by Lucy Langton
Lord Timothy was seated across the table from her, as he had been for most of the trip. It was not customary for unmarried couples to be seated beside one another, and so Lord Timothy kept his distance.
Again, Sophia did not mind this so much, mostly because it gave her the opportunity to observe her future husband. He chatted with those seated beside him and smiled even more as he sipped his tea and heartily ate his eggs and sausage. She noticed the way that he buttered his bread, and Sophia thought that observation to be of importance. She was of the opinion that you could learn a lot about a person by the way they buttered their bread, and so she watched him keenly.
For one thing, Lord Timothy had rather large, masculine hands. There were large veins on the tops of his hands and wrists, but due to his coat she could not see if those veins extended into his forearms, but she had the feeling that they did. He buttered his bread deliberately, gently, but also with a strong hand. A warm flush came to Sophia’s cheek as she watched, and she couldn’t help but wonder what the meaning of it was. Why should the way that he buttered his bread fluster her so? Sophia turned away and returned her attention to her own breakfast.
“I hope that all are attending the grand ball this evening,” a woman at the table remarked. Although she had not spoken to the woman directly, she knew from word of mouth that it was Lady Christie, a wealthy English heiress not unlike Sophia herself. The difference was that Lady Christie was getting on in years and had not chosen a husband yet. She enjoyed spending her time, and money, travelling around the globe with her chaperone. Sophia thought that such an existence seemed idyllic.
“We shall be in attendance,” Lord Nighey replied, his wife at his side.
“There’s nothing else to do,” Lord White added with a scowl. He was the sour one at the table and had been to America on business. Lord White had the face of one who always suffers from dyspepsia.
“And you?” Lady Christie asked, turning towards Lord Timothy. “Will the happy couple be joining us?” She looked back and forth between Sophia and Lord Timothy.
Sophia felt Lord Timothy’s eyes light on her, and there was a moment of trepidation between them.
“We will be in attendance, yes,” Lord Timothy replied.
His use of the word ‘we’ surprised Sophia. It still sounded strange, just as calling herself Lady Sophia in the mirror had sounded strange. It was all words and no substance. In Sophia’s estimation, there was still no ‘we.’
Breakfast having been done, and Sophia’s stomach warm and full, she took her stroll around the deck and felt the cool breeze in her hair. Arabella had set her curls just right that morning, and that meant that they did not give one inch in the wind.
The morning exercise left Sophia feeling tired and she retreated to her cabin to spend the afternoon with a book. Although breakfast and dinner were grand affairs on the SS Duchess of Gloucester, afternoon tea was up to one’s choosing. Should they like to take tea in the dining room, they were met with an impressive selection of sandwiches and cakes, or if one chose, they could enjoy the meal in the comfort of their own room.
And so, Sophia spent the better part of the day just like that. She read her book as hungrily as she ate her cucumber and salmon sandwiches.
She was pleased that she had spent the afternoon in repose, for the evening would prove to be quite alive with entertainment, gossip and general carousing. Arabella helped her to prepare, changing her morning gown for a silver ensemble that made Sophia appear to be a fine, gilded stature. Gold and crystal embellishments hung from her ears and were strategically placed in her curls. Soft pink gloves completed the outfit.
“A vision,” Arabella said, the preparations being done.
“I thank you,” Sophia replied politely.
The dining room had been utterly transformed. The round tables had been removed and the space was expansive, allowing for dance and socialising. There was a four-piece orchestra playing on a stage, and waiters walked about greeting guests with flutes of champagne and trays of exquisite finger food.
Other refreshments were displayed on a side table where guests had the opportunity to serve themselves. Sophia was grateful for the light repast, considering the tower of delicacies she had been served at teatime.
Sophia took a moment to feel sorry for her companions down below. There was Aunt Emily, of course, whom she had not seen all day. Then there were the lower classes who were not invited to attend such a grand ball. Were they down below her that very moment, looking up and dreaming of what others could freely enjoy? Sophia thought that it must be so.
Just then, Sophia felt something knock into her side and she jumped.
“I do apologise,” Lord Timothy said, shock written upon his face. No doubt he was surprised that he had run into his future wife so unexpectedly.
“Quite all right,” Sophia replied, as though talking to a stranger.
Lord Timothy looked down at Sophia’s dress and then looked away, as though having been caught staring.
“Lovely evening,” he said coolly, not remarking upon Sophia’s appearance.
“Isn’t it?” she replied, looking out at the starry night sky. Although in her estimation, those glittering jewels in the black sky could not compare to the jewels that were glittering in that ballroom. In fact, Sophia was sure that the most expensive accessories in all the world were to be found in that very room. All the pirates of the sea would be more than happy to know the location of the SS Duchess of Gloucester in that moment.
