Chapter Fifteen

 

 

 

Sophie blinked at Elizabeth feeling as though she were on a runaway horse and had lost the reins. ‘No, Hal has not got to marry me. And who is Hariette Miller? Does Hal want to marry her?’ She was conscious of a stab of jealousy.

‘You must know Lady Hariette, she is terribly eligible, and she’s been throwing her cap at Hal these last six months. I’m not sure if he wants to marry her or not. She is rather beautiful, of course,’ Elizabeth added and Sophie felt another stab in her heart.

‘But if you have travelled with Hal all the way from London to York,’ Elizabeth continued, ‘then I believe that you are as ruined as Emma fears I would be if my story had got out.’

Sophie was beginning to feel distinctly beleaguered. ‘But my story has not got out, any more than yours has. So we are both free to remain as we are.’

‘Oh,’ Elizabeth said flatly. ‘But why do you not want to marry Hal? I am sure most ladies would, he is extremely eligible and, even though he is my brother, I can see he is very handsome. And just think, you would save him money as well.’

‘Money?’ Sophie asked, perplexed.

‘Well, if he was married he would not have to maintain his expensive opera dancer. Or is it an actress at the moment? I cannot recall and, of course, I am not supposed to know anyway. Hal is a rake, you know,’ she added naively. ‘Justin would like to be one, but he was no good at it.’ She sounded disappointed.

Sophie firmly suppressed all thoughts of opera dancers and actresses. ‘Did you want him to be? Why did you want to elope with a rake?’

‘It sounds romantic and exciting, do you not think so? And I was so bored in Chelsea and Hal was so stuffy about letting me come up to Town and do the Season. Only once we were running away Justin was just silly and clumsy and not at all dashing.’

Sophie shook her head at the girl’s innocence. Had she ever that naive? She supposed she must have been, or she would never have eloped with Henry Winstanley.

There was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles beneath Elizabeth’s window. She tumbled off the bed and ran to look out. ‘It is Hal and John returned from Heslington. Let’s go and hear what they have to say.’

As they reached the foot of the stairs Grayling was just stooping to strike the gong. ‘Ah, Lady Elizabeth, Miss Haydon. Luncheon is served.’

Elizabeth sat, quivering with suppressed excitement as the rest of the party took their places. With a glance at her face Lady John said, ‘Thank you, Grayling, that will be all. We will serve ourselves.’

The butler had scarcely closed the door when Elizabeth burst out, ‘What happened? Did John punch Justin again?’

‘No, I did not,’ her brother said in a tone of mild disapproval. ‘Hal and I explained to Justin the consequences of speaking of this unfortunate matter in any way. I think he has taken the point,’ he added, spearing a slice of cold beef in a meaningful manner.

‘And Hal did not call him out?’ Elizabeth persisted, despite Emma’s warning frown.

‘I would have done,’ he assured her with a straight face. He looked up and smiled at Sophie, who found herself smiling back. ‘I had every intention of calling him out, but I heeded Sophie’s advice that it would be an unwise thing to do.’ He ignored the sudden shocked silence around the table at the use of her first name and added, ‘She felt it could cause scandal.’

‘As indeed it would,’ Emma said. ‘It is vital that we keep your reputation intact, my dear. And we cannot allow our guard to slip, now we seem to be over the immediate danger. One careless word and not only would you find yourself quite ineligible, but John’s career would suffer badly. He would never be a bishop with such a scandal in the family.’

Elizabeth gave a strangled sob and jumped to her feet, her napkin dropping to the floor. ‘Oh, so that is what matters most. You don’t care about me at all, all you are worried about is John’s reputation and how he won’t be Archbishop of Canterbury, or whatever you want him to be, because of some silly little scandal of mine.’

Hal said coldly, ‘Sit down, Elizabeth, and stop throwing tantrums to be interesting, you are not in the nursery now. You have put your brother and his wife in a very difficult position, but we are all trying to do our best for you.’

