I have to, she told herself, determined not to lose her head and give in to the panic swirling around her mind. I have to get away.
“Reading again?” Malcolm asked, now just outside the door. “Of course, my fair cousin always has her head in a book!”
Sophie pressed herself against the wall, trying hard not to make a single sound. She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to stay slow and even. Once he opened the door, it would hide her from his view, and, when he walked in, she would have only a second to rush past him and run towards her room.
The door handle slowly began to turn, and, as the door began to open, Sophie held her breath. Her cousin walked in, his steps barely faltering as he moved. However he did it, he was always able to hide the extent of his drunkenness, although his voice usually gave it away. She had seen him imbibe a great deal of liquor and still remain standing, even though his friends had all collapsed across couches and chairs, not even able to lift their heads.
“Sophie?” he called, one hand still on the door handle. “Where are you?”
She had to move. She had to go, now, as he took a step forward and his hand left the handle. Drawing in a quick breath, she moved forward but realized too late she had mistimed her exit and she slammed into him, hard. He stumbled and she heard him grunt as she hurried out of the room – only for one hand to grab at her ankle.
A shriek left her mouth as she fell, her hands hitting the floor as she tried to keep herself from crashing into it.
“You’re not going to get away,” Malcolm shouted, striking terror into her soul. She knew what he wanted, knew what he intended to do when he got a hold of her. There was no other option but to get away.
His hand was tight around her ankle, but she kicked out with her other foot, hearing a crunch as she connected with something hard. A roar of pain met her ears, but she kicked out again and again, until, finally, he let go of her.
Her soft slippers torn off, she left them behind as she ran in bare feet towards her room, blood roaring in her ears. She was quite sure she could hear him running after her, his blood-curdling screams of frustration chasing her down the hall.
Lifting her skirts high, grateful for the simple muslin dress she wore, Sophie climbed the stairs as fast as she could, hearing his screaming insults coming behind her. The door to her bedchamber was only a few steps away and, hearing his thumping feet on the stairs, she scrambled for the key she wore around her neck. Her fingers slipped on the metal as she put the key in the lock, turning it quickly. Once it clicked, she wrenched the door open, slipped inside and slammed it shut. Time was slipping away from her as she tried to put the key back in the lock, knowing she had to lock it tightly if she was to be safe. Her fingers were shaking so hard that it took three attempts before the key turned successfully.
A loud thump threw her back from the door, her scream echoing around the room. Terror clutched at her heart as he banged furiously at her door, the handle turning over and over – but, to her relief, the door held.
“Come now, Sophie! You owe this to me, do you not? I deserve this for taking you in and showing you such great affection.”
Sophie put her hand against her mouth, willing herself not cry out. His thumps grew louder and more forceful, and the door began to shake. Feeling as if she had to secure the door even further just to be sure he could not break in, Sophie dragged a heavy chair over towards the door, placing it under the door handle. He obviously heard her actions, as his voice grew louder.
“You struck me, Sophie, and I think that should be returned in kind.” His voice took on a gravelly tone, sending shudders through her. “Come out now and I swear I will not make it as bad as I was initially intending.”
Slowly moving away from the door, Sophie padded towards the fire burning in the grate, glad that there was, at least, some warmth emanating from it. She threw a few more logs on top of the glowing embers and sank down on the crimson wool carpet, draping the skirts of her gown over her toes. She had done this a great many times before, knowing that she had nothing else to do but wait.
Sooner or later, her cousin would give up and leave her alone, although she probably would not emerge from her room until she saw him go out riding the following morning or leave in his carriage. She had thought he had gone out for the evening to Lady Jamison’s ball, but he must have returned early and she had not heard him. It was her own fault for becoming so engrossed in the book she had been reading.
The trembling that shook her body slowly began to decrease as she realized that she was quite safe – at least, for the time being. Her gaze was drawn to something steaming in the corner, her heart warming when she saw the tray. That was the cook’s doing, and Sophie could not have appreciated it more. The staff were her only comfort in this life of fear.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she had the appearance of a madwoman, brown tendrils of her hair having escaped her usual chignon and curling about the perspiration on her forehead. The bodice of her dress was askew from her fall, and her hazel eyes stared back at her in despair.
She brushed her shaking hands back over her hair, fixed the top of her dress and, despite her cousin’s ongoing shouts, she rose to her feet and made her way over to the tray.
Picking it up, Sophie carried it back to the fire, letting her gaze drift over the teapot and tray of small cakes. The cook must have heard the master come home and had sent up a tray to Sophie’s room, knowing she would spend the remainder of the evening in hiding. Sophie was ever so grateful.
Eventually, the thumps stopped and the threats slowed until her cousin gave up and wandered away. Sophie let out a sigh of relief, closing her eyes tightly against the rush of tears. She had nothing but this life, no nearby friends or acquaintances, no one she could look to for aid. She would have to extract herself from this mess on her own.
