Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (6 page)

Good lord, even her hem was smudged!

But there was nothing to be done. She could not stand there fighting with the man. Not when he was still recovering from his death. With as much grace as possible, Sophia settled down on the settee. On top of her scandalous book.

Her aunt handed her a cup of tea, and Sophia smiled politely. With a little luck, she would pass through this most horrid incident with a modicum of self-respect.

"Do tell me about the whore from Peru," said the major, his expression forbidding.

Sophia felt her face heat. He would remember her unguarded comment upon entering the chamber. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny the whole incident when she noticed something. Whereas the major's face appeared somewhat censorious, his eyes were alight with humor. He was practically daring her to deny she'd said it.

Very well, she thought smugly. She would take a great deal of enjoyment from giving him more than he bargained for.

"Oh, yes," she said, awkwardly removing the book from beneath her. Nearby, Aunt Agatha dropped her teacup into the saucer with a clatter, but the major merely raised his eyebrows in curiosity. "It appears," continued Sophia as she turned to the correct page of poetry, "that she had four breasts rather than two." Sophia looked straight at the major. "Remarkable, is it not?"

He nodded sagely. "Absolutely. Did they cause her any problems?"

She heard her aunt choke, but Sophia continued gamely on, determined to see the thing through. "No," she said, keeping her gaze on the major's face. "It appeared to increase her popularity with an entire ship's crew."

He did not even blink, and she saw the mirth dance in his eyes. Suddenly, he was laughing loud and hearty while both Sophia and her aunt stared at him as if he were having a fit. The officer usually was too formal to laugh with such vigor.

"Major?" asked Aunt Agatha, her voice shaky with concern.

"You are an absolute hand, Sophia," he said between chuckles. "You shall make an excellent diplomat's wife." Slowly, he sobered; then he leaned forward, placing his arms on his knees as he looked intently at her. "I am so pleased that I discovered you while you were yet unattached. I cannot express how fortunate I feel."

Sophia merely gaped at him. Far from being offended by the scandalous topic, he seemed truly entertained. And as for the rest of what he said... She took a deep breath. It made no sense whatsoever. He could not possibly mean what he seemed to suggest.

"Well, Sophia?" he asked as he awkwardly shifted out of his chair. It was a few moments before she realized what he intended, but then it happened. He settled down onto bended knee.

"Major!" she squeaked. "Your leg!"

He continued as if she had not spoken. "When will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She heard her aunt clap her hands in delight, but all Sophia could do was gape as her world spun out of control. "I spoke of a Peruvian whore and you still persist with this nonsense of our marriage?"

"I prefer the traditional womanly form for my wife," he returned with a twinkle of mirth. Then his aspect sobered as he regarded her. "Surely this comes as no surprise. I did mention it last night-"

"Last night I wanted to bury you!"

"Last night you were burying corsets and furniture. Of course, some would say my face bears some resemblance—"

"Do not be absurd!" snapped Sophia. "You know you are devilishly handsome. In fact, I believe you told me that yourself once."

"I was sick with fever."

"Are you sure you are not still suffering from one?" She raised her hands, then let them flop back down in her lap. "Oh, do get off your leg. Please." Her anxiety was clear in her voice.

"Not until you pick the date of our nuptials."

"You will do yourself further injury."

"I have a special license—"

"And then the fever will come."

"We could be wed immediately—"

"No!" She had not intended to say it so forcefully, but the word seemed to explode out of her nonetheless, leaving everyone slightly dazed. Suddenly she was on her feet, pacing the room in a hurried rustle of skirts. "Major, I am free for the first time in my life. There are no rules to govern my behavior, no gossip following me, nothing ahead but a free life as a spinster. I even gave my dowry to my brother so that no one would be tempted to offer for me—"

"You underestimate your charms."

"Nonsense!" She spun back to face him directly. "My point is, I am finally free. Why would I throw that away for a life spent at a husband's beck and call? Please do get up off your leg!"

He did not move. In fact, if anything, he seemed to settle more firmly onto the floor. "Lady Sophia, I wish to marry you, not strip you naked and chain you to my bedpost. I am offering you my name."

She sighed and dropped back down on the settee, rushing her formal words in the hope it would speed his return to his seat. "I am cognizant of the honor which you bestow upon me, but I cannot accept. I have grown much too fond of my freedom to toss it away."

He folded his arms, frustration clear upon his face. "Freedom? You call burying corsets freedom?"

"I call it my choice," she said with a touch of asperity. "Just as you are choosing to harm yourself by crouching upon my floor!"

"With me, you shall see the world," he coaxed. "We shall serve England together. You shall grace our corner of the world with culture and dignity while I remind them of Britain's stronger side."

She pursed her lips. "Are you suggesting I marry you out of duty to the Crown?" It was as if he were calling her to enlist in the military.

The major grimaced. "Do not deliberately misconstrue my words, Lady Sophia."

"You are hard to misconstrue, Major," she snapped as she once again rose from her seat. "As I said last night, I have no wish for new corsets. Good day, Major."

Then she turned and quit the room.

* * *

"Why did you turn him down? Sophia, I had not thought you lacking in wits, but I cannot credit that you could be so reckless! Whatever possessed you to—"

"He did not want a wife." Sophia's dry comment effectively silenced her aunt, who suddenly stood stock still in her niece's bedroom. Then the woman frowned, and Sophia knew her reprieve was over.

"But I was sure he said marriage, Sophia. I distinctly heard the word."

Sophia groaned as she rolled onto her stomach and dropped her head forward onto her pillow. If she closed her eyes very tight, she could pretend the world did not exist.

"Did you see the major's face when he left?" began her aunt. "He looked heartbroken."

