Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 63

The tragedy of Phillip’s death was still echoing in Sophie’s head the next day, as she rearranged yet another group of fresh flowers and tried to calm her nerves. The guests would be arriving soon, but that was only one of her worries. Her thoughts were in a whirl, and she couldn’t choose one to focus on for very long. So many fragmentary troubles, and they seemed to be converging on her now.

Phillip’s story, though horrifying enough, still didn’t seem to explain the depth of Charles’s pain. No, depth seemed the wrong word. Was there a timbre of something like pain? It also failed to explain the strain between Charles and his father. Sophie remained convinced that there was still a piece of the puzzle missing.

On top of that mystery, she was going to have to deal with Mateo, whose hints had been growing broader and more insistent, and, she was very much afraid, were leading to a proposal of marriage.

Lord and Lady Avery’s situation still troubled her, as did her uncertainty about her own future. And then there was her biggest problem of all … poking his head around the dining-room door.

‘Ah, Sophie,’ Charles said, entering with a paper in hand. Obviously ready to greet his guests, he was immaculately handsome in high boots, buckskin breeches, and a form-fitting coat of soft brown. ‘Here’s a note from your uncle, saying he cannot join us until tomorrow. Mr Cardea, however, will be coming in today as planned.’

‘Thank you.’ She took a deep breath. Charles was not the problem so much as her undisciplined reactions to him. ‘I’ll be sure to tell your mother. It will throw off her seating at dinner.’

Sophie wondered if Charles knew why her uncle was delayed. If he didn’t, she didn’t wish to be the one to tell him. Mateo had written to her with the news.

‘It appears we must congratulate him when he arrives.’ Charles spoke with studied casualness. ‘He’s to be appointed Treasurer of the Board of Trade.’

She spoke carefully. ‘I know it must be difficult for you to see him succeed further. After he won the position you had hoped for, I mean.’

‘I’m not so shallow as that. I’m pleased for the man. I’m sure he’ll perform splendidly.’

‘Of course. Thank you for sharing the news.’ She turned back to her arrangement, but he didn’t leave. She could feel his presence hovering in the doorway.

‘Didn’t I see you arranging those flowers earlier this morning?’ he asked.

She laughed and tucked the last bit of foliage back in among the blooms. ‘Yes, I suppose I’m trying to entice the butterflies in my stomach to abandon me for greener pastures.’

‘You’re mixing your metaphors,’ Charles said with a quick smile. ‘You are nervous.’ He came into the room, all solicitous concern. ‘You cannot be worried about the house—it’s superb. Everyone who sees it will fall in love.’

Sophie took a step back. She exercised her woman’s prerogative and changed her mind—Charles was indeed the problem. There was something seductively different about him since he’d come back to Sevenoaks. His eyes were less guarded; he spoke to her more easily and openly. He’d shared the story of his brother’s death.

Her reaction was confusing and convoluted. Part of her rejoiced. At last. At last he was accessible, approachable, sharing himself with her. The other part of her didn’t trust it. She kept waiting for the walls to slam back up, for his eyes to turn cold and for him to shut her out. It was nerve-racking, especially when she thought of the invitation that had gone to London this morning. ‘No, I’m satisfied with the house. It has turned out to be more beautiful than even I had hoped.’

‘What is it, then?’

She shook her head.

He rounded the corner of the dining-room table and paused. ‘Never tell me you are worried over your own reception?’ He raised a brow and his voice grew slightly mocking. ‘What happened to the Sophie who didn’t care what others thought of her, who didn’t need anyone?’

She met his eye with an unwavering gaze. ‘I’ve learned the danger of needing people in a hard school, haven’t I?’ She didn’t add that the blow he had dealt her had been the hardest lesson of all.

He blanched. She might not have accused him outright, but he understood.

‘Perhaps you have taught me something after all,’ she continued. ‘I’ve grown up a little. I may not enjoy depending on the goodwill of others, but I can see that it is sometimes a necessity.’

He acknowledged her barb with a nod. ‘Truly, though, you have no need to fear. You, at least, have champions and they have defended you well. When you are ready, you will be speedily accepted back into society.’

‘I have no wish to go back into society,’ she said firmly. ‘I only wish to be free to continue my work.’ She folded her arms in front of her and shot him a defiant look. ‘It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? In Blackford Chase they abhorred me because I was different. But it is those very differences that titillate the ton, my eccentricities that distract them from their deadly ennui, and win their acclaim.’

‘But don’t you see,’ he pleaded harshly, ‘that is the very type of notoriety that will have them turning on you in the end. The acclaim won’t last. That’s why I—’

‘I don’t care,’ she interrupted. She couldn’t bear to hear it all again. ‘I don’t wish to be a darling of the beau monde. As long as I can use my momentary popularity as a springboard for my design work, I shall be happy.’

‘And if you cannot?’

‘Then there are plenty of wealthy cits who need furniture too. Or perhaps I will heed Mateo’s advice and pursue my career in America.’

‘What?’ His shock was genuine. He moved away from the table and towards her. ‘That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Absolutely not.’

Her anger was genuine too. Was it the same old reaction? Indignation at the thought of someone else using his plaything? Or perhaps worse. Perhaps he didn’t believe she could succeed there either. ‘I beg your pardon?’ He was nearly upon her now. He was coming too close. ‘You have no right—’

He silenced her with his kiss, deep and dark with instant desire. His arms encircled her, crushed her to him.

