Sex and the Single Earl (17 page)

“The countess,” she blurted out. “Countess Randolph told me. In Barratt’s. In front of everyone.”

His dark eyes filled with pity and regret. Bile rose in her throat at the sight, and she knew in that moment everything she feared was true.

“Sophie.” His voice was unbearably gentle.

“How could you tell your mistress, Simon? How could you tell your mistress before you told me? Did you plan this with her?”

She could hear a shocked gasp coming from Lady Jane.

“That’s enough, Sophia Stanton,” Lady Eleanor barked. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had gone mad. What Simon does with other women is his business, not yours. You are not to ask of such things.”

“Aunt Eleanor, would you—”

Lady Eleanor cut Simon off. “Be quiet. You and Sophia have made a herculean mess of this situation, which I am now obligated to clean up. I will not have either the St. James name or the Stanton name dragged through the muck.”

She directed a stern gaze at Sophie. “Sophia, you should be grateful that Simon has asked for your hand in marriage. Both families have desired this for years, and both will benefit greatly from the union. General Stanton and Simon’s grandfather planned this marriage while you were still in the cradle, as you well know, and you will bring honor to all of us by this match.”

Lady Eleanor’s words fell like a death blow upon Sophie’s heart. How could she have imagined Simon might actually love her?

“Thank you for your help, Aunt Eleanor,” Simon interjected in a dry voice. “I’m sure Sophie understands everything now.”

Sophie pivoted on her heel to gaze at him. “Why do you want to marry me, Simon? Tell the truth.”

He winced. She was stunned to see a dull red creep across his cheekbones.

“Puck, it might be better if we talk about this alone.”

She couldn’t bear his gentle tone or his endearments. “Why should we speak alone? After all, we’re not building a family, we’re building a dynasty. Why shouldn’t the whole family be part of this discussion? This is a business matter, isn’t it? It’s my dowry you want, not me.”

Something flashed across his face. If she hadn’t been looking straight at him she would have missed it, since his usual reserved expression fell back into place instantly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve already told you why I want to marry you.”

She felt the walls of her carefully constructed world come tumbling down. She knew now they had been built on shoddy, self-indulgent stories she had told herself since she was a little girl—foolish, romantic lies.

“I won’t do it.” She choked on the words. “I will not be a pawn. I will not be a sacrifice on the altar of your ambitions.”

He jerked back as if she had slapped him.

“Sophie, for God’s sake.” He shoved his hand through his thick hair in a gesture of frustration.

“Really, Sophia, you are most dramatic.” Lady Eleanor had obviously decided to launch back into the fray. “It’s time you gave up your sentimental notions about life. You could learn from the example of your fiancé. Simon relinquished that kind of foolishness years ago to do his duty by his family.”

Sophie could actually hear Simon grind his teeth. He looked like he wanted to throttle every person in the room, including her.

“Sophie.” Robert sounded desperate.

She slowly turned to look at him. He had been so quiet these last few minutes she had almost forgotten he was in the room. Why wasn’t her brother coming to her aid?

“Robert, you understand, don’t you? I won’t settle for less than what you and Annabel have. I can’t.” Sophie felt moisture trickle down her cheeks. She rubbed it away with an impatient hand—she had no time to waste on tears.

“Of course you can’t, dearest.” Annabel’s voice quivered with emotion. “Nor should you.”

Robert rolled his eyes at his wife before returning his gaze to Sophie.

“You won’t be settling for anything, sis. You’ll be the Countess of Trask.” Her brother was pleading with her now. “We did this for your own good, Soph. Can’t you see that? You can’t rattle around forever like an old tabby. Besides—”

Don’t! Don’t say it.
She waited for the blade to fall.

“Besides,” continued her brother, “you love Simon. Everybody knows that.”

Sophie dimly heard Simon utter a curse. Finally, the enormity of her family’s betrayal swept through her veins like a tide driven by a winter storm. Blinking back a few useless tears, she turned her back on Robert and made her way to the door. She stopped when she came level with Simon.

“I’d rather be a spinster for the rest of my days than married to a man who cares more for his estates and for his mistress than he cares for me.” Sophie looked up and met Simon’s pitch-black eyes. They blazed with an emotion she couldn’t begin to understand. His hand convulsed as if he might reach for her, but instead he clamped his arm back to his side.

