Chapter 38

38

Sophie woke early the next morning, with Rafe still sleeping deeply beside her, inevitably close as he was a large man and the bed was not roomy. She was glad he was not yet awake, torn as she was between conflicting desires and emotions, foremost among which was her concern for him. Last night he’d needed her, she knew, and this day would not be any easier, nor any of the days that followed until his father was laid to rest. That might at least provide a little relief. It would be a heartless, cruel thing, to leave him to bear all this alone when she could give him the comfort he could not find elsewhere. Nor did she wish, at this time of all times, to be so selfish as to force a conversation about their impossible future. It would be unconscionable to demand he set aside all the hurt, regret and useless anger she knew he was experiencing at this sudden and equivocal loss and insist on talking about herself, as though her feelings were more important than his, or even as important as his, when plainly just now they couldn’t be. It was worse than that, though. Even if they did speak of their situation, perhaps at his instigation, was she going to look at him in his current vulnerability and lie to him?

Because she loved him – she had admitted as much to herself in a moment of unwelcome clarity when she’d almost allowed him, begged him, to come inside her, regardless of the potential consequences. She did not want to love anybody, and him least of all. There were a thousand good reasons why she should not. But none of them counted for anything in the face of the undeniable truth. If they had the painful conversation, as eventually they must, and in the course of it he asked her if she loved him, which in his mind would be the only question that mattered, could she really betray him, really lie and say she did not?

She couldn’t go, not now at any rate. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t remain silent, not forever. She was stuck.

Rafe stirred, and instinctively reached for her, and she allowed herself to be drawn into his embrace, where she so much wanted to be, and where she should not be. But it was so seductive… He lay with his head on her shoulder and she smoothed back his sleep-disordered locks with loving fingers. She wasn’t leaving him today, nor yet tomorrow. She’d wait until after the funeral, at least. Then she’d pack up her few possessions and go, the next day, after she’d said a painful goodbye. She might as well enjoy – that wasn’t the word, but she could think of no other – this short time that was all they’d have together. She wouldn’t hold herself back from loving him, nor pepper their conversation with mean little remarks meant to show that none of this was permanent. That would be a low trick – as if she could later say to him, I never made you any promises, remember I did not. No, while she was here, she’d be here fully. Though she would try to prevent herself from telling him she loved him. It was true, but it could do no good. It was not possible, she thought as she held him, to insure oneself, or anyone else, against heartbreak. There didn’t seem to be any entirely good choices.

‘What must you do today, Rafe?’ she asked him.

‘A great many aggravating things, when I would rather be here with you,’ he said drowsily. ‘The lawyer, Mr Barnaby, who drew up Wyverne’s last testament will be driving over from Oxford in response to the note I sent by messenger. I’ve seen the document, of course, thanks to Rosanna, but I’ll need to go through it with him. Simon Venables is coming back this afternoon to finish the arrangements for the funeral. I must write a notice for insertion in the newspapers, I suppose – I wrote a prodigious number of letters yesterday, but not those ones. And I must speak to the estate mason about the carving on the stone, so that he can begin on it. I’m not sure how long such things take, or if it can be put in place directly. But I’d like to get it done, and he will know.’

‘I had not thought of that. What will you have it say, and where will he be buried?’

‘There is a place for him in the graveyard of the church here, beside my mother and his second wife. It will be a plain slab to cover the grave, with his name and dates and nothing more. He had designed no grandiose monument for himself, rather to my relief, and I am not inclined to perpetuate any untruths in stone. No conventional pieties or expressions of affection and regret that nobody feels. Just the bare facts, and let future Wyvernes make what they will of it.’

Future Wyvernes, she thought: his children and his grandchildren. But not mine. ‘It sounds a full enough day for you,’ she said. ‘We should get up.’

‘Yes, I fear so. But most important of all, I must see my grandmother. Will you come with me, Sophie?’

‘Would she not rather you were alone together? But I will come, of course, if you think I am wrong in that.’

He considered, lying back on the pillow and looking up at her. ‘You may be right. Not because she does not care for you or trust you, but just because it cannot be easy for her, this situation we find ourselves in, and she may feel obliged to put a brave face on it for your sake if you are present, when it must be better that she does not, and tells me exactly how she feels. We have no secrets from you, my dear – it’s not that.’

