Chapter Eighteen
As Hayden descended the stairs of his town house, the front door burst open. He’d known the missive he sent to Edith would have her rushing to his residence posthaste. Nevertheless, he’d not expected her to arrive only minutes after receiving it.
His sister, normally the picture of propriety and a person of sound judgment, looked in a state of dishabille. Instead of donning one of her fitted gowns, she wore her woolen coat over her wrapper and nightgown. And if that wasn’t laughable enough, one side of her hair was pinned up while the other hung about her shoulders in disarray.
“Where is he?” she demanded, glaring at Hawthorne.
Hawthorne’s stoic countenance faltered. “A-ah, Lady Prescott.”
“Edith,” Hayden said, taking the last steps.
She spun around.
“I was expecting you. Please join me for breakfast?” He motioned to the center corridor.
“Heaven knows I couldn’t eat a thing! And what has happened to your face? You look like you were in a brawl with a cat.”
He briefly touched the scratches Sophia made on his cheek, then, with a gentle hand on the small of Edith’s back, Hayden prompted her forward, ignoring her question.
Once in the dining room, he dismissed the footman who stood by the sideboard, picked up a plate, and turned to his sister, who paced the floor like a parading Grenadier Guard.
“Sit, Edith. I shall bring you something to eat.”
She withdrew his missive from her coat pocket. “Have you taken up opium smoking, or have you just taken leave of your senses?”
Having filled the dish with an assortment of foods, including a poached egg, several sausages, and a scone with a large dollop of clotted cream and strawberry jam—Edith’s favorite—he turned a discerning eye toward her. “At least I had the decency to dress this morning.”
“Dress?” She heaved an explosive breath. “How could I do so after being set upon with a missive stating you are to be married? Tomorrow!” She shook the paper violently in the air, emphasizing her distaste at its contents.
He peered at Edith’s shoes. She wore open-toed slippers with three-inch heels and a flurry of feathers embellishing the leather band that ran above her instep. They resembled something a cancan dancer would don in one of the seedier music halls in Paris. Risqué by most standards, especially Edith’s. His lips twitched.
“You might have donned decent shoes before you rushed over to offer me congratulations. Aren’t your feet cold in those things?”
Her pale cheeks colored before she cast an angry glower upon him. “Whom, may I ask, are you to wed? I can think of no one. . . .” Her hand fluttered to her bosom. “Do not tell me it’s that lunatic Adele Fontaine.”
“You truly do think me mad.”
She sighed and slumped into the closest chair.
Hayden placed the dish laden with food before Edith and poured her a cup of tea. “Sophia and I are to be married.”
“Sophia?” Edith repeated. She blinked. “Sophia Camden? You cannot be serious.”
A nerve in his jaw twitched. He’d thought Edith would be the one person who would not question him. The one person who would offer support, as she’d done when he’d announced his intent to marry Laura. He poured himself a cup of black coffee.
“Have you become snobbish, Edith, or is it me you do not approve of?” He leaned back against the marble-topped sideboard and took a sip of the warm brew.
“You know, well and good, I’m not a prig. But people will talk, and what they will say will be spiteful. They will wonder what transpired in this house while she resided under your roof. They will call her an upstart. They will say you have married beneath yourself. Again.” Edith cupped a hand over her mouth.
“Was that what you truly thought, Edith? That Laura was beneath us. How can you even think that after what Father did?”
“Hayden, I didn’t say I agreed with what had been said. Nor what will be said, only there are those who will take great pleasure in showing Sophia only a modicum of civility.”
He took another sip of his coffee. “Then you should be relieved to learn Sophia is not only a competent assistant to Trimble, but the great-niece of Charles Camden. In fact, she is his only living relation.”
Her brow furrowed.
“You do not recognize the name?”
Edith shook her head. “No.”
“The man supplies most of the coal to Manchester, to its factories, and to the London and North Western Railway.”
Edith’s eyes grew round. She opened her mouth to speak, but Hayden held up his hand. “She is also Vincente Gianni’s granddaughter.”
Her mouth fell open. “The painter?”
“The one and only.”
“Oh,” she replied, her startled expression deepening.
“Her great-uncle’s fortune, in and of itself, shall keep tongues from wagging. I do not doubt she’ll be accepted into the finest drawing rooms.”
