All I Ever Needed

by Jo Goodman

  "You knew that she would tell me," Dunsmore said. "You wanted her to."

  "I hoped she would," East admitted. "But I did not consider that she would learn about the invitations to Windsor Castle. I knew the danger of giving her too much information. Was she cuckolding you, Dunsmore? Is that how she came to know about the Prince Regent's invitations?"

  Dunsmore's expression turned scornful. "She had Barlough in her bed. And Pendrake. Both of them while she was under my protection. It never occurred to her that I would realize the truth when she told me about their invitations. Her protestations aside, I knew immediately how she had come by this latest on dit." His short bark of laughter held no humor. "Poor Annette. It was impossible for her to suspect that she was being manipulated. Barlough and Pendrake went to her bed to take a pound of my flesh, not hers. She was so naive."

  In that one regard, perhaps she was, East thought. "Was she leaving you for one of them?" he asked.

  "For Barlough or Pendrake? No. She was leaving me, though you should not imagine I was made jealous by that. She was a whore, after all. No better than she ought to be."

  "The bargain you struck with her was for her protection. She did not deserve to die."

  "She wanted more of everything. Money. Power. Standing. There was no reasoning with her. I did not know about these books then, Eastlyn, and obviously, neither did she. I might have spared her had I understood that silencing her would accomplish nothing. I still thought if I could collect my books and go, things might once again be turned in my favor." Raising his candle, he gestured toward the pyramid of crates. "A pity they cannot easily be burned. There are more elsewhere, I collect."

  "Many more."

  He nodded "A pity. It is not your intention to exact a fortune from me, then."

  "No. Nor from anyone in the Society."

  "I see." Harold looked past Eastlyn to where Sophie stood. Though her complexion was pale, she remained maddeningly composed. "I am still your family, Sophie. Have you considered that? Robert. Esme. Even Abigail. All of them will come to hate you when they learn of your part in this. They will be stained forever if these books become fodder for the public."

  "If they come to bear me ill will," she said evenly, "then I hope that in time they will also come to forgive me. I can ask no more of them than that."

  "And what of me, Sophie? What is to become of me?"

  Eastlyn shook his head, drawing Dunsmore's eyes to him. "She has no part in that decision."

  "Then it is to be you? What satisfaction will you demand? Pistols? I have heard it remarked upon that you have quite a steady hand."

  "No. I am of no mind to shoot you, though there would be some pleasure in it. But as you said, you are still Sophie's family, and she is my wife." East noted that Dunsmore did credibly well masking his surprise; it was only the rapid blinking of his eyes that gave him away. "That makes you a member of my family as well," East said. "Therefore, you are quite free to go. There is satisfaction enough for me in knowing how popular these books will become."

  For a moment Dunsmore could not believe his good fortune; the pressure in his chest actually eased. It was when he caught the cutting edge of East's tempered smile that the full impact of what had been planned was borne home. As quickly as that, he could no longer draw a complete breath. "They will kill me," he whispered hoarsely. "The Bishops will kill me. You cannot make me leave. Where will I go?"

  "I cannot say what they will do, or where you will go, or even how far you will get, but I can make you leave. My friends are prepared to help if called upon to do so. I would be remiss if I did not mention they were in favor of shooting you." He gave Sophie a sideways glance. "Will you open the front door?"

  Nodding, she ducked from under Eastlyn's protective arm and slipped away.

  Panicked now, Dunsmore actually stumbled backward as Eastlyn made to seize him. A plump dollop of hot candle wax fell on the ball of his thumb. Unprepared for the flash of pain, he reflexively jerked his hand toward his chest. The movement extinguished the flame. Darkness gave him a moment's respite, and he dived for cover behind where he imagined the crates to be. He missed his mark by only a few inches, but it was enough to throw his shoulder into one of the sharp corners. The pyramid groaned, shifted, and the hasty construction of this monument to his avarice did not hold. The crates were pushed wildly askew by his weight and momentum.

  Dunsmore threw up his arms to protect his head as the whole of his life crashed in upon him.

