Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 62

Sophie sat before her mirror as Nell brushed the plaster dust from her hair and wrestled it into a semblance of decorum. She’d waited too long for a bath, but she’d had to speak with Lady Dayle. Lord Avery and his wife were in need of aid. She knew she was right about their situation. It could be brought about, with just a little nudge. It was fortunate indeed that Lady Dayle agreed; it would be so much easier with her help.

She had a plan, but it was risky. It would also provide the definitive answer to her lingering questions about Charles’s character. Would he prove himself to be her Charles or Miss Ashford’s? It was time he made a decision, so they could all get on with their lives.

Her Charles. How beautiful it sounded. She’d thought she’d been ready for his arrival, armed against him with logic, determination, and a healthy dose of fear for how easy it had been for him to hurt her. She’d meant to take this opportunity to begin the process of withdrawal, to begin to unravel the ties that bound them. It hadn’t been easy when, instead of resentful and angry, he’d been apologetic and sincere. Yet she had held firm.

Until she heard Lord and Lady Avery’s story. Now she wavered. Sophie had felt for the couple since she’d first heard of their strange relationship. She had wanted to help them, would have helped them in any case. To see love triumph over anger, hurt and betrayal was a worthy cause on its own. But now she had an ulterior motive.

The situations were not exact, but similar enough. Surely if Charles saw Lord Avery survive such a scandal with social acceptance and political influence intact …

‘Would you hand me the comb, miss? The one with the pearl inlay?’ Nell broke into Sophie’s scheming.

‘Thank you, almost done.’ When the maid spoke again, she sounded hesitant. ‘I know we haven’t spoken of it for some time, but I thought you might like to know that the servants here are a good bit freer with their gossip than the viscount’s London help.’

Sophie started to turn, but stopped at Nell’s cry of dismay. ‘Sorry, Nell. Have you heard something of interest?’

‘Something small, but I thought you would want to know.’

Sophie nodded encouragingly.

‘There’s talk of old Lord Dayle’s death, like we’d heard before.’ Their eyes met in the mirror. ‘There’s also a footman here who says that old Lord Dayle was furious with his lordship at the time.’

Sophie snorted. ‘That’s nothing, Nell. They didn’t get on at all. The old gentleman was angry at Charles for half of his life, at the very least.’

‘Not just angry, John says, but furious.’ Nell insisted. ‘Wouldn’t talk to his lordship after the bad news of his brother came, wouldn’t be in the same room with him. Not even for the funeral.’

‘That does sound excessive. And hurtful.’ Sophie sighed. ‘Poor Charles, I wonder what was going on between them?’ It would explain a few things too. If Charles’s father died before they made up the quarrel, then it was no wonder he was sensitive about the subject.

‘It’s led to some pert talk about his lordship below stairs, miss.’

Sophie sent her a sharp glance. ‘I hope you set that right?’

‘You can be sure of it, miss,’ Nell said with firm satisfaction. ‘It won’t be happening again.’

‘Thank you, Nell. I’m sure his lordship would thank you for your loyalty as well.’

‘I do my duty.’

Sophie turned and clasped the girl’s hand. ‘You do so much more than that, and I hope you know I appreciate it.’

She was still coming to grips with this latest piece of the puzzle as she made her way to the drawing room a little later. Charles and his father had a turbulent history, it was true, but surely such a breach was extreme, even in a time of grief. She wondered if she dared to ask Charles about it. She would gauge his mood before she considered it.

It didn’t look promising. Charles was already in the drawing room when she entered, frowning up at a painting hung in the formerly blank spot on the chimneypiece.

‘Oh,’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘Lady Dayle has had the portrait hung!’ She stepped up next to Charles to examine the effect.

It was all that she could have asked for. The colours blended well with the room and the subject matter was both appropriate and heart-warming. It was a lovely painting of Lady Dayle, clad in a crimson gown of the old, panniered style, her arm around two of her young sons, and the youngest seated on the floor at her feet. Phillip, the eldest, stood at her side, staring forward with a serious mien. Charles stood next to his brother, with an armful of squirming puppy and an eager look on his face as he looked up at his elder sibling. Jack, still a toddler, sat on the floor surrounded by blocks and more puppies.

‘I like it there very much,’ Sophie said. ‘What do you think, Charles?’

She could see what he thought on his face. His expression was pained, haunted. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked with concern.

‘Yes.’

His voice sounded strained. Sophie could see that his colour was pale as well.

‘Do you think that it is formal enough for this room?’ he answered at last. ‘The family has more than its share of masterpieces, I’m sure we could find something more appropriate.’

‘It’s a Reynolds,’ she said simply. ‘I find it charming.’

He stood, silent. Sophie pursed her lips and decided to say what was in her heart. ‘I think that it is a matter of significance that your mother chose it. After all the pain she’s endured in the last two years, don’t you think it is a sign of healing that she can look on this with pleasure?’

Charles flinched as if her words had actually hurt him. Still he did not respond. His eyes were closed now, as if he couldn’t bear to look at it any more.

‘Charles?’

He started and opened his eyes. Sophie began to be concerned.