No, this is wrong, she thought, even as she melted into his arms. She needed to be free of him, of her frightening dependence on him, because she didn’t know yet if she could trust him. But the orphan inside of her refused to listen. Home, that voice said, revelling in the taste and scent of him, relishing the warmth and security of his embrace.

It’s an illusion, her logical self insisted, not real. But logic was soon silenced by sensation, drowned in desire. Instead of pushing him away, her hands were wrapping about him, pulling him close, curling through his hair.

No, she wasn’t fighting him. She was opening wider, inviting him in. He tasted of coffee, and rich, bittersweet sin. She was meeting him stroke for stroke, entwining her tongue with his in a thrilling, languorous dance.

Charles groaned in response, further drowning any voice of protest. His hand was low on her back, urging her against him. She went willingly and allowed her own hands to roam, to trace a restless path over the muscles of his back and then lower. He returned the favour, cupping her bottom and pressing her closer still.

It was lovely, it was intoxicating, it was dangerous. Slowly, fear began to succeed where logic had not. He had hurt her, badly. How much worse would it be if she let this go too far? She was a woman grown, a lonely little girl no longer. She dug deep, summoned her strength and her hard-won wisdom, and broke away.

He protested and reached for her again, but she stepped back. ‘No, Charles.’ Her anxiety threatened to spill out of her in a heartrending sob, but she forced herself to stand firm.

‘Nothing has changed,’ she said. ‘Yes, we still have this between us—’ she made a vague, encompassing gesture ‘—but so do we still have all the problems.’

‘Then let us face them together,’ he said.

‘I—’ She couldn’t say the words out loud. I’m afraid. So she took the coward’s way out. ‘I’m sorry.’ She kissed him softly, and then she turned, fighting tears, and slowly climbed the stairs.

It was only a little later, after Sophie had had a chance to gather her wits and her resolve, when Nell came to her room.

‘Mrs Hepple’s having a tussle with the drapery in the blue guest room,’ the maid said with a grin. ‘She asks if you would lend a hand?’

‘Of course,’ but it was with a heavy heart and a slow stride that she entered the hall and headed for the blue room. Lady Dayle, climbing the staircase, list in hand, hailed her as she passed.

‘Nearly time, now. Are you dressed and ready, my dear?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Oh, my darling, what is it? You look positively blue-devilled!’ The viscountess bustled over and, a hand on each shoulder, looked searchingly into her face. Clucking to herself, she took Sophie’s hand. She glanced about the empty hall then shrugged, and perched herself on the first shining oak step, patting the spot beside her invitingly. ‘Come now, sit, and I’ll soothe your nerves.’

She was so warm and motherly, Sophie couldn’t resist. She chuckled and sat down. ‘I can’t stay, Mrs Hepple needs me, and what would she say if she came out and found you like this?’

‘Pish! If she caught a look at your face, she’d hustle off to bring you a dish of tea, then she’d likely perch on your other side.’

Sophie laughed.

‘That’s better. Now, what is it that has brought you so low?’

She sighed. The truth wasn’t an option. But her troubles with Charles were only a part of it, in any case. ‘I’m not certain, exactly. Did you ever have the notion that you’ve arrived at a short time in your life that will affect all the rest of your years? It’s ridiculous, really, since I suppose one could say that about nearly any moment.’

Lady Dayle smiled. ‘Not ridiculous. I understand that feeling. It’s wonderful and terrifying at once, isn’t it?’

Sophie could only nod. To her horror, she felt tears gathering again.

The viscountess took her hand and sandwiched it between her own. ‘Let me tell you what it is that I admire most about you.’ She brushed a wayward curl off Sophie’s face and continued, ‘You’ve faced a great many challenges in your young life.’

Sophie tried to protest, but Lady Dayle shook her head and went on. ‘I know, we all encounter our own obstacles in life’s path. Sometimes they appear so large they blot out the sun, the other side, and it seems, any possibility of happiness, ever again.’

She took Sophie’s chin in her hand and smiled into her eyes. ‘But you never let those obstacles stop you. Oh, I’ve heard you rail in shockingly unladylike language, when things don’t go your way.’ She let Sophie go and grinned. ‘And sometimes it feels as if you’re doing nothing but pounding your head against it in frustration, but you are strong. Always, you pick yourself up and find a way to scramble over.’

‘Or chisel through,’ Sophie said softly.

‘Or chisel through,’ the viscountess agreed. ‘I’ve never seen you give up, Sophie Westby, and that is a rare thing in this world.’

Lady Dayle dropped her chin and put her arm around her. Sophie leaned gratefully into her comforting embrace. ‘The bright side, I’ve found,’ the viscountess continued, ‘is that once you make it past the hard spots, there always seems to be something good on the other side.’

‘Like you,’ said Sophie, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

‘No, it’s you who has been a blessing to me, dear child. And I promise, even if we hit some obstacles in the next few days, there will be better things to come.’

They sat then, arms around each other, drawing strength, until the jingle of harness outside announced the first guests.

‘I’ll wager you a bolt of fine sarcenet that it’s Emily who’s here first.’ Lady Dayle grinned.

‘I’m not fool enough to take that bet.’ Sophie laughed.

Arm in arm, they went down to greet their guests.