After Innocence (40 page)

Lisa’s smile faded.

“Lisa? Is something wrong?”

“Oh, Sofie,” Lisa cried, “I am in love with him and have been since we first met, but I have finally faced the truth! I do not think he is enamored of me!”

Sofie had only met Julian St. Clare that one single time the day she had arrived. But she remembered how stiffly courteous he had been—and how quick he had been to note her ringless hands. She remembered now that she had not seen him smile, not even once. Had she not seen the burning glitter in his eyes, had she not seen his kiss, she would have thought the man as cold as his facade.

And Lisa was more than just a pretty young woman. She was intelligent, kind, and terribly generous. A man would be a fool not to fall in love with her. But on the other hand … St. Clare reminded Sofie so much of Edward.

He reminded her of Edward, despite his being golden-haired, because he was another version of virile male perfection. Such a man would always have his choice of women, even without charm, and it would be idiotic to think that St. Clare had lived his life as a saint. Clearly he was attracted to Lisa. But Sofie knew firsthand that lust was not love. “What makes you think that, Lisa?”

She hesitated. “He doesn’t smile, Sofie. He is perfectly polite, but he doesn’t smile—not with me.” She hesitated. “And his conversation is perfunctory.”

“I hope he does not smile with other women?”

“No. I wonder … Perhaps he doesn’t really like women,” Lisa said uncertainly. “Could that be possible? When his kisses are so passionate? When he is so—” Lisa paused, blushing “—virile?”

“Anything is possible,” Sofie said, worried now and thinking about his first wife. “What else do you know about him?”

“I know that he is the only son of the Earl of Keith, and that his mother also died many years ago.”

“Lisa, perhaps you are rushing this,” Sofie said gently. But she wondered at the void of information about the marquis.

Tears filled Lisa’s eyes. “But I do love him—to distraction! If I could, I would many him tonight. I pray his reserve is just stiff British cordiality, and that after we are wed, I will be privy to his real personality—and to his love.”

Sofie did not like the sound of things. “I think you should
have a long talk with the marquis as soon as possible. Be direct and honest and voice all the concerns you have shared with me. I think you must learn more about his past—and about his first wife.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “I am not seeing him until the ball tomorrow.”

“Then that will have to do.” Sofie forced a cheery tone into her voice.

Lisa was aghast.

“I must leave.” Sofie stood. “Edana will be hungry soon, and I do not wish to see Suzanne.”

“Wait,” Lisa cried, standing and wrapping a towel around her muddy body. “Sofie—where are you staying? How can I reach you?”

“I am staying at the Lexington Inn on Thirteenth Street,” Sofie said.

Lisa stepped from the tub. “He was here, last week.”

Sofie froze, certain she had misunderstood. “I beg your pardon?”

“Edward Delanza came to the house, looking for you. I was not home. Suzanne sent him away. Mrs. Murdock told me that she told him you have gone to Boston to stay with relatives.”

Sofie knew she should be relieved that Suzanne had put Edward on the wrong track. Crazily, she was dismayed instead. “What did he want?”

“Just to see you. Does he know about Edana?” Lisa asked.

Sofie nodded.

Lisa stared. “Sofie—you must see him. Immediately.”

“I cannot.”

“Whyever not?” Lisa cried. “He is the father of your child. Dammit, Sofie, he should marry you!”

Sofie had never heard Lisa curse before. “He has already asked me,” she said hoarsely. “But I refused.”

Lisa gaped. “You refused! Why?”

“Because I love him. Because he does not want me. Because he only wants Edana. Because I cannot tolerate the thought of being married to him while he consorts with other women.”

“Sofie, if he comes back—”

“No! Don’t you dare tell him where to find me!” Sofie cried.

Lisa did not answer. And because Sofie did not like the gleam in her eyes, later that afternoon she, Rachelle, and Edana moved from the Lexington Inn to a boardinghouse down by the river.

As Sofie dressed for Lisa’s engagement party, she developed a plan of hiding behind stiff-backed formality when she next saw her mother and stepfather later that night. After all, it worked so well for servants—why should it not work for her?

She assured herself that no fiasco would occur at the ball. Suzanne would have her hands full with her five hundred guests. So would Benjamin. There would be no opportunity for them to drag her aside and badger her with their ludicrous scheme to give up Edana for adoption. If Sofie was adept, she might very well avoid them entirely—and she might even enjoy herself.

