Chapter 37
“Iam a dragon, and I am going to eat you!”
Oliver chased Rosie and Nancy across the Guildthorpes’ drawing room, his arms spread wide, his face contorted into what he clearly believed was a fearsome expression. The twins shrieked with delight and scattered in opposite directions, their matching ribbons flying behind them.
“Dragons cannot eat princesses!” Rosie declared, scrambling behind a settee. “It is against the rules!”
“There are no rules for dragons!” Oliver roared.
Sophia watched from her chair by the window, a cup of tea cooling in her hands. The children’s laughter filled the room, bright and uncomplicated, and she tried to let it soothe the ache that had taken up residence in her chest.
It didn’t work.
Alice settled beside her, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you.” Sophia managed a thin smile. “Your honesty is, as always, refreshing.”
“I am serious.” Alice lowered her voice. “You have shadows under your eyes. You have barely touched your tea. And you keep staring at Oliver like he is the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.” She paused. “What happened?”
Sophia watched Oliver catch Nancy and swing her in a circle, both of them giggling. “Edward and I… we are not speaking.”
“Not speaking?” Alice’s brows drew together. “But you were so happy. At the Ashworth ball, the two of you could barely keep your eyes off each other.”
“That was before.” Sophia’s throat tightened. “Before Oliver got lost in the park. Before Edward decided that caring for me was too dangerous.”
Alice was quiet for a moment. Her hand found Sophia’s and squeezed.
“Men are idiots.”
Sophia laughed despite herself, the sound catching on a sob. “Yes. They are.”
“He will come around.” Alice’s voice carried quiet certainty.
“Thomas told me that Hugo is beside himself. Apparently, Edward has been drinking and fighting and generally behaving like a man who has lost everything that matters.” She squeezed Sophia’s hand again.
“That does not sound like a man who does not care.”
Sophia said nothing. She watched Oliver release Nancy and bow with exaggerated formality, announcing that the dragon had spared the princesses in exchange for biscuits.
She wished she could believe Alice was right.
Two nights later, Sophia lay in bed, staring at the canopy above her.
Sleep would not come. It had become her nightly companion, this restless wakefulness, her mind circling the same thoughts until she was dizzy with them. Edward’s face when he told her it was a mistake. The cold distance in his eyes. The silence that stretched between them like an ocean.
She threw back the covers and rose. If she could not sleep, she could at least be useful.
The hackney waited in its usual spot, the duke’s driver drowsing on the box. He startled awake when she approached and helped her inside without comment. They had made this journey often enough that no explanation was required.
Mr. Colborne’s office was warm and cluttered, the familiar scent of ink and parchment wrapping around her as she entered. He looked up from his desk, and surprise flickered across his weathered features.
“Your Grace.” He rose and bowed. “I did not expect you tonight.”
“I could not sleep.” Sophia settled into her usual chair. “I thought I might review the correspondence. You mentioned a new client?”
Mr. Colborne studied her for a long moment. Then he shuffled through the papers on his desk and produced a thick packet.
“Mr. Geoffrey Ashford.” He handed her the file. “Second son of a baronet. Modest income but excellent prospects. He is seeking a wife of good character and a gentle disposition.”
Sophia opened the packet and read. The words blurred before her eyes. She turned pages without absorbing their contents, her mind drifting to places she did not want it to go.
A hand settled over hers, stilling the restless shuffling of papers.
“Your Grace.” Mr. Colborne’s voice was gentle. “What troubles you?”
Sophia looked up. His eyes held the same patient kindness she relied on over three years of partnership. No judgment. No expectation. Just quiet concern.
The walls she had built over the last few weeks crumbled.
“Everything.” The word emerged broken. “My marriage. My husband. Everything I thought we were building together.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes.
“He pushed me away. After weeks of happiness, of thinking that perhaps we could have something real, he decided that caring for me was too great a risk.”
Mr. Colborne was silent. He rose and crossed to the small cabinet in the corner, returning with two glasses and a bottle of brandy. He poured a measure into each glass and pressed one into her hands.
“Drink.” He settled back into his chair. “And then tell me everything.”
So, she did. The words poured out of her, a torrent of grief and confusion and hurt. Oliver getting lost. Edward’s guilt. The argument in the study. The cold distance that had descended between them, turning their home into a battlefield of silence.
