Chapter Fifteen

Too overwrought and weary to shed another tear, Sophie stared at the mausoleum through the fluttering folds of her black gossamer veil. Maman was happy now, finally reunited with Papa. She wondered if he would scold her mother for the terrible scheme that had cost her the opportunity to spend more time on earth with their only daughter, the child of their perfect love, as Maman had so often called her.

A deep sigh worked itself free, despite her best efforts to stop it. Perfect love, indeed. Such a thing only existed in fairy tales and silly romance stories read by girls too foolish and na?ve to believe the cold, hard truth.

A tall, somber form quietly shifted in place to her left, pulling her from her tortured musings.

“She is at peace now, Mr. Wethersby,” she gently reminded him. Even though Maman had never given him the slightest encouragement, he had remained hopeful and steadfast in his adoration.

“And her soul is now whole again,” he said with a sad smile. “I am glad for her. Your mother deserves a peaceful eternity with the love she longed for with all her heart.”

Sophie nodded, then turned toward him and offered him the slightest nod. “Thank you, Mr. Wethersby, for all that you tried to do. I will forever be in your debt.”

The blond giant of a man smiled and returned a grateful bow. “It is I who am in your debt, my lady. I return to London now, but if you should ever find yourself in need of me, send for me, and I will be there.”

“Thank you, good sir. Safe travels and Godspeed.”

He bowed again and touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, my lady. God be with you.” Then he turned and disappeared into the foggy drizzle of the unbearable day.

“Come, my lady,” Marie gently urged. “The carriage awaits, and the rain grows colder.” She held an umbrella over Sophie and another over herself. “You will surely become ill.”

“Is he still there?” Sophie asked without looking back at the gate that closed off the private memorial garden on the grounds of Rydleshire Academy at their property in Calais, France.

“Yes, my lady. Beside his carriage.”

Sophie gritted her teeth and indulged in another heavy sigh. She kept her focus locked on the dates carved into the front of the mausoleum’s stunning white marble that Maman had imported all the way from Italy. Nothing but the best for Papa, she had said—nothing but the best for their love.

She took the umbrella from Marie and barely tipped her head toward the carriage they had taken rather than ride with Nash in his. “Go, Marie. I am not ready yet, but I do not want you drowned in the increasing downpour. Go wait in the dry. I shall be along soon enough.”

“But, my lady, you must—”

“I must do what I deem best for myself,” Sophie corrected her firmly. “Now, go.”

She didn’t like being stern with Marie, but she had much to think about. Elias and Celia had been good enough to help her go over all her possible options before she left London to bring Maman home. Thankfully, her mother and the queen had possessed the presence of mind to ensure that the academy and property in Calais belonged solely to Maman and not the Rydleshire estate. They were now passed down to Sophie—along with funding for the property’s upkeep and the school’s continued operation. She had been surprised at the inheritance artfully hidden in the paragraphs of her marriage contract. She had assumed that upon the completion of her surprise wedding, everything became the property of her new husband, as per usual. Considering the circumstances of her now defunct union, the discovery of her ability to maintain an independence she had previously thought impossible came with a great deal of relief.

“Sophie.” Nash’s deep voice jarred her from her thoughts, twisting in her heart like a white-hot knife. “Come, my lady. The weather grows more severe.”

“You go. I would not wish your driver to become ill.”

“My concern is for you, my lady, not my driver.”

“Rest easy, my lord. I am quite capable of looking after myself.” She silently lauded herself for maintaining the detached numbness necessary for survival. She had no one now but her dear sisters of choice, and they were in England tending to their loving families—as they should be. Maintaining an aloof, emotionless presence was paramount to prevent her from shattering into shards of helpless, weepy bits. “Go, my lord. I shall be along presently.”

“I shall wait here with you, my lady.”

“As you wish. Your choices and actions are your own.” She knew without looking that his strong, handsome jaw would be locked in that stubborn angle that made him even more irresistible. She would not succumb to him. Never again. Soon enough, he would either return to his harlot on Bond Street or take up with a different ladybird here in France. Of that, she had no doubt. Without a word to him, she turned and made her way back to her carriage. He could follow if he wished, or drown in the mud and rain for all she cared. It mattered not to her. The dull ache where her heart had once been served as a constant reminder to harden herself and nurture an unfeeling existence.

He offered his hand to help her step up into her carriage. Rather than accept his aid, she handed him her umbrella and climbed into the conveyance by herself. She needed no help—not from him.

