by Jaima Fixsen
Chapter Fifteen
London
You’re safe, Sophy thought, relieved and regretful as Chippenstone vanished behind the curving drive. She sighed and leaned into Jasper’s arm. Waiting for his arrival, the fear of discovery had nearly overpowered her. Yet all had gone well. Jasper never spoke her name and she had parted on friendly enough terms with the Bagshots, though she had felt an unspoken strain once Jasper joined them. She could not have wished for better, but underneath the heady rush of escape, she felt a lingering dissatisfaction and the temptation to take one more backward glance. Foolish, that. The house was out of sight now.
This caper made child’s play of the most daring of her Bottom End pranks, back in her other life. It surprised her that she still had the nerve. Would the Bagshots have been so obliging if she had told them the truth? Likely not. Sophy suppressed a sudden pang.
Don’t tempt yourself with that dream, she told herself. May as well wish for wings. Still, her thoughts tripped along familiar ground, to a life where there had never been a Bottom End or a terrifying accident . . . or a Fanny Prescott. When she felt the familiar constriction round her heart, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip.
“That’s a curst ugly bonnet,” Jasper said. “Where’s the one I sent you for Christmas?”
Sophy smiled, happy to be pulled from her thoughts. “In my box, if Dessie remembered to pack it.”
They rode a moment in silence, flying round a corner so fast that Sophy’s hand flew to the rail beside her.
“I should thank you for allowing me to try my hand at heroics,” Jasper said.
She threw him a puzzled glance.
“Come on,” Jasper laughed. “Freeing you from those bores?”
Sophy stiffened. “They were very good to me, you know. And they were both more natural with me. I think you overawed them a little.”
“I hope so,” he said. “Got to curb any pretensions. Dash it, the mater—and Father too, probably—will be blowing steam as it is, without you forcing them to acknowledge these mushrooms. What were you doing anyways, riding Ajax? You’ve no business on that horse.”
Sophy paused before answering, twisting the fingertip of her glove. “Just working out my freaks, I suppose. Thought I’d feel better after a bruising ride. Turns out I was wrong.”
“I’ll say. How is your shoulder? The truth, now.”
She gave a crooked smile. “Sore, when I move it or let my arm hang too long. But it gets better each day.”
He slowed the horses to attend to their conversation. “A surgeon saw you? What was his name?”
“Jamieson. He has a surgery in Bury St. Edmonds.”
“Never heard of him. Doesn’t matter. Father will send for whoever is best.”
Sophy jerked her chin. “Surely not. It’s not necessary, Jasper.”
“Course it is. Don’t be wool headed. But you haven’t explained your distemper. Why did you need to ride a horse above your weight in wretched weather?”
She returned her gaze to her glove. “I don’t know. London, I suppose.”
“That makes perfect sense,” Jasper snorted. “Your first chance to see the metropolis, a Season . . . No discerning young lady could stomach it.”
“Could you stomach it, if you were in my place?”
“That’s different,” Jasper said. “For females, this is the best option. I’m not saying it will be anything like a good time, letting my mother tow you about, but—”
“It’s not just that,” Sophy said. “Lord Fairchild is a great deal too kind. I’m not Henrietta.”
“Stuff it, Sophy.” Jasper said, “Let them do this. Lord knows you deserve the best he can give you.”
“We are not the same,” Sophy countered.
“I know. All the doors in the world are open to Hen and I, but not you. We all know that. He feels guilty. And so he should.” The dark tone in his voice made Sophy look hard at his face. She had broached this topic with him before, but it was not easy.
“How much do you remember of my mother?” she asked.
“Enough.” Jasper said. He had told her about indoor games on rainy days, how for months her mother had sat up in the nursery waiting for Henrietta to fall asleep, until she overcame her fear of the imaginary bear that lived in the corner of the stairs. It had been some years though, since they had spoken of Fanny Prescott, and Sophy had developed some rather particular questions.
“Do you ever wonder how it happened?” Her cheeks burned. “I mean, I don’t think my mother was a wanton . . .”
