“Fifteen days, Mama. That’s over a fortnight.” Sophia’s stomach was in knots. She could barely swallow her food. What if Captain Brookes didn’t come? What if he presumed she would not attend due to the weather? What if he simply forgot? “I won’t fall ill. I never fall ill. In fact, I’m more likely to fall ill if I have to spend another day inside — stuck in this blasted house!” She searched for some way to convince her mother as panic threatened. “Nerves about the wedding. I need to be outside. It calms them — the outside that is, the outside… weather. It calms my nerves.” And then she stood up. She could not wait a moment longer.
Rhoda placed her half-eaten sandwich onto her own plate and looked to Sophia’s mother, who reluctantly nodded.
“Very well, I don’t want nerves making you ill either. But carry an umbrella and wear your winter mantel. And be quick about it. Once the rain soaks through, you’ll feel the cold for certain.”
“I know.” And then, after giving her mama a quick kiss on the cheek, Sophia pulled Rhoda away so that they could be on their way quickly.
So quickly, she almost forgot the bread.
She’d barely stepped outside before a gust of wind blew icy moisture into her collar. “Blasted feathering English weather,” she cursed beneath her breath. The umbrellas might as well have been non-existent, for all they were worth. The silver lining to this blustery weather was that it did not take Sophia and Rhoda much effort to convince their chaperones to wait for them in a teahouse. Of course, the chaperones knew the girls were up to something, but for sweet biscuits and a warm fire, they were quite willing to relinquish their responsibilities.
Peaches wasn’t allowed inside the teahouse, however, and would have to come with them to the park.
Burrowed into Sophia’s cloak, the pup began shivering before they were out the door. Sophia would not leave Peaches behind. Even though she hadn’t seen Dudley lately, she would take no chances.
She snuggled Peaches close and marched determinedly toward the park. Rhoda carried the bag of bread and led the way.
When they arrived at the river’s edge, Sophia’s heart plummeted.
Not another soul in sight. Not by the water’s edge, not near the pavilion, and not on any of the paths.
He hadn’t come.
But before she could utter her dismay, Rhoda tapped her on the shoulder and pointed.
A black, non-descript carriage was parked in the distance with a man standing beside it, rather nonchalantly, really.
As though the rain were not wet, as though the droplets were not cold.
It was Captain Brookes.
It had to be him.
At a vigorous wave from Rhoda, he pushed himself away from the vehicle and ambled toward them. Sophia handed Peaches to her friend and nodded. “You wait in the comfort of his carriage. I’ll speak to him in the pavilion.” Rhoda had no cause to argue with such a plan and made a quick dash toward the coach.
Sophia stood in the downpour as he approached her. She no longer felt the rain even though it had, by now, soaked through her shoes and hat. She barely noticed when a drop slid onto her hair and down her cheek.
She’d wondered how she would feel in this moment.
She’d wondered if she would feel indifferent, or resentful even.
And now she knew.
Every part of her body came alive at the sight of him.
He wore all black. His hat, his coat, his boots, even his gloves. The hair that was not tucked under his hat was slick with water. Shiny.
Practically blue.
And, despite the dire reason for their meeting, his eyes danced with amusement. The grin that lit his face revealed white, even teeth.
He was laughing!
She could only chuckle, herself, when he grasped her free hand and led her toward the covered building nearby. “Can you believe this wicked weather, Sophia Babineaux?” His voice held laughter as they dashed across the grass. “Nothing like a little rain to keep things interesting.”
She relished in the warmth of his hand as they neared their destination and could not help but glance over at him. “You’re here!” Until that moment, she’d not known how fearful she’d been that he would fail her.
She had trusted him… but just as she’d trusted her stepbrother… her stepfather… her mother… and Lord Harold… well, she’d grown wary of disappointment.
He stopped, for just a moment, and peered under her umbrella. “Where else would I be?”
It had not been an illusion. This feeling of closeness, of knowing another person’s soul.
She blinked away a few raindrops. The relief she experienced nearly caused her knees to buckle as they walked the rest of the way. “Oh, I don’t know, beside a cozy fire, perhaps, or wrapped in a warm blanket with your dog and a good book.”
“Ha,” he said. “Not me. I’m a military man, remember? The ground is my bed. A pretty lady is my fire…”
And then they were under the shelter. Several shrubs grew all around it, lending them more than a little privacy. What with no one else in the park, it was as though they were completely alone.
They did not have a great deal of time, though.
“My engagement is not at all what I thought,” Sophia began, apologetically.
“I know,” he said.
“How much do you know?” she asked.
“Pretty much all of it.” He took her umbrella from her and set it aside. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when he then embraced her reassuringly.
Sophia felt warm.
Safe.
“And I’ve spoken with Harold. He’s none too pleased, either.”
That was something she’d suspected, but not yet comprehended to be true. “So, it was a performance on his part. And this… payment… It has nothing to do with a grand passion for me.”
Still holding her close, he nodded solemnly. And then he tucked her head under his chin. “It’s all a pretense. You are a decoy. If I’d any idea what was happening, If I’d had any notion at all…
“Your uncle is a powerful man.”
