For Love Alone

by Shirlee Busbee

About to enter the conservatory to which he had been directed by Emerson, Ives paused in the doorway. For a gentleman contemplating a closer, more intimate relationship with the lady, hearing those sentiments fall from her lips was not precisely encouraging.

  A little frown appeared between his eyes. He knew all about the death of Lady Marlowe’s husband and the speculation that she might have murdered him, but he had dismissed it. Sophy’s words, however, gave him pause. He’d not heard that note in her voice before, and, for the first time, he wondered about the circumstances surrounding her husband’s death.

  Sophy spied him just then, and cried, “Lord Harrington! Whatever is Emerson thinking of, to set you loose in the house unescorted.”

  Ives grinned at her and stepped into the room, bowing to the three women. Looking at Sophy, he murmured, “You must not blame your butler. He attempted most earnestly to do his duties, but I convinced him that you would not take it amiss if I showed myself in.”

  Sophy’s eyes kindled at this further example of his high-handed ways.

  “But what if I do take it amiss?”

  “Ah, sweetheart, you would not punish the man for something not his own fault, would you?”

  Having been on the losing end of several tussles lately once Lord Harrington had determined upon a course, Sophy gave Emerson her complete sympathy.

  Warily eyeing her guest, she muttered, “Not only are you rude and overbearing, but I see that you have now added intimidation to your many crimes.”

  Ives looked injured. “Nay, nay, sweetheart, you are all wrong. I did not intimidate him. I convinced him it was wisest to let me have my way.”

  Well used to Lord Harrington’s bantering ways, the two younger ladies giggled, and he grinned at them and winked.

  Accepting the inevitable, Sophy asked, “Was there a reason for your call? Or have you just come to vex me?”

  “Vex you, sweetheart? How can you speak so cruelly to me when you know that your slightest whim is my command?”

  His dancing eyes invited her to enjoy the jest, and she gave a reluctant laugh. “I wish that I may live to see the day that you pay attention to any whims of mine!” she retorted tartly. “Now was there a particular reason for your call?”

  “Actually there was. I was going to ask you if I might escort you to dinner with your friends, the Offingtons, on Thursday evening at Stephens’s.”

  Sophy snorted. “I suppose it would do me little good to refuse?”

  He smiled. “It would seem a bit silly for you to do so, wouldn’t it?”

  “Are you ever at a loss?” Sophy asked regretfully, tamping down a strong desire to meet his smile. “Does nothing deter you?”

  Oblivious to the wide-eyed stares of Phoebe and Anne, he took Sophy’s hand in his and brushed a kiss across the back of it. “Not from something that I want.”

  The laughter had faded from his face, and the searching look he gave her made her mouth grow dry, but before she could recover her wits, he took his leave.

  He had hardly disappeared from view, before Anne sighed. “Oh, Lady Marlowe, how can you resist him? He is so handsome and so amusing. It is obvious that he finds himself vastly attracted to you. Why do you repulse his advances? I know I would not!”

  Absently rubbing her hand where his lips had lingered Sophy muttered, “At your age, I doubt that you are an infallible judge of character. Do not be fooled by him. I learned at my own cost that gentlemen are always at their most charming when they are hunting.”

  The conversation was dropped, but her own words would not leave Sophy’s mind. Hunted was precisely how she felt. Ives Harrington was very definitely, despite her warning to the contrary, pursuing her. And none of her rebuffs, not scathing replies or cool glances, put him off his stride. He appeared to be unstoppable. And the question facing her was, did she truly want to stop him?

  Sitting alone in her bedroom that evening after dinner, Sophy stared sightlessly into space, considering the problem. Her decision never to marry again had not changed, and to be honest, she was not certain it was her hand that Ives was seeking. Her eyes narrowed. Knowing the gentleman, a mistress was more than likely his goal.

  That aside, however, she could not deny that she found Viscount Harrington too attractive by half. More attractive than any man she had ever met, even Simon, before he had shattered her illusions. In her idle moments she had considered what it would be like to have an affair with Ives. A very, very discreet affair, of course. The fact that she was even considering such an idea stunned her and made her decidedly uneasy.

