“There’s no hurry.” Seth’s voice had an edge of passion that he did not attempt to conceal.
Agnes Weston’s eyes twinkled with distinct humor. She held up a warning finger. “You’re thirty. You’ve waited too long already.”
Ella’s face was turning a mottled color. Torn between shocked indignation at her niece’s improper behavior, and relief that Seth’s mother seemed to approve of her son’s marriage, hands fluttering helplessly, she stiffened herself abruptly, and her voice came sharply.
“Do get up, Sophy!”
Tessa closed her eyes against the indignity of it all.
Embarrassed at her undignified conditions, furious with herself for having instigated it, Sophy scrambled to her feet, a tumble of hair and elfin wantonness. Pride alone kept her head up. Everything, to her dazed eyes, was a blur, a sea of faces lost in a wavering haze of mortification.
Shaken to the core of her being, she clutched the edges of her bodice together, and returned her mother-in-law’s gaze haughtily. She had to preserve her composure, and some semblance of dignity. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity.
Agnes Weston seemed to be measuring her as an opponent. The old woman’s eyelids fell and rose again as she raked Sophy from head to foot, with a slow movement like a parrot’s.
“You are a strange young woman. I think we will have no illusions about this. I will not say I like you particularly, but you seem to be honest in your approach to my son, so I’m sure we shall deal very well together.”
Sophy inhaled with shaky relief as she heard Seth’s voice, telling her to turn around. She turned to him, defenseless, like a caught hare. For the first time. her poise wavered.
Seth touched her crimson cheek gently. “Code number one. Lock the door!” His fingers rapidly adjusted her clothing as he spoke.
Sophy backed away from him, her slim figure unyielding. She could feel the anger brewing in her, like the wind gathering force and building to a hurricane. Her voice had no volume, but it was full of violence.
“You’re quite abominable!”
Seth smiled sardonically, enjoying again the fury and elemental excitement that gleamed from the enormous storm gray pools of her eyes, recognizing the rich promise of hid den passion in the taut hostile body.
Life with Sophy was nothing if not unpredictable. Her momentary appearance of defenselessness had been an illusion. His elfin wife would never be defenseless.
With her chin angled defiantly, her shoulders straight, small hands fisted at her sides, face flushed and vivid, she was a creature of mystery and fire, ever reckless, ever certain of herself, ever extraordinary. He could not contemplate life without her. He made a movement toward her, but she backed away, avoiding his outstretched hand.
“Pax, Sophy?” Seth invited with a small secret smile, holding the new awareness to himself.
Sophy stared at him a moment, her lips pressed tightly together. A wave of heat swept over her as indignation flared. The world condensed. All else became blurred, everything except Seth’s dark face. She drew a long breath.
“You’re making a lot of assumptions, Seth Weston.” Her lips hardly moved as she spoke. “Didn’t the army ever teach you the ground rules of war? Honor is never satisfied until there is unconditional surrender by one of the combatants.”
She picked up the flounced train of her skirt, flung it over her arm and strode out of the room.
Chapter Nine
H
ours later Sophy sat, straight backed, staring at herself in the long panel mirror. The sweet face of the woman reflected there looked troubled. The ivory-and-silver comb, brush and hand mirror set her father had given her for her fifteenth birthday glinted in the gaslight.
Thoughts swirled around in her head, as the leaves did in an autumn wind. Her withdrawal from the library had been ignominious, to say the least. She had shot to her bedroom like a rabbit into a burrow, in what was a full-scale retreat in the face of a superior enemy force.
Knuckles white, she savagely anchored her braids with two bone hairpins. Hooker could scarcely have felt more frustrated when he failed to capture Fredericksburg!
Sophy shook her head, trying to harness her mind, to think coherently. Really, there was nothing to get embarrassed about. After all, she and Seth were husband and wife. They had every right to distract themselves in their own library.
In truth, marriage was an adventure, one way or another!
Through a mouthful of pins she managed to enunciate clearly, “Make sure that Mrs. Weston has a pot of hot chocolate when she retires. Even though she rested this afternoon, we will have an early night. At her age, and having so recently been ill, the rail journey from Chicago must have been totally exhausting.”
“How long is she to stay?” Tessa Fraser moved around the room, picking up Sophy’s discarded clothing.
Sophy dug into a small French box of fragrant, inlaid wood, which held her hair ribbons, curled into obedient circles.
“I don’t know. She couldn’t come to the wedding because of a fever. That’s why Seth left immediately after the ceremony. The doctor feared it might be typhus.” She knotted a thin scarlet ribbon to her coiffure.
Tessa folded a jacket and placed it in an old Dutch chest, inside which lay other garments, lavender sprinkled among their folds.
“Cook mentioned that there’s been an outbreak of typhus in Water Street.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. The housing conditions in the tenement buildings are appalling. Seth has been appointed to a committee to address the lack of even basic facilities, such as fire escapes.”
