Читать книгу Scandalous Lord, Rebellious Miss - Deb Marlowe - Страница 9

Perfect morning light, a soft haze of chalk dust, the quiet scratch of a pen—it was a recipe for contentment. Alone in her room, enveloped in her beloved things, Sophie should have been content. Ecstatic, even.

She wasn’t, because the air also hung with the heady fragrance of lilacs. He had remembered her favourite flower. A glorious full vase of lilacs rested on her dressing table, their scent teasing her, their beauty distracting her, the card that had accompanied them tempting her to read it just one more time.

Friends, then.

That was all it said, all he offered.

Sophie flung down her pen and gave up her work as a lost cause. It was time she was honest with herself, she thought as she began to pace the room. Her real problem, the true source of her agitation, was the certain realisation that what he offered was not enough.

She wanted the old Charles back, him and their rich, easy friendship. She wanted the laughing, carefree Charles, the one who, when left alone with a pretty girl, would have gone far beyond one burning caress.

She pressed one hand to the spot he had touched and dug her other palm into her brow. She was mourning the passing of a rake! She must be the only person in all England who wasn’t completely enamoured of the new Lord Dayle. It was the new Charles they admired, the one who was productive, and prudent, and moody, and so incredibly handsome.

The horrid truth was that she wanted that Charles too.

She groaned and started to pace again. She was as inconsistent as he! He who asked for friendship with words and pen, and something else entirely with stormy eyes and fervent touch.

Sophie sighed and came to a stop. There was only one thing she could be certain of: her need for some answers. She had to know where that mask had come from, what had caused that haunted look in his eyes, where the old Charles had gone. Perhaps a better understanding of Charles’s feelings would clarify her own.

Very well, they would be friends. She would chip away at the stone, remove what obstacles she could from between them, and then? Then she would see what happened next.

She dipped her nose in the bouquet one last time, then turned and rang for Nell. If she was going to begin to look for answers, there was no time like the present.

‘Nell,’ she began when the maid appeared, ‘will you let me know right away when Emily returns from the park with the baby?’

‘Yes, miss.’ Nell stopped and looked surprised at the stacks of papers and designs covering the bed, the table, and nearly every flat surface in the room. ‘Lordy, miss, I hope you don’t mind my saying it, but you have been busy. I thought you’d done all you could until you saw the big house?’

‘I have. All this—’ she gestured ‘—is for another project. Something very special indeed.’ In fact, this work represented a dream very close to Sophie’s heart. It was nearly complete, but she was not quite ready to confide in anyone just yet.

‘Mrs Lowder did send word that you should be ready for callers this afternoon. Shall I just run a brush through your hair?’

Sophie laughed. ‘Nell, you are wonderfully circumspect. Yes, thank you, I always do muss it dreadfully when I am working.’

She sat quietly while Nell plucked the pins from her hair. Once the maid had begun brushing with long, rhythmic strokes, she asked, ‘How long have you been with the Lowders, Nell?’

‘Oh, going on seven years now, miss. Usually I’m just the upstairs maid, so I was ever so glad when you came.’ For the first time Nell sounded shy. Sophie guessed she was not used to talking of herself.

‘You’ve done a wonderful job,’ Sophie said warmly, ‘and I shall be sure to tell Mrs Lowder so.’

‘Oh, thank you, miss. I did get to help with Mr Lowder’s sister when she made her come out, and I watched her dresser do her hair ever so many a time, so I had an idea what was needed.’

‘Seven years. And you’ve been in the London house all this time?’

‘Yes, miss.’ The maid sounded a little wistful. ‘Though I’ve thought a time or two that I might like the country.’

Sophie chuckled. ‘I always felt the same about the city. I suppose it’s natural to wonder about what you’ve never really experienced.’ She was quiet a moment and then she cast a glance at Nell in the mirror. ‘I suppose you’ve heard a good deal about Lord Dayle’s adventures, then? He did keep the London papers busy for a good number of years, did he not?’

Nell ducked her head and kept her brush busy. ‘They say he’s reformed now, Miss. Though I admit I was surprised when such a good girl as you are had an acquaintance with him.’

‘Oh, yes…’ Sophie did her best to sound nonchalant ‘…I’ve known Lord Dayle since we were both practically in leading strings.’ She cocked her head. ‘I never truly knew his older brother, though. But you would have been working here when the previous Lord Dayle died?’

‘Oh, yes. Such a shame. I even saw him a time or two, he was as wrapped up in politics as Mr Lowder is. That sorry I felt for his poor mother. Bad enough the son, but then her husband gone so soon after.’ Nell shivered as she twisted Sophie’s hair up and reached for the pins.

