by Mary Campisi
“Of course you would say such a thing. You don’t want our company to succeed unless you’re running it. Yes, you could buy ten or twenty Seacrest Shippings but it’s not about the money, is it? You’re out to settle a score for your family; the scrawny outcast returns to achieve something even his father couldn’t. Take over Seacrest Shipping and destroy my father.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Holt poured yet another drink, his fourth if Sophie were counting correctly. He was past furious, his massive strength barely leashing his anger and she wondered once again how a sickly boy could turn into such a fierce man. He advanced on her, forcing her to back up to prevent contact with his person. “What now, my sweet? You don’t like my touch? A Langford isn’t good enough for you? I recall you were certainly willing enough when you thought me a gamekeeper.”
“How dare you. A gentleman would not be so crude as to make comment on past indiscretions.”
Reaching for a stray tendril of her hair, he ran it through his fingers. “As you recently reminded me, I am no gentleman, am I, my sweet?”
She’d had enough of his game playing. Sophie stepped out of his reach and said, “You are a Langford and you deceived me to get my father’s company. I’m not such a fool as to think an earl could not marry anyone he chose. Yet, you would have me believe you’ve selected the daughter of a man who drinks to forget his past and numb his future? My family has been disgraced because of your father. Surely you’ve been back long enough to have heard the rumors.”
“Do tell.”
“They say my mother and your father were lovers. They planned to run away until Father stopped them. And my mother was so broken-hearted she killed herself.” Her voice slipped to a whisper. “That’s been the rumor for years, but it’s not true.”
“No?”
“It’s a lie. Your father forced himself on my mother and then tried to blackmail her into an affair so Father wouldn’t find out.”
“I’ve heard a different story.”
She ignored him. “My mother’s death is on your family’s hands. Your father wouldn’t leave her alone.” And got her with child. She’d rather die than tell him Caroline was his half sister. Her breathing grew ragged as she forced herself to continue, “One day, when she could take it no longer, she killed herself.”
Holt leaned toward her and took her hands. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t welcome his touch either. “I don’t want your father’s company and I don’t want to continue this ridiculous feud. Whoever told you my father raped your mother was lying. They were lovers. I have it on good authority this is the truth. I don’t give a damn about that. I should have told you who I was, but it started out innocently enough.” He released her hands and rested them on her shoulders. “Look at me, Sophie. Please.”
She inched her gaze to meet his.
“We belong together,” he said. “You can’t deny it.”
She could. She must. Hadn’t her father told her for years the Langfords would stop at nothing to control Seacrest Shipping? Sophie stepped out of his reach. “A man capable of lying about his identity is capable of anything.” She pulled her lips into a false smile. “I’m certain there are several, available young women who would jump at the chance to become Lady Westover. I, however, do not happen to be one of them.”
Then she turned and walked through the door that would separate their lives forever. She had taken no more than a few steps when she heard the crash of glass against stone. Not unlike the feel of her heart breaking into a million pieces. She quickened her pace and fled up the stairs, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Chapter 15
Three days passed during which time Sophie barely slept and ate no more than a few nibbles of cheese and crackers. For heaven’s sake, crying off with Holt Langford had been the right thing to do. Fortunately, she’d discovered what a true blackguard he was before she actually married him. Why then could she not keep her eyes from tearing each time she thought of their last encounter?
Why did she break into uncontrollable weeping when she recalled his stoic expression as she smugly told him she would not marry him? Was it hysterical relief at so narrowly missing a life of deceit and treachery? A polite knock at the door scattered her thoughts and she quickly dabbed at her eyes. Caroline entered and flopped on the bed looking worried and preoccupied. She was such a beautiful child, with her ebony curls and blue eyes; eyes that were the same midnight blue as Holt’s. How could she have forgotten the Langford eyes? Despite his frail nature, a young Holt Langford had possessed the most mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen. He’d only seen Caroline once and perhaps he hadn’t noticed the resemblance. She hoped.
Why are you so sad? Caroline signed this question with her fingers.
Sophie hesitated a moment, debating what to tell her sister. Then she began to move her own fingers slowly in response. I trusted someone who wasn’t honest with me and it hurt me very much.
Mr. Thurston?
Sophie nodded. “Now, enough questions on this subject. I’m feeling much better today.” It would do no good to continue wallowing in sorrow and self-pity. Holt Langford was a liar and a cheat and no amount of crying would change that. It was time to inform her father she would not be marrying the man he’d held in such high regard. Of course, she could not tell him the reason, for if he found out, he’d undoubtedly force a duel and end up dead.
The best way to handle matters was to simply say they’d both agreed they did not suit. She’d conjure up tears and reticence to further discuss the subject, which should not be difficult. No, appearing overwrought would require no great amount of play-acting because the emotions roiling inside were all too real.
***
A short while before lunch, Sophie and Caroline returned from the stables. How wonderful to race the horses flat out across the meadows, mindless of all else save the natural elements of their surroundings. The ground stretched hard beneath them, partly covered in spots with the colorful display of early leaves. Rows of evergreens lined the countryside like soldiers standing guard. Even the sky added to the magnificence of the day with its blueness that floated overhead, creating a perfect backdrop for the sun.
