by Mary Nichols
He lifted his mouth from hers at last, but did not release her. He leaned back and looked into her face without speaking, as if he were trying to interpret something her eyes were saying. ‘Perhaps you will not find it so easy to forget me another time.’
Furious at her own weakness and anxious to regain some of her composure, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him with all her strength. He remained rock solid.
‘Is this how you go about courting a wife, my lord? Poor Charlotte. I thought you loved her, wanted her for a wife. I hope she has the good sense to see you for what you are, a philanderer who will take advantage of her cousin when her back is turned and expect that same cousin to succumb like a serving wench. I may not be out of the top drawer, not one of the ton, but that does not mean I will allow any Tom, Dick or Harry to take liberties…’ She stopped suddenly, too breathless to continue and because he was looking at her with amusement in his dark eyes.
‘I would strongly object to Tom and Harry, my dear, but Dick is another matter.’
In spite of her fury, she found herself laughing. ‘Oh, you are impossible!’
‘Impossible? I do hope not.’
‘Let me go, please.’
‘Not yet. I have something to say to you. Something I want to ask you. But you know that, don’t you?’
‘No, how should I?’
‘Because every time I say I want to speak to you, you find a way of avoiding me.’ He put his hands on the wall either side of her head, trapping her. ‘Now, you will listen.’
‘Very well, my lord, but make haste because if anyone should come along…’
‘I do not give a damn.’ He paused to marshal his thoughts. He must make her see that what she was doing was wrong, make her confess, but the memory of the way she had responded to his kiss made it doubly difficult. ‘Sophie, I have no intention of offering for your cousin.’
‘Good, it will save you the disappointment of being rejected.’
He ignored her retort. ‘Do you not know that I have lost my heart to you?’
‘No, I do not believe it. It is impossible.’
‘Why impossible? Do you think I have not a heart to lose?’ When she did not answer, he repeated, ‘Do you?’
‘No, my lord. I believe you to be compassionate to those less fortunate but…’
‘At least, I have that in my favour, but it was not compassion I meant. I was speaking of love.’ The words were said very softly, causing her heart to beat faster than ever.
‘You fill my thoughts, day and night, wondering what you are doing, if you are thinking of me, until I am in purgatory.’ He paused to find a way of shocking her into realising the seriousness of her deception. ‘But offering for Miss Hundon would be a travesty. You must see that…’
‘Indeed, I can, my lord.’ She cut him off before he could finish. ‘But if you think I am such a ninny as to consent to such a proposition, my lord, you are gravely mistaken. I would rather die.’ She ducked under his arm to try and escape but he grabbed her hand. She stood still facing away from him, her breast heaving.
He gave a despairing laugh. ‘You think I am so lacking in honour? Oh, dear, then what did that kiss tell me about you? That you are prepared to be opportuned by a rakeshame?’
It was all too much. She wrenched herself away and ran down the corridor, away from him, away from the torment which she had brought upon herself. Pulling open a door, she found herself in a room where ladies’ cloaks and pelisses were heaped upon a bed and there were comfortable chairs and sofas and pots of powder and phials of perfume on a dressing chest. She had found the ladies’ retiring room and it was empty. She went in and slammed the door behind her.
He stood outside for a moment, wondering whether to follow her, but then decided against it and turned to go slowly downstairs and back to the ballroom.
The dance he should have had with Sophie had just ended and the couples were returning to their seats. Lady Fitzpatrick was sitting with Lady Gosport, her round face even rosier than usual. She was fanning herself vigorously and looking around her, while appearing to be listening to her companion’s chatter. Charlotte was returning to her on her partner’s arm.
He crossed the room to them. ‘Miss Roswell, I must speak to you.’
She looked startled and turned to Freddie for support but he was grinning knowingly and Lady Fitzpatrick was actually smirking. ‘Go along, my dear, you may take a turn about the room with his lordship.’
‘Miss Roswell,’ he said, walking towards the door and not round the room in full view as he should have done. ‘I do not want to alarm you, but I think your cousin is not feeling at all the thing.’
‘Sophie, ill? Then I must go to her at once. Why did you not say straight away?’
‘I did not think she would want a fuss and telling Lady Fitzpatrick would surely have that effect. Come, I’ll take you to her.’
They left the room watched by almost everyone present, who assumed his lordship was taking her off to propose to her. Lady Fitzpatrick was gleeful, Lady Braybrooke furious and Emily placidly content, her arm tucked through that of Martin Gosport as they perambulated round the room after dancing together.
‘I hope, my lord, you have said nothing to upset Sophie,’ Charlotte said, as they climbed the stairs.
‘Not unless asking her to marry me is upsetting to her.’
She stopped and turned towards him. ‘You proposed?’
‘I tried to. But she deliberately chose to misunderstand.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought perhaps you might know the answer to that.’
‘Only she can tell you that, my lord.’
‘I thought she had some fondness for me, but it seems I was wrong. Unless she is holding back for your sake. She is so close to you, she might deny her real wishes if she thought it would help you.’
