The Scandalous Life 0f A Betrayed Heiress (Historical Regency) Page 4

  “There is more dancing tonight, so I’m told,” Emily said.

  “I’m afraid that I’m danced-out for the time being.”

  “What do you mean?” asked her aunt. “You should be enjoying every moment on this trip. God knows you have enough rich gowns packed away in that trunk to enjoy a hundred balls.”

  “Let’s stay in tonight,” Sophia said, the thought filling her with excitement. “We’ll wear our sleeping gowns and eat nothing but cake.”

  “You sound like Marie Antoinette.”

  “Come on, it will be fun,” Sophia said, entwining her arm through Emily’s. “No finery, no small talk, and no dancing. We’ll stuff ourselves and read stories.”

  “I have to admit that I like that idea,” Emily replied.

  And so what ensued was perhaps Sophia’s favourite evening on the ship. She, Emily and Arabella ate their cake, told their stories, and didn’t leave the cabin for a second, that is until it was time for Emily and Arabella to return to their own cabins.

  Falling into a blissful slumber that night, Sophia was content. But there were lingering thoughts that troubled her. Was that to be the last time she could indulge in such an evening? Was everything about to change just as soon as they reached London? She had no idea what married life was going to be like. Perhaps it would be a blessing, or maybe it would be a curse. Whichever one it was going to be, Sophia Barberry was about to experience it soon enough, whether she liked it or not.

  Chapter 4

  The arrival in England came upon them hastily. The SS Duchess of Gloucester pulled into the harbour of London and Sophia felt a sadness in her breast. If only her voyage at sea could have gone on longer. She had had such a delightful time breathing in the fresh sea air each morning and feeling the wind in her hair. Sophia was not at all looking forward to returning to terra firma.

  Reality was setting in. She was about to be married, and to a man who had scarce paid much attention to her the entire time that they crossed the Atlantic. Perhaps matters would improve with time. And if they didn’t, Sophia was going to have to figure out how to keep her wits about her.

  “Isn’t it marvellous?” Emily said as they stood on the deck, looking out at the London cityscape.

  “It’s just as I imagined it to be,” Sophia replied, clutching a shawl that hung around her shoulders.

  “You’re a Londoner now.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “It’s one thing to be a part of New York society, and quite another to wiggle one’s way into London society.”

  “You’ll fit right in. What with your style and wit.”

  They exited the ship along with the other passengers, an attendant carrying Sophia’s rather heavy trunk. Her wide-brimmed hat shielded her eyes from the sun, and seagulls could be heard making their morning song.

  “Come along,” Lord Timothy said, spotting his coach off in the distance. He took it upon himself to hire a second coach as well, so that he might have some privacy and do some work during the journey. Arabella, Sophia and Emily were placed in the second coach, their trunks secured to the roof.

  “It will be a long journey,” Sophia said, taking the driver’s hand as she was escorted into the cabin.

  “Thank goodness we have your books,” Arabella said, holding four of them in her arms.

  Sophia sighed to herself. Was it really too much to ask to ride in a coach with her future husband? She imagined that during the journey, Lord Timothy would point things out along the way, points of interest and other things she should know about. But that was merely a fantasy, and Sophia would have to interpret the journey as she pleased.

  And the ride was rather long. They began by riding through the city, and Sophia hung her head out of the window and gawked at all the amazing sights. However, London was just as dirty as New York, perhaps more so. The air was thick and the pedestrians were many. Sophia wondered how people survived amid so much hustle and bustle. She had never braved the streets of New York too much. Her parents always insisted she be confined to their 5th Avenue townhouse as much as possible.

  Once out of the city and into the countryside, Sophia smiled to herself. It was just as beautiful as she imagined it. Wild blooms dotted the green, rolling hillsides, and charming cottages abounded. Sophia would be quite content in one of those quaint thatched-roof cottages, the fireplace blazing and a book on her lap. She would like to live a life in which she had no one to answer to but herself. She envisioned a shaggy dog at her heels, curled up in a cute little ball as he slept.

  “We’re almost there!” the driver called out from his perch.

  “I feel so much excitement,” Emily said, clutching her heart.

  Riding down a well-manicured road enclosed by tall trees on either side, Sophia was beginning to feel excitement as well. She was about to arrive at her new home. Would it be all she imagined it to be?

