All I Ever Needed

by Jo Goodman

  The comment about his mistress made one dark eyebrow jump. He regarded her askance and managed to say, "I also desire your friendship, Sophie. I cannot say, though, that I desire it above all things."

  "For now, then."

  He nodded. "For now."

  Sophie settled back once more into the shelter of his arm. "What does your family expect of you?"

  East knew this was no idle question. She probably had been wondering at it since he arrived. "They expect me to do what is right."

  "That is not always so easy to know, is it?"

  "No."

  "I regret that I had to take my leave of your sister and her husband so suddenly. They must think I sorely abused their hospitality. I am quite certain that the letter I left behind did little to assuage Mrs. Trumbull's fears. She has every reason to be vexed with me."

  "Yes. She does. Your brief acquaintance with Cara should also have assured you that she has a generous heart. She knows that I am the villain of this piece."

  "The villain? Hardly that. And she is your sister. She will forgive you anything. She said as much herself when we were speaking—"

  Sophie's abrupt end caught East's curiosity. "Yes? You and Cara were speaking of...?"

  "We were speaking of you, of course."

  "There is more. There is always more with you, Sophie. You were not so shy about speaking your mind a moment ago."

  "Very well. We were speaking of Mrs. Sawyer. Your sister is not inclined to feel at all charitable toward her. I can't believe that she would be more disposed to me. Mrs. Sawyer has done naught but bedevil you with sly tricks, like those you might have encountered at Hambrick. She has not presented you with a swollen belly and claimed that you are the cause of it."

  "I must point out that you have not done that either," he said dryly. His hand hovered over the flat of her abdomen. "May I?"

  Sophie nodded and for a moment could not breathe. She watched Eastlyn's palm lower the fraction necessary to cover her belly. "She does not move yet," she told him. "Mayhap it is only my imagination but I feel a heaviness there."

  "Is that why you think we will have a daughter?"

  "No. I think it because it must not be otherwise."

  Eastlyn measured the silence that followed as so complete he knew Sophie would not explain herself. He was not surprised when she trapped his hand under hers and asked him about his former mistress instead. "She has not been under my protection for a very long time. She ended our arrangement before I made my first proposal to you. How did you learn of her?"

  "She is the one who began the rumor, isn't she?" When he did not answer, Sophie added, "Tremont says it is so. Your sister also led me to believe it."

  "Then there is no point that you should hear it from me as well."

  "It is good of you not to want to speak ill of her. You are very kind in that regard." She glanced at him and saw faint color rising in his complexion. It made her smile. "Your sister told me Mrs. Sawyer's name. Before that, long before, I knew you had a mistress. It is only that I had no name to put to her. She is a widow?"

  "Yes. Her husband was a soldier. He was killed fighting in Belgium."

  "That is very sad for her," Sophie said, meaning it. "I imagine she was not left well off. It could not have been easy."

  Eastlyn kept his tone carefully neutral. "She has managed."

  "Your sister said Mrs. Sawyer hoped that you would marry her."

  "Cara says a great deal and knows very little." He sighed. "You will not be moved from this, will you?"

  "No."

  "The truth is, I do not know if Cara is right, though I suspect she is. Mrs. Sawyer was not so straightforward as you, Sophie. If she had been, she would have asked me directly to marry her and not practiced roundaboutation."

  "You are usually quite good at comprehending the meaning just below the surface. I wonder that you were not more certain of Mrs. Sawyer's hopes in regard to you."

  "Perhaps I did not want to be." East's hand slid away from Sophie's midriff, and he laid it on the arm of the sofa. "It was a comfortable arrangement in many ways, so comfortable that I did not realize how utterly boring it had become. Mrs. Sawyer knew before I did that I was preparing to end it. She found another protector and gave me my walking papers. It was a civil parting. There was not a cross word exchanged."

  "It sounds rather cold."

  "Yes. Did you think she loved me, perhaps? That was not her way at all. It is likely that I had finer feelings for her than she did for me."

