The Earl's Dangerous Assignment (Unlikely Pairs Book 3)

by Ginny Hartman

  “La! This could be the happiest day of my life.”

  Sophia looked at her mother with wide, curious eyes as she entered the breakfast room. Sitting at the table were her mother and father, both of them wearing unusual jovial expressions. Their odd behavior made her rather suspicious. She was much more accustomed to the pair quarreling over breakfast, rather than smiling.

  “Why is this the happiest day of your life?” Sophia asked with trepidation.

  “Get your food, dear, and come join us,” her father instructed in a tone of voice that almost sounded carefree. The sound was so foreign it made her nervous.

  Sophia slid to the sideboard where she quickly filled her plate with eggs, kipper, and toast before apprehensively taking a seat between both of her parents. Ignoring the food before her, she glanced at her mother then to her father before asking, “What has happened?”

  “Tell her, dear,” her father instructed.

  Sophia's eyes slowly turned towards her mother who, she now noticed, was clutching an envelope tightly in each hand. “I can't decide which piece of news I should divulge first.”

  “Tell her about the house party,” her father suggested.

  “Yes, yes, very well.” Taking the letter she held in her left hand, her mother extended it to Sophia while explaining in a sing-song voice, “The Marquess and Marchioness of Emberson have invited us to Tisdale Manor for a house party.”

  Sophia couldn't believe her ears. Taking the letter from her mother's extended hand, she quickly scanned the contents. Sure enough, it appeared it was a valid invite.

  “But why?” Sophia couldn't help but ask as she gave her mother a skeptical look.

  “I do not know, nor care, why; I only care that she has. You are not the only one filled with ennui here in the country. Perhaps this will signal the end of our banishment from society, and we will once more be welcomed back into the good graces of the ton.”

  “I don't trust it,” Sophia blurted.

  Her mother reached across the table and snatched the letter from her hand. “Do not be a sourpuss. Do you like being ignored by polite society? Shunned from their entertainments because of the gossip that has been attached to our family name?”

  “Of course I do not, mother, but I don't trust that this invitation will suddenly return us to good status. What Gilbert did was horrendous. The ton will not soon forget or forgive his misdeeds.”

  “Maybe not the entirety of the ton,” her father interjected firmly, “but if the Marquess of Emberson and his household are willing to accept us once more, I'm certain others will be quick to follow his lead.”

  Sophia shrugged her shoulders but otherwise didn't reply. She didn't want to dash her parent's hope, though something inside of her believed it was really Lord Coldwell behind the invite, not the Marquess and Marchioness. Though why he'd deign to invite them to Tisdale Hall for a fortnight didn't quite make sense to her.

  “Can't you simply be excited about the prospect of leaving these dreary walls in exchange for the company of others?” her mother pleaded.

  Truthfully, though she was suspicious of the invite, Sophia was pleased with the prospect of leaving Goldborne Hall. “Yes, mother, I can. When do we leave?”

  “In just over a sennight. Oh, there is much to be done before we depart.” Rising from the table, her mother clutched the invitation to her breast. “I shall have to begin sorting through my wardrobe at once.”

  “Not so fast, my dear. You forget there is other news to share.”

  “Oh, how could I forget?” Returning to her seat, her mother reached for the other missive she'd disregarded during her earlier excitement. After an almost reverent pause, she looked Sophia squarely in the eyes and said, “We have acquired a husband for you.”

  Sophia, who had just taken a sip of her lukewarm tea, spit it out across the table. “What?” she blurted as she reached for her linen napkin and began wiping furiously at the mess she'd created. “I have no desire to acquire a husband,” she bit out acerbically.

  Looking a bit deflated by her reaction to the news, her mother glanced at her father, hoping he'd take over.

  He cleared his throat before beginning. “Look, Sophia, you've participated in two seasons without making a match. Now that Gilbert has tarnished our reputation, it's become painfully obvious to me that no proper gentleman will rightly ask for your hand. To tie himself to a disgraced family would be unheard of. I'd begun to wonder if you'd ever wed.”

