Chapter Twenty Three

 

 

 

Hal’s blue eyes were very dark in the flickering candlelight and Sophie realised that, however aroused he was, his mind was still sharp and his suspicions alerted.

‘I told you, I could not sleep. It is very warm, and I am very, er, excited.’

‘So I noticed,’ Hal said, his voice like cream, smiling slightly as the blush swept over her cheeks. ‘But forgive me, Sophie, I somehow do not trust your protestations. Go back to your chamber, but before you get into bed, take a look out of your window. Goodnight.’

Sophie stalked out with as much dignity as she could manage. Once inside her bedchamber she dashed across to the window and stepped out on to the balcony. There was nothing to be seen until she leaned over the edge and looked directly down. Below her a flame flickered, and a small gust of smoke barely rose in the still night air. She heard someone shift, heard the pull of a man smoking a clay pipe, heard him cough softly as the tobacco hit his lungs. She had no doubt why he had been stationed there, and no doubt on whose orders he was acting. Hal had meant it when he said he was not going to give her an opportunity to escape. All her plotting had been in vain.

 

The stone floor of the Minster struck cold through the thin soles of Sophie’s kid slippers as she walked down the long aisle on George’s arm. The interior seemed to shimmer before her as the sunlight cast a myriad of colours and patterns from the great windows across the floor in front of her. The gauze of her veil blurred the scene, but even without it she would still have been dizzied by the shock of finding herself at last on the point of marriage.

The days since she had realised that Hal had blocked all her chances of escape had rushed by. Obediently, like a puppet, she had surrendered herself to the rituals of visits and arrangements, of fittings and plans. She had submitted to everything, agreeing to whatever George or Lavinia suggested. She had been so meek that Lavinia had been moved to remark that her good fortune had improved her character out of all recognition.

Lord Sydney had invited Hal to remain at Allerthorpe, but Lavinia felt it was unsuitable for a bridegroom to remain under the same roof as his intended so he had moved back to York. Sophie had hardly seen him, which had made the whole sensation of being in a dream even more acute. The more she was apart from him the more she longed for him, and the more she longed for him, the more she knew she could not trap him into this marriage.

Lavinia scolded her to eat more, complaining that her gowns had already been taken in twice. But Sophie had no appetite, no energy or will, only a growing panic at what was to come.

The faces of the guests turned to watch her as she passed, but they were all featureless to her.

At the sight of Hal waiting at the altar with Lord Sydney at his side, her eyes filled with tears and the Archbishop in all his magnificent vestments remained a blurred figure throughout the ceremony.

Sophie pulled herself together as the Archbishop began to intone the wedding vows and forced herself to concentrate on the solemn words. His Grace spoke the first sentence and there was a silence which seemed to stretch for ever before Hal responded and began to repeat the wedding vow. Sophie felt a stab of misery as she realised what an effort it must be for him to take this final, irrevocable step. His sense of honour had won, but his voice, and his heart, were obviously lagging behind.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ his Grace said firmly and Hal turned to lift her veil. She hardly knew how she managed to raise her eyes to his face and when she did it was to find him looking down at her, set and pale, his eyes devoid of all their usual laughter. He bent to kiss her and his lips on hers were cold, she felt as though she had been kissed by a statue. And inside her heart was breaking. What had she done? Not only had she ruined her own life, but she had blighted Hal’s as well.

As she walked with her husband to the vestry to sign the marriage register, Sophie did not know how she managed to put one foot in front of the other. Her hand shook as she took up the pen and signed Sophie Wyatt for the first time. Hal’s cold hand closed over hers as she laid down the pen and he asked in an undertone, ‘Well, Your Grace, shall we go out and face our friends?’

It was enough to stiffen her resolve. However she felt, from now on, for the rest of her life, she was going to have to pretend that she was a contented wife with a husband who loved her. As she walked down the aisle, smiling and nodding to acknowledge the good wishes of the guests in the pews, she knew that a divorce was out of the question. No one, except in the desperate cases of cruelty or flagrant infidelity, would plunge themselves into the public disgrace and ignominy of having their private affairs dragged through the newsheets and of having to secure a private Act of Parliament to achieve their freedom.

No, she was locked into this marriage, condemned to loving Hal, but not being loved in return. To being a good wife, bringing up their children and knowing full well, that however discreet and considerate he was, he would have to set up a mistress to satisfy his other needs.