  But the idea did have merit. Once she had allowed him the intimacies that Simon had taken, she would be able to view Ives with disinterest, even revulsion, as she had her husband. More importantly, it was likely that she would no longer be plagued by indecent dreams of Ives kissing her, touching her . . .

  A tap on the door distracted her unsettled thoughts and, at her command, Phoebe and Anne came into the room. They were both dressed for bed and, following their routine on the evenings Sophy was at home, they had come to spend some time with her before retiring.

  Conversation was light and desultory, the girls teasing her a little more about Ives and discussing plans for the following week. Phoebe was sitting at Sophy’s dressing table, idly fiddling with the various brushes and combs and bottles of scent scattered across the top of it. Anne was curled up at Sophy’s feet, her head resting on Sophy’s knee as they talked.

  The small, ornate jewelry box that always remained on Sophy’s dressing table eventually caught Phoebe’s attention, and, glancing across at her sister, she asked, “Is that the jewelry box that Mother gave you?”

  Sophy nodded, a sad little smile on her face. “Indeed it is. You may look at it, if you like.”

  Reverently, Phoebe picked it up and promptly dropped it, spilling a sparkling array of bracelets, rings, and pins across the floor.

  “Oh! I am sorry, Sophy. It just slipped from my hand.”

  “Do not worry,” Sophy replied as she and Anne began to help Phoebe retrieve the scattered trinkets. “There is nothing of any great value in it, anyway.”

  In a few moments all had been set to rights and Phoebe was about to put the box back in its place when Anne exclaimed, “Oh, wait, I see something shining under that chair.”

  Crossing the room, she bent down and retrieved the object. Holding it up to the light, she gasped. “Never tell me that this is paste, Lady Marlowe! It is the most gorgeous ruby I have ever seen in my life. Surely it is real.”

  Sophy’s face drained of all color as she stared at the glittering ruby cravat pin in Anne’s hand. All the ugly memories of the night Simon died rushed back: the fight with Simon, the flashes of lightning, the booming thunder and the half-seen—half-imagined—figure of a man pressed against the wall near the head of the stairs. Reliving the terrifying moments of seeing Simon’s body lying so still on the floor below her, she was not aware of the passing seconds or the look on her face.

  “Sophy!” cried Phoebe, alarmed. “Are you all right?”

  Sophy gave herself a shake and managed a weak smile. “Sorry. I do not know what came over me. And to answer Anne’s question, I have no idea whether the stone is real or paste. I found it at Marlowe House. I’d forgotten that I even had it.”

  “Forgotten!” exclaimed Phoebe. “How could you forget about it?”

  Sophy shrugged. “It was right after Simon died, and I was very busy. I simply thrust it into the jewelry box and never gave it another thought. It must have slipped beneath the other jewelry, and since I seldom wear anything from this box, I never noticed it.”

  “You found it?” asked Anne. “If it is not real, it is a very good paste. I would have thought the owner would miss it and ask after it. Did no one ever inquire about it?”

  “No,” said Sophy slowly, realizing disturbingly that Anne was correct. She took the ruby pin from Anne’s hand and examined it closely. Holding it up to the crystal chandelier overhead, it flashed and spar
kled with a deep bloodred glow. Surely paste would not be so vivid? And if it was real, why had no one ever mentioned that it had gone missing?

  Long after the girls had departed for bed, Sophy sat staring at the ruby pin. Tomorrow she would take it to her jeweler and have him examine it. Perhaps then, at least, one question about the ruby would be answered.

  Not certain why, she told no one of her decision, and early the next morning she left the house and directed her coachman to take her to the fashionable jeweler she used on Ludgate Hill. He confirmed her suspicions that the stone was real. The entire pin was unique and very, very costly. Easily worth a small fortune, he informed her. Thanking him, she hurriedly left the shop.

  Reaching her rooms, she again took the cravat pin from her reticule. No one would simply overlook or forget about a jewel like this. Unless there was some reason. But what reason? Sophy asked herself in puzzlement. If it had been simply lost, what could be simpler than asking if it had been found? Unless, she thought with a chill, there was something about its loss that someone did not want revealed?

