CHAPTER FOURTEEN #3
Annabelle sat silent and brooding in the carriage while Laura — bless her heart — kept a limping conversation going between the others.
She acknowledged that it was cowardly and conniving of her — things were looking so hopeful for her daughter’s happiness these days — but she intended to avoid, or at least delay, confronting her brother on the subject, unless Sophia asked her to intervene.
She made the mental reservation into a vow; if Sophia asked for her help, she would act, no matter the consequences.
Sophia did not request her aunt’s intervention.
When Laura, burdened by none of her mother’s fears or scruples, knocked on her cousin’s door the morning after the theatre outing, the Marsh chin was firmed in determination.
She too had noticed Sophia’s physical recoil from Sir Cyril during the play.
Her uncle’s failure to intercede on his daughter’s behalf had proved a revelation to her.
In that instant her uncle, her father and her grandfather had merged into one image — the domineering male who sees nothing morally repugnant in bartering his unwilling daughter for financial advantage.
“Good morning, Laura. You are up early,” Sophia said, producing a smile, though her expression was wary.
“It is not all that early. You look like you did not sleep a wink. Your eyes are all shadowed. May I come in?” Laura added when no invitation was immediately forthcoming.
“Of course.” Early training prevailed and the younger girl stepped back, though with palpable reluctance. “I had a headache last night and did not sleep well.”
“Was the headache named Mildmay?”
“What do you mean?”
Laura did not reply at first. Her eyes were searching her cousin’s, which skittered away as Sophia gestured to a chair.
“Sit down.”
“Not yet. Look, cousin, if I am overstepping the bounds, do not hesitate to slap me down, and I promise it will not happen again. Are Sir Cyril Mildmay’s attentions to you unwelcome?”
The blunt question seemed to paralyse Sophia. her lashes veiled her eyes and she became entirely still. To Laura’s fancy the silence stretched until it fairly screamed.
“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “Forgive me.” She turned to the door.
“Wait!” Sophia’s voice, though desperate, was pitched barely above a whisper.
“Don’t go, Laura. Yes, yes, they are unwelcome!
I … I find them — him — completely repugnant.
” Suddenly the words came forth like a torrent from a breached dam, and her stillness erupted into uncontrolled movement.
She rubbed her temples with white-tipped fingers and dropped on to a chair, only to bounce off it the next instant, twisting her fingers together while she paced angrily.
“At first I was polite, then when I understood… I tried to discourage him. I refused his invitations when I could, and talked to others, and ignored him sitting there like a vulture waiting to swoop. I —”
“Have you told your father how you feel?”
Sophia’s eyes evaded hers and she shook her head.
“At first I thought it was simply a matter of making my indifference clear to Sir Cyril; then when Papa announced that we were to go to the theatre as his guests, I intended to tell him that I dislike the man, but there was never a moment when I could work up to the subject. He was always too busy to listen to me. And then last night…” Her voice trailed away and Laura saw the dread in her huge dark eyes.
“You are afraid that your father looks with favour on Sir Cyril’s suit?”
“Y … yes, but how could he when my actions — I can scarcely believe that … that —”
“You are torturing yourself with uncertainty. Ask him.”
Sophia’s brown eyes sought Laura’s in trepidation. “But what will I do if he … if… ?” Again she could not finish.
For a moment Laura bit her lip and was silent, then she said softly, “When I was seventeen my father tried to make a match for me with the son of our nearest neighbour.” Her mouth twisted in pain.
“Does that sound like Lucinda’s case? It isn’t.
I had always detested the man and refused to marry him. ”
“What happened?” Sophia stared, wide-eyed.
Laura’s were hard as flint, did she but know it, but her voice was uninflected. “From the moment he had to accept that I would not budge, until he took his last breath, my father treated me as if I were a loathsome object he wished he could ignore completely.”
Sophia shuddered. “What did you do?” she whispered. “How could you bear it?”
Laura shrugged. “I acted as if I despised him as much in return, which was not true, and kept reminding myself that a wretched marriage would be even worse. I am not advising you to do what I did, only to know what consequences to expect from whatever decision you make before you make it.”
“Did you?” A tiny smile trembled on the younger girl’s lips for an instant.
“No.” Laura’s answering smile was rueful. “But I learned.”
Sophia was no longer looking haggard but thoughtful. “Thank you for telling me this, Laura. I believe I will wait a bit longer before talking to my father. Perhaps Sir Cyril will decide that an unwilling bride is a bad bargain in the long run.”
“I hope so,” Laura said, concealing her fears on this head behind an encouraging smile as she headed for the door again.
“Laura, I am grateful to you and Aunt Annabelle for your assistance last night. I would have dearly loved to shove the odious creature over the wall of that box!”
“No, no, you did right to refrain — too many witnesses,” Laura observed, laughing as she went out of the room.
