Amelia Grey - [Rogues' Dynasty 06] (22 page)

The course of true love never did run smooth.

—William Shakespeare

It had taken Sophia two days, but she had finally gotten mad at Matson.

How dare he trade her for the beautiful Miss Craftsman, with her clear olive skin and hair as dark and shiny as a raven’s feathers? And of all the gentlemen in London to trade her to—Lord Snellingly!

If Matson hadn’t wanted to attend May Day Fair Day with her, he could have at least changed with the younger, stronger Lord Hargraves, so she would have had at least a chance of beating him in the rowboat race. The only way Sophia could imagine Lord Snellingly in a rowboat was with a servant doing the rowing while he read poetry. The only other worst possible choice would have been the amorous Lord Bighampton.

She had tried to refrain from wondering if Matson had taken Miss Craftsman for a practice session on the Serpentine. The only thing she could hope was that there hadn’t been enough time.

Sophia took out the last dress hanging in her wardrobe, looked it over, sighed, and then threw it on top of all the others she had piled high on the bed. She had morning dresses, day dresses, and carriage dresses, but none of them seemed appropriate for the kind of dress Matson had described for a day of excitement and activity in the park. Her aunts had successfully seen to it that every piece of clothing she had was adorned with lace, ribbons, bows, or buttons, with many of them having a combination of all four.

She knew Matson was right when he’d told her that dresses adorned with elaborate sewing notions were simply too fancy for outside games and frolic. Sophia was strong and determined, and even with Lord Snellingly as her partner, Sophia planned to be respectable competition for Matson and all the other people in the rowboat race. And she intended to enjoy herself and not even look at Matson should he dare come near her.

Standing with her hands on her hips at the end of the four-poster bed, she studied the mountain of garments in front of her. The May Day Fair Day was tomorrow. She had to make a decision. She would go through them all again and decide which one would be easiest to remove the trim, and to do it herself. If she mentioned it to her aunts, they would surely insist that Mrs. Franco should come and do it for her. Sophia couldn’t bear the thought of more endless hours standing on that woman’s seamstress stool.

Sophia started her search again and finally picked up a dark gray morning dress with short, puffy sleeves. The black bows on the hem of the sleeves and at the jewel neckline should be easy enough to remove, and so would the wide sash that tied in the back. She held the dress up to her. She also needed to make the hem of the skirt shorter, and that would be the difficult thing for her to do, but do it she would.

“What are you doing?”

Sophia turned toward the doorway and saw her aunt June, leaning on her cane and staring at all the dresses heaped on the bed. Sophia moved in front of the pile of clothing in hopes of keeping it from looking so rumpled.

“Good morning, Aunt June. You’re up early.”

“That’s because I’ve been going to bed earlier since I haven’t been able to attend any of the parties because of my ankle.”

June hadn’t lost the sauce in her voice since she had revealed her past to Sophia and Mae two nights ago, and she hadn’t softened her stern expression any either.

“I’m trying to decide what to wear tomorrow for the May Day Fair Day in the park.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed a new dress? I’ll call for Mrs. Franco to come at once. She can make the dress just the way you want it. She is a wizard with patterns, and her workers are fast.”

“There really isn’t time for that, Aunt June. I’m sure this dress will be perfect if I take off the bows and shorten the hem. I’m used to doing the finer stitchery with an embroidery sample, but I think I can handle a sturdier sewing needle.”

June walked farther into the room. “Well,” she said cautiously as she looked over the dress in Sophia’s hands, “I could help you with that if you would like. I have the time.”

Surprised, Sophia said, “That would be lovely.” Sophia didn’t mind her aunt helping, she just didn’t want her taking over. She explained to June what she wanted done to the dress.

“Give the dress to me. I’ll do it for you.”

Sophia continued to hold the dress in front of her. “I don’t want to bother you to do all of it. I can help.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, taking the dress from Sophia. “It’s never been a bother for me to do anything for you. Besides, it will make me feel useful. I used to be quite handy with a sewing needle.”

“You did?”

“Yes. You know when your mother, Mae, and I were young girls, we only had one maid, not three and four like most homes have today. Our maid had all she could do just taking care of the cleaning and cooking. We girls, your mother included, had to take care of our own mending.”

Sophia felt a quickening in her stomach. “I would like to hear more about that time, Auntie.”

June’s shoulders relaxed a little, and Sophia saw a hint of a smile. She saw a softening in her aunt, and she was drawn to it. Suddenly Sophia knew that her aunt was going to be fine.

“All right. I’ll do this for you right after breakfast. You can watch me to make sure it’s done just the way you want it, and I’ll tell you more about your mother’s childhood.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

“I’ll go put this in my room and meet you below stairs in a few minutes.”

