Hell in A Handbasket (Devilish Debutantes Book 2) Page 7

  Chapter 6

  Sophia both dreaded and looked forward to the moment the lights would be brought up to signify the first of two intermissions. Why was Captain Brookes here? Had he intentionally sought her out? Of course, he would not! Would he? And what of her fiancé? Why was Lord Harold so irritated with her? Surely, she and her family’s tardiness was not such an affront as all that.

  She was jarred from her thoughts by the applause of the crowd followed by beginning murmurs of relief from the audience members at sitting for so long. The glow from the gaslights grew until she could see all the faces about her.

  Harold made a pained look, stood, and turned formally. “Miss Babineaux, may I present to you my cousin, Captain Devlin Brookes. Dev, my fiancée, Miss Sophia Babineaux.”

  What should she do? Should she pretend they had never met? Instead of wondering why he was here, she ought to have been figuring out what she was going to do about it!

  Dudley watched her with narrowed eyes.

  Sophia glanced at Rhoda, who shrugged and laughed. “Not necessary, Lord Harold. We’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Captain Brookes. He rather came to my rescue, you see, in a skirmish on the street a few days ago. But we did not know he was a relation of yours. What a delightful surprise.”

  Oh, thank you, Rhoda, you quick-thinking girl!

  Dudley’s eyebrows rose. “So that would explain, Sophia, why you were in his company this afternoon at the circus. I did make an attempt to capture your attention, but the two of you moved along too quickly, before I could reach you.” He then sent a satisfied-looking gloat in Sophia’s direction. “I did not, however, see Miss Mossant.”

  All eyes turned toward Sophia upon Dudley’s words.

  But Rhoda again came to her rescue. “You ought to have tried harder, Mr. Scofield. And you would have been most welcome to join us. An outing is always more pleasant when the numbers are even. Would you not agree?”

  He raised one brow. “My apologies. In the future, I will heed your advice, of course.”

  But Lord Harold was not interested in who was with whom at the circus. He returned his attention to his cousin. “How unexpected, Dev. I am pleased to hear of your acquaintance. No one was injured, I hope? In the skirmish?”

  Rhoda was doing such a fine job explaining all of this that Sophia merely looked to her friend to answer. “Heaven’s no, and all thanks to Captain Brookes. He is quite the hero.” Rhoda then went on to describe the events most dramatically, omitting the role played by Peaches and telling it as though it were she, rather than Sophia, who had been trapped.

  From the corner of her eyes, Sophia watched Captain Brookes.

  He would not contradict Rhoda. He must understand that she had not deceived his cousin willingly.

  She hoped so anyhow.

  Oh, this changed everything! Her heart, which already had felt heavy this evening, now plummeted to somewhere around the vicinity of her feet.

  Captain Brookes would not meet her eyes. He simply followed the conversation with an unreadable expression.

  “And today…” Rhoda wrapped up her story most convincingly. “…he offered to take us to view the lion in a more civilized setting. As we’d already fed the ducks, how could we deny ourselves?”

  “How indeed?” Dudley chimed in. Of course, he had likely guessed that much of the story was fiction. But to call Sophia out, again, in a most public setting would have no beneficial outcome whatsoever.

  For now, it seemed, Dudley’s attempt at creating trouble for her had been foiled.

  All attention turned away from Sophia when a few of the duke’s acquaintances presented themselves at the door to the private box. She fixed a smile upon her face and turned slightly so as to appear interested in the various introductions and greetings. Her mama was in heaven, and Mr. Scofield most satisfied with his newfound importance.

  She ignored Dudley, who still watched her.

  Rhoda turned and whispered near Sophia’s ear. “That was somewhat alarming. Did you realize Dudley had witnessed you with Brookes? I wish it had been me who’d gone. And would you believe? Madam Chantel, ironically enough, canceled my appointment. You can only imagine how frustrating that was.” She spoke softly even though a great deal of noise droned around them.