  Epilogue

  Eastlyn turned Sophie in a graceful arc as they reached the edge of the ballroom. The hem of her lavender silk gown lifted, swirled, and settled modestly back into place as she followed his lead. Her face was raised to his, and he guided her as much with his glance as the pressure of his hand at her back. The eddy of silk that brushed his legs was only a mild distraction. It was the promise in her eyes that made it difficult to concentrate on the three-quarter strains of the waltz.

  "Have a care, Sophie," he whispered, narrowly avoiding a collision with the prime minister and Lady Powell. "Unless it is your desire to leave the assembly early, you must exercise a modicum of restraint."

  Nothing about Sophie's expression changed in the least.

  Eastlyn raised an eyebrow. "I see you mean to test me."

  Her smile merely deepened.

  "I believe I saw a cupboard under the stairs that might suit," he said dryly. "Do you fancy a turn with the linens and dusters?"

  "It would be a squeeze."

  "Overcrowded, is it?"

  She nodded.

  East sighed. "I should have thought of it sooner." His eyes darted around the large room. Crystal chandeliers split the candlelight into rainbows that were no less bright than the spinning, shimmering crowd. He noted that his friends and their ladies were all accounted for and that the widow Powell was still in the arms of the prime minister. The Dowager Countess of Northam was engaged in deep conversation with Lord and Lady Redding, most likely over the particulars of a wager, he suspected. Colonel Blackwood had the ear of Wellington and two representatives of the East India Company, while a number of distinguished guests sidled closer. At first glance, Eastlyn could find no one obviously missing. It was only when he glimpsed his sister being led onto the floor by her husband that he realized who had absented themselves from the ballroom. "Devil a bit, never say it is my own parents."

  Sophie's smile widened a fraction. "It is my most fervent wish, my lord, that when we have enjoyed a like number of years together, you will still want to fondle me under the stairs."

  "You may depend upon it."

  It was the resolve in Eastlyn's voice that put Sophie to a blush. She was glad for the turn that set her back to the guests. By the time Eastlyn brought her around, she was once again composed. Only she knew how her heart tripped over itself; if not for East's steady lead, her feet might have done the same.

  The glitter and color and candlelight of the assembly were magnified in the large gilt-framed mirror angled above the entrance to the ballroom. Sophie glanced over East's shoulder to observe their reflection as they passed. When her eyes shifted back to him, she saw that he had caught her out and was amused by her lapse into self-absorption.

  "I cannot help it," she said without apology. "I have not the same measure of confidence that you possess. I must look in a mirror from time to time and assure myself I am all of a piece."

  "Is that what you think, Sophie? That it is confidence that keeps me from turning my head?"

  A small crease puckered her brow. "Isn't it?"

  His slight smile was enigmatic.

  Sophie's steps faltered a bit, and the miscue set her off balance almost as much as his smile. Had she misjudged him so profoundly? "Your presence in any room is invariably noted, East. Surely you are aware of that."

  "I should be the greatest of fools if I were not."

  "Then you take my point."

  "Only if you insist that I should."

  "I am of a mind to trod up
on your toes, my lord, but we should be made sadly awkward by it. You are being perfectly obtuse, you know."

  "Perfectly? There is some comfort in perfection." Before Sophie could manage a retort, East guided her through the open French doors at the end of the ballroom and onto the wide portico. The night was cool and clear, and as many stars shone in the blue-black sky as diamonds flashed among the dancers. Eastlyn led Sophie away from the circle of candlelight. As soon as they were safely ensconced in shadow, he pressed her against the marble balustrade and kissed her soundly.

  Sophie did not discourage the kiss; rather she looped her arms around his neck for better purchase and stood on tiptoe to greet it. The brisk air prickled her skin, but the shelter of Eastlyn's shoulders warmed her again. "It is a good distraction," she whispered when he drew back. "But I think you know that."

  Eastlyn raised Sophie's cashmere shawl around her upper arms and knotted the ends just below her breasts. "If it were a better distraction, you would not note it at all." He brushed his lips to hers once more. "I want to take you home. The cupboard there will not be so crowded."