  His words made Sophia feel ugly inside. She felt as if she were a donkey on display at Tattersall's standing among all the other beautiful and valuable horses there. No one would ever want a donkey when they could have a prize stallion.

  “I don't wish to be wed,” she said, trying to sound confident, but even to her own ears, her voice sounded small and pathetic.

  “Of course you do,” her mother interjected. “Every woman does.”

  “No really, I do not,” she quipped, sounding a tad more convincing. “Especially if it is to a man not of my choosing.”

  “Sophia, dear, you had two seasons to find a husband of your choosing, and yet you failed to do so,” her father pointed out matter-of-factly. “You can no longer afford to be choosy. Now, you must take what you can get.”

  Sophia flinched as his words of finality turned into an uncomfortable silence. She couldn't pull her eyes from her discarded plate of food to look at either of her parents, not even when her mother asked, “Don't you want to know who your husband will be?”

  “No!” Sophia screamed, “I do not.”

  “Sophia Diana Whitworth, you will be grateful for what your father has done in procuring you a husband. Your impertinence is unbecoming.”

  “Yes, you must be grateful,” her father chastised. “Your outburst this morning is somewhat understandable, given the surprise of the situation, but I refuse to allow you to remain sullen over the news. Your fiancé will be calling on you this afternoon, and I will not tolerate this sort of behavior from you while he's here.” With more than a hint of warning to his voice, he added, “There will be severe consequences if you misbehave.”

  Finally taking the bait, Sophia couldn't help but ask sullenly, “Who exactly is my fiancé?”

  With a pleased grin on his face, her father announced, “'Tis none other than the honorable Reverend Balfour.”

  A knot formed in Sophia's stomach, making her feel as if she'd cast up her accounts. “No!” she exclaimed, thinking of the dreadful man. “He's too old.”

  She'd known Reverend Balfour since she was a child. He'd preached the sermons at the small chapel on their family's estate since as long as she could remember. Though he seemed kind enough, he had to be more than twice her age.

  “Besides,” she was quick to add, “he's married. Isn't he?”

  Her mother replied flatly, “You know very well that his wife passed on more than three years prior, leaving the poor man with a quiver full of children to care for all on his own. I daresay this arrangement will be as beneficial to him as it will to us.”

  “No!” she gasped once more in horror. She suddenly recalled seeing a passel of children playing near the Parrish house last time she'd walked past there. “There have to be at least a dozen children. Mother, Father, I'm not equipped to manage that sort of chaos.”

  “There are only seven children. Stop being so dramatic, Sophia,” her father warned. Then, softening his voice a bit, he added, “I know it's not precisely the life you envisioned for yourself. It's not the life we envisioned either, but circumstances have changed. I've feared for your future, dear. In a few years you'll be considered on the shelf, and now, with what Gilbert has done, the likelihood of you finding a gentleman to wed is nonexistent.”

  “I don't care about wedding a gentleman,” she sobbed. “I don't care about marrying at all.”

  “But we care, child. Your mother and I want to see you happy.”

  “I'll never be happy married to him,” she interrupted.

  Ignor
ing her outburst, her father continued, “We want a posterity, grandchildren to fill our hearts.”

  Sliding back from the table, Sophia rose swiftly, nearly knocking her chair over in the process. “Well now you'll have seven,” she spit out bitterly. “Did you invite them to come calling today as well? Perhaps you can practice your grand-parenting skills on them.”

  Without waiting for a response, Sophia fled from the room. Gathering the skirt of her morning dress in her hands, she lifted it and took off running. As soon as she was in the privacy of her bedchamber, she flung herself on her bed and began crying. Loud sobs racked her body as she thought of her future—wed to the ancient Reverend Balfour with seven rowdy stepchildren. She began sobbing even louder. It was a fate worse than death in her mind.

  When the tears finally expired, Sophia rolled onto her back. Brushing golden strands of damp hair from her face, she thought back to the plan she'd wanted to put into action several months ago, when she was still in Scotland before Lord Coldwell had interceded.

