The Earl I Adore (21 page)

Offering brusque thanks, Evan turned on his heel and hurried back to his horse. It would appear that he was to attend the concert after all.

S
ophie would much rather have been at home, dissecting every minute of her afternoon excursion with the earl, but she had already planned to attend the concert with her mother, and more importantly, Sophie knew that May would also be in attendance. If ever she needed to talk with a friend, this was the time.

As soon as they arrived, Sophie had scanned the audience, searching for May's blond hair and distinctive style. She was nowhere to be found in the Ballroom, nor the Great Octagon, nor the Card Room. The master of ceremonies had already announced the five-minute warning, and the Tea Room was emptying as people started moving to the Ballroom, where the concert would be held. Blast it all, she
really
wished to talk with May before it became impossible to do so.

Mama patted her arm. “Shall we go in, dear?” She was still floating with happiness over the earl's visit, and Sophie hadn't said anything to disabuse her of whatever assumptions she had made.

Sophie glanced toward the entrance again, stalling for a moment. “I was rather hoping to find May before we
did. Perhaps just another min—” Sophie gasped, stopping in midsentence as the earl strode through the doors.

He paused, his eyes sweeping the corridor before landing on hers with enough force to steal her next breath.

“Whatever is the matter with you?” Mama asked, her brows coming together. She followed Sophie's line of sight, and excitedly reached out to squeeze her hand. “Oh, my dear, you have certainly piqued his interest. Look at the way he watches you!”

Sophie couldn't have responded to her mother for anything. She was far too busy trying to remain in an upright position. Evan's gaze was intense, his lips unsmiling. His long-legged stride closed the distance between them before she truly even had a chance to gather her wits about her.

As he arrived at their sides, the first strains of music drifted from the Ballroom—the concert was about to begin. “Good evening, Mrs. Wembley. I wonder if you would mind my stealing Miss Wembley away for a moment. There is a matter of some importance that I would like to discuss with her.”

Mama's eyes bulged with surprise. “Oh.
Oh.
Yes, yes, of course, my lord.” She abruptly dropped Sophie's arm and took a step back. “Why don't the two of you take a turn about the Tea Room while I find us seats?”

Moving surprisingly fast for a woman of her age and girth, she scurried off into the Ballroom. Sophie simply stood there, unable to think of a single thing to say. He was here. He was standing right next to her, after she had already given up on seeing him again at all. The memory of their kiss not even two hours ago assailed her, sending a shiver down the back of her neck.

He held out his arm, and she laid her hand upon it.
There was something odd in the way he held himself that brought the first hint of unease to her stunned excitement. His posture was stiff, his body nearly vibrating with a sort of raw energy that she didn't recognize. He led them to the Tea Room, where only two servants were left, busily setting the room back in order. Evan paid no mind to them at all as he came to a stop, turning so that he faced her directly.

“What did you and my sister speak of when she came to visit yesterday?”

Sophie blinked. The question was so far outside of anything she would have expected, she floundered for a moment. “Um, I—I don't know.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “You do know. Why did she call on you? What did she want?”

Where on earth was this coming from? And why was he looking at her with such intensity, as though this were the Spanish Inquisition and her answers meant life or death? “She was worried about me. She wanted to know if I was well after . . . the way we parted at that gala.”

“And what did you tell her?”

Sophie flinched at the barely leashed anger that simmered beneath his quiet words. “Evan, please, what is the matter?”

“Answer the question, please.”

This was not the way she had wanted things to be between them—especially not after the passionate kiss they had shared, the kiss to end all kisses. “I said that I would be fine. That I took a risk, and it didn't pay off. I told her that it had still been worth it, because at least I had tried. At least I hadn't left my happiness completely to fate.”

Blowing out a harsh breath, he scrubbed a hand over his face. He seemed to wilt before her eyes, as though the
anger had been holding him up. Dropping his hand to his hip, he said, “Did she mention Harry?”

