Hell In A Handbasket

by Anders, Annabelle

  If Sophia later regretted any of this, if she could only come to him filled with guilt, Dev would never forgive himself. Therefore, they all must be absolutely certain Harold wasn’t feeling coerced or pressured in any way.

  And so, later that day, while Sophia took tea with her mother-in-law and a few of the aunts, Dev pulled Harold aside for a private discussion in the library. The other men were enjoying the billiards tables this afternoon, and so he did not think they would be interrupted.

  Harold, too, had a few things to say.

  Before Dev could even pour a splash of whisky, Harold approached the subject of Sophia.

  “I’ve grown rather fond of Sophia, Dev,” he said. “She’s not at all the sort of lady I’d thought she was before I married her.” This was an intriguing notion for Dev to ponder. He realized, then, that Harold had never had a close relationship with a young woman. All he’d ever known were those who had been presented to him by the ton –– the seemingly endless parade of laced-up, parasoled, empty-headed debutantes. And Harold had had no reason nor inclination to pursue any of them.

  Until Sophia.

  And, hell, Dev, himself, had thought Sophia was one of them when he’d first stumbled upon her trapped behind the lion with Peaches. “There is more to her than meets the eye,” he agreed.

  “I do believe that being with her this past week is what it would have been like to have a sister,” Harold continued. “I suppose you realize how clever she is. But even more than that.” He frowned as though searching for the right words. “Without having to convince her, without explaining to her my frustrations with myself… it is as though she understands a great deal of what is in my heart.” Harold took the glass Dev handed him and then raised it to his lips. “And she does not judge me.” He shook his head side to side. “She’s not once acted disgusted by…” Seeming to realize how intimate his words were, he turned his head and stemmed the flow of words. “She gives me hope, Dev,” he said instead of whatever he’d been thinking a moment before.

  Dev could not help but smile at this. Could he find the words to express all that she’d come to mean to him in so short a time? Brave, compassionate, forgiving, sensual…

  Dev was happy to learn that Harold felt hopeful. He would be even happier when he could see some optimism in Sophia again. Perhaps after Harold took the fall and made his safe getaway.

  “She’s afraid for you. She’s afraid you’ll regret giving up your family,” Dev said.

  “I know.” Harold set his glass upon a coaster. “It’s why I wanted to speak with you. She and I, together, we’ve had long discussions, on a few occasions, when one of us has been unable to sleep. And I’ve tried to tell her how much my freedom means to me. But I don’t think she realizes…” Looking a little uncomfortable, he glanced back up. “Afterward, will you tell her for me, that she well may have saved my life? Tell her that, aside from my own mother, she’s the only woman I’ve ever felt close to? But mostly, tell her thank you.” He choked a little at his words.

  Dev took a sip of his own drink. “I will.”

  Harold waited a few minutes before he spoke again. “I’ve also been thinking about St. John.” He never referred to his brother by his first name. At some point, the wedge of separation had grown so great between the two of them that Dev wasn’t certain it could ever be removed. “St. John is going to remember the cave.”

  Dev nodded. Back to the details. This was more comfortable ground for both of them. “We need to bring him in on the plan.”

  Harold spoke into his glass, deep in thought. “He’s never accepted me for who I am. I will forever be a deviant to him. A reminder that all is not perfect in this great ducal family.”

  “But he worries for your safety,” Dev felt compelled to add, although Harold had the right of it. St. John would always worry most for the reputation and dignity of the Prescott legacy. “Would you speak with him about it, or would you prefer that I do?”

  Harold took another sip of the amber liquid. “Would you think me a coward if I said I’d prefer you do it?”

  “You’re no coward.” Dev would put that notion to rest forever.

  “Yes, he needs to know. And he will understand why I wish to leave. He’ll agree with it, in fact. Dev,” he added, then, with furrowed brows, he returned to the earlier subject, “when I’m gone, you are going to marry Sophia, aren’t you? Because something is wrong with her family. Something about them that frightened her. She hasn’t told me anything, but I don’t want her sent back to them, just in case I am right about this.”

