Hell In A Handbasket

by Anders, Annabelle

  Inhaling, he pressed his lips to the silk of her glove and held them there for longer than was appropriate. But this was perhaps goodbye.

  She turned her hand so that it cradled his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Thank you?

  Dev withdrew and jumped down to the pavement.

  Thank you?

  When he assisted her down, he once again allowed her body to come into contact with his before setting her feet on the ground. He was angry, and frustrated, and not quite sure what she was thanking him for.

  “I forgot my reticule.” Her words returned him to his senses. “And your directions are inside.”

  Dev glanced up to the seat they’d just vacated. Seeing the silk purse, he retrieved it and then held it out to her.

  “Thank you.” Again, those two words.

  After taking the reticule, she stepped away from him onto the sidewalk.

  Dev gave her one last searching look and then bowed.

  Without saying another word, she turned and fled.

  That was likely the last he’d see of her.

  * * *

  When Sophia entered her stepfather’s home, she did not go directly to her own chamber. She went to her mother’s room instead. Her suddenly tumultuous emotions were alternating between acute anxiety and fledgling hope.

  Dudley had seen her with the captain! Surely, he would not keep the information to himself.

  But that wasn’t all that whirled about in her mind. A seed had been planted… Could she withdraw from her engagement? Was such a thing possible?

  Her mother was not alone. And today, of all things, her mama had acquired a new lady’s maid!

  The woman was middle-aged, slim, and stern-looking. It had been necessary last year to let go of Mother’s former maid in order to economize. Her mother had not complained, but Sophia knew she’d felt the loss greatly. Mr. Scofield must be doing well indeed!

  “Mama?” She hesitantly peered into the room. “May I speak with you alone for a moment?”

  Her mother sat in front of her dressing table and glanced up, only slightly concerned. “Mrs. Crump, I’d like you to meet my daughter Miss Sophia Babineaux. Sophia, Mr. Scofield has hired Mrs. Crump as my lady’s maid! Isn’t this wonderful?”

  The maid pinched her lips together before tilting her head in acknowledgement in Sophia’s direction. “Of course, Missus, but we haven’t much time.” She spoke in a tight voice before exiting to the dressing room.

  Sophia located a chair and pulled it up to sit beside her mother.

  “Mama…” She was not sure where to begin. “…I’m not… I am feeling…”

  “What is it, Sophy, dear?”

  Sophia heard such love in her mama’s voice that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. “I, Mama, I am having second thoughts…”

  “Oh, dear, are you having cold feet about Lord Harold?” At last, she had her mother’s full attention.

  Sophia nodded, and her mother smiled encouragingly. “All ladies feel this way! Are you afraid of the marital act? You mustn’t be, my dear. It can be a wonderful aspect of marriage. And Lord Harold is not unattractive physically. He will be careful with you, I am sure. But we mustn’t speak of such things yet. I will tell you all about that when the time comes.”

  “No, Mama, it isn’t that.” Was it? “What if he isn’t the one? I know that you loved Papa.”

  Her mother frowned and turned back to the mirror. She picked up a brush and dabbed some powder onto her nose and cheeks.

  “It is not so simple as that, dear. Yes, I loved your father with all of my heart. He filled my life completely. But aside from the love, aside from the joy of giving birth to you, there was not much else. We lived on my awfully small dowry, but that didn’t last long. And after your father died, not only was I devastated by the loss of him, we were left penniless.”

  Sophia knew all of this.

  “What of Mr. Scofield, then. Do you love him?”

  Her mother’s shoulders sagged at the question. “I feel great affection for him. He is considerably older than I, you know this. But he promised security and comfort for both of us. If not for Mr. Scofield, who knows where we would have ended up? There are aspects to marriage that last much longer than grand passion or romantic notions.”