“He’s no power over me, Sophia.”
She nuzzled deeper, inhaling his scent. “So, Lord Harold, he is in love with someone else, with somebody your uncle deems unsuitable?”
Dev stilled. “Yes, yes, I believe that’s the crux of it all. And yet he did nothing to halt his father’s plans.”
“Why me? I am a nobody. Surely, countless marriageable ladies would have readily agreed to such an arrangement.”
“Likely,” he said. And then, answering her question more fully, he added, “Mr. Scofield and my uncle have long been acquainted. They wished for all intents and purposes that yours and Harold’s betrothal appear to be a love match. You have an air of… innocence about you.”
“Such nonsense!” She felt all the wonder of being in his arms, but also all the hopelessness of it. “Nothing can be done now. I’ve thought on it for hours and hours. My mother—”
And then he was just as serious. “There is a way. My cousin, you’ll be glad to know, has more of a spine to him than I’d thought. He admitted to me that he does not wish to continue living as his father’s pawn. He refuses to make a move, however, until Prescott releases his funds, presently in trust. And that transaction will not occur until after your wedding ceremony.” Sophia pulled away to consider his words doubtfully. “We’ve discussed the circumstances at length, and… come up with a plan. If it works, your parents will be safe from legal action. But most importantly, both Harold and you will be free. It’s going to take some time, however. Details need to be ironed out.”
Stunned by his words, she could almost believe him. “You are not joking? You are not teasing me?”
He shook his head. “I am not.”
“Can you tell me more?”
Dev looked as though he would, but then he grimaced. “There are secrets that are not mine to reveal.” He touched her cheek lightly. And although he wore gloves, she could feel the tender
ness within him. She would believe all could be set right, for now.
“And then what?” she was compelled to ask.
Dev touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “Then, I think you and I can begin to get to know each other.”
“Dev…” She pressed her cheek into his hand. “…are you real?” She laughed. “Is any of this real?” If only… If only she could believe it.
She could easily guess the details of their scheme, and she could not disillusion him.
Yet.
She knew that all of it was only a dream.
But she could not tell him. It was too mortifying.
She would have to tell Lord Harold, eventually. Harold.
Her husband.
Before he did anything drastic.
“Sophia,” Dev breathed. One of his hands had moved to the back of her neck, his other caressing the small of her back.
She tilted her head back and parted her lips. Kiss me.
She did not need to say the words. He would hear. He would know.
And he did. He knew exactly what she needed — exactly what she wanted. But how? Why?
So perfect, soft and searching and then confident and giving. His taste evoked safety, comfort, and desire all at once.
She was one of the lucky ones. Millions of women in this world would never, not in their entire lives, experience the magic of a kiss from Captain Devlin Brookes.
She would take as much as he would give her today. For eventually, he would know the truth. He would discover she was a fraud.
Good Lord, she was as much a fraud as her fiancé.
She and Lord Harold were likely perfect for each other. But she would not think about that now.
She would savor her captain, surrender to his touch, allow him to believe that she too, was his dream.
Dev pulled away and buried his face in her neck. His height required that he bend his knees to do so, even though she stood on her toes to accommodate him.
“God, Sophia,” he breathed again, “we need to be patient. We need to wait.”
No one had ever considered her wishes so thoroughly. Not that she had suffered overtly, or been neglected, but no one had cared much to know what she wanted, or what she needed. An overwhelming sense of love filled her.
It was too soon, far too soon, she knew, but the words escaped anyhow.
“I love you.” She felt him stiffen. She needed to explain! “Not in a silly, whimsical feminine way, but because you would save me. And not because of how you make me feel, but for the goodness within you. Your heart, it speaks to me. You give me a foolish hope. And for that, I thank you.”
By now he had raised his head and was watching her closely.
She touched his face and memorized his features.
Tiny creases around his eyes indicated that he’d laughed whenever given the chance. She studied his nose… strong, aquiline, his cheekbones, and the dark whiskers already threatening to reappear. She would one day remember his dear sweet lips and his concerned brows.
He grasped her by the shoulders, sensing her melancholy. “Have faith in me, Sophia. Everything will work out, and yet you are looking at me as though I’m headed for the grave. Believe me. Believe in me? Won’t you?”
She nodded for him.
One last kiss. A promise from him, a wish from her, and then they returned to the black carriage. The rain had stopped and the sun barely peeked through the thick heavy clouds. Rhoda climbed out and handed Peaches over to her. Brookes offered to give them a lift home, but Sophia was adamant. This was goodbye.
He reached out, scratched Peaches behind the neck, and winked at her. “Don’t be downcast.”
“I know,” she said.
And with that, he jumped into the carriage and was whisked away.
Rhoda turned to her. “Well, what did he say? It sounds as though he has a plan.”
Sophia sighed and then gave Rhoda a halfhearted smile. “It’s hopeless.”
Chapter 9
Sophia, under normal circumstances, would have been over the moon at the prospect of planning her wedding. She was a girl who’d always appreciated fashion, flowers, and the details involved in such a grand spectacle.
