One last kiss. A promise from him, a wish from her, and then they returned to the black carriage. The rain had stopped and the sun barely peeked through the thick heavy clouds. Rhoda climbed out and handed Peaches over to her. Brookes offered to give them a lift home, but Sophia was adamant. This was goodbye.
He reached out, scratched Peaches behind the neck, and winked at her. “Don’t be downcast.”
“I know,” she said.
And with that, he jumped into the carriage and was whisked away.
Rhoda turned to her. “Well, what did he say? It sounds as though he has a plan.”
Sophia sighed and then gave Rhoda a halfhearted smile. “It’s hopeless.”
Many Questions
Sophia, under normal circumstances, would have been over the moon at the prospect of planning her wedding. She was a girl who’d always appreciated fashion, flowers, and the details involved in such a grand spectacle.
Not that Mr. and Mrs. Scofield had ever had the funds to throw any lavish events themselves, but she’d attended enough to know the difference in a well-planned party and one thrown together by a novice.
But this wedding was not something she anticipated, and she did not experience the excitement of a normal bride. So instead of reveling in the questions she was asked regarding color, flowers, flavors, and whatnot, Sophia, rather endured the meetings she and her mother attended at Prescott House with the duchess and a various collection of Lord Harold’s aunts.
A pre-wedding ball would be held the night before the ceremony at St. George’s, and then a celebratory breakfast would follow. She and the groom would spend their first night as a married couple at Prescott House, for there really was no reason to stay anywhere else, and nowhere else would be finer, that was for certain. And then the day after, to signify a premature end to the Season for most of the family, they would all travel in an assortment of distinctively ducal vehicles to one of Prescotts’ large country estates adjacent to the sea. After a few weeks, Sophia and Lord Harold would travel to a nearby estate which had been gifted to them by the duke.
Sophia was becoming numb to all of it. It had been decided that Rhoda and her mother and sisters could join them following the wedding. Sophia’d not asked for much, after all. Such a simple request by the bride could be honored.
Sophia rather thought of herself as a mannequin to be dressed, an actress reciting her lines. It did not matter, she surmised, who she was, merely that she existed.
That was why, on one of these visits to Prescott House, the duchess caught her unawares when she requested a moment alone.
Her grace, always regal and poised, exuded confidence and calm. Since their first meeting, Sophia had been somewhat in awe of the woman.
As the two walked together through one of the endless corridors that wound through the mansion, Sophia realized that her future mother-in-law’s presence was not due to any great beauty. Upon closer inspection, the duchess was, in fact, rather normal-looking.
She had the same brown hair and eyes which had attracted Sophia to Lord Harold. Her grandeur was not derived from beauty, rather from her bearing and her dignity.
When they came to an iron gate blocking the corridor, the duchess took a key from a hook on the wall and then unlocked it. As the structure rested upon wheels, it slid off to the side easily, into what must be a deep narrow compartment.
“I thought you’d appreciate a glance at some of your future husband’s ancestors.” She spoke graciously as she hung the key back on the wall. She then took Sophia by the arm again and led her into the portrait-lined galley.
“I want you to know, Sophia, my dear, that you are welcome in this family. It can be overwhelming. I understand.” The duchess led Sophia along at a leisurely pace. Sophia was intrigued. This stroll was not about Lord Harold’s ancestors. “I remember when I was a new bride, how daunting it all was. And although Harold is not the heir, and God-willing, never will be, he is my son. His happiness matters greatly to me.”
Sophia didn’t know what to say to this. She’d barely had two words alone with her fiancé since that dreadful night at the theatre. The feelings she’d had for him were now, not just clouded, but stormy. In contemplating the reality of her betrothal, she only could rely upon her previous acquaintance with Lord Harold and Captain Brookes’ opinion of his cousin. But what could she say to the duchess?
“As it does to me,” Sophia said cautiously.
The duchess nodded approvingly. “And, my dear.” Her grace patted Sophia’s hand reassuringly. “I have learned from my own experience that if I wish for my children to find comfort and contentment with their spouses, then the best I can do is ensure their spouses are as content, themselves, as possible. That they always feel safe and that their concerns matter within this family.
“I have watched you, and I feel as though I have come to know a little of who you are, Sophia. I think you are often underestimated, for your compassion, for your courage, and for your ability to love deeply. These last few weeks you have been subdued, however, and I think, overwhelmed.”
The portraits on the wall had taken them through centuries of dukes and duchesses and a few landscapes. When they rounded the corner, Sophia could not help but smile.
“I thought to myself, what would make Sophia feel at home? What could I do to help her feel as though she belongs with us?” The large, prestigious portraits on this wall were of dogs. Enormous long-haired dogs, Thin, spindly, short-haired dogs, a pug, a poodle… and…
…Peaches.
It really was Peaches!
Sophia laughed for the first time in days. The duchess released her arm and stepped aside. “Oh, your grace,” Sophia said, moving closer to the painting and shaking her head. No one had ever done anything like this for her! “When…? How…?”
“When the maids would take Peaches out for those little constitutionals during our meetings, our family artist awaited her. I commissioned the painting the first time I saw you with your pet.”
