Chapter Twenty
Christopher paced the confines of the kitchen, the dessert biscuits Mrs. Boyd had brought him left uneaten on the wooden table. Where was Sophie?
“My lord, you’ll cut a rut in my stone floor with all that pacing.”
He halted to find the cook striding toward him. “You’re sure she received the note.”
The woman grasped his arm and led him back to the table. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s not even half past the hour yet. It’s not her fault you’re early. Now, come sit down. I’ve brought you something to settle your nerves.”
It wasn’t until he was seated that he noticed the glass of amber liquid. “Thank you. I apologize for being such a boor.”
She waved off his comment. “You’re not a boor, you’re just in love. Now drink that, and I’ll get you another.”
He sniffed the glass and recognized fine scotch, most likely the duke’s store. “To you, Mrs. Boyd.” He threw back the whisky and handed her the glass.
“Now don’t you worry. She’ll be here as soon as she’s able. Those ladies drop into her room like it’s the newest French boutique to hit London. So be patient, like she is.”
He gave the woman a nod then proceeded to crack his knuckles.
If they were to defy Lord Dowling, they’d need to do so before the Duke and Duchess of Northwick returned.
Already they’d been gone a fortnight and could arrive at any moment.
Since they were to send word when the newest Blackmore made an appearance, he was fairly certain he and Sophie had at least a day to prepare.
The Scottish border would take at least two days to reach if they traveled quickly.
Fortunately, the hole in the roof on the east wing of Stoneleigh House was being repaired, thanks to selling a few of the remaining paintings Andrew had said were valuable.
Lord Harewood had aided him with the much-needed seed, since he’d had an abundance and said it would rot.
As for the stolen property, Christopher could tell Sophie she could choose what she wished to replace it with, when they were more stable.
At least one of the principal bedrooms for he and Sophie was still intact and with a strong roof over them.
It would take years to make all the updates, which made him question his actions.
But the alternative, losing Sophie to another man, was something he couldn’t live with.
He hoped she’d enjoy the project. He would consult with her on almost everything. She had such a keen mind, and he would let her have free rein over the servants. He could almost picture her sitting—
Quiet footsteps in the corridor to the kitchens had him standing. As Sophie appeared in the kitchen, he couldn’t resist. He strode to her and kissed her.
She held him tightly, kissing him with a fervor he was hard pressed to ignore, but Mrs. Boyd clearing her throat behind them forced him to break it off.
“I brought you your whisky, my lord. And for you, my lady, some mulled wine.”
“You’re too kind, Mrs. Boyd.” Sophie stepped away from him and moved to the table.
He held back the need to sit next to her and instead returned to his seat. They had much to discuss. “You are much better?”
She blinked as if she didn’t remember falling into the ice-cold pond before giving a short nod. “I am. I’ve already put the incident behind me. Though I fear it’s left a lasting impression on Rose.”
He didn’t feel a lot of sympathy for Rose, so he ignored the comment, more concerned about Sophie. “I have spoken to your father.”
Curiosity filled her gaze. “Did he agree to your suit?”
“He did not.” He refrained from explaining that Dowling wished to use her as a pawn to increase his own standing.
“I thought that a strong possibility. He doesn’t take into account people’s feelings, only if something makes logical sense.” She took a sip of her wine as if they were discussing the latest winter storm instead of their future together.
“Yes, that was the impression I had from him. However, I don’t think we should let his answer deter us from our purpose.”
She set down her glass, her eyes widening. “What do you mean? Do you think you can convince him to allow a betrothal between us?”
“No, but we should marry anyway.”
“Tam, how can we?”
“You are of age, are you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then that’s all we need. I suggest we prepare to leave tomorrow night for Gretna Green.”
Her gasp was loud. “Scotland?”
She sounded as if she hadn’t thought of it, when it was the first idea that had come to him. “Yes, unless you have another suggestion.”
This time when she lifted her glass, she gulped a large portion of her wine. After setting the glass back, she shook her head. “I don’t.”
“Then will you ride with me to Scotland and be married? I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just want you for my wife.”
Sophie looked away, her hand slipping from the top of the table to her lap, no doubt to be clasped by the other.
Something had changed. Her welcome kiss had been desperate.
