by Sara Bennett
Chapter 20
SOPHY
James called on her the following morning, and Sophy was grateful his brother wasn’t with him. After what had passed between them at the ball she didn’t want to speak with Digby again, at least not until she had discussed the situation with James.
Susan played the composed hostess, offering tea and cake, chatting about the weather. It was an act. Sophy could see the sparkle in her blue eyes, and knew she was beginning to hope that this was the man her granddaughter would settle down with. Marriage, a comfortable home and a gentleman who treated her with kindness, all the things that were at the top of her grandmother’s wish list.
But what of desire? What of passion? Her grandmother had already said such emotions were of secondary importance when it came to finding a husband. Sophy suspected that Susan had loved her grandfather deeply, and when he died she had been heartbroken. In desperation, she had turned to Sir Geoffrey and found a kind and compassionate man. What had developed between them was also love, but of a less turbulent nature.
Although her grandmother took her job as chaperone seriously, as a matchmaker, she knew when it was advantageous to leave her charge alone for a private moment. After making some excuse about needing to speak to the cook, she closed the door. Not knowing how long she would have to converse privately, Sophy hurried into the topic at the forefront of her mind.
“Your brother told me that you knew about Harry Baillieu and-and me. He told you, didn’t he? About that Christmas at Pendleton Manor?”
James took a breath and looked at the mantelpiece where Grandma kept her prized collection of porcelain shepherdesses. When he turned back to Sophy, his expression had become apologetic. “Digby did tell me. I’m sorry, I should have explained to you—”
She didn’t wait for him to finish. “I understand why Digby would want to use his information to hurt Harry. They have never recovered from their falling out. But you? Why would you want to see me suffer?”
She could see the sadness in his blue eyes had returned. Sophy had noticed how James’s emotions tended toward the melancholy.
“It was wrong of me. That day in the park, when you saw Harry and Lady Evelyn riding together …Well, I had suspected there was something between you but that confirmed it. And then at the ball in St James’s Square, Digby said Harry still had feelings for you and he would prove it. I dared him to. What happened was my fault, and I apologise, Sophy.”
“But why?” she burst out. “I don’t understand.”
“It seems our lives are more intertwined than you might realise. You see, I was going to marry Lady Evelyn Rowe,” he said and shocked her to silence.
“But Harry is …” Sophy murmured, trying to gather her thoughts.
“This was before she became engaged to Harry Baillieu. She and I were in love. I loved her,” he repeated, and she heard the conviction in his voice.
Sophy stared at him, trying to take this information in. “You and Lady Evelyn?” she asked. “But … what happened?”
Despite the despondency in his expression his mouth tugged up in a wry smile. “It was my fault. I had a mistress, an opera singer. She and I had known each other for years. It was a comfortable arrangement that suited us both. When I fell in love with Evelyn I broke it off, but the woman sent a note to me one evening asking me to see her. I thought little of it, we did nothing more than talk about some gambling debts she needed assistance with, but Evelyn’s brother saw me leaving her apartment and believed the worst. He told Evelyn.”
Sophy stared at him. “She must know that gentlemen often have a mistress,” she said at last. “Even married gentlemen.”
“They do,” he agreed. “At least, some gentlemen do. I had already told her I was not going to be one of them. Evelyn was everything I ever wanted and I had sworn to be faithful to her. So when she heard what I had done she felt betrayed. Her brother accused me of not being the man she had believed me to be, and ordered her to break off our impending engagement. She sent me away.”
“You must have explained to her what had happened?”
“She wouldn’t listen. Her father was never faithful to his wives and her brother, for reasons of his own, persuaded her that I would turn out to be the same. I knew she did not want that sort of life. She wanted a husband who would be hers and hers alone. She told me so.”
