The Earl I Adore (24 page)

“I
have written your father.”

Sophie met her mother's stoic gaze and nodded, too tired to respond. The ride back to the house had been hellacious, as had her mother's furious rant, which had lasted nearly half an hour before she had stormed out of Sophie's bedchamber, slamming the door with a bone-rattling thump.

Sophie had yet to say a word. For two hours, she had sat curled in a ball on her bed, unable to think of what to do next. Pack? Write May and Charity? Plan her bleak future? Nothing had compelled her to move, so she hadn't. She didn't cry, either. She simply sat quietly in solitude, staring at the water-streaked windowpanes and listening to the steady tap of the rain outside.

Now her mother stood tensely in the doorway, her nostrils flared as she looked at Sophie the way one might regard a beggar in the street. “The situation is beyond me, and as such, I have asked him to come. Perhaps he can force the blackguard to show some honor.”

There was nothing but accusation in her voice. She was still furious with Evan, yes, but perhaps even more so at Sophie for not helping her ensnare him. Sophie
unfurled herself and stood, then wrapped her arm around the bedpost at the foot of the bed. “He won't be cowed,” she said quietly. “He knows nothing untoward happened, and he won't allow himself to be unfairly trapped into a marriage.”

“Unfairly?” Mama stepped inside the room, her face reddening with affront. “You yourself said that he kissed you. And that's only what you've admitted to,” she said, looking Sophie up and down through narrowed eyes. “You'd better hope your father can convince him, because we've no room for a trollop in our home.”

Sophie had thought her heart too numb to feel any more pain, but the barb cut deep. Even though she knew her mother was just angry and looking for a way to lash out at her uncooperative daughter, the condemnation weighed like a yoke around Sophie's neck. Still, no matter what her parents said or threatened, she wouldn't be party to her mother's machinations. “What are we to do until Papa arrives?”

Mama's fingers closed over the doorknob. “You shall stay exactly where you are. When your father arrives, I shall leave your fate to him.” Nodding decisively, she stepped out of the room and yanked the door shut.

Blowing out a harsh breath, Sophie wilted back onto the corner of the mattress, still holding the bedpost for support. Now, more than ever, she wanted—needed—her friends. She needed someone to understand, and to support her decision. But she had no illusions that Mama would allow any visits. Until Papa arrived, she was as good as stuck.

As for after he arrived? Sophie shuddered at the thought. It was time to start thinking of what she could do to earn her keep somewhere. She'd be a terrible governess, but perhaps she could be a music tutor. She
snorted miserably and lay back on the mattress. Yes, because there were so many aspiring young oboe players out there desperate for a moderately capable teacher. Well, there had to be
something
she could do. Perhaps Charity or even Julia could help her find a position somewhere.

Thinking of the earl's sister brought to mind their last conversation. Now that things had come to this, could she still say that she was happy to have taken the risk? Sophie closed her eyes, remembering the earl's private outdoor serenade, their shared kisses, the passion he had evoked in her, and the moments of breathless anticipation at seeing him again. They had been the best moments of her life, and no one could take that from her. Yes, if she had known the future, she would have given them up to spare the earl the pain she had caused him, but for herself? She swallowed past her suddenly tight throat.

It was impossible to regret even a moment of the time she had spent with the man she loved.

*   *   *

“There's talk, you know.”

Evan set down his fork and flicked a glance across the table to his sister. “And this is a surprise to you?”

It had been two days since the incident with Sophie, and he had steadfastly refused to see any of the half dozen or so callers who were suddenly interested in visiting him. He had no doubt that word of their dramatic scene had spread through Bath, particularly with the indignant dowager marchioness no doubt spreading tales. He had neither confirmed nor denied offering for Sophie, and he doubted her mother had spoken, either.

It was nobody's damn business, and he had no intention of indulging anyone's curiosity. If and when Mrs.
Wembley chose to speak on the matter was up to her. As for him, well, they would be departing for Ledbury after breakfast, so as far as he was concerned, the topic was closed.