  "Then I am sorry for you both. It must be a very bleak sort of bargain that is struck between a gentleman and his mistress."

  "There are benefits," he said wryly. "And no, I will not discuss them. Why is it important to you?" He felt her shrug. "That is no answer. Is Mrs. Sawyer the reason you refused me, Sophie? Did you think I meant to keep her as my mistress?"

  "It occurred to me. I did not know the arrangement was at an end when you first proposed; however, it did not weigh as anything in my decision to turn you down. Gentlemen have mistresses. It is done all the time. I suppose one comes to find a certain convenience in the arrangement. I have had experience learning to tolerate all manner of intolerable things. A husband's infidelity would scarcely cause me a moment's lost sleep."

  "Liar." He said it with the gentleness of an endearment.

  "It is not all a lie. I did not refuse you because you had a mistress."

  "But you will not permit me to continue such an arrangement when we are married."

  Sophie thought he was being overly confident in supposing they would be married, but she was of no mind to have that argument now. He had said it in just that fashion to tweak her. "I do not know if it is the sort of thing a wife can stop, but I doubt I should ever become accustomed to it."

  "You will not have to. There will be no mistresses."

  She was quietly skeptical.

  "I am serious. No matter what you have come to believe, it is not done by everyone. I can name any number of men who do not engage in the practice of setting up a mistress once they are married. My father has never done so. North either. Southerton and West are unattached, and neither has anyone under his protection."

  "Paragons, every one of them."

  He chuckled. "I do not think I would go so far as to say that."

  Sophie felt the rumble of his low laughter against her back and shoulder and knew a sense of such longing that she ached with it. She closed her eyes again, afraid the sudden press of tears would spill over. There was a hard lump at the back of her throat, but she managed to get words around it. "Would you have me as your mistress?"

  The question was not entirely unexpected. East had posed it himself several times on his long ride to Clovelly, and in each instance the answer was the same. "No," he said after a moment. "No, I would not. Would you want to be?"

  "I never thought so."

  "If you are at all uncertain now, it is because of your present situation. You are not Mrs. Wendell Frederick, late of Stoke-on-Trent. You are Lady Sophia Colley, and becoming any man's mistress is not done. A woman like Mrs. Sawyer may place herself in a man's protection and society will accept it, even going so far as to privately admit that she is doing what she must to survive. It would not be like that for you. Among the ton, you would not be my mistress, Sophie. You would be my whore."

  In spite of the warmth of his arm about her shoulders, Sophie shivered. His words were as frank as those she had spoken to herself.

  East's fingers found the comb that tamed the curling length of Sophie's hair into a twist. He nudged it free and smiled when he heard her soft sigh. The heavy, honey colored strands poured over the back of his hand. He sifted through them and touched her nape, massaging the knot that kept her head so stiffly upright. In time she simply melted against him, and he was not at all sorry for it.

  Eastlyn waited until Sophie was asleep before he eased himself away. He laid her carefully on the sofa and covered her with his own greatcoat. Except to pillow he
r head on her arm, she hardly stirred.

  He left the cottage and rode to the inn in nearby Bideford where Sampson was waiting for him. After arranging for one trunk and a valise to be sent to Sophie's home in Clovelly, East informed his valet that he should return to London for the Christmas holiday. Sampson did not own to being shocked by this, but East suspected that was the case, though whether Sampson disapproved of him taking up residence with Lady Sophia or managing his own wardrobe for a fortnight was unclear.

  The carriage and team would remain behind at a livery in Bideford, and Sampson and the driver would avail themselves of the public coach on the return. Eastlyn was generous in the funds he provided for this trip, knowing they both found this mode of transport lowering.

  Sophie was awake by the time he returned, and the house was filled with the warm aroma of the meal she was preparing. East stamped his feet just inside the doorway and dropped his hat and gloves onto the table beside Sophie's bonnet. He glimpsed Sophie giving him an over-the-shoulder glance from where she stood at the table.

