by Louise Allen
‘Neither, just another couple, strolling. I expect they will pass us soon enough.’ They looked a very happy pair, about the same age as Callum and her. They walked arm in arm, his head bent close, she looking up into his face and smiling. ‘No, they are stopping, she is adjusting the ribbons on her villager hat. I do like that style.’
‘Then you must buy one.’
Sophia dimpled a smile at him. ‘I had one and you knocked it off in the lane.’ She went back to studying the other couple. The breeze was getting up and the woman was having trouble setting the wide, flat hat with its low crown back on her head. Her companion reached to help her. ‘Oh, no! She has accidentally stabbed him with a hat pin—she’s dropped it—now the breeze has caught the hat—he is giving chase.’
With one hand holding his own hat in place the man set off at a run after the disc of straw plait as it tumbled over the cropped grass. The woman watched for a moment, smiling, and then walked on. She was aiming, it seemed to Sophia, for a bench just past the one she and Callum occupied. ‘Oh, now he has lost his own hat.’
The hatless lady laughed, a clear, bright peal of laughter and Callum froze. ‘Averil?’ He turned on the seat and stared. ‘Averil!’ Then he was up and running to her. He caught her in his arms and she flung her own around his neck, clinging as he bent his head and kissed her.
Sophia stumbled to her feet and stared. There was passion in the way the two figures held each other. This was no peck on the cheek between close friends, this was something more, a lot more. A sickening jolt went through her and she almost moaned aloud with the pain of it. Jealousy, anger, loss all jumbled together. He had forgotten her, had not even troubled to pretend to her—his wife—that he did not know this woman.
She stood rooted to the spot in a paralysis of unhappiness, her hands fisted at her side. To stay? To leave? But her feet would not move. There was a shout and something—someone—hurtled past her. The other man, she realised, as he fell on the entwined couple and took Callum by the shoulder.
He was going to hit him. Good, she thought, furious and shaken that he could kiss another woman like that, minutes after those intimate caresses. The other man was taller, broader and utterly menacing. Excellent.
‘Chatterton!’
‘D’Aunay!’ No, they were not about to fight, they were embracing and the lady Callum had kissed was beaming with pleasure. ‘When did you get back to town?’
‘Just yesterday.’ The other man was striking. Not good-looking, not with that aggressive beak of a nose and stubborn chin, but he had a commanding presence. ‘Our honeymoon was interrupted by the demands of their Lordships at the Admiralty a couple of times, but it served its purpose: Bradon has recovered from his fit of chagrin over losing his betrothed to a half-French adventurer—his words—and we can mingle in society without risk of gossip distressing Averil.’
‘I am sorry, we burst in on your private conversation. I am the Countess d’Aunay. Miss—?’ Sophia turned to find the woman at her side.
‘Mrs Chatterton,’ she said icily. ‘You were kissing my husband.’
‘Your husband? You are married to Callum? But he was not betrothed, Daniel was.’
‘Daniel is dead,’ Sophia said, staring at the stranger. This was a madhouse. ‘I am Sophia Langley.’
‘You are Daniel’s betrothed?’ Averil Heydon stared at Sophia, her face stiff with what must be disapproval.
‘Yes.’ Sophia felt her chin lift; she was not going to be criticised, not by a stranger.
‘Oh, I am so sorry for your loss. But you and Callum have each other now—Daniel would have been glad.’ No, it was not condemnation on the countess’s face, but the effort to hold back tears.
‘I hope so.’ Sophia felt a lump forming in her throat and swallowed hard, embarrassed by their shared emotion. There was a pause, then both women looked towards their men.
‘Sophia,’ Callum said, ‘this is Averil Heydon who was on the Bengal Queen. She was swept ashore and rescued by Captain d’Aunay and now they are married.’
‘Captain?’ She turned to the other woman. ‘Forgive me, I thought you said you were a countess?’ And who was this Bradon?
