All I Ever Needed

by Jo Goodman

  Sophie's legs slowly folded, making her glad for the proximity of the sofa.

  "Alys and Frederick," East said. "Your mother and father, are they not?"

  She nodded, resigned.

  "When you submitted the manuscript you gave the publisher your name," East said. "And an address where you could be informed of the decision regarding it."

  "Yes. That was when I was still at Bowden Street." Sophie's shoulders slumped as she came to understand the trail he had somehow managed to follow. "I was in expectation of a cheque," she said, looking at her folded hands. "I wrote to the publisher to arrange for it to be sent to me at your sister's. Once I received it, I wrote and told him where the next one must be sent."

  "Sophie? Look at me." She did and he continued. "It is important that you know Cara did not read your correspondence. I did that."

  "But you could not have seen it. I sent it to my publisher."

  "Sir James Winslow."

  "Yes."

  "My father, Sophie. Sir James is my father."

  Chapter 10

  "Your father?" Sophie felt as if she were being pressed back into the corner of the sofa, yet she knew she hadn't moved. "But your father is..."

  Eastlyn waited a moment to see if she would finish her thought. When she didn't, or couldn't, he explained, "It is more accurate to say Sir James is my stepfather. My father died of scarlet fever when I was four, and my mother remarried after she was out of mourning. Sir James's family has been involved in printing and publishing for almost a century. Ganymede Press was begun by his grandfather."

  "Then he is in... Why, he is in trade."

  East almost laughed at her astonishment and the singular emphasis that she placed on the word trade. "A scandal, is it not?"

  "Oh, no. No, I didn't mean..."

  He did chuckle now as yet another sentence was left dangling while Sophie collected her thoughts. "Perhaps some tea will help you swallow it all." East rose to his feet and went to the hearth to remove the kettle. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sophie finally relax her posture. "My father's involvement is largely confined to reading submissions for publication, but that is by his own choice. He also likes to frequent the booksellers to gauge the success of a particular work. My mother wishes he would do less, I think, but that is only so that she might not lose him for hours on end when he is occupied in his study."

  "It is rather a lot to take in," Sophie said softly. She spoke more to herself than to East. "I did not realize..."

  "Of course you didn't. You would have been a great deal more cautious in your dealings with Ganymede had you known of my connection to it."

  Sophie couldn't deny it. "You still have not explained how you came by my correspondence. Is it your habit to read your father's letters?"

  "No. I think you know that is not the case at all." He examined the pot of brewing tea and pronounced it fit for consumption. He poured a cup for each of them and handed Sophie hers before he rejoined her on the sofa. "There can be little mystery of how it finally came about. My father always knew that the Lady Sophia Colley to whom I was rumored to be engaged was also the writer Alys Frederick."

  Sophie grimaced slightly. "I suppose I would have done better to have used a solicitor or some other third party to make the submission to Ganymede. In hindsight, it is not a thing I should have done on my own."

  "If you wanted your name entirely protected, then yes, you are right. Allow me to say, however, that Sir James never revealed what he knew. It was clear to him that I was ignorant of your writing, and without any overture from me, he kept your secret. I must also tell you that neither he nor my mother knew I had helped you leave Tremont Park or that you were a guest in Cara's home. I was most specific with my sister that her correspondence with our mother should be without any mention of your presence there, and most particularly that Cara should not make an invitation to Mother to visit."

  "Oh," Sophie said softly. "I wondered at your mother's silence."

  "Yes, well, it is not that she cannot be discreet, but that it would chafe her. So much discomfort could only be relieved by descending upon you, and that, I think, would have gone very badly."

  "She would not approve of me?"

  "She would not approve that you do not approve of me."

  "I see." Sophie's slim smile was hidden as she raised her teacup and sipped from it. "And your father? What might he have said?"

  "He would have said it was all grist for the mill."

  "Meaning that one might find inspiration from it."

  "Precisely. Another novel might be born of so much intrigue." Eastlyn turned on the sofa so that he might see Sophie more directly. "Sir James revealed nothing to me until I approached him with your last correspondence." He heard her sharp intake of breath and saw the slight tremor in the cup and saucer. She drew it closer to steady it. "I did not speak to him out of any malice toward you, Sophie, and I did not share anything with him in the expectation that he would solve the problem of your whereabouts. I went to him because he is my father and his advice has always been sound. I hope you will believe me when I say this to you: He did not surrender your secret easily. It was his opinion that you were quite sincere in your wish to be done with me and that I should honor your feelings above all else."

  "What caused him to be swayed sufficiently to betray me?"

  "I cannot know for certain," Eastlyn told her. "But he said something that made me think he was influenced by the recent death of West's father. It is no kindness, he told me, to raise a child a bastard, then turn his world topsy-turvy with a revelation of legitimacy. He thinks West will have a worse time of it as the new duke, unable to know whom he might trust as members of the ton come forward to embrace him."

  "My child would not be a bastard," she said quietly.

  "You are referring to this pretense that you are now a widow, I suppose. What is the name again? William Frederick? Wilton? Winston?"

  "Wendell."

