There was a thread of vulnerability in Crispin’s voice. She raised her head and shifted her body on the settee to better attend to him. He cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“He accused my mother of adultery and claimed Alexander was not his son.”
Sophia’s eyes widened.
“His reasoning was irrational. Alexander was born sickly, but I never suffered any ill effects as an infant and child. My father convinced himself that the differences between my brother and me proved she gave birth to another man’s child, which is ludicrous. Alexander bears a striking likeness to our father, and Father was sickly all his life. If he had doubts about paternity, they should have extended to me.”
“You resemble your mother,” she said. “I imagine he could see it, too.”
“I suspect looking at Alexander was akin to seeing his own reflection in a mirror, and my father did not think kindly of himself. Your uncle once told me that Father saw in me the lad he had longed to be. I did not understand what Wedmore meant at the time, but it became clearer as I grew older. He crowed about my accomplishments to anyone willing to humor him.” He grinned. “I was not taught to be humble. I have been told it is an unlikeable quality.”
“By lesser men, I am sure,” she teased and reached to play with the hair brushing his collar.
His smile spread, reaching his eyes. Cognizant that she might have unintentionally distracted him from talking about his father, she redirected the conversation. “Your father’s accusation obviously bothered you.”
“Not as much as his response to her request to be allowed to keep Alexander until he was weaned. He said he had no use for either of them, and it was just as well she had taken Alexander when she ran away. He told her to keep my brother. As far as he was concerned, he had only one son, and he did not want her by-blow bringing illness into our home.”
Sophia gasped. “Poor Alexander! Do you think he read that part?”
“I imagine curiosity led him to read every word.” Crispin frowned. “I could not put away my mother’s letters when I discovered them, even though I believed they were full of lies. For a long time, I hated her for dying. Then I hated her for leaving me. I do not know what to make of this new knowledge.”
Sophia was not prepared to easily forgive Crispin’s mother for treating him poorly, but she would not discourage him from making whatever peace he could with his past. “Will you tell her you know about your father’s letters?”
“I do not know if I will have the chance,” he murmured. “She seems eager for me to go.”
Sophia’s heart cracked open and bled. She tossed her arms around him and held him tight.
“If you wish to talk with her, my love,” she whispered, “your mother will see you.” Sophia would make certain of it. She would never stay quiet while he was hurting.
When she and Crispin returned to the house, Alexander and the duke were deep into a game of chess in the drawing room, and Aunt Beatrice had retired for the evening.
“I should look in on Auntie,” she said to Crispin. “If I am welcome, I will rejoin you in a moment.”
Crispin lifted her hand and placed a kiss on her fingers. “You are always welcome, darling.”
He entered the drawing room, and she slipped upstairs. When she knocked on Crispin’s mother’s bedchamber door, she was slightly surprised when Mrs. Ness answered. She had been spending most of her time at her husband’s bedside, but Sophia had decided to take a chance.
“Miss Darlington. I thought Alexander was at my door.”
Crispin’s mother drew her wrapper around her body. Her eyes were sunken and dark circles marred her skin. The fight she had shown earlier seemed to have drained from her. Her icy exterior had a small crack, and Sophia glimpsed the lonely, broken down woman underneath. Her anger toward Crispin’s mother lessened to some degree.
“Please forgive me for disturbing you, ma’am,” she said then cleared her throat. “May I ask after Mr. Ness? How is he faring this evening?”
The older woman’s bottom lip quivered before she gathered control of her emotions. “Mr. Ness is resting. Alexander insisted I allow the maid to sit with him and ordered me to sleep. I find I cannot.”
Her brows sat low on her forehead—two thick slashes above watery eyes. Suddenly, all Sophia could see was the resemblance to Crispin, and her heart softened a bit more.
“We did not begin our association as I had hoped,” Sophia said, “and I must accept a fair share of the blame. I am afraid I judged you before we met, and for that, I am sorry. It is my fervent wish for us to get on well. You and your sons deserve harmony after all this time, and I do not intend to make the task more difficult than it already is.”
Mrs. Ness’s mouth softened. “I did not give you reason to question your judgments.”
“It was still unkind of me to challenge you this morning. I hope we can start anew, and perhaps form a friendship in time.”
“I have no friends,” Crispin’s mother stated.
There was no emotion connected to her words. Sophia had no way of knowing if her overture of friendship was being rejected or looked upon with favor. Perhaps there was no hidden meaning at all.
“Well, if we were friends,” Sophia said, “I expect you would graciously accept the advice I am about to offer.”
One of Mrs. Ness’s eyebrows angled up. “Advice, Miss Darlington?”
She barreled on before she lost her nerve. “Your eldest son is leaving tomorrow, and the business that calls him away is dangerous.”
A spark of what Sophia decided was alarm flickered in Mrs. Ness’s eyes.
“Please, do not allow Crispin to depart believing you care nothing for him. He is your son. You must feel some affinity with him. If he does not return, do you want the last words exchanged between you to be cross?”
