All I Ever Needed

by Jo Goodman

  "You played with your father?"

  She nodded. "Often."

  Eastlyn sipped from his coffee cup. "If it does not distress you, I should like to know more about him."

  "How he died, you mean."

  "How he lived."

  Sophie's eyes flew to his. Eastlyn's request was one that had not been made of her before, and her reflexive response was to flatly refuse. He had given her a reasonable excuse to do so. All she had to say was that it did distress her, and he would put the subject behind them. But then where would his curiosity take him? Would he apply to Tremont for information, or mayhap Harold? It was a certainty that Eastlyn was not in complete ignorance of her father's failures, as public as those had been, but where else could the marquess apply to hear an alternate account of her father's life, the one that was both bitter and sweet and could only be related through a daughter's perspective?

  Sophie placed her fork on the table and her hands in her lap. Her fingers pleated the linen napkin instead of the fabric of her dress. Her chin came up slightly as her decision was made, and except for the steady movement of her fingers, a stillness settled over her. "My mother died when I was not yet three," she said quietly. "That is the place to begin, you understand, for there are those who believe my father killed her. I would say it is truer that he died with her. She was trying to bear him a son, you see, an heir, and it remains a fact that she was advised after my birth not to have another child. I do not know this from my father—he would never speak a word against my mother—but the snippets I have collected over the years from the servants make me think she was strong-headed and would not be denied. I know my father was very much in love with her, so perhaps it is no lie that by his weakness he had a hand in her death. He certainly considered it was so."

  Eastlyn thought Sophie's eyes appeared brighter than usual, though it might have been only that her face had become so pale. He wondered that she had not chosen to beg off when clearly this was no easy subject for her. He understood there was pain here but was not prepared for the rawness of it. It seemed to him that he was witness to a wound that had never once healed. Questions occurred to him, and he let them pass, loath to interrupt.

  Sophie smiled a trifle crookedly. "It is hard to know about love, I think. That emotion has consequences that are too often outside the province of happy endings." She thought that Eastlyn looked at her oddly then, but he made no comment and she continued. "My father was rarely in residence at Tremont Park after my mother died. When he visited he was hardly ever alone. He came with an entourage of friends, acquaintances, and hangers-on. You cannot imagine how this place came alive at those times. The rooms were full, the staff moved with heady purpose, and laughter spilled into the halls and stairways. There were card games and entertainments, fortune-tellers, musicales, poetry readings. There was dancing far into the morning." Sophie felt her breath catch as a memory grabbed her by the heart and squeezed. She went on because it seemed suddenly right that she do so; the opportunity to speak without fear of contradiction might never present itself again. "I would fall asleep sometimes on the stairs, just below the landing. I always meant to go to bed, of course, before I was caught out; but my intentions were rarely so strong as my curiosity, and Papa would find me in my hiding place and carry me to bed. I was never scolded for spying on the guests, though perhaps that had less to do with me and more to do with my father's guilt."

  Eastlyn suspected that her father's guilt had nothing to do with spending so little time with Sophie. Indeed, the late Earl of Tremont probably had made more effort to see his daughter than was the habit of most fathers. The guilt, then, Eastlyn surmised, must have had at its source the earl's own belief that he had denied Sophie her mother. "He indulged you?" Eastlyn asked.

  "Indulged? That hardly describes it. He spoiled me most terribly." She saw in Eastlyn's polished chestnut eyes the clear light of skepticism. "You do not believe me? You must apply to my cousin for confirmation. Tremont will be most happy to inform you of the truth of it."

  East had no difficulty accepting that. He also knew he would not broach the subject. "I take it he does not countenance the spoiling of children."

  She shrugged. "I am not so certain. He is tolerant of his grandchildren in a way I could not have predicted. I only know that he did not approve of my father's easy manner toward me. In time, I think, he no longer approved of me."

  "So there is no love lost there."

