So Sophia journeyed to The Pillory on her own the day before Roxboro, save for Ann and strangely enough, the duke’s valet, Stone. Stone was a lovely man, spare and neat with a dry wit. He explained itwasn’t unusual for him to leave a day or two before the duke when Roxboro visited The Pillory. His family lived in the area and the duke was gracious enough to relieve Stone of his duties for a short time so that he might pay them a visit.
Seemed out of character for Roxboro, to be so gracious, but Sophia accepted Stone’s explanation.
The Pillory left Sophia awestruck.
Papa had a large country estate, a place Sophia had spent a glorious childhood before being forced to spend more time in London. It wasn’t that The Pillory was only massive in size, stretching out along the top of a hill, but Roxboro’s ducal seat was the most interesting, outlandish bit of architecture she’d ever seen.
Three stone towers, just as Roxboro had said. Two of the towers were barely more than rubble, but the third stood with its notorious cut holes in the stone. The Pillory, or parts of it, was old. The main house consisted of a hodgepodge of various styles, having been built in stages over the decades. Each generation of Viceroy’s had left their mark, adding a new wing or extending a room, but the towers remained and were never torn down. The curved stone of the second tower, what was left of it, made up part of the wall in The Pillory’s drawing room.
The estate was spectacular. Sophia did nothing but walk about and explore on her first day. A lifetime could be spent here and she might never find all of The Pillory’s secrets.
When she found the library, Sophia squealed in delight, though upon further examination, there wasn’t much to her taste on the shelves…but that could be fixed. One of the maids, Lizzy, helped her unpack the crates of books sent ahead from London, placing them carefully on the shelf.
Sophia took long walks through the extensive gardens, waving at the team of gardeners employed to keep every inch lush and green. The gardens turned to gentle rolling hills and if Sophia walked farenough, the hills eventually gave way to rugged cliffs overlooking the sea below.
If she were destined to remain here, Sophia could be happy. In fact, she wouldn’t care if she never saw London again. Her family could visit her at The Pillory. Roxboro could continue to indulge in his gambling hells and courtesans. Maybe that was what had caused his delay, a visit to a brothel or an opium den.
Sophia decided she didn’t care if he ever arrived.
But after a few days, when Roxboro should have appeared and did not, Sophia’s curiosity got the best of her. Barstow, The Pillory’s butler, would know the duke’s…plans.
Barstow was nothing like Timmons, which meant she liked Barstow immediately upon introduction. He was tall and broad with the bearing of a man who’d once been a soldier, which Stone, who’d known Barstow for ages, assured her was the case. His craggy features softened at her approach.
“Your Grace,” he bowed.
“Barstow. The duke,” she’d started, unsure how to proceed. “Was due to arrive before now. I grow concerned. Have you received word on his delay?”
Difficult to admit her husband wouldn’t sendhera note, but Sophia supposed she and Roxboro would communicate through the servants going forward. When her parents argued, Mama left notes to be delivered to Papa by their butler.
“Do not worry, Your Grace,” Barstow assured her. “The duke decides at times, to take the long way to The Pillory.”
“The long way?”
“Not take the train. The journey by carriage is less than two days, which gives the duke ample opportunity to sample the shepherd’s pie or lamb stew at the Sheepshead Inn which is located along the main road.” Barstow cleared his throat. “At such times, His Grace invariably decides to stay the night. Rarely does the duke send word ahead,unless he’ll be longer than two days. I’ve received no note. I expect him tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Barstow.” Sophia inclined her head and retreated. Fuming.
Ann informed Sophia, while preparing her for bed, that the scullery maid, Bertie, mentioned there was a barmaid at the Sheepshead, who Roxboro favored far more than the shepherd’s pie.
Vile, drunken cur.
Sophia kept up a brave front until today, when she caught sight of Barstow staring out the window, his rough features drawn into lines of concern. Roxboro had exceeded his usual lateness by an entire day, which according to Ann, who heard it from the cook, was highly unusual.
Later, right before tea, Barstow sent two footmen out to see if the duke’s carriage had gotten stuck or thrown a wheel.
“Or,” she’d heard him say in a low tone. “How long he meant to linger at The Sheepshead.”
That had been hours ago, while Sophia enjoyed tea in the elegant drawing room, a book in one hand. But the sun was starting to sink towards the horizon and Roxboro still hadn’t appeared. Nor had the two footmen returned. Something was wrong. If Roxboro hadn’t meant to come to The Pillory at all, Damon would have taken great delight in telling Sophia. Or Timmons would have sent word to Barstow so that she could be informed.
That was how things were done.
Counting her steps, Sophia paced across the large, rectangular rug, absently admiring the blue and gold swirls that made up the design.
Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.
She paused at the sound of shouts coming from outside. Carriage wheels struck the gravel of the drive.
Twenty-three.
