The terrible trio cackled in unison and swept onward down the street—no doubt in quite the hurry to spread the news of Sophie’s humiliation.
She was rooted to the spot, and a sickening chill crashed across her with the strength of a stormy sea. She turned to Celia.“You saw him? It is not just their penchant for cruelty? Not their making up of unsavory stories?”
“Perhaps we are all mistaken,” Celia said gently, but her pained expression left no doubt that it was Nash who had stepped out of the carriage, then turned back to help the harlot step down as well.
Struggling to stop herself from shaking, Sophie squared her shoulders and charged forward.
“Sophie!” Celia hissed while forcing a smile at passersby. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think I am going?” Sophie’s sister by choice should know her well enough by now to realize she would not stand idly by while her husband boldly visited his whore on Bond Street in the middle of the day—flaunting her in front of those of theton, no less.
Celia caught hold of her arm and vainly tried to slow her. “You cannot go in there!” she quietly scolded, still wearing that ridiculous smile to make others think nothing was amiss. “Sophie! You must not. We already have the gossip of Bournebridge and her cronies to deal with.”
Sophie halted and glared at her. “No one publicly shames me.” She held up her reticule. “And I do not go in there unarmed. I not only have my pocket pistol but also my dagger.” She jutted her chin back in the direction they had just come from. “Go back to the carriage. I will be quite fine, I assure you.” Rage paired with unbearable humiliation seethed through her. How could she have been such a simple-minded, trusting fool? How could she have lowered her guard and allowed him back into her heart?
Celia gave her arm a hard yank and prevented her from turning. “You must not be seen going in there. Nor must you cause a scene. If you do not wish to be completely evisceratedby the razor-sharp tongues of Polite Society, pretend you saw nothing—at least for now.”
“Saw nothing?” Sophie choked on the ridiculousness of what Celia suggested. “You expect me to act as if I sawnothing?”
“I expect you to act rationally to save face and avoid even further embarrassment. Bournebridge will supply enough fodder to the gossip rags. Do you wish to feed them even more by barging into a brothel, dragging your husband out into the street, and shooting him in broad daylight in front of witnesses?”
“A brothel?” Sophie whirled about and stared at the mysteriously plain door that Nash and the woman had disappeared through. “How do you know it’s a brothel? I assumed it was merely the doxy’s private den of iniquity.”
“You saw how she was dressed, and Elias told me that there are at least three of them here on Bond Street that are about to bankrupt one of his clients. They call themsporting hotels.”
“I suppose we know whatsportthey house.” Sophie stared at the place, willing Nash to emerge so she could confront him. How could he do this to her?Whywould he do this, after all that he had said about loving and needing her? If he truly loved and needed her, why did he need that woman too? She blinked against the stinging threat of tears, refusing to allow herself to show such weakness. She covered her mouth with her gloved hand. Her heart ached so badly it threatened to make her retch.
Celia wrapped an arm around her, supporting her as she turned her back in the direction of their carriage. “Come. Let us get you home. You are not well at all.”
“I do not have a home,” Sophie forced through clenched teeth. “It is all his now, remember? Thanks to Her Majesty, if he wishes, he can spend every last farthing that once belonged to Maman and me. He can spend it on that whore, and there is nothing I can do about it other than shoot him and then hang for it.”
“You will be my guest. He will not be allowed in my home.” Celia hurried her along, hugging her tighter. “I shall send for your things, and for your mother too. Elias will see what can be done legally to protect you and provide for your future.”
“I have no future and nothing can be done legally. You know that as well as I.” Sophie swallowed hard to keep from sobbing. All was lost. All she had ever hoped for was gone. “That was the reason for the Sisterhood of Independent Ladies in the first place. Except Maman and I failed in our endeavors by trusting the wrong people. We were such fools.” She squeezed Celia’s arm as she stumbled along beside her. “At least you and Frannie secured your happiness safely. I am glad of that for the both of you.”
“My lady! What happened?” asked the man Nash had introduced as Mr. Forthrite. He rushed to meet them while glancing all around. “Did something frighten you? Did those ladies who stopped and talked with you warn you of some danger?”
Sophie snorted a bitter laugh. “Leave me alone. You will only side with him.”
“My lady?” Mr. Forthrite gave her a perplexed look then motioned for a man across the way to join them. “Tomes! Did you see what happened?”
Mr. Tomes joined them, looking just as confused as Forthrite. “Nothing. They spoke to those three ladies and then moved on. Not a single untoward thing happened. No unsavory-looking characters lurking about. My lady?”
Sophie ignored the men, clambered into the carriage, and sagged back in the seat. How could Nash have done this to her? All his precious sentiments had been as worthless as the dust she shook from her shoes. Clenching her teeth, she stared out the window as they rolled along. She appreciated Celia’s silence. Itconsoled her more than any meaningless words could ever hope to.
Once they arrived at Hasterton House, Celia rushed her inside, pausing only long enough to inform the butler that under no circumstance was the Earl of Rydleshire to be allowed admittance onto the property. Only the dowager countess and Miss Marie, Lady Rydleshire’s maid, were approved to come in whenever they arrived.
Gransdon nodded and even bolted the door.
“Come. Let us get you upstairs to the guest room. I shall order tea strongly laced with brandy, and we shall plan your counterattack.”
Sophie didn’t answer, just clung to the banister to keep from crumpling to her knees and shaming herself further by releasing the painful sobs begging to be unleashed. Counterattack? What could she and Maman possibly do? Queen Charlotte had stripped them of their power, influence, and wealth. Nash had stripped her of everything else—pride, contentment, and trust—but worst of all, he had ground her love for him beneath his heel.
Once they made it into the guest bedroom, Celia settled beside her on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. “Cry, Sophie,” she said. “Or rant and rage. Throw things. Break whatever you like if it will help. There is no shame in it, and it is so much better than this dreadful silence that is so unlike you.”
“No.” A cold numbness had settled over Sophie, and she would do nothing to dispel it. It was better this way. Crying meant she cared, and had been foolish enough to love and yearn for a man who would never feel the same for her. Never would she make that mistake again. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “After our tea, I would like to rest for a while and would be exceedingly grateful if you would send word to Marie about my things. She will see to bringing everything over. And send for Maman too, as you suggested earlier. But if she wishesto stay at Rydleshire House under Mr. Wethersby’s protection, I understand.”
“And what about your protection?” Celia gently hugged her around the shoulders.
