As Luck Would Have It (32 page)

As the sun began to lower in the horizon, however, she lost interest in the peculiar feeling. If they didn’t find shelter soon, they would be stuck outside at night, in the dark. Sophie didn’t think she could take another night like the previous one.
Don’t borrow trouble
, she admonished herself silently. The sky was clear. If it stayed that way, and if the moonlight was bright enough, she would be all right. Just keep moving, she told herself. Just keep moving. She fixed her eyes on the horizon and forced her protesting legs into longer and faster strides.

“That tree is enormous.”

Sophie snapped out of her self-imposed trance and followed Alex’s gaze to a towering elm, its thick branches shading where they stood.

And she suddenly realized why everything seemed so familiar.

She made a slow turn in the road.

She knew this road, this spot, that tree.

Alex, who had moved on, stopped and turned back. “Sophie?”

She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t speak at all, just stare at the tree. Numbly at first, as memories flooded her so fast she couldn’t sort one from another. And then with a kind of growing wonder she would never have expected to come from this place.

“Sophie?” Alex said again, reaching her side. He followed her gaze to the elm. “It’s impressive, I know, but we need to keep moving if—”

“I
have
been here before,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“I know where we are. This road leads to Whitefield,” she said still looking intently at the tree.

“That would explain a great deal,” Alex commented, thinking that it didn’t do much to explain her odd fascination with the tree. “What is it, Sophie?”

“This is where it happened.”

Her voice was so soft. So soft, he had to lean down to catch the words. “Where what happened, sweetheart?”

“This is where they died.”

Feeling helpless, he brought a hand up to stroke soothingly down her dark locks. “Your mother and sister, you mean?” he asked gently.

She nodded, but there was more than sadness in her eyes. There was a quiet awe. And, he realized with dawning horror, there was memory.

“Were you there, Sophie? Did you see it happen?”

She nodded again and pointed at the tree. “I remember that tree.”

Alex felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. No one had told him she had been in the carriage. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.”

“We lost a wheel, I think, or maybe we just slid off the road. I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of anything except that tree and how cold it was.”

And the dark. Oh, how she remembered the dark.

“They said later that the driver had died instantly. Mama must have known, because she got out of the carriage for a bit, and when she came back she said we just needed to be patient until Papa came to get us. I thought everything was fine….”

“Your mother got out? I thought…”

She turned to look at him for a moment. “That the accident had killed her?” She shook her head and looked back at the tree. “Mama and Lizzie weren’t hurt at all, that I know of.”

He waited a minute for her to resume talking. When she didn’t he said, “I don’t understand, Sophie.”

“It was snowing,” she said softly. “It was a blizzard, and Papa’s men couldn’t get through to us until morning. Mama and Lizzie fell asleep.”

“But you didn’t,” he guessed. “You stayed awake, didn’t you?”

A sad smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “It was the tree,” she said, motioning toward the massive elm. “I could just make out its outline through the snow and darkness. I was old enough to know better, but every time I tried to close my eyes all I could see was its gnarled branches reaching out for me, and the vision would scare me awake. I watched it the whole night—I thought it was a monster.”

Alex regarded the tree with something akin to gratitude. It had saved her life. “What do you see now?” he asked.

She turned and caught his eye. “I see life,” she said simply. “I don’t know why that is. Perhaps, it’s simply because I’m older now, or perhaps because it’s so different in daylight.”

Alex took her face in his hands and kissed her. Kissed her with the desire he felt every time he looked at her. Kissed her with the gratitude he felt but couldn’t express to a tree. Kissed her with the sorrow he felt for the loss of two people she loved so dearly. But mostly he kissed her with the joy he felt of being alive.

When he was done, she looked suitably dazed.

“We need to get moving,” he said, placing one last smack on her forehead and dropping his hands while he still had the strength of will to let her go.

“Right,” she croaked.

He smiled smugly. He couldn’t help himself. He loved knowing he could do that to her, loved thinking of all the things he would do to her as soon as they were married.

“Are we close to Whitefield then?” he asked over his shoulder as he headed down the road.

