Authors: Heather Cullman
When she had propped Sophie up on four plump cushions, her aunt held a cup of steaming liquid to her lips, crooning, “Drink it slowly, now. Just one tiny sip at a time. It won’t do you a bit of good if it comes back up again.” Obediently, she did as instructed, holding her breath against the foul aroma.
For a long while they remained like that: Heloise coaxing Sophie to drink, and Sophie docilely complying. When the cup was at last empty and Sophie lay back down with a fresh cloth on her head, her aunt bid her to sleep and slipped from the room.
Sleep, yes. I shall lose myself in my dreams … escape my troubles, Sophie thought. As she teetered on the brink, ready to embrace the sweet oblivion of slumber, her mind flashed on Julian and what he might think when he heard of her engagement.
Oh! Awful, selfish girl! she reproached herself, vaulting back to the grimness of reality. So consumed was she with self-pity, that she hadn’t stopped to consider him. Now that she did, she wanted to weep with despair.
Her poor, poor darling. Surely he wouldn’t think that she willingly married Lyndhurst, would he?
Of course not, she told herself firmly. He had only to reread any one of the dozen notes she’d written him to know just how much she adored him. No. He could never believe she’d played him false. Unless …
Unless in his hurt he chose to push aside the evidence of her love and judge her a heartless jilt.
A cold rush of panic washed through her at that thought. It could happen, especially in light of the fact that he’d had his heart broken by such a woman just last Season.
Her panic deepened as she remembered his agonized tone as he confessed the affair. He’d told her of it the day he declared his love, saying that he wanted her to understand the depth of his feelings that he would risk as he did being hurt again. And he had been hurt. So badly, in fact, that he broke down halfway through his tale, weeping and begging her to never forsake him. She meant everything to him, he sobbed, more than life itself. Moved to tears herself, she’d taken him in her arms and sworn her undying love.
Remembering the tender scene made her eyes well up all over again. Oh! She simply had to see her beloved and reassure him of the steadfastness of her vows … before he heard of her engagement and suffered more pain. Once she expressed her anguish at her upcoming marriage, he would …
Why, he would refuse to let her wed Lyndhurst. Sophie clasped her hands in a sudden burst of excitement. Hadn’t he told her time and again that he adored her beyond everything, that he would do anything for their love? That being as it was, he would probably insist that they elope to Gretna Green.
For one fleeting yet marvelous moment, she envisioned their flight across the border, thrilling at the romance of the adventure. Then she remembered her debts, and the dream vanished. Whatever would he say when she told him of them?
Briefly she pondered the problem, then dismissed it with a smile. The way he worshiped her, he’d never let a thing like money stand in the way of their happiness. Besides, her debt wasn’t so very large. Edgar had said that it was only fifteen thousand pounds. Well, fifteen thousand, two hundred and sixty-three to be exact. Not an impossible sum by any means. No doubt Julian could discharge it readily enough. If not the full amount, surely enough to satisfy her creditors until he could pay the balance from his ten thousand a year.
And if clearing her debt left them unable to afford the pleasures of Town? She pushed the cloth from her brow and sat up, her headache vanishing with her renewed optimism. With Julian by her side, she would gladly rusticate in the country … forever if necessary. No doubt he shared her feelings.
Her only problem now was seeing him before he heard of her upcoming marriage. And she must see him. A note simply wouldn’t do. She could never adequately plea her case or convey the true depth of her feelings for him in writing.
Bending her knees to her chest to rest her chin upon them, Sophie contemplated her problem. Waiting to see him at the Seabright’s rout tonight was out of the question. By then the news would be all over England, and he would most certainly be too devastated to attend.
Absently she rubbed the bridge of her nose, searching for another option. Well, there was always Hyde Park. Like all young bucks, he rode along Rotten Row every afternoon at five o’ clock. Perhaps she could speak to him there.
