by Reid, Stacy
Sophia was alive, and it should be sufficient…except it simply wasn’t. The hand that lifted the glass of whisky to his lips trembled so fiercely and William closed his eyes briefly.
“You’re alive,” he murmured, hoping that saying it aloud would banish some of the strangeness that had gripped him in its relentless hold. He had hardly slept since he had seen her, and he felt as if he would never be able to close his eyes again.
All those years he had wasted grieving; all those years wasted apart. All those other women he had taken to his bed, hoping to bury the memory of her smile and sweetness. A snarl of anger slipped from him, and he hated that he felt as he if he betrayed the vows, he had made her. It had taken William three years after Sophia’s ‘death’ before he had taken a lover. And it still hadn’t been easy. And over that long time, he had enjoyed at least seven or eight lovers. He could hardly recall their names and faces but he had not been despoiling innocents. His lovers had come to him willingly for they all had been widows and they had found common comfort in each other.
He had been riddled with guilt and pain for years, and all this time, she had been alive. His mother had lied to him. It was the duchess who had broken the news to him that the vicar and his entire family had been lost to the disease. William realized she had done more than simply lied…for when he had raced to Mulford and had seen the list of names of all those who had died tacked to the ancient door of Reverend Knightly’s former church Miss Sophia Knightly had been listed along with the vicar, his wife, and her sister. William had fallen to his knees, and he had roared out his anguish for Sophia and all the lives that had been so unfairly taken.
It had been Simon who had helped him to his feet and tried to talk some rational sense into him while he’d wept shamelessly into his brother’s arms. William had rushed to the rectory, which had been as silent as a tomb. There had been no sign of life, and he had spent two days there lying in her bed which had been stripped of its sheets and all signs that she had ever rested her head there.
A wave of icy anger curled its way around his heart. His mother, a woman he still loved and had then respected, had manipulated his fear, and distractions. When the epidemic had struck, he had insisted on helping Dr. Powell, and Simon to treat the patients, and he had lingered by Sophia’s side for several days, mopping her brow and reading poetry to her while she had tossed in fever not recognizing him. The memory of her agitation and groans of pain still had the power to ravage him. Then his father had collapsed, and his fear for his father had dragged him from Sophia’s side for several days.
And somehow, his mother had conspired to use her influence during those dreadful days to deceive him.
A knock sounded on the door, and he bid enter. His butler entered.
“Your brother and his wife have called, Your Grace. I’ve shown them to the yellow drawing-room and Mrs. McGinnis is arranging for refreshments to be served.”
Pleasure warmed his chest. He had not seen Simon since he had left Hawthorne Park with Lady Miranda a few weeks’ past. Nor had he heard from him.
“Thank you, I’ll go to him.” He launched himself to his feet and replaced his now empty glass on the desk. William left his library and made his way down the hall before turning left to the drawing-room. The beautiful Lady Miranda stood in front of Simon and peered up at him with a loving smile as she tenderly brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Their lips moved, but William was unable to discern their words.
“Simon,” he greeted, walking over to them.
The couple turned to face him, and it was if he could see the strings of love which bound them together. No regret shone in their eyes that they had disappointed their family’s expectations by eloping.
“Lady Miranda,” William said with a small smile. “Have you dined? Dinner will be announced in a little over an hour’s time, and I would be pleased if you would both join me.”
“Ah,” Simon said, blue eyes very much like William’s twinkling. “You are not disappointed in us?”
His tone indicated that he would not care one jot if William answered yes.
“No, I am proud,” he said gruffly, enfolding his brother in a hug. Over Simon’s shoulder, William winked at Lady Miranda. She had the gall to roll her eyes.
How rude, he mouthed, and she laughed. And he was glad for it, and hoped they would soon mend whatever tension and misunderstand still existed between them. He had been an ass to go along with her mother’s plan to compromise them both by locking them in together.
He pulled away from his brother. “Is all well?”
Simon shared a speaking glance with his wife, and William arched a brow.
“We saw the news sheets. Good God, man, Miss Knightly is alive?”
“Let’s get comfortable, and then we’ll talk.”
A few minutes’ later they were seated on comfortable sofas, more logs had been cast onto the fire, and Mrs. McGinnis had served Simon and Miranda with ratafia-wine, and a decanter of brandy had been left for William. They had an hour before dinner would be served, and he quickly told them what had happened.
“Mother lied?” Simon demanded faintly, gripping his glass of wine. “By God, I cannot credit she would behave in such a dishonorable manner.”
“Yes. I suspect she bribed the sexton. The vicar himself had died, who else would know it was a lie? And she is a duchess. Her influence is far-reaching. I know she objected to my attachment to Miss Knightly, but I never imagined she would go that far. If you recall father had fallen ill, and I was dragged to his bedside for several days. Each time I thought to leave Hawthorne Park mother would descend into hysterics, crying father might die when I was gone. I ended up being away from Sophia for a while, and I believed all to be well since you were by her side along with Dr. Powell and Dr. Campbell, and I had received no bad report.”