Sophia lifted her head, fear clutching her heart. "Was he flushed? Pale? Did he seem ill?"

Aunt Agatha shook her head, clearly baffled by her niece's question. "I said heartbroken, Sophia. His batman did not say a word. The man just knew from the look in the major's eyes."

Sophia rolled onto her back and stared at the lace canopy overhead. "More likely he overheard what happened. Kirby is always popping up everywhere—or at least he did at the hospital, always showing up where I was. I am convinced he listens at keyholes."

Her aunt sighed, then settled down next to Sophia on the bed, her ribbons and bows fluttering with her every movement. "The major said he was staying at the Stag's Heart Inn. You could send around a note—"

"Aunt!" interrupted Sophia. "I thought you of all people would understand my decision."

"Me?" the older woman squeaked. "Whyever would I understand? I think it is the most mutton-headed thing you have ever done."

Sophia pushed back on her elbows, levering herself upright on the bed. "You have everything I want, Aunt Agatha. You are free to do what you want, when you want. You are alone, with no one constantly harping at you to do this or act as such...."

"You mean I have no husband to love, no children to hold," countered the older woman.

"You have only yourself to please. You are free."

"Which is a nice way of saying I have no one to please me when the days grow short and cold." Her aunt slanted her a look. "And believe me, Sophia, they do grow short and cold in Staffordshire."

Sophia sighed and pulled her knees up to her chin. "You are deliberately misunderstanding me."

"Sophia, darling, I understand you quite well." Her aunt leaned forward and gathered up her niece's fingers, her cherubic face drawn and sad. "You are young still. You cannot imagine life will ever grow tedious or empty."

Sophia lifted her gaze to her aunt's face, trying to sound serene but only succeeding in seeming cold. "On the contrary, I know quite well about tedium and emptiness. It is called London and five years of endless routs, card parties, and wide smiles that cover souls filled with malice." Sophia clutched her aunt's plump hand. "Surely you know what I mean. You must see why I cannot settle for the polite slavery the major offers."

"Slavery!" her aunt exclaimed. "Whoever put such notions into your head?"

Sophia lifted a single eyebrow in a skeptical expression she had perfected over the last five years. "You did, Aunt. Years ago when I asked you why you never married."

Agatha's gaze widened, then slid away, dropping to her fingers, which toyed with the tail of a purple ribbon. She did not speak for a long time, her thoughts obviously turned inward, or perhaps into the long-ago past.

"Yes, Sophia," she finally whispered. "I suppose I did think that years ago—about a young doctor who ended up marrying a minister's daughter instead of me. But now I am older. I know there is something worse than London." Her eyes focused, bringing with it that rare twinkle Sophia so loved. "It is called Staffordshire."

"Aunt Agatha—"

"Whatever has happened to you, Sophia?" her aunt cried. "You were lively and free and unrestrained once, following your heart wherever it willed."

Sophia leaned forward eagerly. "But that is exactly how I am now," she pressed. "Now that I am free. There is no one to order me about!"

Her aunt shook her head, the sadness clear on her worn face. "No. Now you are cautious, nervous about everything and everyone. I suppose I can understand your reticence in London. There is so much to fear with the
ton
. But even here, you do not trust yourself. You have put your faith in silly rituals and childish nonsense about freedom."

"That is not true!" Sophia's response was loud and vehement, but inside she cringed, not wanting to think too deeply about her aunt's words. Instead, she shook her head, taking refuge in the phrase that was now her watchword. "I am free now. I will never listen to anyone but myself ever again."

Her aunt frowned. "You are hiding. I think you have been doing so for a very long time. Probably all the time you were in London." She reached forward in a quick motion, taking Sophia's hand in an earnest grasp. "Is there someone else, Sophia? Someone who has stolen your heart?"

"Of course not," she responded, her voice strong and firm. Who else would there be? She could never trust a member of the
ton
to prefer her to the enticements of town. With her decision to remain here in Staffordshire, she would be abandoned within hours of her own wedding.

"You had so many suitors, your mother and I were sure you would be wed in a fortnight. But not a one claimed you."

Sophia grimaced, remembering each and every one of her so-called suitors. "Not a one truly wanted me. I was simply a passing fancy for flighty boys."

"Perhaps," commented Agatha, her thoughtful gaze heavy on her niece. "But I think you are afraid."

"I fear nothing!" Sophia exclaimed. "Except men who would bind me to their name, then run off to do whatever they wish, leaving me to fret and worry alone."

"Your Major Wyclyff does not seem so inconstant. Indeed, you once told me that was why you so liked military men. They dedicate their lives to a sense of duty and responsibility."

Sophia glanced away, her eyes tearing despite her determination not to cry. "Military men die, Aunt Agatha," she whispered. "And the end is just the same."

"But Major Wyclyff has left the army. He is to be a diplomat."

Sophia fell silent. She had no answer for that, only a numbing coldness and the memory of a nurse telling her that Major Wyclyff was dead.

She felt her aunt's hand on her chin, gently drawing her back to the dear lady's earnest expression. "There is still time to change your mind about the major. You need not write to him, you know. I am positive he shall be back. He does not seem a man who gives up easily."

Sophia bit her lip and considered her aunt's comment. It was true. Even feverish, with the doctors and nurses all waiting for him to die, the major had a power in him. It was the most overwhelming reason she had said "yes" in the hospital. His strength had enveloped her even when he was wracked with fever. Though he was thin, wasted even, moaning in pain, she still could not deny him his last wish—their engagement.

She never thought he would survive. But in the end, he'd defied them all—doctors, nurses, even Death. He'd risen from his hospital bed and, assuming he did not re-injure himself, was now beginning a respectable diplomatic career. No, the major was not a man who gave up easily.