Mrs. Ness’s nostrils flared. “Thank you, Miss Darlington. If you will excuse me, I believe I will be able to sleep after all.” She closed the door, ending their conversation.
Sophia sighed. At least she did not slam the door in my face. Feeling like a failure, she looked in on Aunt Beatrice, who was deep in slumber, then trudged downstairs to join the men.
Twenty-four
The next day Crispin’s brother arrived at his bedchamber door. “Mother has requested an audience before your departure.”
Crispin grimaced and stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Sophia had found her way into his bed early that morning, and he did not wish to announce their newfound intimacy to the household—even as he wanted to crow to the world that she was his.
“How did our mother take the news yesterday?” he asked.
“As one would expect, with a stiff upper lip.” His brother smiled kindly. “It is strange, seeing so much of Mother in you.”
“I am uncertain she would agree,” he muttered, reflecting on how their father had denied the similarity between him and Alexander. “Do you expect she will ask me to take Sophia and Beatrice elsewhere?”
“She did not give that impression, no,” Alexander said. “She seemed sympathetic to their plight and mentioned she had been afraid her father might turn her away when she setoff for home with me.”
Crispin cocked his head. “Grandfather did not strike me as the type of man to turn away his own flesh and blood.”
“He had been pleased to see her well-settled in marriage, and he liked our father. What should I tell Mother?”
“Tell her I accept, and I will be along in a moment.”
“Very good.” When Alexander was out of sight, Crispin opened the bedchamber door and slipped inside, closing it behind him.
Sophia was sprawled on the bed on her stomach, her hair nearly as light as the pillow beneath her head. She had kicked the covers, and a smooth expanse of thigh was exposed. Crispin’s body stirred. He was tempted to shuck his clothes and crawl under the covers with her again, but duty called. He had a long journey back to London, and the sooner he found Farrin, the quic
ker he could return to her.
Still, he couldn’t resist one more touch of her luxurious skin. He approached her side of the bed and slid his hand under the covers to caress her from the small of her back to the base of her neck. She moaned softly and stretched. When her eyes opened, she smiled sleepily.
“Good morning, darling.” He kissed her shoulder.
She mumbled what he assumed was a greeting.
“My mother has requested to see me.”
Her eyes flew open wide, then she immediately squinted against the bright morning light spilling through the window. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Time for you to return to your room unless you want the maid to find you.” He kissed her once more and offered her a hand up. She sat on the side of the bed, refreshingly unashamed of her state of undress. She was beautiful and seemed aware of the fact without being vain.
“Will you find me after you see your mother?” she asked and rubbed her eyes. “I am curious to know what this is about.”
“As soon as I leave her, I will find you.” He dug under the covers and unearthed her night rail.
While she pulled it over her head, he recovered her wrapper and found her slippers under the chair. “I liked having you in my bed,” he said. “I am uncertain I can wait for your uncle to return before I am allowed to have you there permanently.”
“Aunt Beatrice thinks we should elope to Gretna Green.” She donned her slippers and stood to shove her arms into the wrapper. She tipped her head and smiled at him. “I would not be opposed, although I am still waiting for a proposal.”
He gathered her in his arms. “Is there any question I want to spend the rest of my life with you? I love you, Sophia. I cannot imagine how I would survive if you refused me now.”
She lifted to her toes, twined her arms around his neck, and pecked a kiss on his mouth. “My answer is yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I will marry you.” She smiled, leaving her arms draped around his neck. “It was not the proposal I expected, but it is the only one I need.”
“You are all I need, darling.” He hugged her, lifting her feet off the floor and placing a noisy kiss on her cheek.
When Sophia was ready to return to her room, Crispin stepped into the corridor to insure the area was clear. No one was mulling about, and he signaled Sophia to hurry. She shot across the corridor and softly closed the door behind her.
Crispin’s mother was in the sitting room where they’d had their first conversation. He felt guarded as he approached her, even though he had been pleased to hear she seemed amenable to providing a refuge to Sophia and Beatrice.
She waved a hand toward an empty chair. “I understand you are leaving for London this morning.”
“That is correct.” He sat even though he wished to stand.
“Will you be gone long?”
“I hope my task will be quick, but I cannot predict the amount of time required.”
“I see.” She fidgeted with a loose thread from the chair’s upholstery. His fingers tightened on the arm of his own chair. She seemed as uncomfortable with mindless talk as he.
“I read the letters my father sent you,” he said, impatient to have this business behind them. “He did not treat you or my brother well. Please accept my apology and allow me to make amends on his behalf. I will speak with my man of business about restitution for you and Alexander, and you may reside in the dowager cottage as long as you wish, unless you prefer the use of another property. Alexander will have access to our father’s estate and the privileges associated.”
She blinked, staring at him blankly. After a while, her silence became oppressive. He smiled grimly and stood. “I thank you for allowing my betrothed and her kin to stay. I will return to collect them as soon as I am able.”
He turned on his heel and stalked toward the door.
“I played tin soldiers with you,” she murmured.
Crispin stopped. His back was to her. He didn’t move a muscle, fearful of spooking her.
