Mary Balogh (16 page)

She dropped her head forward to look at their clasped hands.

“But there is one bond between us,” he said. “A firm one that has never ever wavered. We both love you to distraction, Sophia. We both want your happiness more than anything else in life. For the next three weeks and for your wedding day we will not merely be practicing civility. We will be rejoicing together in your happiness. Together, love. And if it is important to you in the future to see us together, then I daresay we will come together occasionally. We love you that much. Both of us. Together, Sophia.”

She raised her hand suddenly and set it against his cheek. “Papa,” she said, and her voice was thin with suppressed tears, “I would do anything in the world to see you and Mama together again. Not just because of me, but because of each other. I would give up Francis if that could happen.”

He laughed softly. “What?” he said. “Give up the love of your life, Sophia? For us?”

“Yes, I would,” she said.

“Well,” he said, releasing his other hand and stroking her hair, “that is quite an offer. You love him very much, don’t you?”

“But I would give him up.” She closed her eyes very tightly.

“You must marry him,” he said, “and be very happy with him, Sophia. That is the very best thing you can do for Mama and me. And I will promise you that I will see what I can do about the rest of it. Do we have a deal?”

She jerked back her head and looked up at him with
shining eyes. “You are going to keep Mama here?” she asked. “You are going to be reconciled? You are? You promise?”

He frowned and shook his head. “Only that I will see what I can do, Sophia,” he said. “I cannot make any promises about the outcome.”

“Oh,” she said, “but you always meant yes, Papa, when you used to say you would see what you could do. I always knew you meant yes, though I would pretend still to look anxious. Oh, I knew it would work. I knew all would be well. I am going to tell Francis. He will be so excited for me. I am going to find him now.”

And the Earl of Clifton found himself with arms outstretched to the disappearing figure of his daughter, who was dashing down one diagonal path and across a flower bed toward the house with quite unladylike haste.

He bowed his head and set one hand over his eyes.

S
OPHIA BURST INTO
the billiard room just as Lord Francis was bent over his cue, fully concentrating on a difficult shot.

“Francis,” she said, totally forgetful of the fact that ladies did not normally enter that particular room. “You must come. You are going to be so very pleased.”

Lord Francis, unable to prevent the forward movement of his cue, hit by far the worst shot of anyone all afternoon. He straightened up, shaking his head ruefully.

The Duke of Weymouth chuckled. “Just in time, Sophia, my dear,” he said. “Francis had not missed in ten minutes. The rest of us are feeling a trifle bored.”

“Oh,” she said as Lord Francis turned toward her, a resigned look on his face, “I am so sorry, Francis. I would have crept in had I known and waited until you had finished.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph,” he said, smiling. “What better way is there of losing a game?” He took her hand on his arm and patted it. “You will excuse us, Papa? Gentlemen?”

“More than that,” the duke said. “We will rejoice, lad, at your quitting the table.” He laughed heartily.

“Well, Soph,” Lord Francis said when they were outside the room, the door closed behind them, “this had better be worth losing a game over. You have told your father? And he now has all the embarrassment of breaking the news to mine? I had better go upstairs and make sure that all my things have been packed. I had better take myself off before my mother finds out and drowns me with her tears. If I were you, Soph, I would hide.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” she said, frowning and leading him in the direction of the front doors.

“You have not ended our betrothal?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” she said. “How absurd.”

“But you said I would be so very pleased,” he said.

She looked at him indignantly. “Oh,” she said, “it is just like you, Francis, to remind me just how delighted you will be to be free of me. It will happen, never fear.”

“But when, Soph?” he asked. “There are nineteen days to our wedding. Can a fellow be blamed for getting a trifle nervous?”

“I have heard that men always get nervous before their weddings,” Sophia said kindly. “Women get excited and men nervous. It is quite natural that you should be feeling so.”

“Soph,” he said, “can I save time and just mention the word ‘Bedlam’? Would you understand my meaning? And don’t bother to answer. What will I be so very pleased about?”

