Three Original Ladies 02 - Lord Trowbridge’s Angel

by G. G. Vandagriff

She, Sophie Edwards, was to marry Gorgeous Frank St. Oswald, Viscount Trowbridge and have a family. It had all happened so fast, she had difficulty taking it in. She had so many questions to ask him. How active did he intend to be in Parliament? Where would they live? She did not even know where his estate was. His father was dead, or Frank would not have come into the title, but what of his mother? If she was alive, would she accept Sophie?

  Finally, pulling her goose down quilt over her shoulders, she curled into a little ball and just let her body feel. Warmth. Acceptance. Well-being. Love. To the music of this internal symphony, she fell into a lovely sleep.

  ~~*

  Sophie found her rehearsal the next morning to be exceptionally difficult. Frank kept intruding upon her concentration. He would be with the duke this morning. When would she hear from him? Every time her thoughts strayed, her timing was off.

  “I am dreadfully sorry, Joseph,” she said to the cellist. “My mind is elsewhere this morning. Let us try that again.”

  By applying every ounce of self-discipline, she finally was able to keep up with Joseph, and they progressed a bit more toward readiness for their concert, which was now two and a half weeks away.

  The Carstairs had scarcely left when Lord Shrewsbury was shown into the music room. Sophie had been ready to join her sister and Buck for luncheon, but upon seeing the serious and harried look on the baron’s face, she said, “What is it, Lord Shrewsbury? What is wrong?”

  “I must speak to you. It cannot wait.”

  Curious and a bit alarmed, she led the way into Fanny’s coffee-colored morning room and bade him be seated.

  He said, “I have debated telling you this, because I did not want to seem self-serving, but I cannot bear to see you so happy, knowing that you are being deceived.”

  “Deceived?” Sophie assumed he was speaking of Frank. Her heart began to gallop and her hands became damp. “In what way?”

  “Three nights ago, I was at a ball. Trowbridge was not there. It was unlike him not to put in at least an appearance. I decided to call round to see him at about one o’clock in the morning.”

  Sophie had chosen an armchair across from the baron. He looked into her eyes, and she was surprised to see that his were full of anger. “I do not know what commitments he had made to you at that time, three days ago, but that night he was in the street, clothed in his dressing gown and putting his former mistress, Lady Manwaring, into a hackney cab at one o’clock in the morning.”

  Sophie stared at Shrewsbury and went numb as a though she were stone. She could not move. She could not speak. Even her mind was frozen and for a time, she could not think. Little by little, conscious thought returned. Shrewsbury’s eyes never left her face.

  Three nights ago. That day he first kissed me. He told me his intentions were honorable. He told me he believed we were lovers in a pre-existent life. And then he went … he went to Lady Manwaring. That dreadful woman. His mistress.

  It made no sense. It was impossible. It simply could not be.

  At last, she responded, “I would stake my life on Frank’s sincerity. Perhaps he was giving her her congé.”

  “He had already given it to her, days before. And, lest you forget, he was in his dressing gown. And the hour is also significant. One in the morning.”

  The scene he described finally took root. She bowed her head, still confused by the juxtaposition of the two realities.

  “Frank has never pursued anyone like you, Miss Edwards. I have known him since Eton. He is a womanizer. You are far too good for him.”

  A sharp blade sliced through her heart, cutting dead her happiness.

  “Please go,” she managed.”I do not wish to hear any more.”

  ~~*

  Fanny would find her in her room. Sophie sought the attics. There was an empty room at the end of the house that was used as a lumber room.

  She wore her prettiest day gown, a soft, green muslin embroidered with daisies she had donned in expectation of Frank’s proposal. Heedless, she knelt in the dust, her eyes hot with staring, her hands sweaty and cold.

  The evidence that Frank held nothing sacred was indisputable. He would manipulate beautiful words and actions to gain his ends. But if his tastes were as low as Lady Manwaring, why had he wanted to marry her? Her beauty was slight, her consequence nonexistent in his world. His passion for her had seemed genuine, but she was a stranger to passion. Awakening her to lovemaking, Frank had completely taken her in. How many hundreds of women had he kissed that way?