‘Luc is a French comte, an émigré and in the Royal Navy,’ Averil explained. She tucked her hand confidingly into Sophia’s elbow. ‘I was coming back from India to marry a man I had never met. He was not best pleased to discover I had thoroughly compromised myself and, what’s more, was delighted to marry Luc rather than him. It was all hushed up, but we thought it better to stay out of town while he got over it.’
‘Chatterton was my best man at a very small wedding,’ d’Aunay said with a grin.
‘How lovely,’ Sophia said with a smile, but something twisted painfully inside. Averil d’Aunay had known Callum’s twin, she could speak of Daniel with real knowledge and true grief as a friend. She should be glad for it, but she felt shut out and knowing that was wrong did not help. Sophia turned away from the look on Callum’s face; he seemed happier and more relaxed than she had seen him since he had returned home. ‘You must come to tea. We do not live far away—Half Moon Street.’
‘But we have just moved there too! We must be neighbours,’ Lady d’Aunay said. ‘What fun.’
Sophia told herself not to be foolish. Averil d’Aunay appeared to be a delightful, warm person. Someone who she would welcome as a friend. ‘Let us go back then,’ she said, turning to the path. ‘We will go ahead and Mrs Datchett will have tea ready by the time the men catch us up.’
*
‘You have not been married long then?’ d’Aunay asked as he and Callum emerged from the glade. Sophia and Averil were already well ahead, making their way at a brisk walk uphill towards the distant gate.
‘Two weeks, just over,’ Callum said after a moment’s frantic mental arithmetic. It was not the thing to forget how long one had been wed—not this early in the marriage. But was it really more than fourteen days? Not sleeping with one’s wife did not help. She had said it was convenient for him to visit her bedchamber again; it was encouraging that he had not had to ask.
‘It was very quiet, and in the country,’ he said. ‘Although not as quiet as yours. We did not care to make a great to-do about it, given that Sophia had been betrothed to Daniel.’
Sophia had seemed not at all averse to being kissed in the park, although she had not liked him embracing a strange woman! Had she thought he had been lying about mistresses? Or was her frown simply jealousy? The thought that Sophia might be jealous was rather pleasing.
‘It seems a very good solution for the two of you to wed,’ d’Aunay said. ‘I am sure your brother would have approved. You will have a helpmeet for your career and she is looked after.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Callum said and changed the subject to d’Aunay’s latest commission. For some reason his friend’s easy acceptance that this was a cold-blooded marriage of convenience jarred. But that is what it is, he thought, frowning at the two young women who walked ahead, their skirts fluttering in the breeze. They seemed deep in animated conversation, their hands moving expressively. Sophia had found a friend, it seemed.
Chapter Fifteen
Sophia found she was riveted by Averil d’Aunay’s story. Beside its own intrinsic drama, at last she was hearing more about the wreck. She could never expect Callum to speak of it.
‘The day after the shipwreck I was washed up on St Helen’s, one of the uninhabited islands in the Scillies. Luc was based there on a secret mission. He found me on the beach. We became … close,’ Averil explained. From the way her cheeks coloured, close was a euphemism.
‘But you were still going ahead with the arranged marriage?’ Sophia asked, confused.
Averil nodded. ‘I had given my word. Papa had agreed all the financial details. But I had to do my duty. And then I found out something truly horrible about Lord Bradon’s character. He thought I had lost my virginity to Luc—which I had not,’ she added. ‘But he was prepared to marry me anyway and if I was pregnan
t with Luc’s child he would have got rid of the baby, as though it was an unwanted kitten. I ran away to Luc.’
Averil hesitated then said, ‘I hope you do not disapprove too much of the fact that Luc and I lived together for a time before we married.’
‘Why, no! From what you say it was the only possible thing to do. How dreadful that Lord Bradon should behave in such a disgusting manner, especially after your awful ordeal during the shipwreck.’
‘Thank you.’ Averil took her hand and squeezed it. ‘It is so good to have another woman to confide in—there is only one other I dare tell the truth to.’
‘Of course.’ Sophia returned the pressure of her new friend’s hand. A friend. A London friend. How wonderful.
‘Look, There is our house with the dark blue door,’ Sophia said.