Sophie's brow wrinkled. “The baronet? Not that I remember.” She took a step toward him. “Evan, what is all this about? Will you tell me what has you so terribly upset?”

The rising music echoed from the Ballroom, the melody entirely too exuberant for their conversation. Looking to the floor, he shook his head. “Julia's gone.”

She gasped, her hands flying to her heart. “Gone?”

“She left a note stating her intention to marry the baronet today. I can only assume they somehow procured a special license.” He looked so defeated, so angry, she couldn't resist reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. He stepped away, then turned toward the servants. “Leave us,” he called, his voice ringing with the kind of authority only a peer seemed to know how to command.

The two men exchanged glances, but quickly filed out of the room, leaving Evan and Sophie alone in the huge space. He paced away from her, his movements clipped and agitated. “I thought you might know of her plans. I want to find them, to bring her home, but I have no idea where to start looking.”

She wanted so badly to help him, but she could offer him nothing. “I'm so sorry. As far as I knew, she didn't even like the man.”

His laugh was harsh and devoid of humor. “At least I wasn't the only one. She played us all for fools.” He raked a hand over his already windblown hair, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. “Very well. Thank you for your time.”

Without another word, he turned and began to stalk away, but she rushed forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Evan, wait. Please don't go like this.”

“Like what?” he said, whirling around to face her. “My sister has brought disgrace to herself and her family—how am I supposed to go?”

“If it's by special license, it may raise eyebrows, but it won't bring disgrace,” she said, attempting to reason with him. She would have given anything for her own sister to have married that way instead of eloping, but of course they hadn't the funds nor the connections for such a privilege.

“You don't know anything about it,” he growled, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “She never should have been so reckless, so utterly self-absorbed. And Harry . . . I've half a mind to make my sister a widow before the night is over.”

“Don't speak that way,” Sophie said sharply, causing him to look to her in surprise. She put her hands on her hips, not allowing him to intimidate her. “I'm assuming he is the man your sister is in love with?”

He snorted. “So she says. I don't care if he's her bloody soul mate, she never should have done such a foolish, foolish thing.”

“I agree,” she said, ignoring his curse. If ever there was a pass on coarse language from a gentleman, this was it. “But perhaps she felt she had no other choice. Would you have consented to her marrying Harry?”

His eyes turned to stone as he crossed his arms. “No. Never.”

Never?
Why would he want to deny his sister the life she wished to pursue? “And you wonder why she took such drastic measures.”

“I don't
care
why she took such measures. It's unforgivable to turn her back on her family like that.”

Sophie knew exactly how he was feeling. She nodded, compassion filling her heart for both Evan and his sister.
“I know you feel that way now, but trust me, when your shock subsides, you'll find your way to forgiving her.”

He seemed more distant than ever as he shook his head, his eyes shuttering. “You don't know anything about what I'll do, or what I'll feel.”

“But that's just it. I
do.
I know exactly how you're feeling.” Her heart began to pound in her chest, making her palms sweat. The last thing she wanted to do was reveal her own sister's scandalous marriage, but at that moment she longed to let him know that he wasn't alone in this. She
did
know what she was talking about.

“You can't possibly,” he said, his hand slicing through the air with the vehemence of his response. Two rooms over, the jaunty music continued, providing an incongruous backdrop to their quarrel.

She stepped closer, laying a hand along the fine wool of his coat, wishing there weren't so many layers between them. “I can. I, more than anyone, know what it's like to be in your shoes.”

His mouth still set, he shook his head. “You know nothing, Sophie. Nobody does.”

Blowing out a breath, she looked him straight in the eye, wanting him to pay attention. “I do. My own sister eloped not three weeks ago. If anyone knows the devastation of a sister's betrayal, I do.”

*   *   *

Evan gaped at her. “What's that?” he said, his voice taut with his incredulity.

