The trip had been long and uneventful. Captain Mallory and his first mate, Mr. Mattison, both puff-chested Scotsmen who had nearly identical bald heads, had kept Jeremy and her entertained with the best tall tales they’d ever heard.
Sophie had tried to structure the days as best she could. She gave Jeremy French lessons an hour each morning. Captain Mallory tutored Jeremy in astronomy and navigation, the first mate taught him geography and gave him access to his collection of novels and plays that filled his small cabin to overflowing. Jeremy was nearly through the Restoration. As for Sophie, she too had nearly read her way through all the first mate’s books as well. She occasionally wondered what she’d do when she turned the last page and closed the last book.
One afternoon several days before, Sophie and Jeremy were playing chess in their small cabin. A light rain splattered against the single porthole. The room was warm. Sophie played with verve and enthusiasm, but not much strategy. Jeremy, on the other hand, excelled in patience and tactics. He invariably beat her soundly, but it was slow torture, and Jeremy was heard to groan frequently.
She said after she’d moved her queen’s bishop, “We will be home soon. Rather, we will arrive in Southampton.”
“Yes, Ryder told me that a carriage would get us to Northcliffe Hall all in one day. He didn’t want us to have to stop at an inn for the night because we’re alone. He said I had to grow another foot at least before I could protect you properly.” Jeremy smiled then and added, “Ryder’s going to teach me how to fight.”
“I’m delighted it pleases you so, but heed me, love, one doesn’t necessarily need a man. I’m not a fool or helpless.”
“Of course you’re not like most girls,” Jeremy said, not looking up at her, his entire attention now on the position of his pieces and his burgeoning strategy. “Ryder said you’d say something like that. He also said that he was responsible for both of us now and that was the end to it.”
“Perhaps you would like to discuss some of the plays both of us have read.”
Jeremy easily accepted her change of subject. “I was reading one of the Restoration plays and Mr. Mattison saw it. I thought he’d throw it overboard he was so upset. He turned red in the face and actually sputtered at me. Even the top of his head turned red. It was a remarkable sight.”
Sophie chuckled. “Some of those plays are fairly racy. Perhaps you’d best show me what you plan to read before you read it.”
Jeremy frowned as he looked up at his sister. “I’ve got to learn all about men and women sometime, Sophie. In the plays they act pretty silly and do the most outlandish things. As for the other part of it, it just seems strange to me.”
“I think you’re right about the strange part,” Sophie said. She thought of Ryder and felt a pang of something—guilt? Anger? She wasn’t certain. She did know, however, that she missed him—his wit, his outrageousness, the way he teased her until her eyes nearly crossed with rage. She looked up when Jeremy moved his queen’s bishop pawn.
“Oh ho, it appears you want to trample my center.” She moved her king’s knight, a mindless move really, then sat back in her chair, her arms folded over her chest. “That should take care of your foolish hopes.”
Jeremy said as he fiddled with a rook, “You’re not very happy, Sophie. You miss Ryder, don’t you? I know I do. He’s a great brother-in-law. I’m glad you married him. I’m glad we left Jamaica, because we are English, you know. But still it’s kind of scary.” He finally released the rook and moved his queen’s bishop instead. “Do you think his family will like us?”
“I pray so, Jeremy.” Nor did she miss Jamaica. All the happiness she’d experienced on Jamaica could be weighed in her left hand.
“Well, I don’t see why they wouldn’t like us. We’re nice and we know how to use our forks at the dinner table. You shouldn’t have moved that knight. It was a bad move. I’m not just going to trample your center. I don’t have to. Checkmate, Sophie.”
“Why,” she said aloud, “don’t I ever learn?”
Sophie shook away the memory. She prayed every night that she and Jeremy wouldn’t be shunted aside by Ryder’s powerful brother, Douglas Sherbrooke. After that she simply stared off into space. She didn’t know what to pray for. She couldn’t begin to imagine her future. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes and she slapped it away.
Seven interminable weeks. It was nearly over. She wondered how much longer it would be before Ryder returned home. She would have to be a wife to him, whatever that would mean.
She immediately shied away from that.