As the open barouche bowled along the green country lanes from York to Allerthorpe she was afraid Hal would try and talk to her, but he seemed oddly constrained. It must be the presence of the liveried grooms standing up behind, gripping firmly on to the straps, she thought. As the cavalcade passed through the hamlets along the way children ran out and people stopped about their business to wave and cheer at the sight of the bride and groom and the procession of carriages bedecked with ribbons that followed in their wake.

This should be the happiest day of my life, she thought. The sun was shining, she was surrounded by people wishing her well, and she had just married the man she loved. Sophie stole a glance sideways under her lashes and thought Hal had never looked so handsome. His saturnine expression only added to his good looks, but she had never seen him so still, so restrained. It must be the reaction to what he had just committed himself to, Sophie thought miserably.

As the barouche turned on the gravelled sweep before the Hall, Sophie saw that all the servants had come out and were lined up in their Sunday best uniforms in order of precedence. From the most junior tweeny and the boot boy, his face scrubbed scarlet, to the majesty of the housekeeper in her rustling black satin and the butler in his tails, they beamed on the happy couple.

The grooms jumped down and unfolded the steps. Hal got down first and turned, offering her his gloved hand. Sophie ventured a small smile and received a fleeting smile in return, then he placed her hand on the crook of his arm and turned to receive the butler's respectful good wishes.

Sophie swallowed down the tears and straightened her shoulders. She was the Duchess of Weybourne now and she could not let Hal down. They walked slowly up the line of servants, receiving their bows and curtsies and entered Allerthorpe Hall.

Lavinia was hard on their heels and whisked Sophie away as soon as she decently could to remove her bonnet, tidy her hair and generally prepare the bride for the wedding breakfast.

Sophie stood obediently while her sister-in-law fussed around her, unpinning the veil, taking off her bonnet, then ordering Fanny around.

‘Take all the pins out of your mistress’s hair and redo it, girl, do not stand there like a great nodcock!’

Sophie thought that at any moment she would scream, but she forced herself to sit down at the dressing table and gradually, with Fanny’s calm disregard of Lady Haydon’s shrewish comments, she relaxed a little.

Eventually even Lavinia was satisfied, although still grumbling about the bride’s lack of colour. ‘There, you look more the thing,’ she pronounced. ‘But just drape this spangled scarf over your elbows.’

Sophie saw a chance to escape from Lavinia’s presence. ‘Oh, no, not that one at this time of day. I think the Indian silk would be better. Now where... Oh, yes, I left it in Grace’s room. No, it is all right, I will fetch it.’ And before Lavinia could open her mouth she was almost running from the chamber and along the landing.

The swell of voices from the reception rooms below rose to meet her as she reached the stair head. She could not face that great company of people yet. Hastily she opened the first door she came to and found herself in the small antechamber of one of the guest bedrooms. The door into the room beyond was ajar and a babble of female voices came from within.

Sophie sat down on an ottoman and concentrated on calming her breathing. It was several moments before what was being said entered her consciousness.

‘God knows what darling Hal sees in that little church mouse,’ a well-bred voice drawled.

‘Hariette darling, you are so right. Such a whey-faced little nothing,’ another answered her. ‘And her relatives? Quite beyond the pale.’

Hariette? She had heard that name before. It must be Lady Hariette Miller, who she had heard spoken of as the most likely candidate for Hal’s hand. Sophie got to her feet and crept nearer, drawn by a horrid fascination. This conversation was bound to hurt, but she could not have left to save her life.

Another chimed in. ‘And her sister-in-law! Well, did you ever see anything quite so frightful as that hat? She smells of the shop, I think: doubtless Sir George married her for the money.’

Well, that was accurate enough.

‘So why has the Duke married the chit?’

Lady Hariette laughed. ‘One cannot think of a single reason why, other than…’ her voice dropped, and Sophie was aware that the other ladies were hanging on her words. ‘Other than that he has got her in the family way.’

There was a gasp of delighted horror, then one of the girls said, ‘No, you cannot be serious! But perhaps he has compromised her and finds himself unable to escape the alliance.’

Lady Hariette’s voice was flinty. ‘Well, if he has been so foolish, he certainly knows what he has done, and judging by his face in the Minster, he is ruing it now.’

‘And did you hear him hesitate before he made his vows?’ another offered breathlessly. ‘You could have heard a pin drop in that moment. I thought he was going to refuse her.’

