“As the duke reminds me constantly, there is no shortage of money in this family. Besides, you are not an idle good-for-nothing who has wasted a fortune and wants to marry to replenish the coffers. You have a profession and it is not your fault that no one has yet commissioned you.”
“It must be my fault,” Simon said, startled. “Who else might one blame? There must be some deficiency in my work.”
Merrington shook his head decisively. “No. I may not like the expense of your ideas for the orangery but they are both beautiful and practical, and who could ask for more than that? The plans for your country houses are, in my view, comparable with the very best of our modern architects. It is unfathomable to me why you have not been commissioned to build even one of them.”
Simon opened his mouth in astonishment, closed it again when no words came. Merrington actually liked his designs?
“Oh,” he said eventually, nonplussed.
With a laugh, Merrington said, “I know, praise from me is unexpected, is it not? And I am no expert. I have never been trained, as you have, but even I can appreciate the quality of your work. Cottages — that is all I am good for. Labourers’ cottages, with two parlours and a kitchen below, and two bedrooms above. I can produce those endlessly. But the vision to create a great country house — a Blenheim or a Chatsworth or even a Staineybank? No, that is beyond my capabilities. I know my limitations, I trust.”
“I never finished my training,” Simon said pensively. “Five years articled, but then I should have spent two years in Italy, and if I had won awards out there, that would have set my career on the proper path. But I could not afford to go to Italy, and so I have always struggled, and there is no end in sight. I have just heard from a man who has been talking about a country house for two years now. I have prepared any number of designs for him, but now he tells me he will not proceed after all. It is disheartening. So you need not tell me I am ineligible to marry Sophia, for I know it all too well.”
“Let me consider the matter,” Merrington said. “I shall discuss it with Mama, and consider what we might be able to do for you. The duke should be consulted, too.”
“So… you are not saying no?”
“I am not saying no. Neither am I saying yes, not yet, but I want Sophia to be happy, so let us see how it might be managed. I am good with money, so perhaps we will yet find a way to increase your income.”
For the first time, Simon felt a gleam of hope.
***
Sophia went to the morning room to sit with her mother and sisters. Naturally, they talked endlessly about Lord Daniel’s perfidy in running away, and gave no credence to the excuse about his father’s health. At any other time, such gloominess would sink her spirits utterly, but now she had something else to think about. So even as the others chattered on about the loss of her hopes with one man, she was warmed inside by thoughts of another man altogether.
‘You would make any man a wonderful wife... I want you to understand that… you are admired… valued…’
Such glorious words! To be admired… to be valued… to beloved…He had not said it, but every word, every little gesture implied it. The way he had looked at her, his eyes shining, his voice soft and gentle… everything he said and did proclaimed him as her lover.
As her sisters chattered on, she was blissfully untouched by it. How could Lord Daniel hurt her now? Simon loved her and Richard had as good as said that he would approve their marriage. They would have her dowry, and that would be enough to live on, would it not? She was sure it would.They would manage. She could economise… she would learn to economise.
Then there was Simon’s profession. Architects became rich and famous sometimes, so there was still that possibility, and — oh! A sudden thought — there were other ways to make money, besides building the houses. The designs alone could be valuable. Yes,thatwas something he could do.
The duchess and her maid, having been at Mr Godley’s midday prayers, came in just then with a new journal that had arrived, and Sophia took the opportunity to slip away, running light-footed up the stairs to Richard’s study. He was not there, but the book she wanted was on a shelf there. She skipped away down the landing. Where would Simon be? Her first thought was to check the gallery above the chapel, but as she expected, he had gone from there. Probably he was downstairs with the other gentlemen, in the library or the duke’s study, but she did not want to explain her idea to him in company.
She would write him a note! The very idea was thrilling — to write anything at all to an unrelated man was something quite outside the bounds of propriety, as a rule. But she and Simon were as good as engaged, so it was perfectly acceptable. That was what she would do — pen a brief note, tuck it inside the book and leave it in his room.
She went to her own room to write the note, which took her longer than expected, for it was not easy to explain precisely what she had in mind, and then there were a multitude of crossings out and corrections. By the time she was satisfied with it, and had written it out in a fair hand, the afternoon was wearing away. The duke dined early and before long everyone would be coming upstairs to dress for dinner. There was just time, she thought, to run to Simon’s room and leave the book where he would find it.
Her light slippers made no sound as she skipped along the landing to Simon’s room. As she approached, she heard voices — a male rumble, which she recognised at once as his. She could not mistake that melodious sound. He was there already, and her note would not be needed after all. But that made her hesitate. She could hardly enter a gentleman’s bedroom if the gentleman were inside it.
There was another voice, however, and the door was ajar. Perhaps his valet was there, in which case it would be permissible to talk to Simon, at least, which she could do without crossing the threshold. She crept nearer, therefore, not wanting to interrupt, merely to determine whether it was safe to speak to him.
She was quite unprepared for what she heard.
“I thought you would be pleased with me, Juliet,” Simon said. “This is just what you wanted, for me to marry one of the Merrington girls.”
“But it is so uncertain,” Lady Juliet said. “The brother’s words are not encouraging.‘Let us see what can be done.’It is hardly a resounding endorsement, and besides, only two and a half thousand is guaranteed. The mother said so. Shemightget more, but she might not, and if that is all, then we shall be completely taken in. How shall we manage?”
Her voice rose to a low wail, and Simon’s reply was inaudible.
Sophia did not wait to hear more. Rage boiled up inside her, eliciting a squeak of outrage. This was the man who had spoken such sweet words to her, and talked of honour and propriety and restraint. He had made her believe he admired her…lovedher. He had not said so, not precisely, but it was in his face, in his eyes, in his kisses. Oh, his kisses!
And it meant nothing to him. All he wanted was her dowry.
Marching straight up to the door she pushed it open wide, and was greeted with two very startled faces.
“Sophie…” he began.