  An hour of such thoughts brought her to outrage. Seething, she sought an outlet for her anger. Sophie gripped the fabric of her gown at the hem. Using both hands, she tore the flimsy material from hem to waist. The ripping sound was so satisfactory, she did it again and again. Soon, her lovely dress was nothing more than a rag.

  Sophie collapsed in tears.

  ~~*

  Even in the attic, she could hear the insistence of the door knocker. Then her sister’s voice, calling her name, floated through the house. Sophie was stretched out on the floor, her face in the dust. Her tears were past. Now she was only exhausted. She slept.

  She did not know how much later it was that Fanny shook her awake. Her sister was holding a candle.

  “Dearest Sophie, what has happened to you? What are you doing here? Frank has been awaiting you for hours. Why are you hiding?”

  Her head was so heavy, Sophie could not lift it. “Tell Frank that I do not wish to see him. Ever again. I am too weary to explain, Fan. Just let me be.”

  Her sister started to speak, but evidently changed her mind. Sophie heard her footsteps as Fanny crossed the attic and went back down the stairs. Struggling to a sitting position, Sophie looked out the tiny window into the twilight, waiting to see Frank’s figure walk away.

  He did not leave immediately. In perhaps half an hour, when the sun was completely set, she saw his once-beloved figure walk down the steps and out into the street. Moments later, Fan was back in the lumber room, carrying a letter with her lantern.

  “When Perkins told us that Lord Shrewsbury had been here, Frank insisted on writing you. Please read it, Soph. I cannot bear to see you so miserable.”

  With a faint spark of hope, Sophie took the piece of paper and unfolded it.

  My darling Sophie,

  I cannot imagine what has caused you to hide yourself away and refuse to see me. However, when Perkins told Fanny that Lord Shrewsbury had called, I began to have a bit of an idea.

  Shrewsbury is determined to have you. He has always been my friend, but his desire for you must have turned the friendship sour.

  Obviously, he has told you something to my discredit. I cannot imagine what it was, but I would beg you to examine his words closely, for they may be a deliberate falsehood.

  I love you, Sophie. I have never professed nor pretended to love anyone else. I pray that we may overcome whatever has caused this breach and be together as we have hoped and dreamed.

  Yours from eternity to eternity,

  Frank

  Frank had no idea Shrewsbury had seen him with Lady Manwaring, so of course he could not imagine what the man had told her.

  Is there any chance at all that Shrewsbury lied to me? How could she ever be certain? Then she knew. I will call on Lady Manwaring.

  { 16 }

  FRANK ROAMED THE STREETS of Mayfair, his head swimming. When he thought of the future, he was consumed with dread. He fought down a sense of panic. Sophie wishes never to see you again.

  His heart was not functioning correctly—he was breathless. Putting a hand on a lamppost, he leaned on it to steady himself. Breathe.

  He cursed Shrewsbury. No doubt he had thrown up something from Frank’s far from spotless past. The innocent Sophie would have been appalled, would have doubted that he could have any sincere feeling. But had she not felt what he had felt between them? Did she not know that it was extraordinary? Of course not. He was the first man to kiss her. She could not realize, as he did, that such
feelings manifested perhaps only once in a lifetime. Sophie had nothing with which to compare his love. Shrewsbury probably told her Frank used women.

  He began to feel ill, as he thought what his beloved must be experiencing. Fanny had told him how she had found her—lying face down in the dusty lumber room, her gown torn to shreds. The vision was too terrible. His steps wove until he stumbled against the closed gate of Hyde Park.

  Frank would have killed Shrewsbury, except that the man had probably only told her the truth. Feeling an overwhelming sense of self-loathing, he wondered what had he ever done in his life to deserve someone like Sophie. His work with the poor on his estate was the only really selfless act he could point to.

  The future stretched before him as featureless as a tide-washed beach. The only thing he could think of doing was writing a long letter to Sophie, casting himself on her mercy.

