Masquerade (16 page)

Colin held his arm out, but Sophie didn’t place hers in his. It was the first time she had ever refused him.

“See? She’s fine.” Miss Wentworth would have latched onto his arm again, but Colin would rather bite it off than allow it to happen. They only had a very short distance left to the Teasdale residence, and if Sophie didn’t wish to hang on his arm he wouldn’t have anyone on it.

Skirting the pair of women as one might avoid a fully loaded charge of explosives, he moved off the path and into the lane. Slowly, he began to walk. On the path, the women did the same.

“Now that’s better. You can both walk side by side, and I’m still close enough to catch either of you if you slip.” He forced a grin.

Another infernal giggle made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. “It’s so nice to have such a strong, capable man about. Isn’t it, Sophie?” Another giggle. Then, before Sophie could reply, she went on. “I do so enjoy being ferried about by a gentleman. It makes the day seem so much brighter. Don’t you agree, Sophie?”

This time Sophie was forced to answer. Colin knew before she opened her mouth the words weren’t going to be as flowery as her companion’s had been.

He was right.

“Truth be told, I’m not much on being ‘ferried about’ by anyone, Miss Wentworth.” Sophie shot Colin a scathing glare, one that would have curled the toes of an easily frightened man inside his boots. His remained flat against his boot soles, which was good because she was not done. “As for the brightness of the day, I must admit it was considerably brighter earlier this morning than it is now. Why, I almost venture to say it seems…”

They had reached their destination. The gate and the front walk were all that remained before he could consider the ladies well and truly accompanied to their end. Suddenly he could not wait to be away from them—even Sophie. What had seemed like such a grand idea only a short time earlier now seemed a colossal mistake. He had accomplished nothing worthwhile these past minutes. Quite the contrary; Sophie had never been so annoyed with him, or he so disappointed in her. How could she be so angry when it was plain to all involved that the attraction between the Teasdale guest and himself was purely one-sided?

Again, Sophie glanced his way. Then, she turned her attention to the gate, unlocking it and pushing it wide open. She walked through, leaving them to follow—or not. It was no secret she wished for the latter.

She will have the last word,
Colin realized as he watched Sophie march to the front steps. Neither he nor Miss Wentworth followed, so his view of her retreat was unobstructed. Had she not been in such a fit of temper, he would have laughed at the amusingly indignant stride she adopted. He might have bungled this attempt at placating her, but he wasn’t stupid, so he wisely kept his amusement to himself.

At the door, Sophie turned. She glanced at the sky, and pronounced, “Yes, I’m quite certain of it. This morning was much brighter.” She looked to where they stood and said, a genial lilt in her tone making her words sound cordial, “It’s quite drab now by comparison. Quite
dismal
, actually.”

With that said, she opened the door and went inside.

For a long moment, Colin stared at the gaping front door.

Then, he gave into his urge—and laughed. What else could he do under the circumstances? The blond beside him stood with her mouth hanging wide, staring between his face and the door, but he didn’t explain. Why bother, when the only one he wanted to understand him was already inside?

Chapter 10

Morning came long before Sophie was fully rested. She had spent another night tossing and turning in her bed, awake long after the coals in the warming pan had gone colder than stones in a creek bed. Their heat hadn’t been enough to lull her to sleep. Her mind was too jam-packed with scattered thoughts. Her conflicting emotions only added another dimension to her state of alertness.

Until I figure myself out, I fear I shall not find a moment of peaceful slumber.

Sandpapery eyes gazed out on the world beyond the front parlor window. The room was blessedly empty. The only sounds came from the kitchen. Soon the aroma of coffee would fill the air, but for now there wasn’t anything even remotely enticing about the quiet morning.

She’d escaped the bedroom while Rachel was still fast asleep. Her nose had been the only thing poking out from beneath the bedcovers when Sophie tiptoed by her. Even a creaking floorboard wasn’t enough to move the slumbering form, and Sophie had sighed in relief. She needed to be alone.

It looked to be another in a long string of bleak days. A steely gray sky with quickly moving clouds scudded against the darker background. It wasn’t snowing, but if the sky and clouds were indications, it wouldn’t be long before fresh snow fell atop the slushy gray mess coating the lane.

