Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (25 page)

At first, Sophia had not cared a whit. In fact, she would have been happy to relinquish the spot to anyone, but Drusilla had been grasping, manipulative, spiteful, and every other wicked name she could think of. By the end of the first month, Sophia had entered wholeheartedly into the rivalry.

But then Drusilla married brilliantly, and Sophia began to see the emptiness that filled the London ballrooms. Drusilla had obediently begun breeding, and Sophia had commenced the retreat into herself that earned her the title Ice Queen.

Now, five years later, she could hardly care what Drusilla or anyone else thought of the color of her gown. In fact, she could hardly believe she had ever thought Drusilla worthy of a second thought, much less a rivalry.

"Good morning, Drusilla," Sophia said wearily as Mary began brushing out her hair. "You look pretty as always."

Drusilla stiffened, her gaze narrowing. "Pretty? My dear, one does not call a married woman pretty."

"Hmm? Oh. I am terribly sorry. You look divine." She purposely made her voice flat and weary, hoping Drusilla would take the insult and leave. If she was truly lucky, Drusilla would be so insulted, she would flee Staffordshire entirely.

Contrary to the bone, Drusilla chose instead to supplant the maid at the dresser. "Goodness, you cannot wear your hair like that. Whatever possessed you to cut it so short?"

"It was part of a ritual."

Drusilla paused. "A what?"

Sophia merely shook her head, too tired to explain.

Suddenly, Drusilla was all hands as she fussed about. "Go, go," she said as she waved Mary away. "Let me do it."

The maid hesitated, but Sophia nodded, allowing her to escape. She would not, however, allow Drusilla to touch her blond curls. The shrew might take scissors to them. "I think I shall wear it down," she said as she rose from her chair.

"No, no!" cried Drusilla as she pushed Sophia back down. "We mustn't leave just yet. Please, sit down and tell me all about it."

Sophia merely blinked at Drusilla's reflection in the mirror. "About what?"

"Why, what happened at Baron Riggs's! Did Major Wyclyff attack you? Did you truly defend yourself with a wine bottle?"

"Drusilla—"

"You must know that you have been my dear friend for years. Surely you realize we can discuss anything!"

Sophia allowed herself her first smile in days. "Of course I realize exactly what I can tell you, my dear. But, right now, I am absolutely famished." And with that she straightened her gown and made for the door.

"Wait!"

Sophia did not wait. The threat of an intimate tete-a-tete with Drusilla had her descending the stairs and walking into the breakfast parlor in record time. Even so, she took a moment to steel herself to confront more than one overly curious guest as she crossed into the sunny room. What she had not prepared herself for was the sight of the major, calmly eating eggs at her breakfast table.

"Anthony!" The exclamation was one of shock, and she instantly regretted it. With one word, she had informed everyone in the room that she and the major used Christian names. And there were a lot of people at the table who were gossips.

Just inside her peripheral vision, she counted five of her London "friends." She noted Percy immediately. No doubt he was the reason for her current overabundance of visitors from London. Beside him sat Miss Lydia Smyth—his intended—and her mother. Next to the older woman sat Drusilla's husband, and beside him sat Reginald Peters, Lord Kyle, her neighbor and sometime good friend. Aunt Agatha fluttered near the sideboard, looking less than well.

Sophia barely spared them a thought as the major stood up from his chair.

Sweet Heaven, she had forgotten how good he looked in his uniform. His shoulders never seemed so broad, his carriage never so impressive as when he dressed for the occasion. Add to that the warm sun that seemed to bathe him in a special golden aura, and he was truly magnificent.

She wanted nothing more than to step into his arms and tell him without words just how handsome a man he was. But she could not do that. Indeed, she could not seem to do anything but stare at him. She knew every curve of his face, every muscle in his body—intimately. And yet all she could do was take it in again, filling her hungry eyes with the sight of him.

"Lady Sophia," he said stiffly.

She blinked and swallowed.

"I apologize for intruding on your breakfast in such a way."

"I am afraid we insisted, Sophia, dear," drawled Lord Kyle as he came leisurely to his feet. "Can't starve the man, you know. Especially when he came most particularly to speak with you. And in all his colors, too."

"Oh, do stop, Reg. You are beyond boring today."

Lord Kyle blinked, startled by her curt tone. Sophia was a bit startled herself. She had never snapped like that at anyone in her life. But she did not have time to dwell on it as her thoughts all centered on the major.

If only she could think of something to say instead of gaping at him like a fish. But her body seemed unwilling to perform the simplest of tasks. She stood stupidly, staring at him, reading his body as she might a Minerva novel. She took in the way he favored his injured leg. She noted the tight set to his shoulders and the lines of fatigue that creased his face. He must not have slept well last night.

Perhaps he had been plagued by the same memories she had.

At that thought, her face began to flush, her entire body burning with... with... what? It was part embarrassment, part something else. Something she might label longing or pleasure—or perhaps hunger.

She was not ready to think such thoughts, so she merely swallowed and locked them away. After all her years in London, she was quite adept at the process.

Then Anthony spoke, his rich voice low and husky even as he obviously strived for a formal tone. "Lady Sophia, I wonder if I might have a word with you in private."

"Absolutely not!" cried Drusilla as she stepped forward into the room, placing possessive hands across Sophia's shoulders. "The dear girl is much too distraught to spend any time with you, much less time alone. I am afraid whatever you have to say must be said here. We are, after all, Sophia's dearest friends. She has no secrets from us."

Sophia did not so much as blink. She merely glanced behind the major at the broad expanse of garden and lush greenery just outside the window. Without a second thought, she shrugged Drusilla's hands from her shoulders, then moved for the outside door. "I believe I shall take a walk," she said firmly. "Major, you may accompany me, if you wish."