  Sophia wished to discuss all of this with Rhoda but was also aware of her fiancé beside her, and even more so, of Captain Brookes’ presence a mere few feet behind her.

  Lord Harold placed his hand upon Sophia’s arm. “I would discuss a matter of importance with you, Miss Babineaux.” He sounded a little more his normal self, soft-spoken, quiet, humble.

  Rhoda waved her hand toward Sophia and, turning toward the aisle, stood up. “My legs are positively exhausted from all this sitting.” Glancing pointedly at the few gentlemen not engaged in conversation, she hinted, “I would like for nothing more than to take a turn about the theatre before the production resumes.”

  Both Captain Brookes and the marques rose. “Would you allow me to escort you?” The marques bowed in her direction. Looking a little disappointed, Rhoda fluttered her lashes and executed a pretty curtsey.

  “I’d be honored.”

  Which left Sophia and Lord Harold alone in the front row and Captain Brookes lounging in his seat behind them.

  Lord Harold reached for her hand. “Miss Babineaux,” he said, such earnestness in his eyes, the same he’d had when he proposed, “…I cannot wait much longer to make you my wife. I would have that we set a wedding date, three weeks from Sunday, here in London, at St. Georges.”

  This was the last thing she’d expected him to say! Good Lord, for a moment she had thought he was going to ask her to call the entire thing off.

  “So then, you are not angry with me for arriving late this evening? You’ve not spoken to me in such tones before.”

  He had the good grace to look sheepish at her words. “My dear, I was merely worried that you were not coming. Will you accept my apology for such boorish behavior?”

  Sophia furrowed her brows. “Well, of course, I will, but as to the other…”

  “Father has sent the announcements to the papers. Chalk it up to an anxious bridegroom if you must, but I really must insist.”

  He was to insist upon this now? He’d not insisted upon anything until this point. A sickening suspicion began growing inside of her. “I am not ready, my lord,” she said. “I’ve barely begun to build my trousseau, and I had hoped to finish the Season with my family first.”

  Mr. Scofield had apparently been eavesdropping. “Nothing that cannot be remedied, Sophia.” And then to Lord Harold, “Of course, my lord, his grace mentioned this earlier. Sophia has no objection to moving up the date. Do you, my dear?”

  Her suspicions held more merit than she would have wished. Mr. Scofield, the man who held the key to her mother’s happiness, stared at her sternly, as though threatening her to contradict him.

  Payments have been made…

  She then caught sight of her mother, smiling, laughing at something the duchess had said. She looked younger and more carefree than she had in months. Sophia swallowed around the huge lump that had appeared in her throat.

  She shook her head, unwilling to admit to herself that this was, indeed happening. But why?

  She wanted to marry Lord Harold. Did she not?

  Was she making a mountain out of a molehill?

  “Do you, Sophia?” Mr. Scofield’s voice sounded closer now, more menacing.

  The intensity of the moment must have caught her mother’s attention, for she too, now watched for Sophia’s response.

  Sophia turned back to Lord Harold, her gaze traveling past Captain Brookes’ narrowed stare as she did so.

  “Of course not,” she said. “Whatever you wish, my lord.”

  * * *

  The remainder of the evening passed in a daze. It was almost as though Sophia herself was not there.

  A shell of her person went through the motions, applauded at the end of scenes, and
then wished her fiancé and his family goodnight before climbing back into the opulent carriage.

  After dropping Rhoda off, Sophia sat across from her mother and Mr. Scofield as they rolled along the now quiet streets toward their modest townhome.

  “Await me in my study, Sophia.” Her stepfather’s voice jolted her as the carriage came to a stop. When mother glanced at him questioningly, he patted her gently on the hand. “Not necessary for you to join us, Mrs. Scofield. I’d simply iron out a few details with the bride-to-be.”

  Her mother nodded, unwilling to question her husband.