Much to her annoyance, he climbed in and settled down beside her. Marie sat in the seat across from them, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.

“Do sit still, Marie,” Sophie quietly admonished her.

“Beg pardon, my lady.”

“Marie, would you be good enough to return to the house in the other carriage?” Nash asked. “Upon your arrival, please prepare her ladyship a hot bath to soothe her from the effects of this chilling day. We shall be along shortly.”

“Yes, my lord,” Marie said while avoiding looking Sophie in the eye. “Shall I instruct George as to where you would like to go, my lord?”

“Yes, Marie, ask him to take us around the grounds until I tell him otherwise.”

“Yes, my lord.” The maid climbed down from the carriage, her speediness betraying her desire to escape as quickly as possible.

Sophie clenched her teeth while drawing in a deep breath to brace herself against what would undoubtedly be another long diatribe of apologies, professions of love and regret, and lies about never straying in the first place. He had plied her with the sentiments at every opportunity over the past week, even left letters under her bedroom door, and tied notes of love to bundles of flowers, bottles of perfume, and meaningless jewelry.

For the life of her, she could not understand why he was trying so hard to repair something that had obviously never been a priority to him. Men strayed. She had heard servants and the ton’s gossips chat about it innumerable times. He was simply behaving like a normal, heartless lordling. Therefore, somehow, she would hone the art of being the cold, heartless wife. She swallowed hard, forcing the knot of torment that constantly choked her back down where it belonged.

He moved to take her hand, but she slid it out of his reach and tucked it beneath her crossed arms as she shifted to stare out the window at the dreary landscape.

His deep, frustrated sigh did not escape her. “Sophie.”

“Yes, my lord?” she dutifully answered while still staring out the window.

“What happens now?”

His question surprised her. This was a new tactic for him. Perhaps a coy response was in order. They had not battled this way before. “I assume we drive around until you tire of it, and then we return to the manor, where I shall have a bath, then retire to my private sitting room to take care of necessary correspondence until time for dinner.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

She risked a glance his way, then looked away just as quickly. Looking him in the eyes was a mistake she would not make again. “Forgive me, my lord. Might you elaborate on your inquiry so I can answer accordingly? I truly have no idea what you wish to know.”

“What happens now? Between us,” he repeated quietly.

“As for you, I do not know.” She stiffened her spine and lifted her chin. “I intend to take my mother’s place here at the academy and continue her work.”

“What about England? Rydleshire House? The queen prefers I stay close to the royal family.”

She assumed a nonchalant air. “That is your responsibility, not mine, even though England and the royal family shall always have my loyalty. I am dedicated to training agents to serve them wherever spies are needed. My place is here.” She shrugged. “As for Rydleshire House, it belongs to you to do with as you see fit. Either live there while you are in London or sell it.” She fortified herself with another deep breath as she lifted her chin higher. “I no longer have a life in London among the gossips.”

He unleashed another deep sigh, but it sounded more like a frustrated growl, pleasing her immeasurably before she reminded herself that feelings must not be allowed—not even feelings of victory.

“What about when we have children?” he asked, speaking a great deal louder than necessary.

“I am not with child, my lord,” she answered coldly, the admission saddening her more than it should. She should be pleased her body did not nurture a baby. A precious child would only complicate this already impossible situation.

“But someday you could be with child.” The heat of him so close, the scent of his sandalwood, citrus, and male musk, made all those old memories resurface, dangerous memories she could not under any circumstance dwell upon.

She hardened her heart and tossed her previous decision aside. She would look him in the eye. “I will not get with child by you, my lord. You availed yourself of other means of satisfaction, and I have accepted that, remember?” She swallowed hard again. “Quite clearly, I might add, it was brought to my attention that my services are no longer required. Our bedrooms shall remain as separate as they have been since the day of my mother’s death.”

“I love you, Sophie. How many times must I tell you that this was all a terrible misunderstanding? I have never been unfaithful to you, nor ever will be.” Guilt and anguish filled his voice. The same guilt and anguish he had thrown at her at every opportunity ever since that fateful day. “I hold myself fully accountable for your mother’s death, the sorrows of our marriage, for everything that has gone wrong.” He slowly shook his head, weariness and despair making him seem so much older. “But I am so sorry, my swan,” he whispered. “Please…I beg you…”

“Stop.” She held up a hand as if pressing it against the impenetrable wall between them. “Repeating the same words over and over will neither dilute nor abolish my humiliation, my suffering, or the pain of your betrayal. It has been one week since you cast me aside, and I assure you, the only way I feel differently today is that grief has joined the ache in my heart. Go back to England. To your queen. Your harlot. Your friends who admire you. My place is here, and here I shall stay. Alone.”

