Chapter Five
“Leave your mother to me,” Papa insisted as Sophia exited the carriage before the Canterbell home. “I’ll explain everything to her.”
Sophia didn’t protest. She wanted nothing more than to go straight to her room and hide from the rest of the world while contemplating how best to avoid wedding the worst duke in London.
Avoiding Mama was in everyone’s best interests.
“Yes, Papa.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she waved as her father’s carriage sped off towards Wellington and Sons to draw up the marriage contract.
Her stomach tightened once more. Tea and scones were in order.
Sophia handed her cloak to one of the footmen standing by the door, trying not to feel so completely hopeless.
She’d prayed, fervently before climbing into her bed last night, that upon waking she would find that Roxboro, the Perswick ball, and most of all her own stupid behavior would be nothing more than a bad dream.
A hallucination, perhaps, brought on by indulging in champagne.
Today had proven her wrong.
Cautiously, Sophia made her way in the direction of the stairs, admonishing the footman not to make a sound. If she were lucky, Mama was out…shopping.
Oh, no. She wouldn’t. Not with the gossip circulating.
Or taking a nap. Strolling about the garden. Perhaps devising a more robust list of disappointments to hurl at Sophia. Her foot touched the bottom step and Sophia lifted her skirts, ready to sprint up the stairs.
“Sophia. Come here this instant.”
Drat.
Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t heard. She held her breath.
“Sophia.”
Sighing, Sophia lifted her foot from the step.
I was so bloody close.
Approaching the drawing room doors, cracked open enough, purposefully, so that Lady Canterbell might hear the return of her wayward daughter, Sophia gingerly stepped inside. Clasping her hands before her, she attempted to appear subdued. Contrite.
“There you are.” Mama sat perched on the damask settee, a handkerchief clutched in one hand, eyes reddened from weeping.
“Good afternoon, Mama.”
“This is a catastrophe of enormous proportions. Worse than any Greek tragedy.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Do you see, daughter?” Mama held up a newspaper, finger poking at the small item in what must be the gossip column. “What your careless nature has wrought?”
Oh. Dear.
There had been a chance, a very slim one, that she could somehow manage to convince Papa not to wed her to Roxboro.
Sophia had even been considering that she could simply take her pin money and escape.
Stow away on a ship bound for America and stay away until the scandal died down.
But seeing Mama’s plump finger pointing at that paragraph dashed every last hope.
Of course, Mama didn’t yet know Sophia was to be a duchess or that Papa had resolved matters. “Don’t be distressed, Mama. I should tell you—”
“Tainted.” Mama slapped the newspaper on the settee. “The shame of what you’ve brought to this family. Do you not love us at all?”
This was bound to be a lengthy diatribe. “I—”
“Poor Mara.” Mama dabbed at a tear rolling down one cheek. “I imagined her a marchioness. Even a duchess. Do you know what this will do to your sister’s prospects? Do you?” She lifted her eyes to the heavens, letting the words dangle in the air.
Of course, Mama’s concern was for Mara’s prospects.
Sophia took a seat across from her mother, tempted to allow Mama to go on and wear herself out. Maybe weep until she fainted, which was unkind. She loved her mother. She did. But she was nothing like Mara and never would be. Sophia caused trouble. Unintentionally.
Sometimes.
Mama was a woman who fervently believed in status, pedigree, and above all, good manners. A young lady should be demure. Modest. Have few opinions on anything other than gowns and the weather.
It wasn’t her mother’s fault that Sophia didn’t care for any of it.
“Mama—”
“Where is your father?” She looked past Sophia and into the hall.
“Leaving me to wallow in our family’s shame alone, I suspect.
Wait until he sees this.” She thumped the newspaper.
“Has he gone directly to his study? I knew Roxboro couldn’t be brought to heel, no matter Lord Canterbell’s influence.
Oh,” she wailed. “How will your father ever hold his head up in Parliament again? Her Majesty will be most distressed. We will have to retire to the country. Perhaps permanently.” She raised a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.
“Roxboro laughed, did he not? The rogue. No one would ever believe he would—well, I can hardly merit it myself. Even this column.” She pointed to the paper.
“Claims he was likely so deep in his cups he confused you with someone else.” Placing a palm on her forehead, she wailed, “I hope no one saw the duke tossing you both out.”