  Sophia took a deep breath as a sensation of spiders creeping across her skin made her shiver. She nodded in agreement and climbed out of the conveyance. Pulling her shawl around herself comfortingly, she braced herself for what she was certain would turn out to be more unpleasantness.

  But perhaps it would not, a quiet and rational part of herself argued with her more tumultuous thoughts. Perhaps Mr. Scofield would be fatherly, protective and reassuring. Perhaps he would tell her that she did not, indeed, have to move the wedding date forward if she were not comfortable doing so. Perhaps, he would tell her she did not even have to go through with the engagement if she were having doubts.

  Don’t worry unnecessarily, Sophia, this part urged her.

  The other part, the queasy spidery one, responded bitterly. Don’t be a fool.

  Sophia admonished them both, entered Mr. Scofield’s study, and found a chair near his desk. The candles were lit, but he’d yet to have arrived himself.

  When he did appear, he was not alone.

  Dudley followed him into the room.

  Both were unsmiling as Mr. Scofield closed the door behind them.

  At this point, she suspected that the spidery voice had had the right of it. She planted her slippered feet firmly upon the carpeted floor and sat up straight as she awaited whatever reckoning was to come.

  “Sophia…” her stepfather began, sitting himself behind the large desk.

  Dudley did not sit. Instead he leaned against the closed door with both arms crossed.

  “…you are no longer a child, and I will not treat you as such. Neither are you like other ladies your age, free to fritter about Society for years on end. You have responsibilities. You have duties.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. Out with it, please! I wish to know what I am dealing with!

  “This, er, engagement of yours… I wish to remind you that you are under my protection until you are wed, and upon your marriage, you will be subject to the will of your husband. And as your husband is a member of such an esteemed family as the duke’s, you shall be subject to their will as well.”

  Sophia merely nodded. Although this was not the way she’d imagined a marriage to be, she knew he spoke the truth, as far as the law was concerned, anyhow.

  “The responsibilities you have as a daughter and as a sister…” He glanced toward Dudley. “…may be relinquished, for the most part, upon your marriage. But until then, you will do as I tell you, knowing I always have your mother’s and Dudley’s interests high on my list of priorities. And yours, of course.”

  “Of course,” she mimicked. She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying more.

  At this point, Mr. Scofield’s face hardened. “Your marriage, as it is, legally has already occurred. Amongst the papers you were asked to sign last week, concerning your dowry and whatnot, you signed a marriage license and said license has been witnessed. Your bridegroom has signed it already as well. Payments have been made, and all necessary contracts have been filed by the solicitors.”

  She was not sure she understood what he was saying. And then, when she did grasp his meaning, she found it difficult to believe. “But why? Why would such trickery on your part have been necessary? For I do feel as though this is a form of trickery.”

  Her stepfather narrowed his eyes at her. She’d never before argued with him. But this was important! This was her life!

  “It is simply the way matters are accomplished when dealing with such an aristocratic family as your fiancé’s. It was not trickery, my dear. It was business. Ladies are incapable of understanding these finer details. I would never have told you had I not sensed a… hesitancy upon your part this evening regarding the changes to the wedding date. I will prevent you from causing scandal or legal troubles for this family. I doubt your mother’s poor heart could handle such humiliation and dishonor.”

  “But is the marriage not disputable until a ceremony has been performed, and… well, consummated?” She flushed as she said the words. She wished Dudley were not present. She would rather have had this conversation in private.

  She would rather have avoided such a conversation all together.

  “It could be disputed with an exam, I suppose,” Dudley interjected from his side of the room.

  But a knowing look lurked in his expression, and his eyes were hooded and mocking.

  “That won’t be necessary, my dear. As I’ve said, my concern is for your mother. Has she not glowed with health and happiness as of late?” His voice dripped with condescension. “And it is of no matter, is it? It has been my own opinion that you are happy to marry Lord Harold. I would only bring all of this out into the open with you, as I have said, since you seemed hesitant about the date.

  Sophia barely comprehended all that had occurred over the last few hours. She sat, seething, as her stepfather spoke to her now.

