The Secret Lover (41 page)

The house had the same effect on Sophie that it always had—it was too large, too imposing, and it looked more like a museum than a home. That was because Julian had not made it their home since the death of their sister Valerie years ago. When Valerie died, they had lived in London and abroad, but rarely here, where the memories of his failure to save her had consumed Julian.

Sophie's memories of Kettering Hall were not any more pleasant. Her mother had died giving birth to her in that house. And even though she had been a very little girl, she could recall the death of her father, could recall particularly the grave demeanor of the adults around her, the black drapes and ribbons on the windows. And then Valerie, of course. Valerie, the kindest of them all, the prettiest, perhaps—or at least in Sophie's memory, she was—had died in Julian's arms as he begged her not to go.

How strange it must have been for him—Julian had not been even as old as herself when Valerie had died, yet already he had shouldered the responsibility of raising his sisters for ten years or more. Valerie's death had been impossible for him to bear, for all of them, really, and even now, as Sophie walked past the family cemetery, the angel rising above the other tombs marking Valerie's grave was a gruesome reminder of those horrific days.

Kettering Hall had never been the same after that. Certainly the last time she had been here had not improved her opinion of it. That was because Julian had forced her here, against her wishes, because she had been caught in the company of Sir William after Julian had forbade her to see him. He had no choice, he said. He could not trust her. And he had effectively banished her from London.

She had spent several miserable days plotting escape, but Sir William had come for her, had convinced her they should elope, and had stolen her away in full view of the staff and Miss Brillhart.

Would that she had listened to Julian.

As they walked up the drive to the house, she could see it all again, just as it had unfolded that fateful day—Miss Brillhart on these very steps, pleading with her to stay, to think of her family's name. The two footmen, trying to reach William before she did. The gallop down this very same drive as the servants spilled out onto the front lawn, frantic at what she had done.

She felt Caleb's hand on the small of her back, his breath on her ear.

"Are you quite all right?"

Sophie caught herself, shook off the ancient memories, and forced a smile to her lips. "I-I have never told you about that day," she said.

He seemed to read her mind, knew exactly what she meant, and tenderly kissed her temple. "It isn't necessary, my love, unless you want to talk about it. If you prefer not, I will certainly understand."

She needed to tell him. She needed to confide in someone, unburden her soul with what had happened that day and that night. It was a weight that had pressed down on her for years, smothering her, blocking the light from her heart. The need to say that she had realized her mistake almost the moment she had made it, had understood that the harm was irreparable, had immediately felt the panic, the horror… Sophie closed her eyes, drew a breath. She needed to say it all.

When she could find the courage to
speak
it all aloud. When she could free herself of William, once and for all.

"This place, what is it?" Honorine asked, awakening from her grief.

"My home," Sophie said softly, and realizing that her return was inevitable, moved forward, to the door. There was no point in avoiding it.

She mounted the steps, faltered at the door, unsure if she should knock like a guest, or reclaim her rightful place here and simply open the door.

Fortunately, the decision was made for her when the door swung open and Miss Brillhart filled the opening.

It was her, all right. Her hair was grayer, her arms thicker, and her face broader. But she was the same Miss Brillhart, the housekeeper who had also served at times as governess, even as surrogate mother to the girls for more than twenty years.

She blinked as she focused on Sophie; the flicker of recognition in her eyes sparked a broad smile, and she held out her arms. "
Sophie
!" she cried happily. "Lady Sophie, you have come home!" Before Sophie could even move, Miss Brillhart had wrapped her in a suffocating embrace, squeezing her tightly to her. "Ooh, Lady Sophie, how
good
it is to see you!' she exclaimed, then suddenly let go, held Sophie at an arm's length. "Oh my, oh
my
, how pretty you are!"

Sophie blushed, tried to push her tangled hair behind one ear, smiling sheepishly. "Miss Brillhart, you flatter me as always."

"Oh no,
no
, my dear, I speak true! How lovely you are! The Continent certainly agrees with you!" She beamed again, looked past Sophie to Honorine and Caleb, standing below.