Sophia walked down the stairs and into the breakfast room. Sir Randolph was sitting at the head of the table, reading his newsprint. “Good morning,” she said.

He folded the paper and laid it aside. “Is that a smile I see on your face?”

Sophia showed him an even wider smile as she walked past him and over to the buffet. “You sound like that surprises you.”

“It does. The last two days, you’ve been walking around here like you’d lost your best friend.”

“I woke this morning and decided I was not going to let Mr. Brentwood keep me from enjoying the day tomorrow.”

“That’s the way to be.”

“Will you be going to the May Day Fair Day?” Sophia asked, helping herself to scrambled eggs, cheese, and scones.

“I wouldn’t miss it. I’m sure Lord Tradesforke has worked hard to make it very entertaining. Though, you know members of the
ton
don’t need much of a reason to have a party or a good time. Tell me, did you ever find out if Mr. Brentwood was the one who found your mother’s brooch for you?”

A pang of sadness and regret stabbed through Sophia. She was glad her back was to him, because the smile quickly faded from her face. She couldn’t let him know how deeply she felt about what Matson had done. She couldn’t let anyone know.

“Yes, but he didn’t give me any details.”

“You know what Mr. Brentwood did was the best thing for you. He needed to step aside and let you continue with what you need to do. The Season is more than half over.”

Yes, she knew, but she didn’t want to face it. She would put on a happy face as she did this morning and be brave for all to see, but she felt wretched and empty inside.

Sophia placed her plate on the table and saw an envelope with her name on it. For a fraction of a heartbeat, she thought perhaps it was from Matson, telling her he was sorry and she would be his partner after all. A closer look at the writing told her it wasn’t from Matson. The large fanciful script writing was from Lord Snellingly’s hand. She pushed the note aside and sat down.

“Aren’t you going to open your letter?”

“No,” she said. “Lord Snellingly sent me three notes yesterday, and all of them were filled with poetry he’d written for me. I can’t read any more of it.”

“You know the earl will be the best one for you to make a match with, don’t you?”

Sophia’s stomach tightened as she looked up at Sir Randolph. She didn’t want to think about the fact that she needed to decide on a man to marry, so she remained quiet.

But Sir Randolph didn’t. “I know Lord Hargraves is younger, more handsome, and probably more to your liking, but I would have doubts about his handling of your inheritance.”

“Why is that?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of hot chocolate.

“I’ll just say that he’s known to be free with his own inheritance, so I wouldn’t want to trust him with yours. He gambles without setting boundaries or control. I fear the bigger his pockets, the bigger his borders will be, if you know what I mean.”

Yes, she knew what that meant, and that wasn’t the kind of person she wanted to be in control of her father’s company.

“You know, Sophia, your father didn’t want me picking a husband for you, he wanted me only to guide you. He wanted the man to be your choice. He never wavered on that point.”

“My choice as long as he is titled, Sir Randolph,” she said, placing her cup on the table and taking a seat.

“Yes. He never wavered on that either.”

“Good morning, Sir Randolph,” June said when she walked into the breakfast room.

“Miss Shevington,” he said and picked up his newsprint, stuck it in front of his face, and went back to his reading.

“Would you like me to help you with your plate, Auntie?” Sophia asked.

“I’m crippled, not helpless. I can handle it.”

Sophia spread butter and plum jam on her scone while she thought over what Sir Randolph had said. There was no way she was going to consider Lord Bighampton. She didn’t want to spend her life being chased around the settee, or being isolated at his country estate. She agreed with Sir Randolph. Lord Snellingly would be the most likely husband to give her the freedom she desired so she could continue to help oversee her father’s business. But could she live with his incessant need to write and read his poetry to her?

And what about his touch? He had never tried to kiss her, and when he touched her hand while they were dancing, she felt no spark of desire, no craving to see him or touch him or to be with him like she felt every time Matson crossed her mind.

She laid her scone down without having taken a bite. Lord Snellingly’s poetry was the least of her worries. Could she ever let him touch her after Matson? Her only hope was that she could find some measure of solace in Shevington Shipping.

“You have a note by your plate, Sophia,” June said when she took a seat at the table. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

Sophia sighed. “I can tell by the writing that it’s from Lord Snellingly, and I don’t want to read more of his poetry right now. I will let Aunt Mae read it. She seems to be enthralled with every word he writes.”

“May I?” June asked.

“Of course,” Sophia said and pushed the card toward her.

“Sophia, this isn’t poetry,” June said. “Something has happened.”