‘You would be entitled to them if you did,’ she told him.

‘I disagree. But we cannot speak of this now. And it seems I must leave you alone again today, for which I am sorry. At least I can reassure you that you are free to walk where you please. One of the many things I did yesterday was seek out the men Wyverne had employed to patrol the estate, pay them off and send them on their way. The ones Mr Smith had bribed or otherwise suborned had already taken their leave with extreme promptness. This was one of the many things Rosanna upbraided me for – she is furious that I have no intention to make any further search for the jewels. I expect I haven’t heard the last of her grievances, and that she will have thought of more overnight, but I hope you at least can manage to avoid her. Let’s go and have breakfast. This is not a day I can face without sustenance, and I can reassure you that it is her habit always to take breakfast in her own chambers. She will not disturb us.’

It would be the first time they’d eaten together in the public parts of the mansion, apart from that appalling dinner party; all the other meals they had shared had been taken in the privacy of this room and he had brought them to her on a tray. She could hardly blame him in his distraction for wanting simply to sit down and eat at table in the house he now owned. It was a less straightforward matter than it might appear, though. It might be more than a little awkward for her, to be waited on in formal fashion by the servants for the first time since she’d been revealed as his mistress. And she didn’t want him to think it set any kind of precedent for a future together. But this was the nature of the trap she found herself in, and she would not flinch at it. She agreed.

A short while later, then, Sophie sat in the breakfast room – a light, airy chamber that looked out across the lawns to the lakes – and poured Rafe his coffee. There was a bizarre normality about the domestic scene. They were attended by James and William, and if either of them had any thoughts about her new and most ambiguous situation, they kept them to themselves, and off their faces. They were impassive, and so, as far as she could manage it, was she.

They were just about to rise from the table to go their separate ways when the door opened, and a young gentleman in travelling dress burst in, followed by a plainly scandalised butler who had, it seemed, tried and failed to announce him in a normal manner. At a glance from Rafe, Kemp shooed out the footmen and closed the door firmly behind them and himself, so that the three of them were left alone.

‘Good day, Charlie!’ he said, rising and embracing the young man. ‘I’m glad to see you, though I had not looked for your arrival quite so soon. Miss Delavallois, may I present my brother, Lord Charles? Charles, Miss Delavallois is our grandmother’s companion. Grand-mère is well, Charlie, but does not join us for breakfast.’

It was smoothly done, thought Sophie, and gave a spurious air of regularity to what could not be other than an unusual situation. Gentlemen and unmarried ladies did not spend time alone, whether at breakfast or in any other circumstance. But then, it could not be said that Rosanna’s presence would have lent a greater respectability to the scene, given her reputation and the rumours that swirled about her and her stepson. Matters in this house had strayed very far from the norm, and her presence as Rafe’s mistress would not help to get them back to it.

She greeted Lord Charles, and thought as she did so how little he resembled his half-brother, save in colouring and in the unusual dark blue shade of his eyes, which seemed to be a Wyverne trait. He was a young man of medium height and slight build, and, like so many young gentlemen at the universities and elsewhere, he appeared to be addicted to dandyism: his shirt points were alarmingly high, his coat of an exaggerated cut with peaked shoulders and a nipped-in waist, and his waistcoat was bright enough to make one blink. It was odd to see a countenance that so resembled the late Marquess’s – and for that matter also bore a fair likeness to that of Mr Nathaniel Smith – and yet was so youthfully ingenuous, and bore an expression of somewhat vacuous amiability.

‘You said in your note that you were writing to the old man’s lawyer after your screed to me,’ Lord Charles informed his sibling, sinking into a chair and helping himself to a cup of coffee. ‘You told me you wrote in haste so that you could send both letters to Oxford by the same messenger. Aha! I thought. So I went round to see him at the crack of dawn and found him just setting off here in his old-fashioned chaise, and got a ride with him. Thought it was damn-dashed cunning of me, but soon wished I hadn’t – devilish dull fellow to spend a few hours with. But here I am, all right and tight.’

‘Where is Mr Barnaby?’ asked Rafe. ‘I must go and see him.’