Sophie shivered. He was quite right to be angry, but she had never heard him sound so harsh.

Elizabeth was not to be cowed. ‘Don’t lecture me, Hal. What about the scandal you have risked, being alone with Sophie night and day? You are in no position to criticise me – or are we about to hear of your wedding plans, now you have compromised poor Sophie.’

Emma gasped and got to her feet. ‘Elizabeth, you forget yourself. You should not speak so to your brother, and of such matters too! You should go to your room until you are calmer and can apologise to Miss Haydon and your brothers.’

Elizabeth tossed her dark head and flounced out, leaving a hideous silence behind her. Sophie wondered if she could just slide beneath the heavy mahogany table and hide there until her blushes had subsided. She fixed her gaze on her plate, as if by not meeting anyone's eyes she could become invisible. For the first time the enormity of the situation she found herself in threatened to overwhelm her.

While she and Hal had been on the road, in pursuit of Elizabeth and her lover, the consequences had seemed far away. Now, in this respectable house, in this respectable city, and with the crisis over Elizabeth all but settled, there was nothing between her and the consequences of her headstrong behaviour. George and Lavinia are right, she thought miserably. I am not fit to be out in Society, my judgement is so poor.

Gradually her concentration returned and she was aware of the conversation in which the other three were, somewhat desperately, engaged.

‘Is it not today that the Dean of Exeter is expected to arrive at the Palace?’ Emma was saying brightly to her husband. ‘The Archbishop’s Palace is at Easingwold,’ she added for the others’ benefit. 'We are hoping that his Grace’s wife will have a reception for the Dean and his party because they are always such interesting events.’

‘Most interesting,’ Hal agreed smoothly. Despite keeping her head down, Sophie could feel his gaze almost burning her, willing her to look up. Stubbornly she resisted.

‘Some fruit, Miss Haydon?’ John enquired kindly. She did look up then and took the bowl with a small smile. John’s face was very like his brother’s, but so unlike it too. It was strange that Hal could stir her when the same looks in John roused nothing.

She picked up an apple and was just about to put it on her plate when Hal took it from her. ‘Let me peel that for you.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered and then sat watching his hands as the peel curled up from the silver fruit knife, spiralling unbroken to the plate. She could not take her gaze from those long brown fingers, remembering them caressing her face, her neck, her untutored body. Almost against her will she looked up and met his eyes, saw the desire there. She felt the blush start at her toes, burn inexorably up her bosom and neck and suffuse her face.

Hal’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second, then continued steadily to peel, quarter and core the apple. When he passed her his plate, their fingertips brushed and it was as though a bolt of lightning had passed through her. It was a shock to realise that she was still sitting demurely at the table with the Reverend Lord John discussing parish matters with his wife, apparently unaware of the sensual tension between his brother and herself.

As they rose after the meal Hal touched her arm. ‘Sophie, I would like a word with you. Will you step out into the garden with me? We should not be disturbed out there.’

Before she could think of an excuse he had opened the doors leading out into the walled garden behind the house. The sunshine was on the old stone walls, warming the spring flowers, the bees droning, drowsy with their scent.

Hal took her arm and guided her down the flagged path to where a little rose arbour had been created, the tangled growth an effective screen from the house. Sophie instinctively moved to sit on the ornate iron bench, but Hal’s arm restrained her and she found herself standing very close, staring at his neck cloth.

She felt his hands cupping her shoulders, warm through the fine wool of her borrowed gown. ‘Sophie, look at me.’

She shook her head, feeling her unfamiliar short curls bounce with the vehemence of the gesture.

‘Look at me, Sophie,’ he insisted gently, and this time she obeyed, meeting his dark blue gaze, hoping against hope that all the love and longing she felt for him was not written on her own face. ‘I must apologise for my little sister,’ he began, but Sophie caught up his words and rushed in.