"Oh, ah…"
How did she introduce them
? "Miss Brillhart, may I introduce you to Madame Fortier… she is the lady for whom I serve as companion—"

"Ah! Yes, of course! I've heard ever so much about you!" she exclaimed, and letting go of Sophie, reached for Honorine.

Looking confused and a bit dazed, Honorine put her hand in Miss Brillhart's. "They take me from Will," she announced. "But he is needing me."

Judging by the wrinkling of her brow, that obviously confused Miss Brillhart. But always the consummate hostess, she merely smiled and nodded. "I see," she said. "Well then, come in my dear, and we'll pour you a spot of tea."

With a weary sigh, Honorine passed her and stepped into the foyer; Sophie saw Miss Brillhart's double take of the colorful skirts as Honorine passed. She turned a stunned sort of smile to Sophie, then looked to Caleb, still standing in the lawn.

"Ah." Sophie faltered. "May I introduce Mr. Caleb Hamilton. He is…"

My secret lover. The man I will marry. The bastard son
. What did she say? Something, anyway—Miss Brillhart was watching her closely.
The
truth
. Sophie squared her shoulders, looked at Caleb. "He is the man I love, Miss Brillhart."

Miss Brillhart gasped; she peered at Caleb as he came slowly up the steps, extending his hand. "Miss Brillhart, how do you do?"

She looked at his hand, then at Sophie before taking it. "A… a pleasure, Mr. Hamilton," she said uncertainly. "Won't you come in?"

Caleb smiled, put his hand on Sophie's waist, and pressed her to proceed him. Miss Brillhart eyed him closely as they entered the foyer, as if she half-expected him to produce a horse and whisk her away. But the old girl surprised Sophie; she shut the door, walked to the center of the foyer, and turned to face them. Miss Brillhart looked at them for a long moment before a smile slowly spread across her cheerful face. "You look as if you have had quite a journey. Perhaps Mr. Hamilton would like a whiskey?"

"I would be forever in your debt, madam," he responded with a grateful smile.

A swell of old, timeless love filled Sophie as she looked at the housekeeper, and she returned her cheerful smile with one of her own.

"Thank you, Miss Brillhart. That would be wonderful."

After they had drunk their tea and whiskey, Miss Brillhart had baths drawn for them. When she discovered that Honorine had no clothes except those which were on her person now, she went immediately to the attic rooms, dug out a trunk that had belonged to Sophie's mother, and found three gowns from a bygone era. Honorine emerged from her bath somewhat refreshed, wearing a gown with an empire waist and a bodice cut so tight and low that she was practically spilling out of it. The fabric, however, while not particularly colorful, was a pale blue with yellow trim that highly complemented Honorine's dark hair and blue eyes.

She complained nonetheless that it was drab and
passé
.

Caleb emerged in a pair of buckskin trousers, a lawn shirt, and waistcoat that accentuated his trim waist. His hair was combed back in long waves that brushed his collar. He had never seemed quite as virile as he did then, striding down the corridor of Kettering Hall, a smile on his face.

As for Sophie, well, the clothes she had packed in the small portmanteau were soiled—Miss Brillhart took them and in their place, gave Sophie a plain black skirt and white blouse that buttoned up primly to the throat. Sophie recognized the skirt—it was one she had often worn eight years ago, was so very much like the old Sophie, plain and austere.

But without petticoats, the fabric draped her frame; she fastened her hair up in a twist, and left the tiny little row of buttons unfastened from her sternum and up. At least, she tried to console herself, she didn't look quite the schoolmistress.

It was her idea to prepare a feast. After several days of trailing after Lord Hamilton, she was firmly convinced they needed a respite, a moment in time to feel normal again and replenish their strength. But Caleb was restless; he wanted to move on, before anyone found them there. "Miss Brillhart is bound to send word to Kettering," he warned her.

"Perhaps," Sophie shrugged. "But he won't come tonight. We should rest, Caleb. We should think carefully about what we will do if we are to leave again."

"Hamilton will have the whole of England looking for her," he said, fingering the lace of Sophie's collar. "And me."

"He'll not look here, I'd wager. He'll think we've run to Scotland, to your home."

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you are right. But I don't like this, sitting idle. It makes us quite vulnerable."

