by Lucy Langton
But what Philip’s motives really were surprised Sophia to no end. He confronted his brother, told him that what he was doing was wrong, and defended Sophia in the most heroic way imaginable. It only increased her attraction to Philip. Now she positively felt like she could not live without him.
Lying in her bed, still wearing her gown, Sophia heard footsteps at the door, and she sprang up, thinking that it might be Philip paying a call. She ran to the door, her emotions getting the better of her, and opening it she discovered Arabella.
“Oh, M’Lady!” Arabella said in surprise.
“I heard footsteps.”
“It’s only me. There’s no cause to fear.”
“This evening has been too much,” Sophia said, bringing a hand to her chest.
“Come to bed now. I’ll fetch your sleeping gown.”
Sophia seated herself on the bed, waiting for Arabella to return and help her out of the dress that now was suffocating her.
“Do you sometimes think it’s funny?” Sophia asked as Arabella began to undress her.
“What’s funny?”
“That you call me ‘M’Lady’?” Sophia asked humorously.
“It does sound strange to me. But the staff here would give me a beating if I didn’t.”
“I suppose I’m not really a lady. Not in the way I’m supposed to be,” Sophia mused. “I don’t think that the ladies here could ever really accept me. Not with the current situation.”
“The situation is not ideal,” Arabella said gently, “but you’re a lady through-and-through, in my eyes.”
“I thank you,” Sophia replied warmly.
She was finally in her sleeping gown, and Sophia felt as though she could breathe again. A heavy weariness came over her and she longed for sleep. Lying in her bed, Arabella pulled the covers over her and wished her goodnight. Within moments, Sophia’s eyes were closed, and she began to dream.
But before she could even dip a toe into the waters of her dream, she heard footsteps yet again that caused Sophia to open her eyes and discover Timothy standing over her.
“M’Lord,” Sophia said, pulling the covers tight around her. Although previously Sophia wished for her husband to view her body, and to crave it in the way that husbands should, she now felt as though he didn’t deserve such a viewing. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re my wife. I’m allowed to be in your room.”
Sophia became indignant. How could Timothy possibly say such a thing after the discovery of that night had been made?
“I wish to have some privacy,” Sophia said, turning on her side. Although she was angry, she didn’t wish to make a show of it. It was important in such situations to remain civil as best as one could.
“You overheard?” Timothy asked, seating himself on the edge of the bed.
“Yes,” Sophia replied.
“Are you all right?”
Sophia couldn’t believe it. If her husband knew she had been informed of everything, how could he possibly be so gentle? She reasoned that perhaps he was upset about the situation as well. Or perhaps it was all for show.
“Am I supposed to be all right?” Sophia asked gently, turning towards him and meeting his gaze.
“I did not wish to hurt you,” Timothy explained.
“I know that you didn’t,” she said, turning back on her side.
“Can you forgive me? Can we work out some kind of arrangement?” Timothy asked penitently, placing a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. Was it wrong that she still delighted in his touch, even though he had betrayed her so horribly? She had been deeply longing for that touch for so long, and he was still her husband. If only he had touched her tenderly sooner. If only he had told the truth from the beginning. Maybe they could have found their way through this mess in a better fashion.
“If you’ll excuse me, M’Lord,” Sophia said, holding back the tears with all her might. “I think I merely need to sleep now. I can share my thoughts with you in the morning.”
“I understand,” Timothy replied, getting up from the bed and walking towards the door. “Sleep well.”
After Timothy departed, Sophia would still not let the tears fall. After all, thoughts of Philip flooded her mind. Sophia’s response to this was to laugh to herself. Even after discovering her husband’s infidelities, Philip was not far from her thoughts. She fell asleep, all the while praying that Philip would appear in her dream.
***
Lord Timothy returned to his room feeling like the world’s greatest cad. He was ashamed of what he had done, but that was what love did. It was a storm that destroyed everything in its wake, and that was the kind of storm that his love for Lady Helena White could be described as.
His wife was mortified, that much was certain, and yet his thoughts were with Lady Helena. He’d write her a letter that very evening. Considering that the truth was finally out, it was time to take action, action towards his real desires.
