When the duchess had stopped talking, she’d gotten a faraway look in her eyes and had been gazing across the room, unfocused. Sophia’s words had seemed to spring her back to life again. “That will be fine. The magistrate will know that we require several carriages. Thank you, again, dear, for accommodating him earlier today. Did you sleep last night? It is my greatest wish that you not overtire yourself. A lady in your condition must take special care. If you feel uncomfortable, or ill, at any time during our journey, you must tell me. We will stop. The dead shall be honored and buried, but now, we must look to the future. We must protect the new life you are carrying.”
At these words, Sophia drew her brows together. “But your grace—”
“Sophia, dear, until you are given evidence indicating otherwise, we are going to move forward as though you are, in fact, increasing.”
“But—”
“We mustn’t waste any more time. It is nearly noon already, and I’ve a list of instructions to dictate and have sent ahead of us.”
Sophia rose.
She had been excused.
Not in any mood to argue with a determined duchess, Sophia left the room more confused than before. She no longer would be expected to handle the details of the crisis. No, because, apparently, she was now with child.
When a duchess declares you with child, does that make it so?
She touched her abdomen with her right hand. It felt the same as it always had. She felt the same as she always had.
Was it possible?
But, oh, the duchess believed any child would be Harold’s! Even if she were increasing, the child would be Dev’s! With black hair, most likely, and black eyes! Harold had blue-gray eyes and light brown hair. Sophia’s hair was blond and her own eyes blue. How could one explain such a discrepancy as that?
Surely it would be obvious.
Oh, dear Lord, what a mess she’d made.
This was what lying did.
The cock and bull story they’d told had led them into all of this.
She entered her chamber and looked around, certain she would never return. Not if she had any choice in the matter, anyhow.
Peaches was napping on a chair and opened her lids lazily for just a moment before returning to her slumber.
Closing her own eyes, Sophia recalled the lovemaking she’d shared here with Dev. Their passion had burned, like a raging wildfire, for a brief time in the high, four-poster bed. She truly believed that those moments had carried her to the pinnacle of happiness.
Had they been worth it?
Oh, yes.
And that first time, in London, on her wedding night.
They had spent two nights together in exchange for the demolition of an entire family.
Had they created a baby?
Sophia studied herself in the mirror. She had the same face, the same hair, the same eyes and lips and cheeks. But she was not the same girl who’d gotten engaged this summer.
Her eyes were haunted, her lips not so easy to smile, and her heart now filled with secrets and despair instead of hope.
But she was also now a woman who had loved. A woman who had known the heights of passion.
She was a different person now.
“I’ve everything packed, my lady.” Penny had somehow slipped inside without Sophia hearing a sound. This was not the first time she’d done that. The Prescott servants were all that way, like a camp of sleuths and spies, loyal in all matters to the duchess.
“Very good, Penny,” Sophia said. How on earth had she and Harold and Dev managed to fool all of them?
“Do you wish to change into traveling clothes? Your riding habit, perhaps, since the first part of the journey is to be on horseback?” Sophia glanced down at her dress. It was made up of a stiff, black crepe material. It had none of the style of any of the new gowns Madam Chantal had made up for her before the wedding. Her new habits were all made up of bright colors — yellow, one red, and one an emerald green.
“I will wear black,” she said. “I want you to burn everything else. Better yet, leave them here.”
“Of course, my lady, but I’ve already packed—”
“Leave them,” Sophia said forcefully. “Bring only the mourning gowns. I never want to see the other dresses again.” Her voice forbade any argument.
Her maid looked aghast. Sophia knew it was a common practice to hand down one’s unwanted gowns to servants, but she did not wish to ever see any of them again. They were reminders of her selfishness, her own greed to manipulate life in her favor.
“Leave them,” she said again. And then on a sigh. “You can retrieve them for yourself the next time you are here.” Let her maid believe they would not be going to waste. Sophia, knew, though, that she would never return to Priory Point.
Ever.
Penny grimaced. Perhaps the maid wished to never return either. Of course, the servants experienced their own grief.
Grief was everywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Three
One would have thought that the private, collapsed road was the height of London traffic, for all of the carriages and horses and activity. Dev arrived just as the duchess and Sophia were being carefully led around the landslide.
Of course, they would be going to London. He’d passed the caravan of coffins a few hours earlier. The coffins had been packed in ice and the coaches covered in black.
The duke and St. John.
And his father.
Dev dismounted and made his way around the awaiting vehicles. His aunt, he recognized easily by her posture and the dignity with which she carried herself.
Behind her, he’d had to search behind the black veil, in order to recognize Sophia. Peaches was tucked beneath her chin.
Burly servants escorted the ladies around the nearly non-existent road.
This was where it had occurred.
The dried mud preserved the marks where the wheels had slid over the side, and others, from the rescue effort — until the next rainstorm anyhow. Apparently, a large rock had given way from below, destabilizing the road above it. They hadn’t stood a chance.