Sir Randolph lowered his paper. Sophia’s heart sped up again. “What? Did Matson ask for me to be his partner again?”

“Matson?” June and Sir Randolph said at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Aunt Mae, Sir Randolph. I think of him by his first name sometimes. Just tell me, am I to be his partner?”

“No, but neither will Lord Snellingly be your partner. Shall I read it to you?”

“Yes, please,” she said, wondering if the entire event had been canceled.

June read:

My dearest and most lovely Miss Hart,

I regret having to tell you that I cannot participate in the eagerly awaited May Day Fair Day games and alfresco entertainment of Old London with you at Hyde Park tomorrow. I have had the unfortunate displeasure of being stricken with a painful uprising of gout, and the beast has laid me low. So it is with great sorrow that I have had to ask my cousin, who’s just arrived for a visit from Cornwall, to act as my proxy. He will arrive in my carriage precisely at half past nine in the morning for you and the Misses Shevington, so that you might be on time for the festivities starting at ten. I’m sure he will make a good showing for me.

I am with all due respect yours very truly,

Lord Snellingly

Sophia put her elbows on the table and dropped her forehead into her hands. “Oh, Aunt June, what am I to do? I will have to spend the entire day with a stranger. I could just—”

“What, dear?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I could scream at Mr. Brentwood for putting me in this position.”

“Sophia, you know what he did was the best thing for you,” Aunt June said. “I’ve said this before. You can’t marry him.”

A deep longing stirred inside Sophia. “I have not lost sight of what I need to do, Auntie.”

She just wished she didn’t have to do it.

Love is a second life; it grows into the soul, warms every vein, and beats in every pulse.

—Joseph Addison

Saturday dawned with blue skies and a big yellow sun heating the air.

Matson had dressed in his lightest shirt, waistcoat, and coat. He had loosely tied his neckcloth and made sure his collar wasn’t too tight. He knew the day was going to be long, and if the sun was any indication, very warm for the last Saturday in May.

Lord Tradesforke’s people must have worked all night to set up the fair. They had roped off a large section of the park near the Serpentine to keep out the uninvited. But plenty of onlookers were already crowding the edges of the ropes in hopes of getting a glimpse of all that would be happening.

Crowds were already gathering inside the ropes too. There were booths laden with food, drinks, and games. The cubicles that housed puppets singing and dancing were drawing the largest crowds. Card tables had been set up at various places around the ringed area, and some eager souls were already playing loo, piquet, and commerce. Another section had been roped off separately, where there were monkeys, bears, an elephant, and other animals caged for everyone to see. As Lord Tradesforke had promised, there would be no lack of entertainment.

Matson had arrived at the park early to pick out which boat he wanted for the race. There were several different races to participate in throughout the day, but he wanted only to compete in the rowboat race, and then only if Lord Snellingly and Sophia participated in it. Outwardly, he was making a good show of looking forward to the day, speaking to gentlemen and tipping his hat to the ladies. He would do his job and see to it that Miss Craftsman had a lovely time, but as for himself, he would only be pretending to enjoy himself.

Once he had picked the one he wanted and put a flask of water in it, he then looked at the watch he’d stuck in his coat pocket. He’d told Miss Craftsman to be on the banks of the Serpentine by ten, but she had already missed that by thirty minutes. The race wasn’t until half past one, but he’d wanted to go over some of the rules with her that he had covered with Sophia.

It didn’t matter what Matson was doing, his thoughts always drifted back to Sophia. He had often been hit with mild interest in young ladies, but he felt stirrings of lust the first time he saw Sophia. There was no doubt he wanted her. But over the weeks he’d known her, those rash feelings had changed to something more reverent than lust, and he was still trying to recognize, understand, and accept them.

His mind took him back to that day on the Serpentine with Sophia. He would never forget how fragile she was when she was reminded of the fire. He would never forget how right she felt in his arms, how satisfying she felt beneath him, or how sweet she tasted to his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment and imagined his lips on hers. He heard her soft sounds of passion and felt her fingertips on his bare skin. He would always remember her willingly giving herself to him with such innocence and eagerness to know what being with a man was all about. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that she belonged to him and no one else.

When Matson looked up, he saw Sophia walking in his direction. His heartbeat slowed and started thumping hard and determined. He couldn’t help but smile. She was dressed perfectly for the day, in a dark gray dress that wouldn’t show soil easily. There were no bows, lace, or ribbons adorning it, and it was just the right length. On her feet were safe, comfortable work boots. Her hair was tucked under a short-brimmed oval bonnet, perfect for protection from the sun but would not impair her vision. Matson smiled. She’d listened to every word he’d said, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her look more beautiful.