  “But—”

  “No buts about it, dear. There comes a time when we must make practical decisions, decisions based upon rational thought and logical facts. Is Lord Harold good to you? Does he frighten you? Has he not offered you his protection and affection? These are not small matters. Anyhow,” she added. “I think that you do love Lord Harold, as he so obviously loves you.”

  “Mother, but what if I don’t?”

  Her mother shook her head before turning back to face her. This time her eyes were earnest and slightly pleading. “Sophia, darling, the contracts have been signed. Everything is already in place. I’m afraid you no longer have any choice in the matter.”

  Sophia shook her head, not quite understanding what her mother meant by this.

  “Lord Harold’s family is so exceedingly happy to welcome you into the family that they have placed an annuity upon Mr. Scofield, Dudley, and myself! They have set funds aside for you and your future children. Have you not noticed that we are keeping the candles burning longer? That the food has improved significantly? Not to mention the new clothing for myself, your trousseau, and Mrs. Crump! Darling, your Lord Harold has quite been the answer to our prayers.”

  Sophia was stunned. She ought to have known though. The pastries, the visits to Madam Chantal, and yes, the candles had been left burning longer. Some misguided optimism inside of her had attributed it to Mr. Scofield’s ingenuity. When it fact it was all due to her betrothal.

  She ought to have known, but she’d been too caught up in her own world.

  “Is this not something I ought to have been informed of earlier?” She loved her mother. She wanted her mother to have her heart’s desire. But knowing of such payments, she suddenly felt… sordid.

  Was it a simple matter of Lord Harold’s benevolence?

  “How large are the annuities, Mother?” she asked gently when her initial question went unanswered.

  Her mother looked up with wide eyes. “I wouldn’t know the details, dear. You know how Mr. Scofield is regarding financial matters. And you ought not to worry about them either. I simply told you so that you would be reassured of Lord Harold’s love, that he holds you in such high regard as to ensure your family’s security.”

  What? This made no sense at all. Of course, she’d expected her husband to provide for herself upon her marriage, and perhaps eventually, her mother. But this… was most unusual, was it not?

  When Cecily married, it had been her money which had gone to the groom’s estate.

  Her mother waved one hand in the air. “It is of no matter, darling. Now, oughtn’t you to be getting changed?”

  But Sophia continued to sit facing her mama, feeling confused. “I wish Rhoda were joining us tonight.” Rhoda had a way of making sense of these things.

  At the change of subject, her mama brightened. “Why don’t you send a messenger to invite her. I had planned on bringing Aunt Gertrude, but she is under the weather. Her grace won’t object, I’m sure, if we substitute one guest for another. The numbers will still be the same.”

  Yes, yes, this was an excellent idea. Sophia sprang to her feet and went to find one of their manservants. She mustn’t delay, as Rhoda would need time to dress. Oh, she hoped Rhoda could attend. Sophia had so many questions, and her friend was so much worldlier than she.

  She wished it could be all four of them, Emily and Cecily as well, but since Cecily had married, nothing was the same.

  And now Sophia was to marry as well.

  When had her life become so complicated?

  * * *

  “If she is not here in five minutes, we will leave without her, Sophia.” Mr. Scofield stood at the mantel, glass in hand, not at all pleased to
be delayed.

  “Really, Soph…” Dudley clucked his tongue. “…your friend ought to show some consideration. Shouldn’t surprise me, though, I’d always thought Miss Mossant an irreverent sort.”

  Rhoda had failed to arrive at the exact designated time. What ought to have been a normal family gathering had become somewhat uncomfortable.

  “She did not receive her invitation until late.” Sophia lifted her chin. “She is filling in for your sister, Mr. Scofield, as a favor. She will be here any minute, I am certain.”

  Her stepfather pinched his lips and pulled back the curtain. Dudley threw a satisfied smirk her way. He’d still not said a word about seeing her at the circus. Had he known who Captain Brookes was? Most likely.

  Dudley was a friend to Lord Kensington and was adamant that the duel had been unsporting. He would know who Captain Brookes was, most certainly, even if he’d not personally met the man.

