by Sophia James
‘Wait a moment.’
Before Fell could reply she stepped back towards the muttering group, cheeks still burning, but a spark of something moving in the depths of her green eyes he couldn’t quite place. He could only watch as the women fell silent at her approach, unfriendly as a gaggle of suspicious old geese.
‘Please excuse the interruption, but I couldn’t help overhear. Am I to understand you’re well acquainted with the Barden family?’
The leader, a bitter creature Fell recognised as a Mrs Cairn, drew herself up to her full height in offended dignity. ‘Why, no, indeed. None of us has the smallest connection to them.’
‘Not friends at all?’
‘Of course not!’
Still mystified, Fell saw Sophia’s half-smile. It was a little uncertain, but the strange light still danced and with a rush of shock Fell realised it was the faintest pinprick of challenge—another intriguing hint of the hidden spirit beneath the controlled exterior. ‘Oh. Forgive me. I assumed from your manner of speaking that you must be an intimate acquaintance.’ She paused to give a rueful shrug as though dismayed by her own foolishness and Fell saw he hadn’t imagined that fascinating glint of irreverence. ‘Imagine my surprise to find your conversation therefore based on no knowledge, truth or reason whatsoever. I shan’t take up any more of your time. Good afternoon.’
Without waiting to see the outrage on Mrs Cairn’s face Sophia turned and stepped smoothly away, one hand finding the crook of Fell’s elbow and bearing both of them out into the sunshine. Behind them the voices rose again at once, but this time Fell hardly heard them, too transfixed by the quiet satisfaction that flitted over Sophia’s features to pay them any mind.
‘What was that?’
Sophia allowed him the swiftest of upward peeks, cut off abruptly by the sweep of fair lashes as she looked away. The high colour at each cheekbone was the deepest Fell had seen there although she ignored it with a shake of her head. ‘I didn’t care for what they were saying. It was unforgivably rude.’
‘Aye, well. I can’t disagree with you there.’
He lifted his hat and pushed the hair back from his forehead with the brim, busying himself so Sophia might not see the utter surprise that wreathed his face.
Did she…speak out for me?
He couldn’t remember a time when anybody had challenged the slander spread about him on his behalf. Ma would simply sail past with the confidence the villagers found so offensive, far too secure in herself to pay any mind to the whispers that followed. That it would fall to Sophia, of all people, to take up his cause was something he never would have expected—surely she was too mild for that, too careful in concealing whatever flare of temper might lie within that quiet soul?
‘You’ll have to get used to that kind of talk if you’re set on wedding me. It won’t ever stop—and it won’t ever grow kinder, no matter what you do. It’s as well you learn that now.’
Sophia still looked away, only the top of her hand-me-down bonnet visible to Fell’s searching gaze, but there was no mistaking her wariness at what he realised too late could have sounded like a rebuke. ‘Are you angry? Would you rather I hadn’t said anything at all?’
‘Of course not. I just…’ He cast about for the right words, surprise and confusion clouding his mind to make it damnably hard to think. That fleeting gleam of light in her usually guarded eyes had spun him like a hurricane, leaving him unsure which way was which and stumbling for the path. ‘I wouldn’t want you to expect anything to change. This is my life—and it will soon be yours. I’d rather you were prepared.’
To his relief the bonnet bobbed up and down in a short nod. ‘I understand and I’m glad I didn’t irritate you with my lapse of control. My mother would have been beside herself if I’d spoken like that in her hearing. It’s just the sort of insolence she wanted to knock out of me.’
Fell couldn’t help a wry huff of a laugh despite the uncomfortable sensations executing swirls in his stomach. ‘Unsuccessfully, apparently.’
‘I’m not so sure. Certainly not for want of trying.’
He looked down at the edge in her voice, but still only a straw brim peered back, shielding Sophia from his concern. From that angle he could see nothing but the tip of her nose and a few raven waves that gave nothing away about whatever was running through that busy mind.