"But my dear," came Lord Kyle's amused drawl, "do you not fear for your virtue?"

"I shall simply cry out. I am sure I can count on you, my dear friends, to remain within earshot." She made sure the sarcasm fairly dripped in her voice but did not take the leisure to remain and view their reactions. Still, she managed to get a glimpse of Percy's flushed face as she swept from the room.

As expected, the major followed after. As soon as she was out of the room, she moderated her pace so that he could catch up to her.

"Anthony—" she began.

"Not until we are outside."

She nodded and pressed her lips together.

Though she did not say anything, her mind was whirling. Yesterday, she had thought him completely out of her life, and yet here he was again. Rather than feeling annoyed at the intrusion, she was unaccountably cheered. It was a truly odd sensation, and one that she would have to examine more closely later.

They rounded a bend decorated with Aunt Agatha's clematis, and Anthony stopped walking and turned to address her. "I shall make this short."

"Anthony—"

"I realize you have as little wish to speak with me as I with you, but it occurred to me that I made an error in judgment yesterday."

Sophia blinked. Did he mean when they made love? Or when he publicly swore he wanted nothing to do with her? Oh, why did her thoughts insist on whirling when all she wished was for some clear thinking?

Heedless of her turmoil, the major took a deep breath and continued. "Have you thought that perhaps you might be with child?"

Sophia gasped. "A child!" The words came out as a startled whisper, but it seemed to echo in her mind. A baby? The major's baby! Her hand found her belly and she bit her lip, not knowing what to think. On the one hand, she felt an overwhelming sensation of terror. To be pregnant would upset all her carefully laid plans of a peaceful spinsterhood. Which was what she wanted, wasn't it?

On the other hand, he was speaking of a tiny child to cherish and raise. What could be more joyful? Especially if it was a little boy who looked like his father, with dark brown curls and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"I see you had not thought of this." The major's tone was curt, effectively damping much of Sophia's enthusiasm.

"No," she said slowly. "It had not occurred to me."

"Well," he continued, his voice excruciatingly dry, "I have had all night to ponder the possibility."

So, Sophia thought sadly, he had not been tormented by the same erotic dreams as she.

Before she could think of an appropriate comment, Anthony took her by the arms, swinging her around to face him fully. "I will not allow my child to be raised as a bastard."

Sophia felt herself straighten with horror. "Absolutely not!" No child of hers would be so branded.

The major nodded, as if he had expected as much. "Very well. Then we will be forced to wed." He did not seem at all pleased by the thought, and Sophia found her spirits sinking dreadfully fast.

She frowned, staring hard at him, wishing she understood his thoughts. Unfortunately, the major was as unreadable as ever, so she eventually turned away, curling her hands protectively over her belly. "Are we not getting ahead of ourselves? There is nothing to suggest I am with child." Nothing but a tiny flutter of hope quivering within her.

"When should be your next course?"

She blushed at such frank speech, but it did not stop her from answering. "Two weeks. Or perhaps a little sooner."

He nodded, the movement as crisp as a salute. "A fortnight it is, then."

She looked up, squaring her shoulders as she faced him fully. "What do you mean?"

"I have some business in London, but I shall keep my man here. You may contact him at the inn whatever occurs."

Sophia took a hesitant step forward, then stopped, uncertain what she was doing. She had believed her thoughts in turmoil when he appeared this morning, but that was nothing to what she was experiencing now. She felt completely lost in a world that would not settle for one minute.

"Sophia!"

She had not even realized her knees had weakened until he was beside her, gently guiding her to a stone bench. When she felt the solid granite beneath her, she looked down at her hands and spoke to them, focusing on the tight clench of her fingers rather than the man to her left. "I am sorry. It is just that everything moves so fast. I cannot seem to catch my breath."

"I know what you mean," he agreed dryly. Then, with a tenderness belied by his gruff manner, he touched her face. His fingers were callused where they caressed her cheek, but Sophia could not imagine a gentler touch. "You were correct," he said. "We are rushing things. Many go months, even years, without conceiving a child."

There it was again. The word.
Child.
His child. She began to smile, looking up into his handsome face. "We are worrying overmuch. In two weeks, we shall see that there was no cause for concern."

He stiffened, and she felt his withdrawal though she could not understand the reason. There was no time to ponder as he abruptly straightened and looked to the sky. "It is time I left," he said.

She understood his underlying meaning and felt her hands tighten reflexively, as if fending off the thought. But she could not ward it off. "You are going to London," she said. "You will be looking for another wife." Though the words felt leaden in her mouth, she worked hard to keep her voice light.

"No." He shifted so that even her downcast eyes could see his formal stance. He might have been feeing a court-martial for all the stiffness of his carriage. "I shall not look yet. Not until we know for sure."

She let her gaze drift away, seeing the glorious beauty of the summer that surrounded her, knowing it would pass too soon. The fell Season should start in a few weeks. Perhaps you should think of attending—

"In two weeks, Sophia. I will think on it then."

She pressed her lips together, knowing he was right. Neither of them could progress with life until they knew what their night together had cost them. She glanced up at his set face. "What shall I do for two weeks? How can I just pretend that nothing has happened?"

Anthony shrugged. "Enjoy your friends."

"They are not my friends!" she snapped. "They are merely here to find fuel for gossip."

He glanced down at her, apparently startled by her sharp tone. "Then send them away."

She sighed. "What would be the use? The gossip will follow wherever I go. Sending them away would only make things worse."

He shifted, his expression suddenly very cold. "I care nothing for what you do, Sophia, so long as you tell no one what truly happened."