Chapter Eighteen
The letters began arriving the next day, as they prepared for their trip to London. Sophia had just met with Mrs. Shaw about what dresses to pack when Grimshaw brought in the post on a silver salver.
She recognized several of the letters—responses to invitations she’d received just days ago. The cream-colored card stock, the elegant handwriting. She opened the first with her letter opener, scanning the contents. Then read it again more slowly, certain she must have misunderstood.
Dear Lady Montrose,
I regret to inform you that due to unforeseen circumstances, we must withdraw our invitation to dinner next month. I hope you understand that this decision was not made lightly…
It was from the Duchess of Marlborough. Sophia set it aside with trembling hands and opened the next.
The Countess of Beaumont’s at-home had been “postponed indefinitely.”
Lady Pembridge’s musical evening was suddenly “unable to accommodate additional guests after all.”
Even the local invitations—Mrs. Ellis’s card party, the Harrisons’ dinner—all withdrawn with polite, apologetic language that did nothing to soften the blow.
Her hands shook as she opened the last letter. This one was different—from Lady Thornton, the local baronet’s wife who’d been so warm in her original invitation.
My dear Lady Montrose,
I feel I must write to explain my withdrawal of our tea invitation, as I fear you may not understand the circumstances.
There are rumors circulating—dreadful, malicious things that I do not credit for a moment, but which have reached even our quiet corner of Kent.
My husband insists we cannot receive you until the matter is settled, though I argued vehemently against his position.
Please know that I do not believe such gossip. Some of us still value true character over society’s whispers.
With sincere regards,
Lady Thornton
Sophia’s chest felt tight. So it had begun. Her mother-in-law’s campaign had reached not just London, but even their own neighborhood.
The morning room door opened and Henry entered, his own handful of letters in hand. One look at his face told her he’d received similar news.
She held up Lady Thornton’s letter. “She’s started.”
Henry crossed to her, taking the letters from her trembling hands. He read through them quickly, his expression darkening with each one. When he finished, he set them down carefully, as if they might catch on fire.
“I knew she would do it, but I am shocked nonetheless. To think—my own mother doing this to us. I shall never fully understand.”
Sophia stood, placing her hand on his chest. “We knew it was coming and we will meet it head-on.”
“I wish all of this would go away,” Henry said.
“We both do.” She could see the guilt eating at him, the same spiral of self-blame that had nearly destroyed him after Eleanor’s death. “Henry, look at me. We knew this was coming. Mr. Whitmore warned us. We’re not going to let her win by turning on each other.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Grimshaw entered with another letter, this one on thick, cream-colored paper with a ducal seal.
“An express from the Duchess of Thornbridge, my lady.”
Sophia broke the seal with unsteady fingers. Charlotte’s handwriting was usually elegant and measured, but this was written in obvious haste:
Sophia,
Your mother-in-law has set society ablaze. I’m hearing the most appalling things, none of which I believe, but the damage is considerable. You must come to London immediately. We need to counter this before it becomes entrenched.
I’m already working to repair what I can, but you need to be visible. Show society who you really are. Thomas agrees. We’ll host you at Thornbridge House and present a united front.
Don’t let her win through absence. Come. Fight.
With love and fury,
Charlotte
Henry read over her shoulder. “She’s right. We need to go to London.”
Sophia nodded, even as her heart clenched at the thought of leaving Amelia for such a long time. But she knew they must go. She had known for days, but now it was evident that they should go immediately.
“What exactly is she saying about us?” Sophia asked.
Henry’s expression shuttered. “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t know.”
“No.” Her voice was firm. “I need to know. All of it.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “I had Davies make inquiries this morning. The rumors are comprehensive. Mother has been ingenious.”
“Tell me.”
“They’re saying you were my mistress before the marriage. That we carried on an affair while you were supposedly Amelia’s governess. That you seduced me deliberately to secure your position.”
“What else?” Sophia asked.
“That your father’s vindication was suspicious. Something about Sebastian infiltrating the late Wentworth’s estate, disguising himself as a gardener.”
“That is true,” Sophia said.
“Yes, but Wentworth was guilty as sin. The vindication was justified.” Henry had gone pale.
“They’re saying you’re ambitious and calculating.
That you saw an opportunity in a lonely, unstable man and took it.