Sophie hadn’t moved yet. “Sorry, what? Oh!” She jogged a bit to catch up. “Whitefield. Right. It’s not far, I think. Two to three miles? My memory of the area is a little fuzzy.”

The portly man eyed the two miscreants in front of him with open disgust. “How did you let her get away?”

“Best we can figure, the chit ’ad a knife. Ain’t that right, Sam?”

“That’s what we figured all right. A real clean cut—”

“Did I not specifically instruct you to check her for knives!”

“And so we did guv, the both of ’em. We found one on the toff, and the one the girl was holdin’ when we grabbed ’er, but she weren’t carrying one of ’em bags fings…what’d you call ’em, Sam?”

“Reticules,” Sam offered knowingly.

“And on her person?” Portly man ground out.

The men looked taken aback. “You did’n say nofink abow stickin’ our ’ands up a lady’s skirt!” the first man cried accusingly, his accent becoming more pronounced in his indignation.

“We was hired to kidnap the girl, not paw her,” Sam pointed out.

“An the toff weren’t suppose to be there a’tall,” the first man grumbled. “We’ll be wantin’ double for that.”

The portly man was struck dumb for a moment with shock
and fury. Finally, he found his voice and began bellowing. “You’re common criminals, thieves, murderers—!”

“I ain’t newer killed no one in my life,” the first man stated promptly.

“I have,” Sam admitted sadly. “But it were in the army. I suspect the good Lord might see fit to forgive me for it, if I spend my days repentin’ for what I done.”

The first man gave his friend a reassuring pat on the back. “True enough, Sam, true enough.” He turned a hard eye on the portly man. “He can’t rightly maul a girl and atone for what he done at the same time, now can he?”

“You kidnapped her!”

“Aye, we did,” Sam replied in that same resigned tone. “Got mouths to feed at home, don’t we? ’Spect God’ll see fit to forgive me that too.”

“Some of those mouths be wives,” the first man commented pointedly.

“And daughters,” Sam added, “and sisters.”

“Nieces.”

“Got a grandbaby on the way, might be a girl—”

“Yes, I get it! For the love of God, where does he find you people? I can’t decide if you’re mad or merely stupid!”

Two sets of eyes narrowed at that comment, but the portly man was too intent on his own anger to notice the danger he was in. “It’s a damned good thing Heransly had the foresight to hire another set of men!” he yelled. “They’ll have no trouble cleaning up the job you two idiots—”

“Don’t seem right he set competition on us, does it, Sam?” the first man asked quietly.

“Not right at all,” Sam replied.

The first man began cracking his knuckles. “Someone might ’ave gotten ’urt in the mix-up, eh Sam?”

Sam rolled his shoulders. “Aye, they could have.”

The first man clenched and unclenched his hands. “Seems like backstabbing to me.”

Sam twisted his neck from side to side, effectively emitting a loud popping noise. “Aye, and me.”

The portly man watched the antics of the two ruffians with dawning apprehension. Perhaps he had been a little free with his comments. That happened on occasion when he’d had too much to drink. He gulped nervously and eyed the distance to the door. “Remember your immortal soul, Sam,” he croaked. “What would the good Lord think?”

“Expect he’ll understand,” was Sam’s only reply.

Whitefield was deserted. Sophie wasn’t surprised to find the old manor house devoid of residents, but it was disturbing to see that it had been stripped of most of its contents. No doubt her cousin had sold everything of value. She wondered about the tenants. She knew some worked the land. The estate was highly profitable, but who did they look to for guidance, or in time of need? She hated to think what state their homes might be in. She couldn’t imagine Lord Loudor was a generous or responsible master.

Sophie wandered the halls and rooms in a kind of stupor. There were so many memories, so many of them lost to her until now…. The nursery where she and Lizzie had done their best to torment their first nanny, that priggish Mrs. Carlisle. And the orangery where her mother could most often be found in her spare time, lovingly tending her myriad roses and orchids. Sophie smiled fondly at the memory. For all the enjoyment her mother took in the work, she had never been a particularly adept gardener. More than once, her father had replaced dead or dying plants in secret to avoid seeing his wife disappointed.

