Earl. "I must admit, Papa, that that concerns me too. I'm not suggesting for a moment that if Ben did return we ought to take him back." That she knew would be just too much for her to bear. "But I should like to set my mind at rest and be sure that nothing dreadful has happened to him."
"Very well, child," his lordship responded gently, betraying once again that he was making a steady recovery from whatever it was that had upset him so much. "If young Risely is unable to discover anything, I'll perhaps take a little stroll along to Bow Street." He glanced up as the door unexpectedly opened. "Yes, what is it, Cardew?"
The butler came forward bearing a single letter on a silver tray. "Delivered by hand, my lord, a few minutes ago. The messenger is at this present moment happily refreshing himself in the kitchen, awaiting any response."
His lordship's grey brows rose as he broke the impressive seal. "Great heavens!" he exclaimed, after digesting the contents of the brief missive. "What do you make of that, m'dear?"
Her ladyship cast her eyes over the single sheet written in a bold, elegant hand. "Perfectly clear," she answered, betraying none of the evident shock her husband was experiencing. "His grace the Duke of Sharnbrook has kindly invited us to spend a few days with him at his ancestral home."
"Yes, but why?" His lordship made a gesture with his hands which betrayed clearly his continuing astonishment. "The last time I saw young Benedict Risely he was in short coats. Why should he suddenly take it into his head to invite me and my family to Sharnbrook, may I ask?"
The Countess shrugged her shoulders. "I really have no idea. I can only imagine that Lord Nicholas might possibly have mentioned his friendship with Sophia, and of her kindness in attending their aged aunt's birthday party. Perhaps his grace wishes to thank her in person."
"Well, I hope that's all it is, and that he ain't taken some foolish notion into his head that our little Sophie would make him the ideal wife." Far from annoyed, his lordship appeared genuinely amused. "He'll quickly discover his mistake, if I do take it into my head to accept, and he finds himself having to play host to perhaps the only young filly in the country who has an aversion for titled gentlemen!"
"Do I infer correctly from that that you are undecided whether to accept or not, Papa?" Sophia remarked, her own sense of humour surprisingly rising to the surface. "You do surprise me! I would have thought you would have grasped such a golden opportunity with both hands. After all, I rather like Lord Nicholas, so there's every chance I should like the brother equally well. Stranger things have happened, you know."
Rising to her feet, she went over to the door. "I should accept if I were you. Even if the Duke and I take each other in dislike on sight, a brief spell away from the stale town air will undoubtedly do us all the world of good," and with that she left the room, and her father gaping after her in open-mouthed astonishment.
No matter what the underlying reason for encouraging her father to accept the unexpected invitation, and she wasn't so very certain herself what it had been, Sophia experienced no regrets whatsoever when Trapp, three days later, tooled the carriage expertly round the sweep of the drive, and she caught her first glimpse of the Duke of Sharnbrook's ancestral home.
Set amid acres of unspoiled parkland, and bathed in mellow late afternoon sunshine, the Restoration mansion, designed by none other than Inigo Jones's famous disciple, was a truly awe-inspiring sight. Sophia could not recall ever having seen anything quite so perfectly situated, and could only wonder at the present head of the family remaining away from such a beautiful spot for such a long time. If it were hers she would never wish to leave the place for five weeks, let alone five years, she felt sure, alighting with the assistance of the liveried footman who had emerged from the eastern entrance of the house the instant Trapp had brought the carriage to a halt.
The interior was no less impressive; at least what she could glimpse of it swiftly earned Sophia's full approval as she, together with her mother and father, followed the elderly housekeeper up an ornately carved oak staircase. At the top they turned left and went along a passageway which led to the recently added east wing. Here Sophia was shown into a bright, airy bedchamber, where hand-painted Chinese paper decorated the walls, and rich green silk hangings adorned both windows and four-poster bed.
She took a moment to stare about her in wonder, from ornately plasterworked ceiling to richly carpeted floor. For more than two centuries, according to the Earl, some of the very best architects and designers had been employed to work on the house and its grounds, creating a place of timeless beauty which rivalled, many considered, the very best in the land.
No mansion she had ever visited before had succeeded in capturing her interest in quite the same way. She did not know what it was about the place that enthralled her so, but she suddenly experienced an overwhelming desire to see it all, to explore every last nook and cranny and uncover its every hidden secret. Consequently, she wasted no time in changing from her travel-creased garments into one of her pretty light muslin day dresses, snatching up a light fringed shawl, and going along to her mother's room.
One glance at the Countess, relaxing on the chaise-longue by the open window, was sufficient
to inform her that for the present her mother did not share her enthusiasm. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mama, for barging in this way. Were you asleep?"
"No, child, merely resting my eyes." She held out her hand, inviting her daughter to sit beside her, and could see at once that there appeared an extra sparkle in those green eyes, something which, she suddenly realised, had been singularly lacking in recent days. "You seem excited, child.
Is it the prospect of meeting our host which has touched your cheeks with added colour, I wonder?" she quizzed. "He is reputed to be very handsome, you know."
"Yes, so I'm reliably informed," Sophia responded drily, thereby betraying her total lack of interest. "I'm in far more danger of becoming entranced with this glorious house than with its master, I assure you. Have you ever seen a place so perfectly situated?"
"No, I do not believe so." The Countess, watching her daughter move across to the window, was reminded of something which had occurred to her as rather strange a few days before and, after nodding dismissal to the maid, did not hesitate in attempting to have her curiosity satisfied now.
."Why did I encourage Papa to accept the invitation to visit here?" Sophia echoed. "I suppose I considered it would benefit him to get away from town for a few days. I hope the change will do him good. He seems so much better of late, don't you think?"
"Yes, child, I do." A moment's silence, then, "Are you sure there was no other reason?"
Sophia closed her eyes, successfully checking the threat of tears which she only ever permitted to fall at night in the privacy of her bedchamber, where she would sob long and silently into her pillow and wake in the morning feeling not a whit the better for having done so. The bouts of weeping might be gradually diminishing; the heartache remained precisely the same, a painful reminder that life could be cruel, and Fate a vicious tormentor for ensuring her path would cross that of a man whom she could not fail to love, but whom she could never hope to marry.