She’d not had even a moment to consider that her dearest friend had developed an attachment to one of the men who had been killed. Did Rhoda know? Of course, she must!
She would be devastated! She’d practically admitted to being in love with him. Oh, dear, poor Rhoda. Sophia choked back a sob at the thought. Now was not the time to show such distress.
St. John’s corpse appeared eerily similar to that of the duke. Less wrinkles, yes, and no graying hair, but the bone structure of the face resembled the duke’s almost perfectly.
Sophia had always thought Harold took after his mother in looks. Viewing these two men, confirmed her opinion.
And then, a third body.
Dev had abandoned the duchess standing near the duke and moved toward his father.
Sophia wanted badly to follow him, to wrap her arms around his waist and give him what little comfort she could.
She took a few silent steps away from St. John and stood behind Dev. It was all she could do. She hoped he understood. She hoped he could feel her comfort, her love, in such a tiny, insignificant gesture.
The duchess had stepped away from her husband and turned to view her firstborn son.
The room was so very cold.
A clammy sweat broke out on Sophia’s forehead as another, stronger wave of nausea swept over her.
And then a few familiar elderly ladies slipped into the room, approached the duchess, and embraced her quietly. Sophia remembered them from before the wedding, and later, as guests at Priory Point. Both had departed before the road washed out. They were cousins or sisters or somehow related to the duchess.
They whispered their condolences and encouraged the widow to lean upon them. “Come, dear, you must be exhausted.” They led her from the room, only to be halted at the last moment.
“Sophia, dear, you must rest as well.”
But Sophia could see that the duchess was distracted by her family.
“I’m going to say a few prayers, your grace, if you do not mind. I will find my own way to my chamber.” The one she had supposedly shared with Harold. The place where she’d discovered a passion within herself that she’d never known existed.
The duchess considered her for just an instant and then nodded.
Prayers? Ha! Surely Sophia had secured her place in hell thrice over by now.
When the large door closed behind them, Sophia moved to stand beside Dev.
She took his hand in hers. At first it was lax, and then, after a brief hesitation, he squeezed hers back.
“I’m so sorry.”
She’d known he loved and respected his father. His father had been all he’d ever known. He’d lost his cousins, his uncle, and now his father. Not ever knowing his mother, he was truly all alone now, but for his aunt… and herself.
“My father would have approved of Harold’s decision. He was convinced Harold was in increasing danger the longer he pursued his relationship with Stewart.” Dev’s voice was flat. “I’ve always trusted his judgment, and he believed your marriage was for the best. He was Prescott’s conscience. He has always been my touchstone. But now…”
He seemed to swallow hard before he could go on. “Sophia, I must contact Harold. He cannot remain in hiding. He is all the duchess has left. He is the duke.”
Sophia did not want to hear any of this right now. She wanted him to turn and embrace her. She wanted to give him comfort.
She placed her other hand over the one she held and massaged it, as though for warmth. “Have you written to them?”
“I have. But I don’t know if it was soon enough. In fact, I’m almost certain it was not. I’ve no way of being assured he will receive my letter. He is going to learn of his father’s and brother’s death in some newspaper in a distant land. We can only wait, and hope he sends word back to us soon.”
Sophia had never been at a loss of words with Dev. But, upon the thoughts he’d voiced, she did not know what to say.
Harold needed to return. She’d known it all along. The complications of their situation were becoming more real with each passing day.
Her courses were yet absent.