She closed her eyes and took a long breath before meeting his gaze again. She looked vulnerable, fragile almost. “My sister Penelope eloped several weeks ago. That's why I must return home.”

“Sophie, I . . .” He trailed off, at a loss for what to say. Giving a shrug, he said simply, “I'm so sorry.”

“In another week or so, the whole of the
ton
will know of my family's downfall. Penelope's decision will effectively ruin any chance Pippa and I have of marriage and family.”

There was such aching regret in her voice, such profound disappointment, he longed to wrap his arms around her. “I'm sure you'll still have the opportunity, once the scandal has blown over.” Despite his own riotous emotions about Julia, he couldn't help but want to comfort Sophie.

Her smile was heartbreaking. “Perhaps if my father had wealth or rank . . . We are already on the outskirts of society, however. The possibility of regaining our standing is practically nil.”

And yet . . . she had shared her situation with him. She had spoken the truth that would soon bring her pain so that he might feel better. Tenderness, and something more, washed through him like rain after a drought.

The promise of all those things he had wished he could have with her assailed him all over again. Love, marriage, children,
happiness.
He wanted it all, and he resented more than ever that it couldn't be. He wanted her to know how he felt, how much he wanted her, and that he would marry her tomorrow if he could. He wanted to tell her, so damn badly.

But unlike Julia, Evan knew it was impossible. And to tell Sophie how he felt about her, knowing that nothing could ever come of it, seemed like the cruelest possible thing to do.

Pulling himself up to his full height, he looked down at her with what he hoped appeared to be gentle neutrality. “I'm very sorry for your family's difficulty, just as I am sorry for mine. Neither one of us deserves what our siblings have done.”

She must have heard the coldness in his voice. Her brow knitted, concern clouding her dark eyes as she stepped still closer to him. “But that's what I was trying to say. You'll forgive your sister, just as I have forgiven mine. I came to realize that Penelope did what she must have felt she had to in order to grab hold of the love that she felt she couldn't have any other way.”

She shook her head, raising her shoulders. “How can I begrudge my sister's being in love? Knowing, as I do, how all-consuming love can be, how unbearably wonderful and perfectly breathtaking it is, how could I want any less for her?”

Evan's blood ran hot, then icy-cold, as he realized what she had just said.
Knowing, as I do . . .
He knew she harbored a
tendre
, but
love
? Was she in love with him as well? The truth of it kicked him squarely in the chest, leaving him breathless.

He couldn't do this. He had far too much to deal with already—how could he handle both his and Sophie's heartbreak on top of everything else? With effort, he drained his features of anything but polite detachment. “I suppose you have a right to react to your sister's choices any way you wish. Now then, if you will excuse me, I must be on my way. If I can't locate Julia, then I want to be home when she returns.”

He held out his arm expectantly, ready to escort her to her mother. She stared at it for one blank moment. “Evan . . .”

“My apologies, but I really must be on my way. Your mother will be waiting, as well.”

The pained expression in her eyes was nearly his undoing. He held strong, though, raising an impatient eyebrow. Her cheeks flared bright pink, and for a moment he thought she might protest. Her eyes shimmered
suspiciously in the golden candlelight, and he steeled himself against the threat of seeing her tears.

She blinked rapidly several times, then set her fingers against his sleeve. In silence, he escorted her to the door of the Ballroom, where Linley's masterpiece
Let God Arise
was being performed with impressive enthusiasm. With a final bow, he turned and left her, cursing his father, his sister, and most of all, himself, the entire way home.

F
or several minutes, Sophie stood outside the concert, listening to the rise and fall of the symphony as her inner turmoil raged. She had reached out to Evan, told him her most devastating secret, and all he could do was offer his apologies and be on his way?

Had he known that, in her own way, she was telling him of her love for him? For a moment, she'd thought he had, but then the frost had descended over his eyes and she had been completely shut out. She felt . . . betrayed. How could he not care about her emotions? How could he not care for his sister's? What kind of man would prevent his only sister's chance for happiness and love, forcing her to marry in secret without his consent?