  “There she is now.” Sophia’s mother stood, reaching for her reticule.

  “Hurry along.” Mr. Scofield held the door. “I do hope the duke isn’t insulted by our tardiness.”

  “Walter, my dear,” her mother soothed. “Isn’t a lady allowed to be late? I’m sure Lord Harold will be all the more pleased when Sophia arrives.”

  Mr. Scofield, somewhat mollified, glanced at Dudley who was chuckling to himself. “Of course, my dear, of course.”

  As Rhoda rushed in, they gathered hats and wraps and what-nots and were quickly ushered outside to a carriage with the Duke of Prescott’s insignia on the door. It had arrived nearly half an hour ago. Her father and Dudley sat in the front-facing seat and the ladies slid onto the opposite bench.

  Mr. Scofield inspected and touched the plush upholstery in approval. “Beautiful, beautiful. The duke has excellent taste.” It was the most satisfied he’d sounded since Sophia joined them in the drawing room.

  “He does at that,” Rhoda quipped, never one to be intimidated by arrogance or self-importance.

  The rest of the short journey passed in silence. Sophia knew Rhoda wanted to ask about the afternoon spent in Brookes’ company, just as Sophia was anxious to discuss all that she’d discovered today. Rhoda would most definitely have opinions on all of it.

  And Sophia valued most of them.

  But, of course, the girls could discuss none of it in her family’s presence!

  So, they settled for cryptic glances, and half smiles, until the coach came to a halt at the front of the theatre.

  Her fiancé and his brother awaited them outside, both somber and unsmiling.

  Sophia, drawing upon manners instilled in her since birth, presented Rhoda to the Marques St. John while Lord Harold stood by, impatience on his face. “My lord, may I present to you my dear friend, Miss Rhododendron Mossant. Rhoda, the Marques St. John, Lord Harold’s older brother.”

  Looking slightly less bored than he had a moment before, St. John stepped forward and bent over Rhoda’s hand. His gaze, Sophia noticed with some concern, lingered perhaps longer than it ought to upon Rhoda’s décolletage.

  But the play was due to begin any moment.

  Without further delay, Lord Harold led them into the theatre.

  “I’d hoped to speak with you before the play, Miss Beauchamp. In the future, please, I’d appreciate it if you can avoid such tardiness.” His voice was tight and disapproving. Casting him a questioning glance, Sophia was surprised when he refused to meet her eyes.

  She took his arm tentatively as he ushered them through the emptying corridor.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Sophia breathed. Oh, why could he not be in a better mood this evening? She’d so hoped to find reassurance in his company, tonight of all nights.

  Mr. Scofield escorted her mother while the marques offered his arm to Rhoda. Dudley followed alone. Sounds of the crowd could be heard as Lord Harold rushed them along.

  Just as they stepped into the duke’s box, the lights began to dim.

  Not before, however, Sophia took in the curious and disapproving faces awaiting them.

  Except for one, which looked as surprised as she felt.

  Sitting in the corner, next to the duke and the duke’s younger brother, was none other than the man who’d licked her nose earlier that afternoon.

  Captain Devlin Brookes.

  * * *

  It could not be her! Surely! The lights dimmed, and he had to stare at the woman closely to see if his mind was playing tricks.

  She’d invaded his thoughts on and off all afternoon. Ever since he’d watched her walk away from him.

  “I do like you,” she had told him. He did not believe she’d meant to speak such thoughts aloud. It had been more as though they’d escaped her mouth unwittingly.

  She had blushed.

  And then, perhaps, regretted her words.

  She’d become distracted and nervous, insisting upon returning home.

  An engaged lady, for Christ’s sake. He was not the sort of man to interfere with another man’s betrothed.

  And so, he’d ignored his instinct again, to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Gentlemen did not ravage young ladies on the street for all to see. Unless, that was, he was amenable to getting caught in the parson’s trap himself.

