The blond giant of a man smiled and returned a grateful bow. “It is I who am in your debt, my lady. I return to London now, but if you should ever find yourself in need of me, send for me, and I will be there.”
“Thank you, good sir. Safe travels and Godspeed.”
He bowed again and touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, my lady. God be with you.” Then he turned and disappeared into the foggy drizzle of the unbearable day.
“Come, my lady,” Marie gently urged. “The carriage awaits, and the rain grows colder.” She held an umbrella over Sophie and another over herself. “You will surely become ill.”
“Is he still there?” Sophie asked without looking back at the gate that closed off the private memorial garden on the grounds of Rydleshire Academy at their property in Calais, France.
“Yes, my lady. Beside his carriage.”
Sophie gritted her teeth and indulged in another heavy sigh. She kept her focus locked on the dates carved into the front of the mausoleum’s stunning white marble that Maman had imported all the way from Italy. Nothing but the best for Papa, she had said—nothing but the best for their love.
She took the umbrella from Marie and barely tipped her head toward the carriage they had taken rather than ride with Nash in his. “Go, Marie. I am not ready yet, but I do not want you drowned in the increasing downpour. Go wait in the dry. I shall be along soon enough.”
“But, my lady, you must—”
“I must do what I deem best for myself,” Sophie corrected her firmly. “Now, go.”
She didn’t like being stern with Marie, but she had much to think about. Elias and Celia had been good enough to help her go over all her possible options before she left London to bring Maman home. Thankfully, her mother and the queen had possessed the presence of mind to ensure that the academyand property in Calais belonged solely to Maman and not the Rydleshire estate. They were now passed down to Sophie—along with funding for the property’s upkeep and the school’s continued operation. She had been surprised at the inheritance artfully hidden in the paragraphs of her marriage contract. She had assumed that upon the completion of her surprise wedding, everything became the property of her new husband, as per usual. Considering the circumstances of her now defunct union, the discovery of her ability to maintain an independence she had previously thought impossible came with a great deal of relief.
“Sophie.” Nash’s deep voice jarred her from her thoughts, twisting in her heart like a white-hot knife. “Come, my lady. The weather grows more severe.”
“You go. I would not wish your driver to become ill.”
“My concern is for you, my lady, not my driver.”
“Rest easy, my lord. I am quite capable of looking after myself.” She silently lauded herself for maintaining the detached numbness necessary for survival. She had no one now but her dear sisters of choice, and they were in England tending to their loving families—as they should be. Maintaining an aloof, emotionless presence was paramount to prevent her from shattering into shards of helpless, weepy bits. “Go, my lord. I shall be along presently.”
“I shall wait here with you, my lady.”
“As you wish. Your choices and actions are your own.” She knew without looking that his strong, handsome jaw would be locked in that stubborn angle that made him even more irresistible. She would not succumb to him. Never again. Soon enough, he would either return to his harlot on Bond Street or take up with a different ladybird here in France. Of that, she had no doubt. Without a word to him, she turned and made her way back to her carriage. He could follow if he wished, or drown in the mud and rain for all she cared. It mattered not to her. Thedull ache where her heart had once been served as a constant reminder to harden herself and nurture an unfeeling existence.
He offered his hand to help her step up into her carriage. Rather than accept his aid, she handed him her umbrella and climbed into the conveyance by herself. She needed no help—not from him.
Much to her annoyance, he climbed in and settled down beside her. Marie sat in the seat across from them, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.
“Do sit still, Marie,” Sophie quietly admonished her.
“Beg pardon, my lady.”
“Marie, would you be good enough to return to the house in the other carriage?” Nash asked. “Upon your arrival, please prepare her ladyship a hot bath to soothe her from the effects of this chilling day. We shall be along shortly.”
“Yes, my lord,” Marie said while avoiding looking Sophie in the eye. “Shall I instruct George as to where you would like to go, my lord?”
“Yes, Marie, ask him to take us around the grounds until I tell him otherwise.”
“Yes, my lord.” The maid climbed down from the carriage, her speediness betraying her desire to escape as quickly as possible.
Sophie clenched her teeth while drawing in a deep breath to brace herself against what would undoubtedly be another long diatribe of apologies, professions of love and regret, and lies about never straying in the first place. He had plied her with the sentiments at every opportunity over the past week, even left letters under her bedroom door, and tied notes of love to bundles of flowers, bottles of perfume, and meaningless jewelry.
For the life of her, she could not understand why he was trying so hard to repair something that had obviously never been a priority to him. Men strayed. She had heard servants and theton’s gossips chat about it innumerable times. He was simply behaving like a normal, heartless lordling. Therefore, somehow, she would hone the art of being the cold, heartless wife. She swallowed hard, forcing the knot of torment that constantly choked her back down where it belonged.
He moved to take her hand, but she slid it out of his reach and tucked it beneath her crossed arms as she shifted to stare out the window at the dreary landscape.
His deep, frustrated sigh did not escape her. “Sophie.”
“Yes, my lord?” she dutifully answered while still staring out the window.