  "You did not wear your coat," she said in disapproving accents as East approached. "It is a mistake for you to think the weather will not turn cold."

  "I wore my hat."

  Her mouth flattened. "You should have worn the Carrick and not left it with me."

  "How else would you know that I meant to return?" He came up behind her and placed his hands on her waist. "In any event, you were sleeping soundly under it when I took my leave. I was of no mind to disturb you."

  "Where was your mind when you covered me with it? You might have used something else. There are blankets in the bedrooms."

  Grinning, Eastlyn kissed Sophie lightly on the top of her head. "I do believe that living in Clovelly has made you a proper fishwife."

  Sophie's mien softened, as did her shrewish tone. "You could have left me a proper note."

  "I left my coat."

  She released a long breath and nodded slowly. The movement made his chin rub pleasantly against the back of her head. She had refastened her hair in the comb but not as tightly as before. Fine wisps of it tickled her temple and her nape, and for a moment she closed her eyes and allowed herself to lean against him. Her sleep under the caped greatcoat had been deep but not dreamless. It had been like lying under him, the weight and scent so firmly in her mind that she expected to find him with her when she opened her eyes. He would not credit that she had been panicked by his absence, or that she had been hurt by it. It was not until she took stock of the coat and its meaning that she was able to reason that he intended to return.

  "I suppose my disposition was not improved by sleep," she said, slipping out of his hold and skirting the table. She set down the plate in her hand and placed silverware beside it. "Where did you go?"

  "Bideford. That is where I left Sampson."

  "He is coming here?"

  "No. I mean to manage on my own." Eastlyn noticed that the surprise she had shown upon thinking Sampson might join them only deepened when she realized he would not. Her mercurial thinking made him smile. "What? Do you not think I can? If you can be Mrs. Frederick, then of a certainty I can be..." His voice trailed off as it occurred to him that he did not have a name.

  "Mrs. Frederick's brother?" Sophie said with no intention of being helpful.

  "Mr. Tinker."

  "Tinker? I don't think I like the sound of that."

  "Most definitely Tinker," he said, ignoring her.

  Sophie merely shook her head, resigned to his choice. She pointed to the chair where he should sit while she prepared the remainder of their meal. They dined on simple fare, a fish chowder that Sophie made with cod, potatoes, fat salt pork, milk, and pilot bread. Onion, pepper, butter, and a liquor made by boiling the fish bones added savor to the stew.

  Eastlyn resisted a third helping when it was offered to him. "I left my hollow leg in London." To forestall temptation, he pushed his bowl away. "I do not think my mother ever cooked a meal in her life. My sister either. How did you come to learn?"

  "I spent a great deal of time in the kitchen at Tremont Park. Mrs. Hubbard was the cook then, and she let me sit on a stool beside her while she worked. Sometimes my governess would find me and send me back to my room, but most often they learned not to look too hard for me."

  "You did not like the schoolroom?"

  Sophie gathered the dishes. "Not nearly as much as I liked the kitchen."

  "Or the stable?" He held up his hands, palms out, when she cast him a suspicious glance. "I was not referring to your penchant for spying on grooms and scullery maids. I swear it. I was thinking of your skill on horseback. You must have spent considerable time out-of-doors."

  "I did." Sophie filled a basin with hot water from the kettle and set about cleaning the dishes. East offered to assist her, but she turned him down. "Were you offended when you saw me riding astride? It is not at all conventional."

  "No, it's not," he said "But was I offended? No. Did you think I might be?"

  "I suppose I did." She looked askance at him. Laughter hovered on his lips and brightened his eyes. "You are a trifle arrogant, you know, and you are accustomed to having your way. It is not unreasonable to suppose that you hold firm to a certain manner of doing things."

  "You are confusing me with North," he said. "He will tell you himself that he is a prig."

  "I doubt I shall have cause to make the inquiry, my lord"

  "East. You promised that you would call me East." His voice deepened to a husky timbre. "You have only done so once."

