Chapter Twenty
Sophie was convinced the maid who came to her room when she called for a servant knew Banallt had spent the night here. The young woman didn’t say much beyond a respectful “Good morning, ma’am.” She found Sophie’s clothes, and minutes later another servant came to take her gown to have it ironed. As Sophie washed her hands and face, she smelled Banallt on her skin and remembered, with a shiver in the pit of her stomach, the way he’d kissed her, where he’d kissed her, the look on his face when he moved in her and how she had felt a bolt of pleasure at every stroke. If she got back into bed, she’d smell his scent there, too, and remember his voice and the way his fingers had tightened on her, how his body had felt.
While she waited for her pressed gown, Sophie put on her stockings and corset and slid on her slippers. Then she sat to let the maid work on the awful tangle of her hair. “You’ve lovely hair, ma’am,” said the maid. She’d brought a brush and comb with her, silver backed with ivory.
“Thank you. I should have braided it before I went to bed.” She watched the maid’s face in the mirror. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I was so very tired, though.”
“Some nights are like that, ma’am. Do you want me to pin your hair in any particular style?”
“Just so it’s off my face and neck, thank you. My brother and I will be going straight home, I’m sure.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As the maid worked, Sophie’s reflection in the mirror showed the same woman she always saw. Pointed chin, too-long nose, a nice mouth, she thought, and pretty eyes. But her eyebrows were too dark and she never shaped them as she ought. Why didn’t she look different, she wondered? Why did she look the same even though her life had changed completely? She was a wicked woman now. An immoral one. And she didn’t much care.
Her gown came back, and she dressed quickly in her clothes from last night. Another servant showed Sophie to the morning room. John was there with the morning Times in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “Good morning, John.”
“Sophie.” He didn’t look up from his paper.
She fetched a plate and put eggs and bacon on it. “Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Mm, and you?”
“The same,” she said as she sat down with her plate. She piled clotted cream on a scone and reached across the table to take the croissant on John’s plate. He didn’t notice.
Fidelia came in and John’s paper came down with a rattle. He jumped up. “Miss Llewellyn.”
“Mr. Mercer. Good morning.” She walked to where Sophie sat. “Mrs. Evans. Good morning. I adore the scones cook makes. Do you like them, ma’am?”
“Good morning, Miss Llewellyn. And yes, very much.” The girl—young lady—had Banallt’s coloring, the dark hair and pale skin, but her eyes were blue as the sky. Her features were strong but tempered by a sensitive mouth. Were the rumors about her and Banallt making a match true? “I hope you’re well today.”
“Yes. Thank you. I’m quite well.”
John came around to help her to a seat next to Sophie. “Miss Llewellyn,” he said. “May I get you a plate?”
“Yes, please.” She looked at John from under her lashes. Her cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Poached eggs, if you don’t mind. And one of those lovely scones.”
Banallt came in then, dressed in fresh clothes and a rather blandly tied cravat. Sophie’s stomach shivered. She’d been intimate with him. She’d touched his naked body, and he’d touched hers. Good mornings were said all around. Sophie wasn’t sure how to behave with Banallt in the room. Should she ignore him? That would be unforgivably rude, but if she didn’t ignore him, she was afraid everyone would realize what had happened between them last night. His greeting to her was over before she could decide. He was absolutely unruffled.
“Good morning, Mrs. Evans. I trust you slept well.” And then he moved on to Fidelia, giving her a kiss on the cheek. No one even noticed Sophie didn’t reply.
She pretended she was intent on finishing her scone, but she couldn’t eat. Not a bite, though it was delicious. Every time she looked at Banallt, her stomach felt like she was poised to dive off a mountaintop.
John brought Fidelia her plate and returned to his chair, which happened to end up more across from Fidelia than across from Sophie where he’d sat before. He poured himself more coffee and then left his seat again to get Fidelia the tea she wanted. Fidelia smiled at him when he handed her a cup and saucer. The two were wonderfully in love.
Banallt sat at the head of the table with his breakfast. “I’m ravenous this morning,” he said to no one in particular. Sophie didn’t know what to say or do or even think. She’d been to bed with the man and she was distressingly aware that she would do so again. As soon as possible.
“Has His Grace left already?” John asked.
“Yes,” Banallt replied. “Before I was up. Very early this morning, I’m told.”
“I’ll catch up with him at Whitehall then, I expect.” John shot a look at Fidelia. “Tell me, Miss Llewellyn, have you plans later this afternoon? Sophie and I were going to Gunter’s.” Sophie hid her surprise and managed a nod without, she hoped, anyone realizing there’d been no such engagement. John’s gaze slid to Banallt and back to Fidelia. “Perhaps you and your mother might join us.” He hesitated, and really, it was a very charming hesitation. “If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.”
