by Tarah Scott
Chapter Eleven
To Sophie’s relief, her aunt did not return home that evening. Still, she was taking no chances.
“Off with that dress,” Sophie told Beatrice after she had dressed to leave with Adam.
Beatrice frowned. “Is something wrong with my dress, miss?”
“Not at all.” Sophie spun her around and began unbuttoning the buttons.
Beatrice twisted, then whirled to face her. She backed up two paces. “You cannot mean—”
“You will sleep in my bed until I return tonight.” Sophie nodded toward her bed.
“But why?” Beatrice wailed. “No one will know you are gone.”
“Just in case my aunt decides to check on me when she returns home tonight. This is easy compared to what you had to do this afternoon. This time, all you must do is sleep?”
“Your aunt will not like being fooled,” Beatrice insisted.
“She will never know.”
Sophie managed to get Beatrice’s dress unbuttoned despite her protestations. Sophie hung the dress in the armoire, then slipped the nightgown over Beatrice’s head, tucked her hair into the cap and urged her into the bed.
“You need not worry about anything.” Sophie pulled the covers up to Beatrice’s chest, then blew out the candle on the side table and straightened. “Perfect. Not even my own father would know you aren’t me.”
She grabbed her cloak from the armoire, then picked up her reticule from the table and returned to the bed. “Rest well, Bea. I shall see you in a few hours.”
“Miss—”
“Hush,” Sophie said, then hurried to the door.
She slipped out into the hall, her thoughts on broad shoulders and dark brown eyes. She ducked into the servants’ stairs and descended to the kitchen. Sophie reached the kitchen and stepped onto the floor. A light flared. She cried out and took a faltering step backward into the wall, her gaze glued to the man standing in the doorway leading to the hallway.
“Father,” she breathed.
He glanced at her cloak. “Going somewhere, Sophie?”
Sophie forced herself not to glance at the back door where Adam surely waited. What would he do when he saw the light in the kitchen? Gone, no doubt.
“I—uh, yes, I was going for a walk,” she replied. “What are you doing here?”
“For a walk?” he said in a quiet voice Sophie had never before heard coming from her father’s mouth.
“Yes, you know how I love an evening walk,” he said.
His eyes flicked downward again, the returned to her face. “I have never seen you wear such a heavy, drab wool fabric. Could that be Beatrice’s dress?”
“Father—”
“Is what I hear true? ” he cut in. “Were you out dancing all night with a man? And at a tavern?”
Sophie’s head whirled. How had he found out? She recalled her name being called when she and Adam left the oyster cellars.
Jane Goodman.
The woman had clearly contacted her father.
Footsteps approached down the hallway, and her father stepped aside as Aunt Maddie entered.
She gave Sophie a quick glance, then a corner of her mouth twitched upward in amusement. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“Madeline,” her father growled.
“Oh, do be quiet, Liam.” She faced him. “What did you expect, keeping her in the country all these years? It is a miracle she didn’t run away from home long ago.”
“We are going home, Sophie,” he said. “Pack your things.”
Sophie opened her mouth to refuse, then remembered that the very reason she had come to Edinburgh was to meet the marquess. She didn’t want to meet the marquess. She did, however, want to meet Adam. But that was now ruined. Would she ever see him again? Her heart unexpectedly twisted at the thought.
“Stop your blustering,” her aunt said. “You sent the girl here to meet a charming marquess.”
“I do not care,” he snapped. “I cannot have her going about at night with strange men.”
“He is not strange,” Sophie protested.
“Dear, you are not helping,” Aunt Maddie said. “Liam, this is not going to end. Do you intend to lock her up in her room for the rest of her life?”
Her father opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated.
“Just as I thought.” Aunt Maddie leaned toward him and said in a whisper clearly meant to be heard by Sophie, “When she marries the marquess, she will no longer be your problem.”
“Madeline!” he burst out.
She waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”
Her father looked at her, and Sophie feared that he did, indeed, know what her aunt meant. Sophie knew exactly what her aunt meant. It was time Sophie marry.
Chapter Twelve
When a light flared to life in Madeline Forsyth’s kitchen. Adam drew back the booted foot he rested on the second of the three steps leading to the kitchen and melted back into the shadows beyond the light. Beatrice—Sophie Shaw—wouldn’t turn on the light. Was the unexpected person who’d turned on the light someone in Madeline’s employ?
Damn it, he wanted to speak with Miss Shaw before letting her father know he wouldn’t marry her if she were the last woman on earth. Lena’s beautiful face flashed in memory. Well, perhaps the second last woman on earth. Women—all women—were faithless.
A large shadow passed in front of the window. The shadow passed again, then the room went dark. Adam waited. Miss Shawn didn’t emerge from the house. He waited another ten minutes, then walked to the back gate. He stepped into the alley, then strode around the block to the street in front of the house. A light shone in the front parlor. Had Madeline Forsyth returned home early? The woman was known for staying out so late she put the youngsters to shame. Two—three—figures passed in front of the window. A man and two women.