  Back then she'd planned to run away to Cornwall to be with her Aunt Caroline. Samuel, the big brute, had thwarted her plan. Once she'd arrived back in London and seen how heartbroken her parents were, she knew she couldn't add to their misery by running away. She'd decided to stay and be the good, obedient, compliant daughter they needed as they mourned the loss and the betrayal of their only son. At the time it had seemed like a worthy sacrifice, but now she regretted her decision vehemently.

  If she'd only known how they'd betray her, she would have found a way to escape months ago. Making her way swiftly to her writing desk, Sophia took out some parchment and a quill and began penning a letter to Caroline.

  My dearest Aunt Caroline,

  You will never believe the horror that has befallen me. I daresay it's worse than Gilbert's betrayal. My parents have just now informed me that I am to be wed to the awful Reverend Balfour. Besides the fact that he's as old as father, he also has seven, yes seven, rowdy children. The knowledge that father has arranged for me to become his wife makes me almost wish I was going to Newgate to be hanged. It's a fate worse than death.

  You once told me that you'd rather be alone, doing what you love than tied down to someone you don't care for. I confess I feel the same way, that is why I have decided I am going to run away to Cornwall. I know that you'll gladly take me in and keep my whereabouts a secret from father, right? Oh, Aunt Caroline, please say you will be my savior. I perish at the thought of having to remain here to succumb to my awful plight.

  Please send word posthaste. I know you are often away on business and I'd hate to go to the trouble of traveling all the way to Cornwall just to learn of your absence. I will do my best to postpone the upcoming wedding for as long as possible in hopes that I will hear back from you shortly.

  All my love,

  Sophia

  As soon as she was finished, Sophia sealed the letter. She glanced in the mirror and nearly gasped at her reflection. Not only was her hair matted to her head, but her face was also red and blotchy from crying. She wanted desperately to go to the nearby village and post the letter to Cornwall immediately, for she dared not leave it with the outgoing post at the house for fear that her parents would see it and become suspicious.

  She rang for her maid and anxiously waited for the girl to appear.

  “Good day, milady. How can I be of service to ye?” Ellen asked as she flitted into the room. Her maid was small and childlike, though Sophia knew she was two years her senior and moved about as if she was always in a hurry to get somewhere.

  “I need you to refresh my appearance so I can make a trip to the village.”

  Ellen looked at her curiously in the mirror. “But milady, ye haven't ventured to the village since returning to Goldborne. If ye have need of something, please allow a servant to do yer bidding.”

  “No,” she replied a bit too firmly. “I find I'm in need of some fresh air.”

  “Very well, milady. As you wish.”

  Ellen, in her typical hurried fashion, began doing Sophia's toilette. In no time, she looked almost as good as new, despite the redness that was still visible on her cheeks.

  When she was finished, Ellen glanced down at the dressing table, her eyes settling on the missive sitting there. She snaked out her hand and reached for it, snatching it up before Sophia could stop her. “Is this why ye be going to the village? Here, let me add it to the post and save ye the trip.”

  “No,” Sophia blurted as she quickly snatched the letter back, leaving Ellen looking at her curiously. “I will see to it myself, thank you.”

  “Whatever ye say, milady. 'Twas only trying to be helpful.”

  Guilt pricked at Sophia's heart. She hadn't meant to be so defensive. “Yes, Ellen, I'm certain you were, and I thank you for that, but I have other errands to see to and can manage posting this letter just fine.”

  “Yes, milady. Is there anything else ye be needing from me?”

  “No, that will do.”

  Ellen dipped into a curtsy before Sophia who then dismissed her. As soon as the girl left, she retrieved her bonnet and pelisse. Stuffing the letter deep into her jacket pocket, she secured her bonnet in place and was off.

  Sophia was chilled by the time she returned to Goldborne. Her light pelisse would've been more than enough protection against the cold had it not started raining right as she approached the outer limits of their property. In what her mother would consider a very unladylike fashion, she'd run the entire way back to the house. Her bonnet sat askew atop her head, and her kid boots were covered in mud.