  In truth, Willow Grange proved to be much more impressive than she thought it would. Although the Clumber name was low on funds, they still managed to keep Willow Grange the palatial masterpiece they wanted it to be. The great stone structure featured a roundabout at the entrance, with a stately fountain pouring forth in the middle. A great line of servants in black and white uniforms lined the stone steps that led up to the massive entrance door, carved in dark wood with charming glass panels that allowed one to see through to the grand entrance hall.

  The driver opened the door to the coach and put out a hand to guide Sophia down to the ground. She was wearing travelling clothes that morning, a simple blue muslin gown with golden fringe. The gown was impressive, to say the least, and she noted admiration on all the servants’ faces.

  “Welcome to Willow Grange,” Lord Timothy said, straightening his waistcoat.

  “It’s marvellous,” Sophia replied.

  “Come this way,” he commanded, putting out his hand and taking Sophia’s in his own. It was the first time she had held his hand, and Sophia surmised that it was only for show. He wished the servants to see that he was a gentleman to his new bride and no more.

  Walking Sophia up the steps, she could see that a man in a rolling wooden chair had been pushed to the front door and remained there, waiting to greet the new arrivals.

  “My son,” the man said, and Sophia immediately sensed him to be the Duke of Clumber.

  “Father, allow me to introduce Sophia Barberry.”

  “Charmed to meet you,” the duke said, inspecting Sophia up and down. Although Sophia knew that the duke’s health was not good, she was not aware that he was confined to a chair thus. Apparently, a massive stroke had left the duke incapacitated, and what’s more, there was a miserable scowl on his face. Sophia thought that, were she in the same position, she would be miserable as well.

  “Come in for tea, then,” the duke said coldly, his attendant wheeling him back into the house.

  “Very well,” Lord Timothy replied, releasing Sophia’s hand.

  She wondered if everyone in the Clumber family was so sour. Sophia could see where Lord Timothy got his temper from.

  The grand entrance hall was just as impressive as the exterior of the home. Stately oil paintings lined the walls, not unlike those at the 5th Avenue townhouse. Grand chandeliers hung from the ceilings and candelabras were placed on tables. The floor was done in marble, as was the winding staircase that led to the first floor.

  ***

  There was a room at Willow Grange used exclusively for tea and the walls were done in rich mahogany. A beautiful marble table was surrounded by a number of upholstered chairs.

  “Let’s discuss the wedding,” the Duke of Clumber began.

  “Have all the preparations been made?” Lord Timothy asked.

  “Esmeralda has accomplished most of it. We merely need to size the gown,” the duke said, looking over to Sophia and inspecting her again.

  As it turned out, Esmerelda, the housekeeper, entered the room that very moment.

  “M’Lord,” she sa
id with a bow. She was a sour-looking woman, as well, which Sophia was beginning to find fitting in the Clumber home.

  “This is Sophia,” the duke said, motioning towards where she sat.

  “How do you take your tea, M’Lady?” Esmerelda asked.

  “With lemon,” Sophia replied.

  As tea was being poured and the duke continued to discuss the wedding, the flowers that were chosen and the number of guests that would be in attendance, Sophia had a chance to examine Esmerelda. She was rather tall, and Sophia noted a slight German accent, which made sense considering Esmerelda’s tight blonde braids wrapped around the top of her head. She had a very straight, erect posture, and her lower lip was in a constant state of frowning.

  “The wedding gown is gold,” the duke went on, and Sophia’s ears perked up. She did fancy gold gowns, and the colour seemed fitting. “The seamstress will be by tomorrow, to ensure a good fit.”

  “Take pains to be moderate with the tea biscuits,” Lord Timothy said to Sophia, implying that he feared she might expand before the nuptials.

  Sophia was offended. How dare he tell her what she could and could not eat? Instead of unhanding the biscuit that she grasped, she rebelliously popped it into her mouth and began to chew deliberately. Lord Timothy looked away.

  Emily remained silent at the tea table, and Arabella was nowhere in sight. No doubt she was helping to prepare Sophia’s room. Just then, a rather tall, dashing figure entered the room wearing a soldier’s uniform. His hair was wind-swept and dishevelled, and his heavy boots made a clanking sound on the ground.

  “Philip,” the duke said, as though surprised by his younger son’s presence.

  “Father,” Philip replied curtly. He walked over to the table and picked up a sandwich from a tray, not bothering to sit down and eat it. Instead, he stood there, looming over them, sandwich between his teeth.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Lord Timothy said coolly.

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “This is your future sister-in-law,” Lord Timothy went on. “Sophia Barberry.”

  Philip stopped his chewing and looked down at Sophia for what felt like a rather long time. To the outside eye, one might assume that both of them had the wind knocked out of their chests, for no words were immediately spoken.

