“I’m not really sure what I expected,” Sophia said with a laugh. But she wouldn’t
have picked out this particular house, a tall, narrow, eminently respectable house
of red brick and black-painted shutters on a quiet square, as belonging to the St.
Claire family. “I must say I’m rather disappointed it’s so ordinary.”
Dominic smiled at her. “Then you can choose something as garish as you like when we
go house-hunting.”
“House-hunting?”
“We can’t stay in my lodgings forever. And I doubt you would want to move in with
my parents.”
“No,” Sophia murmured as she looked up at the house again. It was so stolid, so placid
and quiet, giving away no clue to what might be hiding behind its walls. She
doubted his parents would
want
her, a Huntington, to take up residence in their house. What Isabel had told her
about the St. Claires’ long and bitter enmity for the Huntingtons had nagged at her
on the journey from Dover, and she couldn’t quit thinking about it all.
Marrying Dominic had seemed so right, so natural, when he asked her in Paris. But
would another hasty decision come to haunt her?
Sophia supposed she would know more once she met Dominic’s parents, but the thought
of that imminent encounter had her stomach in knots.
“I rather like your lodgings, Dominic,” she said.
“Do you? What is it you like so much? The faded rug with the burn marks?” he teased.
“The ill-tempered landlady shouting up the stairs at us? The tiny fireplace that smokes?”
Sophia laughed. “The fact that there is little to keep clean. And there’s a cupboard
big enough for my clothes.”
“It won’t be nearly big enough when I’m done with you.” He raised her gloved hand
to his lips for a quick kiss. “I’m glad to hear you laugh, Sophia. You’ve been much
too quiet since we arrived in England.”
“There’s a lot to think about, I suppose,” she said.
“Soon there won’t be time to think at all,” Dominic answered. “With Brendan gone for
the time being, the Devil’s Fancy is all ours for a while. There’s much work to do
there.”
“I can’t wait,” Sophia said, and truly she couldn’t. She wanted to work. She wanted
to keep busy and feel useful. Thinking didn’t seem to get her anywhere.
Dominic climbed down from the carriage and reached back to help her. As Sophia peeked
up at the house from
under her hat, she saw a curtain at an upstairs window twitch. Then all was still
again. Dominic offered her his arm and led her up the polished marble steps just as
the door swung open to reveal a black-coated butler.
“Welcome home, Mr. Dominic,” he said with a bow. “I trust your journey was an enjoyable
one.”
“Most enjoyable, as you can see,” Dominic answered. “I have brought home a new bride.”
“We did hear the good news, Mr. Dominic. And all the staff wishes you every happiness,”
the butler said, a smile threatening to break through his stern facade.
“Dominic!” Isabel cried. Sophia looked up to see her running down the stairs in a
cloud of white muslin. “Sophia! You are here at last. It seems we’ve been waiting
ages for you to call since we got home.”
Dominic laughed and kissed his sister’s pink cheek. “We’ve only been back two days,
Issy. Sophia needed time to settle in a bit.”
“
You
needed time for Papa to calm down, more likely,” Isabel said.
Sophia swallowed hard and forced herself to keep smiling at those words.
“And has he?” said Dominic.
“Oh, you know Papa,” Isabel said vaguely. “And Mama is rather unhappy at being deprived
of planning a grand wedding.”
“Mama can wait for your nuptials,” said Dominic.
Isabel gave an unladylike snort, completely incongruous with her fairylike appearance.
“That surely won’t be for quite some time. But Papa is waiting for you in the library,
Dom. You go in and talk to him while I take Sophia to have tea with Mama.”
Isabel took Sophia’s hand and led her toward the stairs. Sophia threw a startled glance
back at Dominic. She didn’t want to meet her new mother-in-law for the first time
all alone! On the other hand, William St. Claire sounded rather more fierce than his
wife, so perhaps it was better she didn’t have to meet him just yet.
Dominic’s face looked shadowed and serious, but he gave her a quick smile. Just before
he disappeared from her view, he turned toward a closed door just off the foyer.
Isabel chattered away as they moved down a corridor, talking of the new play at the
Majestic, a production of
The Tempest
where she was to play Miranda. Sophia hardly had time to think before she was swept
in Isabel’s wake into a pretty, sunny drawing room.
