* * *
They wantedSophia to take a dose of laudanum, and although she’d refused at first, Penny finally convinced her to drink some of the distinctive-tasting liquid.
Already she regretted it.
And so now, here she sat, fighting sleep and waiting to hear from Dev.
Waiting to hear if her dead husband had made it out of the county safely.
They’d done it. They’d managed to fool everybody so far.
She was absolutely disgusted with herself.
She wondered if Harold was as well.
And Dev.
* * *
Less than twenty-fourhours had passed since she’d last sat alone in this room, the eve before the accident. Even less time had passed since Dev had taken her to the brink of heaven and breathed new life into her.
Nothing was the same.
It was quiet, yes, the same as it had been last night, but even Peaches seemed to sense the sadness within the household.
Sophia felt as though somebody, somebody dear, truly had died. She’d had to watch as sorrow swept over her grace’s face, into her shoulders, and gradually throughout her entire body when St. John delivered the news.
And then she’d endured his mother’s embrace.
Harold had become something of a prodigal son over the past two weeks.
New hope had blossomed for him, for his life.
For the family that Sophia and he would supposedly have.
And now the prodigal son had been ripped away.
The duchess had not wept at first. Instead, she’d comforted Sophia. And Sophia had not had to feign tears.
This was horrible!
Tragic!
So very wrong!
She’d been unable to stifle a sob. And this had released her grace’s tears.
But along with the sadness, the deep, heart-wrenching sadness, overwhelming guilt covered her. It almost felt as though she’d killed him herself.
When Harold’s adjoining door opened, Sophia glanced up hopefully. It would be Dev — or Harold.
No, it would not be Harold. The laudanum’s effects had befuddled her already.
But Dev perhaps… he would have news and encouragement for her.
Only it was not.
She should not have stopped locking her doors.