Jeremy waved to Clancey, the third mate, a young man full of high spirits and liking for children. “Aye,” he’d told Sophie at the beginning of the long voyage, “I was one of nine nippers, and there was only me ma to see to us. Don’t ye worry about Jeremy here. He be a good lad. I’ll see he don’t go headfirst into the briny deep.” Sophie liked him. He appeared utterly disinterested in her; some of the other sailors looked to be interested but they kept their distance, thanks to a frank discussion the captain had given them. “As the only woman on board, ma’am,” he’d told her, “you will still be careful.” And she had.
She was bored. She was also worried.
She made herself dizzy trying to structure the future for her and Jeremy.
Southampton at eight o’clock on a drizzly, foggy morning was an alien landscape with men yelling on the docks, drays and wagons of all sizes being loaded and unloaded. As it turned out, the first mate, Mr. Mattison, escorted them to the Outrigger Inn and hired a carriage and two outriders, just as Ryder had demanded.
Ryder had his way even here. She’d had no choice in the matter. She smiled up at Mr. Mattison and offered him her hand. “Thank you. You were kind to us. Good-bye.”
Jeremy begged to ride on top of the carriage with the coachman, but Sophie said he couldn’t until after the fog burned off and the sun came out.
The weather remained horrible.
Jeremy fidgeted until Sophie released him to ride with the coachman. It was after a lunch of codfish and strawberries that Sophie’s stomach rebelled. Four hours later when the carriage pulled into the long winding drive of Northcliffe Hall, there was no one inside the carriage. Sophie and Jeremy sat huddled together against the drizzling rain, the driver pressed against Jeremy’s other side.
An hour before Sophie had ceased to care. She felt trickles of rain snake down the back of her neck. She was shuddering from cold. There was gooseflesh on her arms.
“Goodness, Sophie, it’s so big!”
She looked and swallowed. Northcliffe Hall was overwhelming, a huge Palladian mansion of three stories. She couldn’t imagine real people living in that awesome structure. The two outriders, bored and wondering why the devil their escort had been needed in the first place—good hell, the girl had ridden on top like a serving wench—accepted payment from Sophie and took themselves off. As for the coachman, he scratched his head, stared from Sophie to Jeremy and back again and said, “Well, miss, this is the fancy cove’s abode what ye wanted to come to. Northcliffe ’All. All right an’ tight. Be ye sure this is where ye should be?”
Sophie wanted very much to say no, but she merely nodded, paid the man, and watched him bowl down the drive. She and Jeremy were left in front of the wide, deep stairs of the mansion, their two paltry valises sitting forlornly beside them on the gravel drive. Rain dripped off the end of her nose.
Had Sophie but had more than the hundred pounds Ryder had given her, she would have turned on her heel and left immediately. She would have walked to Fowey. She would have carried Jeremy to Fowey when he got tired of walking. But again she had no choice. She stood there for another minute, feeling more alone than she ever had before in her life, just staring up at the three-story mansion with ivy rich and green up the west side of it until Jeremy tugged on her sleeve.
“Sophie, I’m wetter than a wharf rat. Let’s go in.”
She shivered, picked up both their valises, and began climbing the deeply grooved marble steps. “That sounds like a verbal gift from Clancey. Contrive to forget it, Jeremy.”
“Do you think they’ll let us stay?” Jeremy whispered, his eyes large now with fright as they neared the incredibly huge double doors. There were large brass lion heads for doorknobs. The lions’ mouths even had brass teeth. The doors looked more solid than a live oak tree.
“Of course,” she said, and began another series of devout prayers.
There was an overhang just in front of the massive doors and Sophie pulled Jeremy out of the cold drizzle. She looked at the bellpull. There was no hope for it. The poor relations had arrived.
She pulled the bellcord with all her might. She jumped at the full-bodied ringing that seemed to reverberate throughout the mansion. They hadn’t long to wait.
The door opened without a creak or a groan. A footman in dark blue and green livery stood before them. He was small and slender and he didn’t say anything, just stared at them and blinked.
He was an older man, as bald as Captain Mallory and Mr. Mattison had been. He opened his mouth then and said, “Would you care to go to the servants’ entrance?”
“No,” Sophie said, and forced a smile. She could well imagine how the two of them looked.