  Sophie nodded slowly, unwilling to share the whole of it. "You must appreciate that his lordship and I are often at loggerheads. You have only to examine my recent opposition to your proposal—and his response—to understand how it is between us." Sophie saw that Eastlyn shifted slightly in his chair. "Am I speaking too frankly?" she asked. "It was not my intention to discomfit you."

  "I admire your forthrightness, Sophie, even when it tweaks my pride. I cannot say that you were wrong for refusing me. I have certainly come to understand that you paid a price for it, though I think I do not yet fully appreciate the exact cost."

  Sophie did not find that his compliment or his understanding offered her any ease. Embarrassed, her eyes slid away from his as she picked up the threads of her story. "My father found amusements that diverted his attention from Tremont Park. I think that if I had not been in residence here, he would never have visited. I cannot say when he stopped thinking of it as his home, only that he did. I traveled with him to London on occasion, more so when I was much younger. You will know, of course, that my father was a frequent patron of the gaming hells. Being with him in town did not mean I was in his company. I preferred when he brought his friends to the Park, for at least I saw him then. We were never so distant as when we were residing together at Bowden Street."

  Eastlyn had not realized the house at No. 14 was the same one where she had lived with her father. To have the house taken over by Dunsmore and his brood must have been lowering in its own right, but to have been confined to a room and residence where she had once been free to come and go could have been naught but a searing humiliation. He remembered how Sophie had tried to keep him from making his proposal and how he, in his need to acquit himself honorably, had disregarded her wishes. He began to comprehend how well she had understood the effect his proposal would have and how blithely ignorant, mayhap arrogant, he had been.

  "Forgive me," Sophie said quickly, interrupting Eastlyn's introspection. He looked as if he meant to make an apology, though the purpose of doing such eluded her. There was no reason he should; yet she could not believe she had mistaken the glimpse of something akin to guilt in his eyes. She had seen it often enough with her own father to know the look of it in someone else. "I am being maudlin, and I have no use for it nor on any account wish to subject you to the same."

  "I did not—"

  Sophie pushed her plate away and stood abruptly. "If your lordship will excuse me, there are matters that require my attention elsewhere."

  Eastlyn knew she was running from him, but he had no wish to say as much. He nodded once, rising as she quit the room. Her exit was not as hasty as he suspected she wished it might be, and his admiring glance followed her until she disappeared into the hall.

  * * *

  Sophie had not lied when she said there were matters in need of her attention, though the urgency was rather less than she had suggested by her tone. None of the tenants she visited that afternoon were ill, and while they all welcomed her into their homes, Sophie felt as if she were intruding instead of being helpful. She used the time to cast her glance surreptitiously about the homes and make a mental list of items the tenants were in want of. She could no longer trust that anyone would voice even a single need to her. If it were stiff-necked pride that kept them silent, Sophie would have known how to make it easier for them to accept her help. After all, what she would do for them was not charity, but an obligation, or at least she had always thought of it in that light.

  Still, it was not pride that kept them quiet. It was resignation. Th
ey had surrendered to the idea that Tremont would do nothing to improve their lot, and more disturbingly from Sophie's point of view, they saw her as powerless to change that.

  It was true, after a fashion. From the outset she had had no influence on her cousin's manner of tending to the estate. He placed his trust in Mr. Piggins, who was no less inadequately skilled to his position of manager than Mr. Beadle had been before him. She had no one but herself to blame for Mr. Beadle, for she had hired him soon after her father had been confined to his bed. She knew she had been slow to understand what damage had been done by her poor choice and her own neglect of the estate's affairs. She also never offered the steady decline of her father as an excuse for her misjudgment and lack of attention. If the tenants understood that she was trying to make amends now, it was never mentioned aloud.

  It was Sophie's opinion that her efforts thus far had been largely ineffective and the tenants were right to greet her overtures with reservations, if not outright suspicion. They were entitled to that stance until she could prove to them, and to herself, that she was not so impotent as she seemed.