“Would you care to dance?” Lord Timothy asked, and Sophia was shocked. She never dreamed that he would ask such a thing, considering his coolness towards her.
“Of course,” she replied.
They were cordial as they danced, and Sophia could not help but admire Lord Timothy’s handsomeness. He was wearing a fine navy-blue coat and tails, as was the fashion. His blond hair was as Titan as ever. There was a cleanness and freshness to his appearance, which Sophia admired, and he smelt of expensive soap. Yes, she did find her future husband’s exterior to be pleasing enough, but she knew nothing of his interior and wondered if she ever would. Was there even much of an interior to know?
They danced two dances, which was appropriate for a future married couple. Had they not been bound to one another in any way, to enjoy a second dance after the first would have caused a scandal.
They pleasantly carried on, making polite conversation here and there.
“A lovely crowd,” Lord Timothy said.
“Very refined,” Sophia replied.
“The little beef pastries are delicious. I recommend them,” he added.
“I shall have to try them.”
There was no admiration on Lord Timothy’s part of Sophia’s apparel, nor her movement during the dance. There were no compliments paid. By the end of the second dance, Sophia felt nearly invisible in her future husband’s presence.
And so, when Lord Timothy gave Sophia a bow and excused himself to go and speak with some gentlemen friends, Sophia sighed to herself. What a bore.
She felt terrible for thinking it, but it was the truth. Lord Timothy was dashing, and a little vacant, in her estimation. But could she be sure? There was always the chance that perhaps he was concealing his true self for reasons that Sophia did not know. Perhaps he didn’t wish to offend her, or he was merely behaving as he ought for a future duke who was marrying an heiress for her money.
Whatever the reason for Lord Timothy’s blandness, Sophia thought that she ought to not concern herself with it. The ball grew tiresome and Sophia found that she wanted to do something else. Namely, she wished to return to her book.
And so, without informing her maid, Sophia left the ballroom and returned to her cabin where her book was dutifully waiting for her. She lit a taper by the side of her bed and spent a pleasant rest of the evening reading about the Medici family of Florence. Arabella eventually brought her a biscuit to enjoy while she read.
Sophia read for some time before there was
a knock at her door. Thinking that her dress was not appropriate, she ignored it, only to hear the knock once more. Thinking that it could not be prevented, Sophia got up from where she sat and gently opened the door a crack, exposing the face of Lord Timothy on the other side.
“M’Lord?” Sophia said, uncertain as to why he was paying a call at that hour.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Indeed.”
From the way that the future duke was walking, Sophia suspected that he was perhaps a tad drunk. Was that to be a prelude to the future? She wondered.
“I have to apologise to you, My Lady,” Lord Timothy said, pushing back his tails and seating himself.
“What for?” Sophia replied.
“For my distance.”
Sophia’s heart was suddenly warmed. The distance was all too clear, but she never imagined for a moment that he would confess to it.
“The marriage was not my idea,” Lord Timothy plainly confessed.
“I did not assume that it was.”
“And please understand that I shall . . . try to warm myself to you.”
Warm himself to her? Sophia thought it was a rather strange thing to say. Yet still, she appreciated the effort at communication.
“Most kind.”
“You are to meet my family quite soon,” Lord Timothy said, cheeks flushed. “I fear that I have not explained them to you yet.” Lord Timothy went to pull something from his pocket, and as he did so, the item came tumbling out on to the floor. He leaned over to pick it up and began to fall.
“Let me get it,” Sophia said, picking up what turned out to be a small portrait of the Clumber men.
Sophia examined it. The father stood in the centre, with two men flanking him. She recognised one of them to be Lord Timothy, but the other one was quite a mystery.
“Who is this?” Sophia asked, pointing to the mysterious man.
Lord Timothy narrowed his eyes and inspected the portrait.
“That is my brother,” he said with a huff.
“Your brother?”
“Yes, unfortunately you’ll be meeting him as well.”
“He has a kind face,” Sophia reasoned.
“And a bastard’s heart. His name is Philip.”
Sophia continued to look at the figure of Philip in the portrait. Although Lord Timothy was handsome, Philip could be said to be downright dashing. He took her breath away, and Sophia quickly handed the portrait back to Lord Timothy so that she wouldn’t be caught staring.
“I must go,” Lord Timothy said, putting the portrait back in his pocket.
“Goodnight, M’Lord,” Sophia said softly.
“Goodnight, Lady Sophia.”
Although a little awkward, Sophia found it touching that Lord Timothy felt the need to come to her room, even if he was a tad drunk.
As she lay in bed that night, feeling the boat gently rock, she couldn’t get the image of Philip out of her mind. Where Lord Timothy’s eyes were steely, Philip’s were kind.
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