  “Where in tarnation have you been?”

  Sophia flinched as she heard her mother's shrill voice coming down the hall. “I had some errands to attend to in the village.”

  “Just look at you, child. You look a fright and Reverend Balfour is due any minute. Rush up to your bedchamber at once. I'll ring for Ellen to come clean you up.”

  With no other option before her, Sophia did as she was told. Ellen appeared at her bedchamber not long after she did and quickly and silently began doing her best to make Sophia presentable. She was grateful that Ellen chose to remain quiet as she saw to the task, for Sophia was in no mood to be chastised by her maid.

  It was with trepidation that Sophia left her chamber once her rushed toilette was finished. She was ill at the thought of Reverend Balfour calling on her. There was no way she'd ever consent to becoming his wife. As soon as she heard back from Aunt Caroline, she'd put her plan into action and disappear for good, never to return.

  A niggling doubt crept into her mind. How could she abandon her parents at such a time, when they've already lost their only son? Thankfully, that doubt didn't have long to fester for she was quick to remember the awful thing they'd done in betrothing her to Reverend Balfour. No, she'd harbor no pity for them.

  “You're just in time,” her mother said as she entered the drawing room. “He'll be here any minute.” Then, glancing at Sophia's appearance with fervor, she exclaimed, “Oh, I do wish Ellen would have had more time to make you presentable, but I suppose this will do.”

  Sophia glared at her mother. “What does it matter? I've no wish to impress the Reverend.”

  Her mother ignored her as she resumed sitting on the settee. She picked up her embroidery from beside her and began working on it as if Sophia hadn't spoken at all. With a huff, Sophia went and sat across from her and began tapping her lower lip with her finger.

  “May I introduce the honorable Reverend Balfour.”

  Both Sophia and her mother straightened as their butler announced the Reverend's arrival. With great distaste, Sophia turned to watch as the man walked into the room and couldn't help the look of shock that flitted across her face. He looked much older than she remembered. Never, by any means, could he be considered a large man, but somehow it appeared as if he'd shrunk since she'd seen him last.

  He came and bowed before her as she reluctantly offered him her hand. As he lowered himself, she noti
ced his hawkish nose drooping towards the ground, as if it would merely slide off and puddle on the rug beneath him. As he stood and straightened his shoulders, she noticed they too were sagging. A quick glance of his person told her that everything about him seemed to droop and it was very unsettling.

  “I'm pleased to call on you, Lady Sophia. Thank you for allowing me the honor, Lady Whitworth.”

  “Oh, the pleasure is all ours, isn't it Sophia?”

  Sophia couldn't agree, she simply swallowed loudly as she continued to stare rudely at the sagging man.

  “There is much we need to discuss this afternoon so that arrangements for the wedding can be made.”

  Just like that, Reverend Balfour dived into the subject she'd most been dreading. She'd expected him to at least make polite conversation for a bit longer before bringing up the subject.

  “Shall I ring for tea first?” her mother asked.

  “Yes,” Sophia interjected loudly. “That would be delightful.” Anything to delay the awful conversation.

  Reverend Balfour sat in a chair next to Sophia's but continued his conversation with her mother. He asked after her father and the general well-being of the family since Gilbert's scandal, though he was careful not to mention details. While they talked, Sophia let her mind wander to what her life would be like in Cornwall, hiding out with her spirited aunt as they went on all sorts of adventures.

  Without realizing it, a small smile formed on her lips.

  “Why, Sophia dearest, I daresay you look rather pleased by that suggestion.”

  Shaking her head to clear her thoughts of adventures off the coast of Cornwall, she asked confusedly, “What suggestion?”

  “That the wedding takes place just as soon as we return from the house party at Tisdale Manor.”

  “No!” she gasped in horror. “That is much too soon.”

  The Reverend slid forward on his seat, and she watched in alarm as his hands reached for hers, then stopped halfway and fell limp into his lap. “With all due respect, Lady Sophia, I do not think it godly to wait.”