Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophie put her hand in Banallt’s when he came around to her side of the phaeton. She stood, and he put his hands on her waist and lifted her down. He dipped his chin toward her, but he didn’t kiss her. She didn’t know what she thought of that. Nor was she sure of his mood.
“Not a long walk,” he said. “I don’t want the horses to get cold. Perhaps just to the end of the drive and back?”
“Very well.”
They said nothing to each other until they were well away from the cottage. He walked with her into the shade of a tree, and when they stood in the shadows, he touched her cheek with his free hand. The other gently held her arm.
“Did you really come here to rescue me from shame and humiliation?” Her thoughts hopped from one memory to another; her first sight of his silver tarnish eyes, an afternoon spent discussing novels. The first time his lips touched hers. The way she’d felt so alive when he held her. “After I ignored all your letters?”
For far too long, he stared into her face, and Sophie’s vision darkened. “Did you even read them?”
She tried to pull away, but he didn’t release her. She looked away. “I didn’t dare, Banallt,” she whispered.
“Why not?” He sounded calm, and that made her risk a look at him. He smiled at her. Why wasn’t he angry or hurt? “Were you afraid of wretched poetry? I acknowledge you as my superior in literary matters. I wouldn’t dare write you poetry.”
“Be serious.”
He took her hands in his. “Shall I? Tell me, then, my darling future wife, what’s happened to you. Why did you fill your letter to Fidelia with nothing but lies?”
“Lies? Has she said they were lies?”
“I say they were lies. Except about your brother every single word you wrote her was a lie.”
She slipped her hands free of his, and all the emotion she’d worked so hard to keep back overflowed her. Her body shook. This explosion of feelings was precisely why she hadn’t read any of his letters. She didn’t want to feel anything, and here she was with her numbness fading, leaving her exposed. “Why would I write anyone the truth?” The flash of heat in her words took her by surprise. “I hate it here.” She managed to level out her voice. “I never thought I’d hate Havenwood. I would have said it impossible. But I do.”
“Darling.” He glanced back to the cottage and his horses and walked her to a bench built around the trunk of the elm. She let him draw her down beside him. “Tell me everything. How is it that you are here at Havenwood with these poor imitations of Mercers and not living independently? I was certain you’d pack up and leave if your brother’s heir came here. I’d thought I’d have to track you down all over again just to make you tell me if we’d managed to make a child. Why didn’t you take your inheritance and remove yourself to Yorkshire or Cumbria or some god-forsaken backwater so I’d spend the rest of my damn life discovering where you went with my child?”
“Why?” She laughed. “That’s easy. Because there was no inheritance,” she said.
“Of course there is.” His eyebrows drew together. “Your brother had a fortune independent of the entailment.”
“Yes. He did.” Her throat closed off, and she bowed her head until she had herself under control. She’d not needed to control herself in a very long time. “John meant to do well by me, Banallt, but…”
“What?”
“It does no good to imagine what might have been. I inherited nothing from my brother.”
He frowned. “No annuity? No trustor in charge of your money? Has your cousin stolen it from you?”
“No.”
Banallt scowled until his eyebrows nearly met. “I had understood from your brother himself that you would have no worries for your future, whether you married or not.” He held up a hand. “When we had such a discussion is beside the point, Sophie. In fact, he assured me that was the case.”
“He did not leave behind debts, if that’s what you mean.”
“What did he leave you? Not nothing. He would not leave you with nothing. That’s inconceivable.”
“And yet he did, Banallt.” Her voice rose with the anger boiling inside her, fresh, hot, and welcome. “He meant to look after me. But he didn’t.”
Banallt shook his head. “How could this happen?”
“According to his solicitor, the changes to his will were never executed.” She let out a breath. “And so I was once again cast adrift and dependent upon relatives for every breath I take.”
“You should have told me.” He stood up and took two strides in the direction of the cottage then turned and walked back to her. His eyes flashed. “You should have written to me the moment you knew you’d been left with nothing.”
Sophie gave him a push, but he didn’t budge. “To what end, Banallt? Whether I wrote to you or not, my situation would be the same. Destitute again and dependent on the kindness of my relations.”
“You are too proud for your own good.” His fingers tightened on her face, and she curled her hands around his wrists and pulled down. To no avail. “Had I known, I would have come sooner than this. I thought you needed time. I never dreamed you were in straits yet again. I thought the only risk was that you were pregnant and plotting your retirement to the deep countryside.”
“Hardly straits, Banallt.” She let out a puff of breath and this time managed to step out of his embrace. But, she suspected, only because he let her go. “The Mercers have been very kind to let me stay at Havenwood.”
He sneered. “That woman? Kind? She despises the very ground upon which you walk.”
