by Hilly Mason
The penmanship left something to be desired. It was either written in haste, or from someone not quite skilled at writing:
Dearest Lydia,
I don’t want to live the rest of my life in secrecy. And I believe you would be happier, too, if you were not constantly lying to your husband.
Please, consider my words, especially now that you are to have a second child. We cannot hide this forever.
It was signed M, but next to the letter was something else crossed out. Sophia held the letter closer to her face, trying to decipher the omission.
Marcus.
Marcus. Wasn’t he Alex’s footman?
And Lydia was Alex’s deceased wife...
Sophia swallowed against a suddenly dry throat and then jumped at the sound of yelling coming from outside her window.
She folded the letter quickly and got out of bed to look out the window to see that Alex and Marcus were galloping past on their horses, returning from an evening ride. Alex looked sharp in his riding outfit, the pants tight enough to accentuate the muscles in his legs and his face flushed from the cool evening air. He noticed her standing with her candle by the window and tipped his hat to her as they slowed to a stop. Alex then jumped off his horse and clapped Marcus companionably on the back before disappearing into the stables. Sophia retreated from the window and tucked the letter back into the book.
Alex should know, shouldn’t he?
Perhaps she got it all wrong. Maybe this Marcus was writing to another Lydia and the letter was misplaced.
No, that was silly. It was in a book of love poems, for heaven’s sake.
There was no way around it: Alex’s footman had an affair with Lydia St. George.
And Annie...
Dear Lord, did that mean that Annie wasn’t Alex’s daughter?
Chapter Eleven
After a night of restless sleep, Alex found himself in the early morning back in Lydia’s room. Locking him in there so Diana or the servants wouldn’t be able to find him, he went through each letter in the chest, trying to piece together what it was that had made his marriage fail.
There were common themes: of Lydia feeling lonely, of this M being the only one who understood her, noticed her, and appreciated her. Alex thought he was in love with Lydia. He had believed it for the four years of their marriage. But had he been?
Or had he been in love with someone else?
The letter he held crumpled in his hand. Dear God, had I been still in love with Sophia this entire time and not realized it?
When Sophia had changed from that smart, dynamic girl into someone he didn’t recognize, he was devastated. But now, years later, he could see the old Sophia again, hiding behind the mask of grief and wariness that she now wore like a cloak.
And he could now see that he had never stopped loving her.
He did not blame Lydia for her affair. No, he had not been a good husband to her. In retrospect, he realized that he treated her more like a guest in his house than his wife. It was only natural that she would find her affections elsewhere, with someone more deserving.
But Sophia seemed to detest him. And she was not a stranger to hurting him just as he had hurt Lydia.
Yet there had to be something more to the story that she was not telling him.
He was about to put the letters back into the chest, but instead built a fire in the dusty fireplace and burned the papers, watching the embers spark like fireworks. When he was finished, he went to his drawing room, opening the stopper to a bottle of brandy and pouring himself a glass, needing to do something with his hands to distract himself from his mind.
It was late morning, and Diana was already in the room, sitting by the fireplace as she poked a needle through her embroidery project.
“Rough night?” she observed, without even glancing up.
“You could say that.”
“I wanted to sleep in, but Annie and Lady Gibbs’ shrieks of laughter woke me up early. I really should transfer to a different room.” Her eyes flashed up toward the door. “Speaking of which…”
Alex just about choked on his drink as he realized Sophia had been standing in the doorway, Annie next to her, holding her hand.
“The lady is already finished with her lessons for today, Lord St. George,” Sophia said as Annie ran from her skirts over to his arms.
He embraced his daughter and kissed her cheek. With his newfound realization that he was still very much in love with Sophia, he could hardly meet the woman’s eyes.
“Did you learn a lot today, my dear?” he asked his daughter. He looked into the child’s face searchingly, hoping to find any sort of resemblance that told him that she was his. No, she was too much like her mother.
“Oh yes, Papa. I learned how to say hello and goodbye in French.”
“Oh, well you must show me, then!”
Annie straightened her spine and lifted her chin up proudly. “Bonjour is hello!” she told him. “And goodbye is... uh...” she glanced over to Sophia for help.
“It starts with an ‘a’,” she coaxed.
“A... ah... au revoir!” Annie exclaimed.
“Very good!” Alex said, giving his daughter another embrace. “I must say, your French is much better than mine.”
“You can say that again,” Diana remarked, rolling her eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve heard you speak a lick of French since our own governess left.”
“I never found a need to. I don’t think France would be very welcoming of an English lord, anyway.”
“Really?” Diana said, raising her eyebrows. “I would imagine things would be different now that the war is winding down.”
“Don’t say that so soon,” Alex said to his sister. “I don’t believe Bonaparte would give up that easily. He’s as stubborn as an ox.”
“Oh, I would very much like to visit France someday, once the war is over,” Sophia said suddenly. Alex and Diana turned toward her in unison.
“Oh really?” Diana said laconically. “That’s nice. Is there anything more you need here, Lady Gibbs?”
Sophia looked at all three of them and opened her mouth to say something, then perhaps thought better of it. She shook her head instead.