The ride had given Sophie ample time to decide how to inform her father of the broken engagement and tell him she must, for too many days had passed with him believing her upcoming nuptials would transpire. After she sent Caroline off to the kitchen in search of cocoa and lemon tarts, Sophie smoothed her mussed hair and knocked softly on the library door.
“Enter.” Her father glanced up from an array of books and documents scattering the top of his desk. “Well my girl, I’m glad to see you are on the mend and feeling yourself again. I was beginning to think we should call the doctor in to examine you.” His thin face appeared sallow in the morning light, his once keen eyes sunken and glazed. On his desk, though discreetly placed, rested a goblet of amber liquid, half-full.
She pretended she did not smell the alcohol on his breath or note the rumpled clothing as she kissed his forehead. It would do no good to nag him yet again for it always ended badly, with tears and arguments. Eventually, it became a closed subject, politely ignored but ever present.
“Thank you for your concern, Father. I’m feeling much better today.” She seated herself across from his desk and said, “I have some rather grave news to share.”
“Grave news? By God, you are ill, aren’t you?”
The words she’d practiced until well past midnight fell out in an emotionless lump. “Mr. Thurston and I have broken the engagement.”
“What?” He stared at her as though she’d informed him she had the ability to sprout wings and fly. “How can that be?”
Tears slipped onto her cheeks, real tears, not the ones she’d told herself she might have to conjure up. “We decided we wouldn’t suit. Oh Father, it’s too difficult to discuss.”
“But,” he rubbed his stubbled chin, “this makes no sense. Does he expect us to give the money back? We can�
�t do that.” He gripped the glass of whiskey and took a healthy swallow. “We can’t do that.”
“Money?”
“Hell yes, money. Lots of it. Good Lord.” He rubbed his neck. “What could this mean?”
“Father, what money?”
“When I accepted his offer for you, he sent a bank draft. A very large bank draft, intended to purchase a vast amount of stock in Seacrest Shipping as well as finance the design and construction of a new type of ship. There were also provisions for renovations to the warehouse and modifications to equipment. All in all,” he sighed, “a great deal of money changed hands. We agreed on how it was to be spent and I even signed documents attesting to such matters.” His faded eyes gleamed. “It was an opportunity for a second chance without a Langford breathing down my neck.”
“I see.”
“Now, I don’t know what will happen.”
Holt Langford had wanted control of the company. It was indeed the only reason he’d offered for her and her poor, guileless father had ignorantly gone along with the plan.
“It would appear Mr. Thurston was more interested in Seacrest Shipping than in me.”
He gave her a very odd look, then leaned his bony elbows on the desk and shook his head. “Every share of Seacrest Shipping was purchased in your name. It was to be your wedding gift.”
***
Sophie urged her mount along the narrow lanes to Ellswood. Why? The question burned her brain, screaming at her, driving her half insane. From the moment her father uttered the words, she heard nothing but her heart pounding against her chest. Why would Holt be so adamant about giving her shares in the company for a wedding gift? Had it been his way of reassuring her he was not after Seacrest Shipping? Especially after she learned of his true heritage?
Had she misjudged the whole situation? Did he truly care for her, even a little? She must speak with him. But he was still a Langford and he had still lied to her. She anguished over the possibility that he had also been telling the truth about their parents. Oh, but if that were true, it would indeed be a painful revelation. So many years spent estranged from her best friend, thinking the worst of the entire Langford family, even breaking her engagement to a man she loved in the name of a family revenge which was not warranted. Could all of these years have been a lie?
She had to see Holt. If indeed she’d wrongly accused him, she would beg his forgiveness and hopefully, he would still want her for his wife.
Chapter 16
Sophie followed Jaffe into the marbled foyer. The butler showed no emotion at her request, other than a slightly raised brow, before excusing himself and wandering down the dimly lit hall to disappear behind one of the heavy oak doors. She remembered Jaffe from childhood, recalling his obsessive need for decorum and propriety. Did the man ever laugh or even smile? And did he know Gregory Thurston’s true identity?
Within minutes, Jaffe reappeared and ushered her toward the room he had recently exited. She should have taken the time to change and tidy up. For heaven’s sake, she still wore her riding habit from this morning and her hair must look a fright. No matter, she must speak with Holt at once. She ignored her sweaty palms and forced herself to concentrate on her breathing as she entered the library.
The man behind the desk wasn’t Holt. Disappointment shot through her as she recognized Jason Langford. Now she would have to inquire as to Holt’s whereabouts and wait for his return if he were out. Once Jaffe quit the room she approached Jason and for the first time noticed his state of dishevelment. His usually clean-shaven face was covered with stubble, his eyes were bleak and haunted, his once immaculate lawn shirt wrinkled and open several inches. The desk lay strewn with wadded-up papers, and half-empty decanters. A trail of broken glass scattered the base of the large fireplace as though someone had spent a considerable amount of time and pent up frustration hurling goblets at the stone. Something was very wrong and she had a horrible feeling she was part of it. “Hello, Jason. I’ve come to speak with Holt.”