What was it she said her ma called her? An expensive disappointment? Fine words for her own daughter.
Whatever had made her run from Fenwick Manor had evidently left its mark, a thought Fell found he disliked. Probably he shouldn’t want to know what mysteries Sophia carried within her that made her the way she was, so unsure of herself and concealing a glint of spirit she seemed determined to suppress, but there was no denying Fell’s interest in the past of the woman who was to be his wife—and his growing desire to help her see he at least could be trusted not to harm her in the way he feared she imagined.
They had almost reached the forge with their strange combination of long strides and ungainly shuffle and as they neared the familiar sight of his cottage tension still coiled in Fell’s chest. Anger at the muttered malice towards his mother echoed to combine with his amazement Sophia had spoken against it, an action he couldn’t deny—however much he tried—thrilled him as much as it astounded. She’d set aside her usual caution and put herself out for him…although why she’d bothered was something he had no way of knowing.
Aside from to ask. Which I have no intention of doing.
He opened the gate he’d wrought himself many years ago, back when he’d been so foolish as to believe it would please Charity each time she turned up the path to their cottage. The memory of her face the first time she’d seen it appeared out of nowhere to catch him unawares, abruptly twisting his insides in momentary pain before fading back into nothingness. The pang was sharp, but he was almost glad of its sting—it reminded him of the folly of hoping for a woman’s love, a reminder he was in danger of needing now more than ever with Sophia hobbling at his side. It would be all too easy to lose his head again with such temptation before him, another woman he would need to guard against letting get too close and opening himself back up to the inevitable rejection that had followed him all his life. The only beings who might ever love him for himself were Ma and Lash, he knew with certainty—the former he hadn’t seen in months, having left to travel wherever the road took her and the latter now padding towards him with a wiry tail swaying in welcome. They were who he should look to for affection and for confirmation he wasn’t a wastrel, not a beautiful high-born lady bound to him by fear of her future and a bargain struck for the convenience of both.
‘Afternoon.’ Fell ran his fingers over the sun-warmed fur of Lash’s head in the reflexive movement of a lifetime of practice. The dog squinted up at him with a pink-tongued grin and turned to greet Sophia, nudging her with his long muzzle until she, too, traced the contours of the brown markings by his ears.
‘Hello. Did you miss me?’
Sophia’s voice was returned to normal now, the curious edge of bitterness left behind on the sweltering road through the village. Whatever she had been thinking at the mention of her mother had been enough to make her shrink a little, unhappiness Fell found he wanted to protect her against, just as she had leapt so unexpectedly to his defence against Mrs Cairn and her coven.
Too intent on her face, Fell didn’t realise their hands had met until Sophia withdrew her fingers from Lash’s fur with almost guilty speed, snatching her hand away from the dog’s head as if he’d tried to bite her. A fresh blush rushed in to chase away her pallor and Fell felt similar heat climb his own neck at the realisation it was her fingers he had stroked by mistake, entirely too absorbed by the complex thoughts turning his brain to custard to pay attention to his movements.
I ought to be more on my guard, he chided himself, watching as Sophia backed away with uneven steps and her hands
held to her chest. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I did these things on purpose.
She stopped just outside the cottage door, throwing him a fleeting look over her shoulder that caught him somewhere beneath his ribs.
‘I truly wish they hadn’t said those unkind things about you and your mother. I don’t know much of your history, but I know enough to realise there’s nothing of the gutter about you—in fact, far from it.’
Before he could reply Sophia flipped up the latch and stepped over the threshold into the shaded calm of the cottage, leaving behind only an impression of a bright skirt, black hair gleaming in the sun—and a man filled to the brim with hopeless confusion.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ten days passed in the blink of an eye.