Julia shared a glance with Harry, who wisely returned his attention to his plate. The baronet was still on thin ice, as far as Evan was concerned, and should consider himself lucky to even be invited into the house, let alone to dinner.

Shaking her head, Julia turned the full weight of her gaze back on Evan. “I've barely gone anywhere, yet the moment I leave the house, some gossipmonger or another pounces, wanting to know exactly what happened.”

Again, no surprise in that. He grunted noncommittally, reaching for his wineglass. Of course there would be talk. There was
always
talk. Without gossip, the bloody
ton
would probably wither and die like a fish left in the sun. Wasn't that why he had walked such a fine line all these years? Engaging just enough not to raise eyebrows, but not so much as to cause someone to look closer?

Narrowing her eyes, Julia dabbed her mouth with her napkin and tossed it over her plate. “I'm not sure you understand just how much Sophie is being disparaged. Whether she had succeeded in securing your hand or not, the gossip is vicious in either direction. If she succeeded, then she did so through trickery and entrapment, and if she didn't, then she is a ruined social climber who couldn't secure your hand even through the basest of means.”

His jaw hardened, but he refused to be drawn in. What did she suggest he do about it, anyhow? Take out an advertisement in the paper explaining the truth?

“In fact,” she said, doggedly continuing, “yesterday when Harry and I were walking, some cocksure young
lord whose name I cannot even recall came right up to us and confessed that he hoped you had managed to avoid the grasping hands of ‘that fortune-hunting Miss Wembley.'”

Fury speared through Evan, swift and white-hot. His hand clenched around the stem of his goblet so hard it was a wonder the thing didn't shatter. “If you'll kindly recall the gentleman's name, I will happily correct his misconception.” With his fists, he thought darkly.

“Would you?” she retorted, crossing her arms. “Because you seem perfectly content to allow the world to think the worst of Sophie. After what happened with her sister, the general consensus is that she and her mother were attempting to force you into marrying her in a desperate bid to redeem the family name.”

He could easily believe such a thing of her mother, but Sophie? He slammed his wineglass to the table, rattling the place settings and sloshing liquid over his fingers. “What utter nonsense,” he growled, glaring at his sister. “Sophie was completely innocent in this all. If anything,
I'm
the bastard here. Wasn't I the one who supposedly compromised her?”

It was maddening that anyone could blame another without a whit of knowledge about the situation. If they could have only seen the way Sophie had stood quietly beside him as he informed her mother that under no circumstance would he be forced to marry anyone. He had given her an impossible choice, and she had chosen as well as she could. As much as it pained him, he knew it was the
right
choice. He had felt better, knowing that she would be free of him and his family's insidious secret.

Julia held up her hands. “I know who the bastard is,” she said, not even flinching at the word. “But as far as society is concerned, a desperate, shamed young woman
attempted to force your hand, and deserves to be put in her place.”

God's teeth, was his sister
trying
to spark his fury? His gut burned with the injustice of Sophie's predicament. Yes, he'd known she'd be ruined, but this was not the way he had imagined it. He had assumed she'd be rebuffed for a while, turned away by the sticklers of societal morals. It had only been a few moments alone, after all. He had even thought her sister's elopement might help deflect the blow, since her family was already in the midst of judgment.

But instead, they had taken her family's shame and magnified it, branding Sophie some sort of scheming harlot. Damn it all, what was wrong with the world? Why were they so bloody gleeful at tearing down their peers? Why couldn't they be content to leave well enough alone on things that had absolutely nothing to do with them?

It was wrong. So damn wrong. His arms ached with the need to find Sophie and pull her into his embrace, to somehow offer comfort in this impossible situation. He hated knowing that she was being so unfairly judged, especially when there was nothing he could do to make it better. Shaking the drops from his hand, he abruptly stood, his chair screeching against the wooden floor.

Julia started, her dark gold eyebrows rising up her forehead. “Where are you going?”

Taking a deep breath, he set his fingertips on the table and met his sister's curious gaze. “Home. The sooner we leave, the sooner the scandal will die.” At least he damn well hoped it would. It was the only thing he could think of to deflect the scrutiny. “You and Harry may take your time, but I'm going now.”

