All I Ever Needed

by Jo Goodman

  "It is not precisely my cause. My opinion in matters of this kind rarely is of import, although I will tell you I am not entirely opposed to the settlement. In any event, I am charged with communicating the wishes of those who would see this thing accomplished."

  "But you have reservations."

  "They are of no account."

  "Still," she said, "I should like to hear them."

  He sighed. It seemed she could not be dissuaded. Eastlyn had found it far simpler to turn Tremont from this course. "My reservations are actually quite similar to your cousin's. The Company's settlement would indeed be a boon for the Crown. It would open up trade and broaden our sphere of influence. Each of us would be improved by the other."

  Sophie greeted this last with skepticism. "That is most definitely not Tremont's thinking. He resists the idea that other cultures might have something to teach us. Rather, he takes the opposing view, that our arrival in any part of the world must be warmly greeted and that only the most ignorant of people would not embrace our manners and mores."

  "And our God?" Eastlyn asked.

  "Certainly. Tremont has a missionary's zeal."

  "It was odd that he never mentioned that. I thought he would announce his support for the settlement because of the opportunity it presents for converting the natives to Christianity."

  Sophie did not comment on this, though she found it curious herself. One of Tremont's favorite discourses concerned how one might best persuade a heathen people to adopt his God. "You have not yet explained your own reservation."

  "You are relentless."

  She smiled. "That is the pot calling the kettle black."

  He could not fault her for stating what was so obviously true. "It is the opium trade," he said. "I fear that we will force it upon them with even greater ambition than we are doing now because it is a profitable venture for so many. There are few in opposition to it and even fewer who will say so publicly. To my mind I cannot think of a more reprehensible way to subjugate the will of a people. Once it begins I imagine the Crown will be reluctant to monitor itself with any real zeal. It cannot help but come to a bad end."

  A small vertical crease appeared between Sophie's eyebrows, and the tiny gold shards in her eyes darkened as she considered what Eastlyn had just revealed to her. "And you say that my cousin shares this same reservation?"

  "He does not know my own thoughts on the matter, but yes, he has stated that the opium trade makes him reluctant to lend the settlement his full support. He is also concerned how he might raise his objections. It would be an unpopular reason for not supporting the settlement."

  "What would be a popular one?"

  "Politics," East said flatly. "Opposing it simply because the Prince Regent has let it be known he is in favor of it. Liverpool has also lent it support. There are always those seeking to pull out the rug from under the minister. If they can remain standing themselves, all the better. If they trip over him, perhaps he will cushion their fall." He also turned on his side and propped himself on an elbow. "It is the way favor is curried, Sophie. If the opposition can gather enough support for their thinking, then certain favors can be asked for to win over their assent."

  East saw that Sophie was not pleased by his answer but that she accepted it. Perhaps she had imagined that matters of government were influenced by high-mindedness. He could think of many times when that was the case and half as many again when it was not. "Your cousin's opposition is predicated on the opium trade, however, and appears to be principled. To the extent that his opinion can be changed, he will require concessions from the Tories."

  "And you are their emissary?"

  "After a fashion."

  "Harold told me you are attached to the Foreign Office in some way. I suppose it was in aid of providing me with yet another reason why I should marry you. He did not use these words precisely, but I gathered from him that you enjoy a considerable sphere of influence. Is that right?"

  "I would not say so, no."

  "Because you are modest?"

  He grinned. "Hardly."

  But he was, she thought. He could be arrogant in manner and tone, yet it always seemed in support of some purpose. It did not exist as an abiding part of his character. About the qualities that were intrinsic to who he was, he was largely quiet and unassuming. Amusement simply deflected inquiry into his nature. Sophie did not return his grin, but that did not mean she was unaffected by it.

  Lying here in the grass, her arm tucked under her head, Sophie was visited by the sensation of being abed in her own room and the comfort of counting the stars framed in her window. She regarded Eastlyn with a like intensity and heard her father's voice coming to her as if from a great distance.