It was a welcoming space, all pale blue and white walls hung with portraits and pastoral
landscapes, dotted with comfortable-looking sofas and chairs. There were china figurines
clustered on the fireplace mantel and a writing desk littered with letters and invitations,
but nothing like the newly fashionable clutter that took up every inch of her own
mother’s drawing room. This was a bright, airy space, welcoming, and Sophia felt a
little less nervous as she looked around.
A table was set up by the window and laid out with tea things, fine china and polished
silver gleaming in the sunlight. A lady rose from behind it, her blue plaid taffeta
skirts rustling and a tentative smile on her lips. She looked rather like an older
version of Isabel, her red-gold hair only lightly sprinkled with gray, her eyes very
green in a delicate oval face.
“You must be Sophia,” she said, coming slowly forward. “Dominic’s new wife. Isabel
has told us so much about you.”
Sophia summoned up all her ingrained social training to give a smile and a nod. “Yes.
I am Sophia.”
“And I am Katherine St. Claire. Welcome to our home.” Katherine gave her a gentle
hug, and at first, Sophia was startled. She would never have expected such a thing
from someone she had just met, and she stood stiffly for an instant, unsure of what
to do.
But Katherine’s smile was kind as she drew back. “Please, have some tea, my dear.
Knowing Dominic and his father, and the way they are when they start talking about
the theater, they won’t be in for some time.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. St. Claire,” Sophia said. She followed Katherine and Isabel
to the table and sat down as Katherine reached for the silver teapot.
“Oh, please, do call me Katherine! Or we shall both be calling each other Mrs. St.
Claire and it will be terribly confusing,” she said. Though her smile was gentle,
her green eyes were bright and probing as she looked across the table. Sophia remembered
hearing that she was a trained actress, who surely missed little that went on around
her. “You must tell me how you met Dominic in Paris. I’m sure it is terribly romantic.”
“I told you, Mama! She came to the theater,” Isabel said, helping herself to a cucumber
sandwich. “When we had the dinner backstage. They couldn’t quit staring at each other.”
“My dear,” Katherine said gently. “You should let Sophia tell her own story.”
Sophia laughed. “No, that is the tale. We met at the theater, and at my friend Madame
Martine’s home, and—well, I had never met anyone quite like Dominic before. He is
quite extraordinary.”
Katherine smiled, and for a moment, she looked very much like her son as well as her
daughter. “So he is, though I confess I’m prejudiced. He must have found
you
quite extraordinary as well. We thought he would never marry, and now—well, this
has all been so sudden.”
“It was sudden for me, as well, I confess,” Sophia said carefully. “But it felt like
the right thing to do.”
“I did not know my husband very long when we married either.” Katherine offered a
plate of cakes. “I was seventeen and appearing in my first play, as Cordelia opposite
my father at Covent Garden. William saw me there one night and wanted me to play Juliet
at
his
new theater, and one thing led to another. My parents didn’t care for him, didn’t
think I was ready to be married, but I couldn’t quit seeing him. It was terribly romantic,
and I have never regretted my choice.”
“I hope I never will, either,” Sophia said. Katherine’s kind welcome had assuaged
some of her doubts, but she still didn’t know what Dominic’s real motives in their
marriage were. She feared they were not quite as “romantic” as his mother supposed.
“You were married before, were you not?” Katherine asked.
“Yes. My first husband, Captain Westman, died last year,” Sophia said. “We were not
married very long.”
“And before that you were Lady Sophia Huntington.”
“Mama!” Isabel protested. “That was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
“No, it is true,” Sophia said, watching Katherine steadily, wondering if this was
some sort of test. “I was Lady Sophia Huntington. But I haven’t lived with my family
since I married Captain Westman.”
Katherine nodded, her expression serene. She gave away no clue to her feelings. “And
Dominic knew this.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well then, I was right. It
was
romantic. Love conquers all,” Katherine said with a smile. “Now, tell me, Sophia,
do you enjoy the theater? You shall certainly have to, now that you are a St. Claire!”
