Sophie's Voice (Sex and the Season Book 4) (20 page)

Zach hoped with all his heart that she wanted him, too.

A
few days later
, gossip and innuendo started to spread. Sophie's mother and the earl called her into Brighton's office for the talk that Sophie had been dreading.

“Please, sit down, Sophie,” the earl said, nodding to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He sat down behind his desk.

Iris sat next to the desk, in another leather chair.

Sophie sat, her skin tingling all over. The time of reckoning had come.

“I suppose you can guess why your mother and I have called you in here to speak to us.”

Sophie nodded.

“We want you to know that we don't blame you for this, Sophie,” Iris said, her eyes kind.

Sophie furrowed her brow. They didn't blame her? Well…that was good. And confusing.

Brighton cleared his throat. “We're very sorry that you had to go through this. I assure you that the man has been in my employ since he was a lad, and I never thought him capable of such things.”

Confusion muddled Sophie's brain. What were they talking about?

“
H
e is gone
, and he will never bother you again.”

Should she go along? Evidently they hadn't heard any gossip regarding her and Zach. Maybe she was imagining that it was flowing like the wind through the city of Bath and its outlying areas. Perhaps Zach and the solicitor had found a way to keep it quiet.

“I'm so sorry, my lord, but I am sure I do not know what you are talking about.”

Iris stood, walked to Sophie, and sat down in the chair next to her, taking her hand. “My dear, we're talking about Bertram, of course.”

“Bertram?”

“Yes. But now I'm confounded. You indicated that you knew what we were talking about.”

Sophie warmed. “I'm sorry, Mother. I was confused. My mind has been so cluttered, with the theatre closing at all. I've…not quite known what to do with myself. Thank goodness it's reopening tomorrow and I can get back to rehearsal.”

Iris nodded. “Of course, dear.”

“What's going on with Bertram, Mother?”

“Bertram has been dismissed from the estate,” the earl said. “Graves found out that he had been writing secret notes to you. Why did you not inform your mother and me that you were getting notes?”

Bertram? Young and awkward Bertram? Then again, Sophie was also awkward. Perhaps he felt they were kindred spirits. “They seemed harmless, at least until the last one. I guess I never really thought about who might be sending them.”

“We've spoken to your sister, and she said that you thought Mr. Newland might be sending them.”

Caught in a lie. That wasn't good. Since when had she started lying? “At first, yes. Up until the last one, that is. The last one was quite…creepy. I know Zach—er, Mr. Newland—would never have sent it.”

Brighton cleared his throat. “I've spoken to the inspector in charge of Miss Lloyd's murder investigation. Newland has been exonerated, though the inspector wouldn't tell me how. They seem to think whoever sent the notes might be responsible for the murder, so Mr. Bertram is being held for questioning.”

Sophie's skin froze. “He seemed like such a nice man.”

“Yes, he did,” the earl said. “He has been on this estate for near twenty years now, since he was a small lad. But Graves says he has been shirking his duties, and then, when Graves discovered that he was the one sending in the notes, your mother and I felt we had no choice but to dismiss him. When I talked to the inspectors and told them that he was the one sending you the notes, things all fell into place.”

Sophie sighed. “Well, at least they have the right suspect now.”

“Was this Miss Lloyd a problem for you?” the earl asked.

“She had no love for me. I took her position in the company, so who can really blame her? She became such a problem that Zach—er, Mr. Newland—had to let her go from the company.”

The earl nodded. “I see. Well, at least her attacker will be brought to justice.”

“Yes,” Sophie said. “Though I had no real use for her, she did not deserve to be killed.” She fidgeted. “Is there anything else you wish to speak to me about?”

Brighton shook his head. “No, my dear. You may go.”

Sophie forced a smile, stood, and left the office. Her reputation, as far as her parents knew, was still intact. Whether that was a good thing, she couldn't say. If only she could escape the chill on her skin.

Mr. Bertram.

Who would have thought?

Z
ach tried
to keep the evidence that exonerated him under wraps, but gossip was beginning to reach his ears. Meanwhile, the constables had arrested Thelonius Bertram, a servant on the Brighton Estate. He was supposedly the one who had been sending Sophie those notes, and he was now the prime suspect in Nanette's murder. Mr. Tate said Bertram was maintaining his innocence and denied ever writing notes to Sophie.