Was it simply because she was afraid her father had denied his suit, or was there something else?
She always told the truth, so he didn’t hesitate.
“What’s wrong? Have you decided you don’t love me enough to be my wife?
” Even saying the words had every muscle in his body preparing for her rejection.
Her gaze snapped back to him. “Oh, no. Never think that. I will love you until my dying breath. I could never love another. You are the only man I want.”
His body relaxed. If she loved him, they could overcome anything. “Tell me, then, what makes you hesitate.”
Again, she looked away and remained silent.
He rose and moved to sit next to her, taking one of her hands so she could clasp his and not be alone in her worry. “Rosalind, you can tell me.”
She finally looked at him, tears forming in her eyes. “My mother visited me while you were away. She told me information that has changed my life forever.”
His heart jolted at the hopelessness in her now-bright-green eyes filled with unshed tears. “Whatever it is, we can make it better. I promise.”
She shook her head. “This cannot be fixed.”
Cupping her cheek with his free hand, he brushed a kiss across her lips before whispering, “Tell me.” He held out his handkerchief.
She sniffed before sitting back and taking it. After she wiped her eyes, she kept her gaze on the cloth she held. “My mother was sworn to secrecy, but I coaxed her to tell me the truth. Lord Dowling is not my father. My father was a groom from my aunt’s stables. I am nothing more than a commoner.”
Surprised by the revelation, he stared hard at her, not seeing how it could be true, but knowing that she would never lie.
True or not, it was of no matter. “We talked of this, remember? If there is love, social class doesn’t matter.
Look at Mrs. Kingman. She is perfectly happy, though I imagine her home is a bit more complete than ours will be.
But I promise it will be very comfortable, and in a few years, it will be restored to its former splendor.
No, a better splendor because you will have helped make it so.
” He smiled, pleased that what she thought was devastating actually wasn’t.
“No, you don’t understand. My mother was married to Lord Dowling, my older brother already four years old. I’m not simply a commoner—I’m a bastard.”
He sucked in a breath at her words. He couldn’t believe Lady Dowling had had the backbone to conduct a liaison with a groom while married to Lord Dowling. “That is startling. Does Lord Dowling know?”
“He does. I was only allowed to remain under his roof because my mother took an oath to never tell anyone.”
He could see that Sophie was completely rattled by the news.
He wanted to comfort her, but she kept leaning away from him.
If he didn’t still have her hand, he was sure she would have fled by now.
“You must know that your birth is a reflection upon your mother, not on you. You are clearly the lady they raised you to be.”
“You don’t understand.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and rose, tears forming in her eyes once more. “I cannot marry you. I cannot marry anyone. I’m beyond the pale. You must find someone else. Someone who is worthy. I am not.”
“Sophie. It is not so bad as all that. There are other women who have been openly a by-blow of their father and they have married well.” He stood, offering his hand again.
“Yes, but all who have been born of unfaithful wives have become mistresses or worse.” She shivered.
“No. You must forget about me. Forget about Rosalind.” A tear fell down her cheek, proving her feelings for him.
“There can be no future happiness for me. I love you too much to marry you. I’m sorry. ”
He couldn’t believe she meant it. “You’re forgetting that no one knows. If we go to Gretna Green, then it won’t matter anyway because you will become Lady Tamworth.”
She clasped her hands to her chest. “Don’t you understand? If we elope, there will be no dowry, and Lord Dowling will be furious. He will ruin us. He will reveal what I am for revenge.”
He didn’t expect anything less of a man who would marry his daughter off to best suit his own aspirations.
If they wedded, Christopher didn’t doubt the man would try to hurt them in some way, but he wouldn’t let that keep him from Sophie.
“We can overcome anything because we love each other. Remember Romeo and Juliet?”
“I do. And they both killed themselves. I don’t want that for you.”
“That was a bad example.” He searched for a better one.
Her brow furrowed. “It’s more that we are Orpheus and Eurydice. Yet another tragedy.”
He was well aware she’d read far more stories than he, but it didn’t matter. “We aren’t characters in a play or a Greek myth. We are human beings who love each other, and that is all that matters. Marry me.” He held out his hand.
She stepped back, shaking her head. “I can’t.” Tears flowed down her cheeks, clawing at his heart. And then she was gone, running out of the room.