There was no point arguing against such a tirade, so Simon merely bowed again. “It shall be as your grace wishes.”
“Your grace, if I may…” Mr Hammond Senior had a soft voice, but everyone turned to him. “Lady Juliet is most unwell, and it would be a great risk to her health to force her to leave her bed and undertake the arduous journey back to town, especially in the present inclement weather. Whatever Mr Payne may have done, and however heinous his actions against Miss Sophia may appear, he cannot impose upon her any further, and therefore I see no harm in permitting him and his sister to remain at Staineybank, at least until Lady Juliet is well enough to travel.”
The duke grunted. “Very well. I am not heartless, I hope, and would not ask a sick woman to leave her fireside. However, you had best keep out of my way, Payne. I do not wish to see your face again.”
“As your grace pleases.”
“Now get out of my sight.”
Simon was more than happy to comply.
***
Sophia hardly knew what she felt. Her anger burned like the sun for perhaps an hour, and then, abruptly, fizzled into nothingness, like a bonfire in the rain. For a brief time — just a few hours, that was all — she had been engaged to be married. Her whole future life had shifted from the grey lowlands of perpetual spinsterhood, which was all very well but a little dreary, and transformed miraculously to the sunlit uplands of marriage and motherhood and being a person of consequence, to Simon at least, if not to the whole world.
And the worst of it was that she liked him… shelovedhim. She had been held in his strong arms and felt utterly content, as she never had before. Not that she was discontented with her life with Mama and Richard and her sisters, but Simon was special. Or at least, he had made her feel special, which was almost the same thing.
At the back of her mind was the niggling thought that he was the only man who had ever wanted to marry her, and that she was a fool to turn him away just because he had no money. He had never pretended to be rich, had never truly deceived her, and if he wanted to marry her for her ten thousand pounds, what was so wrong with that? She would have a husband who kissed her with an ardour that set her pulse racing and warmed her inside, and they would have enough money to live on without toomuch scrimping. And one day, he would be a famous architect, and none of it would matter.
He wrote her a kind little letter, thanking her for the book and the idea of publishing his own work, which he hoped to do very soon. He had addressed her as‘Miss Merrington’, which was sadly formal after he had whispered‘Sophie’into her ears, but he signed it‘Yours, Simon Payne’,which was much more promising. Was he still hers? If she reached out to him, would he smile and hold her and kiss her again?
She shivered. The letter was safely hidden in her reticule during the day, and tucked under her pillow at night, and the maid had contrived to get it to her without Mama or her sisters knowing anything about it. It was her little secret, and somewhere, deep in her heart, was another secret — that if ever Simon should offer for her again, she would snap him up at once and never let go of him.
***
For several days, Simon kept out of the duke’s way by rarely venturing beyond his own room or Juliet’s. He went early to the breakfast room, seeing only one or two of the men, who treated him with cool civility. That was reasonably safe, since the duke breakfasted in his own apartments. Dinner was too dangerous, so he dined with Juliet in her room, trying to tempt her appetite with the delicious treats sent up by the kitchen. They, at least, showed nothing but good-natured respect towards them. He went for a walk in the garden after breakfast, keeping out of sight in the woods and seeing no one but the gamekeeper. The rest of the time, he sat with Juliet, reading to her as she huddled listlessly by the fire, swathed in a shawl, or else compiling some of his drawings into groups suitable for inclusion in a book.
He was fired with enthusiasm to have a book of his own. Richard’s cottages were all very well, but there must also be a market for more ambitious schemes, and while he awaited a response from the publisher, he played with ideas for such a book. He had sent a short note to Sophia to thank her for the suggestion and let her know that he would pursue it. He received no reply, but he did not expect it. He knew there could be no further contact. Perhaps, one day soon, he would leave Staineybank and never see her again. It was a grief too deep to be borne, but bear it he must, by keeping busy, occupying his mind and his hands, avoiding anything which reminded him that she was lost to him forever.
One day was so wet that he could not take his usual walk in the gardens. There was nowhere in the house that he could walk without the risk of bumping into someone he had sooner not see, so he bethought himself of the chapel gallery. At least it had happy memories.
As soon as he opened the door, he knew she was there. Even before he saw her, he was aware of the faint hint of her perfume, and the rustle of her gown as she turned towards him. And there was her sweet face, and all the anguish inside him boiled up and tore at him with such pain that he could only stare at her, drinking in the wonder of seeing her again.
“Simon?” she said tentatively. Her voice was calm, with no trace of the anger which had infused their last encounter.
“I—” Somehow the words would not come.
“Come in,” she said. “I promise not to snap your head off.”
He carefully shut the door, then sat himself at the furthest edge of the bench.
“How is Lady Juliet?” she said. “They would not let me see her. Is there anything I might send, to cheer her up?”
“She is a little better, but still not well. I do not know what she might like… some bonbons, perhaps. She is very fond of bonbons, but we cannot afford them very often.”
“I shall buy her some next time we go to Brinchester. And you? Are you well?”
How to answer such a question? Honestly, he supposed. “I am… well enough.”
She nodded, her face pale even in the gloom of the screened gallery. “So am I — well enough. Getting through the days one by one. Simon — I am sorry I said those things. I did not mean any of them.”
“Oh!” It was more of a long sigh of surprise.
“I do not hate you, not at all, and even if you only wanted to marry me for my fortune, what is wrong with that? It is what everyone does, after all.”
“But I did not!” he cried, stung into speech at last. “It was notonlyabout money, Sophie. It was never that.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, with a quick smile. “Richard told me everything you said, how you denied it vehemently when the duke accused you of being a fortune hunter, but you did not deny kissing me. And…” She looked down suddenly, her fingers pleating and unpleating the folds of her skirt. “When you kissed me… that was… not about my fortune. That was how you truly felt.”