Unable to bear the thought of going inside and joining the crowd, she moved to the cluster of chairs situated opposite the doors and crumpled onto the closest one. The last thing she wanted to do was go sit beside her mother and attempt to smile her way through the performance.

For the next twenty minutes, she sat in silence, surrounded by the muted strains of Linley's vaunted works as they echoed in the otherwise empty corridor. Just
when she was beginning to relax, the squeak of the Ballroom door made her jerk upright. She quickly dashed any remaining moisture from her cheeks and patted at her hair, trying to at least look normal. To her vast relief, it was May who slipped through the door. When her eyes landed on Sophie, her brows snapped together and she hurried over to the conversation area.

“Sophie, what are you doing here? Your mother asked me to check on you and Lord Evansleigh since you've been gone so long.” She paused, sympathy softening her eyes as she took in Sophie's doubtlessly tearstained face. “Oh, my dear. What is the matter?”

Sophie leaned back, shaking her head. “I told him. I told the truth about my sister. I told him how I feel, I laid everything on the table, and . . . nothing. He simply walked away.”

It was validating, at least, to see the indignation flare in May's sapphire eyes. “Then he's an idiot. Not surprising, given his sex, but still, I am sorry that he so clearly hurt you.”

“Could you please go tell Mama I want to go home? I simply can't sit here another moment longer.”

May nodded. “Yes, of course. And I'm coming with you. No woman should be alone after something so wretched as this.”

“No, really, you needn't worry about me.”

“Whyever not? Is there some other pressing matter holding my attention?” She looked around, as though searching the empty corridor for the matter in question. “No, not a thing that I can see.”

It was very, very tempting to take May up on her offer, but Sophie knew she had to tell her mother where things stood with the earl. It wasn't the sort of conversation one wanted to subject friends to. She shook her
head. “No, tonight I must have a long, dreadful talk with my mother. Tomorrow, however, I shall expect you first thing, extra handkerchiefs and gingerbread biscuits in hand.”

Nodding, May squeezed her hands and offered an encouraging smile. “Very well, if that is what you want. Now, chin up, darling—I shall be back in a trice.”

As she stood, the music rose in an enthusiastic crescendo, followed by polite applause. Sophie cringed and came to her feet. “Never mind—it appears my mother, along with everyone else, will be coming to me.”

“Rotten timing.” May sighed and turned back to Sophie. “Last chance to change your mind about me accompanying you home.”

“You're lovely, but no. One of us, at least, should enjoy this marvelous concert. It's not every day you can hear one of the best orchestras England has to offer play the English Mozart's masterpieces.”

Mama appeared in the doorway then, her face anxious as she glanced about. Seeing Sophie, she visibly exhaled and hurried to her side. “Gracious, child, where have you been?” She paused, looking around with a questioning glance. “Where is your beau?”

May offered a sympathetic grimace before slipping away to join her aunt, who was just emerging from the Ballroom. Sophie placed her hand over her mother's elbow and steered her toward the door. “It's a long story, Mama. I'll tell you all about it on the way home, if you please.”

Her mother stopped, bringing Sophie to a jarring halt. “It is only intermission, my dear. We still have half the concert left. Come, let us go to the Tea Room and you can tell me all about it over a nice cup of tea.”

“Mama, please,” Sophie whispered, mindful of the
dozens upon dozens of people loitering about. “I feel quite ill, and I wish to go home
now
.”

Over her mother's shoulder, Sophie saw Marianne gliding past, escorted by Lord Bridgemont, the arrogant and condescending heir of the Earl of Marks. Sophie hadn't even known the man was here—not that she would have cared. She was too far below his notice to even warrant his disdain, thankfully.

Mama sent her a stern look. “Oh, don't be so dramatic, Sophie. I'm sure it's nothing a bit of refreshment won't cure.” She perked up and waved to someone across the room, her eyes lighting. “Oh, it's Lord Derington. Come along; we simply must greet him.”