  To that end, when she returned to the manor she raided the larder for foodstuffs, the infirmary for medicines, and the linen cupboards for sheets and blankets. This was not done without the assistance of certain trusted house servants, including the housekeeper, cook, and first butler, for there were inventories to be kept and appropriate adjustments to be made. The fact that Mr. Piggins was a thief himself was both a hindrance and a boon to Sophie's plans. She had to be more clever than he was since he oversaw the household accounts, but it was also quite possible that Tremont would eventually find Piggins out and dismiss him for his spurious recordkeeping.

  The items she collected were carefully carried off to the stable where they were stored in the tack room with the permission of the head groom. It was not only a measure of how much Tremont was disrespected and Mr. Piggins was despised that Sophie was able to enlist the aid of the servants. She had long ago been taken under their wing. Her upbringing had occurred as much belowstairs as above it. A succession of governesses and tutors had not been able to keep her out of the larder and lamp room and laundry. She was as familiar with the kitchen at Tremont Park as she was with the library, and she knew the location of the basil leaves and mint in the same way she knew where to find Blake's Songs of Experience.

  Sophie was returning to the house from the stable when Eastlyn confronted her on the same path. "Is Tremont not yet about?" she asked by way of greeting.

  "He is still unwell," Eastlyn said. "And means to stay abed for the remainder of the day. That leaves me at sixes and sevens. I wonder if I might press you to accompany me on a tour of the Park?"

  "Tremont is not unwell," she said. "Or at least not so unwell that he cannot be a more genial host. It is yet another attempt to make us companions."

  "That also occurred to me, but I believe I can moderate this urge I have to seduce you. Can you say the same?"

  Sophie stared at him for a long moment. "You are given to saying the most outrageous things."

  He nodded, unrepentant. "Come. I should very much like to see this lake of yours."

  Raising her eyes heavenward as though in prayer, Sophie turned and fell in step with him. She tucked several windblown strands of hair under her straw bonnet and refastened the blue satin ribbon. It was not possible to be angry with him, she decided, not in any real or lasting fashion. "Are your friends as even in their temperament as you?" She glanced at him sideways and saw that he appeared much struck by her question.

  "Is that what you think? That I am of an even disposition?"

  "Well, yes, of course."

  Eastlyn grinned. "I shall have to tell West and the others. It will amuse them, I think, for they are of another opinion entirely."

  "How can that be?"

  "I suppose because their experience with me is decidedly different than your own. At Hambrick Hall I was given to venting my spleen." Eastlyn remembered how South and West had been moved to keep him from throttling Annette at the Helmsley affair. "They would say that not much has been changed since those days."

  Sophie couldn't imagine. She knew she had put his tolerance to the test, but he had invariably been gentle, if unconventional, in his response to her. "What did you do?"

  "I fought everyone. Everyone. All the time. I should have been expelled except for the influence my mother and father brought to bear." He chuckled at her suspiciousness. "If you are thinking that influence equaled money, then you are in the right of it. Quite a lot of money, actually, because I did inflict the occasional serious injury."

  "Lord Northam?" she asked. "He has had his nose broken, I believe."

  "I cannot take credit there. That was West."

  They reached the stable, and Sophie asked for their horses to be made ready for them. In deference to her attire, she was forced to use a lady's saddle. While Eastlyn looked on, she made a point of apologizing to Apollo for the inconvenience of carrying her in such a manner.

  "He would not mind so terribly," she told East, "if I were more skilled. It is a sad truth that I am not. I hope you are only in want of a tour, as you said, and not another race."

  Eastlyn assured her that he was not eager to be soundly beaten again, and before she knew what he was about, he had his hands neatly fitted to her waist and was lifting her onto the back of her horse. She was very nearly insubstantial in his hold, so effortlessly was she lifted onto the saddle. East suspected it was not solely the presence of an interested pair of grooms that kept Sophie from taking him to task. It seemed to him that he caught her so completely off guard that she was without words at the ready. She looked eminently kissable in her surprise, and he was immediately sorry he had put her outside of the reach of his mouth.