  She swallowed. Did the location in which it had been found have anything to do with why no one had come seeking it? Again she remembered the illusion of the shadowy figure and the ruby gleaming like a drop of blood at the top of the staircase—the staircase at the base of which her husband lay dead. She swallowed again, telling herself she was being silly and imaginative. There was probably a perfectly logical reason why no one had asked after it, she told herself stoutly.

  A thought occurred to her. Perhaps someone had asked after it, but the inquiry never reached her. Edward had overseen the departure of Simon’s guests during that terrible time. Had one of them asked after the pin and her notably unreliable uncle merely forgotten to mention it to her?

  She took a deep breath. She would ask Edward.

  Chapter Six

  Arranging an interview with Edward had not been easy, but on Thursday afternoon, at Sophy’s request, he came to call. She was alone in the room when Edward arrived, and she had given Emerson instructions to show him immediately into the green saloon on the first floor.

  She had seen to it that the girls were gone to Hookham’s Lending Library and that Marcus was out with his friends for the afternoon. For reasons she could not explain, she did not want anyone else to know about her interview with Edward. Which was, she knew, perfectly ridiculous.

  Edward was nattily dressed in a formfitting coat of blue superfine and pale yellow breeches. The brilliant gloss of his Hessians was a tribute to his valet, and his linen was dazzling white. Bowing over Sophy’s hand, he said, “I am glad to see that you have come to your senses, my gel. Miss Richmond’s affairs are none of your business, and you were fair and far off poking your nose where it wasn’t wanted.”

  “I did not ask you here to discuss Miss Richmond. And I would remind you, you may have not wanted me to interfere, but she did!”

  Edward flashed her a dark look. “Think you have the upper hand, hey? Puffed up with yourself, ain’t you? Well let me tell you something, if you and that feisty young cub of a brother of yours don’t start treating me more respectfully, you’ll find out swift enough who is really driving this rig!”

  Sophy frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Edward smiled nastily. “I mean that if I decided to make a push to have the care of Phoebe, there would be nothing either you or Marcus could do about it! I am her guardian, and it is only through my generous nature that I have allowed you a free hand. I can take her to live with me whenever I want!”

  At Sophy’s stunned look, he crowed, “Thought you had me at a standstill, didn’t you? Well, think again! I’ll make certain you never see Phoebe again until she is married off to the man of my choosing. How do you like that?”

  “You would not dare!” Sophy spat, her golden eyes fierce. “Make no mistake, I will never allow you the care of Phoebe’s person. You will not do to her what you did to me. I will not allow it. I will kill you first.”

  The unmistakable fury in Sophy’s face caused Edward to step backward. “Now, now, it don’t have to come to that,” he protested. “I have no intention of poking my nose where it ain’t wanted if you do the same.”

  Controlling herself with an effort, Sophy asked tightly, “Precisely why do you want to marry Miss Richmond so badly? Doesn’t raiding Marcus and Phoebe’s fortune provide enough for you?”

  “A man has to look ahead,” Edward returned easily, not the least discomfited by Sophy’s attitude. “In less than two years, Marcus will be twenty-one, and my trusteeship will end. I will have to turn everything over to him, even Phoebe’s care and fortune. Leaves me in a devil of a fix. Been thinking about it a lot.” He smiled charmingly at Sophy. “Thing is, without their fortune I won’t have a feather to fly with. Thought I ought to start looking about for a way to recoup my losses. Gambling ain’t the answer, too risky, but marriage to an heiress! That would fix me up right and tight. Been hanging out for a rich wife these past several months, but most of ‘em got a pack of starchy relatives to watch out for fortune hunters like m’self. I wouldn’t even get a nod, much less an opportunity to pay court. Couldn’t believe my luck when I discovered that Agnes had the care of the Richmond heiress.”

  “And exactly how did that come about?” Sophy asked, her disgust obvious.