Winter in London was similar to winter in any other cold-weather city. Long stretches of harsh weather, dotted here and there with all-too-brief interludes of brightness, made the months seem endless. Very few parties, no circus in town, and hardly any other amusements made for dreary living.

The next spot of sunshine on the calendar was the St. Valentine’s Day dance at the Atwell house. It was only a few weeks away, and should have brought a tingle of anticipation and a feeling of eagerness to the day but it did neither. Sophie didn’t feel thrilled by the prospect of another masked dance. She didn’t wish to attend, but could see no way out of going. Short of falling down dead in the street, she would be obligated to attend—like it or not.

Sophie sighed, and let the heavy brocade drapery panel fall back into place. The room got darker without the feeble daylight to add to her candle’s glow, but she didn’t care. What did it matter?

“Such a deep sigh from such a beautiful lady. It behooves me to ask, my dear daughter, what it is that makes you sound so gloomy.”

She hadn’t heard her mother enter the room. The idea of being alone, even for a short period of time, had appealed to her, but now that her mother stood before her, Sophie realized how desperate she was for company.

“I hate it that I don’t know what I want,” she admitted, folding into one corner of the sofa with yet another long exhalation.

Her mother sat beside her. She still wore her favorite pink dressing gown, and her hair hung down her back in one thick braid, making her look much younger than her years. Sophie could well imagine her mother as a woman her own age, someone just starting out with her whole life stretching before her. She hadn’t lost any of her girlish figure, and there were very few lines on her creamy complexion.

“Why do you need to know this very minute? Can’t you allow your aspirations to reveal themselves in due course?”

It sounded logical, but Sophie couldn’t agree with her mother’s rationale. It didn’t take into account the emotions swirling within her, or the way those thoughts made her feel completely out of control.

“I wish I could, Mother, but I must admit I’m too impatient for that. I cannot bear the thought of feeling this way any longer. Lately my life is not my own, and this uncontrolled chaos has to stop. This cannot be my life.” Sophie drummed her fingers impatiently on the arm of the sofa. The dull thumping rhythm on the worn chintz was the only sound in the room for several heartbeats.

“Whose life are you living, then, if not your own?”

Leave it to her mother to get to the heart of the question! It was something Sophie had asked herself time and again, yet she had no answer.

“I don’t know. Oh, Mother, I feel as helpless as a cork bobbing along in a stream, caught by the current and lacking the wherewithal to choose my own course. I hate feeling tugged this way, pulled from one idea to the next without any rational thought behind any of my feelings. It is entirely upsetting.”

Her mother smiled, and then nodded. “I can see how that might trouble you, especially since you have always been, and, I suspect, will always be, my sensible child.” She looked thoughtful for a long moment, as if choosing her words carefully.

Sophie wondered what she was about, but knew enough to hold her tongue. Her mother would reveal herself in due time.

“I know you must imagine your father and I have always been as we are now, an old married couple who never do anything exciting or go anywhere particularly invigorating. We are, at this point in our lives, settled.” When Sophie opened her mouth to protest, her mother cut her off. “Before you try to deny the truth, let me remind you that I’ve known you from the minute of your birth. I can tell what you think before you even open your mouth. It is, I am happy to say, a talent reserved for mothers.”

Sophie smiled and closed her mouth with a tiny snap. She sat back against the sofa arm and waited for her mother to continue.

The wait was not long. “All this is true of your father and I; we are mature and compatible, and as such we are, thankfully, happily settled to a way of life that suits us. But we were not always this way, my dear. No, we were not always the people you see before you now. We were…” A small smile played around the corners of her lips when she said, “We were young once. Fun, carefree—much as you are now. We had, as you do, decisions to make. There were many times, I assure you, when I felt as you do—tossed about like a cork, which is, by the way, a very good comparison. It can make one feel somewhat queasy, can’t it, to be tugged in so many directions all at once?”

Mother understands! I am not alone in my misery!

“Oh, Mother, it does—honestly, there are times when I fear I will surely cast up my accounts from the stress of it all.”

“Tell me, Sophie…Are your misgivings and decisions all about men, or does something more bother you?”

