Page 44

Balston House Gardens

9 September 1810

Sophronie fingered a yellow rose petal as Sir Peppermint frolicked among the flowers and bushes. Papa had been gone for a month. How could the time have gone by so swiftly? What was more, Sophronie was no closer to having her marriage annulled than she had been four weeks ago.

The day was pleasantly warm with a slight breeze. However, she smelled autumn in the air, and she’d heard chatter amongst the servants that it might be a harsh winter. That necessitated her leaving sooner rather than later.

A rook called to its mate as it flew overhead. Sophronie followed the bird’s graceful flight to the Scotch pine forest bordering the meadow behind the castle. Perhaps she’d take a ride or a walk over there today. There was much of the keep’s grounds she’d yet to explore.

Her possessions had arrived from London along with letters of condolences from several of her friends. Each had invited her to visit whenever and for as long as she’d liked. She hadn’t shared her farce of a marriage, but Leah Wesleyan had, the miserable wretch.

Lifting the letter she’d just read from Jessica Rolston, Duchess of Bainbridge, to scan the neat script once more, Sophronie pressed her lips together and heaved a frustrated sigh. Miss Wesleyan had heeded Evan’s threat and departed Scotland. She’d made straight for London and used her wealth and beauty to pry open a few Society doors.

I am so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. Please accept my heartfelt condolences. It seems I should offer you felicitations as well. I understand you are now the Duchess of Waycross.

I confess that news imparted by Miss Leah Wesleyan came as a great surprise. I quite thought you couldn’t abide the duke. I wish you every happiness, dear friend. I do hope that means I shall see more of you in the future as I cannot think you will return to Virginia.

Speaking of Miss Wesleyan, she is a most trying individual. She puts on such airs, and never have I encountered a woman more determined to marry a title. She has little enough kind to say about you and your marriage to the duke. Rest assured, your friends in London have risen to your defense, and many doors have been closed to her already.

Sir Peppermint charged from his hiding place in a bush and attacked the hem of Sophronie’s skirt. “What are you about, young rascal?” She squatted and tickled his stomach. He tolerated her ministrations for a few seconds, then twisted away and dashed off again.

Smiling at his antics, Sophronie folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket. “I’m not surprised that witch is gossiping about my marriage.”

“Who is?”

Sophronie wheeled around, her heart thundering in her chest. “Evan, you startled me.”

“I apologize, lass. I dinna mean to.”

Hatless, as was his wont, his boots and trousers were covered with specks of dust and dirt. Likely he’d been training horses again today. Even so unkempt, he was more striking than any man of her acquaintance. Just a few short weeks ago, she’d thought him rough and uncouth. Now she found his rugged good looks devastatingly appealing.

She’d love to have been invited to partake in the breeding and training. However, other than permitting her to ride horseback, Evan hadn’t included her in anything regarding his horses.

“It’s of no import.” Her bonnet blocked most of the afternoon sun from her eyes, but as he was so much taller than her, she had to look upward. Shielding her eyes from the glare with her hand, she said, “How is the training going?”

“Fair enough.” He cupped his nape and gave her a sidelong look. “Ye are welcome to visit the broodmare ye purchased at Tattersalls’s. I ken ye were taken with her.”

Lowering her hand, Sophronie started to shake her head then stopped. “Perhaps I shall.”

A boyish grin kicked up on one side of his mouth as if her answer pleased him greatly. “Who’s been gossipin’ about our marriage?”

Who wasn’t?

Word of the rushed nuptials had spread fast. Naturally, no one dared say anything directly to Sophronie’s face, but she’d suffered many an inquisitive glance and ignored many more whispers behind hands.

“It matters not.” Sophronie perused the garden for a sign of her playful kitten. He pounced on a round rock and batted it with his paw. Marshaling her courage, she scratched her nose.

“I should like to speak with a solicitor about the annulment, Evan.” At once, his features turned to granite, but she pressed onward. “As you know, it’s been a month since we exchanged vows. The more time passes, the more difficult it will be to get one granted.”

“Nae.” Giving a single shake of his head, causing a raven lock to fall over his forehead, he placed his hands upon her shoulders. In profoundly gentle tones, he said, “Roni, I am yer husband, like it or no’, and I am responsible for yer wellbein’. I willna allow ye to do somethin’ impulsive and rash that ye will later regret, lass.”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?” Pulling away from him, she fought back tears of anger and frustration. “You have your fortune. What else do you want?”

He was silent for several achingly long heartbeats, and she waited tensely, hoping for what she knew not.

At last, he filled his lungs with air, his chest expanding, and heaved a sigh. “I am a man of honor, and I swore a vow to yer father. One year.”

He caught the violet ribbon fluttering against her chin and gave it a little tug.

“Don’t you want to choose your wife because you care for her, Evan, instead of having settled on me?” Yes, marriages were arranged for convenience all of the time. Nonetheless, neither she nor Evan was the type to be content in such a match or to accept mediocrity in anything they undertook.

“I’m no’ unhappy with ye, Roni. In truth, I think we could be verra happy together.” Grinning, he tugged her closer. He smelled of horses. Other women might’ve been put off by the earthliness of his aroma, but she found it intoxicating. “I seem to recall yer father sayin’ we had much in common.”

Feeling oddly hollow, she gave him a sad smile. “I had begun to think so, but now I don’t even know my own mind anymore.”

He pointed his attention to his boots for a moment and toed the gravel. He raised turbulent blue-gray eyes to hers. “I hope ye’ll decide to stay, because I wish it above all else. But if after a year, yer heart is set on leavin’, I will let ye go. Be sure that is what ye want, because there are some things a person canna turn back from.”

With that, he pivoted on his heels and strode away. Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, Sophronie watched her husband’s long-legged stride take him farther and farther from her.

Is it what I want?

A month ago, filled with anger and grief and an overwhelming sense of betrayal, Sophronie had been positive an annulment was the answer. Now, she wasn’t altogether sure.