The laughter ended on the other side of the door.
It was not a laughing matter, nor could she claim to have accomplished anything tangible by barging in on her cousin uninvited and forcing her confidence.
Unless it helped to learn that one was not alone, that others had gone through similar experiences and emerged more or less intact.
Except to her mother, Laura had never spoken of her battle of wills with her father.
Something — pride or shame, or family loyalty, perhaps — had kept her lips sealed until now, but she had wanted to offer her cousin some human comfort and support.
She told herself that Sophia had appeared more alert and hopeful when they had parted just now.
Laura’s brow furrowed as she walked slowly down the hall toward the stairs and she hesitated at the landing, reluctant to go down to breakfast until all chance of encountering her uncle was past. On an impulse, she reversed direction, bounding up the stairs to the nursery level.
She’d been kept so busy on the social circuit lately that there had been no time for outings with Aubrey.
She knew from her mother that he and Henry Wright exchanged visits on a regular basis these days — a most satisfactory outcome, she was thinking as she knocked on the schoolroom door.
“I have missed you dreadfully, Aubrey,” she began when bidden to enter. “It seems ages since I’ve seen you.”
The boy looked up from the table where he was consuming a gigantic breakfast. A huge grin split his face in two at her exaggerated tone. “It must be the distance,” he said laconically, before taking another bite of eggs.
Laura slid into the other chair and absently appropriated a slice of toast from the rack which she proceeded to nibble. “It seems we have been out somewhere every single day this past fortnight, and entertaining callers whenever we are at home.” She sighed gustily and munched again on the toast.
“I miss our excursions with Lord Hastings,” Aubrey said, “but now that Henry’s knee is fine, Mr. Trent has been taking us on what Papa calls ‘educational outings’. We are going to tour the mint this afternoon.”
“That should be most interesting. I’m glad you and Henry have become friends.”
“So am I.”
“I promise I’ll pop in more often,” Laura said, rising from the chair. “At least we might find the odd hour for a game of chess.”
“We can have one right now if you like.”
Laura staggered back dramatically as though from a blow.
“So this is your opinion of me as an adversary? You believe you can beat me in the few minutes before Mr. Trent is due! I am insulted, sir, and shall demand satisfaction. But not this morning,” she added in normal tones. “I must go down to breakfast.”
“You’ve already eaten mine,” the boy pointed out.
“Goodness, so I have! Forgive me,” she said contritely, “but mostly for ignoring you of late. I intended to stop in a few times, but I could hear that Mr. Trent was still with you.”
“That doesn’t stop Sophie.”
Laura blinked in confusion, then recalled, “Yes, I know she brought Henry up to see you one day when your tutor was here.”
“She comes in lots of times when Mr. Trent is here.”
“She does?” Laura croaked when the ripple of shock this casual announcement had produced had receded enough to permit speech. “Do … do they speak — to each other, I mean?”
“Of course.” Aubrey was gazing at her as if to assess her sanity, but Laura’s curiosity was beyond tact or caution.
“What do they talk about?”
“Music, mostly. Mr. Trent is as nutty on that subject as Sophie. He plays the violin.” Aubrey took the last slice of toast and lost interest in his tutor’s and sister’s passion for music.
“I see. Well, I must be off to breakfast.” With a feeble wave in response to the boy’s, Laura took herself out of the schoolroom.
Contrary to her stated intention, however, she did not head for the staircase at once.
Her paralysed brain was now functioning at double speed as it suddenly made sense of odd little happenings in the recent past. Sophia’s occasional appearances on this floor, bearing gifts for her cousin but unwilling to actually spend time in Laura’s room, were perfectly understandable in hindsight, as red herrings in the event she was seen near the schoolroom during the tutor’s hours in the house.
Laura had the tainted satisfaction of knowing she’d been correct to mistrust the pair’s display of indifference at their first meeting.
Obviously there had been an instantaneous mutual attraction, but she’d wager the farm that any subsequent improving of the acquaintance had occurred at Sophia’s instigation, because she was convinced that Martin Trent was a very correct young man with a highly developed sense of honour.
The burning question was, of course, how far had their acquaintance progressed?
Somehow Laura doubted that a few minutes’ conversation about music, even if they were daily occurrences, represented the full extent of their relationship.
It struck her that Sophia’s occasional excursions to the lending library with her maid, errands on which she avoided her cousin’s company, might provide opportunities for private trysts. Perhaps there were others also.
When Laura finally turned dragging footsteps toward the breakfast room, her concerns about Sir Cyril’s unwelcome courtship had paled in comparison with this new complication.
She refused to allow her thoughts to stray into speculation about what her uncle’s probable reaction would be if he learned of his daughter’s clandestine friendship with the impecunious young man he’d engaged to tutor his son.