“I don’t think she was either.” Jasper wasn’t looking at her, watching his leader’s paces. They rattled over a dip in the road, and Sophy lurched sideways, her hand clutching the rail again.
“In a hurry?” she asked.
He smiled from one corner of his mouth. “Not at all. But a man has to maintain his reputation.”
Sophy licked her lips. “I don’t think, I mean, I’ve gathered that Lord Fairchild has no other bastards. He doesn’t seem especially promiscuous either.”
Jasper slanted a glance in her direction. “How would you know if he was? Not the kind of thing anyone would tell you, is it?” He let out a sigh. “But you’re right. He isn’t. Or not particularly, considering how he and my mother get along. Still, you are the proof it happened.”
Sophy hooded her eyes and Jasper turned placating. “It wasn’t as sordid as you think, you know. My mother was gone. She left that summer. She and father had the most fearsome rows after Julius died.”
Sophy’s head jerked up.
“Yes, there were three of us.” Jasper said. “Julius was the unnecessary spare, as it turned out.”
Sophy recoiled. Jasper was always callous, but seldom harsh. “How—”
“Measles. He was not quite two years old.”
“No one has ever spoken of him,” Sophy said. “Not in the seven years that I’ve been at Cordell. I didn’t know he existed.”
Jasper cocked his head to one side. “Well, we aren’t a confiding family, are we? Hold tight.” He sprang the horses and they rushed downhill, gathering speed to climb the slope ahead.
“It was a strange summer,” Jasper said at last. “Henrietta and I kept wondering where mother was, and when she was coming back. Soon, Miss Prescott always said. But I knew something was wrong, and Miss Prescott was especially kind, taking us outside whenever we wanted, playing games with us even on her free afternoons. Sometimes Father joined us, eating luncheon on the lawn, or rowing us about on the lake. I thought it was wonderful, until one day Miss Prescott was gone. Mother returned a few weeks later, and by then we had a new governess. I was furious Miss Prescott was gone, and blamed my mother for it, though I suppose it must have been father’s doing. Your mother was a kind lady.”
“I know.” Sophy’s voice was gravelly.
Jasper looked at her but said nothing. Grateful for his silence, Sophy let grief wash over her and drain away, her eyes fixed on a distant church spire rising above the surrounding trees.
“Why don’t you want to go to London?” Jasper asked.
Sophy shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear offhand. “I always thought Lady Fairchild intended me to be a governess, or a teacher. I thought I had another year or two at Cordell.”
“You are happy there?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s familiar.” It was easy to imagine staying there always, the seasons passing, one after the other, each new year so like the last.
“This is a far better future for you,” Jasper said, his eyes fixed on the road. “And though I’m sure father would have done his best to establish you, you’ll achieve a much better match with my mother at the helm.”
“I know,” Sophy said, slumping. “I ought to be grateful. She’ll march me into the best marriage she can devise to some man of respectable family and low enough expectations that my portion will compensate for my blood. Or a widower, looking for someone to care for his children. You know how these things work better th
an I.”
“Choose someone old,” Jasper said. “Widows have the best time of it.”
Sophy laughed. “Have you learned this from the widows of your acquaintance? Henrietta says you know several.”
Jasper closed his mouth with a snap. “Henrietta’s husband needs to give her a sound spanking.”
“Henrietta did all right,” Sophy said. “Percy loves her.”
“Strange, that,” Jasper said.
Fearing she had revealed too much, Sophy turned back to ruining her gloves.
“I can’t tell you what you want to hear,” he said, a minute later. “Expecting happiness is a fool’s dream. Look at my parents. Their marriage is counted a success! But they will find you a respectable man, one who isn’t a brute or a wastrel. You will have a comfortable life, if you reconcile yourself to it.”
“Is that what you will do?” Sophy asked.
He gave a lopsided smile. “Yes. But I can’t marry someone old. Got to have an heir, you know.”
“You are a beast,” Sophy said, rolling her eyes.