Sophie felt more desperate than ever to escape. “No, please—”

But it was too late. Mama had already started off, dragging Sophie in her wake. Marianne glanced up as they attempted to wend their way through the growing crowd. Her eyes widened as her gaze met Sophie's, and she quickly tapped on Lord Bridgemont's arm. Something in the way she spoke to the viscount and tipped her head in their direction sent a wave of apprehension straight through Sophie.

Purposely averting her eyes, she sidled up closer to her mother and tried to ignore them as she and Mama pushed through the throng.

“Well, if it isn't Mrs. Wembley and Miss Wembley. What a shock to see you here.”

Drat, blast, damn.
Sophie straightened and turned in unison with her mother to face the pair. Marianne's face was aglow in a sort of smug gleefulness that instantly had Sophie on edge. “Miss Harmon. Lord Bridgemont,” she murmured, dipping in a quick curtsy. “I'm sorry, but we were just on our way—”

“Out of here, I should hope,” Marianne replied, her voice sharp and clear.

Mama gasped, taking a step back. “Miss Harmon, I hardly think—”

“
I
hardly think any of us care what you think, Mrs. Wembley. Why, Bridgemont here was just telling me the news from London upon his arrival today, and I distinctly remember a bit of gossip about your daughter.”

The people around them hushed, as everyone seemed to collectively lean in to hear whatever delicious on-dit Marianne was about to serve up. Sophie tugged urgently on her mother's arm. “Please, let's go,” she hissed, but to no avail. Mama was as good as rooted to the ground, her face a mask of appalled guilt.

Bridgemont clucked his tongue, looking down on them both with a false reluctance as he shook his head. “Such a pity when a child heaps scandal upon her whole family. Running off with a lowly servant—shocking.” Each word was clipped and spoken in a nasal tone, carrying over the stunned silence around them.

“No, no,” Mama said, looking around to all the scandalized faces around them. “She hasn't run off—she married him! And we'll have another wedding—a proper one—as soon as they return.”

Sophie could have melted away in a puddle of mortification. Her mother's defense only made it sound that much worse. Whispers flew through the crowd as the truth spread like a pox.

Marianne shuddered and backed up a step. “An elopement? And how many nights did they share as they made their way to the blacksmith?” she asked, one perfectly arched golden eyebrow lifting in condescension. “What sort of morals have you raised your children with, madam?”

The entire scene was straight out of Sophie's nightmares. She could see May at the edge of the crowd, both of her aunt's hands locked around her arm to keep her from rushing into the crowd to help. Everyone else was a gleeful witness to the Wembley family's downfall. Sophie tugged again, her panic rising. “Mama,
now.
”

A commotion ahead made her look up. Dering was pushing his way through the crowd, using his height and weight to his advantage so those around him had no choice but to make way. “Mrs. Wembley,” he fairly boomed, coming to her side. “My carriage is just outside. Might I offer you and Miss Wembley a ride?”

Sophie's relief was so profound, her knees nearly buckled. “Yes, thank you, my lord,” she said, yanking sharply on her mother's arm.

“Yes, be on your way,” Marianne said, her chin lifting as she looked away. “There are standards in our society, after all. It's a wonder your family has been accepted this long.”

“That's enough, Miss Harmon,” Dering said, his voice calm but authoritative. He held his arm to Sophie's mother. “Madam?”

Mama looked down at his arm, then clumsily laid her hand upon it. Sophie could feel her shaking, and she was worried that her mother might have a fit of vapors right there in the middle of the Assembly Rooms corridor. Dering started forward and the crowd parted like the Red Sea, turning to stare as the trio passed.

Sophie kept her eyes trained forward, struggling to hold back the tears of humiliation, anger, and hurt. If she could just make it to the doors, everything would be all right. If she could just get into the carriage, she would live. If she could just make it home, things would somehow work out.

