Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 65

Charles was inside waking his brother before the eastern sky had fully lightened. He was on the road to London before the sun had fully crested the horizon. He still couldn’t quite grasp the truth. But he had had it from Sophie’s own lips.

Lord Cranbourne was his unknown enemy? It seemed absurd. All this time he’d assumed it would turn out to be someone he had wronged in the past. A cuckolded husband, a woman scorned, a victim of some mindless prank. He could think of nothing he’d ever done to Sophie’s uncle.

But perhaps it was the future that concerned Lord Cranbourne? He’d always been involved in politics, always been known to be influential, but in a quiet way, in the background, so to speak. Until recently. He’d won the chairmanship that Charles had wanted, hadn’t he? And it had led to even higher placement in the Board of Trade. The ministry was the next logical step. It was working out for Cranbourne just as Charles had hoped for himself. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps it was the talk of Charles’s potential that had represented a threat?

His horse was fresh and almost as eager as Charles. The miles sped by quickly, but could not match the fast pace of his churning thoughts. He might not know precisely what Cranbourne’s motivation might be, but he meant to find out. And then what? He might expose the man and clear his name. He could have his political future back.

But what would that do to Sophie? One thing Charles knew beyond the shadow of a doubt. He would do nothing that might harm Sophie, not ever again. He had caused her enough pain—it was time he put her happiness first.

What of his own happiness? For so long he had been convinced that such a thing did not exist, that his only path led inexorably toward a future in the government.

Except that path was truly Phillip’s. It was Phillip who had paved the way for him, Phillip who had lived for it, who had been talked of as a potential Prime Minister. Charles knew now that his own reach would likely never be as lofty. His past would always block the way to such a future.

For so long he’d been certain, sure that to follow Phillip’s dream was the only way to redeem his mistakes. He would take the place of the brother who should have lived. But, just perhaps, there might be other ways to help, other ways he could give back. Sophie had shown him that.

Sophie. Just the thought of her calmed him, gave him hope. They’d exchanged no promises, but last night had changed everything. He knew now that she cared for him as he did for her. Somehow he would sort out this mess, and then they would plan the future, together.

It was mid-morning when he reached London. The streets were bustling and Charles was tired and hungry. He considered stopping at his own house first, but there was no time to waste. He went straight to Green Street.

‘Yes?’ Lord Cranbourne’s butler was cordial, but clearly not impressed with the grubby viscount on his steps.

Charles was in no mood to deal with the snobbery of an upper servant. ‘Has Cranbourne set out yet?’

The man looked him up and down a moment, as if deciding whether to answer or not. ‘Yes, sir. Not half an hour past.’

A sudden notion hit him. ‘Let me see Mr Wren, then.’

The servant looked startled, but recovered quickly. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you mean, sir.’

‘Do you know who I am?’ Charles barked.

‘Yes, sir.’ There was a wealth of contempt in the simple words.

‘Then you know that I have personal as well as political dealings with your master. He’s on his way to my house as we speak. Now tell me where I can find Mr Wren.’

The autocratic tone had the desired effect. The butler let down his guard enough for Charles to see his genuine bewilderment. ‘But I can’t tell you, sir. Wren comes and goes as he pleases, at every hour, but he does not bide here.’

‘And you don’t know where he lodges?’

‘No.’ The impudent blighter actually cocked a brow at him. ‘I’m sure Lord Cranbourne has that information.’

‘Fine, now listen closely. If you see Mr Wren, you be very sure to tell him that his lordship has need of him in Sevenoaks. He is to get himself there, straight away.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The man watched as Charles began to search his coat pockets. ‘I’m to see Cranbourne’s solicitor next, but I’ve lost the direction on the trip.’ When he withdrew his hand there was a glint of gold in his palm. ‘What was the name, again?’

After a long moment of consideration, the butler answered at last. ‘Bridewell, sir, of Bridewell and Locke.’

‘Thank you.’ Charles tossed the coin and didn’t wait to see if the man caught it. He mounted, and then paused to think. After a moment’s reflection he turned the horse’s head towards St James’s Street.

His instincts had been good. Just a quick question to a porter at White’s and he had the solicitor’s address. A scant few minutes later he was being ushered into the comfortable offices of Bridewell and Locke.