‘Kemp put him in the library,’ Charles said, his words somewhat muffled, as he had loaded up a plate for himself and set to it with a will. ‘The old stick didn’t think it decent to interrupt the Marquess at his breakfast. Devilish odd to think of you as a Marquess now, I must say, Rafe!’

‘It must always have been so eventually,’ said his brother drily, ‘unless you’d planned to put a period to my existence by some cunning means and take on the title yourself. Which you still could, I suppose. If that is your desire, I beg you not to delay, and then you can have the unalloyed joy of dealing with our revered stepmother and all the funeral arrangements, my young cub.’

Lord Charles laughed uproariously. ‘As if I would think of such a thing! You are the most complete hand, Rafe!’

‘Charlie, I must leave you to what I assume is your second breakfast,’ the new Marquess said, rising to his feet once more.

‘Third,’ said his brother indistinctly. ‘Travelling makes me hungry. Had a bite or two when we changed horses. But nothing to touch the food here, naturally.’

Rafe smiled. ‘Naturally. Perhaps you will go up and visit Grand-mère once you are done with it; she has seen you so rarely that it must be a surprise and a pleasure to her, and a sign that life at Wyverne is changing for the better. Mademoiselle Delavallois, I hope I shall see you later, and that you pass a pleasant day.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she murmured. ‘I hope your duties do not prove too onerous.’ She could say no more, with Lord Charles present.

Rafe was almost at the door before he turned back and said expressionlessly, ‘Charlie, do try if you can to avoid being alone with Lady Wyverne – with your stepmother. We’ve spoken of this, you may recall.’

‘Anything you say, old fellow,’ replied his brother cheerfully, chewing on one of the famous Wyverne sausages with which he had piled his plate.

‘He seems to think she’s going to leap on me like a wild beast from the menagerie the minute she gets me alone,’ the young man said as soon as the door had closed. ‘He may be right, of course. Makes a fellow dashed nervous, to tell the truth.’

‘I expect he has his reasons,’ Sophie replied cautiously.

‘You seem to be deep in my brother’s confidence, I must say. Have you been here long, ma’am? Thought m’grandmother had another companion last time I sneaked in to see her. Elderly, dusty-looking female. Hard to keep track, though, I admit.’

‘I’ve been at Wyverne just a few weeks,’ said Sophie. ‘But it’s been an eventful time. It feels as though it’s been much longer.’

‘I’ll wager it does. Not…’ He coughed, and Sophie thought he was embarrassed, unless it was the sausage. ‘Not what you’d call a respectable household, this, is it? Not with m’father and his ladybird playing off their tricks. Even at Oxford we hear rumours – fellows tease me awfully about the goings-on here. Is she thinking of leaving, do you know? Because I’d imagine Rafe will want to come and settle at Wyverne, and have us with him, m’sister and me. Get us all here together with our grandmother. But he can’t do that, not while that woman’s under this roof. Amelia makes her come-out next year, you know. I can’t claim to be awake upon all suits, like Rafe, but even I know that an innocent chit of seventeen shouldn’t be spending any time with a woman like that. Not at all the thing, set all the tabbies gossiping. Come to think of it, not right that you should, either. You’re not an ape-leader like the old lady’s other companions.’

‘I don’t know anything about the matter,’ said Sophie a little stiffly, acutely uncomfortable and refusing to address the matter of her own status. If only she’d had the strength to leave before Lord Charles arrived, as she should have realised he was bound to. ‘If Lady Wyverne has plans, I’m not sure she’s shared them with your brother. And he can’t put her belongings out in the street, after all. Not that there’s a street here to put them in, but you understand my meaning. Your stepmother may be… whatever she is, but your father only died yesterday. It’s not been twenty-four hours, my lord.’

‘I’d much rather you called me Charlie,’ said the irrepressible young nobleman. ‘“My lord” is such a mouthful. As is your surname, for that matter. I can just about say it, probably, but I wouldn’t care to have to spell it, damme if I would, not if you held a pistol to my head. I’m only a quarter French, y’know.’

She smiled, but said, ‘I do take your point, but I can’t possibly?—’

But she was not to be allowed to finish her sentence, and once again her breakfast was to be interrupted, in a much more unwelcome manner this time. Lady Wyverne surged into the room, leaving the door wide open behind her and advancing towards Sophie at alarming speed. ‘You!’ she said in the carrying tones that must have served her so well upon the stage. She was dressed from head to foot in black, though her gown was considerably lower cut than was traditional for deep mourning in the daytime. Sophie stood, partly in a show of respect and partly because she thought it unwise to put herself at the disadvantage of being seated and vulnerable if the woman should actually attack her with a coffee pot or piece of flung crockery.

