Celia refilled her glass just as Gransdon entered with the tea. “Set it on the table, Gransdon, thank you.”
The butler placed the tray on the table beside the brandy and hurried back out.
“If the queen herself has commanded this, I fear that you have no recourse, dear sister.” Celia settled down into the chair beside Sophie but perched on the edge of its seat. “You must admit, doing so will disarm the blackmailer. If he persists in following through with his threats and publicizes the truth about the Rydleshire title, very few would believe it once you have done everything the queen ordered.”
Sophie slid her glass to the table, leaned back into the comfortably supportive wing of the chair, and propped her head in her hand. “I never thought you would side against me.”
“Do not be precious. I am not siding against you, and you know it. I am merely voicing what you yourself already know to be true. You have been well and truly snared.” Celia poured them each a cup of tea and sweetened it with a hearty slosh of brandy. “What does the whore bird say about all this—or does he know yet? And why him? How has he curried such favor with the queen? An earldom given to a mere knight?” She frowned. “You did say he came from landed gentry, did you not? It has been quite some time since I read your letters about him.”
Sophie glared at her, willing Celia to stop firing off questions without taking a breath. “Initially, I do not think he wanted the leg-shackling any more than I did. But now that he has had time to ponder it and all he stands to gain, I believe he’s quite warmed to the idea.” The burn of his kiss still simmered deep within her, demanding she acquiesce without a fight. But she couldn’t. He had been so…someanto her all those years ago, when she had loved him with all her heart.
“Well, of course he warmed to the idea.” Celia thoughtfully pursed her lips as she held her teacup aloft while cradling its matching saucer in her other hand. “And why did Queen Charlotte choose to gift him with such a prize? Any idea?”
“According to Maman, Sir Nash brilliantly handled some sort of delicate matter within the royal household some years ago, and ever since, Queen Charlotte thinks him quite the darling.”
“Something to do with Mad King George, I’d wager.” Celia tipped a glance at the decanter. “More brandy? I daresay you deserve it.”
“No. Becoming muddle-headed is something I can ill afford right now.” Sophie gave a sad shake of her head. “Maman refuses to consider anything less than doing exactly as the queen has commanded.”
Celia set her saucer and cup on the table and scowled off into the distance before shifting her attention back to Sophie. “I amso sorry, dear sister. But I do not see a way out of this, especially since your mother insists that it must be done.” With a softtsk, she offered Sophie a sympathetic pout. “Have the years turned him into a disgusting toad?”
“Quite the opposite, in fact. If anything, he is even more handsome than I remembered.”
“Well, there is that, then.” Celia reached over and rested her hand atop Sophie’s. “I am sorry, dear sister. Truly, I am.”
“As am I.” After a disheartened groan, Sophie pushed up from the chair. “I suppose I should return home and attempt to be civil.”
“At least there is the silver lining that this might assist you in catching that fiendish blackmailer.” Celia rang a bell on her desk, then led Sophie into the hallway.
“I suppose.”
Celia kissed her on the cheek. “I should be proud to be a witness for your wedding, and I am sure Elias would as well. Name the date and time, and we shall be there.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
Sophie forced a smile as she accepted her cloak and umbrella from Gransdon. She turned back to Celia, struggling to keep her smile from faltering. “I promise.”
Her dear friend squeezed her arm. “Take heart, sister. If I think of absolutely anything that can be done, I shall hurry right over.”
With a defeated nod, Sophie headed back outside and opened her umbrella. It was raining harder. An ominous sign, indeed. By the time she made it back inside Rydleshire House, her slippers and stockings were soaked through. She had managed to keep the hem of her dress from getting too muddy, but it was quite soppy as well.
“If anyone asks for me, I have retired for the day, Thornton,” she told the butler as she slogged up the stairs. She didn’t bother waiting for his standardyes, my lady, knowing the man’s loyalty to be unquestionable. As soon as she entered her private sitting room, she perched on her favorite chair with the decorative brass inlays and removed the cloyingly wet footwear and hosiery. Marie would have readily come at her call to handle the task, but for now, she simply wished to be alone with her troubled thoughts. Just as she was about to enter her bedchamber, a sharp knock on the sitting room door made her jump.
“Who is it?” she snapped.
“Nash.”
A combination of disgust, resentment, and an absolutely unreasonable longing for another kiss surged through her. She started to shoutgo away, but admittedly that would hardly be considered civil. Bracing herself for what she felt certain would be another unpleasant encounter, she strode across the room and yanked open the door, but stood so as to bar his entry.
“How can I help you, sir?” She clenched the door latch so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t bend.
He stared at her, the muscles in his square jaw twitching. His focus then shifted to the dripping slippers and stockings she held aloft in her other hand. “Thornton informed me you had retired for the day. Are you unwell?”
“I have enjoyed as much of today as I can possibly stand, Sir Nash,” she forced out so sweetly she nearly gagged.
His light blue eyes seemed even icier than before, unblinking and sharply watchful. “You and I must eventually come to an accord if we hope to capture the assailant who caused this day. You do understand that, do you not, Lady Sophie?”
