Page 21 of Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court (Noble Hearts #2)

Twenty-One

SOPHIA

S ophia stared at the gaping hole of the doorway.

What had she said? What had she done to make Isaac flee like that?

She had thought… for a moment, she thought he was going to declare himself, that he was about to kiss her.

His voice, his gentle touch, the way he had looked at her, even in the deep ink of night, how his head had started to move towards hers…

And then, without warning, he had bolted up and run away.

Had she been too forward, coming to him as she had? The poor man had only needed comfort, which she was offering, but he must have thought…

Oh, dash it all! She had no idea what he thought, only that he had run from her as fast as his legs could take him, leaving her bereft and full of questions.

The one thing she did know, however, was that if he had tried to kiss her, she would have allowed it, and with the greatest of pleasure.

If that made her wanton like her mother, so be it.

She was falling in love with this sad soldier, despite his melancholy and terrible dreams, and she did not care if he knew it.

He could never marry her, for no viscount would want a wife with such parents as hers, but if she could grasp a moment of happiness, she would take it.

Hers was a life destined for service of some sort, and all future joy must be reserved for her dreams. If she could claim a moment of affection with Isaac now, she could keep it safe within her memories, to bring out and enjoy when she most needed it.

But she had said, or done, something to send him away, and even that hope was lost to her.

She blinked back the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes as she gathered the remains of their midnight meal and prepared for the slow, cautious walk back to the house, then to her rooms, where she suspected she would pass the remainder of the night without sleep.

Dearest Mother, Father, Louisa, Diane, and Sophia,

We have had very heavy rains for these last two days, and I fear, from the clouds ahead, we shall not see dry weather for some time.

Our march, hitherto, has been tolerable, but the roads on quitting this place are said to be extremely bad and the land exhausted.

Many of our troops are feeling the effects of fatigue and illness is overtaking many.

Hollimore—excellent man that he is—is taking what measures he can to mitigate the worst of our plight within the bounds of his own orders.

Many men would be far worse off were he not here to command us. I am proud to call him a friend.

If we must stop for a day to wait out the rain and allow our men time to rest, this is a reasonable place.

It is well situated near the top of a sloping hill covered with orchards of olives, at the bottom of which a river winds along, oblivious to our travails.

There is an old castle at the top of the hill, from which one has a fine prospect of forests, lawns, and hamlets, a scene which would make an excellent subject for my pencil were I to have time to draw.

I must, however, commit this to memory instead and attempt it at some time when the rains will not wash away my efforts.

Mr Bladestock came the following day.

He was as charming and helpful as ever, but Sophia found little pleasure in his company.

His smiles and banter felt gaudy and cheap, like metallic foil under coloured glass.

This was not for her, not today, after a sleepless night full of self-recrimination and soul-wrenching doubt.

She wanted substance and tranquillity. She wanted Isaac’s quiet depths.

Nevertheless, there was work to be done, and she handed him a set of bills to tabulate and record at the large desk, while she took her own work to a smaller table on the opposite side of the room.

There they worked in unaccustomed silence until Lady Poole appeared with a servant carrying a tray sometime after noon.

“How industrious you are!” she crowed from the door.

“And what a gentleman Mr Bladestock is, here again to offer his wonderful assistance. There is nothing like a handsome man to make one’s tasks seem agreeable.

So charming, such a helpful gentleman; one could not imagine a better companion.

You are fortunate, indeed, Sophia. Very fortunate. ”

Fortunate . That was not quite the word Sophia might have chosen for herself, but contradicting her aunt would do no good, and she sincerely had no wish to belittle Mr Bladestock’s very welcome help.

No matter that her aunt must have induced him somehow into coming over each day, he set to work with a cheerful disposition, and not once did she feel that he was there under duress.

No, his wish to be of use seemed genuine; she could not disparage that.

Consequently, she smiled and mumbled something suitable and waited for her aunt to leave the room.

“Let us enjoy a luncheon,” Mr Bladestock said after writing another line or two on his document. He had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves to avoid ink stains, and looked more than handsome in the bright light that filtered through the window.

Gold-coloured foil, bright and garish where real gold glows rather than shines….

Tamping down that thought, Sophia stood, rotating her shoulders against the stiffness that a morning bent over a table will produce.

“A fine feast your aunt has sent us,” Mr Bladestock commented as he glanced over the contents of the tray.

“Far more than what I had when I was working alone. She clearly favours you, sir. I had to go to the kitchens myself, to beg a slice of cold pie and a plate of sliced apples.” She tried to keep her tone light, but her exhaustion was making itself known.