Apparently, I’m not fit to raise a child because of my time with Dr. Morrison.
I’m unstable, prone to episodes. That I rushed into marriage because I’m not thinking clearly.
That you’re—” He stopped, his hands clenching into fists.
“That I’m what?”
“Exploiting my weakness. Taking advantage of my fragile state of mind.”
Sophia absorbed this, feeling the careful architecture of lies.
Each one contained just enough truth to make it believable.
Yes, she’d been a governess. Yes, Henry had been at a sanatorium.
Yes, their courtship had been brief. Sebastian had indeed pretended to be a gardener to prove their father’s innocence.
But the malicious spin put on each fact was pure poison.
“She’s very good at this,” Sophia said.
“Yes.” Henry’s voice was hollow. “She’s had years of practice. She finds the vulnerable places and strikes there. Makes people doubt themselves, question their own reality.”
“Well, she won’t succeed with us.” Sophia took both his hands in hers. “We know the truth.”
“But society does not.”
“Society can be reminded of the truth. Charlotte will help. As will my brothers and their wives.” She squeezed his hands.
“We’re not going to hide here like we’ve done something wrong.
We’re going to London.” She managed a small smile.
“Besides, I have experience with false accusations. My father was convicted of murder he didn’t commit.
I survived that scandal. I can survive your mother’s gossip. ”
Henry pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. “I am so sorry for all this.”
“Someday we’ll look back on this and see how silly it all was.” Sophia pulled back to look at him. “Your mother wants us miserable and ashamed. So we’ll do the opposite. We will act gloriously happy.”
“We are, if it were not for this.”
“It will pass, my love. We mustn’t despair.”
“We will leave for London in the morning,” Henry said. “And begin our fight.”
“I shall miss Amelia terribly, but we must go.”
“She’ll be here when we return, hopefully triumphant.”
*
The journey to London took the better part of a day, and leaving Amelia behind had been harder than Sophia anticipated.
However, the little girl had seemed unworried, waving cheerfully as the carriage pulled away, holding tight to Lucy’s hand.
Henry, noticing her worry, had reassured her that Amelia felt secure because Sophia had always made certain the child knew how loved she was.
They arrived at Thornbridge House in Mayfair as dusk was falling. Charlotte and Thomas welcomed them warmly, showed them to their guest chambers, and insisted they rest after the long journey. After a quiet dinner, Sophia fell into bed exhausted, though she dreamed of Amelia calling for her.
The next afternoon, their carriage pulled up before the Ashford townhouse—another handsome Mayfair residence, just a few streets from Thornbridge House. Henry and Sophia stood on the steps alongside Charlotte and Thomas.
The butler opened the door with a warm smile. “Lady Montrose. Lord Montrose. Your Graces. The Duke is expecting you.” Henry and Sophia stood on the steps of the Ashford townhouse alongside Charlotte and Thomas.
“It will be good to see your family,” Charlotte said, squeezing Sophia’s hand.
“Yes, it will,” Sophia said.
They were shown to the library, where Sebastian stood by the fire. The moment he saw Sophia, he crossed the room in three strides.
“Poppet, I am glad to see you, despite the circumstances.” He pulled her into a fierce embrace. “I have not felt so murderous in years. That vile woman.”
“Yes, it’s all quite ugly,” Sophia said.
Sebastian turned to shake Henry’s hand, then greeted Charlotte and Thomas warmly. “Thank you all for coming. And Charlotte, thank you for housing them.”
“We are family,” Charlotte said simply.
Rose appeared in the doorway, then crossed the room to embrace Sophia. “Darling Sophia, this dreadful business has not broken your spirit quite yet, I see.”
“Not with my family and Henry beside me. They have done much worse to us.”
“That is sadly the truth,” Rose said. “Still, I’m proud of you for fighting back.”
The door opened again and the butler announced James and Georgiana. James’s face was set in the same hard expression Sebastian’s was.
Soon, they were all settled in the drawing room.
“What do we do to counter this assault?” James’s jaw was tight. “We cannot let this go on for one more day.”
Sebastian turned to Henry. “What exactly has your mother said? We’ve heard fragments, but I want the full picture.”
Henry recounted the rumors—all of them, holding nothing back. By the time he finished, Sebastian was pacing around the room, and James looked ready to put his fist through a wall. Her sisters-in-law had grown pale.