“Absolutely, but what kind?” Jasper asked, grinning. “I shouldn’t mind if you thought I was a lion, or something like that. A toad—now that I couldn’t stomach.”
By early evening they had reached the Metropolis and were negotiating the streets of Mile End Town on Whitechapel road.
“Foul, ain’t it,” Jasper shouted in her ear, his voice barely audible above the clamor of more wagons and carriages than Sophy had ever seen. The streets were choked with hordes of people: grimy urchins begging, their ragged clothing poorly concealing their skeletal limbs; dairymaids walking homeward, pails hanging empty from their yokes; an army of hawkers selling everything from muffins to matches. Jasper was right about the smell. The air was thick with the stink of sewage, unwashed bodies and spoilage.
London seemed endless, street after street: Cheapside, Ludgate, Fleet Street, where the buildings grew more grand.
“Somerset House,” Jasper indicated with his whip as he maneuvered the curricle through the traffic on the Strand. Then came Charing Cross and Piccadilly and Mayfair—and their destination, a townhouse on Park Lane, pinched in a tight row with the others. The tall windows looked down on her disapprovingly.
Giving the reins to his tiger, Jasper jumped down and offered his hand to Sophy. The two of them ascended the newly whitewashed steps. Jasper sounded the brass knocker on the door.
“Good evening, Mr. Rushford.”
“Jenkins,” Jasper acknowledged the butler’s greeting while handing him his hat, whip and gloves. “I’ve brought Miss Sophy.”
“Will you stay to supper, sir?”
Jasper made a face. “I suppose I must. Have my small portmanteau brought in, will you? I’ll need to change.”
He took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as they started up the stairs. “Don’t worry, brat. I won’t leave you to brazen this out on your own.”
Lord and Lady Fairchild were waiting together in the drawing room, an inauspicious sign. Both of them leapt forward at the sight of her.
“Sophy!” they cried.
Lady Fairchild reached her first. “I have been worried beyond words,” she said, taking her into her arms.
“Gently, Georgiana,” Lord Fairchild cautioned.
“I’m fine,” Sophy said, too stunned by the embrace to notice pain.
“I’ll believe that when I hear it from a doctor,” he said, with a stern look.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Sophy said, trying not to squeak. “I won’t do it again.”
Lady Fairchild disengaged, busying herself straightening Sophy’s dress.
Lord Fairchild grunted. “I’d put you back on leading strings if I thought it would help. Don’t ever ride without a groom again, and stay off my horses. There are plenty of suitable mounts for you at Cordell and I’ll buy a horse you can ride here.”
Sophy’s ears pricked, but she was given no chance to speak.
“How did it happen? What did the surgeon say?” Lady Fairchild said, seating Sophy beside her on the sofa. “And what about these Bagshots? Did they treat you well?”
“They were very kind.” More than kind, even. She would have liked to know them under her own name.
Lady Fairchild looked skeptical, and brought out three more questions without a pause. Were they well-mannered? Did they see that she had appropriate care? Dared she hope that Sophy had been adequately chaperoned? Sophy faltered, struggling with her answers. Mrs. Bagshot had always been nearby, but she had spent a great deal of time tête-à-tête with Tom. Lady Fairchild would not want to hear that. Noticing her pause, Jasper stepped into the breach.
“Looked like Methodists to me. Bad ton, but honest. You know the type.”
Lord Fairchild snorted. Lady Fairchild’s exasperated eyes rose to the ceiling. The combined Rushford disdain made Sophy cringe. Tom and his mother deserved better than that.
*****
Sophy was here and she appeared intact, but peace still eluded Lord Fairchild. As the rush of relief subsided, he felt strangely empty. Georgiana embraced Sophy while he remained on the periphery. He wanted to hold Sophy too, but he could not.
So he watched her, still raw from two days of heart wrenching worry. She hardly glanced at him. Her nervous eyes were fixed on his wife, but once Jasper began fielding Georgiana’s questions Sophy relaxed. She was probably too tired to fuddle her way through such a detailed interrogation. She ought to be put to bed.