  Sophie's response was to apply more effort to scouring the stew pan.

  Watching her, Eastlyn was satisfied that she remembered very well the occasion of it. He wanted her to keep the memory of lying with him in easy reach of her consciousness, just as he did. "I confess, Sophie, that upon making your acquaintance I could not have conceived of you riding in such a fashion."

  "Like a hoyden, you mean."

  "Yes. Precisely like that."

  Sophie opened the back door and stepped out onto the small porch. She threw the dishwater into the garden and shook out the basin. When she returned, she stood for a moment on the threshold, hugging the basin. "When do you think we met?"

  East frowned, uncertain of her meaning. It was put before him in plain enough terms, but the prickles at the back of his neck suggested nothing was quite as straightforward as it seemed. "It was at a musicale. A recital of Mozart pieces. You don't remember?"

  "The recital to which you are referring was Bach."

  "It may have been."

  "It was."

  "It was in Lady Stafford's salon," he said.

  "Lady Stanhope's."

  "Dunsmore was there with his wife. I am not mistaken about that."

  Her faint smile was a shade regretful. "No. You are not mistaken on that count." Sophie put the basin away and wiped her damp hands on her apron before she removed it. She nudged a chair from under the table and sat at a right angle to Eastlyn. "I was very quiet on that occasion, as I recall. I do not think I spoke more than half a dozen sentences."

  "Rather more than six."

  "You do not need to be generous. You could not have formed any good opinion of me. I did not set out to give you one."

  "Because of Dunsmore?"

  She was puzzled for a moment, the small crease appearing between her brows. "Oh, you mean to thwart Harold's plan for me to attract a rich suitor? No, that was not the reason I did not care what you thought of me. Not entirely the reason, in any event. Abigail was there. Lady Dunsmore. Do you remember meeting her?"

  "It is a vague recollection. She is a tall woman, I believe. Rather pale in her complexion. Red hair?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it important that I recall her?"

  "No, not really. She was ill that afternoon. I thought you might have been struck by it."

  "She could not have been too ill," East said. "Else she would have remained at home."

  "It is her nerves," Sophie explained. "
She is easily overwrought and is given to megrims. She is often abed. The children test her patience, and she prefers the quiet of her own room."

  "I am not certain I understand how her presence at the recital influenced you. Were your thoughts occupied with her health?"

  "I was there as her companion, else I would have remained at Bowden Street with Robert and Esme. It was my task to make certain she was comfortable, not to make myself agreeable to the guests. She was most particular that I tread carefully around you." Sophie hesitated as she felt herself the target of Eastlyn's closer study. "She warned me not to make a fool of myself. She had seen it happen before. At Almack's. I was only recently out of mourning clothes, and I had not been in London so very long when Harold and Abigail agreed I should accompany them there. It seemed the very height of gaiety to me and a little silly, I suppose, but I could not help but be transported by the dancing and gowns and the crush."

  "Many people are of a similar opinion," East said. "I would rather be transported to Van Diemen's Land."

  "Yes," she said softly, not quite looking at him now. "I can imagine that you would find it distressingly tedious. There can be no enjoyment in having to dodge so many determined mothers."

  "I manage," he said dryly. "I have the dubious honor of being approved to partner young women in their first waltz. It is a privilege I share with Northam and Southerton. As you might imagine, West was not sanctioned by the patronesses."

  "Then perhaps the circumstances of his birth are not entirely unfortunate."

  East greeted this suggestion with a sardonic look. "You will not engage me in that argument now." He was resolved that his child would not be born a bastard. "Tell me about your evening at Almack's. If it was after your mourning was at an end, then you must have been considerably older than most of the females being presented."

  "Considerably older," she said with a hint of wry humor. "Ancient, really. One-and-twenty."

  "Forgive me. I should not—"

  Sophie waved his apology aside. "I take no offense. I was older, just as you said, though the measure of it was in years, not experience."