Sophie stuffed her clenched fist into her mouth to stop her breathing becoming audible.

Lady Hariette said, with the authority of someone who claimed to be very close to the bridegroom indeed, ‘Dear Hal would not make a scandal in the Minster. But there is still a way out and, judging by that look on his face, it has already occurred to him.’

‘You cannot be suggesting that he divorces her?’ There were gasps of horror all round.

‘No need to. If he simply does not go to her bed tonight, then it can all be annulled. It will make a stir, of course, but no one will be surprised: he has obviously been trapped into this.’

‘I don’t think it is as easy as that,’ one voice said dubiously, but was interrupted.

‘Surely no gentleman would ever risk such a slur on his manhood?’

Lady Hariette’s laugh was as brittle as glass and as cutting. ‘Catherine darling, those who know Hal as well as I will be in no doubt as to where the fault lay. No, I can assure you there is nothing wrong with Weybourne’s manliness.’

Sophie fled, not caring if anyone heard her go. Outside on the landing she nearly knocked poor Fanny flying. ‘Quick, Fanny, in here.’ She bundled the startled maid into an empty chamber and shut the door. ‘I know what I have got to do. I cannot make Hal miserable, I love him too much. That wretched Lady Hariette Miller has shown me the way out. If I run away now, before the wedding night, he will have no difficulty in having our union dissolved.’

‘Oh, Miss... I mean, Your Grace,  please don't say such things,’ Fanny wailed. ‘Lady Haydon sent me to find you, she says it is time we went down for the wedding breakfast.’

‘In a moment. Now listen, Fanny. After the wedding breakfast, which will go on for at least four hours, I will plead fatigue, or a headache, and say I am going to lie down before the ball this evening. You must go to York now and secure a chaise and four with outriders. Take all the money from my dressing case and arrange to have them pick us up outside that old disused lodge at the back of the mews at six o'clock.’

Fanny opened her mouth, but was silenced by a gesture. ‘No, listen. Then come back and pack enough things for two nights on the road, and your own of course. Wait for me in the chaise. Fanny, I mean this, do not fail me.’ She took the distressed girl by the shoulders. ‘Please, Fanny, if you love me, do not desert me now when I need you.’

Fanny gave her one anguished look, then nodded her head in agreement. ‘Very well, Your Grace. I don’t like it, but if I don’t help you, goodness knows what you’ll end up doing. But, please, you must go down now or people will start to talk.’

It took all her composure, but Sophie drew in a deep calming breath and went downstairs, her head high. She faltered only momentarily when she saw Hal waiting on the half-landing for her, his eyes on her as she moved towards him. He took her hand and raised it to her lips, brushing a warm caress across her knuckles. 'There you are, my duchess. Come, our friends are waiting.’

Sophie looked up into his face, seeking reassurance, but she could not read his expression, or the meaning in his eyes. He looked more like the old Hal, but with that edge of constraint she had felt in the barouche on their journey from the Minster.

He seemed very formal, almost as though he was working from a book of etiquette, and all his natural charm and insouciance was repressed. But then, how else could he force himself to go through this endless charade of wedding breakfast, dinner and the formal ball which would mark the end of this endless day?

As she entered the dining room on his arm Sophie gasped at the magnificence of the table. Lord Sydney, ably supported by his staff, had set a meal fit for royalty and every piece of the Sydney family silver was on display. Doubtless this was a great satisfaction to George and Lavinia, but Sophie found it completely overwhelming.

At least, as they were seated side by side in the middle of the long top table, she did not have to meet the eyes of her bridegroom. It was amazing what training in deportment and social etiquette could do for one, Sophie thought, masking her feelings as she made conversation with the Archbishop in the seat of honour on her left.

His Grace seemed well pleased with her and the interminable meal passed more quickly than she had expected. At last she noticed Lavinia’s expression and realised the grimaces she was directing in Sophie’s direction meant that it was time that she rose and gave the signal for the ladies to retire.

As soon as she could, Sophie sought out her sister-in-law and pulled her to one side. ‘Lavinia, I do feel quite faint and I have a shocking headache. I fear I might be developing a migraine.’

‘Nothing could be worse! You must go to your room at once, ring for Fanny, lie down and have her fetch lavender oil for your temples and a tisane. I will stay here and let the other ladies know why you are not present. They will all understand.’