  Sophie's smile was sweetly regretful. "It is unfortunate, then, that this evening is in your honor."

  "It is in the colonel's honor."

  "Only officially. The East India Company is in your debt, even if you will not allow them to properly say so. Their settlement will be firmly established before the year is out, and it is in no small part because of your effort."

  Eastlyn fell quiet as he reflected on the consequences of that effort. "I am not entirely proud of it," he said at last. "There will be a military presence in Singapore, a hundredfold increase in the opium trade, and more ill will toward the Crown than we can fully appreciate. We have not yet reckoned with the cost of success, Sophie." He raised his hand and laid it against her cheek. His thumb brushed the line of her lower lip. "And what of the price that was yours to pay? What I accomplished required that you surrender something at every turn."

  Sophie shook her head. Her cheek rubbed against the cup of his palm. "My good name?" she asked with ironic inflection. "I loved my father very much, but the family name was already in a state of disrepair before his death. It was no sacrifice to accept yours."

  "That is not precisely how I remember it. No man has been turned down more often than I in offering his name."

  Her breathy little chuckle vibrated against his hand. "That still rankles, does it?"

  "A tad."

  Sophie took his hand and placed her lips in the heart of his palm. "If there is a wound, I would heal it." Her smile faded as she laced her fingers through his and lowered their clasped hands. "I have no regrets, East. None. Perhaps it is wrong of me to harden my heart against Tremont, but I can rouse no pity for him. Transportation is a fitting punishment, perhaps more exacting in its toll on his spirit than hanging would have been. That his good friends will be his companions on the voyage is also fitting, for they might have expected hanging as well. They have you to thank for their lives."

  "Or curse for them," East said.

  "Or curse," she repeated.

  "Dunsmore?"

  Sophie shut her eyes briefly against the vision of Harold lying so still beneath the toppled pyramid. When the crates had been cleared, there had been almost no blood to signify death, only an awkwardly positioned head on the broken stem of his neck. Two months had passed since that night, but the sight was still called too easily to mind. "It was a kinder fate than the Bishops would have shown him, kinder still to Robert and Esme to know their father's death was an accident and not murder. The Prince Regent showed great compassion in not confiscating the estate. Tremont Park will be Robert's now, as it should be, and I know that has come to pass because you interceded on his behalf."

  "It was the colonel."

  "It was you. It is no good denying it. I shall always recognize a tinker's work."

  "Lady Dunsmore has suffered enough," East said quietly. "And the children do not deserve the sins of their father."

  Sophie drew his hand to the swell of her stomach, still barely noticeable beneath her open silk tunic. "What of a father's goodness?" she asked. "I wish our child might have your compassion and kindness, your strength of character, your sense of what is right and the resolve to pursue it."

  Eastlyn bent his head and kissed Sophie's smooth brow as she blinked back tears. "Dull stuff, all of that," he whispered. "Better that she will have your stubborn streak and bedevil us by being up to every trick." He lifted Sophie's chin. "She should also have your eyes."

  They both gave a small start as their child kicked hard.

  "There is proof of strength," Sophie said.

  Chuckling, Eastlyn smoothed the tunic over her belly. "And character." He stepped back, taking Sophie's elbow as he recognized familiar voices approaching from the ballroom.

  "Said they were out here, didn't I?" South announced. "That's a shilling each you owe me, and I'm not accepting markers. You shall have to part with the whole of it at once."

  He held out his hand, and North and West dutifully placed a shilling in his palm.

  "Where did you think we'd gone?" East asked Northam.

  "The cupboard under the stairs."

  Sophie and East traded glances. Hers was filled with humor, his with something more akin to horror.

  West observed this exchange and said, "We made our apologies to your parents, East, so all is right with the world. They were extraordinarily gracious, considering."

  East held up one hand. "You will spare me the details, West, else I will want to know the name of your seconds."

  Laughing, West shook his head. "You will hear none of it from me."

