Chapter 11 #2
Sophia abruptly opened the door to the nursery before he could reply. If he offered her another lie, she was going to vent her frustration, so she strode away.
When she entered, she found Ethan drawing on a page with a graphite pencil while his nursemaid, Daisy, sat across from him. His sweet face lit up at the sight of her. “Mama!”
Sophia froze in surprise. His small face scrunched. “May I call you Mama? Papa said he thought you would like it.”
Sophia’s eyes prickled, a lump in her throat while she nodded with enthusiasm.
“Of course! I was just surprised. If you want to call me … that … I would be most honored.” She turned her face to dab at her eyes.
When she turned back, Ethan was right before her, having crossed the room as silently as a cat.
“I have never had a mama before,” he said earnestly, his small face angled up to look at her.
On the verge of weeping, Sophia swallowed the thick emotion and dropped to her haunches.
“Now you do.” She reached out to hug him, and he ran up to embrace her with his small arms. Sophia rested her cheek on the crown of his head, his thick curling hair tickling her nose, and she did her best to fight back the tears welling up.
Across the room, Daisy caught her eye and gave a wide smile in encouragement.
Sophia leaned back to look Ethan in the face. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes. Daisy and I had breakfast early. Not as early as the farm, but early enough.”
“Good. Would you like to go with me to the gardens?”
He nodded vigorously. Sophia smiled, rising to her feet to take his little hand. Daisy rose to follow her out of the room.
Exiting into the hall, Sophia came to a stop when she found the two Johns both waiting outside the door. She frowned, mistrusting that the two men were, in fact, footmen when she noted how they were slouching against the wall, quickly straightening when she had opened the door and surprised them.
There was no doubt in her mind that they were up to something. She resolved to seek Richard out.
Still worrying about the unexpected note, Richard strode into White’s for his meeting with the Duke of Halmesbury. He soon found his cousin sitting at a table with two fresh drinks on it.
The duke always put Richard in mind of a Norse god, with his powerful frame, broad good looks, and full blond hair.
Although Richard was no lightweight at six feet, his cousin topped him by several inches.
But Halmesbury possessed a friendly manner, and he was a true gentleman, which acted as a counter-weight to his intimidating physical stature.
Richard collapsed into the chair next to his cousin, the stresses of the day weighing him down.
Arching an eyebrow, he indicated the drinks with a nod of his head. “I thought you did not drink.”
“We are sitting at White’s. It is easier to order a drink to avoid being constantly pestered by the servers. You can have mine, if you like. I have not touched it.”
“My bride prefers if I do not drink. Something to do with her father, I think. It is the least I can do, given the chaos of the past few days.”
“Indeed, it quite surprised me to read about your nuptials, considering you made no mention of courting the lady at our last meeting. When we discussed your list of paramours.”
Richard flushed at the memory of that particular meeting.
Thankfully, he had since made amends to several of the women on the list. “The union was unexpected. I had intended to court her properly, but during my first visit, she interviewed me for the position of husband and then threw herself into my arms just as her uncle entered the room.”
Halmesbury’s lips twitched, clearly suppressing a smile. “The countess compromised you?”
“Indeed,” Richard replied, shaking his head with a mix of exasperation and admiration. “After confirming my intentions were sincere, she declared her uncle would never agree to the match and kissed me senseless.”
Halmesbury snorted, trying not to laugh. “An apropos manner for such an accomplished rogue to be caught.”
“Rogue no more. Laugh, if you will, but she is a unique and intriguing woman.”
Halmesbury frowned. “And my Annabel was not?”
Richard grimaced. It was a fair question, one he had asked himself countless times since meeting Sophia.
Why had he not changed his ways when he had asked Annabel for her hand in marriage?
His cousin was his closest friend, apart from his brother, and the memory of that failure still lingered, even after nearly two years.
“I … I was not ready to change then,” he admitted, his voice low. “I was dishonest with myself and incapable of forming a true connection with her. You made the right choice when you stepped in. Annabel deserved better—she deserved you.”
Halmesbury leaned back in his chair, astonished. Richard squirmed, unsure what to say next. “Well, it would seem quite a change has been wrought since I saw you last?”
“I have been meeting with the women I wronged and setting matters to right with them. In fact … I met with Caroline Brown and made matters right with her.”
“The maid whom Annabel … witnessed you with?” Richard gave a nod. “Annabel will be pleased. She has expressed worry about the girl from time to time. They were apparently close.”
Richard stuck a finger behind his tight collar, attempting to ease the pressure restricting his breathing. This was so dashed awkward to discuss with the husband of the woman he had wronged so unjustly. He caught the moment Halmesbury took pity and changed the subject.
“Tell me about your wife?”
Richard blew out a breath in relief. “She is feisty and intelligent. And more direct than I expected. We have experienced an outrageous few days, but the countess has shown great composure and presence of mind. I have met few women so impressive …” He stopped, not wishing to reference Annabel again.
“But now I fear I may have put her in danger when I married her.”
Looking round to ensure no one was within earshot, and appreciating the duke’s foresight in ordering the drinks so that the servers did not hover close by, Richard quickly filled his cousin in on the events of the past few days.
There was much to discuss, including the discovery that he had fathered a natural born son who had arrived in his home, and that someone had placed a threatening note in his pocket, most likely at the Lawson musicale.
When he was done, he leaned back in his chair to hear what the duke would advise.
“So, you have found a woman you can love.”
Richard straightened up, knocking against the table and nearly upsetting the untouched drinks. “I admire her. With her help, I believe I can remain on the path to regain my honor. I did not mention love.”
Halmesbury stared at Richard without a word.
After a deep silence, he spoke. “You admire the woman. It is my understanding from our last meeting that overhearing her at the Astley ball prompted you to begin this quest you are on. You are attracted to her, and you appear very concerned with her well-being. It is not love?”
Richard shook his head in denial. His family history proved that Balfours were incapable of love.
The only one in his family who had possessed the capacity to love was his mother, but she had had no Balfour blood in her veins.
Love had broken her heart and contributed to her death. Love was a foolish endeavor.
“Nevertheless, I brought you a wedding gift.” The duke placed a small leather-bound volume on the table.
Richard picked it up. “Poems of Wedded Bliss?”
“The author is Lord John Pettigrew. Do you remember him from Oxford?” Richard nodded.
“John’s writing is the reason I met Annabel.
The reason I was ready to risk marrying again after the death of my first wife.
Since his own marriage two years ago, he has published his advice on marriage in the form of some very fine poetry.
The poems contain exceptional advice about maintaining a happy marriage.
The importance of honesty and such. I highly recommend reading it. ”
Richard’s agitation grew with each mention of the duke’s wife, the spirited yet sheltered noblewoman who had ended their engagement after discovering him in an indiscreet moment with her maid.
Unwilling to linger on the painful memory, he quickly shifted the conversation, determined to mask his discomfort.