He had an overwhelming desire to rush to her, pick her up in his arms, and swing her around until she was dizzy with delight. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, and touch her. He wanted to ease the ache in his chest.

He knew the moment she saw him. Her steps faltered slightly. She blinked and quickly looked away from him. His gut wrenched. He didn’t blame her, only himself. This was what he’d wanted. The turn of events for this day were all his own making, but looking at her now, he wished like hell he could go back and change what he’d done. But he couldn’t. No matter the feelings eating away inside him, they didn’t belong together.

Matson didn’t see Lord Snellingly walking with her. Where was the fop, and who was that young buck walking beside Sophia? Why was he talking to her on such friendly terms? And why was she smiling and laughing with him?

Matson studied the man, certain he hadn’t seen him before. He was about Matson’s height and almost as broad in the shoulders. He supposed the man could be considered handsome by the ladies. Matson figured the blade looked to be about six or eight years younger than he was.

Where was the earl? Matson grimaced. He scanned the crowd that had grown quite large over the past half hour but didn’t see him. He followed Sophia and the man to a gaming booth, where the buck easily knocked over all the bottles with a ball and won Sophia a little doll not much bigger than her hand, but it certainly put a smile of appreciation on her face.

Matson was suddenly plagued with huge bouts of the green-eyed monster Shakespeare so cleverly wrote about in
The
Merchant
of
Venice
. He couldn’t stop following them. They left and walked to another booth, where the man purchased her a sugared tart. It drove Matson crazy watching her eat it while she conversed with the man, who appeared to be trying to charm her out of her chemise.

Finally, when Matson could no longer stand watching the buck make her laugh with such ease, he walked over to them and said, “Good morning, Miss Hart.”

Sophia turned toward him. She was still holding the doll in her hand. Matson had a sudden urge to rip it from her and throw it in the Serpentine.

The smile on her face dried up instantly when she saw him. “Mr. Brentwood,” she said, and turned to the man beside her. “Have you met Mr. Adam Beckett?”

The men greeted each other coolly. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“Perhaps you know Mr. Beckett’s father, Viscount Rosenwall.”

Matson scoffed a bitter laugh under his breath. He should have known. The man would have a title one day. Why didn’t that surprise Matson?

“I’ve heard of him.”

Sophia smiled at Mr. Beckett before looking at Matson again and saying, “Mr. Beckett is Lord Snellingly’s cousin and my partner for the day.”

Shock registered on Matson’s face before he could stop it, so there was nothing to do but admit it. “That surprises me.”

Sophia gave him a look that seemed to say “I bet it does.”

Matson’s jaw tightened. The reason he’d traded Sophia to Lord Snellingly was because she was safe with the earl. He envisioned the man reading poetry to her while she rowed the boat. It never dawned on Matson that she might somehow be put into the hands of another man—a much younger, stronger, much more handsome, and soon-to-be-titled man.

“What happened to the earl?” Matson asked.

Sophia said, “Lord Snellingly took to his sick bed with an affliction that comes on him from time to time. It’s nothing serious, and it seems to pass in a few days.”

It was Matson’s turn to give Sophia a look that said “I bet it does.”

“It’s gout,” Mr. Beckett said.

“How fortunate it is for Miss Hart that you were able to step in and fill his shoes for today’s events,” Matson said.

“Isn’t it, though? I just arrived in London a couple of days ago to enjoy the last two weeks of the Season.” He looked down at Sophia. “I had thought about not coming. Now I’m glad I did.”

“And do you write poetry like your cousin, Mr. Beckett?” Mason asked.

Beckett wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “No.”

Matson smiled. “That’s too bad. Miss Hart loves poetry.”

“Look, Mr. Brentwood,” Sophia said, “here comes your partner for the day, Miss Craftsman. And see how lovely she is.”

Matson looked behind him and swallowed hard. Miss Craftsman was dressed as if she were going to a dinner party rather than a fair day in the park. Her dress was not only sweeping the ground with every step she took, it was ballooned with lace-trimmed flounces and ribbons streaming from her cuffs and the waistband. Her bonnet looked to be the size of a washing tub, and still she carried a parasol decked with ribbons.

The tables had turned on Matson, and he didn’t like it. He had hoped to see Sophia stranded in the middle of the lake while the earl read poetry to her, and instead, he was the one with the albatross in his boat. Damn that Snellingly. Why did the man have to get sick and turn Sophia over to Mr. Beckett?

Hadn’t it been punishment enough that he’d verbally lashed himself over and over again for the foolish move of exchanging Sophia for Miss Craftsman?

“Hmm.” Sophia said. “It looks like you didn’t have any rowing practice with Miss Craftsman.”