“Yon man has a conscience. Happy, my pet?”
Sophy nodded her satisfaction. “Oh, yes, Tessa. Marriage is most agreeable.”
“Dinna get all starry-eyed, now. Just because a man is willing to dally with a woman when they’re first wed, doesn’t mean he’ll love ye forever. Men have important things to do.”
“Oh, Tessa! You Scots are so romantic! Seth doesn’t even love me yet, but he will.”
“I wouldna want ye to be hurt or disappointed, lass. Love is not always necessary in a marriage. There are other things... duty, devotion, children. . . ”
There was a squawk like an angry parrot. The shadows on the face in the mirror changed position.
Sophy swiveled her head around. Her old nursemaid held up a short, lightly boned corset.
“Mercy! Ye’ll never be going downstairs without wearing your stays, lass!”
“Truthfully, Tessa, what difference do they make? How could anyone know I wasn’t wearing that uncomfortable monstrosity?”
Sophy straightened up, standing arms akimbo, the folds of her gown falling gracefully about her. Her eyes danced, and her voice quivered with amusement.
The high-buttoned, long-sleeved dress of black silk with its double skirt, pleating and rosettes of the same material, narrow scarlet satin banding and belt, was a model of decorum. Her scant figure did not by any stretch of the imagination require either restraint or support.
Lips pursed, Tessa ignored the provocative words, and avoided a direct answer, but her disapproval could not be contained. “There’s things that are right and things that are wrong.” Mouth set, she folded the offending garment and thrust it into a drawer.
Two dimples appeared in Sophy’s cheeks. She’d known Tessa too long not to know that a fit of the sullens invariably lasted but a short time. The drawer slammed shut. Her grin widened.
“How very reassuring to know that wearing stays is one of them!” Without waiting for a reply, she left the room.
Dinner was served promptly at six.
Seth and his mother were standing by the fireplace when Sophy made her appearance. From the dining room oeiling, elaborate gas fixtures spouted like inverted fountains. Their handsomely etched, amber-hued glass shades created a subdued radiance, and cast fleeting miniature rainbows upon the shining array of silver adorning the table.
Sophy’s heart gave a queer little jump at the sight of Seth. How handsome and vital he was in the formal evening dress, which set off his smooth skin, neatly trimmed sideburns and brilliant eyes. As she advanced toward him, he gave a little bow.
“You look very fetching, my dear. Do I recognize another Weston’s fabric? Yes? I like it.” His comprehensive glance was at once a caressing appraisal and a challenge.
Sophy had the uncomfortable feeling that he was flirting with her. There was a note in his voice that sent a slow tremor through her. In front of his mother, too! For the sake of convention, she realized she should speak, but she knew that any words she uttered would be inane and meaning. less.
For a split second their eyes locked, and it was as if sparks flew from the magnetic contact. She felt her heart beating hard. Just looking at him produced the same sensations as when he had touched her in the library. He knew it, too!
Ignoring the glint in his eyes, she merely nodded in agreement. Acknowledging her mother-in-law with the same smiling inclination of the head, she tugged the bellpull.
Mrs. Weston said nothing, merely stood waiting, but the soft sibilant sound of her breath exhaling was like a shudder. Seth gave her a thoughtful glance, and put his hand to her face.
“An early night for you, Mother. I might even get Dr. Bailey to call in tomorrow. That chest infection is far from cured. Shall we be seated?”
The new cook had outdone himself. Oyster soup, luscious beyond description, was followed by an exquisite bisque of crayfish and a
casserole de pou
ssin
, chicken prepared with green olives, almonds, peppers and saffron. Apple cobbler and a fascinating dessert of fruit sorbet and whipped ice cream completed the meal.
Distracted partly by the domestic chatter of the women assembled at the dining table, and partly by his inner tension, Seth ate the meal with less than his usual enjoyment. His leg ached. It had just begun to be manageable. He must have hurt it today with his tomfoolery.
He sat there, allowing a little wave of fatigue to claim him for a moment, and tried to rub his leg so neither woman would notice. The pain was making it difficult for him to concentrate.
It was a relief to relax, letting the women’s inconsequential conversation drift over him, the appalling price of French lace, the virtues of Mrs. Beeton’s
Household Management,
the best way to make mulled wine, losing himself in the sounds of their voices.
Lulled by the hypnotic pull of Sophy’s seductively sweet voice, he was idly making a swirl in his ice cream with a spoon when the import of what she was saying penetrated the soothing trance.
His spoon stopped its aimless circle.
“You think what?” There was thunder in his voice. He sat perfectly still, but a pulse beat rapidly in the side of his neck.
A charged silence invaded the dining room. The fierce look in his eyes filled Sophy with apprehension. She blanked at him. All signs of tolerant amusement had fled. What could have upset him?