  "Mrs. Wendell Frederick." East's brows lifted slightly. "You are very naive, Sophie, if you think your neighbors will not come to suspect the truth." He looked pointedly at her left hand, which bore a slim gold band on its fourth finger. "They might accept your deception in your presence, but our child will not have so easy a time of it. You must apply to West if you doubt me."

  Sophie's cup rattled in its saucer, and she was forced to put it down before she spilled the hot contents all over her. She clasped her hands firmly in her lap to still them. "I have heard that pregnancies might sometimes be ended, but I could not do it."

  "Bloody hell," he swore softly. "I should hope not."

  "And I cannot give the child away."

  He reached past Sophie to set his own cup down beside hers. The movement toward her made her flinch, and Eastlyn could not mistake it for anything but what it was. "Do you think I mean to strike you?"

  There was only a slight hesitation on her part before Sophie shook her head.

  "You do not seem as certain as I might wish." He drew back, putting a more comfortable distance between them. "I am not given to the same behaviors of your cousins, Sophie. I thought I was very clear on that point when I last took your leave. It appears you still doubt it."

  "You would not be here if you did not mean to cause me pain, my lord."

  Eastlyn required a moment to catch his breath. She was so very good at taking it away from him in ways that were not at all pleasant. "That is singularly selfish," he said quietly. "I could say the very same of you. Never doubt that your disappearance has caused me pain. I will acquit you, however, of purposely setting out for Clovelly with that end in mind and I hope you will find it in yourself to acquit me of the same. If there is pain, then it is because we are ever at cross-purposes. I should like to see that changed for there is no reason that we should not be of a single mind on this matter of our child."

  Sophie continued to stare at her hands. There was a faint whitening to her knuckles as her clasp tightened.

  "You have n
othing to say?"

  She shook her head.

  Eastlyn would not permit himself to be discouraged by her silence. He considered the possibility it was a hopeful sign that she did not have an argument at the ready. "Even after learning where I might find you, I did not come immediately. I told you I was delayed by Elizabeth's disappearance and North's request for my help. That is a partial truth at best. I required time myself, Sophie. It is no simple task to reconcile the knowledge of impending fatherhood with the knowledge that you intended nothing should ever come of it. That you might think I should be relieved by your choice to raise our child alone proved to me how little you know me. But then, I reminded myself that there has been little opportunity for you to know me better. It seemed to me that I was acting as you wanted, taking you at your word when you said you desired to be left alone, and yet I came to wonder if you were not responding to something you suspected to be true of my character."

  The brief, crooked smile he flashed was rich with self-mockery. "Nothing good comes of trying to divine the bent of another person's thoughts. That is one of the many reasons I have come to Clovelly. I thought I should make myself plain to you this time, and that you would do me the great favor of speaking as plainly in return."

  Sophie's fingers unfolded slowly. She ran them along the length of a crease in her lap, smoothing it out. She opened her mouth to speak, and no words came out. She simply closed it again, drawing in her lower lip this time and worrying it gently between her teeth.

  Eastlyn laid one arm across the back of the sofa. His fingertips rested very near Sophie's shoulder, and if he stretched himself even the slightest bit, he might have touched her. He refrained from doing so, choosing to watch her instead and gauge her reaction to his nearness. He was gratified to see that she did not withdraw farther into her corner. "I spoke to my friends of my dilemma," he told her and was unsurprised to see her head jerk in his direction. Her expression was almost accusing. East shrugged lightly, refusing to make too much of it. "It is one of the ways in which our circumstances are different, Sophie. You have no one to whom you may apply for counsel, and I am only that alone if I choose to be. I did not tell them all the particulars, only those—"

  "Then they know about the child?"

  "No. They know I want to marry you and that you will not have me. I applied to them to find out how such a thing might be accomplished."

  "And what advice did they have for you?"

  "You will not credit it, Sophie, but they said I should steal your chamber pot."

  Sophie had no idea what reply she might make to that. She supposed her astonishment was clear because Eastlyn was moved to tap lightly under her chin with his index finger and nudge her mouth closed. Feeling very much in need of his assistance just then, she did not try to avoid his touch.

  "I see I shall have to explain it to you," he said. So he sat back comfortably and gave her the story of how he had made the Hambrick Hall courtyard safe from the Society of Bishops. No tariffs or tolls or tributes. No collection of money or goods or services for use of the common areas. He told her how Lord Barlough had almost been brought to his knees for want of a chamber pot and how the Compass Club had been particular that every detail of the contract be carefully explained before showing the archbishop and his tribunal where they could find their buckets. "So it was done, you see, in aid of striking a balance between what the Bishops would try to do to us all and what we would let them. I cannot say how things went on at Hambrick after we left, but I suspect that there are always a few boys willing to make a stand against the Society."

  Sophie had listened to East's recital without interruption. Now she asked, "And how many do you think still choose to make a stand?"

  "You are not speaking of Hambrick Hall."

  "No, I am not. I am speaking of those boys turned men who would still stand in opposition to the Bishops. How many are there?"

  "I can think of three beyond myself. I am not alone, Sophie."

  "Four of you." Her slight smile was humorless. "Four of you against Tremont and all the Bishops before and since. What can you possibly think you can accomplish?"