“It would be wonderful if you did,” Sophie added.
Fidelia’s face lit up. “I enjoy Gunter’s very much. May I go, Banallt?”
He put down his coffee. “I’ve no objection. You may if you are free and your mother agrees.”
Mrs. Llewellyn came in as Banallt was speaking. “If I agree to what?”
The invitation was made anew and accepted, and John actually gave Banallt a grateful look, which Banallt did not acknowledge. Sophie and John were to meet them at Gunter’s at three since Mrs. Llewellyn and Fidelia had a call to make first.
She and John left Gray Street before eleven. They walked home, despite Banallt’s offer of a carriage. Never once, by look or word or deed, had Banallt done anything to arouse suspicion that the nature of their relationship had changed. That stood to reason. He had years of experience at such things. Conducting affairs was second nature to him.
John seemed to have a lot on his mind, too. He walked with a repressed gait, as if he wished he could run rather than match Sophie’s slower pace. “You’re all right, Sophie?”
She looked at him. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You were very quiet at breakfast.”
“We were up late last night, John. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”
“I thought perhaps it would be difficult for you. To be at Gray Street with Lord Banallt there.”
They walked a way without speaking. “Like you,” she said eventually, “I have made a treaty of peace with Lord Banallt.” Her stomach churned. She was lying to her brother, perhaps not directly, but by omission. “You needn’t fear for my delicacy if he happens to be near.”
“I see.” They turned the corner to Henrietta Street. John slowed. “It’s just you seemed so unhappy when he came to Havenwood. Distraught, even.” He looked at her. “Are you sure, Sophie? I wouldn’t have you unhappy for the world.”
“That’s past now.” She put a hand on his arm. “Lord Banallt and I have made up our differences.” She wasn’t lying. And yet, of course, she was, since she knew John was imagining something quite different from what had actually happened between her and the earl.
“You don’t mind that I’ve asked Miss Llewellyn to join us this afternoon?”
She drew the edges of her cloak together. “If you wish to court Miss Llewellyn, John, I think you ought to.”
He looked down his nose at her. “What makes you think I want to court Miss Llewellyn? An invitation to join us at Gunter’s hardly constitutes an offer of marriage, Sophie. I extended a polite offer to her, nothing more.”
“Well,” she said carefully. “Then I think you’d best be careful with her, for it was my impression she feels differently than you.” She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “I rather thought she might be in love with you. But that’s ridiculous, I see that now.”
John stopped short. He grabbed her shoulders. “Fidelia? In love with me? Why is that ridiculous?”
“John, you’re an awful dissembler.” She shook her head. “Don’t think for a moment you can hide from me the fact that you are in love with her, too. It’s preposterous.”
“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“I’ve known for days, John.”
He let out a sharp breath. “Do you mind?”
They reached their door, and she faced him on the steps. “No, of course not. But even if I did, you mustn’t let that stand in the way of your happiness. Will you promise me that? I want your happiness, John, more than anything. It’s plain to me that you and Miss Llewellyn belong together.”
“Despite that Banallt is her godfather and her relative?”
“I don’t think he would disagree with me.”
“I’ve not made a friend of him, Sophie.”
“No,” she said. “You have not.”
Light danced in his green eyes, but then he fell serious. “You’re not the one who must face him to ask his permission, Sophie. He’s the head of the family, after all.”
“And what of her father?”
“I’ll manage him.” He broke out in a huge grin. “Somehow.”
Sophie opened the door, but her brother caught the edge and held it for her. She laughed when she went inside. “I know you’re up to the challenge, brother dearest.”
John changed his clothes and left straightaway for Whitehall with a promise to be back in time to escort Sophie to Gunter’s. She bathed, changed her frock, and spent the rest of her afternoon copying out the documents John had left for her. More bills of lading. A few letters. But her attention kept wandering to a new story. She had the perfect hero in mind. When John returned and he’d changed yet again, they walked, as the afternoon was fine. Mrs. Llewellyn and Fidelia arrived at Gunter’s only minutes after they did. With Banallt. She had the opportunity to watch him without his knowing, and she learned she was still giddy over their new relationship.
Banallt took Sophie’s hand and bowed over it, as proper—more, even—as he’d ever been. Then he and John went inside to order. Sophie, Mrs. Llewellyn, and Fidelia sat outside. They kept up a lively conversation until Fidelia said, “Isn’t that Miss George?”
“Why, yes,” Sophie said when she looked. Miss George was alone at a table, which Sophie thought odd, without even a maid for a companion, and she did not have anything to eat or drink before her.
“Her father must be inside,” Fidelia said.
“Or her mother,” said Mrs. Llewellyn.
From where Sophie sat, she could see a small valise at the girl’s feet. Worse than the valise, which was just large enough, Sophie noted, to hold a change of clothes, was that Miss George kept craning her neck as if she were looking for someone. It was this constant checking of passersby that kept her from noticing the ladies.