  "What do you see from there?" he asked her.

  "All of heaven."

  "And what do you see from here?"

  "The same, Papa."

  "Then heaven is everywhere."

  Looking at Eastlyn, Sophie was more certain than ever that her father had been right. She was unaware of her eyes growing perceptively brighter or of a light flush coloring her complexion. She did not know that her mouth was slightly parted now or that her breath had hitched. The strands of hair that fluttered against her forehead and temple went unnoticed. She was aware only of the distance that separated her from the man at her side. It seemed at once too far to cross, then again not far enough.

  Sophie leaned into Eastlyn and placed her lips lightly on his. As kisses went it was a fleeting thing, almost without passion, yet it was warm and soft and erotic, not for what it gave but for what it held back.

  Eastlyn reached for her, but Sophie rolled away and scrambled to her feet, grabbing her bonnet as she rose. She whistled for Apollo; Tempest also came at her beckoning. Behind her, she heard Eastlyn grumble at what he considered his mount's defection. "Do not follow me," she told him, glancing over her shoulder as she began to lead Apollo away.

  He started to speak and then held himself quiet when he saw that she was not only serious, but that she was also pleading. He nodded shortly and took up Tempest's reins. He mounted without inquiring if she needed a leg up and swung around in the direction opposite of hers.

  From the uppermost turret of the manor there was a flash of light at the window. Eastlyn studied the small rectangle of glass a moment, but nothing occurred again to catch his eye. The setting sun was winking from behind a cloud. It was probably only that, he thought. Just a reflection.

  * * *

  Sophie announced herself at Tremont's room while he was having dinner. She noticed that he was having the same meal she and Eastlyn had shared not above an hour earlier. Apparently his appetite was not diminished by his malaise. For her part, Sophie had found sitting with Eastlyn in the vast dining room to be awkward at best. She could not look at him without recalling her impulsive kiss, and she could find no means of putting it behind her. She remained composed throughout the interminable courses because she must, but Sophie believed it could not have escaped Eastlyn's attention that she had eaten very little.

  "Your lordship is no longer feeling ill?" Sophie asked, eyeing the array of covered dishes set before Tremont.

  "I am feeling tolerable." He spoke around a mouthful of boiled potatoes. "What business do you have here, Sophia?" Using the point of his knife to gesture at her, Tremont indicated that she should sit in the chair to the left of the fireplace. "Do not hover so," he said when she did not move quickly enough to suit him. "It is disconcerting."

  Sophie sat and immediately felt her disadvantage, which was, of course, Tremont's intention. "I came to inquire when you will conclude your business with Lord Eastlyn?"

  Both of Tremont's dark eyebrows lifted. "That is an impudent question."

  "Yes, my lord."

  Tremont unerringly speared a thin slice of roast beef while his eyes remained narrowed on Sophie's gravely set features. Her calm countenance struck him anew as wholly unnatural and provided further proof that she had been raised in a godless house
. "You are already tired of entertaining our guest?" he asked.

  "He is not my guest."

  "You are splitting hairs, my dear. He is here at my invitation, and some of the burden of making him welcome must necessarily fall on your shoulders."

  Sophie kept her gaze steady on Tremont, afraid that looking away would give him evidence of her uncertainty. "I understand that you have told his lordship that you oppose a settlement in Singapore."

  "Is this what young people talk about when left to their own devices? It is hardly something that concerns you. You would do well to confine yourself to matters that do." Tremont expected that to effectively put a period to Sophie's discourse. He was visibly annoyed when she continued.

  "I further learned that your objection is predicated on the fact that it will increase the opium trade. You can understand my confusion, then, knowing that you have a rather large interest in the success of that trade. I know you have invested heavily in the merchant ship Aragon and that her captain is a known trader in opium."

  Tremont set his fork and knife on the table. "You have taken rather a lot upon yourself, Sophia. I believe your facts are somewhat confused."

  "There is no confusion, my lord. I have overheard you making the arrangements myself."

