Marriage Made in Hope

by Sophia James

  ‘Because...’ She looked at him then with her pale eyes, a hint of light grey at their edges. ‘Because...only with you do I feel...safe.’

  Safe? When all he could think of doing was kissing her to feel again what he had in the water, the warmth of her and the sweetness? Safe—a sharp and innocent barb that both broke his heart and firmed his resolve. He wasn’t safe, not by a long shot, but she couldn’t know that yet and he wouldn’t tell her.

  Stepping back, he took the blanket from the sofa behind him, then wrapped it around her and brought her from the chair.

  ‘Come, Sephora. I will take you home.’

  * * *

  He knew they had been observed leaving his town house, though he hoped the blanket might have obscured her identity from those who watched.

  The ride back was quiet and quick, Sephora merely slumped against the seat opposite him, lost in thought. The Aldford town house had a small drive, an unusual but most useful amenity. He was glad to be free of the public gaze and yet the worst was probably to come.

  A servant hurried down the stairs and opened the door and Francis helped Sephora out as she leaned on his arm, blinking her eyes as if she had trouble with her vision.

  Her mother met them before they had gone three steps, the anger in her undeniable and immense and behind her the single figure of the Duke of Winbury hovered, his face as red as the welts on Sephora’s arms.

  ‘You!’ There was no greeting and no explanation as he came forward, knocking Francis backward, and short of taking Sephora with him he simply let her go as he tumbled, leaving him no true time to protect himself, the hard edge of the marble steps connecting with his left temple and stunning him momentarily.

  Then Winbury was kicking at his shoulder and his arm and his head. The day darkened, but he managed to get up, his own servant now between his assailant and him. Sephora’s father, the Earl of Aldford, grabbed at the newly titled duke and slammed him up hard against a nearby wall.

  ‘Stop.’ Sephora’s voice, from the bottom of the steps, panicked and desperate. ‘Don’t hurt him.’

  Francis did not know whom she meant not to be hurt, but the blood from the gash at his temple was gushing down his face and he understood at that moment there was nothing to be gained by trying to explain. Not here. Not now. Not in the heat of argument and in the sharp pull of pain.

  Lady Aldford was shouting, too, telling him to leave and never come back, Anne-Marie’s name in the mix of her wrath. ‘You have already ruined the life of my sister’s daughter and I shall never allow you to despoil another.’

  He felt oddly disconnected, the throb in his temple worsening and his breath shortened. When his man took his arm he allowed him to lead him back to the waiting carriage, sitting on the seat with relief as the world spun in dizzying circles.

  The last image he had of Sephora Connaught through the glass was of her turning towards the departing coach, and then falling carefully, quietly, down onto the sharp pebbled chips of the drive.

  * * *

  ‘Silly, silly girl.’ Her mother’s words echoed through the ache in her head and the dry pain of opening her eyes. ‘Here, I have brought you hot milk.’

  Lifting the beaker to her lips, Sephora was pleased for the warmth the drink provided as she scrambled for clarity. She was in her own bed and the day was darkening. Had she slept for all the hours in between? She remembered Francis St Cartmail plying her with a strong drink and him falling, his head cut and blood in his eyes. She remembered Richard kicking him, too, and her father trying to pull the duke away.

  ‘I do not think he can forgive you for this, Sephora.’

  ‘St Cartmail?’ Her mouth felt dry and strange and her eyes could not adjust to the light.

  ‘Not Douglas.’ Decided anger now resided where worry had lingered. ‘The Duke of Winbury, of course. You return from God knows where alone in the company of the dissolute and dangerous earl, drunk as any bosky in the land and expect your husband-to-be to simply shrug it off, disregard it? It is beyond the pale, Sephora, beyond any sort of reasonable excuse you could even muster. You shall be ruined. Forever.’

  Her mother had begun to cry now, quietly, as she took back the drink and replaced it precisely in the middle of a cloth of folded white linen.

