Lord Will & Her Grace (24 page)

"I am not surprised to hear Lord Will seduced
a lady here. He seems to have a penchant for music rooms." Sophie's
face burned in anger and embarrassment. "You have said nothing to
dissuade me from my judgment of his character."

Alexander Barclay's face drained of all
color. He spoke softly, "Then perhaps I should disclose that this
occurred when my brother was just
fifteen
— here on holiday
after being half orphaned and left to rot in Eton's barbaric
Collager program where they starve them on one meal a day and lock
them in the dormitory at night where the older students prey on the
younger. He was invited here to experience what he most craved—the
affection found within a family circle. And when he was lulled by
the warmth and security he encountered, he was then seduced by his
best friend's calculating mother, who lied to him, telling him her
husband tormented her physically and mentally. Will's tender
sensibilities were thoroughly engaged and he even went so far as to
beg her to allow him to kill her husband—
his best friend's
father
—in a duel." He covered his brow and eyes with his hand.
"This selfsame
lady
discarded my brother a year or so later
upon the death of her husband. The poor boy couldn't comprehend why
a woman of four and thirty wasn't willing to tie herself to a
penniless orphan of sixteen now that she had inherited a good
portion of her husband's fortune."

Sophie thought she might very well be ill.
She fought back the bile that rose in her throat but could not stop
the room from spinning. She reached out to grab the pianoforte's
edge, and misplaced her hands, causing hideous crashing notes to
fill the air. She closed her eyes and all at once felt Lord
Gaston's hands grasp her shoulders.

"Miss Somerset, lower your head to your
knees. Oh, don't faint." He positioned her head then paused before
gently cradling her against him. "Please forgive me. I don't know
what I—well, I should never have spoken. And I've broken William's
confidence, after all these years. But then, he never could rely on
me. It is perhaps why Farquhar is…" His voice trailed off as she
raised her head from her knees. Silently, he offered his
handkerchief to her which she quickly refused by shaking her
head.

Sophie didn't dare speak. It would only allow
the sobs to escape from her throat. She refused to burden him with
tears or meaningless words that would not remove the guilt he would
endure for revealing such a horrid episode. She just wanted this
awful discourse to end and for him to leave her.

He seemed to read her mind. "Miss Somerset, I
pray you will forgive me in time. I'm sorry my words distressed
you. It is just that so many have misjudged my brother. I could not
bear for the one woman he has finally come to regard to not see him
for who he truly is. But, I'm not used to playing the go-between.
And I daresay we both agree I am no good at it." With a
guilt-stricken expression, he continued. "I dare not leave you this
way, mademoiselle. Shall I fetch you some water—or something
stronger? Perhaps some wine?"

She shook her head again and finally forced
herself to speak slowly, with a minimum of pauses. "Please, sir… I
will be all right. I think it best if you go. I bear you no ill
will, and I thank you for confiding in me. Forgive me for insulting
you and your brother. I'm most ashamed and earned your
chastisement." She paused before continuing. "But, I'm sure you
will understand that I'm still unable to agree to see William ever
again—for obvious reasons."

He gave her a long steady look then nodded.
He rose from the bench and led her to the door. They parted in the
hallway. "I am the one who must be ashamed, Miss Somerset. I should
be horsewhipped." He turned abruptly to meet his waiting carriage
beyond the outer doors of Hinton Arms.

Sophie entered her apartments in Villa Belza
and stumbled across the Aubusson carpet before collapsing onto her
embroidered chaise lounge. The long walk from Hinton Arms through
the tall grasses edging the cliffs had failed to sooth her
disordered sensibilities.

Within moments, Karine entered the chamber
carrying a pitcher of steaming water. "So it was a success then,
the wedding?"

Sophie forced a frozen smile to her lips.
"Yes. It was all so very lovely."

"And Miss Owens? Did she not look like
perfection in the gown I designed with Madame Roussy?"

"Yes, Karine—perfection…"

She could feel Karine staring at her. "Miss
Somerset, are you all right? You look quite ill."