And Sophie had forgotten that window seat in the library, where she and Lizzie used to sit for hours, curled up in blankets on cold winter days, reading to each other, speaking of their plans for the future. Lizzie was going to marry a foreign prince and spend her time writing scandalous novels.
Often they would just sit in comfortable silence watching the snow fall, needing no words to communicate their happiness.

“Is it difficult to return after so long an absence?” Alex asked, coming up behind her with an armful of blankets and pillows.

She turned away from the window. “A little,” she replied. “But I’m not sorry to be here. Where did you find those?”

“The beds are gone, but the linen closets are still intact,” he answered. “I noticed there are quite a few candles left in the dining room, and a positively enormous table.”

“A gift from King George,” she explained, following him out of the library. “I suppose its regal origin wasn’t incentive enough to convince a buyer to invest in the cost of its removal.”

Alex set down his burden a little way from the dining room fireplace, and arranged the blankets into a makeshift bed. “This fireplace is the only one in the house that looks reasonably clean,” he explained. “I doubt we’ll need it, but one never knows, and I’d hate to have gotten this far only to burn Whitefield down around our heads.”

“Especially after all the work I’ve put into saving it,” Sophie muttered to herself as she began to light the candles randomly about the room. The sun had already set, and she wanted the place well lit before night set in.

Alex walked to the windows and began pulling the curtains closed to keep the light from announcing their presence to the outside world.

“After we’re married,” he commented offhandedly, “I assume you’ll want to spend some time here, refurbishing, getting to know the tenants, that sort of thing.”

Sophie stared at him with a kind of awe. “You are, without doubt, the most tenacious human being I have ever met.”

“Was that a compliment or an insult?”

“I’m not quite certain,” she replied honestly. “Alex, we’ve discussed this. I am not going to marry you. I am flattered by
your offer, and I…like you very much. I respect and admire you, and I know we have a certain…”

“Mutual passion?” he offered helpfully.

“Affinity,” she stated primly. “But we simply will not suit.”

Alex pulled a chair out from the table. “Sit down.”

“No, thank you. I’m perfectly comfortable as I am.” She wasn’t the least bit comfortable. She was tired and sore, and she had run out of candles to light, but he was telling her what to do again.

“Sophie, please, have a seat. I am exhausted, but good manners dictate I not sit in a lady’s presence while she is yet standing.”

She wasn’t entirely sure she believed that, but at least he was trying.

She took the proffered chair and watched as he pulled out another and turned it to face her. Sitting down, he leaned forward and captured her hands in his.

“Sophie,” he started gravely. “We disappeared, at night, from a house party attended by half the
ton
. We have since spent two full days and nights together, alone. Surely it has occurred to you that you have been compromised?”

Sophie paled. “I hadn’t…” She swallowed hard. “With everything else, I hadn’t given it any thought.”

“I’m sorry.”

She pulled her hands from his and crossed the room in a futile effort to give outlet to the panic beginning to well up inside her.

Alex stood, but made no move to follow her.

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbled.

Dear God, compromised. She searched her memory for what Mrs. Summers had told her of girls who had the misfortune of becoming compromised. She’d only half listened at the time. It simply wasn’t a concern when you were often the only English-speaking woman within hundreds, even thousands of square miles.

“I’ve been compromised,” she repeated thoughtfully. “But
not ruined. I need only marry to set things right, and to my knowledge there’s no rule stating
whom
I must marry. I’ll simply ask Sir Frederick when we return.”

“Sir Frederick?” Alex was too surprised to point out the glaring holes in her plan.

“Of course. He’s perfect.”

“Of course,” Alex mimicked.

“He can give me Whitefield, and I can give him a respectable marriage…to a woman.”

Alex didn’t pretend to not understand her meaning. “How is it you know about Sir Frederick?”

“Mirabelle told me. It was her idea to put him on the list. Although, I believe it was Evie who came by the information originally.”

“Good Lord,” Alex muttered. “William should have hired those two girls. They would have ferreted out Loudor’s secrets months ago.”