“That isn’t at all what happened.” Sophia proceeded to demolish the tea tray, the usual reaction to Mama and her dramatics. There were tiny ham and cucumber sandwiches. Scones. Biscuits. Strawberries. “Father went—”
“I can barely look at you, Sophia,” Mama interrupted again, not allowing Sophia to say one word in her own defense. Very rarely were you given the opportunity to present your side of things with Lady Canterbell, especially if you were Sophia.
“Lady Brokeburst,” Mama trilled. “Called upon me shortly after you departed this morning. Far too early in my opinion. It was she who brought me this.” The newspaper was raised once more like a flag before battle.
“Under the auspices of sympathy, which was patently false, because Lady Brokeburst lacks concern for anyone else which is apparent by the way she whispers everyone’s secrets.
She came to gloat, and gloat she did.” Mama dabbed at her eyes.
“You are soon to be a pariah. Cast out from society. Young ladies will cross the street when they see you. Not even in the country will you be free of censure given the way gossip travels. You’ll be snubbed by the villagers.
Is that what you want, Sophia? To be snubbed by the cheesemonger? ”
Sophia munched on a ham sandwich, waiting for Mama to be finished.
“Have you nothing to say in your defense? We had to flee the Perswick ball. Flee.”
She plucked the newssheet from her mother’s fingers. Surely, it could not be that terrible. Sophia was hardly newsworthy. Her eyes widened in horror at the small item. A handful of sentences which sealed her fate.
The Duke of Roxboro is known for all manner of questionable behavior; the only surprise is that he engaged in a lack of decorum with Lord C’s daughter.
The one known for her blunt opinions more than her appeal.
No doubt a great deal of brandy was involved on Roxboro’s part to cause such a lack of judgement.
London is aghast. But there is no end to what a young lady will do to become a duchess.
Sophia tossed the paper aside with a grimace.
One paragraph and she’d been reduced to a scheming, ambitious young lady who had taken advantage of an intoxicated libertine.
How flattering.
Mama fell back against the cushions as a flood of tears cascaded down her cheeks. A small pile of used handkerchiefs were piled beside her. “Roxboro has discarded you before all of London.”
“No, Mama. He—”
Her mother collapsed, face first on the settee, holding up a hand to silence Sophia. “Not another word. I am prostrate with grief over the loss of Mara’s future.” Then she added as an afterthought. “And your own.”
How does my father tolerate such nonsense?
Thankfully, at that moment, Lord Canterbell appeared at the entrance of the drawing room, took one look at his wife weeping into the cushions, and exchanged a resigned look with Sophia. Taking a seat on the settee, Papa pulled Mama upright and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Stop your weeping, dear. It isn’t good for your fragile constitution.”
Fragile? Mama?
“I do apologize I didn’t come to you directly upon my return, but—”
“A pariah,” Mama screeched. “That’s what will become of Sophia, my lord. Roxboro has refused and now we must make other plans. We must go to France.” Mama nodded. “Mara would make a fine comtesse and Sophia might wed a…titled gentleman of some import.”
Sophia took a large bite of a scone, chewing as loudly as possible.
“None of that will be necessary.” Father patted Mama’s hand in a soothing manner. “Sophia will not become a pariah. She’ll be a duchess.”
Mama stopped weeping and dabbed at her eyes. “You mean—”
“That’s right, darling. We won’t have to send her to a convent. Roxboro will be honorable.”
“A convent,” Sophia choked, looking between her parents. “Had that been considered?”
“Now, I apologize, my lady, for not coming to you sooner with the news,” Papa continued, ignoring Sophia. “But I thought it best to visit the solicitor immediately so that the marriage contract can be prepared for Lord Damon’s perusal tomorrow.”
“You’re serious—you were going to send me to a convent?” Sophia demanded. “Force me to become a nun?”
“Well, yes, Sophia,” Mama regarded her shrewdly. “We were considering our options. Running away to France. Or…Brussels. A convent, perhaps.” She threw up her hands. “You should have told me Roxboro capitulated the very second you arrived home. Cruel of you to allow me to believe otherwise.”
“But I tried—”
“Let your father speak.” A gloved palm appeared before Sophia’s face. “Allowing me to believe the duke had refused. How could you?”
Sophia opened her mouth, then just as quickly pressed her lips together. She would not win this battle. Not with Mama.
“The duke was…not receiving when Sophia and I first arrived at his home, therefore, we went to Lord Damon Viceroy, his uncle. Once I explained matters to him,” that note of steel entered Papa’s voice.
“He and I were in complete agreement.” He looked down at the newspaper, eyes moving as he scanned the article.
“I see Lady Brokeburst wasted no time at all.”