“I will never release you from this marriage,” he said, his tone low and ominous. “You are mine, Sophie. For all time.”

“I do not seek release from this marriage. I merely seek release from you.” She needed to cry so badly, needed to throw herself into his arms and sob away all her pain while he held her like he had when she was silly enough to swallow everything he said. But if she relented now, what would she do the next time he made her look like a complete fool? “Might you signal George to take us to the manor now, my lord? I do not wish the bath you ordered for me to grow cold.”

He caught her by the shoulders and turned her toward him, drawing close as though about to kiss her.

She turned her face away and said, “If you kiss me, my lord, know that you do so against my will and my wishes. You once said you would never force yourself upon me. Was that also a lie?”

They stayed in that position for what seemed like forever, as if they were frozen in time. Then he released her with a gentle shove and turned away, sagging forward to drop his head in his hands.

Hollow victory, she told herself while batting her eyes against the sting of tears begging to be shed. She turned back to stare out the window as the carriage rolled past the rear entrance of the academy, where several new admittances were overseeing the unloading of their trunks off the wagon from the docks. Two young women and three men who looked barely old enough to be out of boarding school stood on the steps, clustered beneath the overhang that protected them from the weather.

One of the women, the older one, caught her eye and made her bang her umbrella against the roof of the carriage to bring it to a halt. “Of all the audacity,” she growled before pointing at the door. “Get out. Your ladybird needs help with her trunks.”

Nash scowled at her, narrowing his eyes as though he feared her mad. “What are you talking about?”

With a hard jab of her finger, she pointed out the window at the disheveled blonde woman standing slightly apart from the others in the group. There was no mistaking Miss Adelaide Hampshire, even though she appeared to be dressed with a great deal more propriety than she had been on Bond Street. “Did you truly think I would not notice her among the trainees?”

“If anything, her presence here proves my innocence,” he said, his voice a low, pained growl. “She is here to train, to set herself on a more honorable path, and stop debasing herself to survive. I told you of the promise I made to her father. Your mother knew and agreed to accept her into the academy.” He caught hold of her shoulders again and brought her close once more. “You and your mother have helped so many like her, so many trapped in her very same circumstances. Why can you not accept she is here to change her life, and it has nothing to do with me? There never has been nor ever will be anything between us other than the fact that her father is my friend.”

“I said, get out.” She glared at him, refusing to be taken in again.

“Sophie—”

“All I have is your word against what I saw with my own eyes that day on Bond Street. The way she rubbed all over you like a cat in heat. The way the two of you laughed together as you disappeared into her brothel while Lady Bournebridge and her cronies watched my horror and humiliation with glee. Unfortunately, due to poor choices of her own, my mother is no longer here to corroborate your story about the esteemed Miss Hampshire’s wish to change her ways. You will forgive me if I believe what I witnessed rather than what you would like me to believe.”

His hands fell away from her shoulders. Ever so slowly, he closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. “What will it take to make you believe the truth, my precious swan? I beg you—tell me, what it will take?”

“I do believe the truth, the real truth—not your version of it. Now, go to her. As I said, she appears to need your assistance settling into her room.” Raw, razor-sharp emotions made her stomach churn. If Nash didn’t get out of the carriage soon, she would surely retch all over him. Bile burned at the back of her throat, making her struggle to control the bitter sickness about to overpower her. She popped every one of her knuckles, then clutched her gloved hands in her lap while stiffening against his very convincing act of contrition.

“Sophie.” Sorrow rolled off him in great crashing waves that threatened to topple her. He barely shook his head. “I love you and only you, my dearest swan.”

She clenched her teeth tighter together, knowing if she tried to speak, she would scream.

He released a shuddering sigh, then dipped his chin in a single nod before stepping out of the carriage and closing the door behind him.

With every part of her aching to weep, she banged on the roof of the carriage, closing her eyes as it lurched into motion. She didn’t look out the window to see the lovers’ reunion. After only a week of managing her misery, she just didn’t have the strength to add more torture to her poor battered heart.

As soon as they reached the manor, she jumped from the rig before it came to a full stop and ran inside. Blinded by the tears she could no longer hold at bay, she clung to the banister and pulled herself up the steps to her private quarters.

