Page 18 of Coloring a Silent Earl’s Heart

Sophia’s fingers trembled slightly as she set down the tortoiseshell comb before the looking glass. The night had afforded little rest; Alexander’s written declaration had replayed ceaselessly in her mind, his bold words both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. Morning light cast long shadows across her chamber.

Her time at the Abbey was coming to a close. The thought of never seeing Alexander again filled her with misery. A sharp rap at the door interrupted Sophia’s contemplation. No servant knocked with such imperious force.

“Enter,” she called, rising to her feet with the instinctive good posture that had been drilled into her since childhood.

Lady Aldeburgh stepped into the chamber and gaze swept the room with cold assessment, noting the modest accommodations with something approaching satisfaction.

“Lady Sinclair,” she began without preamble, “I trust you slept well.”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” Sophia lied, maintaining her composure through long practice. “Though I confess surprise at your visit. Is there some matter regarding today’s portrait session I should know of?”

Lady Aldeburgh’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “There will be no portrait session today. Nor indeed tomorrow. I have come to inform you that your services are no longer required at Balfour Abbey.”

Though half-expected, the dismissal still struck with the force of a physical blow. Sophia clasped her hands before her to hide their sudden trembling.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Aldeburgh, but I was engaged by Lord Camden to complete a formal portrait of Lord Aldeburgh. The work remains unfinished.”

“The work has progressed sufficiently for Lord Camden’s purposes,” Lady Aldeburgh countered swiftly. “The essential likeness has been captured; the rest is mere embellishment that any competent artist might complete from preliminary sketches.”

Sophia felt heat rising to her cheeks despite her determination to maintain dignity. “With respect, Your Ladyship, portraiture involves more than mere mechanical reproduction of features. The work requires—”

“What the work requires,” Lady Aldeburgh interrupted coldly, “is an artist who understands proper boundaries between commissioned employee and subject. Your influence upon my son has grown increasingly inappropriate. He rejects suitable matches while spending hours in your company.”

Here it was at last—the accusation Sophia had anticipated since that first day in the garden when Alexander’s gaze had met hers with unexpected warmth.

“My lord shows remarkable improvement,” Sophia argued, fighting to keep desperation from her voice. “His artistic expression has flourished these past weeks. Surely his recovery represents the most important consideration?”

“Recovery?” Lady Aldeburgh’s eyebrow arched with dangerous precision. “Is that what you imagine yourself providing, Lady Sinclair? Some miraculous cure through your artistic ministrations?”

“I make no such claim,” Sophia replied carefully. “Yet I have observed gradual but unmistakable progress in his lordship’s communication and general spirits. Given sufficient time—”

“He is the Earl of Aldeburgh,” Lady Aldeburgh cut in, her voice carrying the edge of finely honed steel. “Not some wounded soldier to be nursed by a gentlewoman of reduced circumstances. His position demands connections appropriate to his rank—not attachment to a widow whose husband’s gambling debts forced her into employment.”

The deliberate cruelty of the observation stung Sophia into momentary silence. When she found her voice again, she chose her words with utmost care.

“Lord Aldeburgh’s position certainly entitles him to respect and consideration. I would suggest, however, that those qualities are best demonstrated by valuing his preferences rather than dismissing them.”

Lady Aldeburgh’s expression froze into mask-like stillness. “My son’s preferences have been compromised by his condition. As his mother, I am obligated to protect his interests when his judgment fails him.”

She moved toward the door with regal precision. “Your services conclude today. I have instructed Jenkins to arrange transportation to wherever you wish, and to provide the agreed-upon fee for work completed thus far.”

“My lady—” Sophia began, her composure finally cracking.

“This discussion is concluded,” Lady Aldeburgh stated with finality. “I expect your departure by tomorrow noon at the latest. Good day, Lady Sinclair.”

The door closed with quiet definitiveness, leaving Sophia alone with the shattered remains of her professional composure. She sank onto the edge of her bed, hands trembling despite her efforts to still them.

She had known this moment would come—had anticipated Lady Aldeburgh’s eventual intervention since the first time Alexander’s eyes had met hers with something beyond professional interest.

Yet facing the reality proved considerably more painful than expected. Not merely for the damage to her professional prospects, substantial though that was, but for the abrupt severing of connection with the man whose silent strength had somehow become essential to her happiness.

The chamber door opened again, this time admitting Abigail with an armful of freshly laundered linens. Her expression brightened momentarily, then fell as she registered Sophia’s distress.

“Milady! What has happened?” She set down her burden, hurrying to Sophia’s side. “You’re white as chalk!”

“Lady Aldeburgh has dismissed me,” Sophia replied, her voice steadier than she felt. “We are to depart Balfour Abbey by tomorrow at noon.”

“Dismissed!” Abigail exclaimed, indignation overriding proper deference. “But the portrait isn’t complete! Lord Camden himself said—”

“Lord Camden’s opinion apparently carries less weight than Lady Aldeburgh’s determination to separate her son from improper influence,” Sophia interrupted with a bitter smile. “She believes I encourage attachment beyond professional bounds.”

Abigail’s youthful face reddened with barely suppressed outrage. “As though his lordship has no mind of his own! Anyone with eyes can see he’s improved tremendously since your arrival. There are days when I’d swear he’s trying to speak—I’ve seen him mumbling to himself when he thinks no one is watching.”

“I’ve observed the same,” Sophia admitted softly. “He requires but time and proper encouragement—neither of which Lady Aldeburgh seems willing to provide.”

“It’s not right,” Abigail declared with passionate conviction. “A mother should want her son to be happy, not locked away like some shameful secret!”