‘Phillip died at Waterloo, but I was home in Dorset when Lord Dayle took sick. We all thought it just a minor illness. No one expected he would die as well.’

Nell pursed her lips and concentrated intently on her work.

Sophie watched her in the mirror. ‘There were vague rumours of trouble in the family at home. Did they reach town?’

‘Almost done, now. Such hair you have, miss! You must remember to wear your new bonnet for the picnic tomorrow, it brings out the light in your hair so well.’

‘Nell?’

The girl sighed. ‘It’s just servants’ gossip, miss.’

Sophie sat silent, questioning.

‘They whispered below stairs that Lord Dayle died because he wanted to.’

Shocked, Sophie said, ‘Surely no one believes…?’

Nell shook her head. ‘No, they just said he gave up. Got ill and didn’t fight it, then he just slipped away.’

Sophie turned around in her chair and gave Nell a measuring look. ‘The next time we are at Lady Dayle’s house, do you think you could…?’

Nell’s bright eyes shone. ‘Ask some questions?’

‘Discreetly.’ Sophie paused. ‘You’ve already shown yourself to be loyal and trustworthy, Nell. I know I can depend upon you in this matter.’

The maid straightened, her face proud. ‘Of course, miss.’

A knock at the door startled them both. Sophie called entrance, and a footman opened the door deferentially to announce a visitor waiting below.

With a flustered glance towards the lilacs, Sophie rose. Was it Charles? She gathered her shawl and steadied herself. Good, she could begin finding some answers straight away.

She entered the drawing room a moment later at a sedate pace, chin up, only to draw up short.

‘Lord Cranbourne, miss,’ the butler intoned.

Once again she found her uncle where she had been expecting someone else entirely.

‘Uncle,’ she said in the frostiest tone she could summon.

‘Niece.’ He was equally formal as they seated themselves and the butler offered to go for the tea. He watched her the entire time, his gaze sharply calculating.

As the servant’s footsteps faded in the marbled hall, her uncle spoke. ‘I was annoyed when I first heard you had come to town, I admit.’

‘I am amazed you thought to care one way or another.’

He crossed his legs negligently. ‘It doesn’t look well, you coming here without my sponsorship, but, after meeting you, I’m willing to overlook the matter.’

Sophie inclined her head regally. ‘That does seem to be what you do best.’

He leaned forward, suddenly intent. ‘Look here, niece. We can sit here all afternoon while you flail me with the sharp edge of your tongue, or we can get straight to the point. Which would you prefer?’

‘Whichever gets us finished quickest.’

He chuckled. ‘I’m impressed, my dear, and that is not something I say with any frequency.’ He shook his head. ‘I just never guessed you had any fire in you.’

The tight control she held on her rage snapped. ‘It is impossible that you would know anything about my character!’ She struggled to regain herself as the servants returned with tea.

Heavy silence hung in the room as she poured for them both and wished mightily for Emily’s return.

Her uncle was still entirely at ease. ‘I know more about you than you would think, young miss, never doubt it. I know you resent me, but what’s done is done. We find ourselves now in a situation where we can help each other.’

Determined not to let him see her out of countenance again, Sophie sipped her tea. ‘Your offer comes fifteen years too late, sir. I’m not interested.’

‘Don’t go missish on me now, girl. It took brains and courage to get here without my help. Now I can make sure you go much, much further.’ He leaned back. ‘I have connections. What is it that you want? To be a leading lady of the ton? A political hostess holding her own salons.’ He gestured to her colour-stained fingers. ‘A patroness of the arts?’

She merely shook her head in reply.

‘There is power to be had behind the scenes. True power. Empires are won and lost by chance meetings at a ball, by a loose word let slip over drinks. You could be a great help to me, and I can make sure you meet all the right people.’

Sophie closed her eyes in pain. She’d spent too much of her life hoping for some kind of attention from her uncle. Now here he sat and she only felt ill. He wasn’t interested in her, only in what she could do for him. Perhaps, she thought for the first time, she had been better off without his attention.

‘You are more like your mother than I thought possible,’ her uncle continued. ‘She had beauty and intelligence and spirit as well. But she chose poorly, and look what it got her. A few years of love in a colonial backwater and a watery grave.’ He sat straighter and stared intently at Sophie. ‘Don’t repeat her mistakes.’

‘I thank you for the confidence you have finally shown in me, sir, but I am not feeling at all well just now.’ She could stay no longer. What he did not know was that Sophie had her mother’s temper as well, rarely raised, but devastating in scale. One minute more of this and she would be throwing his offer, along with her cup of tea, in his face. Only the thought of Lady Dayle’s and Emily’s disappointment stayed her hand. She took comfort instead in imagining his reaction when all of her plans were revealed. ‘Pray, do excuse me.’