The moss-covered gravestone was cool beneath Sophia’s trembling fingers as she traced the letters carved into it, feeling the worn contours of a name long since ceased to be spoken. It wasn’t one she recognised, but something in the shape of the grand cross-shaped stone reminded her of another grave she had once visited regularly, over twenty-five miles away now, but never to be forgotten. She stood alone in the morning sunshine, not another soul to be seen stirring in the village or on the rough road between the squat old houses, and she cut a solitary figure who might have been the last person left living on earth.
Oh, Papa. How I wish you were still here, today of all days. I might take courage in having you beside me as I walk down the aisle.
Woodford’s quaint little church stood proudly before her, but her legs felt too weak to take the final few steps inside. Somewhere behind the old oak doors Fell waited for her, tall and silent beside the rector who would finally bind her to the blacksmith for the rest of her life—and save her from the fate she would run to the ends of the earth to avoid. In less than an hour all those worries would be over and she would be Fell’s wife, leaving her with an entirely different set of problems to find answers to.
If Papa was still alive, though, I would never have needed to flee in the first place. Mother wouldn’t have married Lord Thruxton and my life wouldn’t have been blighted by the prospect of Septimus as a husband.
The harsh truth was unavoidable and Sophia squared her shoulders to bear the wave of grief and shame that rose to claim her. There was no getting away from it: she was to blame for all that had happened, as Mother had always said, and the price to pay was a lifetime of guilt slung around her neck.
He should be here. But he’s not and it’s my fault—and will continue to be my fault whether I loiter here or no.
She took a deep breath, feeling the air fill her burning lungs and press her ribs against the bodice of her dress. It was nothing like the gown she’d always assumed she would wear for her wedding; in her girlish dreams Sophia had been draped in gauzy white, a veil shimmering from her hair and expensive silk gleaming as it caught the light. Instead she was in fresh blue muslin with no headdress to speak of, only a few cornflowers scattered among her black tresses in simple beauty as though she was a country maid born and bred and not a lady desperate to escape a hopeless past.
No giggling bridesmaids accompanied her up the church steps nor proud father escorted her on his arm. It would be a wedding like no gentlewoman had before and yet Sophia couldn’t bring herself to regret its lack of glamour. Luxury and wealth had done nothing to bring her happiness, she thought as she gathered all her courage to grasp hold of the heavy iron handle and cast open the door—perhaps by some miracle she might find some here, in occupying the arms of a good man even if not his heart.
Come, then. Take a final glance at the outside world as Miss Sophia Somerlock. I pray as Mrs Barden life might be kinder—and I must endeavour to deserve it.
Fell’s back was turned to her as she stepped into the quiet peace of the empty church, the calm silence a soothing contrast to the wild thrum of her pulse. Over two hundred years of whispered prayers and murmured blessings filled the space with a feeling of serenity Sophia clung to like a child might its mother, drawing strength from the stillness as she paused just inside the door. The distance from the porch to the altar seemed suddenly so much more vast than it had the previous Sundays at the reading of the banns, when each week eyes flicked in her direction and lips muttered who knew what gossip at her retreating back. Now it stretched out before her, with no father beside her a lonely journey she had no choice but to undertake all alone. None of the villagers had gathered for the simple service, only the rector’s wife and a man Sophia vaguely recognised as a church deacon quietly sitting in the front pew to act as witnesses. It wouldn’t have mattered if every seat had been filled, however, for all the notice Sophia took. That long walk and the man waiting at the end of it were the only things she could think of, all else falling by the wayside as anxiety swirled inside her like a crashing tide.
He’d heard her enter, she knew from the hardly perceptible stiffening of Fell’s shoulders as he waited for her approach—a subtle movement that caught her eye at once, so attuned was she to every shift of his intriguing frame. It was something she was powerless to control, the instinctive reaction of her body to Fell’s presence; a more poetic soul might have described it as a dance of desire, the way she felt herself curve towards him with helpless longing she could hardly restrain. As his wife that longing might finally find an outlet, but still the danger to her heart warned her to stay on her guard.