What man was Madeline entertaining? Not just Madeline, he realized, but Miss Shaw as well. And who else would they be meeting with but Sophie’s father? That had to be the answer. He would wager Mr. Shaw caught his daughter sneaking out of the house. She would have been wearing Beatrice’s clothes. How Adam would have liked to see the look on her face when she was caught.
Why couldn’t he see that?
Adam left the garden, then strode around the block and to the walkway leading to the door. He knocked. A moment later, the bolt turned, and the door opened.
A young footman peered up at him. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Lord Monthemer here to see Miss Madeline Forsyth,” Adam replied.
The boy glanced over his shoulder, then faced Adam. “If you will wait a moment, sir.”
Adam angled his head in acknowledgement, then waited while the boy closed the door. A moment later, the door opened, and Madeline Forsyth stood in the doorway.
“Lord Monthemer, what an unexpected surprise. Please, do come in.” She stepped aside, and Adam entered. She closed the door and faced him. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Adam gave her his most charming smile. “Forgive the intrusion, Miss Forsyth. I was hoping we might talk.”
Her brows shot up. “Talk?”
“I’m sure you’re aware that Mr. Shaw and I have been in negotiations for marriage between his daughter Miss Shaw and myself.”
A shadow fell across the hallway behind Madeline, then a man of medium height and portly build emerged from the parlor on the left.
“Indeed, we have,” he said.
Madeline smiled. “My lord, may I present my brother-in-law, Mr. Shaw.”
“My lord.” The man executed a bow worthy of court.
Adam crossed to where Mr. Shaw stood and extended a hand. Mr. Shaw’s brows rose, then he accepted. Adam liked the man’s firm grip.
“Shall we sit down, my lord?” Shaw indicated the parlor.
“Only if you agree to call me Adam.”
Respect appeared in the man’s eyes. “If you will call me Liam.”
“Of course,” Adam replied.
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He entered the parlor, Madeline close behind. “I will have tea brought,” she said as she indicated the men should sit.
“I wonder if Adam might prefer a brandy,” Shaw said.
“If Miss Forsyth does not mind,” Adam said.
She laughed. “Not at all. In fact, I will pour.”
Adam and Liam sat on opposite ends of the couch near the hearth. Madeline brought them each a brandy, then poured one for herself and took the chair to Liam’s left.
“I assume you are here to discuss Sophie?” Shaw asked.
A man who got straight to the point. Adam liked that.
“I will admit I did not know you were here, Liam.”
“I understand,” Shaw said. “You thought you might get some information from my sister-in-law.”
“That was the idea.”
Shaw nodded. “One never can be too certain. All the money in the world isn’t worth tying oneself to a shrew.”
Adam angled his head. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I will be direct,” Shaw said. “Sophie is a good girl, but she is a handful.”
Madeline hmphed.
“Have you something to add, Miss Forsyth?” Adam asked.
“Just that when a man is strong and intelligent, he is, well, forceful and someone who knows how to get things done. When a woman is strong and intelligent, she is a ‘handful.’”
Shaw shook his head. “Madeline, you cannot deny that Sophie can be difficult. For God’s sake she— Well, youngsters can be difficult and young girls, in particular, are filled with flights of fancy.”
“I seem to remember you trying to talk my sister into running off with you,” Madeline said in a sweet voice.
He frowned. Adam fought to keep a straight face. When they discovered him at their front door, they had clearly sent Miss Shaw to her room—likely with the threat of death should she try to sneak out again.
“Lord Blair informed me that he told you of my offer,” Liam said.
Adam sipped his brandy. “He did. Very generous.”
Shaw narrowed his eyes. “Do not misunderstand. Sophie is young and impetuous, but she is a fine girl and will make a good wife. I am offering a good contract to ensure she makes a match worthy of her.”
“She will be a marchioness,” Adam said.
“Now, see here—”
Madeline waved a hand. “Oh, please, Liam, you cannot fault the man for seeing the marriage as a business deal when that it how you approached him.”
Shaw’s mouth thinned.
“Marriage involving this much money and a title usually are business,” she said. “I have seen his lordship about town. He has a fine reputation—aside from that dalliance with Lady Fleming.” She laughed. “But no one is perfect. He paid off his father’s debts—which, as you know, Liam, isn’t something the nobility likes to do, even when they’re alive.”
“Lord Blair told me. I agree, that speaks highly of his character,” he said, as if Adam wasn’t present.
Adam leaned back and sipped more of his brandy.
“Your biggest hurdle is convincing Sophie to marry him,” Madeline declared.
“She is against the marriage?” Adam asked.
“She is against marriage, altogether,” Shaw muttered. “Has some ridiculous idea that she can remain free as a bird to do whatever she likes.”
That explained much.
“A woman does have the right to choose her husband,” Adam said.
“The girl doesn’t know what she wants,” Liam replied.
Madeline locked eyes with Adam. “Do you wish to marry her?”
Adam silently cursed. Leave it to a woman to back a man into a corner.
“I am considering the possibility.”
Was he really considering the possibility? Shaw was right, all the money in the world wasn’t worth a man tying himself to the wrong woman. He thought of Lena and his narrow miss. Was Miss Shaw really the innocent she appeared? She had pretended to be Beatrice Frasier—and quite convincingly. He hadn’t for a moment thought her to be anyone else but a lady’s companion. She wanted freedom, did she? Perhaps he would marry her then send her on her merry way.