  If she still refused him, Frank would not be able to bear staying in London. He would go down to Oxfordshire. It was time that he stopped being a useless fribble.

  With his mind made up on this point, Frank walked home and set about writing his letter.

  { 17 }

  FANNY EVENTUALLY COAXED SOPHIE out of the attic and into a warm bath. When she was bundled in her cotton flannel nightrail and tucked up with dinner on a tray, Sophie’s sister told her she would be back when she had eaten.

  Sophie could eat only some soup and a bit of baked custard. She carefully kept her mind a blank, but her body was not deceived.

  When Fanny returned, she had Alexa in her arms. As she nursed her baby, she insisted on knowing what terrible thing had occurred. “For I have never been so shocked in my life as I was at finding you so distrait.”

  Sophie said, “I will tell you, but then let us not speak of it.”

  “All right. I would not ask it, Sophie, but I am terribly worried about you, and want to help if I can.”

  “Frank has a mistress. Lady Manwaring. The day he first kissed me and told me … well, promised me that his intentions were honorable … she came to him that night and stayed with him until one in the morning. He put her into a hackney wearing his dressing gown. It was a betrayal of the worst sort.”

  “How did Shrewsbury know this?” Fanny’s voice was tight.

  “He was on his way to see why Frank had not been at a ball that night. He witnessed the hackney business.”

  Her sister remained silent for a time. The only sounds in the room were Alexa’s smacking sounds as she nursed.

  “You are right,” Fanny said with spirit. “It was a betrayal. We will not speak of it further. I will write to Peter and Elise. I will tell Buck.”

  ~~*

  Upon receiving a letter from Frank the next morning, Sophie could not bear to read it, nor could she bring herself to destroy it. Instead, she locked it in her jewel case until she determined what Lady Manwaring had to say.

  Dressing in her apricot dress with the Van Dyke collar and white wool spencer, she slipped out of the house before rehearsal. Her maid, Sally, accompanied her. Not knowing the Manwaring’s address, she asked Perkins to fetch a hackney for her.

  “Lady Manwaring’s residence,” she told the jarvey.

  The townhouse was but two blocks away. The gray house was large and imposing, set back from the street with a large rose garden in front, divided by a flagged walkway. Sophie walked with as much dignity as she could up to the front door and rapped sharply with the knocker.

  A butler of indeterminate age answered and took her card up to his mistress.

  Leaving Sally on a bench in the hall, she entered a sitting room of gold and white, the perfect setting for a strawberry blonde beauty who was dressed strikingly in royal blue.

  “Good morning, Lady Manwaring,” Sophie sketched a little curtsey as best she could. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Remind me where we met, my dear. It is the most frustrating thing, but I cannot remember,” the woman said with her gamine smile.

  Because there was a distinctly speculative look in the lady’s eye, Sophie was convinced she knew all about her and was just trying to put her at a disadvantage.

  “I am the woman you met with Frank at Lord and Lady Kent’s ball.”

  “Ah … yes, I remember. You must be intimate with Lord Trowbridge if you call him Frank.”

  Sophie cursed herself for the slip of her tongue. “Frank is a close friend of my family’s.”

  “Ah … let me guess. You are wondering if I am Frank’s mistress.”

  “More specifically, I beg you to tell me in all honesty if you were with Frank four nights ago.”

  Lady Manwaring tipped her head to the side and looked up, as though she were trying to remember.

  “Yes. Yes, I was. We stayed in that evening.”

  Sophie’s heart instantly protested with a sharp ache. She forced herself to ask the next question.”And what time did you leave?”

  “That is a very impertinent question.”

  “I am cursed with a very impertinent nature.”

  The lady pursed her lips, once again putting her head to the side. All at once, comprehension seemed to dawn in her eyes.

  “Frank put me in a hackney. When I arrived here, it was just after one a.m. Does that tell you what you want to know, Miss Edwards?”

  Sophie did her best to remain erect as the blow pounded into her. Shrewsbury was right.

  The world was spinning off kilter, but she managed to say, “I will show myself out.”