Recall why this wedding is taking place. Even if Fell seems to tolerate me better than Mother would have thought, that doesn’t mean he feels anything for me beyond friendship and pity for a woman in need.
Rector Birch had peered up from his lectern at her entrance and now regarded her impatiently from beneath his heavy brows. Evidently he wished to begin the ceremony as quickly as possible, but there was no chance of that while the bride loitered so fearfully at the end of the yawningly empty aisle. He frowned slightly and Sophia tried to spur her stubborn legs into stirring, but they wouldn’t obey and for a horrible moment she wondered if she would ever move again. The passage through the church was just so long, so barren in its friendless length—how could anybody be expected to traverse it alone, she thought with desperation, with nobody there to offer a steadying hand—?
Fell looked over his shoulder and took in the set pallor of her frightened face in one swift glance. Apparently that was all it took to make up his mind for him, as with only the briefest of hesitations he strode the length of the church and held out his arm.
Sophia glanced from the straining sleeve in front of her—crisp, white and scarcely containing the muscle beneath—to the rector’s frown and back again, her voice a hiss of alarm in the silent church. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You’ve no father here to give you away, so I’ll do it myself.’
‘You intend to give me away…to yourself?’ She peered up at him, the mention of Papa a brief sting as she fought the urge to seize hold of the burly forearm and hold it tight. ‘Is that not a little unorthodox?’
Fell shrugged, his heart-stopping smile of wry amusement suddenly the only thing Sophia could see in the sunlit space between them.
‘Isn’t everything to do with this wedding?’
He was right. Nothing in what was about to happen was something either of them could have foretold and yet there they were, about to step out into the unknown and take whatever future might be destined for them. All she could say for certain was that with Fell’s help she would escape Septimus’s wrath and would in turn strive to be the best wife she could—unorthodox, but necessary, and a slim escape from the misery she knew she deserved.
With tentative fingers she took his arm and felt her face flush rosy as she settled her hand over the swell of muscle. Very soon she would be able to reach for that bicep as often as she chose, if she were only brave enough to do so, and the thought was one that stayed with her as together the lady and the blacksmith marched forward to meet their fate.
&n
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Fell hardly heard Rector Birch as he tonelessly ambled through the service, as usual more interested in his own voice than anyone else’s. All Fell could truly concentrate on was the pale face of the woman beside him, her eyes demurely cast down and her pretty lips barely moving as she all but mouthed her vows—giving the name Somerlock, not Thruxton, both to honour her father and escape those with evil intent. Both sounded just as sweet to Fell, although she could have been saying anything for all the words were able to penetrate his wonder.
He hadn’t seen her all morning, deliberately keeping out of the way as she performed the female mysteries of a bride on her wedding day, and now she was before him the most curious lump seemed to have risen in his throat.
If I thought she was lovely before, she’s managed to surpass herself today.
The blue dress wasn’t one he could recall having seen Ma wear, perhaps hidden at the very bottom of the trunk of folded gowns. It fitted across the shoulders and bodice as if it had been made with Sophia in mind, dropping from beneath her ribs to form an azure puddle at her little slippered feet. Cornflowers winked at him from among her shining hair, the only ornamentation she wore and yet needing nothing else to enhance the raven waves. She didn’t look high-born and haughty. Instead, she suddenly struck Fell as something he’d seen in one of Rector Frost’s books many years ago now, but a picture that had lodged itself immovably into his mind. It had been an illustration of an angel with wings outstretched, her clothing simple and her serene face lit by light that seemed to come from within herself. Sophia’s face wasn’t quite as tranquil, small white teeth occasionally worrying at her lower lip as if in anxious thought, but her porcelain beauty was the same and it made Fell swallow to realise she, too, seemed bathed in some unearthly glow. Perhaps it was the sun streaming through the windows above—or perhaps it was something else, the beauty of her face and the equally good heart he knew beat inside her, lending radiance to the woman only moments away from becoming his wife.