Simon scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was there when the vicar and his wife went to their rewards. They died within a few minutes of each other, but the two girls lingered on. I spent a few days at Hawthorne Park resting, for I had worked myself to the bones, and I had to pack for my return to Edinburgh to complete my studies. When I visited the rectory, it was empty, the place devoid of any signs of life that people I knew had lived there. I found Dr. Powell in the parish hall treating several parishioners, and he informed me the girls had also passed. I never…” Simon cleared his throat. “I never imagined a man of my profession could be so wretched and complicit.”
William took a healthy swallow of his drink. “Mother was cruel and vile, and she held steadfast with her deception in the face of my grief. I cannot reconcile her actions with the woman I know.”
Simon grew pensive. “Will you be able to forgive her?”
“I do not know.”
Lady Miranda, who had listened with an expression of aching sympathy said, “But what happened to Miss Knightly?”
William stood and sauntered over to the windows overlooking the small side garden. “I do not know. When I saw her…she ran from me.”
“And you gave chase,” Simon murmured. “Your scandal has quite overshadowed the fact my wife is no longer engaged to you, and we’ve practically escaped society’s censure unscathed.”
William nodded at that assessment. “And I am glad for it.”
A comfortable silence lingered.
“What will you do?” Lady Miranda queried. “I…if I might be so bold as to question if you still love her?”
Everything inside William went quiet, and he found he did not know the answer. He loved the sweet, gentle girl he remembered. The woman before him that night had been different. Her beauty had a boldness…a defiance that not been present when he knew her. How her eyes had flashed with such depths of emotion…
“I loved the girl I knew,” he admitted hoarsely.
“Will you marry her?” Simon asked.
“Marry her?” Lady Miranda gasped.
Simon cast a glance at his wife. “Would that be so unusual, my love?”
> She stood and made her way over. “Years have passed. Her feelings may no longer be attached to William. Miss Knightly might even be attached to someone else, and even William said he loved the girl he knew then. Perhaps on closer acquaintance now, your brother might even realize Miss Knightly is in his past.”
Regrets gnawed at him without mercy. If he hadn’t left England, surely, he would have discovered his mother’s duplicity years ago. He was at a place in his life where he wanted a wife, and now that he had rediscovered Sophia, it was unthinkable to even consider another woman. It had always been her. Yet she had been right. Years separated them…and they were very now different people. They could not go on as they had before, but he could not let her go either. The very idea was unpardonable.
Now what? A deep still voice asked him. And everything inside of him that had been empty and cold answered, I want to know the woman she is now.
Chapter 4
Hertfordshire, A few days later…
A fairy by the river side. If such magical creatures truly existed, Sophia Knightly at this moment personified one. She stood by the snaking river abutting her aunt’s country estate, the sunlight cutting through the thick canopy of trees to beam direct light on her. The white of her simple day dress and golden ribbon around her waist glistened iridescently. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back in loose waves, its dark brown lustrous beauty with hints of dark and light blonde strands moving gently in the breeze. Her feet were bare of walking shoes and stockings, and at a glance William saw they were casually splayed out on the grass. She held something in her hands, and he strolled forward carefully, not wanting to disturb her tranquillity, but wanting to be closer. He needed to be closer to her.
At the oddest moments, shock would dart through him as he realized fully she was still truly alive. Perhaps if he went closer, Sophia would disappear like ashes in the wind, and he would never see her again. That had been his darkest thought as he’d travelled down from town after receiving the countess’s instructions on how to find her niece. Pushing away his foolish fears, he moved close enough until he could see what she held between her thumbs.
It was the ring he’d given her so many years ago. A farce really for it had been but a loose string from his jacket. She’d kept it...all these years. The jumble of emotions hammering at his heart—pain, gladness, bewilderment—had him closing his eyes for a few seconds. He snapped them open, not wanting to miss another moment of her.
She shifted slightly and tilted her face to the slanting rays of the sun. Her pain and uncertainty were etched on her face as if rendered by a loving artist’s delicate brush. His damn heart ached. William wanted to go to Sophia and crush her into his arms, but he was afraid of frightening her. He was afraid he might kiss her senseless, afraid he might roar with anger at the years they’d miss, and afraid he would never let her go.
She closed her palm over the string ring for a few moments, bowed her head, then opened her palm and tossed it into the waters of the river. Unexpected loss tore through him with such force it almost drove him to his knees. She was saying goodbye, closing whatever feelings she’d left unresolved in her heart and resolving to forget what they’d shared.
* * *
Splash!
Sophia gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat as she watched William with a few powerful strokes, made his way to the piece of string that was rapidly floating away on the currents of the water.
“William,” she cried, running along the grassy embankment. “What are you doing?”