‘Shall I remove it?’ she asked.

‘No.’ He sighed. ‘I can endure it, for my mother’s sake.’ He turned then and went to pour himself a drink.

She watched him down his drink and pour another. She thought of what Nell had told her earlier, remembered the accusation she had flung at Charles in anger, in this very house. Do you think to turn yourself into your brother?

‘What happened to Phillip, Charles?’ she asked softly.

‘What?’ His head snapped toward her and he nearly dropped his glass.

‘What happened to Phillip? Everyone in Blackford Chase knows he died at Waterloo, but no one is sure just why he was there. It’s something of a mystery.’

Charles’s gaze burned into hers. He didn’t want to answer, she could tell. Though his face was rigidly set, emotion churned in his eyes. For a moment she feared he would walk out, rather than answer.

Eventually, though, resignation replaced the stiff wariness. He set down his drink and moved away from her, away from the painting. His eyes, when he finally began to talk, were focused on the fancy scrollwork before him, but Sophie guessed that what he saw in his mind’s eye was very far away indeed.

‘Phillip was very interested—obsessed, almost—with the war.’ His voice was distant, unconnected, as if he was merely repeating a story. ‘From the beginning, when we were younger, he would read every article, every dispatch printed. He longed to purchase a commission, to serve as an officer. I think he would have if it hadn’t been for …’

‘His duty?’ prompted Sophie.

‘Yes, duty.’ He made it sound like a dirty word. ‘And Father. You can imagine his feelings on the subject.’

Sophie grimaced. ‘Yes. I think I can.’

‘Though he couldn’t follow his inclination, Phillip became involved in the war effort here at home. He worked with the Foreign Office. He was very busy, and happy, I thought.’ Charles fell silent a moment. When he continued, he spoke low, and Sophie had to strain to hear him. ‘Until Napoleon escaped and returned to France.’

‘What changed then?’

‘Phillip did. He was in a frenzy. So was everybody, if you remember, so I didn’t place too much importance on it. Until it was too late.’

Silent, Sophie waited.

‘You would have thought that Boney’s sole purpose was to give Phillip a second chance at him. He was wild to go to Brussels, along with much of society. Father, of course, would not hear of it. But when Castlereagh himself asked Phillip to carry important messages to Wellington, Phillip agreed.’

She was in complete sympathy with Charles’s brother. She knew how difficult it was to yearn, with no hope. She could well imagine what had happened next. ‘He got there, and he stayed, didn’t he?’

Charles glanced askance at her. ‘Yes, he did.’

She understood about Phillip, then, but not about the level of pain in Charles’s voice. It was not just the pain of loss. There was something more here.

‘Yes. I’m sure he was useful, and wildly happy,’ Charles continued. ‘Wellington’s staff was swelled with all manner of people who didn’t belong there by the time they engaged the French, but Phillip made himself valuable.’

‘And he fell at Waterloo, along with so many other good men,’ Sophie mused.

‘No.’ The single word was harsh, as if ripped from Charles’s soul.

‘No? But the lists, I’m sure—’ Sophie stopped, horrified by the look on Charles’s face as he turned around.

‘Yes, that’s what everyone believes.’ Charles spoke in a rush now, as if in a hurry to spit the story out and be done with it. ‘The truth is that Phillip died before the battle even began. Wellington went out riding that morning, inspecting the area and the troops. Phillip numbered among the men with him. There was a battalion positioned on the edge of the Hougoumont fields, close to the French. They lost nerve and broke position, turned to flee long before even a shot was fired. The Duke saw them, rode them down and rallied them.’ Charles stopped and drew a deep breath. ‘But as he rode back, a few of the disaffected men fired shots after him. None hit him, as you would know,’ his voice was but a whisper when he finished, ‘but one killed my brother.’

‘My God,’ Sophie said, sinking into a sofa.

‘It was remarked how history might have changed, had those men been better shots.’ His voice was bitter. ‘I can’t help thinking I might be tempted to exchange history for my brother’s life.’

‘Oh, Charles, I am so sorry. Such a waste of a fine man.’ It was tragic, even more so for the reckless stupidity associated with it. ‘No wonder your father was inconsolable.’

Charles winced and paled even further. Sophie stared as he visibly gathered himself back under control. ‘Wellington himself came to give my parents the story and to express his sorrow.’

‘A fine consolation that was to your grieving mother, I’m sure,’ Sophie said, just as bitterly.

‘It did help my father. A bit.’

‘Thank you for telling me.’ She could see what it had cost him.

‘It’s time you knew. But I would ask you not to mention it to my mother. She’s so improved.’ His look was intense. ‘I know I have you to thank for that.’

‘She’s a lovely woman, I love her very much.’

He didn’t reply, but he took a step towards her, eyes fastened on her face. Sophie drew a deep breath.

‘Such serious expressions!’ Lady Dayle had arrived. ‘Charles, you are not forcing Sophie to talk of dismal economics, are you?’

‘No, nothing so bad as that, Mother.’

Sophie watched as he summoned a smile from somewhere and returned his mother’s embrace.

‘Good, you’ll have plenty of time for that later. I want to know what you think of the house!’