Sophie huffed a bitter snort. “Not that it matters, but if they wish to do so, they may stand guard outside. That is the appropriate place for a master’s dogs, is it not?”
“I am glad you listened to reason and did not make a scene that you would have later regretted.” Celia rose and yanked on the bellpull.
“I suppose.” Sophie pushed up from the bench, crossed the room to the dressing table, and eyed herself in the looking glass. “Her hair was golden. Like sunshine. Mine resembles one of the queen’s red Pomeranians.” She cupped her breasts and turned sideways, studying herself from that angle. “Her hips and bosoms were quite a bit larger than mine, but not so heavily curved as to be considered too plump. I suppose a man can never have enough of those things from a woman?” Was that why Nash had strayed to Miss Hampshire’s bed?
“Stop.” Celia caught hold of her hands and squeezed them. “You are loveliness itself. There has to be an explanation for his being there today.”
Sophie snorted again. “I am sure there is. She gives him delights that he apparently does not find with me. Why else does a husband frequent a brothel?” She held tightly to Celia’s hands, struggling to understand, fighting to find a logical reason for this horrid pain he had foisted upon her. “Do you ever worry about Elias straying? About his taking a mistress?”
“Every woman experiences doubts at one time or another.” Celia pulled Sophie into another hug. “But we must not drive ourselves mad with wonderings. Facts, dear sister. We must discover the truth about today and move forward from there.”
Sophie spewed a bitter laugh as she pulled away. “Truth, you say? Do you honestly think he will fall on his knees and say, ‘Why yes, my love, I meant to tell you I was going to visit my favorite ladybird today’? No. He will tell me some convoluted lie and expect me to fawn at his feet and beg his forgiveness for doubting him.” She gave a violent shake of her head. “There is no such thing as the truth with Nash, and the sad thing is, I understood that. I witnessed his callous treatment of other women years ago when I first fell in love with him. His lies. His trickery. I knew, Celia, I knew.” She clutched her hands to her breaking heart. “I was such a fool to think he would be any different with me.”
A light knock on the hallway door interrupted them.
“That will be our tea,” Celia said. “Come into the sitting room, dear one. You need a drink.”
Sophie needed something, but at present, she wasn’t sure what it was unless Celia knew of a way to turn back time and fix all her mistakes. She followed her into the small sitting room and sank into a chair as Celia went to the door. Sagging to one side with her head in her hand, she ignored the murmurings in the hallway. She didn’t have the energy to care anymore.
“Two of your guards—Mr. Forthrite and Mr. Tomes are the names Gransdon gave—are standing outside at the front gate. I asked him about the third guard, but he had no information about that man.” Celia set the tray on the low, bandy-legged table close by and filled the cups with brandy, forgoing the tea completely. She held out the delicate saucer and cup. “Here. Drink this. It will either help calm you or numb you enough so you cease to care. Either way, you need it.”
Sophie accepted the cup and stared down at the pale amber liquid that perfectly matched the translucent roses painted on the fine porcelain. Peach brandy. She doubted it would help. At this point, nothing would help her feel better.
“I instructed Gransdon to send a pair of footmen across the way to help Marie bring your things over.” Celia settled in a chair across from her but left her cup on the tray. “I did not, however, send for your mother. Not yet.”
“And why not?” It seemed like the appropriate question to ask, although Sophie didn’t particularly care whether Celia answered it. She didn’t care about anything but drinking herself into oblivion and curling into a pitiful knot under the bedcovers.
“The more I pondered your mother’s behavior since the two of you arrived here in London, the more questions I have thought of than answers.” Celia laced her fingers together and folded her hands in her lap. “Since when has the esteemed Lady Nia, the most talented female agent who ever served the Crown, given up on a problem so quickly and sought help from said Crown when she had to have known what it would cost the two of you in the end?”
Sophie took another deep drink of the fruity beverage, inhaling the powerful fumes as the brandy warmed her tongue. Her head was beginning to pound, probably because she had not allowed herself to melt into a sobbing, inconsolable mess. “Speak plainly, Celia. I have neither the patience nor gracefulness at the moment to sort through niceties to describe the raw, vulgar truth. What do you suspect, and who has betrayed me?”
The duchess tipped a sympathetic nod, retrieved her cup and saucer from the tray, and partook of a healthy sip of the spirits herself. “Your mother and the queen betrayed you. Colluded, if you will, to marry you off and be done with the undue stress and maintenance of perpetuating the fake earl.”
Sophie drained her cup, then refilled it herself while mulling over her friend’s logic. “But what about the attempts on my life? Do you truly believe Maman wished me dead?” That was so unimaginable that it didn’t even upset her to suppose sucha thing. All her life, she had been nothing but cherished and treasured by Maman.
Celia frowned and returned her cup and saucer to the tray. “I do not believe your mother wished you harmed, but I feel it with the whole of my being that she is behind the scheme of your marriage. She surrendered too easily, sister. Recall her tenacity over the years. When has she ever given up on handling anything herself?”
“Never.” Sophie stared off into the distance, sipping her brandy and wishing the numbing effect would take hold faster, because Celia’s reasoning was beginning to make sense. “So you feel I have Maman to thank for marrying me off to a whore’s bird?”
“Either her or the queen or both.” Celia gave her a pained look. “Please forgive me for speaking so plainly when you are already overwrought. I do hope I am wrong.”
Sophie topped her cup off yet again and held it up in a mocking toast. “Do me the courtesy of changing your original instructions to Gransdon about who may come in to visit me. Marie only. For now, at least. I have much to think about. Please politely decline Maman’s entry until I can find the strength to speak with her about all that has come to pass and what she might know of it. You have given me much to think about.” She indulged in a hearty sip, flinching as the beverage burned its way down her throat. “Maman is an expert at dancing around the truth without soiling her soul with a lie. I am currently in no condition to confront her and extract an answer I can recognize as the truth.”
Celia rose, crossed to the door, then paused. “I am sorry, sister. I will help you in any way possible. Please understand that.”
“Thank you, dear one. You have my utmost gratitude.” Sophie swallowed hard, her throat aching as she once again teetered on the verge of tears. “Thank you for being here for me.”
Celia nodded, then quietly left.
Sophie slowly stood and made her way back into the bedroom. A shuddering sigh worked its way free of her as she climbed onto the bed and curled into a tight ball on her side. She cocooned herself in the counterpane, huddling inside its sumptuous layers and wishing she could disappear. Thank heavens Celia had given her a haven, a sanctuary where she could hide and decide what to do and how to go about doing it.
A hot tear burned its way free. Another followed it, then a torrent of sobs shuddered out of her. She had been so happy. So content—so foolishly trusting and, damn her stupidity, so very much in love. Now she understood why Maman had never remarried or taken any other man seriously. Apparently, a true, lasting love between two people, a bond that kept them faithful to one another, hardly ever happened. Maman had experienced it once, so in her wisdom, she had known that in all probability she would never find it again.
Sophie shook with another hard, keening cry that came from the depths of her soul. Perhaps that kind of love didn’t even exist anymore. Who was to say? She sniffed and coughed, choking on her misery. It didn’t matter if it existed anymore or not—she would never attempt to believe in such a ridiculous fairy tale ever again.
Chapter Fourteen
His discussion withBurns and Miss Hampshire had gone much better than expected. Satisfaction filled Nash as the coach rolled to a stop in front of Rydleshire House. The day had been most successful, and Burns had even suggested an ingenious ploy to flush their villain out into the open. Excellent outcomes all around, indeed. He tipped the coach driver handsomely and grinned like a fool as the hackney drove away.