  Dev could put this doubt of Harold’s to rest quite easily. “I am, Harold. You need not worry about her safety.”

  And hearing these words, Harold nodded. “You love her.”

  Dev would leave his cousin with no doubts whatsoever. “I do.” And then, “I’ll speak with St. John tomorrow. When do you wish to stage the accident?”

  “If St. John doesn’t pose any difficulties, the day after. The sooner we do this, the better.”

  This was Dev’s opinion as well.

  “I’ll tell Sophia tonight. It will be the last night that we pretend to sleep together as a married couple. She has informed me that the night before the accident I ought to be with Stewart…” Harold flushed. He’d likely not intended to reveal something so intimate. But then he added, “She promised to handle her maid.”

  Perhaps, tomorrow night, Dev could go to her. She would need reassurance. She would need comfort.

  Hell, Dev was simply mad for wanting her.

  And then out of nowhere, Harold winked at him, almost as though he had read Dev’s thoughts. They both burst out laughing. Harold was in a particularly uncharacteristic mood. Life was never simple.

  Dev spent the remainder of the afternoon reminiscing with a cousin he’d practically written off years ago when he entered the military. Conversing with him today, knowing what he faced, Dev was glad he’d taken this chance to know him as an adult. As youths, they’d practically been brothers.

  He would lose him again, he realized. Due to the gravity of the situation, it would be just as though his cousin were to die, in truth. Harold could not return to England. Ever. It would be dangerous for him to write, to send word. He was even going to have to take on a different name.

  Dev laughed at a particularly embarrassing memory Harold had brought up.

  He would enjoy his cousin’s company today.

  Tomorrow he would speak with St. John.

  * * *

  Sophia was not, in fact, taking tea with the duchess and her sisters that afternoon. For Rhoda had only recently arrived, and Sophia was eager for the two of them to catch up in private. They’d conversed briefly that morning, but with Rhoda’s mother and sisters present, and then later, in Sophia’s chamber, Penny had hovered. They’d been able to talk about silly, inconsequential matters, but they could not really share. And since Sophia had been spending so much time working with Harold on his swimming, she’d missed out on her afternoon walks with Peaches.

  That afternoon, then, was the perfect time to devote to Rhoda and Peaches. They would avoid the beach. Sophia’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. She didn’t wish to think about Harold’s jump today. It was becoming too morbid, too depressing, too deceitful…

  Too real.

  Sophia removed Peaches’ leading string, allowing her pup to scurry about unimpeded. Unless they came upon a rabbit, Sophia knew Peaches would stay nearby.

  Sophia was curious… “How have matters proceeded… with St. John?”

  At this, Rhoda clasped her hands beneath her chin. “I don’t wish to jinx it,” she answered, “but I believe he has become somewhat enamored of me.”

  Sophia’s brows rose. It was possible, she supposed. She’d previously considered the man to be somewhat cold and too condescending to be attracted to her friend. Rhoda was keenly intelligent and liberal-minded. But, perhaps she was the perfect woman for St. John. Perhaps he needed a wife who could complement his t
raditional ideals with an ounce or two of progressive thinking.

  “He is attentive? He shows you and speaks of affection?” she asked.

  A smile drew the corners of Rhoda’s full lips upward. “He is, and yes, he does.” She took a few steps and then hugged herself a little self-consciously. “Sophia, he calls me his flower. He touches me in such a way, on occasions… I cannot help but imagine them over and over again in my mind.”

  “Mmm...” Sophia understood this. Over the past two days, she’d cherished the memory of Dev touching her arm, brushing her hand, leaning in and allowing his breath to linger near her nape. It was all the more evocative since they’d been forced to keep their distance from one another most of the time.

  How long would they wait… after?

  Except she did not wish to think about this.

  “Has St. John mentioned speaking to your father?” This was important. This was how a gentleman revealed his true intentions.