Sophia sighed, the weight of disappointment settling more heavily with each passing moment. “Lady Aldeburgh believes she protects him from an unsuitable connection. From her perspective, an impoverished widow represents danger rather than opportunity.”

A curious expression flashed across Abigail’s face. “Speaking of danger, milady...” She reached into her apron pocket, withdrawing a folded letter sealed with unfamiliar wax. “This arrived for you earlier. One of the stable lads brought it, said a man paid him to deliver it directly to your hands.”

Sophia accepted the letter with sudden foreboding. The handwriting on the outer fold was unmistakable—Silas Fletcher’s bold, slashing script that had haunted her correspondence since Gilbert’s death.

Breaking the seal with reluctant fingers, she unfolded the single sheet, its contents brief but unmistakable in their menace:

Lady Sinclair,

I shall call at your residence upon your departure from the Earl’s hospitality. The sum of two thousand pounds remains due, with interest accruing daily. Should payment prove impossible, alternative arrangements might be negotiated to mutual satisfaction.

Until our meeting, Silas Fletcher, Lord of Shropshire

Sophia’s hand dropped to her lap, the letter’s implications striking with nauseating force. Despite her every hope otherwise, he somehow knew of her imminent departure from Balfour Abbey’s protection.

“It’s him again, isn’t it?” Abigail asked, her voice low with apprehension. “Lord Shropshire?”

“Yes,” Sophia confirmed, refolding the letter with trembling fingers. “He knows we’re leaving Balfour Abbey. He intends to intercept us upon our departure.”

Abigail’s face paled. “How could he possibly know? Lady Aldeburgh only just informed you!”

“Someone within the household must have communicated with him,” Sophia replied, mind racing through limited possibilities. “Perhaps a servant bribed for information, or—” She stopped suddenly, a chilling thought taking shape. “Or Lady Aldeburgh herself may have contacted him.”

“Surely not!” Abigail exclaimed. “Even the dowager wouldn’t deliberately place you in that man’s path.”

Sophia wasn’t so certain. Lady Aldeburgh’s determination to remove her from Balfour Abbey might extend to alliances with unsavory characters who served her purpose.

“Regardless of how he obtained the information, Lord Shropshire now expects immediate payment,” Sophia said, forcing practical consideration to override panic. “He believes my commission here has provided funds to settle Gilbert’s debt.”

“Two thousand pounds!” Abigail shook her head in disbelief. “The portrait fee wouldn’t approach even half that sum, even if they paid double the agreed amount.”

“Which they have not,” Sophia added grimly. “And now never shall, given Lady Aldeburgh’s precipitous termination of my services.”

Abigail’s practical mind turned immediately to solutions. “Perhaps we might return to the cottage? It’s remote enough that Lord Shropshire might struggle to locate us immediately. At least it would buy some time to consider alternatives.”

“The cottage offers minimal protection should he discover its location,” Sophia pointed out. “And our funds barely suffice for basic necessities, let alone settling debts of such magnitude.”

It was not like her to be so utterly hopeless, but with all she’d been forced to endure, she knew not what more to do. They sat in troubled silence, the gravity of their situation settling between them like a physical presence. Finally, Abigail spoke with quiet determination.

“We should tell Lord Aldeburgh,” she suggested. “About both Lady Aldeburgh’s dismissal and Lord Shropshire’s threats.”

Sophia shook her head immediately. “Absolutely not. His lordship faces enough difficulty without becoming entangled in my problems.” She straightened her shoulders with determined dignity. “We shall manage as we always have, Abigail. Through resourcefulness and determination rather than dependence upon others’ charity.”

“It isn’t charity to accept help from those who care for you,” Abigail argued gently. “And his lordship does care. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Sophia rose from the bed, moving to the window where weak spring sunshine cast patterns across the kitchen yard below. Alexander’s written declaration echoed in her mind: I shall tell you that you taught me what love is.

Those words had opened possibilities she scarcely dared contemplate—a future beyond lonely widowhood and financial struggle. Yet Lady Aldeburgh’s intervention had closed that door almost before it could properly open.

“I believe he might speak again, given sufficient time and encouragement,” she said softly, more to herself than Abigail. “There are moments when words seem to form on his lips, though fear or habit prevents their utterance.”

“All the more reason you should remain,” Abigail insisted, her youthful face alight with conviction. “Lady Aldeburgh cannot force you to leave if his lordship wishes you to stay.”

“She most certainly can,” Sophia contradicted with gentle firmness. “This is her house, regardless of his legal ownership. Without Alexander’s direct intervention—which I cannot and will not solicit—her will prevails.”

Abigail’s expression fell, recognizing the truth in this assessment. “What shall we do, then?” she asked simply.

Sophia returned to practicalities with determined resolve. “Begin packing our belongings. I shall write to Lady Harrington regarding potential commissions—her daughter’s marriage approaches, and she mentioned interest in a bridal portrait.”

“And Lord Shropshire?” Abigail pressed, unwilling to ignore the most immediate threat.

“We shall have to evade him somehow,” Sophia replied, though her mind offered no clear strategy for accomplishing this. “Perhaps departure before dawn might afford some advantage, assuming Lady Aldeburgh permits such an arrangement.”

Neither woman voiced what both clearly recognized—that Silas Fletcher possessed resources and determination that made long-term evasion virtually impossible. Without Alexander’s protection or funds to settle Gilbert’s debt, Sophia’s options narrowed to unpalatable choices she could scarcely bear contemplating.

Yet as she began the melancholy task of gathering her artistic materials, Sophia found her thoughts returning to Alexander’s declaration. Whatever Lady Aldeburgh believed, whatever society might dictate regarding appropriate connections, that simple written statement had changed something essential between them.

Whether that change might lead anywhere beyond heartache remained to be seen.