“There you are,” the dowager countess called out as she emerged from the front parlor. “Thornton said an envelope had arrived bearing Queen Charlotte’s seal?”
“Thornton gossips worse than the maids,” Sophie grumbled as she snatched her hand out of Nash’s grasp and tucked it behind her back.
“Thornton merely keeps me informed.”
Slightly amused that Sophie didn’t wish her mother to witness the intimacy of his holding her bare hand, Nash pulled the envelope from his waistcoat and held it out to the dowager. “The special license Her Majesty promised, as well as a command for the ceremony to take place at Kew. Tomorrow. In her presence, along with Princess Augusta and Princess Sophie.”
Lady Rydleshire did not appear surprised. “Queen Charlotte has never been known for her patience or for leaving a plan to chance.”
“Sophie’s and my sentiments exactly.”
The lady eyed them both as though sizing them up, her expression thoughtful and something more. Something Nash couldn’t quite identify.
“I find myself overly tired today,” she said. “You will forgive me if I dine in my rooms? Especially since tomorrow is now to be quite full as well. I find I need more quiet moments to reflect and ponder things, especially with the onset of the recent threats.”
“Are you unwell, Maman?” Sophie drew closer to her mother as if ready to defend her against the world.
“I am merely tired, sweet child.” The dowager touched her daughter’s cheek. “And I need time to think. Do not worry.”
Nash felt like an intruder. The close bond the pair of women shared was one he had never known with his family. His motherhad died when he was quite young, and his father still behaved as though the very sight of his only son filled him with revulsion.
“Good evening to you both,” Lady Rydleshire said. The woman was as beautiful as ever, even though a bit of silver highlighted her reddish-gold hair. She gave him a pointed look. “Take good care of her this evening, young Bromley. She has a great deal on her mind, and I do not wish her overset any more than she already is. Is that understood?”
“I shall take good care of her, my lady.” He underscored the promise with a formal bow, then moved to Sophie’s side and subtly rested his hand on the small of her back.
To his surprise, she didn’t move away from his touch. Instead, she clasped her hands to her chest, almost curling into herself as she drew closer to him while watching her mother ascend the stairs.
“This has been so very hard on her,” Sophie said, her words laced with worry.
“I am sure it has been difficult for both of you.” He gently turned her toward the workroom, then halted. No. The blackmailer could wait. Sophie had endured enough this day. “Come. Let us sit in the parlor and speak of other things before dinner. Shall we?”
She nodded and slowly headed that way. “Poor Thornton. We have divided on him. That sometimes sends him into a spin.”
“From the man’s expression when he brought you that letter, I am sure he will understand.” Nash glanced around the parlor, gauging the French-style furniture with a critical eye. He did not wish to land on the floor again. The light-colored wood of the tables, chairs, and settees appeared sturdier, even though the legs curved inward and ended in feet shaped like a lion’s paws.
“Maman selected this furniture,” Sophie said as if reading his mind. Her smile somehow seemed sad. “She said it was much like a woman, delicate and lovely in appearance but strongenough to withstand whatever comes its way.” She lowered herself into a chair near the front window and gazed outside. “I fear I shall not be fit company this evening, Sir Nash. If you wish to rescind your invitation to dine together, I understand completely.”
“Nash.” He selected the chair closest to her. “And I find your company—”
She looked at him when he paused and smiled. “You cannot finish that sentence, can you?”
He rose and knelt at her side. “But I can, my lady. I find your company as exciting as a stormy sea and as intoxicating as the brandy we shared in your sitting room.” With the lightest touch, he stroked a single fingertip across the back of her hand. “But you do not like or trust flowery declarations. So I find myself at a loss when attempting to speak from the heart.”
She stared down at him, not quite frowning, but only just. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what, my lady?”
“Trying to win me. It is unnecessary. I am yours, whether or not either of us wish it.” She flicked a hand as if shooing him away. “Courting. The flirtatious games. Theflowery declarations, as you call them, are all unnecessary.” Her mouth tightened. “We have received our sentence, Nash, and the queen has never extended clemency to condemned prisoners.”
“Hard words from such a delicate swan.” He rose and returned to his chair, sensing he had lost ground, and she had slid back to her original low opinion of him. “Prisoners often find their sentence easier to bear if they make the best of things. In fact, it often saves their sanity. Helps them survive.”
She deflated with a heavy sigh and bowed her head. “I am sorry, Nash. I warned you I was not fit company this evening.”
“What can I do to make this easier for you?” He ached to ease her turmoil, make her see him as he was now: a gentleman whoadmired and respected her. No more was he the insolent arse of his youth. Or, at least with her, he would do his level best not to be. “Tell me how I can help you, Sophie. I truly wish to.”
She slowly shook her head and straightened in the chair. “There is nothing you can do. I must come to terms with this in my own way. My own time.” Her focus shifted back to the window, and she narrowed her eyes as though studying something off in the distance. “Maman came to terms with her circumstances when Papa died, and I was born a girl rather than the son she needed. She never complained. Not once. I need to be like her.”
“Do you still ride?”