“My lady!” Marie caught hold of her and helped her into the dressing room. “Oh, my lady. I am so very sorry.”

“A basin. Quickly!” Sophie grabbed the bowl from Marie, dropped to her knees, and rocked over it, casting up everything she had ever thought about eating.

Marie wiped her face with a cool cloth and offered a glass of water to rinse her mouth. “There now, my lady,” she said quietly as she took the basin away. “Off with those wet things and into the tub. I placed a vial of peppermint oil beside it, and also added some to the water. I feared you might be ill after this terrible day.”

“She is here,” Sophie rasped as she stiffly worked with Marie to shed her damp clothing.

“She, my lady?”

“His whore from Bond Street. I saw her on the steps of the academy. Acting like a new trainee moving into the dormitory.”

“Then maybe what Maude said was true.” Marie helped her to the tub and settled her into the comforting warmth of the mint-scented water.

“Maude?” Sophie closed her eyes and pulled in deep breaths of the crisp peppermint oil steam. “When did you speak with Maude?” Maude had been her mother’s lady’s maid for as long as Sophie could remember. The old woman had become so distraught upon Maman’s death that it had made her quite ill, so ill that Sophie had insisted the dear matron stay on at Rydleshire House for however long was necessary.

“Before we left London, she sent for me,” Marie said as she added a kettle of hotter water to the tub. “She said she overheard Lady Nia and Lord Rydleshire talking about helping that girl from Bond Street the day before all the bad things happened, and everything became such a mess. She wanted me to tell you because she knew you were upset with Lord Rydleshire about his going there to talk to that woman.” Marie returned the kettle to the hook inside the small hearth and swung it back over the fire. When she straightened, she gave Sophie a pained look. “I was afraid it was her laudanum talking, so I didn’t say anything before now. But maybe he really was just helping that girl escape that awful place.”

Sophie sank deeper into the water and covered her eyes with a cloth. “How much did Lord Rydleshire pay you to tell me this?”

“My lady!” Marie’s injured tone was convincing enough to give Sophie a twinge of guilt. “Have I ever given you any reason to question my loyalty? If I have, then I shall tender my resignation immediately, although it will pain me greatly to do so. I care about you, my lady. You are…a…a good and fine lady.”

“I cannot trust him, Marie. Too much has happened.”

“But Maude said—”

“What Maude said does not matter. Why did he not tell me he was going to help that girl? Why did he not take me with him? I could have told her about the academy and reassured her.” She uncovered one eye and squinted up at the maid. “But he didn’t tell me, now did he? He did not want me involved, and also didn’t want me to know he was going to see her. For what reason, I ask you?”

“My papa used to avoid telling my mama things to keep from getting pans thrown at his head before he had even done anything to deserve a good bump on his pate.” Marie soaped a rag and reached for Sophie’s arm. “He always said it was safer to ask forgiveness than permission. When things worked out, Mama never knew the difference and didn’t get angry with him. When things went bad, he only had to run from her once rather than twice.” She bobbed her head as she lathered Sophie’s arm. “Smart man, my papa. Mama had a strong arm and good aim.”

Sophie pulled her arm away and washed her face, then covered her eyes again as she leaned back and rested her head on the folded linen padding the edge of the tub. She was so confused, so torn, so heartbroken. How had life become such an unbearable torment that she didn’t know what to believe or which way to turn? “If you were me, what would you do, Marie?”

“I think his lordship meant well, my lady, and the way he looks at you when you don’t realize he’s looking at you… I mean, I can’t for the life of me remember when I saw a man who adored a woman so.”

Sophie pulled in another deep breath of the minty steam and released it with a heavy sigh. “I cannot trust him, Marie. Not after all that has happened. I simply cannot bring myself to do so.”

“Then I am sorry for that, my lady.” Marie sadly shook her head. “I wish I could help make things better for you. Truly, I do.”

“I know you do, Marie.” Sophie waved the maid away. “Leave me to soak awhile, would you? I can manage if I decide I need anything.”

“Yes, my lady.”

For the millionth time, Sophie allowed herself to relive that terrible moment on Bond Street. The shock. The heartbreak. The humiliation. All of it came flooding back with the same sickening strength it had possessed that day. She pulled in a deep breath, then let it ease back out. Calm yourself and look at the facts. She needed to block out Celia’s shock and the cackling cows who had delighted in her misery. “Focus on Nash and the way he acted that day,” she intoned, as though reciting a bedtime prayer.