She considered the plan for a moment, then flopped back onto her pillows with a sigh of frustration. No. That would never do. Even if it weren’t too late by then, they would never be able to steal a word in private. Not with the way mademoiselle and her aunt’s groom shadowed her every move.
That left only one alternative, the shocking and scandalous one she’d hoped to avoid: She must go to Julian’s quarters now, this morning, before he ventured forth for the day and heard the news. It was really the only hope she had.
Unnerved by the prospect, she rolled over and hid her face in her pillow. Did she dare do something so very bold? If she were seen, it would mean instant ruin. Visiting a gentleman at his bachelor quarters was an unforgivable sin in the eyes of the ton, one almost akin to murder.
Visiting a bachelor, yes. But there was no sin in a wife attending her husband at his home.
Sophie’s smile returned in a flash. And she would be a wife. Indeed, by the time news of her indiscretion got out, if indeed anyone even noted it, she’d be a married woman. Married to the man whose quarters she’d visited.
She’d be Viscountess Oxley.
She rolled onto her back with a sigh and said the name out loud, savoring the feel of it on her tongue. Even if the dragons from Almack’s were to witness her banging at his door, her position in the ton would be secure once they revealed their elopement. Indeed, their daring would probably make them the most celebrated and romantic couple in all of London.
Her decision thus rationalized, Sophie tossed aside the covers and slipped from the bed. It wasn’t until she’d donned her gown and struggled to button it that she bothered to consider Lyndhurst and how her actions might affect him.
He’d be crushed, of course. Like every bachelor in the ton, he adored her and was desperate to marry her. Unlike those men, however, he had an arrogant, overblown sense of pride …
… A cold, aristocratic pride that could very well turn vengeful if stung.
Her hands stilled on her buttons. Dear heavens! What if he directed his ire at Julian and called him out? While dueling was illegal, she’d heard that it still took place, usually over matters of the heart such as this.
For one awful instant she pictured Julian and Lyndhurst in the pale haze of dawn, leveling pistols at each other’s head. Then she remembered Lyndhurst’s sterling character and laughed. What a chucklehead she was! Why, his dull and ever decorous lordship was the last man in London who would ever engage in anything as dangerous or litigious as dueling.
Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she buttoned the last of the buttons. No. Though the affair would undoubtedly wound his lordship’s pride, he would recover in time. Indeed, by next Season he should be improved enough to return to London and find a new bride. If he were as sharp-witted as his reputation claimed him to be, he’d have learned from his experience with her and pursue someone more suited to him — say, a plain woman with excellent breeding and no looks to speak of.
In the long run he’d be happier with such a wife. And who knows? He might someday come to see her jilting him as the blessing it was and deign to forgive her, though in truth she didn’t care.
She’d have her Julian, and that is all that mattered.
Chapter 4
“Yes?”
Sophie returned the majordomo’s haughty stare, momentarily taken aback. Wherever was Julian? She’d expected him to answer her knock. Indeed, she was counting on it. So much so, that she’d spent the whole miserable hackney ride here dreaming of the moment when he opened the door and saw her standing there.
And — oh! What a splendid dream it was. She’d grown positively giddy just imagining it. Especially the part where he crushed her into his embrace and welcomed her with a tender yet eager kiss. And …
“Miss?” When Sophie merely stared at him, mute in her disappointment, he made an impatient noise. “Your business, miss? I haven’t all day.”
Her business? She blinked. Yes. Of course. What a ninnyhammer she was to be thrown off by a minor hindrance like this. Why, she had only to ask to see Julian for him to come and enact her dream exactly as she’d envisioned it. Her wits thus restored, she nodded and said, “Miss Sophie Barrington to see Viscount Oxley on a private matter of the utmost importance.”
“A private matter, is it?” He pursed his lips and swept her length with a critical gaze. Unlike the gentlemen of the ton, who grew calf-eyed at the sight of her, he was utterly unimpressed, glancing away without pausing so much as a beat to admire her numerous feminine charms. Rolling his eyes toward the heavens, he muttered, “They’re always private matters with his lordship.”