  "You dare!"

  Sophie saw that her cousin kept his seat by great force of will. It hardly mattered because she felt herself shrinking in place anyway. She was on less firm ground once she had begun to lie, and admitting that she had been party to the arrangements was a complete fabrication. Her source of this information had given it unwittingly but was no less deserving of protection because of it.

  Sophie had already determined that she must bear the consequences herself. "It is a transaction filled with risks," she said quietly. "As I am certain your lordship is aware. If it fails, we will be plunged so deeply in debt that we may never satisfactorily recover. You have hinged what remains of the family fortunes on an enterprise so fraught with danger that it confounds good sense."

  Tremont's complexion turned ruddy as Sophie made her last pronouncement. "You speak to me of good sense when you have little enough of it yourself. It is not against the law to trade in opium."

  "It is," she said. "In China."

  "That is of no consequence to us. They would deny free trade with tariffs so high that no profit can be made by our merchants. The sale of opium merely balances the accounts."

  Tremont's ability to justify his position no longer alarmed Sophie. "Have you considered what will befall us if Aragon fails to make port or sell her cargo?"

  "I am admitting to no such arrangement, but if I were, I would point out that you have to look no farther than yourself to account for it. You were given a great opportunity to assist your family and firmly refused it. Indeed, it seemed to me the opportunity was heaven sent, so unexpected and timely was it. It makes little difference that I have since learned that Providence's angel was in fact Eastlyn's mistress. She had in mind some sort of revenge, I collect."

  Tremont could not be certain, but he thought Sophia flinched. He definitely saw it in her eyes. "We were handed a spiteful mistress's poor trick on a platter and could not make use of it. That is no one's failure but your own. Whatever has been done has been done since you made your adamant refusal to have Eastlyn as your husband. That you come here and suggest I am engaged in any enterprise that might bring ruin to this family shows a particular hypocrisy, Sophia, that is wholly unattractive." He picked up his fork, jabbed hard at several golden medallions of squash, and thrust them into his mouth. "You may leave," he said, gesturing toward the door when she didn't move.

  "There is only one reason I can imagine that you have insisted you are opposed to the opium trade," Sophie said. "And that is to promote yourself as a man of high morals who rests his judgment on matters of principle. I am given to understand that by pretending to take a strong position in this matter, it is possible for you to negotiate certain concessions from the minister."

  Tremont pushed the table away. It was a more decisive movement than simply sliding back in his chair. Silver covers rattled in their dishes, and a serving spoon clattered to the floor. He finally had the response from Sophie that he was in want of: she ducked her head and shoulder in anticipation of a blow. What Tremont did was pull her out of her seat and bring her to stand squarely in front of him. "Have no doubt that I should strike you," he said tightly. "Your father left you undisciplined and wild, and if I were in need of further proof of what you try to conceal from others, you obliged to provide it this afternoon. Ah, I see you know very well to what I am referring. You were seen lying with the marquess at the lake, more indecently attired than you were yesterday when you greeted him. At least on that occasion you were fully clothed. Today, I understand, you removed several articles."

  Sophie did not defend herself. She was careful not to provoke Tremont further by staring up at him. She kept her face and eyes averted and all but held her breath until he was finished.

  "You do not deny it, Sophia." Tremont gave her a small shake. "You kissed him also. Piggins was particular about that. You kissed the marquess. It was not something done to you." He took note of her flush but misunderstood its cause. Tremont could not know that Sophie was less embarrassed by the kiss than she was by allowing herself to be so simply caught at it. "At least you have the grace to be ashamed," he said. "That is something."

  Sophie did not correct his misapprehension. She deserved censure from Tremont because she had forgotten her own warnings to Eastlyn. As for the kiss, he could scarcely say worse things to her than she had already said to herself.

  "You will attend me in the chapel, Sophia. I believe that it is fitting that you pray with me."