“Really, I don’t need another doctor,” she said, smiling.
“Don’t be absurd,” he said, and went himself to speak to Jenkins.
It should please him that Sophy had wriggled her way into the desolate chambers of his wife’s heart. The depth of Georgiana’s affection still surprised him. She hadn’t slept those two anxious days of waiting to hear that Sophy was found. Artful cosmetics failed to conceal the shadows under her eyes, and she had been dreadful with the servants: demanding, short-tempered, constantly countermanding her own orders and icily raging when the wrong thing was done.
That long, sleepless night, before they knew Sophy was found, he had left his library after hours of fruitless pacing and found Georgiana, standing like she was lost halfway up the stairs. Her fingers were knotted together, her knuckles white.
“You must rest,” he said, reaching out to cup her elbow.
She blinked, coming back to him. Without thinking, he laid his hand on hers and squeezed. Both of them froze.
They did not touch, not like this. Both of them knew perfectly those prescribed contacts that could not be avoided: bowing over her hand, setting her hand on his arm as he walked her in to dinner, taking her hand as she stepped into or out of her carriage.
A long moment, then she turned her hand in his and squeezed back.
“We will find her,” he said.
“I am afraid,” she said, dropping her eyes and letting out a long breath.
“As am I.”
Her fingers tightened on his again, and he felt the gears inside himself shifting. He looked at his wife, at the faint lines etched around her mouth, her cold, beautiful eyes, the flyaway wisps of her hair. It had been years since he had seen her so upset.
She loved Sophy.
His throat swelled and he turned his face away. Coughed once, hard.
“I need her, William. I cannot lose her,” she said.
His own anxiety was intense, but he didn’t hesitate. “You shall not.”
She attempted a smile, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. The feeling that rose up in him—tenderness? Pity?—threatened to knock him over. But she was looking away again, starting up the stairs, retaining his hand. She did not let him go until they reached her door.
A thousand words choked him. Eight made it out. “You have been wonderful to Sophy. And me.”
His cheeks flamed before the words settled. Fearing she suspected his intentions, he bid her good night and strode away down the hall.
He’d been una
ble to find familiar footing with her since. There was a new wariness between them, even now that Sophy was safely returned.
She was back, that was the main thing. After ordering Jenkins to immediately summon a physician, he returned upstairs. Georgiana was finished with questions, and was now chronicling her plans for the days ahead. They should visit Henrietta of course and see her new baby. They would pay calls to various Suffolk families with whom Sophy was already acquainted, testing the waters. Naturally, there was a great deal of shopping to be done first.
Jasper passed by, walking to the door. “If she asks, tell her I’m changing for dinner,” he whispered and drifted out of the room.
Perhaps, like Jasper, he should leave the two of them. He was not needed. They seemed oblivious to his presence. Even so, he settled into a chair close enough to hear them talk, while he mused about the horse he must buy for Sophy.
She should have one spirited enough to challenge her mettle, but well-bred and of a size to keep her safe. It must be an animal with pretty paces, light and swift. One that would draw attention to Sophy’s excellent horsemanship. One worthy of belonging to his daughter.
Chapter Sixteen
Town Mouse
“Come up! You must see William!” Henrietta, who was not yet dressed for shopping, popped her head into the drawing room, beckoning Sophy and Lady Fairchild. They had waited fifteen minutes for her already. With an exquisite sigh of forbearance, Lady Fairchild rose and followed her daughter. A wasted effort, Sophy decided. Henrietta didn’t even notice.
“Look at him!” Henrietta said, throwing wide the nursery door. “Isn’t he cunning?”
Sophy doubted there had ever been a fatter baby. He sat in his crib, still as a toad, scowling at the females peering at him. “He’s such a jolly little man,” Henrietta said, scooping him into her arms.
Little Will, taking exception to his abrupt removal, gave an indignant squawk and yanked his mother’s hair. “No, no, sweet,” Henrietta said, wincing as she pried apart his sausage fingers. “Mustn’t pull mama’s hair.”