  To assure that secrecy was kept, East pointedly regarded the other two. "North? South?"

  "East?" Southerton asked wryly.

  Sophie glanced at the only direction left. "West?"

  He grinned boyishly. "Very well, my lady. The whole of it is this: Friends for life, we have confessed."

  South took up the rhyme. "All other truths, we'll deny."

  North added, "For we are soldier."

  "Sailor," said South.

  East drew Sophie closer. "Tinker."

  "Spy." West made a slight bow.

  Delighted with their impromptu recital, Sophie applauded. "Bad verse can have no greater champion. I am awed."

  "Do not encourage South," North said. "He will be moved to write a second stanza, and the man is no Byron."

  "Byron is no Southerton," South said.

  No one argued with this pithy observation.

  West gestured toward the open doors. "The colonel wishes to escort your wife to supper, East. That is, if you will permit him."

  "Sophie?" East asked.

  She nodded. "The colonel flatters me." She stood on tiptoes and kissed Eastlyn's cheek. "Tonight is in his honor, after all."

  With varying degrees of admiration and amusement, the Compass Club watched Sophie gracefully exit the portico and disappear into the crowded ballroom.

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Sophie and East arrived at Everly Square. They were met at the door by the butler and relieved of their outerwear. Eastlyn's eyes went immediately to the stairs in anticipation of seeing young Robert peering around the landing. Sophie saw the direction of his gaze and knew the purpose of it. It had been nine days since Abigail and the children had moved to Tremont Park, but Sophie still thought the house seemed inordinately quiet without them. Throughout Abigail's recovery, Lady Gilbert had been her constant companion, so Sophie was not surprised when her aunt chose to leave London for the Park. What Sophie could not have anticipated was that she would miss the sound of Lady Gilbert pounding the floors and stairs with her cane.

  Sophie touched East's hand. "This respite will be short lived, my lord. Perhaps we should determine to enjoy it."

  "I can think of several ways."

  Sophie watched East's eyes stray to the upper floor a second time, and she recognized the glint in them
for what it was. "I would race you to the top, but I am hampered by these skirts."

  "And your enormous belly." He noticed she was not at all displeased by this description. He scooped her up as she critically examined the swell of her abdomen. "You are still as slim as a virgin."

  "Hardly that, but your mother says I am unlikely to show overmuch until my eighth month."

  Eastlyn started up the stairs. "You will refrain from mentioning my mother. It is bound to put me off my stride."

  Knowing the importance of stride, Sophie pressed her lips together tightly. Sampson was waiting for them when they reached the bedchamber. The valet accepted his dismissal with his usual neutral demeanor and blandly offered to keep Sophie's maid from disturbing them as well.

  "Now you have done it, Sophie." East dropped her on the bed. "Sampson will not forgive you if you ruin my stock."

  Sophie raised herself on her elbows and crooked a finger at him. When he bent, she pulled on it, then him. As soon as he was sprawled beside her, she turned and kissed him full on the mouth. His arms would have come around her, but she drew back and shook her head. "I have had it in my mind all evening that I should undress you," she whispered. "You have no objections, I hope."

  "None."

  "Good." She sat up and took his hand, urging him to follow her when she left the bed. "Come, my lord. Some things are best accomplished in the dressing room." Sophie felt some initial reluctance, but she overcame it with an over-the-shoulder glance that promised much in return for his cooperation.

  The dressing room they shared was crowded with two armoires, a vanity, three padded stools, a washstand, commode, and a large cheval glass. Sophie guided East across the small Persian rug and directly to the mirror, softening his discomfort by stepping in front of him. Reaching behind her, she found his wrists and pulled his arms around her until they were crossed under her breasts. She caught his eyes in the mirror.

  "What do you see, East?"

  "All I ever needed."

  Sophie's eyes brightened with unshed tears, and her smile was watery. She had to work her words past the ache in her throat. "I love you for saying so," she said quietly, "but I know you hope I will be put from my purpose. Will you not lift your eyes, my lord, and tell me what you see."