‘Yes, I know she would, but in this case, you are mistaken. Sophie knows where my affections lie.’
They resumed their climb and stopped just short of the door which had been so recently slammed in his face. ‘With Freddie Harfield?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Sophie knows this?’
‘Of course she does. We have no secrets from each other.’
‘Then you will know if your cousin has fixed her heart on someone else. Is there some secret love she dare not speak of? She is not affianced already? Or being coerced?’
‘No.’
‘Then we are at a stand unless you can persuade her to open her heart to me.’
‘But the talk is that you are looking for an aristocrat with her own fortune.’
‘Oh, that nonsense! Pay it no heed. It is your cousin I want, if only she will have me. But she would not even listen. Please persuade her that nothing will make me change my mind.’ He opened the door to usher her inside, but there was no Sophie to be seen.
‘Where can she have gone?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps she returned downstairs while we were in the ballroom,’ he suggested. ‘You do not think she would be so foolish as to leave the house alone?’
‘I do hope not.’ She turned and hurried downstairs but he passed her and was the first to question the footman on duty.
‘Miss Hundon? You know Miss Hundon?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘A young lady in a green gown. Red-gold hair.’
‘A young lady such as you describe did leave about fifteen minutes ago, my lord.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘Yes. I saw her into her carriage. She said she was feeling unwell and would send it back for the rest of her party. Her groom was with her, so I thought no more of it.’
Richard turned to Charlotte. ‘I’m going after her. I mean to get to the bottom of this.’
‘My lord, is that wise? She can hardly admit you with no chaperon in the house. And Lady Fitz and I cannot come until our coach returns.’
‘I must see that she has arrived home safely, even if she will not see me. Please return to t
he ballroom, Miss Roswell. I do not want the rest of the company disturbed. There is enough gossip as it is.’ He was tight-lipped and she was afraid his anger would spill over if he forced the truth from Sophie.
‘Please, my lord, do not be unkind to her…’
‘I? Unkind? All I want to do is marry her—is that unkind? Now, please try and behave as if nothing has happened. I shall be back before you know it.’
Sophie was in her room lying face down on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. Richard Braybrooke had confessed to loving her in the same breath as saying he could not marry her. Martin Gosport had been wrong about him being a faithful husband and so had Charlotte. It had never been his intention. And though she tried to fuel her anger, it was diluted by misery.
She did not think she could bear watching him courting someone else, knowing he would never touch her again, never put his arms round her, never kiss her. It was time to leave London, to put this disastrous summer behind her, to pretend it had never happened.
An urgent hammering on the street door made her lift her head and listen. She could hear the footman on duty in the hall and the voice of the caller, and then Anne protesting that Miss Sophie had retired. The next minute the maid rushed into the room.
‘Miss Sophie, it’s Lord Braybrooke and he won’t go away. He says he must see you, only he asked for Miss Hundon. He do mean you, don’t he? It ain’t right to bully me so. I told him you was abed and he said I must fetch you down or he’ll come up.’ She looked round as if half expecting him to be behind her. ‘Oh, miss, he’s surely up in the boughs and won’t be denied.’
‘Very well, go and show him into the drawing room. Tell him I will be with him directly.’
As soon as the maid had gone, she roused herself and went to the mirror. Her face was swollen and blotched from weeping. She washed it and dabbed it dry, gulping back more tears. But what did it matter? She was destined to lose the love of her life and all because of her own vanity. It had been nothing more nor less than vanity, she was ready to admit that, and he had squashed that very efficiently by suggesting she become his mistress! If he had known she was the Roswell heiress, would that offer have been one of marriage?
Well, she was glad, she told herself firmly but untruthfully; it had shown him in his true colours and she had had a lucky escape. She had stripped off her ballgown when she came home and was in her petticoat. She covered it with an undress gown of blue silk, brushed out her hair, picked up a fan so that she might have something to do with her hands and could possibly hide her face with it, then went downstairs to the drawing room.
He stood by the hearth, one hand on the mantelshelf, a foot on the fender, gazing down into the empty grate. He turned when he heard her. She was looking very pale and was obviously distressed, or she would never have come down in that flimsy demitoilette with her beautiful hair hanging loose about her shoulders. He longed to comfort her, to tell her it did not matter what she had done or why, but she stood just inside the door and looked ready to bolt if he were so foolish as to try and approach her. He spoke softly. ‘Sophie.’
‘My lord.’ It took every bit of self-control to speak normally. ‘It was very unwise of you to come. If you had not frightened Anne quite out of her wits, I should have refused to see you. Now you have seen me, please leave.’
‘When you have answered my question.’
‘And what question is that?’
‘Why you will not consent to be my wife.’
‘Your wife!’
‘What did you think I meant?’ He paused, wishing she would lower that silly fan and let him see her eyes. Her eyes gave her away every time. ‘Good God! You surely did not think I was offering you carte blanche?’
She did not answer.
‘You did, didn’t you? You must think me the worst kind of coxcomb, if you thought I would do anything so contemptible.’