Sophie ignored his remark, too affronted by his rude dismissal of her person to ponder its meaning. Insolent old wigsby! As if she cared what he thought. He was clearly too moss-grown to appreciate an Incomparable when he saw one. Promising herself to dismiss him the instant she became Viscountess Oxley, she coolly demanded, “Tell his lordship I’m here. Now.”
“Your card?”
Gracing him with her most withering look, she yanked open her ridicule and extracted one of her gilt-edged calling cards. As she offered it to him, she mentally revised,
No. I’ll not wait until Julian and I are married to dismiss the old crosspatch; I shall insist that it be done now, this very hour.
With disapproval tainting every line of his furrowed face, the man seized her card between two fingers, holding it suspended by the corner as if it were a soiled chamber pot rag. After a moment during which he perused it from arm’s length, he intoned, “I shall see if his lordship is receiving.” Without sparing her so much as a parting glance, he closed the door, leaving her standing on the stoop like a tradesman with unsolicited goods.
Sophie glared at the brass knocker, more outraged than she’d ever been in her life. Rude old crank! How dare he treat her so! First he detains her on the stoop, interrogating her as if she were a pickpocket on trial. And now this! It was too much! It really was. Especially after all she’d suffered to get here.
And she had suffered — dreadfully! — being forced as she was to take her first, and hopefully last, public conveyance. Why, if she’d even suspected how poorly hackney coaches were sprung, much less how vile they smelled —
She stamped her foot in impotent rage. Enough was enough!
In that brief instant she seriously considered marching down the stairs and, yes, hailing the first hackney she saw. Then, in a flash of reason, she remembered why she was there and all thought of retreat fled.
She was there to marry Julian.
And wasn’t spending the rest of her life with him worth tolerating an hour or so of travail?
Sighing her resignation, she peered around her to assure herself that she remained free from prying eyes. Just because her scheme wasn’t going exactly as she’d planned was no reason to abandon it. Besides, she’d been a fool to believe that Julian would answer his own door. He was a viscount, after all. Of course he’d have a majordomo …
A majordomo who she was beginning to think had ignored her request. She was about to knock again when the door swung open. Certain it was Julian, she smiled and took a step forward, preparing to fly into his embrace.
To her disenchantment it was the majordomo, and if such a thing were possible, he looked even more censorious than before. Stepping aside to wave her into his inner sanctum, he rasped, “His lordship will receive you now.”
The first thing Sophie noted when she stepped into the foyer was that it was lacking in decoration. Conspicuously so.
At odds with every other foyer she’d seen during the Season, the pearl-gray walls of this one were void of a single picture, mural, or wall hanging. More curious yet, there were no hall chairs, or even the requisite side table with its silver calling-card tray. Why, there wasn’t so much as a carpet in sight.
Obeying the majordomo’s command that she follow him, Sophie climbed the stairs and trailed him. down the second-floor corridor, mentally noting the touches she would add when she became Viscountess Oxley. She was just imagining the barren hallway graced with a Grecian urn and a nymph statue, when her guide stopped before a partially open door.
Sprawled in a chair just inside was Julian. Garbed as he was in a sky-blue dressing gown with his golden hair in a decidedly unartistic tousle, he appeared to have only just risen from bed.
Sophie shoved the door the rest of the way open. “Julian?”
The instant he saw her, he sprang to his feet, extending his arms in welcome. “Sophie, dearest. What a lovely surprise.”
Ignoring the impropriety of his unclothed state, she flew into his waiting arms and gladly claimed his ready kiss. “Oh, Julian. I just had to see you,” she sobbed, letting all her pent-up grief flow forth. “The most dreadful thing has happened!”
He drew back a fraction to peer anxiously at her face. “Why, dearest. Whatever has happened?”