The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (14 page)

His expression turned grim, his eyes even
bleaker. “He’s gone, Sophie.”

“I’ll just—”

“He’s left England.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” She crumbled beneath the weight of his
words and shook her head in denial. The crying began then,
heart-wrenching tears filling the room until Jason pulled her into
his arms and tried to comfort her.

When she finally settled, he said, “Tell me
what happened, Sophie. Maybe there will be some way to bring him
back.”

She took a deep breath and released herself
from his embrace. For a long while, she simply stared at the shards
of broken glass strewn about the fireplace. Then she began to
speak, recounting all of the events of the last few days; Julia’s
visit, her argument with Holt, and finally, the meeting with her
father that afternoon. “Could it be true, Jason? Could our parents
have been involved in an affair?”

He hesitated a moment. “It’s true.”

“But how could you know for certain?”

Sadness coated his next words. “My mother saw
them together.”

“No.”

“She was taking a walk one afternoon and
caught them at the gamekeeper’s cottage.”

“Oh no.”

“She threatened him and he promised to end
it, but soon the affair became common knowledge in most social
circles. When your mother died, your father told everyone she’d
been raped and blackmailed by my father and killed herself rather
than live in disgrace. No one believed it but your father,” he
paused, “and you.”

“All these years, I believed a lie.”

“You were only a child when it happened.”

Holt had told her the truth
. “Jason,
please tell me, will Holt come back? Will I get another chance?”
Her fingers bit into his forearm, willing him to give the answer
she wanted to hear.

“I don’t know.”

***

The months passed with a whirlwind of
activities and events, not all of them good. Sophie immersed
herself in the family business and with the working capital from
Holt’s agreement and the construction of the new ships underway she
spent many long hours at the docks. It became known that her father
was all but confined to his bed with an illness of the liver
rendering him unable to carry on with day-to-day business.

Nevertheless, she consulted with him and
spent a great amount of time each evening providing a full report
of the day’s events. He did not appear as obsessed with his
vendetta against the Langford’s these days, though there were
moments when he would utter obscenities against them, reminding
Sophie he had not forgotten, or forgiven anything.

As for questioning the cause of their good
fortune and the fact that their benefactor had not demanded
repayment, they only spoke of it once, two months after Sophie’s
broken engagement. She sat in her father’s study, balancing his
ledgers on her lap while he lay propped on a sofa, surrounded by
blankets and pillows in an attempt to warm his bones. A snifter of
brandy rested in his right hand.

Sophie was tired that evening, having worked
many days until well past midnight in an effort to insure
everything was in place for construction to begin on the new
shipping line. They were so close to turning the company around and
making a tidy profit on their latest venture. That coupled with a
few other key renovations, would definitely increase
profitability.

If Holt
didn’t demand his money back.
That remained her father’s biggest fear. “It’s been almost two
months and we’ve heard nothing from Mr. Thurston or his solicitor.
One would certainly not expect him to fulfill his end of the
agreement now that there is to be no wedding.” He took a healthy
sip of brandy and continued, “And yet, it is passing strange there
has been no demand for repayment. Unless the man is as rich as
Croesus or a lovesick fool, he should demand an immediate
settlement from us.” He pondered his words. “Thurston is definitely
not a fool, nor did he appear overly wealthy. Perhaps he feels
responsible for the broken engagement. Still, the amount of money
involved is ten times what would be considered reasonable under
such circumstances. It makes no sense.”

If only she could tell him the money in
question was not such an outrageous sum for the Earl of Westover.
Then he would understand, but the understanding would kill him.

“Our only hope is to continue with our plans
and pray we never hear from or see the likes of that man again.” He
gulped the rest of his brandy, his hand shaking slightly. “And God
help us if we do, dear girl. God help us.”

***

The wind howled outside. It called to her in
its aloneness, its eerie cry a sad song of grief which she
understood well. Sophie moved from the window and walked toward the
bed. Exhaustion claimed her but it was better this way. At least
she would be able to sleep, unfettered by memories of the man she
had loved and lost.