  “My father has not traveled to London, yet.” Oh, yes, Rhoda’s father and mother rarely resided in the same city — let alone house — at the same time.

  “He is still in Bristol, then?”

  Rhoda scowled. “He is.” They stopped and watched Peaches dig into a particularly fascinating section of earth, before continuing their meandering walk. “I suppose, though,” Rhoda began, “Bristol is not the end of the earth. If Lucas is serious about me, it would not be unreasonable for me to expect him to travel to my father, would it?”

  Lucas, indeed? Sophia agreed whole-heartedly. “It would not be. He is a marques. He can do as he pleases, travel where he wishes.” Oh, she hoped Harold’s older brother was not planting false expectations in Rhoda’s heart. Rhoda deserved a husband who loved her, one whom she loved. Just over a week ago, Sophia had given up on this possibility for herself.

  But Dev had not.

  Warmth blossomed in her heart.

  Dev had not given up on her.

  “I am happy to see you so content with Lord Harold, after all. I’d not thought he would ever appear so… demonstrative, in front of others, no less.”

  Sophia flushed at these words. She wished — oh, how she wished — she did not have to keep this secret from her friend. It would be such a relief to share this burden with Rhoda.

  But she could not.

  And so, she must perpetuate the lie they’d begun since the wedding.

  “Harold is a sensitive and thoughtful gentleman.” Best to stay with the truth as much as possible. “I realize, now, after coming to know the person he is, that he is a very special man. It’s silly, really, Rhoda, how we think we understand a person, know what’s in their heart, after sharing a few dances and a turn in the park. Courting, within the ton anyhow, does not allow a lady and a gentleman to comprehend one another at all.”

  “Except,” Rhoda smiled enigmatically, “for when they slip away together, unseen, along a dark garden path or behind, perhaps, a well-placed fern.”

  Sophia shook her head and smiled. But she would kill St. John if he was merely dallying with her friend!

  They changed directions to keep up with Peaches, who seemed to be navigating this journey, and now had a lovely view of the sea. “Lord Harold and I have swum in the ocean every day since we’ve arrived. This estate is situated perfectly.”

  “Once one has safely arrived,” Rhoda added. “The drive leading up to the castle is daunting. I could barely look out the window at times, what with all of the turns, and climbing, and cliffs below.”

  Sophia wrinkled her nose. That had not bothered her when they’d first arrived. She’d had other things to worry about at the time. So much had changed. She felt years older than she had a month ago.

  “Mama is looking well.” Sophia changed the subject. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Rhoda nodded. “You’ve made her so happy. Dudley did not join them for this visit?”

  Sophia sighed. “We are lucky to be spared his company.” And then, “What have you found, Peaches?” The little dog carried a large stick between her teeth. “You wish to play, do you?” She wrestled the stick out of Peaches’ teeth and then threw it as far as she could. Dev had told her Dudley was in Brighton. The mere mention of his name caused her stomach to churn. He’d lied about an exam. He would gamble himself into debt again. Dev was right in that her stepbrother might not limit his transgressions to herself.

  What if he’d hurt others already? Dudley needed to be brought under control somehow!

  Yes, Dev was right.

  “What of Captain Brookes?” Rhoda’s words jolted her. It was as though her friend could read her mind. “I had thought the two of you had developed an affection for each other.”

  Oh, how Sophia hated keeping her feelings, her fears for Harold and her relationship with Dev, from her closest friend.

  “It is better this way.” Sophia chose her words carefully. “Better to accept what is and move forward. And really, Harold has been a dear.”

  Rhoda played with the seam on her glove. “Do you love him then? As a woman loves a man? As a wife loves a husband?”

  Focusing on the first question, Sophia did not have to lie. “I do, Rhoda.” Like a brother, the brother Dudley had never been. “He is funny and clever, and sensitive. He is a wonderful man.” She felt no disloyalty in her words as she spoke them. She loved Harold as a friend and also as a dear relation. It was just as Dev would wish.

  She knew this because she’d seen the sadness in his eyes today. He’d been proud of Harold’s success, but he felt a sadness as well.