  Edward had the grace to look embarrassed. “Er. Miss Weatherby ain’t precisely up to snuff, if you know what I mean. We were rather, uh, good friends, and she mentioned her niece to me.”

  Sophy gasped with outrage. “Miss Weatherby is your mistress?”

  “Was!” exclaimed Edward feebly, seeing that he had put his foot into it. “I may be a blackguard of the worst kind,” he admitted, “but even I wouldn’t keep my wife’s aunt as my lightskirt. Very bad ton!”

  His shameless candor left Sophy speechless. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with his actions. He even, if the expression on his face was anything to go by, thought she would applaud his plans for ensuring his financial stability.

  When Sophy remained silent, Edward took it as an encouraging sign. “Now you see why it is important for you to send Anne back to her aunt. Be to your benefit, too,” he added shrewdly.

  Sophy arched a brow.

  “Stands to reason,” he said, “if I have the Richmond fortune at my fingertips, I won’t need to dip into Marcus and Phoebe’s funds.”

  Shaking her head, Sophy said, “You are too despicable for words! I do not know what you planned to accomplish by coming here, but let me assure you that I have no intention of changing my mind about Anne’s stay with me.”

  “If that don’t beat all!” he exclaimed. “You were the one who requested I come to call. Thought it all a hum, but then I decided, my niece and all, so I came. If you didn’t want to see me, why the devil did you invite me here in the first place?”

  Reminded of her reasons for this interview, Sophy started. Taking a deep breath, she said slowly, “I have a question to ask you. Do you remember the night Simon died?”

  “Do I remember? Good gad, how could I forget? Man was a good friend of mine.”

  “You took care of everything, seeing to the departure of his friends and whatnot. Did anyone mention to you that they had lost something?”

  Edward frowned. “Lost something? What?”

  “A cravat pin.”

  Obviously puzzled by her question after so many years, Edward shook his head. “Not that I recall.”

  Bringing forth the pin from the drawer of a small satinwood table, she showed it to him.

  “I found this at the top of the staircase on the night Simon died. Do you recognize it?”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at the pin, and an odd expression crossed his face, part astonishment and something else Sophy could not name—craftiness, perhaps?

  “No, I can’t say that I do recognize it,” he said finally. “But let me look at it more closely.”

  Taking the pin from her, he examined it carefully, and though hi
s face revealed nothing, Sophy was positive he recognized the pin. Looking over at her, he commented, “Found it the night Simon died, hey? At the top of the staircase where he fell?”

  Sophy nodded, but after a moment or two, he returned it to her and shrugged. “Pretty piece of work. Can’t see why you had me come here on such a sleeveless errand. Wasted my time. Busy man.”

  Sophy’s lip curled. “Indeed you are, frittering away money that is not yours.”

  “Nasty tongue you have, gel. Always thought so. Too bad Simon didn’t teach you better,” Edward said, his golden eyes, so like hers, bright with dislike.

  Sophy made no reply. Edward sketched her a scant bow and stalked from the room.

  For several minutes, Sophy stared speculatively at the ruby pin she still held in the palm of her hand. Her uncle had recognized it, she was positive. But he had denied it. Why?

  She left the green saloon and thoughtfully made her way upstairs to her bedroom, putting away the pin in her jewelry box. Her uncle really was despicable, she observed, not for the first time. He honestly thought that she would approve of his plans for Anne. And he blatantly admitted that without the fortune her father had so unwisely placed in his hands he would be all to pieces.

  His threat concerning Phoebe disturbed her the most. It was something she could never allow to happen, and she hoped that he had merely been blustering in his usual manner. But just the fact that he had even mentioned it worried her immensely.

  Marcus was understandably furious when Sophy told him about Edward’s threat. His young face taut, he swore, “By Jove! Just let him try to take Phoebe from us! Just let him try. I will run him through before I will let him lay one hand on her.”

  Sophy gradually calmed him, convincing him all that was needed for the present was a vigilant eye.

  With Phoebe it was a trifle more delicate. Sophy did not want to terrify the child, and so she merely warned her never to go anywhere with her uncle, no matter what the circumstances.