Chapter 2
Sophia—
This letter is one of farewell as I find myself yearning for the Continent.
I have shared with you the stresses the earldom has thrust upon me, and I find I am simply not ready to embrace my responsibilities.
Perhaps I am merely postponing the inevitable, but I am stifled here in Town.
I must get away from London, from England, from all of it.
I am hoping to rekindle former acquaintances and perhaps gain some much needed perspective.
I count you among my dearest friends and appreciate our association of the last several months as would a very fortunate elder brother.
Indeed, if I could choose a sister for myself, it would be you.
Jack is fortunate, and I envy his relationship with you.
Perhaps in some small way, I have joined him in that affectionate, familial role, in seeing you launched successfully into your place in society.
You glitter like the brightest of stars, and I am so glad to call you “friend.”
Ever affectionate,
Anthony
It had been almost two years since Sophia had received the letter that had crushed her heart into small pieces, and she still remembered every word.
On occasion she wondered how she could have been so terribly wrong in her assessment of their relationship.
Friendship, he had called it. He regarded her with all the tender affections of a brother.
Her mind circled back, unbidden, to their time together.
Waltzes where he’d held her perhaps just a bit too closely, the stolen moments on London’s finest balconies and in her most beautiful gardens, silent communication with flowers both sent to the house and worn on his lapel, glances across the dinner table, picnics with Jack and Ivy, parties at the Stansworth country estates and at Wilshire, flirting over card games, and long conversations in the drawing room after dinner, quietly confiding things she’d never told anyone.
He had helped her and Ivy establish their school and had extended his compassion for the indigent women they sought to empower.
She had listened with her whole heart as he unburdened himself to her about his troubled relationship with his father, his brother.
She had grown to love so many things about him, not the least of which was the flutter she felt deep in her stomach whenever he entered a room, bowed over her hand for a dance, or scribbled his initials on her dance card with a wink.
Her brother most assuredly did not inspire similar feelings.
Sophia now stood on the deck of a sleek ship that sailed the Arabian Sea, approaching the west coast of India, and wondered for the millionth time how she could have so totally misread Anthony’s intentions.
And more to the point, if she could ever move beyond the sting of having been firmly and definitively assigned the title of friend.
Sister!
For the love of Heaven.
The wind blew across the deck and tugged at a few curls that escaped her bonnet.
The humid sea air wreaked havoc on her coiffure, and while she had appreciated the benefit of curly hair at home in London, somehow the added heat left her with an unmanageable tangle.
Her maid, Briggs—how strange was life that Sophia Elliot had a maid!
—did the best she could but often grumbled at Sophia for spending so much time topside in the wind and sea spray.
It would be good to arrive, finally, on solid land.
The ship itself was commodious; a good majority of Fishing Fleet expeditions traveled from England to India in much poorer conditions.
Jack had not been thrilled when Sophia had announced she wanted to go to Bombay with the Fleet, which had a reputation that wasn’t altogether positive, but she had to get herself out of London and every cursed drawing room and dance floor that reminded her of Anthony Blake. Her brotherly friend.
Jack had finally relented, insisting that Sophia travel with not only her lady’s maid but also an older woman who was traveling to India to visit her family.
He’d also made arrangements with one of his former sea captain associates to transport this particular batch of women in comfort.
Belonging to one of England’s wealthiest families had its advantages.
As a member of England’s Fishing Fleet—the contingency of single Englishwomen who, unsuccessful at securing husbands in London, traveled yearly to India to appeal to England’s military men and civil servants—she would be among people whose culture matched her own and yet could still enjoy the benefit of visiting a new country with all its wonders.
And if she happened to find a handsome man along the way, so be it. She’d had offers in the two years since receiving Anthony’s letter, but this was a fresh start, a new beginning, a grand adventure.
The ship continued its quick clip, and each nautical mile took them closer to Bombay. Sophia’s heart skipped in anticipation, and she looked upon the coastline with a thrill she’d not felt in some time.
Just before Sophia left London, Jack had received a letter from Anthony, who was in South Africa, of all places, and on his way to Bombay and then Calcutta.
France must have proven too small, she supposed, for “rekindling relationships with former acquaintances” and the like.
Of course he had associates in South Africa and in Asia.
Where didn’t he? The ton buzzed with rumors of “that scoundrel, Wilshire” and his latest liaison with yet another actress or opera diva.
The lords chuckled and elbowed each other, the ladies sighed, the matrons and chaperones pursed their lips, and Sophia fumed.
The letter Jack received from Anthony wasn’t the first, but it was the first time Sophia realized they had been communicating.
She couldn’t very well voice any sort of outrage about betrayal or her hurt feelings that Jack had sided so clearly with the enemy, because she had outwardly downplayed Anthony’s desertion to such a level as to appear negligible on the scale of Things That Mattered to Sophia.
Of course she missed their dear friend, but a lord must do what a lord must do, and really, the earldom was apparently much too stressful for one such as Anthony, a man who clearly was not yet prepared to be a man.
As much as she craved the sight of him, she hoped he would have moved on to Calcutta by now.
If so, she could have her adventure, make her own way, and find a clean break from an earl who was too handsome and charming for her own good.
Perhaps she might actually allow herself to develop fond feelings for another man, someone else to make her heart race, wondering if that night would be the one where he finally kissed her.
Scandalous, to be sure, but Sophia had never had the pleasure of a kiss she welcomed.
Those she had experienced could hardly be considered kisses; instead she had suffered from aggressive, unwanted attention from men who sought to take advantage of her servitude in their grand houses.
And then Jack had inherited their grandfather’s earldom and Sophia had been transformed from lady’s maid to lady, literally overnight. She had had six glorious months with Anthony before he left, and she worried the sting from his abandonment would never fully leave.
The ship was still more than a mile away from shore, but the sights and sounds from the exotic country began subtly wafting from land to sea, and Sophia’s eyes widened at the foreign but pleasant stimuli as the country grew larger in her vision.
Jack had been to India several times during his days as a sailor, and she wished he and Ivy were with her now.
She would have loved to see the country through his eyes, and she missed Ivy and their daughter, Catherine, like mad.
Jack and Ivy were still as besotted with each other as they’d been on their wedding day.
They were a lovely couple, despite their differences in both temperament and background, as natural together as if God Himself had introduced them to one another.
And perhaps He had. All Sophia wanted from Him at this point was to strike a certain earl dead.
There had been a time when she’d imagined children of her own playing alongside her niece, Catherine—children with black hair and green eyes who looked like their handsome father.
Her smile faltered, and she turned her attention outward, focusing instead on the lush landscape that grew ever larger in her vision.
She was torn; she was finally embarking on a new adventure and it was eclipsed by images of an English lord who may or may not be within a few miles of her now, and who may or may not be in the company of an actress or an opera diva.
She narrowed her eyes, her nostrils flaring slightly, much preferring anger to heartache. Perhaps it was time to petition God again about striking him dead. That thought cheered her immeasurably, and she looked forward to the coastline with a smile.