When she finished, Mr. Colborne sipped his brandy and regarded her with thoughtful eyes.
“He sounds like a man at war with himself.”
“He is.” Sophia stared into her glass. “He has been fighting that war his entire life. His father taught him that love was weakness, that caring for someone would only lead to pain. And now he is so afraid of becoming his father that he is doing exactly what his father would have done.”
“And what do you want?” Mr. Colborne asked.
Sophia looked up. “What do you mean?”
“You have told me what he has done. What he fears. What he believes.” Mr. Colborne leaned forward. “But what do you want? What are you willing to fight for?”
The question settled over her. She thought of Edward’s face when he had confessed his desire, his fears, his hope. She thought of the way he had held her, looked at her, and made her feel like she was the center of his world.
She thought of walking away. Of accepting the cold distance he had created. Of spending the rest of her life as a stranger in her own marriage.
“I want him.” The words emerged certain. “I want the man I married. The man who learned to open his heart, even when it terrified him. I want to fight for us, even if he has given up.”
Mr. Colborne smiled. “Then fight.” He reached across and patted her hand.
“Go home. Tell him what you told me. Force him to face what he is throwing away.” His eyes twinkled.
“You are a matchmaker, my lady. You have spent years bringing stubborn people together despite themselves. Surely you can manage your own husband.”
Sophia laughed, and the sound was watery but real. “I suppose I can try.”
“Trying is all any of us can do.” Mr. Colborne rose and helped her to her feet. “Now go. And do not come back until you have sorted this out.”
Sophia embraced him, a brief, fierce hug that made him chuckle with surprise. Then she gathered her cloak and slipped out into the night, her heart lighter than it had been in days.
She would fight. She would make Edward see what they could have, what they had already built, what they stood to lose. She would not let fear win.
The street was dark, the hour somewhere between midnight and dawn. The hackney waited at the corner, the driver a silhouette against the dim glow of a distant streetlamp. Sophia hurried toward it, her boots clicking on the cobblestones.
A shortcut through the alley would be faster. She turned into the narrow passage; her cloak pulled tight against the chill.
She collided with a solid form emerging from the shadows.
Sophia stumbled back, her heart lurching. “Forgive me, I did not see—”
The words died in her throat.
Drakeston stepped into the faint light, his face pale and gaunt, his eyes glittering with something that made her blood run cold.
“Lady Sophia.” His smile curled like a blade. “Or should I say, Your Grace. What a pleasant surprise.”
Sophia’s heart hammered against her ribs. She turned to flee, but Drakeston moved faster, blocking the mouth of the alley. His body filled the narrow space, cutting off her escape.
“Leave me alone.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “My driver is waiting. If I do not return—”
“Your driver is half asleep on his box.” Drakeston advanced a step. “And we both know you will not scream.”
“I will.” She lifted her chin. “I will scream, and people will come, and—”
“And the papers tomorrow will write about what the Duchess of Heatherwell was doing in the alleys at this hour.” His smile widened.
“Visiting a solicitor’s office in the middle of the night.
Dressed like a common woman trying to avoid notice.
” He tilted his head. “What would the ton make of that, I wonder?”
Sophia’s stomach dropped.
“Oh yes.” Drakeston’s voice dripped with satisfaction.
“I know your secret, Your Grace. I have known for some time. Lady Fairhart, the mysterious matchmaker who has captivated London society.” He laughed; the sound ugly in the darkness.
“Imagine what would happen if that secret came to light. The scandal. The humiliation. Your husband’s precious reputation, dragged through the mud. ”
“You are evil.” Sophia spat the words.
“I am practical.” Drakeston stepped closer.
“I am a man who knows what he wants and will take what is owed to him.” His hand shot out, his fingers closing around her wrist. “Your husband took something from me. My money. My standing. My future. It is only fair that I take something from him in return.”
Sophia tried to pull free. His grip tightened, bruising her.
“What do you want?” The question emerged through gritted teeth.
Drakeston leaned in, his breath hot against her face. “It is simple, Your Grace. I want what you denied me for so long.” His eyes traveled over her body, slow and deliberate. “I want you.”