She forced herself to hold a calm expression.
"I'm fine, Karine. Just a bit exhausted and sad to see everyone
off. I think I shall have a lie down. You deserve the same after
all your hard work."

Sophie could see Karine was about to badger
her with further questions when inspiration struck.

"Karine… you've had so many long hours of
late, I've been thinking you've earned a holiday. I know how much
you long for a visit to town. Go then, for a fortnight, with my
blessings."

Her words were like magic. Karine babbled
with happiness and stayed just long enough to remove Sophie's
delicate lace gown and assist with unpinning the intricate
hairstyle so painstakingly constructed a few hours before. Sophie
stared at herself in the looking glass when she was alone and fully
expected—no, looked forward to—the luxury of a good cry. But,
oddly, the tears would not come.

After several long minutes, a slight breeze
from the open window beckoned her. She gazed at the sea, and deeply
inhaled salt air into her lungs.

It all made sense now. All the pieces of
William's life fit together in a sordid, soggy mess. He had once
been a sensitive, honorable, passionate young boy. But harsh and
evil circumstances had altered him irrevocably.

Mrs. Mornington had, obviously, been the
worst influence of all. After lying to him, and seducing him, she
had discarded him like the chimney sweeps left urchins, grown too
ill to perform their labors, in the streets to fend for themselves.
She had been a monster.

It was easy to understand why William had
become the man he was. He had been forced to accept the rules of a
cruel world and had therefore shown selfless loyalty to a select
few—such as Mr. Farquhar and Charles Mornington. And he had learned
well the lesson that no female could ever be trusted. Instead, he
used them for pleasure, never investing his heart to any
degree.

And was she not guilty to a smaller degree of
acting in the same deplorable fashion? Had she not gone to London
after he had broken
her heart
? Had she not become an
infamous flirt, inflaming the desire of many good gentlemen in her
zeal to pretend William meant nothing to her?

Due to her aunt's kindness, she could be
thankful her foray into the land of coquetry hadn't lasted longer
than a few weeks. But William had not had someone to lift him from
despair and so dissolution and deception had become a permanent way
of life.

But there was still the matter of his
impending marriage. Sophie must not allow her pity for the boy
William had once been to loosen her resolve. She must not allow the
temptation to comfort him, to love him, grow within her breast.
Even if the Tolworths had entrapped him, seeing him again would
only bring them both unhappiness in the end.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the
spectacular sunset of molten orange rays shooting through pink
clouds above the vast gray ocean. She clenched her hands, bowed her
head and prayed for William's happiness. She would not ask for any
for herself, only for peace of mind. Happiness would be out of the
question for a very long time. But, still, the tears would not
come.

THE steward's reports were gratifying. Sophie
studied the column of figures then glanced at Mr. Gallagher who was
studiously concentrating on a mound of papers at his side. The
elderly gentleman, his white curls pulled back in an old fashioned
queue, finally acknowledged her presence in his domain.

"Miss Somerset, is anything amiss?"

"Not at all, Mr. Gallagher. Everything is
perfectly in order, as usual. I see your ideas regarding the summer
crops have proven their merit. We should discuss your other
suggestions for the next season."

"Thank you, miss." A facial tic bothered one
of his eyes every so often, betraying his ill ease. "My wife asked
me to convey her thanks for your help in sending our grandson off
to a proper school this fall."

"Say no more, sir. It's my way of thanking
you for taking such good care of this estate almost your entire
life."

"Well, it was very good of you."

She suppressed a smile. It was the closest
she would get to a personal comment from the dedicated curmudgeon.
It had taken three months, but at last she had gained the respect
and proper deference due her from all of the servants. Ofttimes,
she hated the burden. She would have much rather succumbed to the
gaiety and friendliness she heard emanating from the kitchen and
stables. There were few real joys to be found as the mistress, only
hollow creature comforts.