She saw him as clearly as if she was back on that street. He had helped the cyprian out of the carriage. Of course, it was a gentleman’s duty to offer a hand to a lady. She draped the cloth over her eyes again and snorted. A lady, indeed. She scrubbed her face again and forced herself to concentrate on every detail of the memory. He had offered his hand—not caught hold of the woman by the waist, or pulled her close as she stepped down. He had merely held out his hand, and once she stepped down onto the walkway, she had caught hold of his arm and pulled herself up against him. He had not offered the lightskirt his arm. His smile that day—had his smile seemed strained? Had he tried to edge away from the whoring cat and attempted to put some space between them?

She narrowed her eyes as if squinting would help her focus the memory. Nash and the harlot had laughed together. There was no doubt about that. Another man she hadn’t recognized had opened the door and held it for them. That was all Sophie could remember, because she and Celia had taken flight rather than wait for Nash to come back out. Grudgingly, that had probably been for the best. Or in her fury, she surely would have shot him. Not a killing shot, mind you, but one that would make him think twice about the company he kept.

Not a killing shot.At the time, she distinctly remembered wanting to kill him for hurting her so. But now? She groaned, then held her breath and submerged completely. To the devil with keeping her hair dry. She needed the water’s muffled silence of oblivion. She stayed under as long as she could, then came up for air and scrubbed her scalp, combing her fingers through the tangles. Lathering her sodden mane, she indulged in the rare distraction of washing her hair by herself. Marie would not be pleased, but the dear maid would simply have to understand.

She submerged again and again until well rinsed, then relaxed back on the pillow of folded linen once more. Not a killing shot kept running through her mind. She stared at the islands of bubbles bobbing across the water’s surface. “God in heaven, help me. I still love him.” A pained groan worked itself free of her at the admission, and she thumped a fist against her chest. Yes, damn his eyes, she loved him. What power on earth had made it impossible for her not to love Nash Bromley? It had to be a curse of some sort—definitely a curse, because she had fallen under his spell since first setting eyes on him all those years ago.

A sad laugh hissed free of her. Loving him was the easy part. Trusting him was the impossibility. How could she ever trust him? Did wives just ignore their husband’s questionable deeds and hope for the best?

“I cannot possibly do that,” she informed the bubbles as she wiggled her toes through them and scattered them across the water. Of course, she wasn’t perfect herself, and Nash had ignored her temper and opinionated ways on several occasions. “But that is entirely different from the matter of trust and fidelity,” she said aloud. Yes, she had a terrible temper, was annoyingly stubborn, and often had a very difficult time looking at things from any perspective other than her own. But none of those things compared to the deadly sin of unfaithfulness or lying.

“My lady! Your hair!”

“I thought it might help me feel better,” Sophie said, unable to keep the defeat from her tone.

“Come along, then.” Marie’s exasperation was obvious as she held out a drying towel. “Wrap this one around you, since I warmed it by the fire. I’ll fetch another for your hair.”

With the toasty linen gathered around her, Sophie went over to the hearth and perched on a plump hassock, so Marie might have an easier time drying her hair. “I think I shall dine in my dressing room tonight,” she mused as the maid squeezed the water out of her long mane. “I simply do not have the energy to deal with anything other than a quiet meal and solitude.”

Marie hung the soaked drying towel on a rack by the fire, shook out another, and continued her efforts to dry Sophie’s hair. “Then you have a decision to make about the folks waiting for you in your sitting room.”

“What folks?” Sophie frowned, then flinched as Marie scrubbed her head harder.

“Lord Rydleshire, a Mr. Burns, I believe he said, and Miss Hampshire are waiting to speak with you.” The maid tossed the wet linen onto the rack with the other and gently nudged Sophie to stand. “I told them I was not about to be rushing your soak, not after the day you’d had. They said they didn’t mind waiting. Especially Lord Rydleshire. He said he wasn’t about to leave until they spoke with you.”

“Lovely.” Still clutching the linen to her chest, Sophie turned and glared at the sitting room door, debating whether to lock it and let her uninvited guests sit in there until they rotted. She closed her eyes and let her shoulders sag. No, that would not do because, as much as she hated to admit it, Nash’s stubbornness and tenacity rivaled her own. He would sit out there forever.

“Dress me for battle, Marie,” she said with a weary shake of her head.

The maid eyed her with a thoughtful look. “Mourning or not mourning?”

“Stunning victory and relentless control.”

Marie gave a curt nod and headed for the wardrobe.