  Eastlyn shook his head. "This is not why I told you what trick I played at Hambrick Hall. We should not be talking about Tremont. You are shifting the subject to avoid—"

  "It is relevant."

  "I fail to see how."

  Sophie regarded him levelly. "Because it is the reason stealing my chamber pot will not work."

  "You understood it was a metaphor? I had no intention of—" He broke off because Sophie looked as if she meant to bring that metaphor crashing on his head.

  "You will endeavor not to be so patronizing," she said. "Your meaning was perfectly clear. Your friends recommended that you find a method by which I could be coerced into marrying you. I can hardly credit that you did not take that opportunity to tell them you had already got me with child. It must be every bit as good a trick as hoisting those buckets in full view of the courtyard. There was a great deal of snickering from those looking on, I would wager. All those fingers pointing at the buckets as you and your friends reeled them in. The rumor of what you had done passing from one boy to the next. You must have been very satisfied with yourself."

  Eastlyn said quietly, "Is that what you think, Sophie? That I forced a child on you so we would come to this pass?"

  She stiffened at having her words thrown back at her, sensing the unfairness of them for the first time. "I... yes..."

  Her eyes darted away. "No. No, I do not think even you could determine that I should have a child and make it so, but you cannot deny that you came to my bed hoping I could be convinced to marry you. You would not pass on that opportunity."

  "I do not deny it. I am not proud of what I have done, but neither do I regret it. You cannot insist that I should regret it. I would do it again, Sophie. And again."

  "The child is—"

  "I was not speaking of the child. I was speaking of lying with you, of coming to your room in the dead of night and lying with you. That is what I cannot regret. Do not misunderstand, I find that I very much want this child, but you must know that I wanted its mother first." Eastlyn moved just the fraction necessary to allow his fingertips to graze her shoulder. He felt the slightest pressure there as if she were already leaning into him. "You have every right to punish me, but I would have you be aware that you are doing it. The last letter that you sent me, informing me of your pregnancy and the fact that you were already gone from Cara's... It seemed to me that you thought I would be unburdened by your news. I would have you know it had quite the opposite effect. If you send me away again, Sophie, as I suspect you mean to do, then you must also know that it is without any lightness of feeling that I go."

  The ache behind Sophie's eyes pressed tears to the rims of her lower lashes. She blinked first, trying to hold them back, then dashed them away with her fingertips. She took a handkerchief from under the long sleeve of her gown and pressed it to each eye in turn. "I am a waterworks of late."

  Eastlyn took the linen from her hand and gently wiped the tears that had fallen onto her cheeks. "It is the child, I suspect. You would not admit it is caused by any softening toward me."

  The subtle mocking timbre of his voice engaged her watery smile. "No," she said. "I would not admit it." With very little effort on East's part Sophie felt herself being drawn to his side. She fit so naturally into the curve of his arm that she wondered that she was ever comfortable anywhere else. She closed her eyes when she felt his lips against her hair. "I think you mean to wear me down."

  "That is my plan precisely," he whispered.

  "I see."

  Eastlyn merely held her. Her breathing was soft and even; his breath ruffled her hair. The scent of her provoked sweet memories of her mouth under his and her fingers tripping lightly down the length of his spine. The sensation was so real that he nearly shivered with it. She drew her feet onto the sofa, curling them to one side. Her shoulder lay more heavily against him.
East counted off the minutes on the clock at ten before he felt her stir again. "You fell asleep."

  "Hmm."

  He spoke quietly and knew full well he was taking advantage of her weary state of mind. That, after all, was the plan. "I want to stay here, Sophie. A fortnight, if you will permit it. You should know at the outset that I will—"

  "Yes."

  "—sit on that little bridge at the front and make a nuisance of myself to your—"

  "Yes."

  "—neighbors and you until you relent. I will—" He stopped this time because he vaguely heard her voice coming to him as though from a distance. "You said yes."

  "Twice." She reached behind her and patted him on the arm that was lying across her shoulders. "You are to be congratulated for your plan. It seems to be a very good one."

  "Then you approve that it does not involve chamber pots."

  "I do."

  He nodded. "Good."

  "You have thought of some way to explain your presence here, I collect. The good people of Clovelly have not been overly curious about me, but that is bound to change with your arrival. You attract notice, my lord."

  "I don't mean to."

  "I know. You cannot seem to help it." She turned her head and looked up at him. "Who shall we say you are?"

  "Your husband returned from the dead?"

  She gave him a disapproving look. "Not likely. I told everyone he broke his neck in a fall."

  Eastlyn rubbed his nape as if he could feel the bones crunching there. "I don't suppose you mentioned that you pushed him."

  Sophie ignored that. "You could be my brother. I have always wanted a brother, and Mrs. Trumbull seems to think you are a good one."

  "I suppose that would suit as long as you don't begin feeling sisterly toward me, or worse, acting upon it."

  She laughed. "I think that is most unlikely."

  "Very well. You must call me Gabriel, then."

  "No."

  "That is what my sister calls me."

  "Your mistress, too, no doubt. I would rather call you East as you invited me to do before. Your friends call you East, and above all things, I should like to be your friend."