Sophia’s pulse instantly quickened. Why must he be so…alluring? She had the urge to push her nose into his chest.
“Good grief,” she choked out loud.
“Don’t worry, Lady Serpent. The tower isn’t habitable.” Roxboro wiggled his brows at her before draining his glass as another was immediately placed at his elbow. “But renovations could be made.”
Sophia looked down at her plate, deciding how to answer. But her husband had already turned away to strike up a conversation with Lord Caster. He ignored her for the remainder of the meal.
Chapter Fifteen
Hours later, Sophiawalked the length of her elegant new suite of rooms, admiring the delicate lines of damask covered chairs grouped around a small delicate table of mahogany. The walls were painted the hue of creamy butter. Vases of fresh flowers dotted the room. The space was elegant and charming. Far more lovely than she’d imagined.
Her maid, Ann, had been installed while the wedding breakfast was enjoyed, just as Sophia had hoped, but she’d only unpacked one of the trunks along with Sophia’s hairbrush, a jar of pins, and a small pot of cream Sophia used on her face before bed. Her beloved books remained in their crates and not lining the bookcase at the other end of the room.
When Sophia questioned why all her things hadn’t been unpacked, Ann replied, somewhat apologetically, that the books, along with the remaining trunks, had already been sent ahead to The Pillory.
Sophia and Roxboro were to follow in two days.
Well, I suppose I don’t need to worry over making calls.
Roxboro’s estate was tucked away on the northeast side of Essex, not a great distance from London, but far enough to stow an unwanted wife. Which Sophia most definitely happened to be. He hadn’t wasted any time in expelling her from London, though he thoughtfully planned to accompany her to The Pillory.
“I did request to live in the country,” she said under her breath. “He took me at my word.”
“My lady?” Ann looked up from the trunk she was unpacking. “I mean, Your Grace.”
“Nothing, Ann. Continue.”
Roxboro was only doing as Sophia had asked by hiding her away at his estate, where he and Damon could forget she even existed. Just as well. Because unlike Mara, who had great dreams of becoming a leading matron of society, Sophia’s desires were much more moderate and less ambitious in nature. Goodness, she didn’t want to spend her days having calls paid upon her, or listening to endless gossip all while sipping tea. Solitude appealed to her. She didn’t mind her own company. Sophia would have her books. Walking down country paths. Villagers to converse with as she enjoyed hearty fare at a local tavern.
Good lord, I’m boring. Just as well to be sent to the country.
After a round of sherry and Mama’s practiced conversation in the drawing room, Lady Falmouth had pushed Violet and Rose out the door, bidding her a safe journey and promising to call upon Sophia’s return to London. Rose murmured a polite goodbye, barely taking Sophia’s hand. Violet, surprisingly, pressed a kiss to Sophia’s cheek.
You’ve the courage. Patience and comfort are required.
She’d no idea what Violet meant by those words, only that they must pertain to Roxboro in some way. But he would be here, in London, and Sophia would be at The Pillory.
Lord Caster and his mother, Lady Caster departed behind Lady Falmouth. If Roxboro and Caster had grown up together, whatever closeness they’d shared was long gone. Caster was not an unrepentant rake or a sot and thus had little in common with Roxboro. They bid each other a polite goodbye.
And finally, Lord and Lady Canterbell, with Mara in tow, still mooning over Caster. Her sister appeared so starry-eyed it was a wonder she could make her way to the carriage. Caster was…attractive, Sophia supposed. But not in the same way as Roxboro.
Mama kissed Sophia’s cheek, reminding her to be obedient and dutiful.
Roxboro overheard and gave a drunken snort. He was well and truly foxed, glass never once going empty as it was continuously refilled by the attentive butler, Timmons.
Once Timmons shut the door behind their guests, Roxboro motioned for the butler to come to his side. The two held a whispered conversation before Timmons approached Sophia. “Allow me to show you up, Your Grace.”
Sophia glanced out the window. It was only mid-afternoon, but the day had been lengthy. A respite would be welcome before the evening meal.
Lord Damon continued to hover about in the foyer, watching Sophia with eyes like hardened bits of coal. He’d arrived in his own carriage, not with his daughters or Lady Falmouth.
“I bid you good evening, Your Grace,” he said, regarding Sophia as if she were a fly he’d found floating in his morning tea.
Roxboro followed behind his uncle, only pausing to bow in Sophia’s direction.
She had been dismissed. On her wedding day.
Standing at the base of the stairs, Sophia listened to their footsteps fade away. Loneliness struck her. She was an unwanted bride in a house that might never feel like her own. Even Mara’s company would be welcome. Thank goodness Ann had agreed to come with Sophia.