He’d been gone four months yet the pain of
losing him and the life they might have shared had not lessened.
The questions and speculations had stopped. Even Aunt Vivian, who
had preached about his desertion relentlessly for the first several
weeks was now only prone to an occasional comment. It had been the
waiting and hoping which proved the worst.

For the first five weeks, Sophie had called
upon Jason Langford daily to see if there had been word from Holt.
She usually arrived at Ellswood, windblown and tousled, insisting
on riding her horse as opposed to a carriage so as not to arouse
her household’s curiosity concerning her daily whereabouts. Jason
threatened his staff with dismissal if anyone spoke of Lady Sophie
Seacrest’s visits to Ellswood.

“Jason?” she would ask hesitantly before
Jaffe had even finished closing the door. Jason would then rise
from behind his desk and approach her, sadly shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. We’ve heard nothing. Perhaps
tomorrow,” he would say gently.

She tried to be brave as she struggled with
the words, “Yes, perhaps tomorrow.”

Then, one day, Jason had a different answer
for her. When Sophie arrived that morning, she found him seated on
the sofa, his longish, sandy hair tousled as though he’d run an
impatient hand through it several times. When he saw her, the grim
look on his face deepened. She rushed to him, grabbing his hands.
“What is it Jason? You’ve heard from him, haven’t you? Is he
hurt?”

“Sit down, Sophie.”

Something was horribly wrong. She perched on
the edge of the sofa. “Tell me.”

“I received a note today from a courier. It
was from Holt.”

“And?”

He hesitated, a dull flush spreading over his
tanned face. “He wanted to know if you were with child.”

She sat very still as pain and sorrow seeped
through her. “There is no child, though I had prayed there would
be.” She had wanted to hold onto a piece of Holt, no longer caring
about scandal or protecting the family name.

Jason shifted uncomfortably and said, “I’m
sorry to have to ask such a question. I’ll send word.”

“Had I been with child, what then?”

He looked away and she thought at first he
wouldn’t answer or perhaps would tell her a lie to spare her. “If
you had been with child, I was to send word and his solicitor would
settle a very large sum of money on you and the babe. Had you
desired privacy during or after your confinement, you could have
moved anywhere, with Caroline, and he would have purchased the
residence of your choice.”

“But there was no offer of marriage.”

“No.”

She carefully withdrew her hands from his and
said, “I’ll not be coming here again.” She hesitated a moment
before continuing, “I’ll miss you. Please tell Julia I hold no ill
will against her. It was not her fault.”

“Sophie, please don’t shut yourself away.
It’s not healthy.”

“But don’t you see? Coming here will only
remind me of him and it hurts too much. You’ve been a wonderful
friend, but you have Holt’s laugh . . . and the same dimple on the
right side of your cheek. And did you know when you are lost in
thought you both turn your heads just so? Forgive me, Jason, but
the pain is too deep.”

***

The smell of death clotted the air. The dark
room was still, save for the labored breathing of Arthur Seacrest.
His form was frail, eaten away with disease and years of self
abuse. His long, bony fingers lay clasped atop a distended
abdomen.

Sophie sat by his bedside. She’d maintained
vigil for the last three days, since the doctor announced nothing
further could be done. The disease had spread throughout his body,
yellowing his skin and slowly stealing the very life from him. His
chest rattled with the rise and fall of his breathing, a constant
reminder that his next breath could be his last. His eyes remained
closed in an effort to shut out the pain. The pain of living. The
pain of dying.

He had been such a coward, giving in to his
hatred and need for vengeance. He had become his own worst enemy,
unable and unwilling to deal with the reality of life’s blows as he
shut the world out and turned to the bottle for solace. It had
become his lifeline and now it would be the death of him.

Oh, but he had not bowed to the Langfords!
Seacrest Shipping flourished and plans for expansion were underway.
The company was safe and once again profitable. He’d never believed
it possible to generate such income. Only one man could destroy it
all.

