Emptiness filled her.
And yet, his voice had awakened her again.
Sophia hugged herself with her arms and was surprised to feel a tenderness in her breasts.Dev… oh, Dev.
“You should try to sleep, my dear. You will find a pillow stored under the seat if you pull the cushion up.” The duchess’ suggestion was spoken in such a way that brooked no argument.
Sophia slid sideways and pulled out the pillow. If she slept, she could escape all of this for a short while. The uncertainty, the fear, the guilt. She plumped the velvet-covered cushion and tried to make both herself and Peaches comfortable. She dared not remove her shoes or pull her feet up onto the seat. She was riding with a duchess, for goodness’ sake.
But the pillow was soft, and she’d not slept much the night before.
And.
And she knew that Dev was nearby, watching over them as they crossed the countryside to London.
Nothing terrible could happen with him watching over them.
She slept soundly for the first time since they’d gotten the horrible news.
* * *
Upon hindsight,Sophia was astonished at how naïve she had been when she’d told the magistrate to transport the bodies directly to the duke’s country estate.
She’d failed to consider that her father-in-law, as cold and manipulating as he’d seemed with her, and as cruel and unaccepting as he’d been to Harold, was one of England’s most powerful and beloved dukes.
This had become more apparent as they passed through one village after another on their journey back to London. For as the news of the tragedy spread, onlookers and crowds periodically lined the road to watch as their coach rolled through. And as they neared London, the crowds grew larger.
It was nearly as frightening as it was humbling.
When they arrived at Prescott House, after two long days on the road, death in the household was readily apparent by the black wreath upon the door, and the black crepe-covered windows.
Mr. Evans informed the duchess upon arrival that the funeral furnishers had cared for the bodies, and for this one night, they had been laid out in a room in the front of the house. The funeral proceedings would be tomorrow. It went without saying that the room would be kept cold.
Dev had stoically supported the duchess and made all arrangements for their rooms, their meals, and the care of the cattle, servants, and coaches while travelling. He’d often ridden ahead, the duchess had told her, to give instructions and confirm that her grace’s orders were being carried out properly. His military training and habits were evident in his natural leadership and self-discipline. Sophia knew he’d rarely rested.
Entering Prescott House, Sophia immediately covered her nostrils with her handkerchief. That smell… must be the oils used to care for the bodies. It grew stronger as they approached the drawing room.
Sophia followed, uncertain as to what she should do. And then the duchess, leaning heavily upon Dev, paused and turned around. “You mustn’t, Sophia. Your condition. It would be too upsetting.”
But Sophia saw something on Dev’s face. Emptiness, pain. She could not leave him alone. Even if all she could offer was her presence.
“I am fine,” Sophia insisted.
When, in fact, she did not feel well. She felt tired, and faint, and hungry, yet not. But how could she abandon him at a time such as this? She could not, of course.
She motioned for them to continue. After a moment’s hesitation, the duchess pinched her lips and then nodded.
They first stepped up to view the duke.
Someone had dressed his grace’s corpse in a resplendent uniform consisting of an abundance of lace, golden embroidery, and jewels. His beringed, clay-like hands crossed one another upon his chest.
His face had been powdered and painted.
He did not resemble the man she’d nearly hated while he had been alive. Despite the powder and rouge, his face was slack, his skin sallow. Sophia turned away and took a deep breath from inside of her handkerchief.
When she did so, she was confronted by the sight of St. John, similarly resting.
Rhoda!