In her chamber it needed only a quick glance to see that Fanny had packed what she had been told to. The dressing case stood ready and a travelling gown and bonnet were on the bed. Sophie wrenched off her wedding dress, heedless of tearing the button-holes, scrambled into the gown and fled down the backstairs.

As she had guessed, all the staff were fully employed clearing the dining room and setting up the ballroom for the ball. The kitchens were heaving with activity, but she was able to slip past the open door and hurried across the stableyard, the heavy dressing case making her arm ache.

Fanny had followed all instructions to the letter and was looking anxiously out of the window of a smart-looking chaise. One of the postilions relieved Sophie of her burden and helped her into the carriage, then they were away.

 

It was a surprisingly smooth journey south. Nothing could have been further from the excitement, alarms and rigours of her journey north. They were fortunate in both horses and postilions at every change and the two inns where they stayed overnight were clean and welcoming with a private parlour available at each.

But Fanny was far from the ideal travelling companion. She was agitated, given to weeping at odd intervals and curiously unable to meet her mistress’s eyes. Sophie, even in her distracted state, was concerned as she watched Fanny’s fingers twist and untwist her handkerchief in her lap.

‘Fanny, what is this?’ she asked eventually. ‘You are normally so sensible.’

‘Oh, do not ask me, Your Grace. I should never have done it!’ She buried her lace in the handkerchief and wept.

Sophie felt like joining her in despair. She was so sure she had done the right thing, so why was she so unhappy? Was it possible that a breaking heart was not just a figure of speech? She felt a physical pain, deep in her breast and her longing for Hal threatened to overwhelm her.

For the hundredth time she asked herself what he would be doing at that moment. He could not be pursuing her, for he did not know where she had gone. Was he even now discussing with his brother and the Archbishop the dissolution of his short-lived marriage? Was he even now explaining to their friends that it had all been a terrible mistake, and was Lady Hariette already at his side consoling him?

 

The church clock was chiming three as the chaise finally turned through the gates of Bright’s Hill. George always left a skeleton staff at his Hertfordshire country seat, and the old manor house looked well kept and welcoming in the hot afternoon sun. Sophie felt her spirits lift: she had always been happy here, even when she had been exiled in disgrace after her failed elopement with Henry Winstanley.

The house seemed curiously still, despite the presence of the footman who was in charge and the housekeeper who bustled out to greet her and shower her with congratulations. It had not occurred to Sophie that she would need to explain the absence of her husband, but faced with the staff she was too weary and heart sore to even attempt it.

To her surprise Mrs Drage did not ask questions and merely said, ‘Your room is made up as always, Your Grace. Why do you not go upstairs and rest now?’

Sophie turned and began to climb the familiar shallow treads of the old oak staircase, Fanny at her heels, when the housekeeper called, ‘Oh, Meadows, just one word, if you please.’

So she was alone when she pushed open the door of her old room and walked wearily in. It was in heavy shadow, the curtains drawn and billowing across the open casements. The curtains were drawn at the end of the Tudor four-poster bed with its familiar ornate carvings of foliage and flowers, which she had traced with her fingers when she was a small girl.

Sophie sighed with relief. Sanctuary at last, after barely more than a month where her life had been turned upside down. She tossed her bonnet on to a chair, pulled off her gloves and began to unbutton her dress, wondering vaguely why Fanny had not appeared to help her. She stepped out of her gown, rolled off her stockings and stood undecided whether to ring for hot water or simply to fall on to the bed and sleep.

It was then that she realised she was not alone. In the silence of the room she heard a soft sound, unmistakably a sleeper’s breathing. Her heart in her mouth she tiptoed around the bed to the side and there lay Hal.

He was lying face down, naked under the sheet which covered him from the waist. One hand was on the pillow beside him, the other thrust underneath it, and he was deeply, profoundly, asleep.

His dark hair contrasted with the whiteness of the bed linen, his long lashes fanned his cheekbone. His face was turned towards her and although one cheek was pressed against the pillow she could see the dark shadow of fatigue under his eyes and the shading of stubble above his sensuous lips.

‘Hal,’ Sophie whispered, too overwhelmed to wonder how he could be here in her bed. She reached out a hand and touched the hard-muscled plane of his back, tracing his spine to where the sheet began.

‘Mmm?’ His eyes did not open, but his free hand reached out and pulled Sophie down beside him. His eyes were still closed when he kissed her, at first gently, then, as she recovered from her shock and responded, with more urgency.

