The Husband Season (22 page)

Sophie glanced at Adam, who was seated some distance from her. Whether he had done it on purpose or that was the only chair left, she did not know. ‘What did you think of Jane’s project?’ she asked him.

‘It is impressive. The children seem so happy and sturdy. They are not shy, either. I found talking to them a real pleasure.’ Seeing her nuzzling her face into her nephew’s soft curls made him almost emotional enough for tears. If Anne had lived...

‘Has it given you any ideas for your own schoolroom?’

He pulled himself out of his reverie to answer her. ‘Indeed, it has.’

‘Sophie, tell us all about London,’ Jane put in. ‘Did you meet anyone exciting?’

Sophie did not know how to answer that with Adam in the room, not without giving herself away. ‘I met a great many people, but not the husband I went looking for.’

‘Miss Cavenhurst had her admirers,’ Adam said with a wry smile. ‘But none that suited her.’

‘Oh?’

‘It was only Sir Reginald, Mr Fanshawe and Lord Gorange,’ Sophie added. ‘They would not leave me alone. I swear they came to London because I was there.’

‘You mean they have not given up? None of them?’

‘No, and try as I might, I could not convince them. Thank goodness they have been left behind in London.’

The refreshments were brought in as Sir Edward arrived and seated himself in a wing chair and surveyed his family. ‘How pleasant it is to have you all here together,’ he said.

‘All except Teddy,’ Sophie said.

‘We will not speak of him,’ he said.

‘Oh, Papa!’ she exclaimed. ‘You know he cannot help himself.’

‘I said we will not speak of him, Sophie.’

She subsided into silence, her face red with mortification.

‘Adam is going to stay with us for a few days,’ Jane said quickly. ‘Why don’t you all come over to Broadacres for supper tomorrow night? I will ask Cook to make something special. It is my birthday.’

‘We had not forgotten,’ Mark said, laughing. ‘You have made sure of that.’

* * *

They stayed another half hour, chatting about London, Aunt Emmeline, the picnic in Richmond, the opera and the Malthouses, in which Adam took only a minimal part. When the visitors took their leave, he was as formal as he had been at the beginning and barely managed a smile. Sophie was miserable. He seemed to have gone back to the reserved, proud man he had been at the beginning of their acquaintance. Had he forgotten how they had been at the farmhouse, how easy with each other? Had it meant nothing at all to him?

She remembered with a wry smile how she had once insisted she would not marry a widower because she would not be a replacement wife. Now if she were given the opportunity, would she jump at it? Even if she knew he still loved and mourned the wife he had lost? ‘Damn you, Anne Kimberley,’ she muttered.

‘What did you say, Sophie?’ her mother asked.

‘Nothing. I think I’ll go for a ride.’

She took Patch, her own grey mare, not Swift. She did not think she would ever ride her again; the memories were too painful. Her ride took her over the common towards Witherington and the fen. She had played here with Teddy as a child, fighting imaginary battles with wooden swords and using a tumbledown hut as a fort. Poor Teddy; Papa was being very hard on him. And she had still found no way to repay Adam. For her pride’s sake, she must do it.

She dismounted where the track petered off at the edge of the mere and stood looking down at the dark water with its long grassy weeds, swaying just below the surface. She heard the sound of horse’s hooves behind her and turned to see Lord Gorange riding towards her and her heart sank. With deep water behind her there was no escape and she stood, watching him cantering closer while her fury mounted.

He stopped beside her and dismounted. ‘Miss Cavenhurst, your obedient servant.’

‘What are you doing here?’ She was so angry she could not even be polite and greet him properly.

‘Looking for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Silly question, Sophie...’

‘I have not given you permission to use my given name.’

‘Oh, come on, Sophie, let’s not be coy. I remember a time when you were more than glad to see me. And you did say you would reconsider my offer.’

‘I have reconsidered it, and the answer is still no.’

‘You will change your mind.’

‘Never.’

‘Then I will, of course, have to tell your parents what happened in the coach when we were alone together.’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘No? Have you forgotten the intimacy we shared, an intimacy that could have only one outcome?’