Timothy picked up pen and paper and began.
Lady Helena,
My Love, my Everlasting, my Queen. Much has transpired on this evening that I feel that you must know of. I was accosted by my brother over dinner, at which time he interrogated me over the state of affairs between you and I. Although I found it profoundly vexing, I think that it was for the best that I have revealed the truth to him. In a shocking turn of events, my wife overheard much of the conversation and thus the tea has been spilt, as they say.
Darling, although it is difficult to have this truth revealed, I also feel that this whole sordid mess has happened for a reason. Run away with me. We can begin life afresh on a new shore. There is still a time and a place for us on this earth, and I would be the happiest man alive if you were to entrust yourself to my care.
Yours,
Timothy
Re-reading the letter, Timothy feared it might be too much. Yes, he was laying himself bare to the woman who owned his heart, but how would she respond? Would Lady Helena be repelled by his words?
Timothy tried to sleep that night, but it was for naught. He tossed and turned about, wondering how Lady Helena might respond to the letter or whether she would respond at all.
The letter was sent off by the footman first thing the next morning and Timothy was surprised by the amount of energy he had woken with. It then occurred to him that he hadn’t fallen asleep drunk the night before, and that explained why he had two wits about him when he went to the breakfast table.
To his great surprise and dismay Sophia was not at table. Philip sat there, looking up at Timothy as though he were the most deplorable human in existence.
“You’re scowling at me,” Timothy said, seating himself and unfolding his napkin upon his lap.
“Your behaviour is not ideal.”
“And yours is?” Timothy asked, knowing that Philip had his own secrets up his sleeve.
“I’m not perfect in the slightest,” Philip said, his deep voice made deeper by the early hour and fatigue. “But I don’t intentionally hurt others.”
“I have not intentionally hurt anyone, I assure you,” Timothy replied, then lowered the volume of his voice as the servants entered with the hot dishes to break the fast. “We do not choose our circumstances.”
“Ha!” Philip said with a laugh. “I very much think that we do.”
“Father is lying on his deathbed,” Timothy said, his volume raising again. “Do you truly believe that he chose those circumstances?”
“Do I believe that he wishes to die? I do. This household has been devoid of joy until Sophia came here. I do not blame him for wanting it all to be over with.”
“Don’t bring Sophia into this,” Timothy said, not wishing to hear her name uttered. It only filled him with more compunction.
“Very well. She’s still in her room. Like Father, I can imagine that she has no reason to come down again.”
“Don’t be morbid,” Timothy said, cutting into his roasted tomato.
Just then, to everyone’s surprise, So
phia did make an appearance in the dining room. Despite her soft, melancholy expression, her skin and hair shined in the morning light. It was almost as though grief increased her beauty, Timothy marvelled. Yes, he was a foolish man to chase after a married woman when he was already married to a beauty. It filled him with more self-disgust, which he washed down with a sip of tea.
“Good morning,” Sophia said softly, almost inaudible.
“Good morning,” Philip said, standing to his feet.
Although he had not done it on any other occasion, Timothy chose to stand as well, and even walked over to pull out his wife’s chair. His former wife? His future wife? It was all so confusing . . .
“I trust that you managed some sleep?” Philip said, and Timothy looked across and marvelled at the gentle compassion in his brother’s eyes.
“I did, thank you,” Sophia replied, forcing a smile. Timothy noted that she was most likely lying about that point.
Silence followed and Timothy wished to disappear. To make matters worse, it was an awkward silence. No one knew what to say, least of all Timothy. He had tried to discuss things with Sophia the evening before, and she understandably didn’t wish to do so. His thoughts turned to the letter. No doubt, it would be reaching Lady Helena that very moment.
If she refused his love, if she would not surrender to him, then perhaps there was still a chance with Sophia. Maybe he could make it up to her, in good time.
Timothy returned to his tea and began to consider the alternatives.
***
Philip carried about his affairs that day but couldn’t clear his mind of the beautiful image of Sophia that morning. How did she manage to always look so lovely, even in turmoil? Although he hated to see his brother drunk, he was beginning to wish that Timothy had been so the evening before. That would mean that he and Sophia could again enjoy their breakfasts in privacy. Those were the golden days, when Sophia first arrived and Timothy was nowhere in sight. It now seemed like, since Timothy’s secret had been revealed, he almost made his presence ever more known.