“I am to marry you and live happily ever after,” she said, drawing him down the steps outside the house
onto the cobbled terrace. “And in the meantime, Papa will see what he can do about getting Mama to agree to stay with him. He just said so. We agreed on it.” She beamed up at him. “You see? It is working after all and I need not have been burdening you with all my doubts in the past few days.”

Lord Francis scratched his head with his free hand. “The one is not totally dependent on the other, by any chance, is it, Soph?” he said. “Am I to sacrifice my freedom just because you have an agreement with your papa?”

“Of course not, silly,” she said. “But he told me that he loves her, you see, and he has agreed to see what he can do. That always means an undoubted yes when Papa says it. And he will work on it immediately, Francis, because there is not much time left. Within a week all their differences will be settled and they will be together again. You mark my words. And then we can announce that we have irreconcilable differences.”

“Just to help them celebrate,” he said.

“It will be quite a blow to them, of course,” she said. “To all four of them. We will have to break the news gently.”

“Is there a gentle way to break such news?” he said. “The trouble with us, Soph, is that we have no imagination. Neither of us. We did not picture it being quite like this, did we?”

“No,” she said. She reached across and touched his hand with her free one. “And it will be worse for you, Francis, for you will be the jilted one. Would you prefer it to be the other way around? Shall we pretend that I still love you dreadfully and that you are the one with no heart?”

“Good Lord,” he said. “There is not a stronger word in the English language than Bedlam, is there, Soph? If
there is, you had better tell me what it is, because I am in dire need of it.”

“I am merely trying to save you from some humiliation,” she said. “I would take it on myself if I could, Francis. After all, I am the one to blame for all this.”

“No, you are not,” he said. “No one exactly stuck a dueling pistol to my head to make me do it. I thought it would be amusing. Amusing—ha!”

“I am sorry,” she said. “Perhaps we can make it a mutual thing, Francis. We can go to Mama and Papa and your parents together, and tell them that we have discussed the situation quite rationally and in a perfectly amicable manner and have decided that after all, we would not suit. Then neither one will bear the blame or be humiliated. Shall we?”

He sighed. “We had better see how things develop after we return from London, Soph,” he said. “But good Lord, you are going to be returning with five trunkfuls or so of bride clothes, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Or perhaps not quite so much. You had better tell me where we are going for our wedding journey, Francis. There is a difference between the type of clothes I will want if we are going to Italy, and the type I will need if we are going to Scotland.”

Lord Francis merely looked at her.

“But I have to know,” she said. “You must tell me, Francis. Where would you take me if we really were about to be married, and if we really were going on a wedding trip?”

“To bed, probably,” he said. “And you may well blush and look outraged, Soph. You could not expect any self-respecting male to resist that invitation, could you?”

“To bed,” she said, both her cheeks and her eyes flaming. “With you, Francis? I would rather …”

“Austria and Italy,” he said. “For the rest of the summer and probably the winter, too, Soph. We would dance
in Vienna, and ride in a gondola in Venice, and lean with the Tower of Pisa, and get stiff necks in the Sistine Chapel, and shelter your complexion from the sun in Naples.”

“And Rome?” she said eagerly. “Would we go to Rome, Francis?”

“Where do you think the Sistine Chapel is?” he asked. “The Outer Hebrides?”

“I forgot,” she said. “You do not need to be quite so scornful, Francis. I am not a featherbrain, you know.”

“Well,” he said, “that is where I would take you, Soph—during the daytime. I suppose my first answer would still hold true for the nights. And don’t get all puffed up again. We are talking only of where I would take you
if
we were getting married, the key emphasis being on the
if
. You will need light and pretty clothes.”

“All right,” she said. “But it is going to be dreadful to spend Papa’s money on such a deception, is it not? And all the other expenses of the wedding. Oh, dear, I lay awake a whole hour last night just worrying about it all.”

“Perhaps it will be worth the expense if we succeed in mending a broken marriage,” he said, patting her hand again.