  “Surely, you won’t make any trouble. All I ask is that you continue frolicking about town with your friend, shopping and preparing for your wedding. Nothing distasteful in any of that, now, is there?”

  And then she found her voice, low and steady and edged with a steel all its own. “How much?”

  His brows rose. “Pardon?”

  “How much have they paid you?”

  He did not say anything, merely moved a few papers about on his desk for a moment or two. And then, glancing up at her, he confirmed her worse fears. “Enough,” he said. “Enough to eliminate this family’s debts, Dudley’s included, and for your mother and me to live comfortably for the rest of our lives. Would you put your mother’s future in peril, Sophia?”

  Bile rose in her throat, but then subsided into her heart.

  She stood. And then another question dawned on her. Turning back, she demanded, “But why? Why would the Prescotts pay so much? Why would they pay at all?”

  At this, it was Dudley who answered, “Because, dear sister, Lord Harold is so very enamored of you. He’s leaving no chance for another man to snatch you away. You ought to be flattered.”

  Flattered?

  She’d done naught but consented to an engagement.

  She’d trusted all of them while signing those papers. Was that not what a betrothal was for? A time of contemplation? A time to develop trust? A time for the couple to assure themselves of the decision they’d made?

  It was awfully high-handed of them — of Lord Harold. She’d not thought he would be such a husband as to act so arrogantly in regard to their life together. She hoped he would not do so again.

  For it seemed, she realized as she made her way up to her chamber, she was already, a married woman.

  Chapter 7

  “He would cut me off completely, Dev.” Harold spoke into his half-empty pint glass. The performance at Drury Land ended hours ago, and the two cousins had drifted from one club to another until finally settling into the tavern of the lesser-known, and not at all prestigious, King’s Pot and Porridge.

  Despite Dev’s decision earlier that day, the evening’s events had compelled him to learn more about this so-called betrothal between his cousin and Miss Sophia Babineaux. Normally, he would not immerse himself in such family affairs, but, well, he had an interest here.

  What he ought to do was pack his belongings and make the trip down to Dartmouth Place, forget he’d ever met Sophia Babineaux, and begin carving this so-called new life out for himself. With the commission sold off and the property purchase
d, nothing was left to keep him in London.

  He could ignore the twinge of regret he felt at losing something he’d thought he’d found.

  He could resign himself to seeing her, occasionally, on those rare family get-togethers he would feel compelled to attend.

  There were other women.

  There were always other women.

  Harold had been reticent about his engagement for most of the evening. Instead, he spent his energy complaining of the high handedness of his father.

  Dev did his best to keep from shaking his cousin.

  “That’s why I’ve never allowed myself the luxury of living at Prescott House, Harry,” Dev responded. “I won’t have another man making such decisions concerning my life.”

  But this did nothing to relieve Harold’s situation.

  Of which Devlin wanted to know more.

  He wanted to know more about her, about Sophia.

  “She believes you are in love with her, Harold?”

  Harold took a long swallow before answering and then laughed with no amusement whatsoever. “Isn’t that a hoot? She’s a fine girl. And a looker too, if I say so myself. Not much in the brains department, but that’s to be expected. She was thrilled when I began courting her — believed everything I told her.”

  “What did you tell her, Harry?”

  Harold stared straight ahead, not really looking at anything. “I told her I’d been besotted since the moment I saw her. That I’d been too intimidated by her beauty to approach her. I held her hand a few times, pretended she meant the world to me. Grand performance, if I say so myself.”

  Dev felt sick.

  So, Sophia had been fooled. He’d doubted her.

  “She believes you love her,” he confirmed.

  “Yes, yes, I rather think so.” Harold took another long drink.

  “I presume her parents know the situation.” Devlin conjured the image of the elder Mr. Scofield. He’d looked rather like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.

  “Her father, and the brother, I think. Not the mother though… But that’s not the worst of it.”

  Good God, how could this get any worse?