That was why, when Philip was in the study and Sophia walked in, his heart leapt with joy. He had her all to himself, if even for a few mere moments. He’d make the most of that time.
“Sophia,” he said, getting up from his seat.
“Please, don’t stand,” Sophia said, putting out her hand. “I could scarce believe my eyes when you did so at breakfast.”
“I wish to stand every time I’m in your presence.”
“You flatter me,” Sophia said with a weary smile.
“I do not,” Philip replied.
“I was not telling the truth this morning. I barely slept last night.”
“Seat yourself at once,” Philip said, not bearing the sight of her standing there so fatigued.
Sophia did as she was told, bringing a hand to her forehead.
“I slept very little, as well,” Philip replied.
“Were you plagued with dreams, as I was?” Sophia asked, and from the expectant look in her eye, Philip wondered if she was referring to the same kind of dream he would constantly have of Sophia – resting in his arms and so much more.
“I’m always plagued with dreams,” Philip replied, giving breath to the double-meaning of it.
“When will it all end?”
“What do you mean?” Philip asked.
“All this confusion and turmoil. Your father so ill, my marriage irreparable, and my affections . . . ”
“Your affections?” Philip asked, hoping and praying that Sophia was referring to what he wished her to be referring to.
“Yes, my affections,” Sophia replied, looking across at Philip.
In the silence that followed, Sophia got up from her chair and walked around the desk. Philip felt his heart beating at a feverish clip in his chest. He watched as the beautiful creature seated herself at the arm of his chair, and he feared that he might die right then and there. She leaned over him, and again spoke.
“Philip, there’s something we must discuss,” Sophia began. But before she could utter another word, Philip knew exactly what she was about to say and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her atop him, resting her knees on the chair beside his thighs. “Philip,” she repeated, a partial protest, and yet she moaned it through her lips.
“Speak to me,” Philip whispered, his hands wrapped around her back, face in her neck. “Speak, angel,” he went on.
“We can’t pretend anymore,” Sophia said breathlessly.
“We don’t have to,” Philip replied.
He wished to be the gentleman but having Sophia there on his lap undid him. Philip brought his hands up around her shoulders and pushed her down on top of him, so that he could feel the pressure of her pelvis in his lap. Sophia moaned again, and Philip moved his hands to her back once more, unbuttoning her gown with impressive ease.
As he did so, Sophia complied, doing the same to the front of Philip’s shirt. Before he knew what was even happening, Sophia’s bodice had been pulled down to her waist and his waistcoat and shirt had been fully removed. Philip brought his lips up to hers, kissing her hungrily and feeling the warmth of her skin against his chest. Sophia still wore a chamise, delicately clinging to her breasts, nipples erect. He pulled a strap down off her shoulder, exposing one perfect breast which he hungrily reached down and smothered with his lips.
It was all too much in that moment. Philip feared that if the situation did not come to a close, he would place Sophia on that desk and make their relationship official in no uncertain terms.
“We must stop,” Philip said, his voice strangled.
“What?” Sophia asked, her eyes narrowed as though waking from a dream.
“We mustn’t,” Philip said, returning the strap to her shoulder and bringing her bodice back up. He pulled her against her chest and whispered into her ear. “Not here. Not now. I am in love with you, Sophia Barberry. If I am to have you, it must be the proper time and place. It’s of too much importance, I’m afraid.”
“Very well,” Sophia replied, covering herself. She seemed bashful, almost embarrassed, and Philip was not having it. He brought a finger up to her cheek to comfort her.
“We must wait until the moment is right. You don’t deserve to be made love to in a study,” Philip said with a smile, trying to get her to smile, in kind.
“It means a lot to me,” Sophia said warmly, “that you say that.”
Chapter 16
The condition of the Duke of Clumber had worsened. He was no longer coming down for breakfast or tea and chose to take his supper in his room, which was often a cup of simple broth. Philip wished to pay a visit to his father’s room, but often he’d be denied, simply because the duke could not bear to have his son see him in such a state.