It had been a very long time since she had gone to a good party. She grew wistful, thinking of her birthday last May. Although she had not danced with Georges, it had been fan to watch the revelers. It occurred to her that she had never attended a society ball before.

Undoubtedly this would be her last and only time, as well.

“Sofie, how lovely you are,” Rachelle cried.

Sofie turned, brows raised.

“Edana is asleep—and you
are
beautiful,” Rachelle said.

Sofie had not even tried to view herself in the hand mirror she shared with Rachelle. The boardinghouse was run-down and they had let two rooms, not one, quite cheaply—but each room contained nothing but a single bed with a thin mattress, threadbare sheets, and ancient blankets, a small bureau with a washstand, and a single light.

Sofie had borrowed a gown from Lisa in a son coral, a color that, Lisa had remarked, did wonderful things for Sofie’s golden hair, amber eyes, and tawny complexion. Sofie had loved the gown the moment she had spotted it
in Lisa’s armoire. It was far brighter than anything she had ever worn before, but Lisa had insisted she take it—almost wickedly. “Bright colors are cheerful, unlike your navy blue and gray clothing, which is mournful and depressing,” she had stated, shoving the gown into Sofie’s arms. “I do not even own a gray gown. Of course, I do have something very straight,
very
low-cut, and silver.”

Sofie had taken the coral gown.

Now she faced Rachelle. “This gown did not seem as daring on the hanger as it does on me,” she remarked, not particularly liking the display of cleavage she was faced with when she happened to look down at herself.

“You are nursing. You cannot possibly hide your bosom in this circumstance.” Rachelle smiled. “You look very sexy,
mon amie.
Monsieur Marten will be troubled not to goggle you.”

Despite feeling half-naked, Sofie smiled. “Ogle. The word is ogle.”

Rachelle shrugged gracefully. “Ogle, goggle, who cares? I am ogling you. I have never seen you look like such a siren,
petite amie.”

“Please, Rachelle! We both know I am no siren.” Sofie walked hesitantly to the bed and sat down. “Thank God this dress is not tight everywhere.”

“You have lost too much weight,” Rachelle said disapprovingly. “Otherwise you could not wear Lisa’s clothes. Henry is downstairs.”

Sofie jumped to her feet, her heart slamming with real nervousness now. “Why didn’t you say so!” She grabbed the beaded satin reticule she had borrowed with the gown, and the black velvet wrap. “How is my hair?”

“Considering you pinned it up without a mirror—excellent,
chère.”

“Is it even?”

Rachelle laughed, kissing her on bom cheeks. “It is perfect.
Allez.
Amuse yourself tonight.”

Sofie darted into the other room to kiss her sleeping daughter good-bye. “I will not stay late,” she promised.

“If you come home before two in the morning, I will not let you in,” Rachelle called after her.

Sofie had to smile, hurrying down the stairs. Henry was pacing there, looking quite handsome in his black tails and patent leather shoes. He looked up. Sofie slowed. His gaze widened with frank appreciation. Sofie almost felt beautiful. And despite herself, for just a moment, she imagined it was Edward waiting to escort her to the ball.

Sofie’s steps slowed as they approached the house. She realized that she was clinging to Henry’s arm.

“Are you all right?” he asked her with concern.

She gazed up at him. “I am nervous. I have this feeling—a bad one—about tonight.”

“We do not have to go in,” Henry said.

Sofie forced a smile. “This is the greatest moment of Lisa’s life—second only to the day of her wedding. I promised her I am coming.”

“I admire you, Sofie,” Henry said.

Uncomfortably flattered and somewhat amazed, Sofie loosened her hold on his arm as they entered the house. Jenson was delighted to see her as he took her wrap.

“How is Lisa?” Sofie asked him.

“She has been sick all day, poor thing.”

“And my mother?”

“She is in the kitchens, somewhat hysterical.”

Sofie nodded tersely. “Let’s go,” she said to Henry, wanting to escape into the ballroom and disappear among the other guests before Suzanne saw her.

“I am not in the kitchens,” Suzanne cried loudly, her heels clicking on the marble floors. “Sofie—stop right there!”

But Sofie was already frozen. Slowly she turned to face her mother.

They stared at each other. “We must talk, right now,” Suzanne said.

“No,” Sofie said.