  She sagged a little in his hold just then, hating it that she should have to depend upon his strength to keep her upright. There was nothing to be lost by speaking now. Tremont had named his punishment, and she would be obliged to accept it on her own or be forced to do so. "You think you can coerce Eastlyn into making a second proposal," she said, "by withholding your sanction of the Singapore settlement. It won't work, my lord, because I intend to tell him the truth about your own dealings with the Aragon. You will not be able to ask any boon of the minister's office. You will be exposed as a man of no principle at all."

  Sophie lost her footing as she was pushed backward into her chair. Her hip caught the wooden arm before she grabbed it to right herself. "I would sooner be his mistress than have him for my husband," she said.

  "How fortunate for you that he has one of those, then. A man may have a wife and a mistress, but not two of either." He bent low over Sophie's chair, bracing his palms on the curved arms. "You have taken rather too much upon yourself, Sophia, and your judgments of me are suspect. You have not mentioned once how your own father used the drug and would have killed you rather than let you interfere with his source of it. Do you think the marquess knows about that? Have a care what secrets you think to tell, for you may find your own are not so secure as you believe."

  Sophie closed her eyes as Tremont's hot breath bathed her face and did not open them again until she felt him draw away. "It is because of my father that I must do something," she said quietly. The words were the right ones, she knew, but there was little fight left in her. She sat very still, waiting.

  Tremont returned to his chair and sat heavily, ignoring Sophie for several long minutes while he served himself from the warm plates. "Wait for me in the chapel, Sophia," he said at last.

  It was a dismissal, and this time Sophie chose to obey. She managed to keep her legs from folding under her as she left the room. There would be time enough for bended knees later.

  Sophie was alone in the chapel when Eastlyn came upon her. He stood in the narthex by the marble font, watching her pray at the altar rail. Her slim back was ramrod straight, and her head was bowed. A square of linen covered the crown of her splendid hair, and she wore a tightly fitted, serviceable black gown better suited to Pilgrims or mourner
s. He could not see her face or judge her profile, but he suspected that he would find her features fixed in severe contemplation. Was she asking forgiveness? he wondered. Or praying for the fulfillment of something much desired? Eastlyn thought it was likely that if Sophie's prayers were answered, he might very well be struck down where he stood. As a precaution, he quietly moved into the nave and sat in a pew near the front. God would have to take careful aim, he thought with some irreverence, if He were not to catch Sophie as well.

  East estimated that more than ten minutes had gone by without Sophie shifting from her position. Occasionally she swayed in place, leading him to believe she would rise, but she never made any real attempt to do so. He could not imagine that she had so many sins to confess. It occurred to him that she had heard him enter and was waiting for him to leave before she took her own. To make it easier for her, Eastlyn stood and stepped into the aisle. Candles at the altar flickered and drew his attention. He paused, glancing at the sweep of light across the polished walnut rail and then the floor. His eyes were caught by several small, smoothly rounded stones near the hem of Sophie's gown. They were clearly out of place on the granite floor of the chapel, but for the trick of the light and the contrast of their milky coloring to Sophie's severely black attire, East knew he would not have seen them at all.

  He counted six before he spied another just peeping out from under a fold in her gown. Curious now, he approached the altar rather than turn away from it. He saw more stones scattered around her kneeling form, and his suspicions about the nature of her penance grew stronger. East placed the fingertips of one hand lightly on her shoulder.

  "Come away, Sophie. You can have done nothing so grievous that you must needs do this to yourself."

  "Go away."

  Eastlyn had to strain to hear her words. She had not spoken them above a whisper. "Sophie. Please." He leaned forward a fraction so he might see her profile. Her lips moved around the words of a silent prayer, but nothing she said was meant for him. Without removing his hand from her shoulder, East hunkered down beside Sophie, careful not to drop his own knees on the pebble-strewn floor. He could see her face more clearly now, and the wash of candlelight outlined every one of the tears she had shed. The dark fan of her lashes was damp, and the sweep of them made violet shadows beneath her eyes. "Come," he said, more firmly this time. "Enough."