They went on to talk about the London theater scene and new plays to be presented
that season, light, innocuous chatter that set Sophia at ease again. She was good
at being sociable, at knowing about fashion and gossip. But playing cards had also
taught her to sense hidden meanings, to know when something unsaid and unacknowledged
lurked beneath.
Once they finished their tea, Dominic had still not appeared. Sophia tried not to
worry about what he and his father were talking about and listened to Katherine as
she pointed out portraits around the room. There were images of Katherine and her
husband as Romeo and Juliet, charming pastels of all the St. Claires as children,
and a new one of Lily St. Claire as a bride.
And hanging in one shadowed corner was the oval image of a lady in a loosely draped
satin gown of the 1660s, her golden ringlets looped up to fall loose on her bare shoulders.
She looked out from the image with wide, sad dark eyes, a ghost of a smile on her
painted lips.
“And this is one of our ancestors—Mary St. Claire,” Katherine said softly. “Perhaps
you have heard of her?”
“Yes,” Sophia answered. She stared into Mary’s eyes, and it felt as if she was seeing
a lost friend for the first time. The woman whose words had been her only friend for
a long time looked back at her. “I have heard of her.”
Katherine gave her a shrewd glance. “Then you know her sad tale. It was such a turbulent
time in history, was it not? I suppose we must be grateful to live now, when things
are so peaceful and prosperous. And this painting over here is my mother. She was
also an actress, quite well-known in her day, though I fear she died rather young…”
After being shown the rest of the family images and having another cup of tea, Sophia
realized it had grown rather late and Dominic had not yet appeared. Katherine seemed
to notice it, too, for she laughed and said, “I’m afraid when my husband and sons
start talking about the theater they never stop! They will be quite late to dinner.
Isabel, my dear, perhaps you could summon them?”
“Of course, Mama,” Isabel said, half-rising from her chair.
“Oh, no, you had best not,” Katherine said. “You also get caught up in the theater
talk, and then I shall lose you all. I will go.”
“Let me go, Mrs. St. Claire—Katherine,” Sophia said. “I must find the ladies’ withdrawing
room anyway, and I would love to see more of your house. I promise I will not get
caught up in any theater talk.”
Katherine laughed. “Of course, my dear, if you are sure.” She gave Sophia directions
to the library, and as Sophia left the drawing room, Isabel’s laughter faded away
behind her.
The rest of the St. Claire house was as lovely and tasteful as the drawing room, filled
with porcelain objets d’art and intriguing-looking books and theatrical artifacts.
Sophia paused to examine a few of the paintings, but she didn’t find any more images
of Mary. All in all, she felt
rather happy about this first meeting. What could have been uncomfortable, or even
angry, had been smoothed by Katherine’s kindness and Isabel’s good spirits.
She turned down the short corridor Katherine had said led to the library. It was darker
there, the heavy curtains drawn over the windows. She could hear the muffled sound
of voices as she drew nearer, and as they became louder she realized the door was
half-open. Unlike in the drawing room, this conversation seemed more an argument than
a polite exchange. She raised her hand to knock, but when she heard her name, her
hand fell back to her side, and she took a step back.
“… and what is Sophia’s last name?” a man said.
“It is St. Claire now,” Dominic said, and she recognized that stubborn note in his
voice.
“But it was Huntington! Don’t think I don’t know that. Isabel told me all about your
wedding. Is this why Brendan stayed in France? Because he knew you were making a terrible
mistake and he couldn’t bear to see it?”
“I don’t know why Brendan stayed in France, Father. He did not confide in me. But
I assure you it was not because of my wife.”
“Your wife! A Huntington. You have brought a
Huntington
into our midst, just as your sister did. At least Aidan has his uses. What use is
this woman? I don’t understand you at all…”
Sophia felt her cheeks burn hot and then turn icy cold. She didn’t wait to hear what
Dominic had to say. She had heard enough. She backed away from the door and rushed
away, holding her skirts so they wouldn’t rustle as she ran down the corridor.
Good God. What had she done?
“You don’t need to understand me, Papa,” Dominic said as he watched his father pace
the length of the library floor. “All you have to do is accept that Sophia is my wife
now. She’s not a Huntington any longer. She’s a St. Claire.”