Zach didn't honestly know what to believe. Nanette had been a true pain in his arse, but he would never have wished death upon her. That said, it was nice not to have her around anymore causing turmoil.

May Day fast approached, and even though he desperately needed the extra time to make up for the days the theatre had been shut down, he was closing so they could all enjoy the festival. He hoped he could escort Sophie. The earl would probably not allow it, but he would ask anyway.

He looked around his office, which had been cleaned, the rug replaced—no evidence that a murder had taken place there. He was glad to have his theatre back, but he had a strange feeling that Nanette's killer was still out there. The young man Bertram hardly seemed the obsessive murdering type. And Zach wasn't sure why, but sometimes he felt like invisible eyes were watching him, burning holes in his skin—invisible bodies lurking around every corner, like shadows in the darkness.

Probably just his imagination.

T
he next day
, Zach sat in the earl's lush office, waiting for Brighton to receive him. Graves had shown him in and told him the master would be in shortly.

Zach wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers. Why so nervous? He only wanted to escort Sophie to the May Day festival on the morrow. Of course, Brighton had refused him once…

The door opened, and Brighton strode in, his brow furrowed. Zach stood.

“Sit down, Newland,” Brighton said, taking his place behind the mammoth desk.

Zach dropped his bottom back into the leather chair and waited for the earl to speak.

Brighton shuffled some papers on his desk, clearing his throat. His lips were pursed in a thin line. This didn't look good.

“I suppose you know why I've called you here,” Brighton finally said.

Called him here? He'd come of his own accord. “I'm afraid I don't understand, my lord.”

“Nonsense. I asked Graves to send word to you yesterday. That is why you're here, is it not?”

“I beg pardon, but I received no message from Graves. I've been keeping long hours at the theatre to make up for the days we lost, so it's possible I missed it in my post.”

“What brings you here, then?”

“I'm here to ask permission to escort Lady Sophie to the May Day festival.”

Brighton pounded his fist on the desk, shaking the giant structure. A granite paperweight fell to the floor perilously close to Zach's toes. “You sit there and tell me you have no idea why I wished to see you? And you have the nerve to ask to escort my stepdaughter to a festival when I told you in no uncertain terms you could not court her?”

Zach's heart quickened. “That is exactly what I'm saying, my lord.”

Brighton shook his head. “The truth is, Newland, my wife spoke to me about your possible courtship of Sophie. It seems Sophie is quite fond of you and wanted the courtship. I was ready to allow it, until…”

“Until what?” Zach stomach plummeted. This could only be heading in one direction.

“Did you really think I wouldn't find out that you compromised my stepdaughter, Newland?”

Zach let out a cough. “No, my lord. I didn't think you wouldn't find out. But please understand that—”

“Be silent!” The earl's fist came down on the desk again. “I shall do the talking here.”

Zach's temper ignited. He was a good man, damn it, and he didn't deserve to be treated so disrespectfully. “If you do all the talking, this won't be a conversation.”

“It doesn't have to be. You'll listen and do as I say. You've compromised Sophie, so you must do right by her.”

“Marry her, you mean?” Zach's heart sped.

“Yes.”

“That is hardly a hardship to me, my lord. I love Sophie.” The cannonball that had been weighing on him lifted. How freeing to say the words!

The earl cleared his throat again. “Love is neither here nor there. You will marry her regardless.”

Zach couldn't help a smile. “It will be my honor to make her my wife. I shall propose to her soon.”

“Not so fast. I still don't think you're good enough for her. If Sophie weren't so fond of you, I'd beat you to a pulp with my bare hands for what you've done.”

Zach let the hypocrisy slide. He knew well the story of the earl and countess. They had met some twenty years ago, both married to others, and fallen in love and consummated their adulterous union. Sophie had told him. She'd also told him of the earl's own son, Evan, and her sister, Ally. He'd ruined her as well. Zach glued his lips shut. No good would come of voicing these ironies.

“I guess I should be happy the lady is fond of me, then,” Zach said. “I assure you I'm more than fond of her. You're wrong about me, my lord. I'm a good man with a good business. I will take care of Sophie.”

“Just see that you do.” Brighton returned to a document on his desk.

Was that his cue to leave? Zach stood. “Please know, my lord, that I didn't plan to compromise your daughter. We're drawn together, she and I. We have something…special.”