“No, I didn’t,” Matson mumbled tightly, but looked directly into Sophia’s eyes. “There’s only one person I want to be in a rowboat with.”

He saw her swallow hard.

“Are you a betting man, Mr. Brentwood?” Mr. Beckett asked.

“As much as any man,” he answered without taking his gaze from Sophia’s. He had a feeling she knew she was torturing him.

“What about a friendly wager between us on who wins the rowboat race on the Serpentine? I think I can beat you.”

Matson forced himself to take his eyes off Sophia. The man looked strong, capable, but Matson had done a lot of rowing when he was in Baltimore. Many times their ships wouldn’t have docking space at the harbor, so they would anchor offshore. He’d never minded rowing out to the ships. He was confident he could take this young man.

“All right,” Matson said. “If I win, I get to be Miss Hart’s partner the rest of the day, and you take mine.”

He heard Sophia’s intake of breath.

Mr. Beckett looked from Sophia to Miss Craftsman, who was walking delicately toward them, and he said, “That’s not what I had in mind. I was thinking we’d lay down a little blunt to make the race interesting.”

“I don’t care if it’s interesting, and I don’t want your money. If I win, I get Miss Hart. I’m a shipbuilder. If I lose, I’ll build and present you with a small ship.”

Beckett grunted.

“That’s my wager. Take it or leave it.”

Sophia gasped. “Matson, have you lost your mind?”

“I have no use for a ship,” Mr. Beckett said.

“Thank God,” Sophia whispered.

“But I accept your bet,” Mr. Beckett added.

“No,” Sophia whispered, and then said, “Stop this madness, both of you right now. There will be no betting on this race. How dare you suggest a wager, Mr. Beckett, and how dare you offer such a prize, Mr. Brentwood.”

Matson stared at Sophia. She was outraged, but she would get over it. He was determined to right the wrong he’d done. He wanted her back, and he’d risk everything to get her.

“It’s a deal,” Matson said, reaching out his hand to Mr. Beckett.

Mr. Beckett snorted a laugh and folded his hands across his chest. “Not so quick. How do I know that you will build me that ship when you lose?”

Matson spread his arm out toward the crowd. “Ask any of the gentlemen you see here. They know me as a man of my word.”

“Don’t be foolish, Mr. Beckett,” Sophia said. “And take my word for it that you cannot trust Mr. Brentwood’s word.” She turned to Matson. “He says no, Mr. Brentwood. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have other people to see.”

Mr. Beckett stuck out his hand and said, “I accept that you are an honorable man, and I accept your terms.”

“But you can’t,” Sophia said, looking from her partner to Matson. “This is outrageous.”

Yes, but you are worth it, and I will win you back!

Sophia stared at Matson. “What if you lose?” she continued.

“I will pay my debt.”

Her eyes softened, and she implored him, “Don’t do this, Matson.”

“I have to,” he said and turned toward Miss Craftsman.

***

It was half an hour before the rowing would begin, and Matson had left Miss Craftsman in her parents’ care so he could have a few minutes of quiet before the race started. The lady was lovely to look at, but she never stopped talking. He did his duty as her partner for the morning and walked around the fair with her, buying her sweets and flowers, winning her a lace handkerchief, and telling her more than once how lovely she looked.

He’d walked quite a distance away from the crowd and found a place where he could take his coat off and stretch his arms and shoulders. It wouldn’t do to get a cramp while he was rowing. He had the opportunity to get Sophia back, and he didn’t intend to lose. Lord Snellingly would never have agreed to such a wager.

Matson had to be at his best. He wished he could row without having Miss Craftsman in the boat with him. At least Sophia knew how to row—but would she? She was angry with him for more than one reason, but was she angry enough to help Beckett win?

“What in the bloody hell have you done?”

Matson turned at the sound of his brother’s angry voice. “Plenty, but what specifically are you talking about?” Matson said. He wasn’t sorry about what he’d done, and he wasn’t going to let his brother change that.

“Is it true that you bet a man a ship that you would win the right to spend the afternoon with Miss Hart? A ship?”

“Yes.”

Iverson shook his head in disbelief. “A ship? Have you gone completely mad?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Of course you have. You just bet a ship, Matson. A ship for a partner you had and traded her away.”

“I know all the details, Iverson.”

“I—I don’t know what to say. What could possibly have possessed you to make such an outlandish wager? You don’t look that deep in your cups.”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t look jug bitten either, and I know you haven’t been to a smoking house, so what in the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

“All right,” Matson said angrily. “For once I acted like you. I spoke before I thought things through. I let my temper get the best of me.”