“I saw you arrive, both of you sitting on top of the coach. Perhaps you’re looking for employment? Then you must speak to Mrs. Peacham. As for the boy, I don’t—”
“We are here to see the Earl of Northcliffe. You will show us to him immediately, if you please.”
Her speech was upper class, no doubt about that, but there was a faint lilt to it, a sort of strange drawl that Jamieson couldn’t identify. So she wanted the earl, did she? She and the boy looked like beggars. Wet beggars. He could tell the girl’s gown was too short. Doubtless they wanted charity. The gall of these two. He drew himself up, ready to tell the minx what she could do with her demands when there came another man’s voice. “What have we here, Jamieson?”
“Ah, Mr. Hollis, sir. These two just climbed off a carriage box. This one here’s demanding to see the earl. I was just endeavoring to—”
Mr. Hollis looked at Sophie. She looked back at him. He smiled and stepped aside, ushering them in.
“Do come in, ma’am, and the lad too. Ah, the weather isn’t what one would wish, is it? You are both wet and cold. Come with me. Jamieson, take the bags, please, and place them at the foot of the stairs.”
“Who is he?” Jeremy asked behind his hand. “Is he the earl?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is all very strange, Sophie.”
Their footsteps resounded in the immense entry hall. A huge chandelier hung overhead, its crystals glittering in the dim afternoon light. Italian black and white marble squares stretched in all directions. There were paintings on every wall, and even several suits of armor set on either side of a huge fireplace. Sophie remembered their snug Georgian house in Fowey. They’d had a chandelier there as well, only it wasn’t as large as a room. When Ryder had spoken of his home, she’d never imagined anything like this. There were maids and more footmen, all looking at them, and, Sophie knew, whispering about them behind their hands.
She wanted to be sick. Her chin went up.
Mr. Hollis led them down a vast corridor into a small room that, luckily, had a blazing fire burning in the grate.
“I will inform the earl of your arrival. Now, may I give him your name, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Sophie said. Suddenly, she grinned, for it really was too much. “Please tell the earl that his sister-in-law and brother-in-law have arrived from Jamaica.”
The man’s dark eyes never registered anything but calm acceptance. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was even a sudden gleaming in his eyes. “I see. Do remove your cloaks and dry yourselves. I am quite certain the earl will wish to see you immediately.”
They were left alone in the small room. The draperies were drawn against the chill afternoon. It looked to be a lady’s salon, with its feminine desk and pale green and yellow furnishings. There was a pile of books on the floor beside a comfortable wing chair. It was a lovely room and so unlike any room in Jamaica.
It was so bloody cold. She’d forgotten how very different England was from Jamaica. She helped Jeremy off with his cloak, then removed her own. They stood in front of the fireplace, hands extended to the flames.
“You did that well, Sophie. I was so scared I couldn’t think of a word to say.”
“They can’t shoot us, at least I don’t think they can. But what they will do—” She shrugged, saying no more. Her tongue felt as if it had a cramp in it.
The door flew open and in strode a young girl with thick, curly brownish-blond hair and the most beautiful blue eyes Sophie had ever seen. Actually, they were exactly the same color as Ryder’s eyes; the girl’s hair matched Ryder’s as well. She looked exuberant, full of life—just as Ryder did—and she was grinning at them. “Ho! What’s this? I saw you climb off that carriage. My, you’re wet and doubtless miserable. I myself am so very tired of this blasted rain. Do forgive me, but I’m Sinjun, you know, the earl’s sister. Who are you?”
Sophie had to grin back. There wasn’t really a choice. This girl was exactly as Ryder had described her. She was tall, lanky, lovely really, and friendly as a puppy.
Sophie stepped toward her. “I am Sophia Stanton-Greville. Well no, that’s no longer correct. I am Sophia Sherbrooke. I am Ryder’s wife and this is Jeremy, my brother.”
Sinjun could only stare at the wet, frowzy girl standing there in front of her in a girlish muslin gown that was too short for her, a gown that Ryder would have found utterly distasteful.
This was excessively odd.
“Oh dear, is it true? It’s difficult to believe, you know. Ryder married! Imagine such a thing. It leaves the brain numb. I never thought he would take a wife because he absolutely adores so many ladies and—”
“I believe that is quite enough, Sinjun.”