“My lord, I thank you for the honor of your proposal, but I consider our engagement to be at an end.”

Sophie gulped several times, waiting for the choking feeling in her throat to subside before staggering over to a rosewood chair against the wall. Fleeing to her bedroom may have been the coward’s way out, but the look of pity on Simon’s face had made her stomach churn with nausea. She’d had to get out of the drawing room, and quickly.

Slumping down into the brocaded seat, she let her bleary gaze wander about the room. She took in the pretty Chinese wallpaper and the beautiful Chippendale bed with its carved, pagoda-style canopy. She had always felt like a princess whenever she snuggled beneath the bed’s quilted silk and fine linens, staring up at the ornate mahogany canopy as she weaved happy daydreams about her future.

But that happiness had withered today in the stark light of Simon’s and her family’s betrayal. Her daydreams had been burned away, and nothing would ever be the same.

A quiet knock sounded at her door, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?

A moment later the door swung open.

“May Annabel and I come in?” asked Lady Jane.

She nodded, not yet able to find her voice.

The older woman swiftly crossed the room and dropped to her knees beside the chair, enveloping her in a lavender-tinged embrace.

“Come, darling. All is not as bleak as it seems.” She stroked a cool, soft hand across Sophie’s face.

“Goodness, you’re so pale. I won’t permit you to worry yourself into a decline, my love. Simon and Robert have acted very improperly, but I’m sure all will come out right in the end.” Lady Jane gave her an encouraging smile.

The burn in Sophie’s throat grew worse. How could they all be so blind?

“I won’t marry him, my lady. Even if he is your nephew. Even if everyone wants me to. I just can’t.” That sickening pressure squeezed her windpipe once more, reducing her words to a croak.

Annabel plumped down on the floor in a swirl of peach-colored cambric. She took Sophie’s cold hands between her own and began to chafe the warmth back into them.

“Of course you mustn’t, darling. Not if you don’t want to. No one can make you do anything.” A scowl settled over her delicate features, making her look almost fierce. “Simon and Robert acted most disgracefully, and I promise you that your brother will know exactly how unacceptable his behaviour is by the end of the day.”

If she hadn’t felt so awful, Sophie would have laughed at the severe tone in her sister-in-law’s voice. Annabel was several years younger than her husband, but she could make him quake in his hessians. Of course, she wouldn’t stay mad at Robert for long. As soon as he gave her one of his mooncalf looks of adoration, she would forgive him.

Simon would never love her like that, and she would likely spend the rest of her days ramming her heart against the barricade he had built around his emotions.

A shiver skated down her spine as she foresaw an uncertain future as the Countess of Trask. That part of loving Simon had always troubled her—that part she had never wished for. Now the role seemed an even greater burden. If she married him, she would become the chatelaine of several noble estates, a leading hostess of the ton, and likely a mother—but never the cherished wife of the man she had the misfortune to love to distraction. So many obligations, and for what?

She looked into Annabel’s solemn face. “You understand, Belle, don’t you? Why I had to say no? It’s not me that he wants, it’s my dowry. That’s all he cares about.”

Annabel nodded. “I agree that announcing your betrothal without your permission was foolish and arrogant, and I hope you box his ears for it. But he did it to protect you, Sophie, because he cares for you so much.”

“The way he cares for Lady Randolph?” she retorted.

“Sophie,” Lady Jane broke in. “I would swear on my life that Simon is not conducting an affair with that woman.”

A pulse of anger shot through her chest. “You weren’t in the bookstore, my lady. I was. I can assure you—”

Her godmother cut her off with a chop of her hand. “I can’t speak for his previous behaviour, but I’m certain whatever happened between my nephew and Lady Randolph is at an end, and has been for quite some time. You mustn’t allow that to influence your decision. Only your feelings for Simon—and his for you—should be of relevance in this situation.”

Annabel leaned on the arm of the rosewood chair. She stared earnestly into Sophie’s eyes.

“Lady Jane is right. Robert would never have agreed to the proposal if he thought Simon was not finished with Lady Randolph. I’m certain of it.”

