Page 24 of A Counterfeit Engagement

It was astonishing how comfortable a well-sprung carriage with four fine horses could be, Sophie thought.

They would make the journey to Oxford in style.

Pleasant as the wedding breakfast had been, Sophie had been too eager to be on their way to enjoy it as she would have liked.

She only hoped the guests had not noticed her distracted state, and that she had replied to their well-wishes with suitable gratitude.

Jonathan had entirely concealed his own impatience.

She would have thought he felt none, had their eyes not met in the crowded room.

That look of understanding and shared amusement had said everything.

Now, at last, they were on their way.

“Well, duchess,” Jonathan said with a smile. He reached for Sophie’s hand and intertwined her fingers with his. “You are mine now, and I am yours.”

“Forever,” Sophie agreed. She drew in a quick breath. “Is it not strange, Jonathan? We had not even met a year ago, and now you are the most important person in my life.”

Jonathan blinked in surprise. “I was thinking something similar as I waited for you at the altar,” he said. “We must make a toast to Mary Collins tonight. She meant her plans to make a brilliant marriage, and in the end, they did.”

Sophie laughed. “I am grateful to her, indeed. Though I would not have asked for such a favour, neither will I refuse it now that it has been given.”

“No, indeed,” Jonathan agreed. He paused. “Sophie…I should like to kiss you again.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Sophie said eagerly. She turned her face up to meet his. Jonathan smiled crookedly at the sight of her closed lips.

“Let me show you a French kiss, wife,” he whispered. “Open your lips.”

Sophie intended to say something, she knew not what, but it was lost in his kiss.

She had raised her arms about his neck, and he had embraced her tightly, bringing her nearly onto his lap.

It was so odd to feel the firmness of his chest pressed against her.

His lips were soft, surprising somehow in so powerful a man.

Finally, they broke apart.

“That felt…odd,” Sophie said breathlessly. “Nice. I liked it very much.”

“Nice is a bit of an understatement,” Jonathan said hoarsely.

He wondered if his new wife had any idea of the effect she had on him, then stopped wondering.

It was obvious that she did not. “Sophie…did your mother give you any advice these past few days? Did she tell you anything about what goes on between a husband and wife?”

“Ah…no,” Sophie admitted. “I am afraid not. You will have to teach me.”

Jonathan quickly stifled a groan. His new wife absolutely had not intended that to sound as seductive as it had. “I shall enjoy that,” Jonathan said nonetheless.

“I have read Ovid,” Sophie announced cheerfully, “if that helps.”

Jonathan snorted with laughter, momentarily diverted. “Where on earth did you get your hands on Ovid? I can’t imagine that Mrs Anderson would approve.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mama wouldn’t approve, had she known what it was like, but it was she who gave me The Metamorphoses. She has always encouraged Isabel and me in reading, you see, and she was proud that I was reading the classics.”

Jonathan grinned. “And when you discovered that Ovid is, shall we say, not precisely suited for a gently reared lady, you declined to enlighten her.”

“Precisely. I do not see any benefit in remaining ignorant, and I do not see that it has done much harm to my character, either.” Sophie paused a moment.

“I had not intended to share it with Isabel, but I am afraid she got the better of me. Last year, she realised it was the only book I own that I had not actively offered her, and read it before I could countermand her.”

“Your sister looks like an angel, but I am glad there is a little bit of mischief to her as well,” Jonathan murmured.

“It will be a help to Sarah. My sister is so witty and good natured, it is not always apparent to those who do not know her well, but she is sometimes rather melancholy. An ever-so-slightly wicked new sister — or perhaps I should say, rather, a pair of them — will be just the thing.”

The hours flew by as swiftly as the miles, disappearing under the influence of well-matched horses and conversation. When the carriage drew to a halt outside a roadside inn in time for a late luncheon, Sophie realised she had not even noticed the time passing.

“I will be glad to stretch my legs,” Sophie said ruefully, accepting Jonathan’s hand down from the carriage. “I am afraid I have little experience with travelling. Though I shall be glad to gain it.”

“Have you never seen Oxford before, then?”

“No, never. I have seen Seaton, of course, and London. When I was a child, we kept a small place in the country, in Kent. And these are the only places I have been in my life.”

“Then I will enjoy showing it to you. Oxford is a lovely place. I prefer it to London, in some ways. And we must travel together and visit my family’s other properties, as well.”

Though Sophie intended to inquire, the arrival of the innkeeper forestalled her. They were quickly led to a good table, with the promise of tea and an array of cold meats and bread to follow.

“Tell me something of Oxford, Jonathan,” Sophie asked when the innkeeper had left them. Jonathan readily complied.

“The Thames runs through it as it does through London — that much, I am sure you already knew.” Sophie nodded assent. “But did you know that in Oxford, it is called the Isis?”

Sophie laughed in surprise. “I certainly did not! It is a beautiful name, but why?”

“That, I cannot say. But it is quite different from the Thames in London. If we visit in the summer some year, I will take you boating if you would like.”

“Oh, yes, please. I have never been in a boat, despite all the years we lived next to the sea. I should like to try it.”

The rest of their lunch, and indeed the remaining time to Oxford, was whiled away in such pleasant nothings.

When at last the carriage drew up to the house in Holywell Street, Sophie drew in a quick breath of pleasure.

The pale sandstone shone in the last of the sunset light, turning it to gold.

The house itself had a pleasant aspect, with many windows facing the quiet street.

It was wonderfully spick and span, with a new slate roof and shrubbery on either side of the entrance.

“Welcome home, duchess,” Jonathan said quietly.

“Thank you,” Sophie said. “How odd. I was just thinking what a lovely house this is, and envying the owners. But — it is your house, and so I suppose it is also mine.”

“It is indeed.” Jonathan extended a hand. “Come, Sophie. Let me show you your house.”

She followed him through a whirlwind of introductions.

The housekeeper, Mrs Brown, was clearly delighted by her quick acceptance of the offered tour over the house, to be conducted the next day.

Before the bustle could become too overwhelming, Jonathan directed them towards supper and baths, the necessary rest after a long journey.

When the door to her bedchamber shut behind her, Sophie drew a long breath.

She had known and yet had not truly understood that she was about to become a duchess and a “Your Grace,” responsible for so many people’s positions and livelihoods.

For one used to so quiet and retiring a life, it was as shocking as a plunge into icy water.

To be alone and unobserved in her bedchamber was a relief.

Sophie changed into a simple nightgown and took down her hair, then began the long work of brushing it smooth.

The familiar routine was a comfort, distracting her from the half-feared, half-anticipated mystery to come.

There was a knock on the door. At her invitation, Jonathan looked in. He looked uncommonly diffident.

“I told Mrs Brown to put you in my bedchamber, but there is no need for us to share if you would rather not. There is certainly no shortage of rooms. What think you, Sophie?”

Sophie drew in a quick breath. “I should like to stay with you, Jonathan.”

His eyes darkened. “Good.” The room almost seemed to spin around her as, slowly, he stalked towards her.