  ‘You have never been a worry to us before. In all your entire life you have been a good, dutiful and sensible daughter, a girl who anyone might look at and think how very lucky we have been. Until the bridge. Until you fell off that bridge into the water below and changed completely.’ Her sobs were louder now. ‘Too many people saw you in St Cartmail’s company and alone this morning. Richard had brought his aunt to visit us, a strident sort of woman of firm morals and unquestionable virtue. Circles, Sephora. Your behaviour is like throwing a pebble into a still pond, just a small disturbance at first and then an enormous one. We could smell whisky on your breath and you were barely coherent. I do not know how it is we will go on happily from here. In fact, I very much doubt that we can.’

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘Is heartbroken. He feels it is better if he does not see you just now.’

  ‘And Richard?’

  ‘Has gone. He sent a note to say how disappointed he was.’

  Sephora turned away into her pillow, an anger surging. Disappointed? She knew exactly what that emotion felt like.

  ‘I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘Well, Sephora,’ her mother returned in a voice that had risen in both strength and conviction, ‘I don’t think that he wants to see you much either. But bear this in mind—if he does not wish to marry you, I doubt anyone else will want to either.’

  * * *

  Francis sat in his library with a sore head, a sore shoulder and a wrenched hand, but he sat neither alone nor at peace.

  ‘I am telling you, Lord Douglas, the girl is a wildcat and a hoyden and that never in all my years of being a governess have I come across the likes of this one.’

  Mrs Celia Billinghurst was crying as she said this, tears leaking into the large handkerchief she held in one hand and the remains of a ripped book in the other. ‘She takes no notice at all of anything I tell her. And today she...she simply disappeared from my side and did not return until a good forty minutes later. I thought she was dead.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ His jaw ached as he asked the question for the boot of Richard Allerly, the Duke of Winbury, had been remarkably accurate.

  ‘Outside, sir. She has been told to sit and wait for me to call her.’

  His heart sank. He would have to deal with the remains of another chaotic day in his household immediately on top of the fiasco at the Connaught town house. ‘I shall see my cousin alone, Mrs Billinghurst, and let you know the outcome afterwards.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. Though I will say that I need this job, my lord, and that I have excellent credentials as a governess and that you would be hard pushed to find another with such glowing recommendations.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘But I do think the girl is hiding things, big things. I think she is scared of something in her past.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Francis waited until she had gone before pouring himself a stiff drink. He needed a moment before he saw his cousin and the last sight of Sephora Connaught as he had left the town house still worried him.

  God, what had happened next? Had Winbury controlled his temper? Had her mother found hers? Had someone come and lifted Sephora inside to listen to her part of the story, to her concerns and worries and to understand the reason for her hives?

  A small knock at the door had him turning and his cousin came through the door, her dark eyes worried and repentant.

  Another girl who needed to be understood, he suddenly thought. Another young woman who had so far in her life been a pawn of all the adults surrounding her. He made himself smile as he asked her to sit.

  ‘Mrs Billinghurst is finding your behaviour difficult, Anna.’

  ‘I don’t think she likes me much. I think she hoped I w
ould be prettier.’

  Now this was new.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She said I needed different clothes and I needed to walk and talk different. She said my hair is all wrong and that my language was...dreadful.’

  ‘And you don’t wish to change?’

  ‘Not all of that much. Perhaps a bit, but she wants it all different.’

  ‘Should we start with your name, then? Would you like to be called Anna St Cartmail instead of Anna Sherborne from now on?’

  ‘St Cartmail? The same name as yours, you mean?’

  ‘As ours. You are a Douglas. It is only right that you should be called such and carry the name of the lineage you were born to.’

  When she stayed silent Francis changed tack. ‘Where did you go today? Mrs Billinghurst said that you were missing for forty minutes and she was worried.’

  Anna coloured, but made no effort to answer him.

  ‘Do you not like it here?’

  That brought her eyes up to his. ‘I do, sir. My room is nice and the food is good and I like the books.’