“No, that is all.”
“Lady Gibbs,” Diana called out, before she could leave. “Would you like to accompany my brother, Annie, and I to dinner tonight?”
“What?” Alex blurted out just Sophia said repeated the word “dinner” like she’d never heard of it before.
“Yes, dinner. Annie’s godparents are going to be visiting tonight, and I am sure they would want to meet their godchild’s governess.”
Sophia was staring at her in disbelief.
“When was the last time you had a proper dinner?” Diana asked her.
Sophia’s face colored. “Oh, uh... Just before my imprisonment. Almost half a year ago.”
“Dear lord,” Diana gasped. “Then you must dine with us at once!”
Sophia looked down at her clothing. “I don’t have anything to wear. My mourning gown is all I own.”
Alex was about to say that what she was wearing would be suitable, that she could be wearing a potato sack and still look ethereal, but his sister quickly stood up and walked over to her, sighing.
“We are but the same size, you and I,” she said, assessing the woman’s appearance. “I can find you something from my wardrobe, I am sure.”
“Oh, thank you, Lady St. George.”
Diana waved her hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. Take Annie to Isabel to get her ready for a nap, will you? I will come up to your room with a few gowns to try on shortly.”
“Thank you, Lady St. George.”
Annie trotted over to Sophia and held onto her hand as Sophia led her out of the drawing room. Diana gave her retreating form a moue of annoyance.
“How pitiful she is now.” Diana remarked as she sat down.
“Is that why you invited her to dinner, because you pity her?”
; “Oh, don’t act like you will not enjoy her company, as strange as that is. From the stories I’ve heard, she always seemed so rude and disagreeable. And she completely disregarded your feelings when she married Lord Gibbs. I feel like she got what she deserved.”
“We were all so young back then,” he told her. “People change. I know I have.”
His sister turned sharply toward him. “You are still in love with her, aren’t you? Oh, how capital! You really know how to choose them.”
He frowned at her. “She is good with Annie. That is all.”
“So I have heard,” Diana told him. “Brother, I know you very well. You feel guilty over loving her when Lydia is still fresh in her grave.”
“You’re ever one to speak so bluntly.”
“I learned it from you,” Diana said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Your wife deceived you, so I don’t think you should feel poorly for wanting to move on. But moving on with her?” she gestured to the empty doorway where Sophia had stood moments before. “Again, please consider your daughter. Whether Lady Gibbs killed her husband or not, her name is tainted for the rest of her life.”
“If a man refuses to marry my daughter because of whom I am in love with—” he raised his hand before Diana could interject. “If I was in love with Sophia… then he would not be a good match for Annie.”
“Well, her dowry will be enough to persuade any man, I reckon,” Diana said under her breath. “Do you really think she’s not going to hurt you again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well,” Diana rose from her seat. “I’m off to make the woman presentable. Wish me luck. It’s going to take a lot more than a simple comb to get the tangles out of her hair.”
Why did she invite Sophia to dinner? he wondered. As his sister took her leave, Marcus appeared at the door.
“Milord,” he said. “Shall we dress for tonight?”
“Yes, Marcus.” Alex stretched his long legs before standing up.
Even if she did agree to dinner, Sophia made it clear that she wanted little to do with him. She had made him her enemy ever since he signed the papers for Comerford House.
Well, that didn’t mean he couldn’t treat her to a nice dinner every now and then.
Chapter Twelve
Sophia restlessly paced her room. She had assumed Diana did not like her, so why would she invite her to a dinner party? And Alex readily agreed! Did it mean that Alex truly did have affections for her? She was torn between feelings of anger—that he would do such a thing when he knew how annoyed she was at him for being a constant reminder of what she couldn’t have—and pleasure for finally being able to dress nicely and sit down at an actual dinner table.
Sophia barely had time to recollect her thoughts when Diana knocked on her door.
“Come in,” Sophia called out, and welcomed Diana and Isabel as they entered her room. The maid had a pile of dresses in her arms and dumped them onto the bed unceremoniously.
Sophia stared at the garments in wonder, and with a little bit of lust. She wanted to run her hands over the silks and along the lace trimmings, feeling sorrowful for the dresses she had collected throughout the years that she would never see again.
“You are still in mourning,” said Diana, going straight to business. “But black looks so dreadful on you with your pale skin and that... yellow hair. You would look like a ghoul.”
Sophia unconsciously brought her hand up to touch her hair as she bit back a retort. She’d rather not start a feud with her employer’s sister. Although the younger woman was taller than Sophia, she had a much thinner build. Sophia remembered how Diana was just four years ago: a young, plump girl with blemishes and an extra roll or two on her neck. She chose to hold her tongue.
“Where is Joyce?” Sophia asked. “I thought she was going to assist me.”
“Joyce is busy with something else,” Isabel replied.
Immediately, Sophia felt suspicious. Were these two planning something nefarious? she wondered, looking at the pile of dresses. Nay, what was nefarious about fancy clothes?
“How about this gray one?” Diana said, oblivious to Sophia’s inner turmoil, holding a silk dress the color of storm clouds, embroidered with tiny white flowers. “I believe that would fit you.”