Suddenly Sophy understood the situation all too well. Sir Arbuthnot was a recognised womaniser who had broken his wife’s heart. Harry had told her about it. If Evelyn’s father had broken her mother’s heart over and over again, and Evelyn had lived with the unhappiness first-hand, Sophy could see why Evelyn had decided not to risk her heart with a man who, in her eyes, had proved himself unfaithful.
“I am sorry she wouldn’t let you explain, but I still don’t understand why Digby—”
“You were right. Digby does hate Harry Baillieu, and to be honest I am not overly fond of him myself.” His mouth twisted. “I want to win Evelyn back, so it was in my interests for Harry to appear less of the hero. And whenever you are in his vicinity, he behaves in the sort of erratic manner that helps my cause.”
“You are using me? Using me to upset Evelyn so you can get her back?” Sophy stated bitterly.
“I am a desperate man, Sophy. Can you forgive me?”
She ignored his earnestness, still focused on how she was a pawn in his little game. “Do you really think that she will look at you again, now that she has Harry?”
He gave an abrupt laugh. “Oh Sophy, your claws are showing. And your partiality.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought. I sent Digby to dance with you to test the waters and I found rather a lot to think about. Harry came rushing to your rescue without a thought for Evelyn or how it would look to her family. I suppose that just makes him more of a gold minted hero, but I’m not sure Evelyn will see it that way.”
“Harry doesn’t love me, you’re wrong in that,” she said, and the regret in her voice was there for him to hear. “He believes I betrayed him. He hated coming to my rescue, I could see it in his eyes. He hated me, too, I think, for forcing him to do so. If you still want to use me to win back Evelyn then I fear you are wasting your time. And,” with a keen look at him, “we can no longer be friends.”
James took her hands in his. “It was the desperate plan of a desperate man, and I deeply apologise.”
Sophy thought she should be cross a bit longer but he looked so genuinely apologetic that she couldn’t help but soften towards him. “Very well, I’ll try to forgive you,” she said. “But please, don’t use me like that again. Harry and I might have been childhood friends, but now it is better if we stay away from each other. He has Evelyn and I … Well, it is just too painful to think about what might have been. I’m sure you understand that, James.”
He pulled a grimace. “I do, and believe me when I say I enjoy your company as well, Sophy. I won’t hurt you again. You’re like a breath of fresh air in my life. You help to take my mind off my misfortune. Perhaps I can do the same for you as my way of apologising?”
She did not condone what James had done, but she understood what it was like to feel powerless and desperate. Sometimes it was painful to accept that a thing was over and there was nothing you could do to fix it.
“I would like that,” she said at last, finding a smile.
His eyes lit up. A moment later when her grandmother bustled in, beaming at them as if she believed James was one step closer to proposing, he mouthed ‘thank you’ to Sophy behind her back. It felt like a new beginning.
Now that they had decided to remain friends, James began to take her about more regularly. He was attentive and thoughtful, and although sometimes Digby was present, he never allowed his brother to be alone with her, or to treat her in the way he had at the ball.
When James took Sophy and her chaperone and two girls to the theatre, hiring a box and arranging for supper, even Mrs Harding was pleased. Sophy enjoyed herself, and she was happy. This might not
be the life she had once believed she would have, but it felt rather good all the same. She did not regret deferring to her grandmother’s insistence that she enter polite society, at least for a little while. Learning to negotiate the ballrooms and drawing rooms had changed her. Sophy had grown up. She would be better able to help others now she could help herself, and the future looked brighter. Whatever her future might be. That was something she was yet to decide upon.
They were just finishing their supper when someone came up behind her and called her by name.
“Adam!”
He bowed over her hand as she greeted him, a lock of glossy dark hair falling over his eye, and then looked up with a grin. “You are looking in fine fettle, Soph.”
She laughed. “And if I was a horse I would be flattered, Adam.”
Sophy and Adam had always been easy friends, and she was pleased to see him now. They exchanged confidences about their time in London.
“Are you here with your brother?” she asked. She didn’t really want to know, but it seemed inappropriate to pretend he didn’t exist.