Suzanne shot a glance at Henry. “Sir, would you excuse us? I wish a private word with my daughter.”

But Sofie did not allow Henry to answer. Rage engulfed her and she began to shake. “No! We have nothing to say to one another, nothing, do you hear me? You are cruel and selfish and think of no one other than yourself!” Once the
words began to flow, they would not stop, and it was almost as if someone else lived inside Sofie and was speaking for her. “For years I did as you wished—always as you wished! You wanted me to hide from the world because I am crippled, and I hid! Of course I would not embarrass you. You wanted me to remain unwed, and I agreed, for it was easier to agree than to be brave and daring and take a chance on finding love. I listened to you—I trusted you! I even trusted you enough to think you would love Edana when you saw her and I came home, needing you! But you have betrayed me—
betrayed
me for the very last time—and I do not think I can ever forgive you for what you have done.”

Suzanne had turned ashen. “Sofie—I love you. Everything I have done, I have done for you.”

“Everything you have done,” Sofie said tersely, wishing she could stop but unable to, “you have done because it was best for you, not because it was best for me.”

Suzanne whimpered. “I love you.”

Sofie choked back a sob. “And I love Edana.”

Suzanne’s regard darted to Henry.

“He knows, Mother, he knows everything,” Sofie said.

“You fool,” Suzanne whispered.

“No—you are the fool for trying to tear me and my daughter apart.” Sofie whirled and rushed away, Henry hurrying after her.

She could not stop shaking. She could hear the vibrant strains of the band, which played in the ballroom on the ground floor, as well as the growing tenor of the animated conversation of the guests. She could not remember ever being this angry. She told herself that, if she held her head high and kept her smile in place, no one was going to know how upset she was tonight or that she had just said such horrible—but truthful—things to her mother.

And despite having gotten that confrontation over with, she could not relax. She felt even worse. No matter how hurt and angry she was, Suzanne was her mother. A part of Sofie was ashamed for all that she had said, and another part of her ached for Suzanne, knowing how severely she had wounded her.

And she was sad. Would she ever be able to go to her mother as a daughter again?

The slightly nauseating feeling of dread that had afflicted Sofie all evening increased. Henry caught up to her as they descended the three white marble steps into the ballroom, a vast room with gleaming parquet floors, white pillars, and high, canary yellow ceilings with elaborate mahogany moldings. It could accommodate five hundred guests with ease, and undoubtedly did so now.

Sofie told herself that the dreadful feeling she carried was because of the past few minutes, not because of anything that might occur next.

“Is there anything I can do?” Henry asked.

“Your very presence is a comfort, Henry.” Sofie said, meaning it. “I am sorry you had to witness that.”

Before he could respond, the band stopped playing and the crowd suddenly hushed. “There she is,” someone whispered.

Sofie turned and inhaled as Lisa appeared on the top of the stairs in a cloud of white lace and chiffon. Lisa was so very beautiful. Suzanne was smiling, and Benjamin was beaming in parental pride. The marquis’s expression was grim and set in stone. Sofie was swept with disbelief. Did he hate the fact of his upcoming marriage to Lisa? Was this a forced marriage on his part?

Worse, Lisa stared blindly ahead, and Sofie realized that she, too, was upset. Her smile was forced. By the time Benjamin cleared his throat to speak, tears glinted in her eyes.

Benjamin began to introduce the marquis, after which he would announce the engagement and make it official.

Sofie did not listen. She tried to catch Lisa’s eye, hoping to comfort her somehow across the distance separating them, but Lisa did not look at anyone. Sofie ached now for her sister, instead of herself, and silently she encouraged Lisa to bear up. Eventually Sofie turned and glanced around the room. She was faced with a glittering sea of the ladies in their red, yellow, blue, and green gowns, interspersed with the stark black and white of the gentlemen in their tuxedos. The dozens of huge crystal chandeliers overhead seemed to make the air shimmer and sparkle.

Sudddenly her gaze shot back to a man standing on the fringes of the crowd, but in the front lines, near the terrace doors across from where Sofie stood with Henry. Sofie could not help staring, perplexed. He was her mother’s age or a bit older, with tawny hair that was too thick and too long to be fashionable. He was darkly bronzed, tall and fit, and he was superbly elegant in his black tuxedo and snowy white shirtfront. And he was staring at her intensely.