His aunt, he noticed, avoided looking in the direction of the sea. She stared forward, and therefore, saw him first.
“Dev,” she said.
He rushed toward her and took her hands in his.
“Oh, Dev. Such a loss, such a devastating loss for us all!”
He bent forward and kissed her cheek. She stood rigid. She had dawned the mantle of the duchess. “Aunt, I am so sorry, so very sorry.” For everything. God, how sorry he was.
He turned toward Sophia, who had finally torn her gaze away from the large gap where the road had once been. “My lady,” he said. He tried to speak to her with his eyes, if ever he could. “This is not your fault,” he would have them say. “I will find Harold,” he would want her to know.
I love you.
He could barely see her eyes, hidden by the black veil. She curtseyed in his direction. “Captain,” she said softly.
“We are headed for London. There is no time to waste…” His aunt spoke again, all decisiveness. “…as I’m sure you must perceive.”
He’d expected this. The duke’s servants who had been traveling with the bodies had informed him of her grace’s plans.
“I am here to escort you,” he spoke formally. He would not allow the ladies to undertake such a journey alone. Not in these circumstances. Not as long as he breathed.
And then his aunt touched his sleeve and leaned in to speak to him more privately. “We wish to arrive in a timely fashion, of course, but will stop if Sophia is overtired. A lady in her condition must endure as little discomfort from travel as possible.”
He could not help but widen his eyes at her words.
A lady in her condition?
A lady in her condition?
Dev glanced over at Sophia. She’d not heard his aunt’s words. She merely stood, looking out at the sea, patiently waiting to move along, it seemed.
&nb
sp; If Sophia was in a delicate condition, why then…
He could hardly bear considering…
She was so tiny. Would she bear a child easily?
Suddenly, the only emotion that even bore consideration was a tremendous fear and worry for her health. It was his child she was carrying in her very precious body. Everything in life that mattered to him was embodied in the small woman shrouded before him in black.
Sensing his stare, she glanced at him. For the first time, Dev could see clearly into her eyes, in spite of the black transparent material.
“I love you,” they seemed to say. “It’s hopeless though.”
But he would ignore the despair.
“Ladies, let me assist you into your carriage and let us get off the side of this damn cliff.”
At his words, his aunt actually chuckled. Dev took her arm and led her to the waiting carriage. As a footman opened the door, she released his arm and climbed in. He then turned toward Sophia and took her by the elbow and hand. She wore long black gloves, despite the warmth of the day. He would have kissed her hand, but the duchess watched. So instead, he tipped his head forward and inhaled her fragrance.
“My heart is yours, Sophia” was all he had time to say. But he’d needed to tell her desperately. He’d needed to give her the only thing that he could.
Oh, God, was she truly carrying his child?
Before he knew it, he’d assisted her into the carriage and closed the door.
All around them, servants cautiously crossed the ravaged road with trunks and cases filled with the duchess’ and Sophia’s belongings. Dev recognized Sophia’s lady’s maid as a footman assisted her into a different coach nearby.
It was with an abundance of caution that the long caravan of ducal vehicles rolled down the remainder of the cliffside road.
* * *
He’d told her that his heart belonged to her, and then he’d said her name. Sophia. It always sounded like a whisper when he said it. She had his heart, but she would never have him. It was impossible now!
Sophia did not sit beside the duchess, instead choosing to ride with her back facing the horses. Peaches was on her best behavior, as though even she realized she must show respect while traveling with a duchess.
Sophia had grown to love her mother-in-law, and yet, she felt more stifled than ever. The duchess had closed the curtains covering all of the windows, casting the interior in darkness.
When one traveled with a duchess, one did not expect explanations. If she had been traveling with Rhoda, or with Emily or Cecily, they would have discussed with each other. Should we close the drapes? Do you mind if I close the drapes? A duchess simply closed them.
Sophia rested her head against the seat-back and closed her eyes.
“My heart is yours, Sophia.”
Oh, his touch, his nearness had been so brief. How could she crave him with such intensity, knowing what the two of them had done? The duchess was not two feet away from her, and all Sophia could think of was how much she desired to be caught up in his arms.
Emptiness filled her.
And yet, his voice had awakened her again.
Sophia hugged herself with her arms and was surprised to feel a tenderness in her breasts. Dev… oh, Dev.
“You should try to sleep, my dear. You will find a pillow stored under the seat if you pull the cushion up.” The duchess’ suggestion was spoken in such a way that brooked no argument.
Sophia slid sideways and pulled out the pillow. If she slept, she could escape all of this for a short while. The uncertainty, the fear, the guilt. She plumped the velvet-covered cushion and tried to make both herself and Peaches comfortable. She dared not remove her shoes or pull her feet up onto the seat. She was riding with a duchess, for goodness’ sake.
But the pillow was soft, and she’d not slept much the night before.
And.
And she knew that Dev was nearby, watching over them as they crossed the countryside to London.
Nothing terrible could happen with him watching over them.