“No, with Lady Felicia, the Earl of Streatham’s daughter,” he said. Something in his face made her wonder whether he was pleased about that or not.
“Are you going to marry her?” Sophy asked him. “I seem to remember she was supposed to be Harry’s bride once.” She remembered Lady Felicia being a guest of Sir Arbuthnot. She also remembered being told the lady had seemed more interested in Adam than Harry.
“Harry might have caught himself a wealthy wife, but my father still wants me to do my part,” Adam said with a smirk. He turned and looked over his shoulder to a theatre box opposite, and Sophy followed his gaze. Lady Felicia was seated with some other guests, but her attention was on Adam and Sophy. She recognised her now as the woman she had seen with Adam at previous events this Season. Felicia’s eyes were green like a cat, and right now they were narrowed in displeasure.
“Let me show you something,” Adam said, and leaned closer, and placed his hand on Sophy’s shoulder. He glanced over at Felicia again, as if to see the effect that had on her, and shot Sophy a gratified smile. “You see? She’s jealous. She might hate me, but at the same time she doesn’t want anyone else to have me.”
Sophy giggled. “Oh dear.”
“Yes, quite.” Adam raised his eyebrows at Felicia, outstaring her. She turned away, lifting her chin in a haughty manner. After that, Adam seemed to tire of the game, and turned to James, who had been conversing politely with the two Harding girls.
“I see your nose is as straight as ever,” Adam said.
James gave a laugh. “Yes, it healed nicely.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you should warn your brother.”
Adam shrugged. “He’s old enough to know what he’s doing.” After a few more words he said his goodbyes and returned to his box. Lady Felicia pretended not to notice as Adam sprawled in his chair beside her, but Sophy noted how his gaze caressed the other woman’s averted cheek. However much he might claim to dislike Felicia and she to hate him, Sophy could not help but wonder if their association was quite so straightforward.
She turned back to James. “What happened to your nose?” she said curiously. “What did Adam mean by that?”
James frowned. “Lady Evelyn’s brother happened to it. He didn’t take kindly to my error of judgment with the opera singer, and let me know in no uncertain terms. Oscar has a reputation as a tyrant and he has friends he can call upon whenever he wants to teach someone like me a lesson. The friends were disguised but I knew them.”
“My goodness!”
“They waylaid me on my way home from my club. I can hold my own in a fight, but the odds were against me. Some of the soldiers in Adam’s regiment happened to come upon us and rescued me before more than just my nose suffered.”
Although he made light of it Sophy could see he was still angry.
“How can he get away with such cowardly behaviour?” she asked, shocked.
“Oscar is very protective when it comes to Evelyn. She can hardly take a step without him making certain her path is clear. I know I hurt and disappointed Evelyn, but I had agreed to stay away from her.”
“You don’t think she knew her brother was going to hurt you?”
He seemed to consider it and then shook his head. “It doesn’t seem like her. But even if she did, I fear there would be little she could have done to stop him.”
The thought of anyone being beaten like that made Sophy feel very uncomfortable. “Perhaps,” she said quietly, “you are better off not marrying her. You might find yourself looking over your shoulder more often than not.”
James nodded faintly. “Well, it isn’t my problem now. Baillieu will be the one looking over his shoulder.”
She wanted to ask him more but didn’t feel as if she had the right to do so. They had already spoken of their mutual heartbreak and she didn’t wish to revisit it.
“I’m glad your nose healed,” she said instead, with a teasing smile. “It is a very nice nose.”
He seemed surprised, and then smiled back at her, looking much younger than usual. “Thank you.”
“And I think I can promise you that my grandmother and Sir Geoffrey are unlikely to have you set upon, and if they did you could probably outrun them. You will be safe in my company.”
This time he laughed aloud. “And I can promise you that they will have no reason to do so. I will never hurt you again, Sophy. Believe me.”
“I’d like to.”