Not that Mr. and Mrs. Scofield had ever had the funds to throw any lavish events themselves, but she’d attended enough to know the difference in a well-planned party and one thrown together by a novice.
But this wedding was not something she anticipated, and she did not experience the excitement of a normal bride. So instead of reveling in the questions she was asked regarding color, flowers, flavors, and whatnot, Sophia, rather endured the meetings she and her mother attended at Prescott House with the duchess and a various collection of Lord Harold’s aunts.
A pre-wedding ball would be held the night before the ceremony at St. George’s, and then a celebratory breakfast would follow. She and the groom would spend their first night as a married couple at Prescott House, for there really was no reason to stay anywhere else, and nowhere else would be finer, that was for certain. And then the day after, to signify a premature end to the Season for most of the family, they would all travel in an assortment of distinctively ducal vehicles to one of Prescotts’ large country estates adjacent to the sea. After a few weeks, Sophia and Lord Harold would travel to a nearby estate which had been gifted to them by the duke.
Sophia was becoming numb to all of it. It had been decided that Rhoda and her mother and sisters could join them following the wedding. Sophia’d not asked for much, after all. Such a simple request by the bride could be honored.
Sophia rather thought of herself as a mannequin to be dressed, an actress reciting her lines. It did not matter, she surmised, who she was, merely that she existed.
That was why, on one of these visits to Prescott House, the duchess caught her unawares when she requested a moment alone.
Her grace, always regal and poised, exuded confidence and calm. Since their first meeting, Sophia had been somewhat in awe of the woman.
As the two walked together through one of the endless corridors that wound through the mansion, Sophia realized that her future mother-in-law’s presence was not due to any great beauty. Upon closer inspection, the duchess was, in fact, rather normal-looking.
She had the same brown hair and eyes which had attracted Sophia to Lord Harold. Her grandeur was not derived from beauty, rather from her bearing and her dignity.
When they came to an iron gate blocking the corridor, the duchess took a key from a hook on the wall and then unlocked it. As the structure rested upon wheels, it slid off to the side easily, into what must be a deep narrow compartment.
“I thought you’d appreciate a glance at some of your future husband’s ancestors.” She spoke graciously as she hung the key back on the wall. She then took Sophia by the arm again and led her into the portrait-lined galley.
“I want you to know, Sophia, my dear, that you are welcome in this family. It can be overwhelming. I understand.” The duchess led Sophia along at a leisurely pace. Sophia was intrigued. This stroll was not about Lord Harold’s ancestors. “I remember when I was a new bride, how daunting it all was. And although Harold is not the heir, and God-willing, never will be, he is my son. His happiness matters greatly to me.”
Sophia didn’t know what to say to this. She’d barely had two words alone with her fiancé since that dreadful night at the theatre. The feelings she’d had for him were now, not just clouded, but stormy. In contemplating the reality of her betrothal, she only could rely upon her previous acquaintance with Lord Harold and Captain Brookes’ opinion of his cousin. But what could she say to the duchess?
“As it does to me,” Sophia said cautiously.
The duchess nodded approvingly. “And, my dear.” Her grace patted Sophia’s hand reassuringly. “I have learned from my own experience that if I wish for my children to find comfort and contentment with their spouses, then the best I can do is ensure their spouses are as content, themselves, as possible. That
they always feel safe and that their concerns matter within this family.
“I have watched you, and I feel as though I have come to know a little of who you are, Sophia. I think you are often underestimated, for your compassion, for your courage, and for your ability to love deeply. These last few weeks you have been subdued, however, and I think, overwhelmed.”
The portraits on the wall had taken them through centuries of dukes and duchesses and a few landscapes. When they rounded the corner, Sophia could not help but smile.
“I thought to myself, what would make Sophia feel at home? What could I do to help her feel as though she belongs with us?” The large, prestigious portraits on this wall were of dogs. Enormous long-haired dogs, Thin, spindly, short-haired dogs, a pug, a poodle… and…
…Peaches.
It really was Peaches!
Sophia laughed for the first time in days. The duchess released her arm and stepped aside. “Oh, your grace,” Sophia said, moving closer to the painting and shaking her head. No one had ever done anything like this for her! “When…? How…?”
“When the maids would take Peaches out for those little constitutionals during our meetings, our family artist awaited her. I commissioned the painting the first time I saw you with your pet.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Sophia said. She wanted to touch the painting. The hair, the eyes, the tilt of her head — the likeness was uncanny. “Thank you, your grace.”
“You are protective of her. I want you to know that she will always be safe here. I quite understand.” Her grace gestured to another portrait of a poodle. “Figaro lived to be eighteen years old. He was perhaps a little spoiled. But not a day passed that he did not love me. And I realize we humans cannot always say that about one another.” She laughed at herself then, a little self-consciously.
“Your suites will always have the conveniences you will need for Peaches to make herself at home, wherever you and Harold stay.”
Sophia reluctantly backed away from the painting and turned toward the duchess. “Your gift warms my heart,” she said.
Hell in A Handbasket (Devilish Debutantes Book 2) Page 9