‘Good morning, my lord.’ The young man rising from behind the formidable desk was definitely not either of the portly gentlemen whose portraits hung in the reception area.

‘Good morning. I am Dayle. I’m here to see Mr Bridewell.’

‘Alas, Mr Bridewell passed on last year. I am Mr Locke.’ At Charles’s sceptical glance he added, ‘Mr Locke, the younger. My father’s health is unfortunately tenuous as well. He has been forced—and I mean that almost literally—to hand the reins over to me.’

‘Including the affairs of Lord Cranbourne?’

‘Most of them,’ Mr Locke said with a cheerful grin.

‘Then you may congratulate me, for I am to wed Cranbourne’s niece.’

‘Indeed, I do offer my felicitations. Are you here, then, to discuss the settlements?’

‘Only briefly. We must save the meat of it for a time when Cranbourne and my own man are available. I only wished to inform you so that you may begin to draw up the papers.’

‘I don’t blame your impatience, when such a sum is involved. You understand, though, that there is little I may do for you until I have word from Lord Cranbourne himself?’

‘I see.’ Charles spent a fleeting moment wondering if a flash of gold would work as well on Cranbourne’s solicitor as it had on his butler. His instincts said not.

‘But may I ask you to pass along my best wishes to Lord Cranbourne,’ Mr Locke continued, ‘and, of course, to your intended?’

‘I shall be sure to do so.’ Charles began to rise. It seemed useless to question this young man. He doubted he could tell him anything, in any case.

‘Thank you,’ Mr Locke continued. ‘Though it may be a blow to his purse, I’m sure Lord Cranbourne is thrilled to see his niece happily settled at last.’

Charles sat back down and fixed an eye on the man. ‘A blow to his purse?’

‘Yes. The lady’s fortune has been held in trust for her, but it is meant to be a marriage settlement.’ Mr Locke returned the same sort of measuring stare Charles had just given him. ‘May I ask how long you have been acquainted with the lady?’

‘For ever.’ Charles smiled, but he could see that the man was serious. ‘Since she came to England as a child.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I care for her very much.’

Mr Locke smiled. ‘I am glad to hear it. Every young lady needs someone who is looking out for her best interests.’ His smile faded and he was quiet a moment. ‘I shall tell you something that I likely should not. Someone else should know, I think.’ He met Charles’s eye. ‘There is a stipulation in her father’s will. If Miss Westby does not marry by the age of five and twenty, her annual stipend will increase a bit, but the bulk of her fortune will pass to the trustee.’

‘And the trustee is—?’ Charles knew the answer already; he would stake his life on it. But he wanted to hear the words.

‘Lord Cranbourne, of course.’

‘I see.’ And he did. Indeed, suddenly so many things were becoming clear.

‘May you put it to good use, sir. Many things can be accomplished with eighty thousand pounds.’ He leaned forward, catching Charles’s eye again and said in a level voice, ‘Many things might be done to gain such a vast sum.’

The man was trying to warn him. It wasn’t necessary. His eyes were wide open, now. Charles stood and gripped his hand. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Locke.’

‘Congratulations again, my lord.’

Charles vaulted to his horse, his mind awhirl. It was growing late and he still had a long ride ahead of him. Cranbourne might even be at Sevenoaks by now. So much deceit, and over so many years. By God, the coming confrontation was going to be ugly, but the old fraud had much to answer for. Charles’s only regret was the thought of what this would do to Sophie.

He turned south, then paused, seized by a sudden thought. Coming to an abrupt decision, he changed direction, heading for Mayfair. He had one more call to make before he returned.

Sophie came late to the breakfast parlour that morning, and had to endure some good-natured teasing from Jack Alden about being the last to rise.

‘But she is not the last,’ Lady Ashford said, pointedly looking at the empty chair at the head of the table.

‘Ah, but she is,’ said Mr Alden. ‘Charles was actually the first to rise this morning. An urgent matter in town had him gone at first light.’