“You’re considering the possibility?” Madeline asked. “That is a fair start. After all, you have yet to meet her. She is very beautiful.”
“Indeed?” Adam said.
Madeline nodded. “Yes, and she is quite the horsewoman.”
“She will have to give up riding when she marries,” Shaw said.
Madeline frowned. “Why? A married woman cannot ride?”
“Of course, she can,” he replied in an impatient voice. “But she will be too busy running the household and raising children to galivant about the country.”
Children. That was right. Shaw was going to give an extra ten thousand pounds per child. Adam felt half like a stud stallion and wondered how Miss Shaw would feel about knowing her father put such a premium on her popping out babies.
“Lady Seafield’s ball is in a week’s time. You will meet her then and decide?” Madeline asked.
Shaw studied him. This meeting hadn’t gone at all like Adam had envisioned. He’d thought he would catch Sophie off guard by showing up on her aunt’s doorstep but had, instead, been cornered by the aunt and father.
Chapter Thirteen
Sophie reached the second floor with her aunt’s maid close behind. Sophie would have halted and eavesdropped on Lord Monthemer and her aunt in the foyer below, but that wouldn’t do with the maid at her side.
Back home, Sophie and the maids often eavesdropped on her father, but she could trust them not to repeat anything they heard. She didn’t know her aunt’s staff, and understood too well the importance of not directly involving the staff in the family’s affairs.
They reached Sophie’s room, and Sophie bade the girl goodnight, then slipped inside. Beatrice bolted upright in bed and looked in Sophie’s direction. Her nightcap sat askew on her head.
“Miss, you decided not to go.” Beatrice threw back the covers and jumped to her feet. “Very wise of you.”
Sophie shook her head impatiently as she unclasped her cloak then tossed it onto a nearby chair. “I was caught, Bea. My father is here.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “God save us. He will send me away this night.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, do cease the dramatics. He knows nothing of your involvement. He caught me trying to sneak out the kitchen. We have a bigger problem.”
“What could be bigger than your father catching you?”
“Lord Monthemer is here.”
“Here?” Beatrice frowned. “Was he supposed to visit your father tonight?”
“Indeed, not. The man was rude enough to show up unannounced.”
“How strange,” Beatrice murmured.
“I want to get a look at him.” Sophie hurried to the couch that sat against the window overlooking the street. She knelt on the couch and pulled back the curtain. Sophie scanned the street, but found no carriage waiting out front. She looked at Beatrice. “Where is his carriage?”
Beatrice came to the window and looked out. “Did he have a carriage?”
“How could he not have a carriage?” Sophie asked. “Do you think he decided to walk here from his home?”
“Where is his home?”
Sophie scowled. “How should I know?”
“He may live very close.”
Sophie looked back out the window. “I have never heard of a marquess walking anywhere.”
“He has no money,” Beatrice said. “That is why he’s marrying you. Perhaps he has no carriage.”
Sophie shook her head. “He is not marrying me. He only thinks he is. But you do have a point. He probably doesn’t own a carriage.” She let the drapes fall back into place and plopped down onto the couch. “Can you imagine a man thinking he can walk to a lady’s house? Has he no pride?”
“I suppose, if he doesn’t have a carriage, it can’t be help,” Beatrice said.
Sophie flushed with embarrassment. “He could have taken a hackney.”
Beatrice sat beside her. “He might have.”
“Then where is it?”
“If he has no money, he can’t very well ask the driver to stay.”
Sophie’s cheeks heated even hotter. “Please fix your cap, Bea. You look like a madwoman.”
Beatrice felt on top of her head. “Oh,” she said, clearly embarrassed before she straightened the cap.
“Oh, Bea, I’m sorry.” Sophie grasped her friend’s hands. “I’m angry with my father for spoiling my plans tonight and with the marquess for—well, for existing—and I am taking my frustrations out on you. It’s not your fault.”
“That’s all right, miss. You have had a trying evening.”
Sophie released Beatrice’s hands and leaned against the couch back. “This is all my fault—except the part about the marquess thinking he’s going to marry me. That is my father’s fault. I won’t marry.”
“As I said before, Lord Monthemer does seem to be a decent sort,” Beatrice said. “The man with him was very pleasant—not that his lordship wasn’t pleasant, but he was a bit stern.”
“How is that a ‘decent sort’?” Sophie demanded.
“I have seen much worse, miss.”
“That is not a glowing recommendation,” Sophie muttered, then regarded Beatrice. “Was your last employer that bad?”
“My most previous employer wasn’t too terribly bad, but the one before him was—or his son was, at any rate.”
Sophie didn’t have to ask what that meant. Servants—female servants—were too much at the mercy of their male masters.
Sophie patted Beatrice’s hand. “You need never worry about such things again. You will stay with me forever.”
“Not if your father discovers I have been helping you sneak out and disguise yourself as a man.”
Sophie couldn’t help a laugh. “He would not be pleased.”
Beatrice paled.
“Easy there, Bea. I know my father well. He can be pigheaded about silly things.”
