Kathryn Smith - [Friends 03] (16 page)

Now, where on earth was she to go?

The offices of Finch, Barrows and Abercrombie were in the area of Gray's Inn, where they had been located for several generations. Being a woman, Sophia had never had any reason to enter the building before, but now, with her future hanging in the balance, she had little choice.

She entered through the narrow door, climbed the narrow stairs, and without the accompaniment of even a maid, entered the office and faced the narrow little clerk behind the great oak desk.

"May I help you?" he asked, his gaze raking over her in a most insolent fashion.

"I am the Marchioness of Aberley," she informed him in her haughtiest tone. "Please tell your employers that I wish to speak with them."

"Y…yes, my lady." The clerk jumped to his feet. "I won't be but a minute."

Sophia watched him scurry off with a vague sense of satisfaction. After today she doubted anyone would ever jump to do her bidding again.

Perhaps her situation wasn't so very desperate. Perhaps once Sophia talked to misters Finch, Barrow and Abercrombie— something she should have done long before this— and told them of Charles's machinations, perhaps they would be able to help her. Perhaps there would be a way around Edmund's will. After all, while she did write the book years ago, she wasn't responsible for any scandal it might cause now.

With that thin strand of hope clutched firmly in her breast, she sat down on one of the hard oak chairs in the reception area and waited for the clerk to return.

She had dressed in a modest and sedate gown of slate blue, a gray pelisse and a matching bonnet in the hope that her appearance might somehow convince the solicitors that she was innocent of any wrongdoing. But the clothes had been paid for by Julian and that was damning in itself.

What if Charles had already gotten to them? What if they didn't believe her? Where would she go? She would rather die than go to her parents. The only friends she had in town besides Letitia were Lilith— and Lady Wickford. Letitia could not help her and she very much doubted if either Lilith or Lady W would either, both of them being such close connections of Julian's.

The pale-faced clerk came back for her. "They will see you now, Lady Aberley."

Rising with as much dignity as she could muster, Sophia clutched her reticule to her waist and allowed the young man to guide her down the corridor to an office.

The interior was mostly wood— oak— and decorated in strong earth tones. It was a manly office, made to impress other men and intimidate women such as herself.

But it wasn't the office that intimidated her. It was because of the men sitting in the office staring at her with such damning expressions that Sophia knew all hope was lost.

One of them was Charles.
Damn
.

They all rose. Finch, Barrow and Abercrombie did not smile. Charles did.

"Lady Aberley," one of the solicitors said. "We were expecting you. Please sit down."

Charles held a chair for her, still smiling. It was a smug smile. Sophia wanted to drive her fist into it until either it or her hand began to bleed. Instead, she took the offered seat. To refuse would be unflattering in the eyes of the other men.

It only took a few minutes for the fat man behind the desk and his two only slightly less pudgy associates to tell her that she was finished. The present marquess had already apprized them of the "unfortunate incident" that was undoubtedly her reason for calling on them.

"Yes," Sophia intoned, casting a knowing glance at Charles. "No doubt he did." No doubt it was Charles who managed to orchestrate the whole thing! But how? He hadn't seen her since her arrival in London.

No, that wasn't true. He had come to call at Julian's. Julian had instructed the staff to refuse him entry again. Could he have somehow seen the book then?

Good Lord, had he told Julian his plan to ruin her and convinced him to help her?

No. That was unlikely. No man would put himself through such public humiliation for the sake of revenge. Especially not a man as proud as Julian.

The fat man was talking again. He was reminding her, even though she needed no reminding, of the clause in her husband's will. The clause that made arrangements to provide for her for the rest of her life
provided she not bring any scandal upon herself or the family.
If she did act in such a way that disgraced both herself and her late husband's family, then she was to be cut off without a penny, forced to leave behind any comforts her widowhood allowed her.

It had been Edmund's one condition upon marrying her. He had wanted a pretty wife— a trophy. For some reason he had wanted
her
. And in agreement for marrying her and saving her family's good name, he had demanded nothing short of her total obedience and supplication.

Her father had promised it.

She rose to her feet before the fat man had finished speaking. "Thank you, Mr…. whoever you are, but I amquite aware of my husband's wishes. Good day."

She had known as soon as she laid eyes on them that these men would not help her, so there was no use in even trying to tell them of Charles's deceit. Besides, standing there in her new, albeit simple, clothes, there was no way she could prove that he had denied her every comfort he possibly could in his quest to break her to his will.

The men, even Charles, gaped at her as she strode from the room. Behind her, Sophia heard a chair scrape across the floor, followed by footsteps. Charles was coming for her.

The urge to hurry was overwhelming, but she kept her steps dignified. She would not run from him.

"Sophia."

She stopped in the narrow hall and turned to face him.
Please, God. Do not let him see just how afraid I am.

He came toward her, all stiff-backed arrogance and smug assurance. "It is your own fault, you know," he told her. "You brought this all upon yourself."

Silently, she stared at him. Her refusal to be baited obviously annoyed him. His expression turned sour. "How glad I am that I picked up that book I saw on Wolfram's desk. You really should have known better than to write something so personal as a dedication, Sophia. A little bit of investigation on my part and it wasn't difficult to prove you were the author of that foolish little book."

"I will keep that in mind for next time," she replied, her tone surprisingly casual.

He frowned. "Next time?"

Sophia nodded. "I shall have to make my living somehow. I thought perhaps I would write a book about my life with your brother. Or perhaps I will just skip that part and tell the world what it was like living with you panting after me like a rutting dog."

Oh, what satisfaction to watch a flush of deep crimson color his face!

"You would not dare."

Her only response was to arch a brow.