  She made it easy to forget all the reasons why kissing her was not a good idea.

  They rode away from the stable in silence until Eastlyn broke it with his refusal to apologize. "I am not sorry, Sophie, so there is no point in entertaining thoughts that I will say I am."

  Sophie looked over at him, amused. "I was not in expectation of an apology," she said. "Indeed, I should be insulted if you delivered one. I was enjoying the quiet of the Park, not withholding conversation."

  Eastlyn marveled anew at her ability to put him so firmly in his place. He was very nearly insubstantial in her hands, he decided, and when that thought made him grin he had enough sense left to make himself appear abashed.

  "Why did you fight?" Sophie asked, ignoring his smile and whatever foolish notion that had prompted it. "At Hambrick, I mean."

  So they were back to that. Eastlyn wished that he had not mentioned Hambrick. He should not have been so quick to correct her impression that he was evenly tempered. He told her, "For all the usual reasons schoolboys fight, I suppose."

  She offered a single raised eyebrow as proof that she was not satisfied with his answer.

  "Very well," Eastlyn said. "Sometimes it is a matter of defending one's honor, or that of a family member or a friend. There are slights, both real and imagined, that must be attended. There are accusations and rumors and sly games of the kind that boys like to get up to. At Hambrick there was also the Society of Bishops."

  "The Society of Bishops?"

  "A means of organizing cruelty."

  Sophie glanced sideways at Eastlyn. He was staring straight ahead, and in profile he looked as if he were cut from stone. "Did you want to be a member of the Society?"

  Eastlyn smiled a little then. "No. Never. They were adversaries from the first day."

  "And your friends? Was it the same for them?"

  "They weren't my friends until later. In the beginning we each made our stand alone." Eastlyn slowed Tempest to a walk as they reached the wood. The trees grew close together, and he judged they would have to proceed single file along the narrow path made by Sophie and Apollo's successive visits to the pond. He waited for Sophie to move ahead and permit her mount to lead the way.

/>   "Then it was your mutual dislike of the Society that brought you and the others together?" she asked.

  "No. Not at all." He regarded her with a slight frown between his eyebrows. "What is your interest in the Compass Club?" East saw his question did nothing to temper her curiosity, and he anticipated where she would go next. "It is the name we eventually gave ourselves. West's idea. Northam. Southerton. Eastlyn. You see how well it fit. We swore ourselves enemies of the Bishops. It was all dramatically accomplished."

  "Blood oaths?"

  "No, more's the pity. North had no stomach for bloodshed. South either, now that I think on it."

  Sophie laughed. Eastlyn sounded so young just then that she could easily imagine him pressing his friends to open a vein to seal their alliance. She gave Apollo a kick and started him along the path. The air grew immediately cooler in the deep shade of the tall pines, and Sophie raised her shawl so that it covered her shoulders. The thick bed of pine needles under them dampened the sound of their horses' hooves, making conversation with Eastlyn easy to continue. "If it was not the Society that effectively brought you together," she asked, "was it the nature of your names? Though I confess, I do not understand about Mr. Marchman."

  "It was not our names. There was not a title among us when West made his observation. It was his contention that we might all inherit one day if only enough people were to conveniently pass on before us." Eastlyn did not miss Sophie's perfect astonishment at this ghoulish revelation. For a moment he thought she would unseat herself. He shrugged a trifle sheepishly when her head swiveled around so that she might stare at him. "Boys must find something to talk about," he said by way of explanation. "It was all very innocent, you understand. West only meant to make a point. No one among us considered ways to bring the thing about. Well, perhaps West did contemplate murder, but he never acted toward that end. His father is still very much among the living, and there is a brother, a legitimate son of the duke, who will inherit first."