Page 30 of A Counterfeit Engagement
The morning had brought with it a chilly calm.
Jonathan had first seen his wife’s face across the breakfast table, pale but serene.
There was a heaviness about her eyes that made it obvious her night had not been spent much more peacefully than his, though her expression was mild and her smile pleasant.
“Good morning, Jonathan,” Sophie said calmly. She was rather proud that there was no wobble to her tone. It was difficult to look at him with equanimity. He looked almost haunted, her poor husband. It would have been so much easier if she could have simply been angry with him.
Jonathan sat down, nodding in thanks to the footman who had pulled out his chair. “Good morning, Sophie. Have you any plans for the day?”
She looked slightly surprised at that, although her expression was quickly schooled to neutrality. “Yes, I had thought to visit my mother and sister. There is much to discuss in preparing for the ball.”
Jonathan nodded. “Take the carriage, I shall have no use for it today. But I should like to speak with you in my study before you go.” As subtly as possible, he gave a meaningful glance towards the footman.
Sophie’s eyes widened slightly as she caught his meaning. “Yes, that will not present a problem,” she said quickly. “My mother is not expecting me at any particular time. And you and I may take the opportunity to discuss your own expectations for the ball. After all, you are the primary host.”
“Surely that is your role, as the lady of the house,” Jonathan protested automatically.
Privately, he thought in disgust that he might as well have apologised to Sophie before all the servants, instead of waiting for privacy in his study.
From the glances between the footman and the serving maids, it was all too obvious that his staff had noticed the chill between husband and wife.
A flash of better days appeared in Sophie’s brief smile.
“Naturally, we shall host it together.” She bent her head and dedicated herself to her toast and egg.
Though Cook’s work was as flawless as ever, Sophie seemed to be finding it rather hard going.
Jonathan could not blame her. He had not managed to eat more than a few bites himself.
“I confess, I have not the least notion of how to host a ball,” Jonathan said. “After all, I have never done so.”
“Nor I,” Sophie said. “We shall have to trust to Mrs Jennings and hope for the best.”
That good lady made it rather obvious that she had been listening near the door by bustling in when her name was spoken. “Here I am, Duchess,” she said rather breathlessly. “How may I be of service?”
“I am sorry, Mrs Jennings. I did not mean to summon you,” Sophie protested lightly.
“But as you are here, the duke and I may benefit from your advice. As you know, we shall hold a ball to introduce me to society. I shall rely on you to put me to rights and tell me what is to be done in arranging such an event.”
Mrs Jennings swelled alarmingly with joy and self-importance. “Oh, Your Grace, it is good of you to say so! Just think, a ball in this house, after so many years! I never thought I would see the day. I am so very happy.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Sophie said. The real gladness in her smile for Mrs Jennings’s excitement wrung Jonathan’s heart. “I shall visit my mother to gain the benefit of her experience and wisdom this morning, but perhaps in the afternoon, I shall return and seek yours.”
Her curtsy took Mrs Jennings nearly to the floor, she was so overcome. “You are too good, Your Grace, too good by half. If you have no need of me now, Duchess, I shall go and prepare some things for this afternoon.”
In the next moment, she was gone, so overtaken by excitement that she had forgotten to be dismissed. Sophie smiled after her fondly. Since she had not, in fact, needed anything else, there was no harm done.
“You are a favourite with her already,” Jonathan remarked.
Watching the charming scene, he had forgotten last night and the coldness between them for a blessed moment.
But when Sophie’s eyes met his and he saw the wariness in them, all the pain came rushing back, worse than before for having been briefly forgotten.
“I am glad that you have a darling housekeeper, instead of a dragon,” Sophie replied lightly. “Just think if the housekeeper of a duke looked on me as a mushroom and thought I was not good enough to be your duchess! I would surely shrivel away to nothing.”
“I do not believe that,” Jonathan said, surprising himself with his vehemence. “I have never seen such a woman for rising to adversity. If any housekeeper dared condescend to you, you would route her in a trice.”
“You give me too much credit,” Sophie said with a small smile. “It is only with scoundrels like Mr Webb or my unfortunate cousin that I can find my bravery. A housekeeper is a more powerful force by half.”
“For all our sakes, I am glad we shall never have to find out,” Jonathan said. He glanced at Sophie’s plate. Finding it empty, he asked her, “Is your breakfast complete?”
She nodded. “Let us remove to your study.” The footman drew out her chair, and she came to him that they might walk there side by side.
But when they were a few paces away, muffled voices came through the closed door behind them, whispering in concern.
Sophie gave Jonathan an anguished look, and he grimaced in agreement.
He would have wished for time and privacy to reach an equilibrium in their marriage, but it was not to be.
Having intelligent servants was typically a blessing, but when one wished to be discrete, it was something of a curse.
In the study, Jonathan sat down behind his desk and gestured to Sophie to take the seat opposite. She followed his wordless suggestion, and the two looked at each other for a long moment in silence.
“Well, then,” Sophie said at last. “I suppose we ought to talk about our plans. Do you wish to include my cousin among the guests? We have not revealed her schemes, as we had intended to.”
He shook his head. “Now, I believe, we never will. She has been better punished by our marriage than any revelation of her plans could have achieved. I would not like to incur the attention that would surely be our due, if we were to reveal how dramatic our engagement really was. What think you, Sophie?”
“I have no objection. We shall omit Mary Collins from the guest list — that will be punishment enough for her, for I am given to understand that an invitation to a Haverly ball will be a prized commodity. For my part, the revenge I should most like to take upon my cousin is that of never thinking of her again.”
He chuckled. “How wise you are. Indeed, that will be the best revenge of all.” They smiled at each other, and for a moment, the pain of the night before was quite forgotten. Then the memories broke in upon them both, and they turned away in confusion.
Finally, Jonathan cleared his throat. “We have not yet spoken of the settlements. I am afraid your mother and I did not think to negotiate them before you and I were wed.”
“There would have been nothing to negotiate,” Sophie said faintly. “As you have remarked, I was lucky that you would take me — at any price.”
Jonathan winced. “I should not have said so. Indeed, I owe you an apology. It was ungentlemanly of me. Worse still, it was unkind. You would be doing me a great kindness to forget it.”
Sophie was actually looking at him in surprise, as though she had not expected him to regret speaking so harshly to her. That was a harsher rebuke than any she could have made in words, though Jonathan suspected she did not intend it so.
“I do not think I can forget it,” Sophie said. “It is difficult to forget anything that is both painful and true. But all the same, I am glad that you regret it.”
Jonathan almost reached out to take her hand. At the last moment, he held himself still. He did not think he could bear it if she drew her hand away from him.
“I do. Most heartily,” he said instead. “Even if I cannot be what you would wish me to be in this marriage, I can at least treat you with the courtesy a gentleman owes to a lady.”
“If I cannot have love,” Sophie replied, “I would still ask for something more. I would wish to be treated with the openness and warmth owed to a friend.”
“That is little enough to ask,” Jonathan agreed, “and no less than I would wish, myself.”
“Then we are agreed,” she said, with an attempt at a brisk, business-like tone. It nearly worked. Only at the last moment, her voice broke, and she was forced to turn away to hide the tears gathering in her eyes. “I beg you will excuse me,” she said.
“Sophie — wait —” Jonathan stood and reached out to her, but it was already too late. The door clicked shut gently behind her, and she was gone.