* * *
Some hours later, Sophie was still sitting quietly in front of the dying fire, her thoughts all of a muddle. Her tea was cold, the cakes were gone, and she was left with only her own shadow for company. A quiet scratch at the door had Sophie stiffening, only to hear the voice of the cook whispering through the keyhole.
Hurrying to the door, Sophie lifted the key from around her neck and opened the door, only for the cook, Mrs. Andrews, to step inside and shut it behind her, gesturing for Sophie to lock it again.
“He is wandering the hallways, so I had to be careful,” Mrs. Andrews whispered, her eyes searching Sophie’s face. “Are you quite all right, miss?”
Sophie managed a smile. “I am, thank you. And thank you for what you left me.”
Mrs. Andrews frowned. “I am only sorry the maid I sent to alert you to the master’s presence did not reach you in time.”
“That’s quite all right,” Sophie replied, sitting down by the fire once more. “Are you sure you’re safe to come here?”
Sitting opposite Sophie, Mrs. Andrews’s face was filled with alarm. “It was important to tell you, Miss Carmichael, that your cousin has called for the local smithy.”
“The blacksmith?” Sophie asked, wondering why the lady looked so alarmed. “Whatever for?”
Mrs. Andrews shook her head. “To get a new lock for this room.”
Ice washed through her veins. “A new lock?” she whispered, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. “He means to….”
“Yes,” Mrs. Andrews finished when Sophie’s words trailed off. “He means to have you, my dear, one way or the other. You have never been safe here, but as of tomorrow, you will be quite without refuge.”
Sophie’s breath hitched. “Tomorrow?” she breathed, her stomach tightening. “The smithy is coming tomorrow?”
“You must leave,” Mrs. Andrews said, briskly. “I have come to help you.”
“I – I can’t,” Sophie protested, fear winding its way through her as she looked wildly around the small room that had been both home and prison since she had come to reside in the house. “I have nowhere else to go yet!” Being a single woman, whose f
ortune would not be given to her until she married, Sophie had no one else to turn to.
The cook reached across and patted her hand. “I have a sister who works in another estate. I wrote to her – I mean, the housekeeper did, on my behalf, given that I’m not so good with letters – but she knows to expect you. You’ll have to stop halfway at an inn, so take whatever coins you have.”
Sophie did not know what to say, suddenly overcome by Mrs. Andrews’s kindness.
“She will give you a position as a maid. I know it is not the station you were born to,” the cook continued. “But at least it will give you time to think about what you can do. You must remain hidden, though. I don’t think that cousin of yours will give up on you easily.”
“I – I don’t know how to thank you,” Sophie whispered, tears beginning to gather in her eyes. “Without you and the others, I would have been quite at his mercy before now.”
Mrs. Andrews’ expression darkened. “He’ll get what’s coming to him one day, I’m sure of it. But right now, you’ve got to get yourself away from this place. Come on, dear. I’ll help you pack.”
5
It was with a great deal of shame that Benjamin went to speak to his father, the Duke of Ware, the day following his conversation with Lord Simons, confessing all. He would not have done so unless it was absolutely necessary, and, in this case, it certainly was. He needed an advance on the next lot of funds that were due to be deposited in his account in around a month’s time, and the mortification of explaining what he had done was a weight on his shoulders. As he spoke, his father remained quiet, sitting back in his chair and watching Benjamin with eyes sharper than usual.
The man was typically fairly uninterested in the details of their lives, with the exception of their eldest brother Daniel. He was content with his wife providing guidance to the rest of them. Now, however, his usual nonchalance was replaced with a hard, assessing stare.
Once Benjamin had finished speaking, there was a prolonged silence. Benjamin wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole, thinking that perhaps death might be more welcome than this particular situation.
“Your mother has brought her concerns to me repeatedly,” the Duke said eventually, disappointment evident in his features, which were so like Benjamin’s own. “Only yesterday, she told me how uninterested you were in listening to her words, even though they were wise and true. You showed a lack of respect for your mother and for me when you refused to listen.”
“I know,” Benjamin said, miserably. The mistakes he had made suddenly brought his life into sharp relief, making him realize just how much of a mess he was making of things.
“You have lost yourself in a world of pleasures,” the Duke continued, quietly. “It is something that a great many gentlemen do, although most come out the other side with a renewed sense of their responsibilities and a dedication to their work. However, that has not happened to you.”
Benjamin sighed, unable to even look at his father. “I am sorry, Father.”
“You need not apologize to me!” he exclaimed, pushing himself up a little straighter in his chair. “Rather, you need to think of that young lady that you brought here. Whether you were inebriated or not, you should know better than to take the innocence of a young lady, Benjamin.” His eyes were filled with pain rather than anger, which only cut deeper into Benjamin’s heart. “I think it just as well that Lord Simons chose not to push for you to marry his daughter. It shows that he cares for his daughter, not just her reputation.”
His father’s words hit Benjamin hard, although he could not easily dismiss them. “I did not — did not take her innocence, although I am aware I have nearly ruined her. I have said that I am sorry, Father.”