‘We have already established that I do not meet your requirements in a wife, my lord, which is why I thought…’
‘Oh, yes, you do. In every respect.’
She forgot her resolve to be cool. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Easily. You are beautiful and compassionate and good with children and those less fortunate; you ride as if you had been born in the saddle and you have a neat pair of hands with the ribbons. And you have courage. The only flaw that I can see is that you are too independent for your own good, but I can believe that has been forced on you by circumstances. And, in spite of what you say, I do think you have a little regard for me.’
‘My lord, I never said that.’
‘Your eyes speak more truly than your words, my dear, but if it was the manner of my address which displeased you, then I humbly beg pardon. Only say you will marry me and my whole life shall be devoted to pleasing you; there is nothing I wish for more. I love you.’
She could not make herself believe he was really saying what she had always hoped he would say. But it was too late, too late to come out of the affair with any honour. When he learned the truth, he would be very angry and not amused, as she had so confidently told Charlotte he should be. ‘My lord, please do not go on.’
‘Why not? I must know what your answer will be before I speak to Mr Hundon.’
‘Oh, no!’ she cried in desperation. ‘You must say nothing to him, you really must not.’
‘But I must.’ He took a step towards her, but paused when she stepped back. ‘Sophie, I am asking you to be my wife and that requires the consent of your guardian…’
She was too distressed to notice his deliberate use of the word guardian and not father or papa. She took a deep breath. ‘Lord Braybrooke, I am sensible of the honour you have done me, but the answer is no. I cannot consent to be your wife…’
‘Why not?’ Fearing she would run away again, he strode forward and grabbed her wrist. She turned away from him but he held her fast. ‘Do you find me repulsive? Despicable? Ugly?’
At each question, she mutely shook her head, refusing to turn to face him.
‘Then why, Sophie? Are you worried by a lack of a dowry? That is of no consequence at all. And neither is your family background. None of it matters.’
Oh, if only she could believe that! But even now, she was not ready to admit her deceit. She clung to it as if she were drowning and it was her only lifeline. ‘It matters to your grandfather.’
Having given her ample opportunity to tell him the truth, it was hardly the response he had hoped for. He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘Then let us throw ourselves on his mercy. When he knows how things stand he will not deny us. And even if he did, it would make no difference. If you will have me, I would stand against the world. There is no reason in the world for you to refuse me.’
‘I am not obliged to give you reasons.’
He was angry now. ‘You little ninny, do you think I am so easily given the right about? You are having a game with me and it goes ill with me, I can tell you.’
‘Then I am sorry for it.’
‘Why can’t you confide in me?’ His anger faded as quickly as it had come. ‘I know there is something troubling you and unless you tell me what it is, I cannot help you.’
She looked up at him and found herself looking into brown eyes which held nothing but gentle compassion and she knew she did not deserve it. It was all going to come out in the end and it would be better if she told him herself and did not let him hear it from tattlemongers. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, they heard the door knocker and Anne had burst into the room.
‘Oh, Miss Sophie, Mr Hundon is here. What are we to do? He will so angry…’
‘Oh, no!’ Sophie gasped. ‘My lord, he must not find you here. He would not understand.’
‘But I must speak to him, explain…’
‘Not tonight. He will be tired from his journey and not in a mood to listen. Please go.’ She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him towards the window, which was a low one and gave out on to
the terrace. ‘Go that way. Quickly. Quickly.’ She tugged at the catch and flung the window open.
Reluctantly he disappeared into the rain, just as her uncle came into the room. Anne busied herself securing the window and shutting the curtain.
‘What was that clunch of a footman talking about, Sophie?’ William demanded. Although he had given his greatcoat and hat to the servant, he looked very wet. ‘First he says Lady Fitzpatrick and Miss Roswell are out and then he tells me Miss Sophie is at home.’
‘Uncle William, what a surprise to see you,’ Sophie said, trying to sound normal and not quite succeeding; her voice was a pitch higher than it usually was. ‘I hope there is nothing wrong at home?’
‘At home, no. Your aunt is as well as she can be, considering her affliction. Where are Lady Fitzpatrick and Charlotte and why are you at home alone?’
‘They are at the Braybrooke ball, Uncle.’
‘Did you not go?’
‘Yes, but I felt a little unwell and came home early.’
‘I must say, you don’t look at all the thing. But surely her ladyship did not allow you to come home alone?’
‘I did not want to spoil their enjoyment. I brought the carriage and Luke was with me as well as the driver, so I was in no danger.’
‘But why did you not go straight to bed? And surely standing half-dressed by an open window is not a sensible thing to do, especially as it is raining quite hard. You will catch a chill.’
‘I came down to ask Anne to heat up some milk for me and while I was waiting for it I felt a little faint and opened the window to get some air.’
William turned to the maid, who still stood by the window, her mouth open. ‘Don’t stand there gaping, girl, go and heat up the milk and take it to Miss Roswell’s room. And then make a bed up for me.’
