Chapter 16 #2
“Nay, I study what I need to know. I am not interested in study for study’s sake.
I must have a question to answer before I will plow through these sedate books.
I found L’Art de la Guerre in my first Season when the pressure to marry was causing me distress.
” Sophia looked back to find her cousin’s face pinched into a puzzled frown.
“It means The Art of War, Lily. You will need to brush up on your French if you wish to employ military strategy, but your instincts are excellent. I will find a dictionary to assist you.”
She mounted the library steps to pull leather-bound books from the shelves, then set them on the table for her cousin to read.
Shortly after that, they said their goodbyes.
Sophia stood outside near to the family carriage that had brought her from Balfour Terrace.
She hesitated on the steps of the Morelands’ home and stared at the Saunton coat of arms gilded on the carriage door, thinking about the current state of her relationship with Richard.
Lily was right. It was time to make an effort at a proper discussion. She needed to stop playing games and tackle their issues directly. This was a marriage they were building, and it would not do to use wily misdirection and military tactics with her husband, or pose tests without his knowledge.
Sophia hovered on the steps in a state of bemusement, hugging herself in the chilled night air.
She admitted to herself that she had brought the accumulated disappointments of her past and laid them at Richard’s feet while he struggled to protect her and his son.
Every time her charming father had made a promise—only to break it when he disappeared for days into his gambling hells to fetter away their income—in those reoccurring moments, she had realized she could not trust her beloved father, and that his words were empty of intent.
Those final days, she had decided to grow up far too young and accept that he was irresponsible and would never change.
And then came the night they were informed of his untimely death while sitting at a card table.
All had taken residence in her mind, taunting her, challenging her to devise tests to disprove Richard’s sincerity.
“Milady?”
Her husband was mostly blameless. He was ashamed that his past was haunting their present and had withheld some information to protect his pride and ease her worries, and in return, she had set him a test without his knowledge to prove to herself that he would fail.
“Milady?”
Sophia chewed on her lip, lost deep in the memories.
She had not intended to compare her husband to her glib father, but she had done it all the same.
It was not well done of her; the earl did not know what—or whom—he was being measured against, which meant Lily was right. She was being dishonest with him.
“Milady?”
Sophia returned to the present to find her footman gazing at her with perplexed concern. She realized the liveried servant had attempted to gain her attention several times.
“I wish to return home. To Balfour Terrace.”
The footman appeared puzzled by this specification, but Sophia paid no heed. She had reached a decision.
I shall sit Richard down and talk to him honestly. Share my concerns, so we can reach an understanding.
Her mind made up, she gathered her skirts in one hand and accepted the gloved hand of the footman with the other to step up through the open door of the carriage.
When the shorter John climbed in behind her, she accepted it without resentment.
Her husband was taking strenuous action to defend her, and it was time she acknowledged the concern he was displaying.
They would need to talk and come to terms, but this time she would not get frustrated with him.
She was confident that if they worked together, they could find a solution to navigate the danger they were living under.
Richard visited with Ethan in the nursery and read him a story, then returned downstairs at dinnertime to wait for his wife, until Radcliffe informed him that her ladyship had left for the evening.
He had not expected to be so disappointed by this news, but it was the first time since they married that they were not taking their evening meal together.
Sitting in his study, nursing a fragile china cup of tea—blech—he thought about what she had said earlier that day. Perry concurred with her conclusion that it was safer for her and Ethan to remain in town rather than undertake a long journey.
Perhaps she had a point. Mayhap he had not involved her sufficiently, and treated her like a coddled child. But he had never confided in a woman before. This was all so new to him. Perhaps she needed to be more patient with him.
He stared down into his murky tea, wishing it was a fine French brandy, and admitted to himself that perhaps he was not making the effort that he should.
If she left him to return to her family, as Perry suggested, he would be utterly lost. Why this was, he could not fathom.
They had known each other for less than three weeks, but he grew mawkish at the thought of her absence.
He did not want to send her away, truth be told.
He wanted to eat dinner with her in the evenings before joining her in her bedchamber.
The decision to send her to Saunton Park had been reached because, more important than his time in her company, he wanted her to remain alive.
He could not believe how much he missed her at this moment, merely because she had abandoned him to dinner on his own. The only conclusion he could draw was that he now looked forward to the nightly ritual in her company, only to have it yanked away because of his own failure to include her.
When she returned home from her family, if she returned home, he would do better. And if she did not return home, he would haunt the Abbott household every moment of every day until she agreed to come home.
BANG.
A loud thud shuddered the wooden floor beneath his feet, causing him to flinch in surprise.
Richard sprang up to find out what had been dropped, but when he reached the study door, he hesitated when he heard a loud, agitated voice he did not recognize.
He cocked his head to listen closer, but he could not quite make out what was being said.
He only knew it was not a member of his household sounding off.
The commotion was coming from the vestibule.
Briefly, he hoped Sophia had still not returned home.
His body was on high alert while eerie calm descended over his mind.
Instinct told him that, as he had predicted earlier to Perry, the stakes had just heightened and it was time for him to act.
He finally had something—someone—specific to address.
Bending down, he removed his boots, concluding that his stockinged feet would allow him to investigate what was happening without announcing his presence.
Stealthily, he crept into the corridor outside his study and moved toward the disturbance.
When he reached the vestibule, it surprised him to glimpse a well-dressed couple facing away from him toward the grand staircase.
Richard stopped short, noting the thickset gentleman who appeared to be embracing a vaguely familiar woman.
She was slumped at an awkward angle, and Richard could not make out her face until her head fell to hang forward.
With dawning horror, he realized the gentleman was not embracing, but clutching Richard’s former entanglement, Lady Evaline Wood, around her waist with her arms pinned under his, and she appeared to be swooning.
Richard caught sight of the shorter John behind the Woods, lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs and bleeding. Radcliffe stood to one side of the stairs with his hands raised outwards at an odd angle, as if he had been instructed to show them.
“That is when my wife decided that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, and in a fit of spite, she engaged in an improper liaison with your husband!” Lord Wood bellowed, his face red with fury.