  “Forgive my poor manners,” Philip said, putting down the sandwich.

  “It is quite all right,” Sophia replied with a smile.

  Although everyone had proved to be mildly rude since she arrived, there was something different about Philip. How was it that she sensed something about the younger brother, even when she first saw him in the portrait?

  “Good day,” Philip said smugly to the room, his demeanour suddenly changing. He left the room with his sandwich, and the duke sighed to himself.

  “Youth,” the duke said dismissively.

  In truth, Lord Philip was not much younger than his brother. He was twenty years old, but the difference in years between he and his older brother could be keenly perceived by all.

  Tea being done, Sophia was led to her chambers. It came as no surprise that she would not share a room with her husband once they were married. It was custom in a country estate such as Willow Grange. Sophia did not mind so much in that moment, as she was grateful for the privacy.

  With Arabella and Emily nowhere in sight, Sophia threw herself upon the bed and spread her arms out wide, looking up at the carved white ceiling. So that was to be her new dwelling place. She turned her head to the side and noted a soft blue chair by the window. She’d spend much time there, looking out at the garden and dreaming. There was also a fine vanity table with multiple mirrors, which would prove helpful when it was time to undertake her toilette in the morning.

  And although life was slow at Willow Grange, the days long and routines endless, time still flew by at a feverish pitch and in no time at all the wedding was upon them.

  Sophia gazed in the full-length mirror at her gold dress and fought back tears. Some of England’s top society members were to be at the ceremony, but her own parents remained behind in America. Henry complained of having far too much business to attend to, and Martha always took ill when she was at sea. And so Sophia was quite alone, except for dear Aunt Emily. But even she would be returning to America as soon as the wedding was done.

  “You’re a vision,” Arabella said, making final preparations on Sophia’s hair and rich, rare jewels.

  “Like a treasure chest,” Emily added.

  “I feel as though my legs are made of water,” Sophia said, thinking that she might fall at any moment. She was not one to get nervous, but her wedding day was proving to be trying.

  The ceremony itself was rather simple. The Clumber family had paid handsomely to have the service not in a chapel but, rather, in their own garden. The vicar was present, wearing his ceremonial robes, and above Timothy and Sophia’s heads was a trellis lined with flowers. The morning sun shone bright, but there was a cool crispness in the air, and dew drops still clung to the grass and shrubbery.

  There were hundreds of people in attendance. Sophia could not bear to look at the crowd for fear she’d have a fit of nerves again. All in all, the ceremony went smoothly. She held Lord Timothy’s hands and looked into his eyes. For the first time, she saw a hint of emotion there. Was he going to emerge as the husband that she wished him to be after all?

  Once the Banns were done, Lord Timothy leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Sophia’s cheek. She turned to see Emily in the front row, openly weeping, Esmerelda at her side, scowling, and the Duke of Clumber himself, nearly fast asleep in his chair.

  Then there was Philip, seated at the end of the aisle with his legs crossed and a hand on his knee. The younger brother seemed bored at best.

  Of course, lavish country weddings were much more about the wedding breakfast than anything else. Countless tables were set up in the grand ballroom, where servants darted to and fro with trays of hot breakfast food. The cold items were already placed on each table for guests to pick and choose.

  Sophia and Lord Timothy were seated at a small table that faced the other guests. Although they were on display for all to see, Sophia could not deny how hungry she was, and she reached for a hot scone, which she slathered in butter. Sophia no longer cared whether or not she fit into her gold dress. After all, that dress was going to have to come off at some point that day.

  The nerves from the ceremony having passed, there were then nerves about the wedding night. Arabella had done the best she could to prepare Sophia, with little suggestions and hints, but for the most part, Sophia was still in the dark. She wished to finally bond with Lord Timothy, both body and soul, but she was beginning to realise that was very much not under her control.

  Looking over to Lord Timothy, she watched as he drank what appeared to be his second glass of wine. As the breakfast carried on, he transitioned to ale, then back to wine again. It made Sophia’s stomach turn just to look at it. And all the while, he seemed to scarce touch his food.

  “To the happy couple,” the Duke of Clumber said, holding his glass into the air.

  “To the happy couple!” the guests repeated.

  “Hear, hear!” Lord Timothy said, slurring ever so slightly.

  Gazing into the crowd, Sophia could no longer see her aunt and maid, and she felt very much alone in her husband’s company. She did, however, spot Philip, who seemed to be flirting suggestively with a woman seated to his right.