Averil followed her up the steps. ‘Our house is the next but two. Such a coincidence that we should be neighbours. I do like these little houses, even though I know Luc always kept his mistresses here. Still, he will not be having another one after me—I would rather be the last than the first,’ she said. Her amusement put the last nagging thoughts about Callum’s past into proportion and Sophia found they were both laughing as Hawksley opened the door.
Rather be the last than the first. Averil’s words kept echoing around Sophia’s head long after she and Luc had left. I was jealous of her when I saw her in Callum’s arms, she thought. Jealous? I could have scratched her eyes out!
She looked across at her husband and forced herself to think what that emotion meant. Had it simply been hurt pride and surprise? He looked up from the journal he was scanning and smiled, a slow curving of his lips, but the warmth was there in his eyes before he went back to his reading.
I love him. Oh, Callum. How had that happened? She had thought she was beginning to be fond of him, she knew she admired him, she almost feared that she desired him. But this, this was a disaster, was it not, to love a man who did not love her?
‘A penny for your thoughts, Mrs Chatterton.’ The journal was folded on the chaise beside him now and he had shifted position. How long had she sat there trying to absorb this revelation?
‘I was just thinking about what to wear tomorrow,’ Sophia improvised. ‘It is Lady Archbold’s musicale.’
‘What should you wear? The pale blue silk,’ he said promptly, surprising her that he had any idea of what was in her wardrobe. She had not worn that gown yet.
‘How do you know I have a pale blue gown?’
‘I must have seen Chivers taking it downstairs to press it, I suppose. Do you need to rush out and buy anything to go with it?’
Not only seen it, but taken notice and considered how she would look in it. She had thought all he was interested in was her more flimsy nightgowns and the fact that she did not spoil her looks by wearing black.
‘Indeed not, that would be extravagant. I have just the thing—a dark blue reticule and matching slippers.’
‘We should discuss our dinner party,’ Callum said. ‘If that goes well, then we can plan a larger party. This house may not be large enough for a musicale or a soirée, but I think we can seat a dozen. Of course, we ought to think about a reception: we can use the Flamborough town house for that. We’ll fix a date.
‘Which reminds me—where are our wedding gifts? I felt certain we now owned about six fish slices and a quantity of soup tureens, but last night’s soup was in the china one I bought when I moved here.’
‘They are downstairs. I wrote and thanked everyone,’ Sophia said. ‘William’s secretary kindly made me a list.’ She stared around the room, half-expecting that crystal and silver and porcelain would appear. ‘I am sorry, I haven’t had them unpacked yet. It was all such a rush, and then we did not actually need any of it and there was so much else to think about.’ Her voice trailed away. There was really no excuse. She had very little to do that would justify forgetting vital household tasks. Hours spent sketching were no excuse.
‘You must be the only lady of my acquaintance who would not fall upon boxes full of gifts at the earliest opportunity.’
‘I know.’ It must seem bizarre to him, that she could write thank-you notes and not want to enjoy the objects themselves. ‘It just did not seem real somehow,’ she admitted truthfully.
‘What didn’t?’ Callum’s brows drew together.
‘Being married. After all this time. To you,’ she added, then bit her lip before she made it any worse.
For a moment she thought Callum would be angry with her—it had been the most tactless thing to say. But instead he snorted with laughter. ‘And it will take the appearance of a set of fish knives and some fancy dinner plates to convince you that you have married me?’
‘No.’ She found herself laughing too. ‘No, you convinced me of that.’ I am married and in love with my husband.
‘Interesting. And do you feel married now?’ If he found that amusing he was keeping a perfectly straight face, but she was coming to learn that she could not always read Callum’s moods by his expressions.
‘Very married, thank you,’ Sophia said primly, pretending not to notice the very wicked twinkle in his eyes. ‘How could I fail to after dealing with a crisis in the kitchen over my husband’s dislike of every variety of tea that is put in front of him, the housemaids complaining that he never uses the waste bin in his study and the laundry maid in tears because most of his handkerchiefs were put in with a red kerchief and are now pink.’