Color invaded her smooth features and crept along her cheekbones. “I think Charles Lethbridge is being blackmailed.”
“Is this your idea of a joke, Sophy? If so, I do not find it amusing.”
Seth almost audibly ground his teeth, the authoritative thrust of his jaw and clean, strong bones of his face emphasized by the stiffly starched, upright collar of his white shirt.
“You are serious, aren’t you?” Sophy’s slight breast heaved, and she nodded. She was in earnest, and not, as he had suspected, merely bent on goading him. “Who would blackmail Charles? And for what?”
The glinting glance that accompanied this question made Sophy’s insides clench. “I don’t know.”
Seth muttered in annoyance. “Damn it, your imagination runs wild. Charles is as straight as a die. What makes you think otherwise?”
Sophy’s head moved defensively. Unwilling to get into an argument, she avoided a direct answer.
Instead, she said as calmly as she could, “I do know he’s always around when something happens. And he gambles...” Her voice faltered, and her words trailed off.
“Just because a man has a flutter on the cards does not mean he is either an embezzler or a potential murderer! Don’t run around with your idle accusations.”
“Why? If they
are
idle, what do we have to fear?” A muscle clenched in his jaw, but his expression was impossible to read. Sophy clasped her fingers in her lap to keep them from shaking. “Anyway, I wasn’t accusing Charles of anything. I’m simply looking for clues. Abigail is a chatterbox.”
For a split second Sophy caught his look of agreement, before white teeth clamped over the corner of his lower lip. Encouraged, she leaned forward, her lovely violet-gray eyes shining, the words spilling out of her lips.
“She’s also a lamb when it comes to being fleeced by anyone from the butcher to the baker, and anyone in between. I’m going to take her under my wing and teach her a thing or two about handling household finance.”
Seth was taken aback. The suggestion was a good one. Sophy drove a shrewd bargain. Then he remembered Abigail’s seemingly constant tears, which vexed him like the humming of an insect. His jaw gripped tightly.
“Hell, Sophy. You can only cause trouble between Charles and Abigail if you poke your nose into their private affairs!”
Mrs. Weston wiped her face with a napkin. “Sophy’s idea that she become friends with Abigail Lethbridge is sound. It is amazing how much information can be gleaned in social chitchat without asking questions!”
A cool wind blew through his brain. How the devil had Sophy won his mother over in such a short time? Agnes Weston was protecting Sophy like a mother hen with only one chick. Maybe it went with the species. Wives, witches, pixies, elves and assorted mischief makers. He forced himself to relax his clenched jaw.
“Thank you for your advice, Mother.” The spoon went back to its slow swirl.
Sophy gave Agnes Weston a grateful smile, then cast a pleading glance at him. “Last night I realized we have somehow missed something elementary in our investigation. There’s a piece missing that I’m convinced is the key to it all. I had meant to consult with you this morning. As you are aware, I was distracted.”
This was a much more successful shaft. The disarming confession was an unwitting, very feminine sort of seduction. Seth began to realize that in his diminutive wife, he had found an opponent to be reckoned with.
“I daresay you could be forgiven for failing to mention the matter in the heat of the moment!”
He gave her a long, brooding stare. It was hard to resist the appeal in her expressive eyes, or the temptation in her soft parted lips. His body had already gone thick and excited.
The ice cream was reduced to a mass of melted pulp. A servant removed the mutilated dessert, and replaced it with a half bottle of bourbon and a plate of curious little sugar-frosted cakes. The look of a boy eyeing an unexpected treat crossed Seth’s face.
Sophy put her small hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. A bubble of mirth rose to her throat, as her sense of humor betrayed her. She lowered her hand.
“They’re called
gemaakt van
suiker
, angels’ food. The adage goes something like this—
Man did eat angels’ food
...”
Inwardly relieved at her sudden change of mood, Seth gladly entered her game and sought the answer to her riddle. He arched one brow, took a cake and bit into it with his strong white teeth.
Sophy flashed him a mischievous grin. His eyes blinked. He paused in midbite, and grinned around the cake. Swallowing the delicious morsel, he completed the quotation. His voice held pure satisfaction. “—
So did they eat and
,
were well filled: for He gave them their own desire
.”
Sophy did not even realize she had been holding her breath until he spoke. The sudden exhalation of suppressed air surprised her.
A footman was removing the remains of the meal, while the butler directed another to draw the yellow velvet draperies against the window. Mrs. Weston caught her breath, and coughed. Suddenly exhausted, she stifled a yawn.
“If you pair of lovebirds don’t mind, I am going off to bed. It’s been a long day.”
Seth released Sophy’s hand and walked his mother to the door. The greenish gaslight from the wall sconces accented the strong bones of her thin face, and the fatigue that pinched her face and shadowed her eyes. He kissed her on the cheek.