‘Oh, please, no, there is no need. She is very young, and the strain she has been under this week has obviously affected her nerves. I take no account of what she says.’

‘But I do,’ Hal interjected. ‘For once, what she was saying, however tactlessly, is right, just as I told you on the riverbank. I must marry you.’

‘Must you?’ Sophie asked slowly, all her resolution to simply say No vanishing as his mouth came down on hers.

It was a very long, very gentle kiss and Sophie felt both her knees and her willpower buckle under the intensity of it. When she came to herself she was sitting on Hal’s knee in the arbour, her head resting on his chest. It felt right and safe and she wanted this feeling to go on for ever. She snuggled closer, hearing Hal’s heart thudding under her ear, pressed against the smooth cloth of his coat.

After a long, long silence Hal spoke, his words rumbling in his chest as she stayed close against him. ‘Sophie, my dear, you must agree to marry me.’

At that moment she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, to be his wife, and he sounded so gentle, so loving, she thought suddenly that he must love her too.

‘Yes, Hal,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, I will be your wife.’

Hal sealed her acceptance with a long, tender kiss which took away what breath Sophie had left, along with every rational thought in her head. She would have been happy to spend the rest of the day, entwined with him in the arbour, but Hal set her on her feet.

‘I could sit here all day with you,’ he said, echoing her thoughts, ‘but we have much to plan and do. I must speak to John about getting a licence. Would you like him to marry us in the Minster?’

‘I would like that very much, if he is willing.’ At least a Minster wedding is suitable for a duke, she thought, feeling all the familiar qualms at the thought of just who she was agreeing to marry.

‘I am sure he will be,’ Hal reassured her. ‘I will go now and talk to him in his study.’

He parted from her in the hall with a brief, intense kiss, which sent her thoughts flying from thoughts of the glories of a Minster wedding to what would follow.

The effect was decidedly disturbing. She needed to be alone for a while to think about what she had just agreed to. A walk in the Minster precincts would surely be calming. She ran up the stairs, her mind anything but calm. The Sophie who looked back at her from the mirror as she tied on her bonnet was a woman transformed: her green eyes shone with happiness, her complexion glowed and her lips were full and pink from kissing.

The very undutiful thought crossed her mind that even George and Lavinia would be silenced by the overwhelming kudos of a wedding in the Minster, and to such an eligible bridegroom. What the rest of Polite Society would say to such a quiet wedding for the Duke of Weybourne, made her quail a little, but thoughts of Hal gave her strength.

She ran down the stairs again, suppressing the knowledge that she should take one of the maids with her on her walk. Surely the Minster precincts were safe enough for an unaccompanied young lady?

The bonnet strings, tied with more haste than care, slipped as she reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a long glass at one end of the hall and Sophie stopped in front of it. The bow had collapsed but the knot remained and she had to pull off her gloves before she could unpick it.

She was struggling with the slippery satin when the door of the study creaked and swung partly open in the draught, releasing the sound of voices within. She was so intent on the knot that it took Sophie a moment to realise that she was the object of discussion. She should have moved away, she knew, but she was so full of happiness that she wanted to hear Emma and John’s first reaction to Hal’s announcement.

‘But must you marry the girl? Surely things are not at such a pass? Her family will not be able to insist, given the very respectable situation she now finds herself in. And although I suppose the connection is well enough, it is hardly brilliant and not at what is due to your rank.’ Emma sounded positively querulous.

‘She is a very nice young woman,’ her husband reproved gently. ‘And while she might not be a brilliant match, as you say, my dear, she is not entirely ineligible by any means.’

‘She might be a nice young woman,’ Emma retorted tartly, ‘but that did not stop her setting out like a veritable hoyden on a madcap venture with a man she hardly knew.’

‘But it shows the goodness of her heart, my dear,’ John interjected.

Emma snorted. ‘It shows a distinct lack of judgement, if my opinion on the matter is of any interest.’