His sincerity warmed her, and to her surprise Sophy found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
Chapter 21
HARRY
Adam hadn’t come home last night, and Harry missed him. Lately his brother seemed to be spending more time in the town house when he wasn’t at the barracks, and this morning he wasn’t in his bed. The Earl of Streatham had sent an invitation for luncheon, and Harry knew how particular the man was. If Adam didn’t attend then the already difficult subject of a marriage between him and Lady Felicia would be in jeopardy.
There was a time when Harry would have thought Adam would be glad to be rid of the Earl’s only daughter, but recently he’d begun to wonder if there was more than simple animosity on both sides. Adam seemed to have lost his taste for the endless parade of women leaving his bedchamber every morning. That was unusual in itself, but the easy going Adam had also been distinctly out of sorts of late.
After a visit to the barracks didn’t bear any fruit, Harry set off for a club he knew Adam still frequented, the Masque.
He remembered it less than fondly from his time in London with his uncle, when he had been offered the services of a woman to help him perfect his skills in the bedchamber. He thought, with a tug at his lips, that he had done well enough without any extra tuition. There had been women aplenty while he was heartbroken over Sophy, and he hadn’t had any complaints.
The Masque looked even seedier in daylight but at least the thieves and pickpockets that lurked in the alleyways were still in bed. A sleepy eyed boy answered the door and went off to find someone who might know if Adam was there. Eventually his brother appeared, dishevelled, reeking of perfume, and clearly hung over. When he heard about the invitation he groaned, but shrugged into his jacket and obediently fell into step with his older brother.
“Why won’t the wretched woman leave me alone?” he asked the sky above. “I was perfectly happy until she set her sights on me.”
Harry tried not to laugh. “It won’t be so bad,” he said. “A pretty face to come home to at night and wake up with in the mornings.”
“I don’t need to marry for that,” Adam grumbled.
“You won’t always be young and good looking,” Harry went on, taking on the role of older brother with gusto.
“You take that back!”
“And what about children? Don’t you want a son to look up to you?”
“The way we look up to our father?” he retorted. Then, with a sigh, “Is that
why you’re getting married? To secure the inheritance of Pendleton?”
Harry tried to imagine a son in his image, but all he could see was a little boy with Sophy’s fair hair and blue eyes. He groaned to himself and increased his speed.
Adam caught him up, eyeing him curiously. “What?” he asked. “Hit a nerve?”
“No. I …” He ran his hands through his hair and stopped, staring at his brother. “I want to marry Evelyn, I do. I love her. She’s perfect for me and Pendleton. But ever since I saw Sophy at Albury House I can’t get her out of my mind. She’s there, all the time. I can push her out during the day, usually, but at night. God, at night …”
Last night had been particularly bad. He’d dreamed he’d been back in the alcove with Sophy, but this time they’d been alone. She had begun to kiss him, her mouth on his skin, her tongue warm and wet. He’d been helpless to resist her, even knowing the guests were just beyond the draperies, and the truth was he hadn’t wanted to.
Adam squinted against the light, his eyes red and puffy. A cab rumbled by, splashing up water that narrowly missed them. “Sophy?” he echoed, trying to hold back a grin.
They walked for a moment in silence. “She’s not married, is she?” Harry said, and it wasn’t a question. “She never was married.”
“She says not. You know Sir Geoffrey is—”
“An elderly friend of her grandmother. I do now.”
Adam smirked. “So she told you?” His expression turned serious. “I don’t know what you saw, Harry, but it was obviously wrong. All this time you’ve been under a misapprehension, old boy.”
Harry grunted. Why had he believed the worst? Maybe it was the intimacy of the scene, and the seeds already planted in his head by his father, no matter how much he tried to deny them. Afterwards he’d turned and walked away, blind to his surroundings. Empty. The pain had come later.
“Speaking of Sophy, as we were, I saw her the other night at the theatre. She was there with James Abbott. They seemed very cosy.”