  Holding tightly to the stair railing, she willed herself not to fall. The door to her future had just slammed in her face. Her insides twisted with this cruel betrayal of her trust. It was surely the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She barely caught herself in time to prevent a fall down the stairs. Her knee ached abominably.

  When at last she gained the ground floor, she nodded to Sally, who waited for her on a bench. The butler opened the door.

  It was raining, and she had not brought her umbrella. But she could not stay in this house. Moving as quickly as her knee would allow, she went out the door the butler held open. Sally followed.

  Staring down at the muddy streets, she held up the hem of her skirt and tried to avoid the puddles. That was how she came to cannon squarely into a gentleman.

  Startled, she looked up to see Frank observing her. His face shifted from surprise to concern. He grasped her arm and said, “Sophie! Angel! Share my umbrella. You are wet through.”

  “I am not, nor have I ever been an angel. Particularly not your angel.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp, amazed she could tolerate the fresh pain lancing through her.

  “But what are you doing out at this hour of the morning without a pelisse or an umbrella? Surely you could see it was going to rain.”

  “I have been to see your mistress, Lord Trowbridge. Any relations between the two of us are now at an end. Good day.” She tried to move off swiftly, but her knee was painful in the damp and her limp most pronounced. She welcomed the flood of anger that now held the pieces of her heart together.

  Frank followed her, sheltering her with his umbrella. “Sophie, she is no longer my mistress. I broke with her the morning after the Kents’ ball.”

  “I do not believe you. You are capable of the very worst deceit. On the same day you kissed me, although I imagine it meant little to you, you spent the night in her arms!”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her so she faced him. The rain cascaded down over all sides of his umbrella. Frank’s face was tight and grim. “Who told you such a tale?”

  “Lord Shrewsbury. And Lady Manwaring confirmed it just now.”

  “It is completely untrue.” He shook her slightly in his vehemence. “Lady Manwaring came to me that night, pleading for me to take her back. She was the worse for drink. I left her on the sofa in my library to sleep it off, then went upstairs and spent the evening lost in dreams of you.” He put his gloved hand to her cheek and wiped the raindrops away with his thumb.

  Soph
ie could not move.

  “I forgot her completely, Sophie. When I remembered to check on her, it was past midnight. I saw her to a hackney. That is a true account. You must believe me, Sophie. I swear it on my life!”

  His earnestness penetrated the sad fog in her brain, but she was unwilling to trust his words.

  “I am very cold, and my knee is exceptionally painful. I will accept your escort the rest of the way home. But only because you possess an umbrella.”

  “I fear you may have caught your death in such weather, darling. Here. Hold the umbrella. I will carry you.” Frank hoisted her into his arms. In spite of herself, she welcomed his warmth and the evidence of his concern.

  “Did you get my letter?” he asked.

  “Yes. But I did not read it.”

  “Did you destroy it?”

  Sophie wanted to tell him she had, but instead, she admitted she had not. As she began to tremble violently, she remembered poor Sally.

  “My maid!” She looked behind her at the miserable girl huddled in her shawl.

  “Yes. She is very wet,” he said. “But we are nearly there.” Frank held her tightly, but he could not still her trembling.

  When they arrived at the Deal Townhouse, Frank walked straight in, addressing Perkins. “Go to your mistress straightaway. I found Miss Edwards walking in the rain. I am dreadfully afraid she has caught a chill.”

  Sophie’s trembling only increased. Frank continued to hold her close. Her attraction toward him had not diminished. His arms were welcome. Could what he said be true? She was too cold and too tired to move out of his embrace.

  “Fanny will take care of me now. I would appreciate it if you would leave.”

  “I do not blame you for feeling as you do, but I will wait with you.” He sat her down carefully on a bench by the door.

  To her distress, he began pacing the entryway. Lord Shrewsbury came down the stairs. He must have been awaiting Sophie in the morning room. She closed her eyes and willed both of them away.

  No greetings were exchanged. Instead, she heard the loud crack of a blow. When she opened her eyes, it was to find Lord Shrewsbury stretched flat on the floor. Into this scene walked Fanny.