“That does not cut it!” his father retorted angrily, banging his fist on his desk in a show of emotion Benjamin was not used to seeing from the man. Benjamin raised his eyes and saw his father gazing at him speculatively before sighing heavily as his shoulders slumped, the anger receding.
“Perhaps it is my fault,” the Duke said, sadly. “I have not guided you as I ought.”
“No, Father,” Benjamin replied at once, not wishing for his father to take on the mantle of responsibility. “You have tried to give me the time to choose my own path and I confess that I have am beginning to realize I have made rather poor decisions.”
His father raised dull eyes to his. “You have no thought of your future, then?”
Biting his lip, Benjamin shook his head, feeling as though he were the biggest disappointment a man could have for a son. He had rarely taken the time to assess his life, as much of it was spent in rather a daze of alcohol and good times.
“Then I have a plan,” his father responded, making Benjamin look up in surprise. A sudden chill ran through him as he recalled what his mother had threatened. Was he about to be cut out from his father’s will? Had he gone too far, and was to be cast aside by the family?
“You are to leave this place and go where I tell you,” his father continued, firmly. “You are to remain there and make it as profitable as you can.”
Confused, Benjamin stared at his father. “Make what profitable, Father?”
“The estate, of course,” the Duke replied, as though Benjamin was a simpleton. “I have a few estates to my name, as you know, but one of the smaller ones is not as profitable as I would like. I had been meaning to go there and inspect it myself but now I think it is quite the right place for you.”
Benjamin blinked rapidly, relief that he was not about to be thrown out from the family circle flooding him.
“The estate is some distance away, however, and I do not expect you to return to town within the year. However, should you give up and leave in order to chase your pleasures once more, then I shall have no choice but to cut you from my will.”
Benjamin pressed his lips together, trepidation filling him. “But Father, I have no experience. How am I to know how to manage anything?”
“You shall have to learn,” came the brisk reply. “You have been idle for too long, Benjamin. You need some kind of endeavor to allow you to focus on what you want your life to be, for I assure you that you cannot spend it indulging yourself – as I hope you have already begun to see.”
Benjamin gave a swift nod, knowing that he could not refuse to do as his father asked, despite feeling as though he was about to leap into the unknown. To leave his friends behind and to go to an entirely new situation was quite a thought, despair beginning to fill him. “What if I fail, father?” he asked, quietly. “What if I cannot make the estate any more profitable than it already is?”
There was a long pause, as the Duke considered the question. Benjamin bit his lip, waiting for his father’s judgement to fall.
“In one year, I shall look at your progress,” came the eventual reply. “I have already written to my steward there, who knows to expect you. He shall write reports to me as regards the estate and how you are managing things. Do not expect him to do everything for you, however, Benjamin. He is there to teach you should you request it of him, but many things you shall simply have to take the time to learn. If, after one year, the estate has not improved, I shall look over the reports and, if I am satisfied that you have done your utmost, then that shall be all there is to the matter.”
“And if it is clear I have not?”
His father chuckled. “I intend to put the fear of God in you, Benjamin, and so I shall. Should you choose to continue with your laziness and sloth, leaving your steward to handle matters while you fall back into old habits, then I shall have to consider the consequences of such actions. It may or may not include an adjustment of my will, but that will be entirely determined by what you do.”
An icy hand gripped Benjamin’s heart, as he became aware that his father had done just as he intended and as his mother threatened. They were all used to his mother’s constant nattering, but when his father spoke as such, there was weight behind the words. Benjamin was afraid, afraid that he woul
d not work as hard as his father expected and, in doing so, put his entire future in jeopardy.
“I am quite sure you can do this, Benjamin,” his father said, softly. “You are a good man, a better man that you have been acting as of late. A lack of direction has left you filling the void with untoward behavior. I believe this will ultimately be good for your character. Trust me when I say that I have no desire for you to be without your inheritance. I only do this in order to assist you.”
Benjamin managed a tight smile. “I am aware of that, Father. I confess that my own actions have shamed me. Until last evening I did not see the damage I have been causing others, nor the wastefulness of my life.”
“Then I have every hope that you will succeed,” his father said, gravely, rising from his chair. “We will miss seeing you here, Benjamin, but you will need to remain at that estate if you are to make a good go of it. Perhaps the allure of some of the more feminine kind will become less appealing by the time you return. Mayhap you might even consider matrimony!”
A quiet chuckle rumbled in his father’s chest as he shook Benjamin’s hand. “Be sure to write to us, to let us know how you fare. Your mother loves you as much as I do and I know she would be dreadfully upset not to hear from you.”
Benjamin shook his head. “I believe Mama will be glad to see the back of me,” he said, miserably. “After all she has said that I have put her through and the disrespect she believes I have shown.”
His father’s face softened. “However you feel about your mother, she acts as she does because she cares for you and wants only what is best. You are her son and she will always love you, no matter how much you frustrate her. It is one of the trials that comes with being a parent.”
Benjamin could find nothing to say in response.
“Now, on you go and get yourself organized,” the Duke said, leading him towards the door of the study. “I shall have the carriage brought around in an hour.”
Searching Hearts Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 27