Sophie’s mouth gaped open as she absorbed that bit of information. “Simon asked my brother’s permission to marry me? You mean Robert knew about the announcement in the
Chronicle
even before this morning?”

Annabel began to look annoyed. “Yes, it was very bad of them. We’re agreed upon that. But when Robert admitted to me this morning what he had done, I questioned him closely. I’m certain, as is Robert, that Simon wants to marry you primarily for the right reasons—because he feels deeply for you, and wants to care for you.”

Sophie couldn’t help but notice Annabel had avoided saying he loved her. The knowledge twisted like a rusty blade in her gut.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure he cares a great deal for me. According to Lady Randolph, he cares a great deal for the estate in Yorkshire that Grandpapa added to my dowry this year.” Sophie no longer cared if she sounded as bitter as she felt.

Lady Jane made an impatient sound and rose to her feet. “Sophia Stanton, Lady Randolph is a manipulative bitch.”

Annabel’s rosebud mouth dropped open with shock at the unexpected profanity. Sophie knew just how she felt. She doubted anyone had ever heard Lady Jane utter a vulgar word in her entire life.

“My lady—” Sophie had to choke back a laugh that was partly a sob.

“No, really, Sophie,” her godmother ruthlessly interrupted her. “Only a fool would allow her future to be determined by one who bears her such ill will. And I know you’re not a fool.”

“No,” Sophie muttered, pressing her fingertips to her throbbing temples. “My future will be determined by a man who only sees me as a commodity that will enrich his financial empire.”

Lady Jane closed her eyes, seeming to withdraw into herself for a long moment. When she opened them again, her godmother’s normally mild gaze filled with sadness. The older woman seemed to be wrestling with some kind of painful question.

“I know that’s not true, my dear,” Lady Jane said. “Simon loves you. Surely you haven’t forgotten how he cared for you after your father died?”

The knife twisted again. Sophie half expected to look down and see blood flowing from a wound in her abdomen.

Her father’s unexpected death from a fever had nearly destroyed her entire family. Her mother had succumbed to a spell of profound melancholy that lasted for months. Robert had tried to console both mother and sister, but he had been little more than a boy himself. And in all too short a time Grandpapa Stanton—grief-stricken at the loss of his only son—had sent Robert back to school, deeming that a return to normal life was the best course of action for his new heir.

After her brother’s departure Sophie had tumbled into a bewildered panic, wandering the empty, black-shrouded rooms of their townhouse, finding comfort only in the arms of her grandmamma, Lady Stanton.

And in Simon’s arms, as well.

He had come down often from Cambridge during those bleak months, enveloping her in fierce hugs before whisking her away in his curricle for long rides outside the city. He spent hours with her, allowing her to hold the reins while he told one silly story after another in an effort to make her laugh. In his company, she could forget the terrifying void her father’s death had created deep within her. Simon had drawn her back to the world of the living. He had eased her pain and tempered the fear of death that haunted her childish dreams. He had made her feel safe again.

“Ah…you do remember.”

Lady Jane’s murmur broke into her thoughts. Sophie pushed the image of that strong but affectionate young man as far from her mind as she could. She stood, slipped around Annabel, and began to pace the room. Her godmother’s steady gaze followed her.

“Yes, I remember,” Sophie replied, her voice brittle and much too high. “But he’s changed, and I don’t think he can go back.” She had never thought she’d feel anything equal to the wrenching loss of her father, but Simon’s act of betrayal threatened to pitch her headlong into that place of raw vulnerability once again.

Lady Jane nodded. “He’s a man, with a man’s responsibilities. But I believe that, deep down, he is the same as he always was. He’s been caring for you almost since the day you were born. You must remember—”

“No!” Sophie jerked to a halt in front of a window that looked out over the small garden, faded to the color of burnt almond now that the chill of autumn had arrived. “I don’t want to remember anymore. There’s no point. I have to make my decisions based on how he treats me now.”

“Memory is the receptacle of life, dear child. Without it, we are nothing.” Lady Jane’s voice was full of compassion.

Sophie gripped the polished wood of the window frame, resisting the gentle pull of her godmother’s words. “I will not allow myself to love a man who treats me with so little respect…who treats me as if I were a child, unable to make decisions for herself.”

She heard the defiant note in her voice, but she didn’t care. Sophie couldn’t marry a man who thought so little of her, no matter what her family wanted.