Again, Mr Bladestock kept up most of the conversation as they ate.

Sophia was feeling too tired and stupid to say anything worthy, and was pleased to let her companion talk.

But whereas before, she had felt his efforts to be compassionate, now she felt that he was trying to bamboozle her with his verbal prowess.

This was unfair, she chided herself. The man was merely trying to be pleasant. It was not his fault that she was too tired and sore of heart to appreciate his efforts.

At length, she felt she must put a stop to it.

“Forgive me, sir, but I am feeling unwell. I slept ill and have a headache, and we have accomplished enough that I feel we can leave our tasks for the rest of the day. Will you excuse me if I take to my rooms for a rest?”

He replied with all consideration, and walked with her to the foot of the stairs, which she insisted she was perfectly capable of climbing without the assistance of a maid or footman.

“Until tomorrow, then, Miss Bradley.” He executed a lovely bow and stood there until she had achieved the first landing.

Sophia continued to the first storey, where she would head down the hall to her chamber, down at the very end.

But before turning her feet, she glanced down to the great hall below.

Her aunt was standing in a doorway, talking to somebody just outside Sophia’s line of sight.

And then, the other person stepped forward, and through that same doorway where her aunt waited.

It was Mr Bladestock.

The tap at her door roused Sophia from fitful slumber.

Her room was still bright and a glance out the window showed the sun still high in the sky.

It could not be much past four o’clock, and she had slept for less than two hours.

Her head, which had never really troubled her today, was clear, but her mood remained low.

There came another soft knock.

At her invitation, the door opened and Louisa entered, a perplexed look on her pretty face.

“Mr Bladestock said you were ill.” She came to sit on the bed, where Sophia reclined, her head on a small mountain of pillows.

“No, not ill. Or, not ill in body. Perhaps a bit sick at heart. I might merely be very tired.”

Louisa reached out a hand to squeeze Sophia’s.

How similar this gesture was to her own towards Isaac last night, and how terribly different.

This, almost inconsequential, was a comforting pat between cousins who were as close as sisters.

But when she had touched Isaac’s hands last night, there had been flames coursing up her arms.

“Mama has been very hard on you. Surely not all this was necessary. She has been working much too hard to keep you separated from Isaac…”

“And throw him into your path,” Sophia replied wryly.

“And to no avail. Not that I can tell her. I like him well enough, but he is not the one I want to marry.”

“As Mr Bladestock is not the one for me. Yes, I know what your mother is doing. I cannot think why. He has no interest in someone like me. I am plain—yes, I know it, so do not protest—I am penniless, and my parents are connections to be ashamed of.” She cast her eyes up at her cousin.

“Louisa… what is it? Something is the matter, and you do not wish to tell me.”

Louisa stood up, causing the mattress to shift. She walked to the window and stared out for a few seconds, before spinning around to face Sophia.

“Mr Bladestock is penniless too.”

“Yes. I know this. It has gone around the neighbourhood as these things do. Mr So-and-so is worth eight thousand a year, Mr This only three, and Mr That has married an heiress with forty thousand. This news travels faster than the wind on a blustery day. This is why he can have no interest in me, other than as a friend.”

“Then why did I hear him talking to Mama after you went upstairs about the fortune he will receive?”

Sophia pushed herself up with her elbows, then swung her feet around so she was sitting, rather than lying, on the bed.

“What? What fortune?”

“I can hardly say. It was only a couple of hours ago. I heard you go upstairs, and since it was so much earlier than your wont and I was concerned, I stepped out of the parlour to find you. Instead, I saw Mr Bladestock go into the salon to speak with Mama and… Well, I am not proud to say that I found something to do right by the door.”

“Louisa! You did not!”

Her cousin huffed, but did not look contrite.

“Something is going on and I needed to learn what it is.”

Sophia sighed. “Very well. Now that the deed is done, what did you learn?”

Louisa returned to the bed, where she sat down right next to her cousin and dropped her voice.

“I could not hear it all, for they were talking in low voices. All I know is that Mama said she was arranging matters, and that she would let him know as soon as the arrangements were set. And then she asked what plans he had. Did he think to buy a small cottage, or invest it all and live modestly off the interest? And then I heard somebody coming, so I dashed off.”

A nasty worm of suspicion began twisting in Sophia’s insides, and Louisa’s next question did not make her feel any better.

“You cannot think that Mama is going to pay him to marry you? Do you?”