Something more? Gracious, it hardly seemed fathomable that any other problem could exist. Every other aspect of her life was in order, and gave her satisfaction. Now, if she could only find a way to solve the treachery of her own heart, she might find some peace.

Her mother waited, so Sophie shrugged.

“I am quite ordinary, I fear. My problems are all affairs of the heart—nothing more, and nothing less. There are times when I am sure I know my feelings with such certainty I might never be dissuaded. Other times I am pulled between being satisfied with being a spinster and wanting to marry.”

Nothing prepared Sophie for her mother’s girlish giggle. The sound was so sweet and lyrical and so far removed from their guest’s telltale twitter that Sophie instinctively smiled.

“What is so funny?”

Her mother waved her hand, a fast flapping motion before her face, as if cooling her cheeks. When she turned around, Sophie saw a tear sliding down the familiar cheek.

“Are you all right? Mother, what is it?” Sophie leaned forward and pulled her mother’s hand into her own. It was cool and dry, so her immediate fear that the Randolph illness had spread to their home disappeared.

“Don’t fret so. I am not unwell—just amused. My dear Sophie, although you have the notion in your pretty head that you are, at your ‘advanced’ age, well on your way to spinsterhood, those who know you best know without a doubt that you would make a better hackney driver than spinster. And as I know your skills with animals are limited to petting cats and stray dogs on their heads, it is clear as a bell that you will never be happy unless you decide to get married.” She took a long breath, and then added, “Which, I most emphatically assure you, is the wish of both your father and me—that you marry. And since I am your mother and allowed certain latitude with regard to speaking freely, it is also our fondest hope that you will provide us with a houseful of grandchildren to spoil.”

“Mother! Grandchildren, when I cannot even decide the way my tortured heart leans? Let me point out, as well, that no man has offered his hand in marriage, so this is really a superfluous conversation.” How could she let herself get so caught up in outrageous situations? It was irresponsible and completely illogical—and wholly out of keeping with the way she had always conducted herself.
Whatever is happening to me?

“But you will consider an offer, if one should come your way, won’t you?”

The way her mother’s lips quirked up at the edges gave her away instantly.

“You spoke with Rachel, didn’t you?” She should have known better than to think her younger sister could keep a secret. Stealth had never been one of Rachel’s strongest traits.

“Every day. I speak with all my children every day, thank God.” Sophie’s mother began undoing her braid, so she did not look up when she spoke. It wasn’t necessary. Sophie could hear the satisfaction and amusement in her mother’s voice.

“You know what I mean. Rachel told you about the New Year’s resolution she forced from me.”

The resolution, so blithely given, hadn’t been far from her mind since the night it was uttered. The words might haunt her forever. How could she entertain the next prospect of marriage when it was so horridly obvious that there wasn’t one anywhere on her immediate horizon? Had more than the family known about her bargain, she would have been mortified, but with Rachel and her mother the only—hopefully!—ones in on the secret, she was simply embarrassed.

“I won’t tell a Canterbury tale. Rachel did let me in on your surprising—and entirely appropriate—little arrangement.” She loosed the last few inches of hair, ran her splayed fingers through the thick locks and smiled. “I won’t lie when I tell you what I think of the idea, either.”

“It is preposterous!”

Sophie’s mother turned to face her, and this time her look was not amused at all. With a stern expression, she said, “The only thing that is preposterous, Sophie Clare Teasdale, is your blatant doubt that you are worth marrying. Goodness, did I fail so horribly that I didn’t teach you your own self-worth? Is that the problem? If it is, I owe you a huge apology, my dear. You seem to think you are not marriage-worthy, that you are simply Rachel’s older sister and little else. Why, it is true…we don’t have a large dowry for you girls, and there will never be a suitor on our doorstep who wishes to marry into the Teasdale family to better his financial situation. I am, most assuredly, thankful for that fact. When you and Rachel marry, I want it to be for love, not money. I want you girls to lose your hearts to worthy men, men who are able to see past made-over dresses and humble circumstances. I want you and Rachel to find husbands who love you for yourselves and nothing more. But first, before any of that can happen, you must believe in yourself. It hurts me to say it, but it’s true. No man will see your worth until you value yourself.”