Let the carriages and luggage come after him. He wanted—needed—the freedom and speed that could be
had only on horseback. “Higgins!” he called, moving away from the table. The servant quickly materialized, his brows raised in question. “Have Wolfgang saddled at once. I'm riding ahead to Leighton Hall.”

*   *   *

The sound of the doorknob turning roused Sophie from her thoughts. She'd been sitting by the window for hours, contemplating the days and weeks ahead. It was near sundown now, and she'd yet to come to any definitive conclusions. She watched, mildly curious, as the door swung in. To her immense surprise, May slipped silently inside. She quickly closed the door behind her and gave an exaggerated exhale.

Sophie immediately popped to her feet, so grateful for the sight of a friendly face that she very nearly started weeping. “May!” she exclaimed, rushing toward her.

“Shh,” she replied, but eagerly swallowed Sophie up in a tight embrace. “We don't want your mother to know that I'm here.” Her voice was low and quiet as she led Sophie over to the settee she had just vacated.

“But how did you get here?” she asked, dutifully keeping her voice to a whisper. “Mama decreed no visitors until Papa arrives.”

Giving her a mischievous little grin, May raised her shoulders. “I told you I have my ways.”

For the first time in days, a hint of a smile lifted Sophie's lips. “If you tell me you broke in through a window, I may well have to call the watch.”

“Do please give me a little credit. I didn't break any windows, but I may or may not have bribed Lynette. She is a peach, that one. She'll come and get me when it's safe to leave.” Sighing greatly, May tilted her head, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “Now, my darling girl, do please tell me everything. I want to know what I can do to help.”

“Just being here is more help than you could possibly imagine.” Already Sophie felt a thousand times better, for no other reason than to have somebody on her side—both literally and figuratively. “What do you know already?”

For the first time, May looked hesitant. She plucked at her jade skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I'm afraid there isn't much to go on, so the gossips are filling in their own blanks. All I know is that you were discovered at the earl's residence, without the benefit of either a chaperone or his sister's presence. There was a confrontation, and the earl ushered you and your mother inside to talk over . . . well, I'm assuming marriage. After that,” she said, lifting her shoulders, “no one knows anything.”

Sophie's heart sank. It sounded very much like she and Evan were on many a tongue. What surprised her was that he obviously had yet to say anything about the outcome of that meeting. She would have thought he'd be anxious to set the record straight. “It sounds like I am quite the fodder for gossip. Is it very bad?”

May's face said it all. Then compassion softened her gaze as she clasped Sophie's hand in both of hers. “The good thing about gossip is that there is always more to take its place as time goes on. As soon as it is known whether or not you are betrothed, I imagine it will be only so long before they move on to bigger and better things.”

That was a resounding
yes
. Sophie took a deep, calming breath, trying to overcome the flurry of nervous energy that pinged around inside her like ricocheting buckshot. She had never been the sort to seek out attention. She loved to be a part of things, but not the one everyone looked to. Even when she played her oboe, she felt safer with others playing around her. Now, not only were she
and her family the talk of the town, but she had dragged Evan into it with her.

Turning miserable eyes on May, Sophie sighed. “We are not betrothed.”

May gasped, rearing back in outrage. “He's left you to the wolves?” she hissed, her voice a furious whisper. “The scurrilous, toad-spotted weasel!”

“No, please,” Sophie begged, shaking her head, “don't blame him. My mother tricked us both, and I couldn't bear for him to pay the consequences. Mama doesn't know it, but I released him from his offer.”

That certainly caught May's attention. “You . . . released him? The man you are madly in love with offered to marry you, and you said no?”

Though she was clearly trying to keep a straight face, Sophie could see the incredulousness in her friend's expression. It was the way most people would react, if Sophie were to guess. Leaning back against the cushions, she lifted her lips in a sad smile. “Yes, I love him. So much so that I could never allow him to be miserable on my account. I know you don't understand, but I simply couldn't be the reason for his unhappiness.”