He had the good grace to look sheepish at her words. “My dear, I was merely worried that you were not coming. Will you accept my apology for such boorish behavior?”
Sophia furrowed her brows. “Well, of course, I will, but as to the other…”
“Father has sent the announcements to the papers. Chalk it up to an anxious bridegroom if you must, but I really must insist.”
He was to insist upon this now? He’d not insisted upon anything until this point. A sickening suspicion began growing inside of her. “I am not ready, my lord,” she said. “I’ve barely begun to build my trousseau, and I had hoped to finish the Season with my family first.”
Mr. Scofield had apparently been eavesdropping. “Nothing that cannot be remedied, Sophia.” And then to Lord Harold, “Of course, my lord, his grace mentioned this earlier. Sophia has no objection to moving up the date. Do you, my dear?”
Her suspicions held more merit than she would have wished. Mr. Scofield, the man who held the key to her mother’s happiness, stared at her sternly, as though threatening her to contradict him.
Payments have been made…
She then caught sight of her mother, smiling, laughing at something the duchess had said. She looked younger and more carefree than she had in months. Sophia swallowed around the huge lump that had appeared in her throat.
She shook her head, unwilling to admit to herself that this was, indeed happening. But why?
She wanted to marry Lord Harold. Did she not?
Was she making a mountain out of a molehill?
“Do you, Sophia?” Mr. Scofield’s voice sounded closer now, more menacing.
The intensity of the moment must have caught her mother’s attention, for she too, now watched for Sophia’s response.
Sophia turned back to Lord Harold, her gaze traveling past Captain Brookes’ narrowed stare as she did so.
“Of course not,” she said. “Whatever you wish, my lord.”
* * *
The remainderof the evening passed in a daze. It was almost as though Sophia herself was not there.
A shell of her person went through the motions, applauded at the end of scenes, and then wished her fiancé and his family goodnight before climbing back into the opulent carriage.
After dropping Rhoda off, Sophia sat across from her mother and Mr. Scofield as they rolled along the now quiet streets toward their modest townhome.
“Await me in my study, Sophia.” Her stepfather’s voice jolted her as the carriage came to a stop. When mother glanced at him questioningly, he patted her gently on the hand. “Not necessary for you to join us, Mrs. Scofield. I’d simply iron out a few details with the bride-to-be.”
Her mother nodded, unwilling to question her husband.
Sophia took a deep breath as a sensation of spiders creeping across her skin made her shiver. She nodded in agreement and climbed out of the conveyance. Pulling her shawl around herself comfortingly, she braced herself for what she was certain would turn out to be more unpleasantness.
But perhaps it would not, a quiet and rational part of herself argued with her more tumultuous thoughts. Perhaps Mr. Scofield would be fatherly, protective and reassuring. Perhaps he would tell her that she did not, indeed, have to move the wedding date forward if she were not comfortable doing so. Perhaps, he would tell her she did not even have to go through with the engagement if she were having doubts.
Don’t worry unnecessarily, Sophia,this part urged her.
The other part, the queasy spidery one, responded bitterly.Don’t be a fool.
Sophia admonished them both, entered Mr. Scofield’s study, and found a chair near his desk. The candles were lit, but he’d yet to have arrived himself.
When he did appear, he was not alone.
Dudley followed him into the room.
Both were unsmiling as Mr. Scofield closed the door behind them.
At this point, she suspected that the spidery voice had had the right of it. She planted her slippered feet firmly upon the carpeted floor and sat up straight as she awaited whatever reckoning was to come.