Charles lunged. It was all Sophia could do not to shriek in alarm as he pinned her between the wall and the hard, angry weight of his body.

"You do not have to live the rest of your life as a pauper, Sophia," he murmured, his breath hot against her cheek. "You can still come home with me."

Defiantly she raised her gaze. "And live the rest of my life as your whore? I would rather sell myself in Covent Garden than spend one night with you."

He jerked away from her, his face a contorted mask of rage. "Fine," he snarled. "Try to make it on your own. It will not be long before you come crawling back to me, and then you will beg to become my mistress."

A slow, sure smile curved Sophia's lips. "By all means, keep thinking that, Charles, if it gives you pleasure. But I will see you in hell before I beg you for anything."

Stepping away from the wall, she left him standing there, staring after her with a mixture of fury and disbelief. There was a lightheartedness in her step as she walked through the reception area. She smiled at the gaping clerk and exited the office, closing the door firmly behind her.

The afternoon was warm and inviting as she stepped outside, even though the sun was slowly starting to sink over the horizon. She had enough money in her bag to hail a hackney. Where she was going to go, she had no idea.

There were many things she was uncertain of, but as she hailed a hackney, there was one thing Sophia knew for certain. She alone held her life in her hands. Now she knew what it was to be free.

"Y
ou are quite possibly the biggest ass I have ever known."

Julian lifted his unseeing gaze from the papers on the desk before him and focused it on the angry young woman standing in the doorway of his study.

"Yes," he replied drily. "I have abused you your entire life. I deny you even the simplest of life's pleasures. I am a tyrant."

She scowled at him, her expression a dark and startling contrast to the cheery yellow gown she wore.

Julian didn't like yellow. It was such an obnoxious color. It seemed to suit Letitia, however. She looked like a tall, slender daffodil against the gray London afternoon.

"That is not what I meant and you know it."

Yes, he did know it, but he had no intention whatsoever of allowing her to make
him
the villain.

"Where have you been?" he asked with deceptive lightness. Inside, he churned with anger, knowing full well with whom she had spent the last several hours. He wanted to hear her say it, so he could then release the emotion raging inside him.

His sister didn't even have the sense to look apologetic. "I was at Lady Wickford's with Sophia."

Sophia
. Just the sound of her name was enough to set his heart pounding with betrayal. For the past three days since he'd discovered her deception he had heard of little but her.

There was the laughter, of course, that seemed to follow him wherever he went. People seemed to think it was wonderfully fun to quote certain unflattering passages of her book at him whilst slapping him on the back with false camaraderie.

And then there were those who thought they were showing their alliance to him by making cutting remarks about her and snidely insulting her character. Julian did not respond to their comments, but inside him a war raged. He wanted to hate her but he couldn't, not completely.

"I thought I told you I did not want you seeing her."

Letitia's expression was one of pure rebelliousness. "You did. And I told you I did not care. She is my friend."

Sighing, Julian rubbed a hand over his face. He was so tired of always fighting Letitia. All he wanted was what was best for her, but she didn't see that, not at all.

"Fine," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Do what you want. Just promise me one thing, when you are poised on the brink of ruin, come to me before you drown yourself."

Anguish flickered briefly across his sister's features. "I thought you had accepted that you were not to blame for Miranda's death."

"I have," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "I blame myself for the life leading up to it."

Closing the door, Letitia crossed the carpet and perched herself on the corner of the desk nearest him. "Julian, after Mama and Papa died you did the best you could for both Miranda and me. No one could ever fault you as a brother, or as a parent."

He glanced up at the softly spoken praise. "No? If I was so good, why did Miranda fall prey to such a man? And why do you seem to think that I am some kind of monster out to ruin your life? All I have ever wanted is to see you happy and safe."

Letitia smiled and nudged his leg with her foot. "I know. But Julian, you have to realize that what you think will make me happy and what I think will make me happy are not always going to be the same thing. You have to trust me to live my own life and make my own decisions, just as Miranda did— as confusing and wrong as her decisions were."

Julian stared at her, his chest tight. "I do not want to fail you, Lettie. You are all I have left."

She held out her hand and he took it, squeezing her slender fingers within his own. "You could never fail me. Infuriate me, perhaps, but never fail. However, there is one person you are in very sad danger of failing."

Julian's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Sophia?"

"No. You."

Her words jolted him. "Me?"

She nodded, her expression one of patient amusement. "I have seen how you look at her, Julian. She makes you happy— happier than I have ever known you to be."

"You are mad!" He pulled his hand free of hers and sat up in his chair.

"No, I am not," Letitia replied, in that same gentle tone that reminded him so much of their mother. "You miss her and she misses you. You should go to her."

Julian leaped to his feet. Rounding his desk, he ploughed both hands through his hair as he strode toward the nearest window.

"And say what? That it does not matter that she lied, or that she has humiliated me a second time? I am sorry, Lettie, but it does matter."

"Any humiliation you feel stems from your own actions, Julian. Yes, Sophia wanted to marry you and yes she wrote that book, but I have asked questions, and I know that your behavior was not much better."

Julian stared out the window. He did not want to think about his own behavior. He could only imagine what Sophia told her.

Letitia hopped off the desk and walked toward him. "Julian, Sophia did not have her book reprinted."

"Then who did?" There was no one else who knew about that dedication. If not for that he could have believed Sophia's innocence, but it really was asking too much of him given the evidence.

"Her brother-in-law, Aberley. He admitted it to Sophia shortly after she left here that day."

Julian couldn't believe his ears. Aberley? How? More important, why? It seemed rather convenient for Sophia to dump the blame in the marquess's lap. Julian already knew him to be a low sort of man, but what could he possibly stand to gain by ruining his brother's widow?