‘You are mad. Nothing like that happened. Find someone else to torment.’ She tried to remount, but he pulled her back and into his arms. She struggled. ‘Get away! Leave me alone! I shall scream.’

He looked about them at the deserted landscape. ‘Who is there to hear you?’

‘Let me go!’

‘Just a little kiss to be going on with,’ he murmured, twisting her round in his arms and trying to kiss her. She moved her head away and his wet lips connected with her ear. ‘Now, that is not very kind,’ he said. ‘I will let you go if you give me just a little kiss.’

‘And if I don’t?’ Anything to keep him talking and give her time to think of a way to escape.

‘I shall take it anyway. Then we shall ride back to Hadlea together and you will tell your papa that I would like to speak to him.’

‘What do you mean to say to him?’

‘My dear, that depends entirely on you. Say yes, and it will be a discussion on a marriage settlement, including your brother’s debts, or say no and it will not be just your parents who hear of your indiscretion, it will be the whole world.’

The prospect of everyone, including Adam, hearing his lies and believing them sent a shiver right through her. ‘Why are you doing this to me? I cannot think you really want an unwilling wife.’

‘You will not be unwilling, my dear, not in the end. And I do want a mother for my girls. They are growing up quite unmanageable. You are not so much older than they are, I am sure you will deal well together.’

‘I feel sorry for them, but that does not mean I will ever agree to marry you. And that goes for Sir Reginald and Mr Fanshawe, too.’

‘You do not have to worry about them,’ he said with a laugh. ‘They have given up the competition and gone for easier conquests. When I left the metropolis, Dickie was paying court to Miss Malthouse and Reggie had his sights set on Miss Martindale.’

‘Lucy is promised to my brother,’ she said, slightly diverted by this news.

‘Ah, but where is he? Too far away to be of any use, I fancy. And under the circumstances I cannot see Lord Martindale entertaining his suit, can you?’ He smiled. ‘That leaves only me to take the prize.’

‘I am not a prize.’

‘Oh, but you are, my dear. Now give me that kiss and we will be friends.’

He was short and fat, and would not find it easy to mount without a block or boulder to help him, whereas she was fit and agile. She looked at his face; he was eagerly awaiting her to comply. She leaned towards him as if to let him kiss her and then lifted her knee into his groin as hard as she could. He doubled up in pain and she ran and was on Patch’s back and galloping for all she was worth back to Hadlea.

* * *

Adam, strolling in the village, saw her galloping out of the Witherington turn as if the hounds of hell were after her. She could certainly ride, that one, but she had no hat and her hair down over her shoulders. Was this what she had meant when she boasted of galloping all over the village? He was about to call to her but changed his mind when he saw another rider coming down the same road and recognised Lord Gorange. The man did not go after her, but turned into the yard of the Fox and Hounds and dismounted.

What was going on? Had she lied to him about her involvement with Gorange, or was he still pestering her in an effort to win that wager? It was, as Sophie had pointed out to him, no business of his; he would be gone in a day or two and could forget her. Once he was back in familiar surroundings with evidence of Anne all about him—her books, her half-finished embroidery, her music on the pianoforte, the little china ornaments she liked to collect in the display cabinet, her clothes still in the closet because he could not bear to give them away—then he would go back to being the man he had been before he went to London. That was simply an interlude, he told himself severely, a short pause in the even tenor of his life.

He would stay for the birthday supper party because he had promised Mark and Jane he would, but the day after that he would go home. He turned into the Fox and Hounds to enquire about a stage coach going north. Gorange was in the parlour, sitting by himself with a glass of cognac. Curious, Adam went over to him. ‘Afternoon, Gorange. What brings you here?’

The man left off contemplating the liquid in his glass and looked up. ‘Oh, it’s you Kimberley. I might ask you the same question.’

Adam called for a glass of ale and sat down. ‘I am here to enquire about coach schedules.’

‘Back to the Smoke?’

‘No, back to Yorkshire.’

‘Given up, have you?’

‘Given up?’

‘On little Miss Cavenhurst. Just as well, we are to be married, you know.’

Adam stifled his gasp and kept his voice level. ‘She has agreed?’