Sophie leaned over and called to her. “Miss George?”
The young woman started. Her cheeks turned a violent pink. She rested a hand on her upper bosom, and her fingers drummed over her collarbone. “Oh, it’s Mrs. Evans, isn’t it?” Her eyes darted to Mrs. Llewellyn and Fidelia. “Mrs. Llewellyn. Miss Llewellyn. Good afternoon.”
“How do you do, Miss George?” said Mrs. Llewellyn.
“Fine thank you, and you?” The words came out just as they had been drilled into her by her parents and her governess. She looked to her left again.
“Very well. Are you here with your parents, Miss George?” Mrs. Llewellyn smiled. “I’ve a particular question for your mother. Will she return soon, do you think?”
Miss George opened her mouth and closed it. “Why, I-I…Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m sure she will.”
Sophie patted the empty seat beside her. “We’re here with my brother, Mr. Mercer, and Lord Banallt. Won’t you join us? I’m sure they’ll bring you an ice. A lemonade, too, if you are thirsty.”
“What’s this?” John said, having returned from inside. Banallt was with him. A servant put lemonades and ices on their table.
“I’ve asked Miss George to join us, John.”
John bowed. Like Sophie, he looked around for Miss George’s parents or a maid and, like Sophie, saw none. His eyebrows drew together. “We should be delighted if you did, Miss George.”
Banallt pulled a pound note from his pocket and handed it to the servant lingering with his now empty tray. “Another lemonade. And an ice. Have you a favorite flavor, Miss George?”
“No, thank you, sir. My lord.” The girl’s fingers drummed faster. “Though you are very kind to ask me.”
“I do wish you would,” Banallt said. “We need a woman of sense at this table.”
Fidelia snorted and playfully slapped Banallt’s arm.
A dreadful certainty settled over Sophie. “Is your father near, Miss George?”
“What?” Her foot hit the valise at her feet, and she winced. Not because she’d hurt herself but because she’d drawn attention to it.
Banallt studied her. “Don’t tell us you’ve come out alone, Miss George.”
“No.” Her eyes went wide. “No. I wouldn’t do that.” She swallowed. “I haven’t.”
“Then do sit with us while you wait,” Banallt said. “If something’s gone amiss, Mrs. Llewellyn will see you safely home.”
“I am not here alone,” Miss George said. Her cheeks were bright red. “Mama saw someone she knew when she was a girl. A schoolmate. And she left me here to wait.” Her eyes flickered over them. “Only for a moment. She did so want to say hello to her friend.” She pointed. “There.”
John looked, but Sophie didn’t, because she’d just seen Mr. Frederick Drake walking toward Gunter’s from the opposite side of the street. Miss George saw him, too, and a deeper flush spread over her chest and throat. Drake lifted a hand and then saw that Miss George was not alone. He dropped back.
“There’s Mama now.” Miss George popped off her chair, her valise clutched in one hand. “You see? Everything is fine. Thank you for the ice, and the lemonade.”
Mrs. Llewellyn shaded her eyes. “My dear child, where?”
Fidelia looked, too, and then sat against her chair, quiet. She leaned to Sophie and whispered, “Mr. Drake is there. Not her mother. Everyone knows she’s mad over him.”
“Just there.” Miss George pointed again. “She’s waving at me. I really must go or she’ll be cross with me. Can you not see her?”
“Banallt,” said Mrs. Llewellyn. “Will you see Miss George to her mother?”
Sophie stood. “I shall. Please Banallt, stay here.”
But Miss George was already on her way. Sophie hurried after her. “Miss George,” Sophie said when she’d caught up. She captured the young woman’s free hand. “Please don’t do something you’ll regret the rest of your days. Please.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She stopped and pulled her cloak tight over her shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to hide her valise behind her legs. A heavy cloak, suitable for traveling.
“Reconsider this course of action,” Sophie said, bending near Miss George so she would not be overheard. “I speak from experience. Don’t do this. Your future is at stake. Your happiness.”
Miss George glanced away. “I see Mama now,” she said. And she hurried off, valise in her hand. From across the street, Sophie watched Frederick Drake take a course to intercept her.
“Banallt,” Sophie said when she’d returned to their table. “Please, follow them.” She thought of all the things that might have prevented her elopement with Tommy. How different her life would have been if someone had intervened. “Prevent this. Please.” She reached for him, touching a hand to his arm. “Don’t let that girl ruin her life.”
“Of course.”
“John,” she said at the last minute. “Will you go with him?”
Her brother was already on his feet.
Mrs. Llewellyn took Fidelia’s hand in hers. “We’ll see your sister safely home, Mr. Mercer. Have no fear.”