Lady Ashford had much to say at that news, but Sophie heard none of it. Charles was gone? And at first light. He must have set out just after she left him. Her eggs grew cold as she was beset by a surge of conflicting emotions. She didn’t know what to think, to feel. Her insecurities told her that this development could not bode well. Yet she could not help but feel a reluctant relief at the thought of not having to dissemble in front of everyone. How could she pretend not to be affected by his presence after all that they had done to each other last night?

But neither of those reactions was the one that cut most deeply. Without a doubt her overwhelming response was an abiding sense of loss. One night only? It hardly seemed fair. Her appetite fled along with her hope of extending their idyll a little longer. So few moments together—she’d hoped for just a few days more, a few more memories to carry with her once he was gone.

The sound of Charles’s name broke into her reverie. ‘I’m going to agree with Lady Ashford this time,’ Mr Huxley was saying. ‘It’s raggedy manners indeed to leave us all in the lurch. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Westby?’

‘No, I would not,’ Sophie said firmly. ‘Lord Dayle’s work is important. I’m sure he had a good reason for leaving.’

‘Indeed,’ Mr Alden agreed, casting an approving glance her way. ‘Nor are you left in the lurch, or even to your own devices. Charles has asked me to act as host for him today, and he fully expects to be back with us by this evening.’

‘Given the state of the country,’ said Emily with a quelling glance at Lady Ashford, ‘I would say we can forgive Lord Dayle one day.’

‘We shan’t miss him a bit,’ Lady Dayle put in. ‘I have a full day planned, and for this evening, a truly splendid surprise.’

Mr Alden set his cup down and stood. ‘Miss Westby, if you have finished, will you join me on a walk along the lake path?’ He looked over the crowded table. ‘Anyone who wishes may join us, of course.’

Nearly the whole party decided to go along, and in the end, Sophie was kept so busy she did not have time for reflection. It was a very good thing too, for last night had provided plenty of fodder for her unruly mind to dwell on. The rest of the group might exclaim over thrilling vistas and picturesque views, but Sophie was preoccupied with the memory of Charles’s hands on her body, the musky scent of his skin and the feel of him under her own roving touch.

Such thoughts had to be banished, however, as the party had gathered at the small dock. Sophie fanned her hot cheeks and hoped the sun was bright enough to account for her flush. She watched as the guests separated into groups of two and four and set out in the boats for a leisurely row. Mateo tried to coax her into his boat, but she smilingly declined and urged Miss Ashford to take her place. As the awkward pair attempted to paddle together, she retired to a bench in the shade with Emily.

‘You are singularly quiet today, Sophie,’ Emily said. ‘Are you feeling well?’

‘I am fine, thank you.’ Sophie summoned a smile for her friend. ‘Actually, I was going to make the very same remark to you.’

Emily sighed. ‘It’s little Edward. He’s teething and not sleeping well. I relieved the nurse for a bit last night, and did not get much rest at all.’ She glanced about at the few people left on shore. ‘In fact, perhaps I shall take this opportunity to go in and check on him.’ She grinned. ‘If my husband notices I am gone, tell him I may also take the opportunity to take a nap.’

‘I shall do so,’ Sophie agreed. She sighed as Emily set out for the house and she was left alone on the bench. She was tired as well, albeit for a much more wicked—and more pleasurable—reason. Her thoughts wandered back to the first day they had picnicked here; it seemed so long ago. That day Charles had rowed Miss Ashford on the lake. But then he had come to her, and shocked her with that heady, passionate kiss. Her eyes drifted closed at the memory. Then he had kissed her in self-defence, trying to distract her from probing into his wounded past. Had last night been the same?

She didn’t believe so. He’d been open with his feelings last night. They had, at last, come together with all barriers down, and it had been as exquisite as she had dared to dream. Charles had, in fact, already shared the secret he’d been trying to protect that long ago day, or at least a part of it. He’d trusted her with the truth about his brother’s death.

And yet, Sophie was not fool enough to believe that Phillip’s secret was all that Charles was hiding. She knew instinctively that he hadn’t shared everything, and she suspected that whatever the problem was, it was all mixed up with his feelings about his father, his brother, and his political career.

She sighed again, mourning the brevity of the time she’d had in Charles’s arms, missing the sense of peace and security that came with his embrace. Already she was back to the familiar realm of doubt, anxiety, and uncertainty.