Rendhaven slowly opened his eyes and looked
at his daughter. She was such a beautiful, spirited young woman, so
like her mother. She deserved to dance at balls and soirees,
escorted on the arms of handsome young suitors, not sitting with an
old man on his deathbed or pouring over ledgers until all hours of
the night. She would never admit to a lacking in her social life.
Therefore, it was up to him to see her settled into society as
befit her station. He owed Sophie that much and before he took his
last breath, he
would
secure her future. Three days later,
he slipped away, his dead wife’s name a silent litany on his
lips.

Chapter 17

“
You can no longer avoid the
inevitable. Your father’s last wishes were to see you
wed.”

“But I don’t require a husband. I’m an
independently wealthy woman.” Sophie rose from the floral settee
and approached her aunt. The morning sun shone brightly through the
salon windows, casting red and gold highlights on Sophie’s auburn
hair. Her skin had a glow to it which only served to heighten the
emerald in her eyes.

Just like her mother. Vivian smiled tightly
and said, “I promised your father I would see you settled. Would
you have me betray a dying man’s request?” She ignored the tortured
look on Sophie’s face. “I thought not. I’ve made several discreet
inquiries these past weeks and have found only one gentleman
willing to take Caroline into his home.”

“But I have no interest in marriage. Father
knew this.”

Vivian sighed. “He felt responsible for your
unmarriageable state. Two and twenty is quite on the shelf and
after the debacle with Mr. Thurston, he wanted to see you settled.
He’s even gifting one third of Seacrest Shipping as your
dowry.”

“No! You can’t give part of it to a
stranger.”

“It was your father’s last wish.”

Sophie straightened and turned away. “May I
at least have time to properly grieve? It’s only been six weeks
since his death.”

“Unfortunately, no. Your father wanted you to
forgo the normal grieving period and marry posthaste.”

“Why would he do this?”

“Guilt, I suppose. He wanted you to have an
opportunity for a settled life. And children.”

“Oh, Father,” Sophie murmured, rubbing her
temples, “what were you thinking?”

“You’ll leave for London in two day’s time.
We must throw aside your mourning clothes and begin preparations.
Your betrothed will escort you about the city for approximately two
weeks, during which time you will meet his various relations.
Within three week’s time, you’ll be wed.”

“Three weeks?” Sophie croaked.

Vivian experienced a spurt of sympathy but
pushed it aside. She must fulfill her brother’s final wish.
“Marriages of convenience abound among the ton. You’ll survive.”
And your heart will remain your own.

“Who is the man?”

Sympathy trickled through Vivian. “I tried to
obtain other interested parties, but Caroline proved quite an
issue.”

“His name, please?”

“Marriage to a man you couldn’t possibly love
really is the most logical choice.” If she had been willing to
forgo Caroline, Sophie would have had any bevy of young
suitors.

“Aunt Vivian?”

She would not feel guilty. “Thomas
Jameson.”

***

As the curtain fell, signaling the end of the
first act, Sophie wished she were anywhere but seated beside Thomas
Jameson. The man was a vile curmudgeon with the manners of a toad.
She’d fought off his lecherous advances with a poker and a knife on
two separate occasions. Since his second aborted attempt to
overpower her had almost landed a knife in his gut, Jameson had
backed off.

But he never missed an opportunity to remind
her that very soon she’d be merely chattel,
his
chattel, and
she’d pay dearly for rejecting him. When she thought of what lay in
store for her in his bed her stomach lurched and she shivered.

“Are you chilled my dear?” Plump fingers
trailed along her forearm. “I could get your wrap for you, or,”
Jameson’s rheumy gaze dropped to the top of her gown, “I would be
most delighted to provide an alternate source of heat for you.” His
bulging eyes raked her body and slowly crept back to her
breasts.

She shook her head. How would she tolerate
marriage to this odious creature? “I should like a refreshment
before the second act begins.”