  Which he could have been, had he been willing to compromise her.

  Ha, parson’s trap indeed!

  But that was not his way. He would have a lady make her own choices.

  Furthermore, as she’d attempted to point out to him earlier in the day, they did not really know one another at all.

  He did not know her family, nor where she was from. And she knew nothing of him.

  And yet, despite all of that, their souls had connected.

  Which ought to have sounded ridiculous but somehow did not.

  When she appeared in the box, clutching Harold’s arm, Dev had wondered at his own sanity for just a moment.

  The lights went down before any introductions could be made.

  By God, it was her though.

  Sophia Babineaux was Harold’s betrothed.

  This knowledge, as it raced through Dev’s mind, raised all sorts of questions. It also, perhaps, provided a host of answers.

  Of course, if the duke had already made payments to her family, she could not back out of the engagement.

  A sweet deal, indeed. Miss Babineaux had landed a husband who would make no physical demands upon her whatsoever, but provide financial security — hell, abundance — for the rest of her life. For both her family and herself.

  She sat with a ramrod straight spine, not touching the back of her seat, her eyes pinned to the action on the stage.

  She’d seen him, oh yes. Those angelic eyes had widened in shock for the briefest of moments.

  She would not look back.

  Of course, she could not.

  Dev stared at her profile as the stage lights whispered across her features.

  His cousin, Harold, sat beside her, quite unimpressed by everything. He was not happy, Devlin knew, with his father’s decision to hasten the wedding date. Harold’s shoulders pressed into the corner of his chair, away from Sophia. Plenty of empty space separated the engaged couple.

  Sophia was in an arranged marriage.

  She’d insisted her fiancé loved her, that he was a kind and gentle man. It would not do to appear so mercenary. She was a sweet young thing, after all. She would not ruin such an impression by admitting she was marrying a man for his money.

  Devlin was disgusted. With her, with himself, with his uncle. It was difficult to be disgusted with Harold. It was not his fault, really. Harold would not have chosen this for himself if it had been his decision to make.

  Sophia had not known Devlin was a member of the Prescott family, a distant heir, even, to the duke himself.

  No, the look on her face had portrayed dismay and surprise.

  Miss Mossant attended as well. Seated beside Sophia, she’d gotten a look at him, too. Perhaps she’d sent him a shy smile. He could
not remember.

  He’d had eyes only for Sophia.

  But now he turned toward her friend. Had Miss Mossant known?

  The taller woman wore her chestnut hair high upon her head with curling tendrils dropping to her shoulders. And although a little slimmer than his normal tastes, she was a desirable woman in her own right.

  Lucas sat beside her, nearly as uninterested as Harold.

  Such a delightful party.

  Across the aisle, in the front row, Dev presumed the older couple to be her parents. Yes, the blonde was most definitively Sophia’s mother. She had the same petite beauty. The man on the aisle next to them must be the brother.

  Sophia’d not said much about the brother, but upon some inspection, Dev realized he had some knowledge of the man — an itinerate gambler and a wastrel. The fellow mingled in circles who spent lavishly, and as far as Dev knew, most likely held several of his vowels.

  Another reason for Sophia to sell herself to his uncle.

  Goddamn it.

  It was not what he would have believed of her.

  He could only wait for the first act to be over. He’d already seen this performance, a week prior, and it was mediocre at best. He’d attended only to appease his aunt and father. And he’d been mildly curious as to what sort of lady had sold herself to Harold.

  He would leave at the intermission.

  Until then, he had difficulty keeping his eyes off her.

  Did she feel him watching her? Could she feel his anger?

  A few minutes into the production, Sophia turned toward Harold. She placed her hand on Harold’s arm and whispered into his ear.

  Her manner appeared contrite, cajoling even. Harold took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth mechanically. He then quite deliberately replaced it back in her own lap and relinquished it.

  Sophia’s countenance deflated.