‘Would you, Miss Westby?’

She opened her eyes with a start. ‘Excuse me?’

The boats had come back to shore. The little beach was a milling mass of bodies as the gentlemen helped the ladies to dry land and others to their places in the boats. Mr Huxley was standing before her looking earnest. ‘I asked,’ he said with exaggerated patience, ‘if you would pardon me for speaking out of turn this morning. I didn’t mean to disparage our host, but I am moved by his neglect of Miss Ashford.’

‘Miss Ashford is a guest in Lord Dayle’s home, as are we all,’ she replied, rather more sharply than she had intended. ‘I know of no reason she should feel more slighted than any one of the rest of us.’

He looked a little hurt at the sharpness of her tone. ‘I know nothing has been officially announced, but I feel sure there is some understanding, or at least some sort of expectation, between the two of them.’

‘Between the two of who?’ Mateo asked as he dropped into the seat beside Sophie.

Mr Huxley looked definitely disgruntled by her cousin’s lack of formality. ‘Between Lord Dayle and Miss Ashford, if you must know,’ he answered.

‘Mateo, show some manners,’ chided Sophie.

‘I am sorry. It has been too long since I have actually rowed a boat and it has tired me. I am too much accustomed to standing at the wheel and shouting orders.’ He turned to Mr Huxley. ‘I do beg your pardon for interrupting. To make amends I shall give you a piece of advice. If nothing has been announced, my friend, then I would not be so quick to allow Lord Dayle to cut you out. Miss Ashford’s dowry, I hear, is formidable indeed.’

‘I am surprised you do not pursue the lady yourself, then,’ Mr Huxley said stiffly.

‘Not I! These English girls are not for me.’ Mateo grinned and raised a brow in Sophie’s direction. ‘I prefer a woman with some fire in her blood.’

‘But Miss Ashford is no wilting flower,’ Sophie protested. ‘She tells me she has travelled extensively. I understand she has been to Bath, and even, I believe, has journeyed to visit family in Wales.’

‘Indeed?’ Mr Huxley did seem impressed. ‘Perhaps I will just take this opportunity to ask her about the state of the Welsh toll roads.’ He bowed to Sophie, cast a distasteful look in Mateo’s direction and went to Miss Ashford’s side.

Sophie exchanged a grin with Mateo. ‘Yesterday I asked you to cease baiting the man,’ she said, ‘and what do you do today but dangle Miss Ashford in front of him like a worm on a hook.’

‘Yes, but it was you who gave it that enticing little wiggle.’

They both laughed.

‘I suppose we should be ashamed of ourselves,’ Sophie said eventually.

‘I refuse. In any case, they will hopefully keep each other occupied for a bit.’

‘Oh, look, an added benefit.’ Sophie gestured to Lady Ashford, who was heading in a determined fashion to the spot where her daughter stood in conversation with Mr Huxley. ‘Perhaps Lady Ashford will find a new target for her sniping.’ She smiled at her cousin. ‘For that I bless you.’

Mateo took her hand. All the laughter had died out of his face. ‘I am happy to hear it.’ He spoke in the most serious tone she had yet heard from him. ‘You give me hope where I begin to fear there is none.’ He met her gaze with wistful eyes. ‘Perhaps you will bless me in other ways as well?’

Sophie could not mistake his meaning. Indeed, somehow she had known this moment was approaching. Gently she withdrew her hand from his. ‘Mateo. I’m sorry, but I cannot. I care for you a great deal though, my cousin, and am so happy to finally have a family again. I hope we can remain so?’

Something dark swam in his eyes, just for a moment. Sophie caught her breath. Then he was Mateo again, shrugging in nonchalance. ‘Ah, well.’ He reclaimed her hand and pressed an ardent kiss upon it. ‘I had to try, did I not? And yes, rest assured, we shall for ever be family.’ He smiled. ‘Now that I have found you again, you will find it difficult to shake off your cousin Mateo.’

‘Miss Westby!’ A shout hailed them from the water’s edge. Mr Alden waved from one of the boats. ‘We’ve room for one or two more!’

Sophie returned Mateo’s smile, pressed his hand, then turned and waved back at the pair in the boat. ‘Yes, I’m ready!’