“I see,” she said. “I wish to know when this came about. You seemed barely civil to her, yet now you are to be married and in such haste.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Hayden, you didn’t . . . ?”
“Force myself upon her? Does the blood coursing through my veins predispose me to acts of a heinous nature? If it does, my dear sister, I must remind you it courses through your body as well.”
“I know you would never force yourself upon a woman. I just thought perhaps you had, well, seduced the poor girl.”
“I hardly think a woman of twenty-four is a girl.”
“No, certainly not. But she is not, shall we say, as experienced as the women you usually consort with.”
“You have always been the wisest bird in the flock, my dear.”
“Oh, Hayden, not while she was under your roof. Under your protection.”
Uneasiness settled in his stomach. He had seduced Sophia, but he’d feel no shame. No, he’d try to set things right. He would be a good husband. Faithful. Devoted. And God knew he’d love the child. Sophia’s and his. He would make his family proud and protect them. “I grow tired of this conversation.” He straightened and placed his coffee down. “The wedding is at eleven tomorrow. The guest list shall be short. Only you, Henry, Celia, and anyone Sophia wishes to invite.”
“What of our family? Surely, you mean to include at least Great-Aunt Hortense?”
He considered telling Edith what had happened to Sophia and the bruises that marred her face. He would tell her later. “If Sophia wants we will have some grand event later.”
“But Hayden—”
“The matter is settled. Eat your food, dear. I need to go shopping. I have a wedding ring to purchase.”
* * *
Sophia awoke in a lovely bedchamber decorated with a yellow damask counterpane and flowery primrose chintz curtains. The mahogany furnishings were sturdy but distinctly feminine with soft edges and delicate carvings of roses and leaves. Even the four-poster in which she lay had intricately carved buds and flowers in full bloom.
Where was she? She lifted the bedding to toss it off. A memory blossomed in her foggy head of Hayden cradling her in his arms.
Was she at his town house? She glanced around again. Yes, and this bedchamber—with its exquisite furnishings—belonged to the lady of the house. The room that adjoined his. She’d seen it once when a maid had left the door open while cleaning it.
The man was scandalous. Outrageous enough he’d brought her here, but to place her in this bedchamber was beyond the pale. And what did it mean?
She settled back into the feathery pillows. The scent of Hayden’s shaving soap drifted to her nose, along with a faint remembrance of him lying in this bed, his arms wrapped around her, telling her she should have told him about the baby. She set her fingers to her temple. A fragment of a dream? Yes, what else? The image resurfaced—clearer this time. She shook her head, and another vision shifted to the forefront, this one of Thomas spooning a sedative into her mouth. No doubt, the tincture lingered, clouding her perception.
A knock sounded on the door. Dressed only in her shift, she tugged the counterpane up to her neck. “Yes, come in.”
Alice entered the room with a scuttle of coal. The tension in Sophia’s body eased. Yet, instead of greeting her in her usual, animated voice, the young maid acted anxious and uncomfortable. She bobbed a quick curtsey. “I’m to tend to the fire, miss, I mean, my lady.”
My lady? Sophia wondered what Hayden’s servants had concluded by him having brought her here, instead of her own residence. They probably knew more about what was going on than she did.
“What is being said belowstairs, Alice?”
“It isn’t my place to say,” she replied, squatting before the grate.
The maid had always been so forthright, but the walls separating their classes now stood erect. “Won’t you tell me?”
The young woman glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t wish to lose my job.”
“You know I wouldn’t jeopardize your employment by repeating anything you say.”
Alice nibbled on her bottom lip.
“Or anything you have said in the past,” Sophia added quickly.
A sheepish expression settled over the servant’s countenance. “I knew you were different. A right proper miss who could speak French and all, but never in my life would I have guessed you a great heiress or that you would be marrying his lordship.”
With a gasp, Sophia sat up straight. “Is that what they’re saying?”
Alice’s head bobbed. “Yes. I heard your great-uncle owns half them collieries up north and your grandfather was a famous painter, and that his lordship is to marry you tomorrow.”