‘What a very unsatisfactory husband I must be. Send to Twining’s in the Strand for teas; I will write you a list. As for the others, I cannot help the handkerchiefs and I will try to remember not to screw up papers and lob them inaccurately at the fireplace.’ He studied her face and she began to wonder if her emotions were plain on her face. ‘Are those truly the highlights of married life to date?’
‘No. those are just the low points.’ It was very pleasant teasing him, seeing him smile. Now, if only she could manage not to blush … ‘Other things have convinced me more pleasurably that I am a married woman.’
‘Indeed?’ Callum leaned back on the chaise and she contrived to tear her mind from how elegantly his long body lounged there and concentrate on what felt perilously like a flirtation.
‘Certainly.’ She began to count things off on her fingers. ‘My generous dress allowance, my pin money, living in London—they are all delightful.’ Perhaps he would come over and do some of the other, much more intimate things, teach her to enjoy them with him.
‘And you do not pine for what might have been?’ he asked, cutting through the relaxed atmosphere as effectively as if he had slammed a door.
‘No! You know I did not love Daniel. How awful it would have been to have married him and have had to pretend.’
‘Whereas with me you do not have to pretend.’ Callum said it so smoothly that Sophia had no idea whether it was a barbed comment or not. But I have to pretend the opposite, she thought, her thoughts and emotions tangling.
‘But …’ Sophia closed her eyes, trying to cut out the sight of the darkness in his as she struggled to find the right words. Callum would see his dead brother every time he looked in a mirror. It must be so hard for him to forget, to heal. ‘You do not look like the Daniel I remember—or the Callum either, come to that.’ She looked at him, struggling for the right words. ‘You have changed since you went away, grown into a man, as I’m sure he also did. But I would have had to learn what he was like, all over again, just as I have had to learn with you.’
Callum did not reply immediately, but it seemed to her that some of the darkness lifted, as though she had said something he wanted to hear. The clock on the mantel struck the half-hour and he got to his feet. ‘I must go and change for dinner. Now we know they are back in town, we could invite our new neighbours to dine, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She rose too. ‘I will come up with you.’ Callum opened the door, then offered her his arm as they climbed the stairs. Sophia felt a surge of happiness.
Callum might not love her, but he seemed much more in sympathy with her now. And she had made a new friend. And she rather hoped her husband would come to her room tonight.
Callum did come, so soon after she had retired that Chivers had scarcely time to gather up her discarded clothes and take herself off. The moment he came in Sophia dropped the book she was glancing through.
‘Would my company tonight be welcome?’ he asked. ‘I gathered from what you said in the park that it might be.’
‘Certainly,’ she said, watching him through her lashes, her heart pounding with anticipation. As was his habit he snuffed the candles on the tallboy and the dressing table, but when he approached those on the far side of the bed she said, ‘No, please leave them.’
‘On both sides?’ Callum hesitated, his hand still outstretched to the first wick, but when she nodded he said, ‘I thought it would be easier for you.’
‘Easier?’ He must think her embarrassed to see his body, to have him look at hers. She bit her lip; she had not realised he had sought darkness out of consideration for her modesty. ‘No. I like to see … I mean, it is very impersonal in the darkness. You sound like you in the dark, of course, and you smell like you—’ his eyebrows shot up ‘—in a good way! But I prefer to be able to see you as well.’
That seemed to please him. He was certainly aroused, she thought with a tiny wriggle of nervous anticipation, but still he stood there. Not so much hesitating, she thought, but thinking something through.
‘Please, Callum.’
He did smile at her then. He is a different man when he smiles, Sophia decided. No more or less attractive, but younger somehow, more open. ‘Light them all again,’ she said, greatly daring, and he did as she asked until the room was glowing and the warmth reflected off his tanned skin as he took off coat and waistcoat and shirt. And this time he let them fall to the floor, unheeded, his eyes on her.
‘Your skin has held the sun,’ she said, finding her voice catch. ‘I am surprised, after so many months away from India.’