Breathlessly she emerged from the embrace and found him looking at her, his blue eyes burning with passion and an expression that made her catch her breath and swallow hard.

‘Hal?’ she asked tentatively.

‘You should never have run away from me, my love,’ he said softly, touching her cheekbone with gentle fingers.

‘What... what did you just call me?’ she breathed, hardly daring to hope.

‘My love, because you are. Surely you never believed I would let you go?'

‘But you never told me,’ she protested, struggling to sit up so she could look at him properly. ‘And in the Minster, you hesitated as though you could not bring yourself to make that final vow. You looked so pale, so cold: I knew I had trapped you. Oh, Hal, I love you, how could I live with you knowing you had married me for honour only?’

‘Sophie, that moment in the Minster when I saw you coming up the aisle to me I realised, for the first time, that what I was feeling for you was love. Complete, overwhelming, absolute love. When I had to speak I could hardly find the words, the feeling was so intense, so far from my experience, I could scarcely believe I had the opportunity to make you love me as much as I then knew I loved you.’

For a long moment they looked into one another’s face, speech beyond them. Then Sophie whispered, ‘I have loved you for weeks, darling Hal. I knew I was not a brilliant match, that my reputation was already sullied. I could not bear the thought that because you believed you had ruined me, you had to marry me.’

‘My foolish love, why did you not tell me any of this?’ He cupped her face in his warm, sure hand.

‘You did not love me, I was sure of it. And I thought if you guessed, you would pity me, be even nicer to me because of it, and I could not bear that, not when I felt like this.’

Hal pulled her close to him and kissed her softly before burying his face in her hair and murmuring, ‘Well, it is a good thing that your maid is more perceptive than either of us.’

‘Fanny?’ Sophie shot upright again, staring down at Hal’s amused face. ‘What has Fanny got to do with anything?’

‘How do you think I got here, and ahead of you?’

‘She told you?’ Sophie was stunned. ‘But when?’

‘She came to me when you sent her to get the chaise. She told me she had seen us together on the stairs and was sure that I loved you. You had already told her how you felt, and she, loyal girl, took the decision to tell me all.’

‘But what did you say to your guests?’

‘Left Sydney to tell them we had run off together because we could not bear not to be alone. Very eccentric but you have to admit, it was a lot easier than telling them that my rebellious bride had left me four hours after the ceremony! I took my curricle, overtook you as dusk fell and I have been a few miles ahead of you all the way down.’

‘Hal, can you ever forgive me? I thought if I ran away you would get the marriage annulled.’

‘And that would be less scandalous than getting a divorce, I gather? Aside from the fact that an annulment is nothing like the simple matter people assume.’ He was laughing at her, his eyes very bright. But his ragged breathing betrayed his slipping control. ‘I will never divorce you, wife, and let me make it quite plain you are never going to have any grounds for an annulment.’

His lips traced kisses down the curve of her throat as his hands pushed down the chemise, leaving her naked to his touch, to the loving caress of his eyes. ‘You are beautiful, my Sophie, and I love you very much.’

‘Show me, Hal,’ she breathed. ‘Show me how much you love me.’ And she stretched out her arms, pulling his head down to her breast.

It was a new pleasure to map his body with her questing fingers, to explore further than she had ever gone before. At first she was shy, shocked by the power of him, but he was careful with her, took her at first gently until her startled response swept them both into a fire of urgency that culminated in pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings, far beyond the burgeoning desires that his earlier caresses had promised.

 

Afterwards they lay in one another’s arms in the cool shadowed room and slept. The church clock striking six woke them together and Sophie began to slip out of bed.

‘Where are you going, Duchess?’ Hal murmured, pulling her down beside him again.

‘It is six o'clock. I must order dinner and... and...’

‘You would neglect me already, would you? I am prepared to tolerate a rebellious bride, but a rebellious wife is quite another matter,’ he teased, his teeth white in the gloom.

‘But Hal.’ Sophie struggled against his restraining arm, thrilling at the sensation of his strength. ‘What will the servants say?’

‘I do not give a damn what the servants say, or indeed anyone else for that matter. I intend staying here in bed with you until I have quite definitely, comprehensively, pleasurably, ruined you all over again.’

‘Twice-ruined?’ she asked him with mock innocence before yielding to the pressure of his arm.

‘Oh, at least, Sophie my love, at least. Now come here and kiss me again.’

So she did.

 

The End