Mari's sister, Alis, had become Sophie's new
companion to preserve an air of propriety. But the duties of
companionship were fairly lost on Alis who, for the first time away
from a large boisterous family, reveled in the quiet. The cousin
could not be pried away from her books or the solitude of her
embroidery.

And so Sophie roamed the cliffs alone and
accepted the shy formality afforded her by all the tenants,
villagers and shepherds wherever she went. She rigorously shook off
every moment of ennui that dared rear its indolent head by a strict
schedule of charitable work, landowner duties and few
pleasures.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the butler's
intrusion into the steward's dark and leathery lair. "Lord William
Barclay to see you, miss."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Excuse me,
Simmons?"

"Lord William. I put him in the smaller
sitting room on the west end, miss."

"I—I am sorry, Simmons, but I cannot see him,
presently. I must finish this review with Mr. Gallagher."

The steward cleared his throat. "I can wait,
miss. There are still entries to—"

"Thank you, Mr. Gallagher, but I prefer to
attend to this now," Sophie said and turned to the butler. "You may
tell Lord Will-William"—she swallowed quickly—"that I am not
receiving today."

A long silence engulfed the room.

"That is all, Simmons," she said with more
firmness than she felt.

He bowed and retreated.

Sophie looked unseeing at the ledger in front
of her. After a few minutes that felt more like hours, she rose,
trying not to sway. "I think I shall excuse myself, Mr. Gallagher,
after all. Shall we begin again tomorrow, say at eight
o'clock?"

"Of course, miss."

Sophie barely heard his words. She rushed to
the hallway, and turned down the narrow corridor toward the
servant's entrance at the back of the villa. Struggling with the
heavy oak door, she budged it slightly and slipped past, not
bothering to secure it behind her.

She must get away. Get away from all
possibility of seeing him. The passionate turbulence she'd tightly
leashed in the remotest corner of her mind came unbound in a
torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Half running along the faint trail to the
cliff and the sea, and breathing hard from the exertion, she tried
not to succumb to the addictive notion of hope. She'd not dared
imagine he would ignore her words and come.

Oh, she'd dreamed about seeing him again. And
she'd woken each time and had desperately clung to the memory of
those precious imaginings. She'd decided she had little of the
moral strength from her past life. Hence the need for distance.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if
anyone followed her, then stumbled over an overgrown tree root.
Damp tendrils of her hair clung to her neck and face, hampering her
vision.

She chose her footing with more care when she
negotiated the steep, winding trail down the cliff. The dirt and
grass gave way to sandy loam at the small ledge where she jumped
onto the beach littered with odd bits of driftwood. The heavy,
moisture-laden air depressed her spirits further. With reckless
abandon, she kicked free of her sodden slippers at the base of the
berm.

Sophie ran to the sea, her feet sinking into
the wet sand and foam at the water's edge. The sea, what she could
see of it through the fog, was a deep glassy gray. She closed her
eyes and tried to regain her composure by regulating her
breathing.

God was testing her. She struggled to listen
to her heart, past the erratic pounding. But Sophie knew what she
must do or, rather, what she must not do. It was what her father
would have expected of her.

She turned and strode along the shoreline in
the dense haze. The hem of her dress became heavy with sand and
water.

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared in the
swirling fog, striding before her. His tall black riding boots left
deep impressions in the sand while the mist played with the black
tails of his coat.

Her step faltered. And so she would find out
if her character was something she could be proud of after all.

William was angry—an emotion Sophie had never
seen on his face. And he was becoming more furious by the second if
the cold, marble mask he wore was any indication. He bowed
correctly in front of her, all heavy-lidded charm, and
devil-may-care attitude gone from his expression. He appeared years
younger in his fury.

"You will not even receive me, Sophie? Your
mistrust or is it
disgust
, of my character is so deep, then?
Is it as my brother says—that you cannot find it in your heart to
forgive me for my earlier deception?" He gripped her arms almost
painfully. "You always spoke of your father's principles. Did he
not teach you forgiveness? Is not absolution part of godliness? You
are so sure of your own actions in your lifetime?"