  ‘But you ripped one up, I hear.’

  ‘It was a baby book. Mrs Billinghurst said that I had to read it like a lady does.’

  ‘A lady?’

  ‘A lady who speaks like this.’ She mouthed each vowel widely and he could not help but smile.

  ‘What do you prefer to read?’

  ‘Books on lands that are far from here. Stories of travel, biographies of people who have been places.’

  ‘Such as who?’

  ‘Jonathan Swift. Daniel Defoe. Lady Mary Wortley Montague.’

  ‘Her letters from Turkey?’

  Dark eyes sharpened. ‘You have read them?’

  The wife of the British ambassador had written of the Muslim Orient and Francis could not believe that this small and plain child might enjoy such a complex treatise.

  ‘Come to my library tomorrow morning and I will show you some books I used to enjoy.’

  ‘So I could read in my room alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She stood at that as if in tarrying he might change his mind.

  ‘I would like to be known as Anna St Cartmail. I would like to be a Douglas like you.’

  And with that she was gone, a slight and thin shadow against the walls, and if she had that look of the hunted at least she was starting to feel as if she might belong. He was pleased for it.

  God. His day had gone from bad to worse and he did not know for once which way to turn. He wished Sephora Connaught could have been here to tell him what to do with a wayward and angry almost-twelve-year-old girl. That thought had him drinking the rest of his cognac in a quick swallow.

  Everything about his life was skewered into wrongness and the ‘angel of the ton’ would hardly be interested in sharing such chaos. He was as damaged as Anna was, more so perhaps, and his household was falling to pieces around his ears.

  He only hoped Sephora was safe and happy and that someone had taken her into their arms to reassure her that everything would all be right.

  With a sigh he lifted his bell and asked Walsh to bring Celia Billinghurst to him. He’d need to tell the woman what had been decided for he wanted her to understand that Anna’s place in his house was a right of birth and not of chance.

  * * *

  No cards came to ask the Connaught family to any social occasion, not the next day nor the one after that. Richard had neither called nor sent a note either and if a small part of Sephora was saddened by his actions, a much greater part of her felt only an enormous relief.

  ‘Let’s go out anyway, Sephora,’ said Maria, who was now returned home. ‘Let’s walk for an hour or two. We don’t have to speak with anybody at all.’ Maria took her hand and pulled her from the seat she had been in for hours.

  ‘I am not certain. This is all my fault and being seen with me in public will do your reputation no good. If I am to be banned from any social occasion forever, you still have the chance not to be and I think you ought to take it.’

  Laughter was the only answer.

  * * *

  Half an hour later Sephora found herself on the pathway by the river, their ladies’ maids trailing behind each of them closely.

  ‘At least Mama has not come, Sephora, nor Aunt Susan. If there is something to be said about being a social pariah, it is that it at least allows one freedom.’

  Sephora was not quite so certain as group after group passed them by without the shadow of recognition or friendliness. It was as if she did not exist any more and even people whom she might have imagined would be kind were not.

  Finally they stopped and Sephora realised Maria had brought her to the exact spot where Lord Douglas had dragged her into the bank after her fall.

  ‘Do you remember clinging on to the Earl of Douglas, Sephora? Clinging on with such a fervour Richard Allerly had to prise your fingers open to make you let go?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do you remember, too, how Douglas shook with such ferocity his teeth chattered? A panic attack, I think, much like the one he had a few weeks ago at the Wesleys in the garden with you. He has dreadful secrets, Sephora. You can see that in his eyes even when he smiles. Adam Stevenage said that he was buried under a collapsed structure in a river once for hours in Georgia. Perhaps it was the mud here that made him remember. Did he shake in the same way out there in the deeper waters?’

  He hadn’t, she thought. He had held her to him with an iron grip as he kicked his way in, across the current, against the wind. But he had been steady and calm.

  ‘Adam said that his cousin died in the same accident. St Cartmail was held at first for his murder. They nearly hanged him for it, but he was saved at the last moment.’