When they stepped into the cool evening air, Dering called to a servant and demanded that his carriage be fetched at once. Turning to Sophie, he sighed and shook his head. “That was badly done of Miss Harmon, crying rope like that. Shameful, really.”

She swallowed, trying to think past the roar in her ears. She realized that she was shaking nearly as badly as her mother. Drawing a steadying breath, she said, “I cannot thank you enough, my lord.”

The door banged open, and May ran out to join them, her cheeks as red as the embroidered silk sash on her dress. “I'm so sorry!” she exclaimed, rushing to Sophie's side. “I only caught the end of it, but my horrible aunt kept me back. Tell me: What can I do for you?”

Sophie looked to her mother, who still seemed dazed. What could May do? Sophie lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Nothing. Nothing is to be done. We are found out and must quit Bath, just as we knew would happen.”

And they
had
known. They had done their best to find a way to fix it, but it was an unfixable situation. With Evan's back turned on them, there was no one that could make this better.

Sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, she looked back and forth between her savior and her friend. “I owe you both a debt of gratitude. Thank you for your kindness.”

May stepped forward, her blue eyes flashing. “Don't be ridiculous—you owe us nothing. We are your friends, and no piddling scandal is going to change that.”

The carriage rounded the corner and pulled to a stop in front of them. Sophie released her mother long enough to give May a quick, tight hug and Dering a light kiss on the cheek. “The sooner we get home, the better. Thank you again. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

Within moments they were wrapped in the oversized opulence of Dering's custom barouche, hurrying toward the townhouse. Exhausted, Sophie drooped back against the velvet squabs. Things would never be the same.

“I thought we'd have a few more days,” Mama murmured, her voice a thin thread. Her face was pale, with the exception of two bright pink spots high on the apples of her cheeks.

Sophie shifted and laid her head on her mother's shoulder, feeling truly hopeless for the first time in her life. “I know, Mama. Me, too.” Though what good would it have done? Regardless of whether it happened today or next week, the end result would still be the same.

Out of nowhere, her mother sat up abruptly, jarring Sophie in her haste. “Lord Evansleigh! He'll save us, surely. Did he make his intentions known? Is that what he wished to speak about?” Her eyes were overly bright, bordering on wild, as she clung to this one last hope.

Sophie's disappointment washed over her anew, even sharper than it had been when Evan had left her. She shook her head, fighting against the tears that burned at the back of her eyes. “No, Mama. He doesn't want me.”

The words echoed through her mind as her mother's last hope collapsed into ash. Mama opened her mouth to speak, but Sophie held up a desperate hand. “No, please. Let us just make it home. Then we may talk.”

Thankfully, her mother didn't fight her, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. It gave Sophie the opportunity to try to organize her scattered thoughts—but it also highlighted exactly how upset her mother was. Once they arrived home, they made their way to the drawing room, where Sophie shut the door and led Mama to the sofa.

Her mother's color was better, at least. Her cheeks were still bright pink, but her face wasn't nearly as pale,
or her eyes as wild. She actually looked much more self-possessed than Sophie would have expected.

Good—that made one of them.

As Sophie sat down, she couldn't quite shake the feeling of hopelessness. How could she? She had lost both her love and the life she knew all in one evening. Where was she to go from here?

Mama settled onto the chair adjacent to Sophie and laid her hands primly in her lap. “Now then,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm as she peered at Sophie with steely eyes. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

It was best to get it over with as quickly as possible. Lifting her chin, she said, “I made my feelings known to the earl, and he very plainly turned me away.” Such a polite way to say her heart had been ripped in two.

Mama tilted her head, as though puzzling through Sophie's response. “That simply does not make any sense. He seemed plenty interested today when he called. I wonder . . . ,” she said, the skin around her eyes wrinkling as she narrowed her gaze. “What matter did he wish to discuss with you this evening?”