He swiped at something in the water, then placed it in his top pocket, before twisting around and swimming back toward her, fighting the rough currents of the river. Her knees wobbled, and it was difficult to admit she was quite relieved he had recovered that piece of string. Tears pricked behind her lids and the memories crowded her senses. Memories of his soft and then sometimes forceful, desperate kisses upon her lips as he’d spoken promises she’d never thought he would keep. The conviction in his voice and eyes as he’d twined it around her finger. The hours he’d held her while they’d watched the glory of the lowering sun sinking out of view and then the stars appearing in the sky above. The respect and care he’d had for her body, even though she had been willing to gift him her virtue.
Where have you been, William? Why did you leave without saying farewell?
“You are so foolish!” she cried with passionate alarm. “Rain fell throughout the night, and the rivers are swollen! Why would you risk your life for a piece of string?”
Chest heaving from the vigorous swim, he hauled himself from the waters. He made his way over to her and stopped perilously close. The hem of her dress lightly caressed his soaked boots, but she did not step away, and could only stare at him helplessly.
Instead of answering, he demanded roughly, “Why did you throw it away?”
“It is a piece of string,” she began dismissively. “I—”
“You kept it for more than six years. Six years, Soph.”
The silence which fell between them was fraught with intimate peril. She fought to maintain an air of casual indifference. Their time together was over, and she would not allow him to rip back open wounds which had finally healed. “It does not signify that I kept it, only that I was willing and able to discard it.”
A dark, haunting flash in his eyes showed before his gaze hooded. A part of her wanted to throw herself at him, demand that he held her and explained where he’d been during those desolate years. But if she did ask him, it would mean that she still cared, that the echoes of their love and need they’d had for each other still survived unaltered within her.
He cupped her cheeks with both of his hands and lifted her face to his. The water still clinging to his hands was insufficient to cool the desperate need which suddenly burned through her. She fought not to close her eyes and reveal just how much she yearned for his touch.
“I thought you were dead.”
Sophia jerked, shock arrowing through her heart. “I beg your pardon?”
“I thought you were dead,” he repeated, shadows of anguish darkening his eyes, his fingers tightening imperceptibly on her cheeks. “All these years, I believed the girl I loved was lost to me. It was only when I saw you at Lady Huntley’s ball, that I knew you still lived.”
“Dear God!” she said, searching his eyes where she only discerned truth. An awareness filled her that he had grieved for her with his entire heart, just as she had mourned her family. Sophia stepped back from him, and he lowered his arms.
“William…please explain.”
“I was by your side for a few days as you fought the disease. But I had to leave your side for my father had fallen ill.”
Her lips parted, and her knees weakened. “You sang to me…and prayed for me. I…I thought it was a vision brought on by my delirium.”
So many of the beliefs and suppositions she’d long held cracked and shattered at her feet. “Why did you believe me to be dead?” Sophia was unable to credit why he should have thought it to be so.
“While with my father, my mother informed me of your passing.”
Another blow that had her leaning against a large beech tree for support.
Their eyes locked together and, in his gaze, she saw the raw anger and regret he was feeling.
“I hurried down to the village of Mulford, and the sexton confirmed he had buried you along with your family. He said he had not waited for your uncle or any of your family members as it had become practice for those taken by cholera to be interred immediately.”
He did not need to say much more, for she fully understood the duplicity and cruelty of the duchess who had never approved of their attachment. Their love which had burned so deeply, it had not fitted into the duchess’s plans, so she had determined to tear them apart.
In the depths of her despair, she had reached for him, had walked for hours to reach his stately home atop the hill, only to be given a scathing set down by the duchess which still
remained vividly with her today.
“You are a light skirt my son has been dallying with for some time now. How dare you presume to call at my home for him?”
She’d stood frozen, and confused, her mind hazed with grief, desperately wanting him to hold her. The memory continued unasked for.
“William—”
“Impudent miss! He is Lord Lyons to you!”
“Please, may I see him?” She had requested with a desperate hope.
The duchess’s expression had been cold and foreboding as she’d stared down her elegant nose at Sophia.
“He is no longer living at Hawthorne Park. In fact,” she had spat with deep satisfaction. “He is no longer in England.”
Sophia had stumbled back as if she’d been pushed. “He…he left?” Without saying goodbye or coming to see me? Had been her silent cry, one the duchess had seen.
“My son bid his farewell to those who were important to him.” Then she had spun around and called for the butler. “See her out,” the duchess had snapped with an air of cold authority. “She is not to be allowed in the grounds of Hawthorne Park ever again.”
The shame and confusion she had felt then washed over her senses. She hadn’t seen William that day, or any other in the years since. The remembered feeling of helplessness and powerlessness scythed through her. She had been crushed…devastated, and it had taken so much strength and determination for her to forge herself into the woman that she was today.
“I am sorry,” she said, wiping at the tear that coursed down her cheek. “My aunt had received news that her brother had fallen ill. When she arrived in Mulford, papa, mamma, and Hen…Henrietta were already gone on to their heavenly reward. I had just passed the crisis, but she wanted to carry me away from Mulford immediately. I barely recall the journey to Hertfordshire, but I was assured I traveled with great comfort. Several weeks after recovering some of my strength…I came back…” The words ‘to find you’ went unsaid. Sophia could not let out that much of the pain she felt.