She looked up at him, suddenly happy again. “Even if by some chance it does not happen before the wedding,” she said, “there is still hope. I have just remembered something Papa said. He said that if in future it is really important to us that we see both of them together, then they will come together. We will have other chances, you see, Francis—perhaps at Christmas or Easter or at a christening if one happens fairly soon.”

Lord Francis continued to pat her hand and look down at her, an expression almost of amusement on his face.

“Oh,” she said, her smile fading. “I forgot. No, that will not work, will it?”

“Perhaps they will come together the next time you are betrothed,” he said. “Perhaps you could make a regular thing of this, Soph.”

“Don’t make fun,” she said. “This is serious, Francis. And you don’t think I would deliberately humiliate other gentlemen in this way, do you?”

“Only me?” he said.

“But you are different,” she said, looking earnestly up into his face. “You are … Oh, I don’t know. You are—Francis, that is all. I could not do this with anyone else. No one else would understand. I would not be able to talk like this with anyone else. And you do not have to say what you are about to say. Anyone else would have taken me straight off to Bedlam, I know.”

“That is not what I was about to say,” he said. “I was about to warn you again, Soph. You are not falling in love with me by any chance, are you? I don’t altogether like this business of feeling comfortable with me and all that.”

“In love with you?” she said, her eyes blazing to life again. “How stupid. What I meant was that I did not have to worry with you because you are just Francis and I really do not care if I hurt your feelings or not. Partly because you have no feelings, and partly because I have a whole lifetime of getting even with you to accomplish. Falling in love with you!” There was a world of scorn in her voice and on her face.

“Ah,” he said, “that is all right, then. I was getting a little uncomfortable for a moment, Soph. Nineteen days. That means eighteen at the outside for being betrothed to each other. I suppose we can survive that long, can’t we? And who knows? Perhaps it will be less than that. Perhaps your mama and papa will fall into each other’s
arms when we return from London. Perhaps they will have missed each other.”

“Do you think so?” she said hopefully. “Oh, do you really think so, Francis?”

“I have to consider it at least a possibility,” he said, “if I am to cling to my sanity.”

L
ORD
F
RANCIS MIGHT AS WELL BE SITTING INSIDE
the carriage instead of riding his horse, Olivia thought. For much of the journey Sophia had had the window down, her betrothed riding alongside talking with her. It was a good thing that the day was glorious and the open window necessary for their very survival. Twice, Olivia had noted, Lord Francis reached across to touch Sophia’s hand as it rested on the window. That was before she closed her eyes.

It made her heart turn over to see the love of those two for each other. She yearned to urge them to hold on to their love, not to let even the strongest tempest shake it. She wanted to warn them not to set each other on pedestals, not to expect perfection just because they were in love. She wanted to tell them to allow for human frailty. She was desperately afraid that they were too much in love.

“She is sleeping,” Sophia said softly. “You do not need to keep on doing that, Francis, thank you very much.”

“It is no trouble at all, Soph,” he said cheerfully. “How do you keep your skin so soft?” And he chuckled for no apparent reason.

“Did you see?” Sophia’s voice, still almost a whisper, sounded very eager. “Did you see them kiss?”

“Very promising,” he said. “The footman holding the carriage door open almost swallowed his tongue. I’ll wager it will be the
on dit
belowstairs today, Soph, and probably for the whole week.”

“I could have swooned with happiness,” she said.

“I’m glad you did not,” he said. “I never know quite what to do with vaporish females. Does one douse them with water, slap their cheeks, rush all about the house yelling for vinaigrettes, or kiss them back to consciousness? I suppose that last would be strictly dependent upon the female involved, of course. I might have tried it on you, Soph.”

There was a small silence. “I might wake her if I respond as I would like,” Sophia said, and Lord Francis chuckled.

So it had worked, Olivia thought. Sophia had been delighted by it, and she would not be able to conclude that it had been done for the benefit of the guests. There had been no one else out on the terrace except a few servants and Sophia and Lord Francis. There had been no other witnesses.

She was reacting like a girl, she thought with some disgust at herself, retiring behind closed eyes so that she might relive a brief kiss.