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Sophie crossed her arms and stared stubbornly at the wall. If she so much as looked at Araminta, she probably wouldn’t be able to restrain herself from lunging at her, and the metal bars of her cell were likely to do serious damage to her face.
“The shoe clips were bad enough,” Araminta said, tapping her chin with her forefinger, “but he grew so very angry when I informed him of the theft of my wedding ring.”
“I didn’t—” Sophie caught herself before she yelled any more. That was exactly what Araminta wanted.
“Didn’t you?” she returned, smiling slyly. She waggled her fingers in the air. “I don’t appear to be wearing it, and it’s your word against mine.”
Sophie’s lips parted, but not a sound emerged. Araminta was right. And no judge would take her word over the Countess of Penwood’s.
Araminta smiled slightly, her expression vaguely feline. “The man in front—I think he said he was the warden—said you’re not likely to be hanged, so you needn’t worry on that score. Transportation is a much more likely outcome.”
Sophie almost laughed. Just the day before she’d been considering emigrating to America. Now it seemed she’d be leaving for certain—except her destination would be Australia. And she’d be in chains.
“I’ll plead for clemency on your behalf,” Araminta said. “I don’t want you killed, only ... gone.”
“A model of Christian charity,” Sophie muttered. “I’m sure the justice will be touched.”
Araminta brushed her fingers against her temple, idly pushing back her hair. “Won’t he, though?” She looked directly at Sophie and smiled. It was a hard and hollow expression, and suddenly Sophie had to know—
“Why do you hate me?” she whispered.
Araminta did nothing but stare at her for a moment, and then she whispered, “Because he loved you.”
Sophie was stunned into silence.
Araminta’s eyes grew impossibly brittle. “I will never forgive him for that.”
Sophie shook her head in disbelief. “He never loved me.”
“He clothed you, he fed you.” Araminta’s mouth tightened. “He forced me to live with you.”
“That wasn’t love,” Sophie said. “That was guilt. If he loved me he wouldn’t have left me with you. He wasn’t stupid; he had to have known how much you hated me. If he loved me he wouldn’t have forgotten me in his will. If he loved me—” She broke off, choking on her own voice.
Araminta crossed her arms.
“If he loved me,” Sophie continued, “he might have taken the time to talk to me. He might have asked me how my day went,  or what I was studying, or did I enjoy my breakfast.” She swallowed convulsively, turning away. It was too hard to look at Araminta just then. “He never loved me,” she said quietly. “He didn’t know how to love.”
No words passed between the two women for many moments, and then Araminta said, “He was punishing me.”
Slowly, Sophie turned back around.
“For not giving him an heir.” Araminta’s hands began to shake. “He hated me for that.”
Sophie didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if there was anything to say.
After a long moment, Araminta said, “At first I hated you because you were an insult to me. No woman should have to  shelter her husband’s bastard.”
Sophie said nothing.
“But then ... But then ...”
To Sophie’s great surprise, Araminta sagged against the wall, as if the memories were sucking away her very strength.
“But then it changed,” Araminta finally said. “How could he have had you with some whore, and I could not give him a child?”
There seemed little point in Sophie’s defending her mother.
“I didn’t just hate you, you know,” Araminta whispered. “I hated seeing you.”
Somehow, that didn’t surprise Sophie.
“I hated hearing your voice. I hated the fact that your eyes were his. I hated knowing that you were in my house.”
“It was my house, too,” Sophie said quietly.
“Yes,” Araminta replied. “I know. I hated that, too.”
Sophie turned quite sharply, looking Araminta in the eye. “Why are you here?” she asked. “Haven’t you done enough?  You’ve already ensured my transportation to Australia.”
Araminta shrugged. “I can’t seem to stay away. There’s something so lovely about seeing you in jail. I shall have to bathe  for three hours straight to rid myself of the stench, but it’s worth it.”
“Then excuse me if I go sit in the corner and pretend to read a book,” Sophie spat out. “There is nothing lovely about seeing you. She marched over to the wobbly three-legged stool that was her cell’s only piece of furniture and sat down, trying not to look as miserable as she felt. Ara-minta had bested her, it was true, but her spirit had not been broken, and she refused to let Araminta think otherwise.
She sat, arms crossed, her back to the cell opening, listening for signs that Araminta was leaving.
But Araminta stayed.
Finally, after about ten minutes of this nonsense, Sophie jumped to her feet and yelled, “Would you go?”
Araminta cocked her head slightly to the side. “I’m thinking.”
Sophie would have asked, “About what?” but she was rather afraid of the answer.
“I wonder what it is like in Australia,” Araminta mused. “I’ve never been, of course; no civilized person of my acquaintance would even consider it. But I hear it is dreadfully warm. And you with your fair skin. That lovely complexion of yours isn’t  likely to survive the hot sun. In fact...”