Despite the fact that it was still a mourning gown, it was a pretty thing, and Sophia looked at it longingly. She ran her fingers along the fabric. It had been so long since she had something so soft against her skin. Oh, and the gloves! They were pure white with no stains at the fingers and elbows.
Isabel—who had been glaring at Sophia the entire time—started to undress her until she was only in her chemise. The maid then grabbed the stays resting beside the gowns, which looked far too tiny for Sophia’s frame.
“I have my own stays,” Sophia insisted as Isabel began to lace her up.
Diana held up the discarded boned cloth like it was a dead rat. “It is horribly worn,” she said. “And outdated. Look how these new stays amplify your bosom.”
Sophia let out a gasp as the maid pulled her ties.
“It’s the fashion, Lady Gibbs,” Isabel said mildly, giving the stays another painful tug. She seemed to be enjoying the torture.
“I think your garments are a bit too small for me, Lady St. George.”
“Well, it does accentuate your features much better than those matronly clothes you had on,” Diana said, observing Sophia with a critical eye. “Yes, I was always so envious of your bosom. It would be a shame to hide it.”
Self-consciously, Sophia folded her arms around her chest. “My clothes are not matronly. They were in fashion just last winter.”
“Fashion changes quickly, doesn’t it?”
“There,” Isabel took a step back and reached for the gray dress. She put it over Sophia’s head and straightened it over her hips before buttoning the backside.
Sophia glanced at the looking glass. “Do you not think it’s a bit much?”
“Ever since Princess Charlotte visited Carlton House earlier this year with a dress baring her décolleté, it has been fashionable to show as much as the bosom as possible,” Diana explained.
“I suppose my time in prison has stunted my fashion sense,” Sophia muttered, staring doubtfully at her gown.
Diana shrugged. “You won’t be the only one.” From the reflection of the looking glass Sophia saw the younger woman open her robe to reveal a dress that left naught to the imagination. Sophia was shocked to see the outline of Diana’s breasts in the thin gauze that covered her chest.
“Have you any jewelry?” Diana asked, tying her robe around her waist. “Men like it when a necklace trails down into your dress.” She traced her littlest finger slowly down her breastbone as she said this.
“I do not.” Why was Diana so interested in her getting a man’s attention? She had been suspicious by her hospitality from the beginning, and it was starting to seem like her intuition was correct.
“Do you mean you had to sell your jewels, too? What a dreadful husband to leave his wife such a legacy.”
Sophia colored as she turned away from Isabel to face Diana.
“Why are you helping me when you detest me so much?” she demanded. “I have done nothing to you or your family. I know that my own family has created quite a scandal among the ton, but I would appreciate it if you’d let me move on from it.”
Diana’s hands dropped to her side and her eyes narrowed. An unnerving smile still played on her lips. “Very well,” she finally said. “You are free to finish dressing yourself. Let us go, Isabel.”
When they left, Sophia let out a deep breath, collapsed to the floor, and began to cry.
God, she hated to cry. She hated the way it made her face look, how her cheeks became blotchy and her eyes red. She hated the headache that would come of it, and the constant need to use her handkerchief for about an hour afterward to recover. But she also hated it because it brought her so much closer to the pain and devastation she had buried deep into
her soul for so many years. She was afraid that once she started to cry, she wouldn’t stop, that she would drown in the misery of her own doing.
It was too late. Her gloves dampened from her tears, she fumbled awkwardly for the handkerchief that was crumpled in her reticule. She took it out and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She had no time for this. She stifled her tears as she stood up from the ground and glanced at the clock. It was about a quarter to six, and she was expected for dinner at six sharp. She looked in the mirror and cringed at her wild hair and tear-stained cheeks.
Quickly, she wiped the remainder of her tears away and took down her messy hair to comb it. This, in turn, caused her long hair to puff outward in an almost comical fashion, like a large tuft of wheat. There was no time to call Joyce up to help her pin her unruly hair, so she attempted the feat herself, which resulted with her pins popping loose like a bullet shooting across the room.
I can’t just leave my hair down, can I? she thought, staring at the looking glass in horror. I would look like a wild woman. She would look ridiculous coming into the dining room in such a state. But what choice did she have? Hiding under the covers hoping to wake up from this horrible dream?
No, she was stronger than that. She lifted her chin up, as Annie confidently did when she was practicing her French to her father. She brushed her hair until it shone and then stuck her floral hair clip on the side to pull the strands away from her face. She wished she had rouge or powder, but she had to admit that her cheeks were pleasantly rosy, even if it did come from her fit of tears. And the dress did fit her nicely, accentuating her shapely body—although the gown was a bit longer than she was used to, as Diana was a few inches taller. She twirled around, enjoying how the billowing skirt fanned out and followed her movements like the petals of a flower.
Whose rules were it anyway that you had to wear your hair up to be a lady? She shook her head and laughed at herself. The laugh sounded strange to her ears. She was a grown woman now; a widow who did not need to hide her curves behind folds of fabric to act as though she was a modest virgin.