“Y-your father... He hired a nurse before you were born. She was there, standing by while I labored. I was given a brief moment to admire my beautiful boy before she tore you from my arms.”
Her voice broke. Silence filled the space between them. She sniffled.
His nostrils flared as a surge of protectiveness flowed over him. This woman—my mother—is a wounded dove. She had hidden her scars behind anger and detachment, but he heard in her voice what he had been unable to see while looking at her.
Slowly, he turned toward her. Her chin trembled; she swallowed hard while fighting against the tears welling in her eyes.
He had always thought his strength came from his father, but he saw now his iron will had been forged in the womb. His ability to lock away hurt was inherited from her.
“I remember,” he said softly, kindly. “When my nurse was asleep, you carried me from my bed. The tin soldiers were in a wooden box in your chambers.”
The planes of her face lost their hard edges. “Your father did not allow me to see you alone, but when he was away, I would risk angering him. You never complained when I woke you. No matter the time, you had a smile for me.”
As an adult, he had only looked upon her with scorn, but once, he had loved her in a way only a mother could be loved.
“I haven’t been kind to you,” he said, regret tingeing his words. “Even when I arrived on your doorstep years ago, I was spoiling for a fight. I should have been happy to learn you were alive, but I was furious. I owe you an apology.”
“No, I left you,” she said with a fierceness he recognized in himself. “I deserved your rage, and I was furious with myself. In my mind, you stayed that happy little boy. I didn’t want to face the truth of what I had done, so I did not. If you feel guilt or shame, release it. I do not want or need it.”
He nodded once, accepting her proclamation with finality. They could forget their past and move forward. Their ability to close the door was a gift in this instance.
“I still have them,” he said. “The tin soldiers.”
Her eyes widened. “They were my father’s. Did your father tell you they belonged to your grandfather when he was a boy?”
Crispin shook his head. “He was unaware I had them. When you and Alexander were gone so long, I stole into your chambers and pulled out the box. I found a hiding spot for them once I learned you were not returning. I wanted to keep a part of you, I think.”
“Crispin, I—” She gulped and paused to take a breath. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes glimmered with sincerity. “I wanted to take you, too. Your father never would have allowed it, but I wanted you.”
The last of his anger crumbled, and while he did not quite feel love for her as he once did, he looked on her with hope that a bond might form between them in time.
“Mother, I am returning to London today and must request a favor. My leaving is difficult for Sophia. I have not always treated her in a way that garnered her trust, and she fears I will not return. Please, will you show her kindness in my absence? She is the love of my life, and I intend to spend the rest of my days by her side. She is as much a part of your future as I am, assuming you want a relationship with me.”
“I do. I want it very much.” She caught her lip between her teeth as if contemplating whether to speak. Making up her mind, she said, “Alexander told me about your troubles, the reason you have brought your betrothed to stay.”
“Yes, we discussed it, and I agreed you should know. He said you granted your permission. Otherwise, I would have found somewhere else for Sophia and her aunt.”
“I have regretted turning you away for many years. I will not do it again.” She laced her fingers together and settled her hands in her lap. “What you are doing is dangerous, is it not? These men you are hunting are killers.”
“I am prepared,” he said. “Charles Wedmore trained me well.”
“I see.” She sighed. “Do not worry about Miss Darlington while you ar
e gone. She and her aunt are welcome as long as they need shelter. I wish you Godspeed, and I will pray for your safe return.”
“Thank you, Mother. I will return.”
Nothing would keep him from coming back to Sophia. Love did not make one weak as he had believed. It provided a man with a reason to live.
Twenty-five
Sophia became listless after Crispin bade her farewell. Instead of moping in her bedchamber, however, she broke her fast then went in search of the Duke of Stanhurst. She had a task to complete, a promise to fulfill, and she would not disappoint Crispin.
When she stepped outside, she spotted the duke standing at the pond’s edge. His back was to her, his eyes seemingly trained to the mist rising from the water’s surface, which allowed her a moment of unrestricted observation. He cut a dignified figure—tall, broad chested, and robust—but the slight rounding of his shoulders spoke of the burden he carried alone.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she called.
He snapped out of his trance and lifted his hand in greeting. “Miss Darlington, I wondered when you would seek me out. I thought you might be abed still.”
“It appears we are both early risers.”
The duke tossed a stone he had trapped in his fist into the pond and met her in the middle of the lawn. “All the better. I am eager to solve the riddle of my brother’s letters, so I can reunite with my sisters.” He held out his arm to offer his escort. “Shall we?”
Sophia linked arms and walked back to the house with him. Crispin’s brother invited them to use his stepfather’s study and promised to accompany Aunt Beatrice on her morning stroll when she came below stairs. Sophia didn’t expect to see her for a few more hours. Auntie rarely rose before eleven o’clock. The duke excused himself to retrieve his brother’s personal effects and met her in the study several moments later.
She had claimed the chair behind the desk. He approached.
Lord Margrave's Secret Desire Page 25