The room spun. Sophia leaned back. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes, miss. A vicar was here talking with his lordship.” Alice stepped closer and spoke low as if the walls could hear. “And it’s said his lordship’s sister called upon him early this morning wearing nothing but her unmentionables. Her ladyship always resembles a fashion plate, so I thinks Peter, I mean the person who told me, was tugging my leg.”
Sophia hoped so, for the implication reflected Lady Prescott found the idea of a marriage between Sophia and Hayden distasteful. She probably wished her brother to marry a young blue-blooded debutante.
“And Chef is in a tizzy. Says he absolutely cannot make a wedding cake in so short a time, nor the wedding breakfast. Keeps saying merde this and merde that. Elsie thinks merde means mother. I never heard a grown man call for his mother so much in all my life.” Alice took a deep breath. “And there’s a florist in the blue drawing room, filling his lordship’s fancy Sevres vases, you know the ones Mrs. Beecham won’t let me touch, with more flowers than I ever seen in my whole life.”
Another memory slipped back into place, this one of Hayden telling Thomas that he would marry Sophia because of the baby. She touched the side of her bruised face. It was starting to throb, as was her head. Whatever medicine Thomas had given her was wearing off.
“Does it hurt terribly?” Alice asked anxiously.
“No, not really,” she lied. “Though I must look a fright.”
The young woman hesitated, and then shook her head. “It isn’t so bad. Is it true his lordship and the doctor saved you from some depraved cutthroat while you were down in Whitechapel doing God’s work?”
Goodness, it appeared Hayden had not only told them she was an heiress, but an angel of mercy.
Someone knocked lightly on the adjoining door, and Alice jumped and scurried back to the hearth.
Sophia’s heart raced in her chest. “Yes?”
The door opened and Hayden entered. As always, the sight of him made her stomach flutter. “Ah, you are awake. How are . . .” He paused and glanced at Alice, who frantically filled the grate.
The maid stood, bobbed a quick curtsey, and made her way to the door.
“Thank you,” Sophia called out as the young woman fled.
Hayden moved to the bed. “You look well.”
“I fear you are myopic,” she replied, cupping her sore cheek, knowing it must be discolored.
He sat on the edge of the mattress. “Is the pain excruciating? Should I send for a physician?”
“No, I shall be fine.”
“Sophia, I have obtained a special license.”
“It’s not necessary.”
One slashing eyebrow rose, and his large palm slid over her abdomen. “Do you carry my child?”
She briefly lowered her lashes, momentarily avoiding his direct gaze. “Yes.”
A nerve in his jaw twitched. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
Anger filled his eyes. “You are mistaken. Tell me, Sophia. Would you have accepted a marriage proposal from me, if I’d asked before you heard me and Lord Adler talking?”
Yes. Perhaps. She wasn’t sure anymore. “I don’t know.”
The weight of his hand on her abdomen grew, reaffirming possessiveness. “Well, now we have no choice. We will marry tomorrow. If we wait there will be no way to escape the gossip. As it is, the tabbies will feast on our infant’s early arrival.”
“If we marry by special license they will gossip anyway.”
He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Perhaps they will say we were so taken with each other we couldn’t wait to be wed.”
Love hadn’t bound them, but if she didn’t marry, she’d be cast out of polite society.
“It’s irrelevant at this point,” he continued. The warmth of his touch slipped away. “If you believe I’ll allow Trimble to raise my child, dear, you are mistaken.” There was a hard, ruthless edge to his voice and shards of steel in his blue eyes.
“I wasn’t going to marry Thomas.”
His eyes widened. “You said you love him.”
“I do. Just not the way a wife should. He is my closest friend.”
“Just friends?”
“Yes.”
A brief grin touched his lips before his dark expression returned. “I will not allow my child to be born out of wedlock.”
She didn’t want that either, but she needed to ask. “So we are to marry, even though there is no love? To forget what brought us to this cusp?” Several beats of her heart passed as she awaited his reply.
He slid his thumb over her lower lip. “Many marriages are based on less than what we share.”
The seductive timbre of his low voice made her stomach tumble. Her cheeks grew hot, yet it was not the answer she hoped for. “But that is not love, is it?”
“Love can grow. Hopefully, for both of us. For now we must consider the child.” He stood. “Tomorrow, Sophia.” His voice held a note of finality.