‘As good as. It wants only Sir Edward’s permission and I do not think he will withhold it, considering the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances?’

‘Why, the matter of a little overamorous encounter in a carriage. You know how it is...’

‘No, I do not.’

‘No? Do not tell me you spent—how many days was it?—on the road and you did not try to seduce her? You must be losing your touch, Kimberley. But I am glad of it. I should not like to find myself with damaged goods.’

Adam stood up so violently his chair fell back with a crash. The sound served to remind him where he was. He dropped his raised fist and composed himself with an effort. ‘If you were not such an old lecher who is not worth fighting, I should call you out for that,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘But if I ever come across you again, I shall certainly make sure you regret your words for the rest of your miserable life.’

He heard Gorange laughing behind him as he hurried from the building, forgetting the reason for entering it in the first place. After all her protestations that she would not marry any of her suitors, had Sophie succumbed? He felt like finding her and shaking her and shouting at her not to do it.

By the time he reached Broadacres, his pace had slowed and his anger had cooled. His head told him it had nothing to do with him what Sophie Cavenhurst did, so why did the rest of him—his gut, his heart, his muscle—refuse to believe it? One thing he could do was to tell Mark about Gorange and his brother-in-law’s ridiculous wagers. If anything needed doing, Mark would be the one to do it.

* * *

It was her pride that made Sophie wear the blue gown to go to Broadacres. She spent a long time dressing, determined to shine. To that end she had Bessie arrange her curls in an elaborate
coiffure
. Her necklace, the one that had given her all that trouble, was fastened about her neck.

‘You are not going to a ball,’ Bessie said.

‘I know, but it is Jane’s birthday and that is special. Jane made the gown and gave me the necklace and she did not see me wearing them in London, so this seems a good opportunity to show her how well I look.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Sophie knew the maid did not see at all. It was Adam’s last day, he was going home tomorrow and he had not seen her in the gown either because someone had been giving him a beating at the time. She would show him what he had missed and perhaps he might be sorry. She slipped on her shoes, picked up her shawl and reticule and went down to join her parents. If her mother noticed her finery, she did not comment and led the way out to the waiting carriage.

* * *

Mark had sent his groom over to Greystone Manor that morning to fetch Swift and the animal had thrilled Jane. When they arrived Sophie handed over her own present, a new riding crop bought from the local harness maker, and received a hug in return. There were other presents to receive and exclaim over and then supper was served and they all trooped into the dining room.

The meal was a happy affair and there was no shortage of things to talk about: the latest
on dit
, the new fashions, the running of the orphanage, young Harry’s latest accomplishment and Adam’s speech in the Lords that had been reported in full in the
Thunderer
and resulted in a spate of letters to the editor, a few supporting him, but most condemning him. The workers he was defending were not ones to write to newspapers. No one seemed to notice that Sophie, in her gleaming gown and sparkling jewels, had little to say.

Her head was full of Lord Gorange’s threat. A few words noised abroad that she was not the innocent she appeared to be and he could spoil all this and once again plunge everyone at Greystone Manor and Broadacres into scandal. How she could prevent it without marrying him she did not know.

* * *

It was when the ladies retired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their cigars and port, that her mother remarked on her unusual quietness. ‘Sophie, you have hardly said a word all evening,’ she said. ‘You are not going to catch Bessie’s cold, are you? It would not surprise me if you did.’

It was a heaven-sent opportunity to pass off her ill humour, but suddenly it seemed important to tell the truth. ‘No, Mama, not a cold...’

‘Oh, I see. It is Viscount Kimberley.’

‘Adam?’ Jane echoed.

‘No, it is not.’ Sophie rounded on her. ‘I shall have to marry that horrid Lord Gorange and—’

‘Good heavens, why?’

It tumbled out then, the whole sorry story, and at the end of it she was sobbing and spoiling her face. Her mother took her in her arms. ‘Oh, Sophie, why did you not say something sooner? There is no question of you marrying Lord Gorange if you do not want to. Let him do his worst.’

‘But what will Papa say?’

‘I have no doubt he will say he was right not to trust Teddy to look after you.’