  “Do you love St. John? Could you ever love him, do you think? As a woman loves a man, as a wife loves a husband?” She turned the question back upon her friend.

  Rhoda, rebellious, decisive, fearless Rhoda suddenly looked bashful. Of the four of them — Sophia, Emily, Cecily and herself — Rhoda’d always been the most flirtatious. But she’d never fixed her attentions upon one particular gentleman, not longer than a week, generally. But today she was different.

  Rhoda’s cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes shining and her lips turned up in a mysterious smile.

  Admittedly, Rhoda had found Dev attractive for a few days, but who would not? This thing with St. John, however — this was different.

  He’d paid court to Rhoda now for nearly a month.

  St. John was a marques. He was a highly desirable bachelor.

  And St. John was especially high in the instep. He could afford to be. For he was much sought after. Perhaps too much so.

  “I could be, I think,” Rhoda practically whispered the words.

  Sophia took Rhoda’s arm and patted her. “He should be so lucky.”

  At which words Rhoda laughed. “He is a marques!”

  “And you are one of my dearest of friends who happens to be even more beautiful on the inside than you are on the outside. You are loyal and true, compassionate and intelligent. He will not find anyone better to take as a wife. If he does, well, then he is a fool!”

  Rhoda stared into the distance. “Have you heard from Cecily or Emily?” She changed the subject, obviously uncomfortable contemplating both St. John’s intentions and Sophia’s sincere compliments.

  “Both, actually.” Sophia was happy to report. “Mother brought letters with her yesterday when she arrived. Emily…” She sighed. “…cannot wait to return from Wales. Her aunt wants her to stay on as a companion, but her parents have told her she may have one more Season first. And Cecily is melancholy, as can only be expected.”

  Poor Cecily did not have a Captain Devlin Brookes to extricate her from a loveless and arranged marriage. Before leaving London, after Lord Kensington’s accident, Cecily had done her best to convince them all that she was content with her situation. But Rhoda, Sophia, and Emily had seen behind her cheerful declaration. Cecily was unhappy and would be for as long as Lord Kensington lived.

  “Has her father not returned yet then?” At one time, they’d all believed Cecily’s wealthy father could remove her f
rom the catastrophic marriage, but they’d yet to hear anything promising in this regard.

  Rhoda shook her head. “I would be devastated to discover such dishonesty in St. John. Of course, with my near non-existent dowry I’ll not ever have to wonder if a man marries me for my money.”

  They both chuckled ironically.

  “But,” Sophia warned cautiously, “we have learned that people don’t always represent themselves honestly. Stay watchful, my friend. Stay watchful.”

  “When did you become so cynical and grave?” Rhoda patted her hand reassuringly but then added, “Without a doubt.”

  Chapter 19

  The air was cool, and a fine mist hung over the sea when St. John and Devlin rode out from the castle. The house party had grown to a much larger family gathering than anyone had intended and so, to avoid the possibility of interruption, Dev arranged for an early morning ride with his older cousin. This conversation would demand absolute privacy, and this way, he could be assured of it. St. John, sensing something of import, had agreed readily.

  Initially, they allowed the horses to set the pace, racing across the field, but after less than a mile, they slowed to an easy walk. At this point, Dev got right to the point. He would not hedge around the subject with St. John.

  “Harold is going to leave England. He is going to stage his own death, and then he and Stewart are leaving the country.”

  And as Dev suspected, St. John showed little emotion at the news. “So, it has all been a ruse then? The happy loving couple? For mother’s benefit, I presume.”

  “Of course, Luc.” Dev patted his horse on the neck. “I’ve promised to help him. He plans to do it tomorrow. He’s quite determined, but we have need of your assistance.”

  St. John brought his mount to a halt and stared out to the sea. The mist was burning off already. It looked as though today would bring with it another clear blue sky.

  “I should have known. It was too much to hope for, too good to be true.” Glancing at Dev, he narrowed his eyes. “Why did he not come to me himself?”