‘Lady Wyverne,’ she said levelly, though her heart was pounding. ‘I must offer you my condolences on your great loss.’ Their last encounter had been more than unfortunate, but Sophie had no intention of referring to it, certainly not in front of Rafe’s brother.

‘I don’t want your condolences, you… you trollop!’ Lord Charles had also risen at his stepmother’s entrance, and was standing regarding her, his mouth half-open and an expression of fascinated terror upon his face. ‘How dare you sit here, strumpet, and usurp my position?’

‘I’m not,’ said Sophie, abandoning civility as a lost cause and resuming her seat. ‘I’m just having breakfast, and you must perceive that it’s a round table. There’s no head or foot.’

‘I say, ma’am,’ said Lord Charles with some courage, ‘making all allowances for your sad situation, and adding my condolences, obviously, but it’s not really fair, you know, to address this young lady in that manner. Assure you she’s not usurping in the slightest. Just trying to eat her breakfast in peace.’ As was I, his expression plainly added. ‘Not trying to usurp anything myself, perish the thought, but may I pour you a cup of coffee?’

‘Coffee?’ bellowed Rosanna with loathing. There was no question; whatever her acting skills may or may not have been – and her theatrical career had not been particularly illustrious in the conventional sense – she’d have been heard with perfect clarity at the back of the cheapest seats and possibly even in the street outside the theatre. ‘Coffee? I don’t want coffee!’

‘Tankard of ale?’ suggested Lord Charles hopefully, keen to lower the emotional temperature of the room. ‘Sausage? Several sausages?’ He brandished one vigorously in illustration, since he hadn’t put down his fork when he’d risen reluctantly to his feet.

The suggestion, combined with the gesture, was perhaps unfortunate, given Lady Wyverne’s reputation, as was the fact that Sophie choked a little over her coffee, and turned the involuntary sound into a rather unconvincing cough. Rosanna’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you mocking me, young man?’

His face was a picture of horror, and he appeared to have been struck speechless. ‘I don’t think he is, really,’ said Sophie, trying very hard to keep her face straight. ‘I believe Lord Charles is just wondering if you’d like to join him for breakfast.’

‘That’s it!’ Lord Charles replied fervently, casting a wistful glance down at his abandoned plate.

‘I am the Marchioness of Wyverne! I will not sit down to break bread with a woman of easy virtue who has no place here!’

This was undoubtedly intended as her exit line, but it would have had more impact if Sophie had not been laughing. ‘Really?’ she responded sweetly. ‘Would you like me to tell your stepson exactly what took place in the Marble Saloon last week?’

Rosanna was visibly taken aback, but not for long. ‘Would you like me to tell him what took place in his brother’s secret little chamber three days ago?’ she shot back. Lord Charles’s eyes were jumping from one woman to the other, as at a tennis match. He still held his fork with its forgotten sausage.

Sophie had risen to her feet again now and the two women faced each other, eyes flashing, bosoms heaving, chiefly Lady Wyverne’s due to her natural advantages, and Sophie was about to say something most regrettable when fate, in the shape of the new Marquess, intervened. Most unfortunately, he had an elderly gentleman at his heels who must be his legal adviser. This individual looked both shocked and enthralled.

‘Lady Wyverne,’ Rafe said icily. ‘You have an exceedingly carrying voice. It penetrated to the library, where Mr Barnaby and I were in consultation. A respect for common decency has so far prevented me from saying this, madam, but I must say it now: you are no longer welcome here. I would be grateful if you would have your bags packed and make ready to leave as soon as possible. My carriage is at your disposal, and I will ensure you are able to sustain yourself comfortably until all legal matters are settled and your jointure paid to you. But it is time for you to go. And I will not,’ he went on, stepping menacingly closer to her and forestalling the vituperative speech that she was quite plainly about to launch into, ‘hear another vulgar word from you, least of all if it should be disgraceful, unwarranted and spiteful abuse of my affianced wife!’