Brighton grunted, his gaze not leaving the document.

Why not continue? “Since Lady Sophie and I are now betrothed in your eyes, may I assume you will have no issue with me escorting her to the festival?”

Again, a grunt.

Zach smiled. He took that as a “yes.”

S
ophie rose early
on May Day to walk about the estate and gather flowers to take to the festival. She smiled happily as she sat on the veranda, filling May baskets and then fashioning the white, yellow, and pink blooms into a crown for her head. She made one for Ally as well, even though her sister couldn't attend the festival. The wreath would bring some brightness into Ally's bedchamber. With more posies left, she couldn't resist. She made tiny garlands for Maureen and little Sophie.

“Sophie, how grand! You've brought in the May!” Ally gushed when Sophie presented her with the crown. “You do look stunning in that white morning dress. I suppose you bathed your face in the morning dew as well?”

Sophie smiled. Bathing one's face in the morning dew on May Day was an old wives' tale, said to preserve one's beauty. “You know there's never enough dew for that.”

“When is Mr. Newland calling for you?”

“Soon. I'm so glad the earl is letting him escort me. In fact, I should go. He could be here any second.”

“Do have a sensational time, Sophie.”

Z
ach arrived promptly
, and the two delivered Sophie's May baskets to tenants on the Brighton estate. Iris and Sophie had placed loaves of Cook's delicious white bread in the baskets under the flowers.

“Don't be seen,” Zach teased. “I'll not let anyone claim a kiss from you but me.”

They laughed together as they rode the rest of the way to the celebration outside of Bath, arriving in time to see the parade led by the May Queen. She was none other than Lady Patricia Price-Adams, Cameron's sixteen-year-old sister. Her coal-black hair was a striking contrast to the white peasant dress and flowers she wore, and her sapphire-blue eyes gleamed as she laughed, tossing petals to the children, including her adorable brown-haired sister, Lady Katrina.

“Tricia looks absolutely stunning,” Sophie said, clasping Zach's hand.

“She does,” he agreed. “It's quite an honor to be chosen as May Queen.”

“I admit I don't know much about these traditions,” Sophie said. “My father never allowed us to celebrate, and when he died and we moved to Mayfair, my Uncle Crispin wouldn't allow it either, being a devout Christian.”

“The May Queen represents the Roman goddess Flora, who personifies spring.” Zach smiled. “Are you hungry? There's a feast to be had here, my lady.”

“You know, I am, actually. I got up with the birds to gather flowers for the baskets, and I had not but a scone with lemon curd to break my fast.”

“Then let's get you some beef on a stick and a Beltane Cake.” Zach took her arm.

“A Beltane cake? What is that?”

“Beltane is the English pagan name for May Day, and it's a celebration of fertility and renewal. Perfect for spring, of course. A Beltane cake is a rich eggy confection with scalloped edges. But,” he warned, his eyes grave, “if you get the piece that has been darkened with charcoal on the bottom, you might be pelted with eggshells.”

Sophie jerked back. “What?”

Zach laughed. “Old folklore, love. That won't happen today, I promise you. The only people who get the blackened pieces at this festival are jesters who are paid to be in on the fun.”

The cake was indeed rich and delicious, though Sophie sneaked a peek at the bottom. No black charcoal mark, thank goodness.

Next, they took part in the Maypole dance. Zach led her in the patterns of the dance, and they each held an end of ribbon, weaving it around the pole.

They watched groups of men dressed in green-and-white do a rhythmic dance with swords to folk music. Morris dancing, Zach called it. By then, midafternoon had set in, and the party was becoming raucous. Alcohol was flowing freely, and a group of pagan Druids were starting the spiral dance. Sophie had seen the dance last summer, at the Midsummer celebration, but this time, the Druids began stripping off their clothing.

Sophie shuddered, looking away.

“Sorry, sweet. Things tend to get a little rowdy at this festival. It's the celebration of fertility and all.”

“I don't particularly want to see anyone create life here out in the open,” Sophie said. Clearly, the Druids were headed that way. The air was thick with lust.

“I understand. I'll take you home.” Zach kissed her cheek chastely and took her arm.

But Sophie didn't want to go home. The mood of the festival had aroused her. She felt free. Alive and free. Sexually free. And bold.

“It strikes me, Zach, that I've never been to your home. Might we go there?”