His jaw twitched a few times, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as he studied her.
“Jason, what’s wrong?”
“Holt isn’t here.” The words fell out sadly, apologetically.
“Oh.” She’d been so worried over what must be said she hadn’t considered not having the opportunity to say it. “Well,” she cleared her throat. “May I wait for him?”
His expression turned grim, his eyes even bleaker. “He’s gone, Sophie.”
“I’ll just—”
“He’s left England.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” She crumbled beneath the weight of his words and shook her head in denial. The crying began then, heart-wrenching tears filling the room until Jason pulled her into his arms and tried to comfort her.
When she finally settled, he said, “Tell me what happened, Sophie. Maybe there will be some way to bring him back.”
She took a deep breath and released herself from his embrace. For a long while, she simply stared at the shards of broken glass strewn about the fireplace. Then she began to speak, recounting all of the events of the last few days; Julia’s visit, her argument with Holt, and finally, the meeting with her father that afternoon. “Could it be true, Jason? Could our parents have been involved in an affair?”
He hesitated a moment. “It’s true.”
“But how could you know for certain?”
Sadness coated his next words. “My mother saw them together.”
“No.”
“She was taking a walk one afternoon and caught them at the gamekeeper’s cottage.”
“Oh no.”
“She threatened him and he promised to end it, but soon the affair became common knowledge in most social circles. When your mother died, your father told everyone she’d been raped and blackmailed by my father and killed herself rather than live in disgrace. No one believed it but your father,” he paused, “and you.”
“All these years, I believed a lie.”
“You were only a child when it happened.”
Holt had told her the truth. “Jason, please tell me, will Holt come back? Will I get another chance?” Her fingers bit into his forearm, willing him to give the answer she wanted to hear.
“I don’t know.”
***
The months passed with a whirlwind of activities and events, not all of them good. Sophie immersed herself in the family business and with the working capital from Holt’s agreement and the construction of the new ships underway she spent many long hours at the docks. It became known that her father was all but confined to his bed with an illness of the liver rendering him unable to carry on with day-to-day business.
Nevertheless, she consulted with him and spent a great amount of time each evening providing a full report of the day’s events. He did not appear as obsessed with his vendetta against the Langford’s these days, though there were moments when he would utter obscenities against them, reminding Sophie he had not forgotten, or forgiven anything.
As for questioning the cause of their good fortune and the fact that their benefactor had not demanded repayment, they only spoke of it once, two months after Sophie’s broken engagement. She sat in her father’s study, balancing his ledgers on her lap while he lay propped on a sofa, surrounded by blankets and pillows in an attempt to warm his bones. A snifter of brandy rested in his right hand.
Sophie was tired that evening, having worked many days until well past midnight in an effort to insure everything was in place for construction to begin on the new shipping line. They were so close to turning the company around and making a tidy profit on their latest venture. That coupled with a few other key renovations, would definitely increase profitability.
If Holt didn’t demand his money back. That remained her father’s biggest fear. “It’s been almost two months and we’ve heard nothing from Mr. Thurston or his solicitor. One would certainly not expect him to fulfill his end of the agreement now that
there is to be no wedding.” He took a healthy sip of brandy and continued, “And yet, it is passing strange there has been no demand for repayment. Unless the man is as rich as Croesus or a lovesick fool, he should demand an immediate settlement from us.” He pondered his words. “Thurston is definitely not a fool, nor did he appear overly wealthy. Perhaps he feels responsible for the broken engagement. Still, the amount of money involved is ten times what would be considered reasonable under such circumstances. It makes no sense.”
If only she could tell him the money in question was not such an outrageous sum for the Earl of Westover. Then he would understand, but the understanding would kill him.
“Our only hope is to continue with our plans and pray we never hear from or see the likes of that man again.” He gulped the rest of his brandy, his hand shaking slightly. “And God help us if we do, dear girl. God help us.”
***
The wind howled outside. It called to her in its aloneness, its eerie cry a sad song of grief which she understood well. Sophie moved from the window and walked toward the bed. Exhaustion claimed her but it was better this way. At least she would be able to sleep, unfettered by memories of the man she had loved and lost.
He’d been gone four months yet the pain of losing him and the life they might have shared had not lessened. The questions and speculations had stopped. Even Aunt Vivian, who had preached about his desertion relentlessly for the first several weeks was now only prone to an occasional comment. It had been the waiting and hoping which proved the worst.
For the first five weeks, Sophie had called upon Jason Langford daily to see if there had been word from Holt. She usually arrived at Ellswood, windblown and tousled, insisting on riding her horse as opposed to a carriage so as not to arouse her household’s curiosity concerning her daily whereabouts. Jason threatened his staff with dismissal if anyone spoke of Lady Sophie Seacrest’s visits to Ellswood.
“Jason?” she would ask hesitantly before Jaffe had even finished closing the door. Jason would then rise from behind his desk and approach her, sadly shaking his head.