  ‘By what?’

  ‘The branch broke as he was in mid-air and the more superstitious amongst them took it as a sign from above for clemency so he was hauled into the local courthouse instead.’

  Half-hanged? Sephora’s eyes filled with tears. ‘My God. What happened next?’

  ‘The magistrate determined the bullet in Douglas’s arm was the same as the one in the dead man and so he was proclaimed innocent as they concluded that someone else had fired the shots.’

  The horror of it all had Sephora leaning against the trunk of a tree. Francis St Cartmail had been shot along with his friend? He had not told her anything of that. ‘Is this common knowledge here, amongst society, I mean?’

  ‘I am not sure. There are certainly many dark stories about him in circulation, but perhaps not that particular one.’

  Why had she not heard of the gossip? Suddenly she knew. Because her life had always been sheltered and protected and Richard had had a big hand in that. Anything difficult or sad had been strained out and discarded, half-truths or no truth at all left in their place. The falsity of it all made her feel sick, for in effect she had been pushed to the side of life to live in a vacuum, all perfectly pleasant but no true and utter joy.

  She could not help the tears that came as Maria put one arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I think I have been asleep for years, Maria, like that princess in the fairy tale.’

  ‘So take this as a gift, Sephora, for a near-death experience has woken you up.’

  Unexpectedly they both laughed.

  * * *

  Richard arrived at three o’clock in the afternoon the next day at her bidding and he looked as if he had not slept for a week.

  ‘Thank you for coming. I thought you might not.’ Sephora had made sure that she was dressed today not in black but in her most sombre gown, a grey-and-navy silk over which she had laid a deep grey worsted wool shawl.

  ‘Well, unlike you, I adhere to the manners and mores of our society and its proprieties.’ He did not sound at all happy.

  ‘I know you do.’ Sephora had always realised this about him, but for the first time she only felt sorry for such compliance. ‘I also realise I have put you into an awful position and would like to say that I quite
understand if the terms of our betrothal are now untenable to you.’

  ‘Untenable?’ For a moment she saw the boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago under the sterner face of the man he had become. ‘For whom?’

  Not as easy as she had hoped, then. Resolutely she took in breath.

  ‘We have changed, Richard, both of us. Once we knew who each other was, liked who each other was, but now...?’ She spread out her hands. ‘Now I think we would be better to remain as friends than as anything more.’

  ‘No.’ He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, the kiss he placed in her palm harsh and angry. Clenching her teeth together, she tried in vain to pull away.

  There was nothing there. No passion or lust or joy. No want to take it further in the hope of more, just a deadness that was astonishing and a revulsion, too, if she were honest.

  ‘It was the river, wasn’t it? You changed after that.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he let her go, standing there breathing loudly. ‘I should have jumped after you, but I didn’t. Is it him? Is it St Cartmail that you want? He is a murderer and a liar and worse.’

  She stopped him simply by turning away. ‘No, it is because of me and you, Richard, and your father.’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘Uncle Jeffrey told me to find my life again that day you took me to see him. He said I had looked sad for a long while and I needed to find my passion.’

  ‘Passion?’ He laughed then and the sound was not kind. ‘You have always been cold physically, Sephora, cold and distant. I doubt heartily that you could discover such a thing even if you tried.’

  She let the insult pass as she drew into herself. He was hurt and striking out, though in his outburst she allowed him a kernel of truth.

  ‘Then let me go. Let me break off our betrothal and allow both of us to be free again.’ She could barely believe the words had come from her, strong words and certain. It had been so very long since she had felt such.

  As if he had recognised the change he simply looked at her and stepped away. ‘If I do as you ask, Sephora, you shall be looked at in pity. Society will crucify you. Believe me, you will regret this.’ There were tears in his eyes and he wiped at his nose with a starched kerchief dragged from his pocket, but she could not allow the weak emotion of only pity to take away her newfound power of strength. It had to be all or nothing.