“It does not signify.” She started back to the phaeton on her own. “I don’t expect to be here much longer.”
“Meaning?” He caught up with her and had no trouble matching her stride for stride. “Have you told Tallboys yes? You can’t have.”
She scowled at him. “What business is it of yours?”
“Don’t pretend it isn’t,” he said in a dark voice.
“I have not accepted Mr. Tallboys.” She took a step back. Banallt’s body relaxed. She folded her arms under her bosom and hid her fists under her arms. “How could I when I don’t know whether I’m disgraced?”
He grabbed her arm and leaned in. “There will be no disgrace, Sophie. None.”
She pulled free. “I’ll have you know I am writing again.”
“In secret,” he said bitterly. “And in the dark of night, I’ll warrant. As if you had no other choice.”
“Choice? What choice have I, my lord?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“I’d never let you give my child another man’s name.”
“I don’t need a husband.”
“That’s absurd beyond belief.”
“When I’ve sold the book,” she said, looking ahead to the phaeton, “I intend to remove to lodgings elsewhere. In Duke’s Head, perhaps. If I tutor some of the children—young ladies are always in need of French lessons and I think I sing tolerably well so I might add music to my repertoire of useless talents to pass on to future generations of idle young wives—I expect I’ll supplement my income and scrape along well enough. I’ll only have my own bills to pay.”
“Scrape along. On ten pounds a year. If you’re fortunate and only if you’re not with child.” The corner of his mouth curled.
“You’ve never been without more money than anyone should have, my lord. But I assure you, I have. I’ll manage on ten pounds a year. I’d manage on five, if I had to. For me, that is a fortune. And I shall be happy to have the money, I do assure you again.”
He turned, grabbing her hand so that she had to stop. “You wrote Fidelia pages of nonsense, lies about how pleasant it was at Havenwood. How you and Mrs. Mercer had become bosom friends. You told her you’d been to Brighton and enjoyed a bathe in the ocean. I recall the setting quite distinctly.”
“I’ve a gift for a telling detail.”
“You wrote an excellent fiction, Sophie. I only wonder that you never added in a brooding hero who lived in the next village and whom you suspected of nobility and of having a heart you felt had been cruelly treated. Or perhaps a villain with designs on your delectable innocence.”
“I might have got around to it eventually.” She hated that he was so much taller than she. He made her feel insignificant the way he towered over her. “Do you make it a habit to read letters that were not directed to you?”
“My dear Mrs. Evans.” He loomed over her now. “Fidelia read your letter aloud. We were all touched by your description of the day your brother’s headstone was placed. And Fidelia is now mad to go to Brighton herself.”
“I meant to entertain, after all. I’m pleased to know I succeeded. And if she longs for Brighton, then you must take her.” She was beyond rational reaction. She wasn’t in a state of hysteria, but she knew she was overreacting and could do nothing to stop herself. “On your wedding trip, perhaps.”
“This is absurd.” He took a step toward her, and she stepped back, and he came toward her again. And by then, she found herself with her heel against a rock. If he hadn’t put his hands on her shoulders she would have tripped.
“It’s not absurd at all. I won’t be the only woman to support herself with her pen.”
“Marry me.” His voice went low and harsh. His fingers dug into her shoulders. “I fail to understand this absurd conviction of yours that you must live without friends or lovers or anyone who cares for you.”
“I hate it here,” she said. The words came from nowhere. “I’ve been so terribly unhappy. I’d do anything to be free of this place. Even if it was the worst mistake of my life. Even if it meant I’d never be happy again.”
“Marry me, Sophie, and you will never want for anything.” He loosened his grip on her shoulder. “I don’t mind if you write, you know that. You know I’d encourage you in that.” He spoke dispassionately, which seemed so odd in a man making his second offer of marriage. “I’ll take you away from here. You need never see the Mercers again.”
“Banallt, I—I couldn’t bear it.”
“You’ll never forgive me for that night, will you?” His mouth twisted. “I was out of my mind, you know that.” His fingers tightened on her. “You know that, Sophie. You know what happened. I was not entirely myself.”
“You’re wrong, Banallt. You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand. Make me understand.”
“I can’t marry you, Banallt. How can I?”
“All you have to do is say yes.”
She took a step toward him, hands fisted at her sides. “Imagine that I did, Banallt.”
“Very well.”
“You’ll be bored one day, and you’ll see a woman who’s lovely and I’ll be miserable all over again. Trapped, just as I was with Tommy. You’ll crush my heart into dust the way Tommy did.”
“I am not Tommy Evans.”
“I cannot live like that again. I won’t!”
“Don’t be a fool, Sophie.”