Lady Jane sighed, and Annabel slumped down on the floor once more, leaning against the chair leg in weary resignation.

“And I thought Simon was stubborn,” Annabel said with a huffy little growl.

Sophie shrugged. An awkward silence fell over the room, but she felt no compunction to break it. Eventually, her godmother joined her at the window as she stared out into the lifeless garden.

“Sophie, did you know I was once engaged to be married?”

Sophie blinked, surprised by the revelation.

“Richard was the most wonderful man in the world. It was many years ago, of course,” her godmother said in a soft voice. “I was nineteen, and was thought to be one of the prettiest girls out on the town that Season. He was the second son of a viscount. I met him here, in Bath, where his father had sent him to take the waters. Richard was quite frail, you see, and had been ever since he was a little boy. He suffered greatly—”

Lady Jane broke off. Sophie forced herself to remain motionless, to not say a word or ask a question.

“But he had the heart and soul of a lion, and he loved me passionately,” the older woman continued. “He was determined to marry me, though his doctors were quite certain he wouldn’t live to see five and twenty. His father feared for him, but he saw how much we loved each other and didn’t stand in the way of our betrothal. I always thought he hoped our marriage would give Richard something to live for.”

A gentle melancholy descended on Lady Jane’s features, as if the old sorrow had been filtered through a cool October mist.

“What happened?” Sophie whispered, her heart already breaking with the answer.

“He died one week before our wedding,” she replied as a bittersweet smile touched her mouth. “He passed in his sleep, a few hours after a small dinner party to celebrate our betrothal. He was so happy that night, and I have always been grateful that he left this world with a heart full of love and contentment.”

“Oh, my lady, I’m so sorry.” Sophie’s chest ached with the weight of her godmother’s old sorrow, which somehow seemed bound up with her own.

Lady Jane ignored her, lost in her memories. “Eleanor wanted us to leave Bath, but I couldn’t. Though I was surrounded by reminders of him everywhere—at church, in the Assembly Rooms, where we used to walk together in the Orange Grove—I couldn’t leave. I was too afraid I would forget his dear face, his precious voice, if I didn’t have the images of our time together all around me.”

She looked at Sophie, her eyes blazing with stark intensity.

“Did you think this was the life I wished for, Sophie? A spinster’s life? Without children to love, or a husband to cherish me? Did you think this was the life that Eleanor wanted? She gave up everything for me. And here we are—two lonely old women who cling to each other for comfort.”

“But you were young.” Annabel’s voice cracked with emotion. “Surely there were other suitors who courted you. Why did you never marry?”

Lady Jane glanced at Annabel, her misty blue eyes dark with pain.

“There was only ever him for me, my dear. I think you know how that feels, don’t you?”

Annabel nodded.

Lady Jane looked back at Sophie, her gaze no longer gentle. Her expression grew stern.

“As there is only one man for you, Sophie, and you know it. I’ve seen how you look at Simon. How you are with him. He’s the only one in the world for you, and if you relinquish him you’ll surely end up like me.”

A bolt of panic streaked through her, but Sophie refused to concede defeat. “What’s wrong with being like you? You’re happy, aren’t you?”

“I’ve learned to be happy, yes. But I’ve never felt joy again.”

Sophie pushed against the old grief and sorrow. Her godmother’s loss had been tragic, but her betrothed had loved her with all his heart. What could Simon give her but a life of small and ordinary misery, unchanged from day to day?

“Joy hurts,” she whispered, feeling as brittle as Venetian glass.

“Life hurts, my dear,” replied Lady Jane in a suddenly brisk voice. “That was a lesson you were forced to learn at a very young age. I’m sorry to say there is another difficult lesson you must learn today. One of self-discipline.”

The older woman turned Sophie by the shoulders to look at her. Her mouth compressed into a surprisingly stern line.

“Eleanor was correct. Scandal would surely result from the sudden dissolution of your engagement to Simon. If you won’t think of yourself, then you must think of your family. You will not break your engagement to my nephew, at least not immediately. If, after a respectable period of time, you cannot bring yourself to marry him, then you will act as you see fit. Until such time, I expect you to behave with dignity and consideration, both to Simon and to the rest of us.”