Sophie waited for Hal to defend her, but it was his brother who spoke. ‘Of course we care for your opinion, my dear, and I say again, Miss Haydon would not be my choice for Hal, if you press me. After all, there is always the danger that this impetuous behaviour may evince itself in other ways, once they are married,’ he added thoughtfully.

‘Lady Caroline Lamb all over again.’

Sophie stopped all attempts to untie her bonnet strings and listened with every nerve, hurt and hot with embarrassment.

‘One would trust that Miss Haydon is not going to disgrace the family by plunging into an affair with a notorious poet, as Lady Caroline did,’ John said repressively. ‘However, there may be some underlying moral instability.’

‘Surely you would rather marry Lady Hariette Miller?’ Emma said.

Why was Hal not speaking out and defending her? Sophie stood there, her hands twisting the bonnet ribbons, her ears straining for the sound of his voice.

‘Lady Hariette is now out of the question,’ he said, his voice sounding cool in contrast to his sister-in-law’s heat. ‘It must be obvious to you that, as a gentleman, it is my duty to marry Miss Haydon.’

‘You have not felt it Mr Fanshaw’s duty to marry Elizabeth,’ Emma retorted.

‘Justin Fanshaw is eminently unsuitable for Elizabeth. I cannot feel that I would be considered an ineligible husband for Miss Haydon.’

‘No, indeed, she might consider herself a very lucky young woman at such a catch,’ John remarked. ‘It is way beyond anything she could have dreamt of and I am sure her brother will think so too.’

‘My mind is quite made up on the matter, John. It is my duty to marry Miss Haydon: she was compromised in helping this family and I was wrong to have let her embark on the enterprise in the first place. I am honour-bound to make things right and, as Elizabeth is your sister, John, and you are therefore equally in Miss Haydon’s debt, I expect you to support me in this. Now, what is the best way to go about getting the necessary licence?’

It was enough. Sophie could not bear to hear any more. She had been right the other evening on the banks of the stream when they had so nearly made love and he had told her she must marry him. It was for his honour, for his sense of duty. If he loved her, surely he would have defended her to John and Emma, told them that he wanted to marry her.

Sophie found herself walking along the street outside the house, the majestic bulk of the Minster on her left. There were tears on her cheeks, her bonnet ribbons hung like string, and strolling towards her were two of the ladies she had met that morning in Emma’s sitting room.

Hastily she turned onto the greensward surrounding the Minster and walked away, under the sheltering boughs of the trees whose branches, clad with young foliage, were already hanging low. Some benefactor had provided a drinking fountain in a clearing and she splashed her cheeks, patted them dry with her handkerchief, retied the ribbons on her bonnet and found a bench, tucked well out of sight.

What could she do? The thought of life as the wife of a man she loved, but who regarded the marriage as a duty, repelled her. If she wrote to George, he would do everything in his power to make sure the marriage went ahead: her only hope was to travel down to the estate in Hertfordshire. Once she was there, perhaps Hal would realise that she meant what she had said at first and that he did not need to marry her.

Could she confide in Emma and ask for her help to take the Mail coach south? Would Lady John’s ambition for her husband and her distaste of her brother-in-law’s proposed marriage over-ride her instinctive obedience to their wishes? Now was the time to find out, while Emma was still full of indignation at the proposed match. Biting her lip to quell the tears that were threatening, Sophie got to her feet, smoothed down her dress and stepped firmly out on to the path, straight into the arms of a slender young man dressed in clerical black.

‘My dear lady, pray forgive me.’ He disengaged himself and stepped back, whipping off his hat and bowing slightly. ‘Unpardonably careless of me, I do trust I have not... Sophie?’

Sophie stared back. Older, unfamiliar in black coat and clerical collar, but unmistakably the same, Henry Winstanley stood before her. Far from the frightened, indignant and blustering youth from whom George had snatched her in that smoky inn parlour, this elegant and smooth young cleric was, without doubt, the man with whom she had eloped four years before.