She slept soundly for the first time since they’d gotten the horrible news.
* * *
Upon hindsight, Sophia was astonished at how naïve she had been when she’d told the magistrate to transport the bodies directly to the duke’s country estate.
She’d failed to consider that her father-in-law, as cold and manipulating as he’d seemed with her, and as cruel and unaccepting as he’d been to Harold, was one of England’s most powerful and beloved dukes.
This had become more apparent as they passed through one village after another on their journey back to London. For as the news of the tragedy spread, onlookers and crowds periodically lined the road to watch as their coach rolled through. And as they neared London, the crowds grew larger.
It was nearly as frightening as it was humbling.
When they arrived at Prescott House, after two long days on the road, death in the household was readily apparent by the black wreath upon the door, and the black crepe-covered windows.
Mr. Evans informed the duchess upon arrival that the funeral furnishers had cared for the bodies, and for this one night, they had been laid out in a room in the front of the house. The funeral proceedings would be tomorrow. It went without saying that the room would be kept cold.
Dev had stoically supported the duchess and made all arrangements for their rooms, their meals, and the care of the cattle, servants, and coaches while travelling. He’d often ridden ahead, the duchess had told her, to give instructions and confirm that her grace’s orders were being carried out properly. His military training and habits were evident in his natural leadership and self-discipline. Sophia knew he’d rarely rested.
Entering Prescott House, Sophia immediately covered her nostrils with her handkerchief. That smell… must be the oils used to care for the bodies. It grew stronger as they approached the drawing room.
Sophia followed, uncertain as to what she should do. And then the duchess, leaning heavily upon Dev, paused and turned around. “You mustn’t, Sophia. Your condition. It would be too upsetting.”
But Sophia saw something on Dev’s face. Emptiness, pain. She could not leave him alone. Even if all she could offer was her presence.
“I am fine,” Sophia insisted.
When, in fact, she did not feel well. She felt tired, and faint, and hungry, yet not. But how could she abandon him at a time such as this? She could not, of course.
She motioned for them to continue. After a moment’s hesitation, the duchess pinched her lips and then nodded.
They first stepped up to view the duke.
Someone had dressed his grace’s corpse in a resplendent uniform consisting of an abundance of lace, golden embroidery, and jewels. His beringed, clay-like hands crossed one another upon his chest.
His face had been powdered and painted.
He did not resemble the man she’d nearly hated while he had been alive. Despite the powder and rouge, his face was slack, his skin sallow. Sophia turned away and took a deep breath from inside of her handkerchief.
When she did so, she was confronted by the sight of St. John, similarly resting.
Rhoda!
She’d not had even a moment to consider that her dearest friend had developed an attachment to one of the men who had been killed. Did Rhoda know? Of course, she must!
She would be devastated! She’d practically admitted to being in love with him. Oh, dear, poor Rhoda. Sophia choked back a sob at the thought. Now was not the time to show such distress.
St. John’s corpse appeared eerily similar to that of the duke. Less wrinkles, yes, and no graying hair, but the bone structure of the face resembled the duke’s almost perfectly.
Sophia had always thought Harold took after his mother in looks. Viewing these two men, confirmed her opinion.
And then, a third body.
Dev had abandoned the duchess standing near the duke and moved toward his father.
Sophia wanted badl
y to follow him, to wrap her arms around his waist and give him what little comfort she could.
She took a few silent steps away from St. John and stood behind Dev. It was all she could do. She hoped he understood. She hoped he could feel her comfort, her love, in such a tiny, insignificant gesture.
The duchess had stepped away from her husband and turned to view her firstborn son.
The room was so very cold.
A clammy sweat broke out on Sophia’s forehead as another, stronger wave of nausea swept over her.
And then a few familiar elderly ladies slipped into the room, approached the duchess, and embraced her quietly. Sophia remembered them from before the wedding, and later, as guests at Priory Point. Both had departed before the road washed out. They were cousins or sisters or somehow related to the duchess.
They whispered their condolences and encouraged the widow to lean upon them. “Come, dear, you must be exhausted.” They led her from the room, only to be halted at the last moment.
“Sophia, dear, you must rest as well.”
But Sophia could see that the duchess was distracted by her family.
“I’m going to say a few prayers, your grace, if you do not mind. I will find my own way to my chamber.” The one she had supposedly shared with Harold. The place where she’d discovered a passion within herself that she’d never known existed.
The duchess considered her for just an instant and then nodded.
Prayers? Ha! Surely Sophia had secured her place in hell thrice over by now.
When the large door closed behind them, Sophia moved to stand beside Dev.
She took his hand in hers. At first it was lax, and then, after a brief hesitation, he squeezed hers back.
“I’m so sorry.”
She’d known he loved and respected his father. His father had been all he’d ever known. He’d lost his cousins, his uncle, and now his father. Not ever knowing his mother, he was truly all alone now, but for his aunt… and herself.
Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues Page 66