She smiled, cupped his jaw in her palm, and winked. "We'll not sit idle, sir, if you take my meaning."

Gathering her in his arms, Caleb kissed her neck. "You have my rapt attention, madam. You look rather fetching in your prim little costume, but Lord, that glimpse of flesh just there"—he brushed his finger along her chest where she had left her blouse unbuttoned—"is enough to drive a man to great distraction."

"Indeed?" she asked, and glanced covertly around the corridor as she stroked his thigh suggestively. "I think you are rather distracting yourself, sir," she said coyly.

Caleb laughed again. "My God, how I love you, Sophie Dane. It doesn't seem real at times, any of this."

"It is real," she assured him. "From the bottom of my heart, it is real, all of it."

She made him follow her to the kitchens then, before he had her right there, on the carpet. In the kitchen, when he attempted to feel her breast, she made him roll up his sleeves and help her. He was still grumbling good-naturedly when Honorine wandered in, a bottle of French wine in one hand. Sophie did not bother to ask where she might have found it.

Much to Miss Brillhart's apparent surprise, she found all three of them in the massive kitchen of Kettering Hall, Honorine sitting at the long wooden table in the center of the room, sipping a glass of wine. Caleb stood across from her, with an apron tied around his chest, chopping carrots with all the finesse of a mule. And at the far end of the table stood Sophie, preparing a sauce for the meat roasting on a spit.

"Miss Brillhart," she called cheerfully. "Will you join us?"

"
Oui, oui
," Honorine said, waving her over. "It is not good to drink the wine alone."

Miss Brillhart faltered; her pudgy fingers fluttered to her throat. "I… I don't know if I ought, Lady Sophie. It doesn't seem right."

As if anything were right with their world at present. Poor Miss Brillhart—she had no idea what they had been through these last few days.

The very thought of explaining it made Sophie laugh; she put down her spoon, walked to where the housekeeper stood, and put her arm around her shoulders, urging her forward. "I can assure you, Miss Brillhart, that nothing seems right any longer. You might as well join us."

Reluctantly, she positioned herself on the stool and accepted a glass of wine. Honorine lifted her glass in mock toast to Miss Brillhart. "
Salut
," she said gravely, then sipped.

So did Miss Brillhart.

After several sips, she was laughing with the rest of them, her face very rosy.

After two glasses of wine, Honorine began to tell them the story of Lord Hamilton, beginning with the moment she had met him at Regent's Park.

Honorine was adamant that with very little effort on her part, Lord Hamilton had begun to improve immediately. She told them that she suspected something was not quite right with Trevor from the beginning, for every improvement Will made, he seemed to suffer a bit of a setback after returning home. Nonetheless, he had improved rapidly, transforming from the man in the wheeled chair she had met in the park to one who could move about, who was beginning to remember things. To the man she had fallen in love with.

Yet in spite of those improvements, there was something bothering the viscount, she said, something he could not seem to grasp from the boarded up well of his memory. Something about Caleb that he could not articulate.

That piqued Caleb's interest; he questioned her anxiously about his father's state, what he remembered, what he did not. But Honorine could say no more than what she had, except that he had wanted to go home so badly that she could not refuse to take him.

When Sophie asked why she had left without a word, Honorine was surprised. Ian knew it, of course, but she had also left a note for Roland and Fabrice, which, they deduced after much discussion, had been caught up in the general cleaning after the ball and tossed aside as rubbish.

Honorine spoke fancifully about their languid, carefree journey north, of the sights they had seen, the things they had done. The viscount was, she insisted, quite lucid and feeling better with each day, in spite of what Trevor would have them all believe.

"This,
Monsieur Darby
will say is so," she said emphatically. He was walking well on his own, speaking better than she had ever heard him, and grasping many more pieces of the memory that had been lost to him.

But when Trevor arrived—crazed and irrational, according to Honorine

—everything changed. He locked his father away from her, threatened to do the same with her until the sheriff arrived. Darby had shown her where she might hide. And from that hiding place, she had watched Trevor go in and out of the salon where he kept his father, her fear of what was happening confirmed when she had bolted for the salon that afternoon while Trevor was occupied with Caleb.