All I Ever Needed (12 page)

Again Harold demonstrated his good sense by not responding. Silence was all that was required to shift his father's attention back to Sophie.

"Have you considered that I could turn you out, Sophia?" Tremont asked. "You would not be the first young woman, nor daughter of a peer, to be sent from home for such willful disobedience. Where would you go? Must I point out that you have no one save us to support you?"

Sophie drew a shallow breath and said carefully, "I thought the idea of shackling myself to his lordship was in aid of supporting you."

Tremont's hand came up again, this time stiff-fingered with his thumb at attention. He sliced the air with it, causing a disturbance that raffled the curling tendrils of hair at Sophie's forehead. It was not his intention to strike her, but to make her think he meant to. What he considered noteworthy was that she had not flinched. "You would do well to modulate that defiance," he told her. "It is not an attractive quality."

Sophie had not remained still because she was unafraid of being struck, but rather because she was unafraid of being struck in the face. She was of no use to the family if she was damaged goods, and her appearance was determined by Tremont and Harold to be her only asset. "I believe, my lord, that there are other means besides marriage for me to contribute to Tremont Park. I know something about the management of the estate and making the farms productive again. I have studied the latest techniques for improving the land, and I believe with only two good harvests we can realize an increase in the rents. If we were to practice even a measure of frugality or make a pledge to live within our means, there would be funds to pay the creditors and no new debts to dodge."

Harold crossed his arms in front of him and regarded his father with his head cocked slightly to one side. His entire posture communicated that Sophie's little speech was something he had heard before.
"This
is the refrain she has been singing since her arrival in town. As a governess for the children she has been unexceptional, and my wife finds her fit enough as a companion, but this... this insistence that we should manage the household with no regard to our social responsibilities, well, frankly it is wearing on all of our nerves. She would have Lady Dunsmore burn the same tallow candles the servants use and make do with fewer servants altogether. She thinks there is no necessity in replenishing our wardrobes when the fashion is not significantly changed from last Season."

"It is only that—" Sophie fell silent, cut off by Tremont's quelling look. She kept her feet flat on the floor to restrain the tremor in her legs.

"Mayhap you do not understand our position," the earl told her. He made an attempt to temper his voice. Tremont was incapable of cajolery, but he could be less severe when it served his purpose. "The current state of our finances has very little to do with tallow tapers or a bolt of Belgian lace. We are come to this point—and you will forgive me for speaking plainly—because of drinking, whoring, and gambling. You will recognize these vices, mayhap, as your father's
raison d'etre.
My cousin had no regard for the responsibilities of his station, and he was in every way subservient to his baser instincts. After your mother died there was no limiting his licentious behavior. No matter what you think you know to the contrary, your father's weak character certainly influenced the untimely end of his own pitiable existence. With the possible exception of your care, Frederick did little that was not motivated by his own pleasure-seeking."

Tremont was perfectly aware that the color had drained from Sophia's face. He imagined that if he grazed her with his fingertips, he would find the touch of her to be quite cold, perhaps capable of burning him with its iciness. It did not stop him from continuing. There were things that must be said, and he was a firm believer in being cruel to be kind. "The reason any funds remain in the family coffers, Sophia, owes much to the fact that Providence finally cornered your father. I have no quarrel with the God who struck Frederick down and made him bedfast. No less compelling a tragedy could have kept him from squandering what was left of his fortune."

Sophia felt the numbness around her heart spread to other internal organs. She no longer noticed the queer little tightness in her stomach or the constriction in her lungs. The coursing of her blood carried the effects quickly so that in moments it was no easy thing to feel the tips of her fingers or toes. When a dark veil fluttered at the periphery of her vision, Sophie thought she might faint. It was contemplating the very ignominy of that event that made her struggle to draw air.

Tremont was still not finished. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked slightly forward on the balls of his feet. "You are to be commended for nursing your father in the final years of his life. No one can fault you for the care and devotion you gave him; yet it is also true that the estate fell further into disrepair during that time, the rents decreased, and there was even less income than before. I have seen the accounts, Sophia. If you had so many fine schemes for the management of the land and the farmers and the crops, the time to put them into practice would have been then, don't you think? That you upbraid us now for looking for another solution seems rather ill considered. We had no part in creating this opportunity with the marquess, but it would be foolish in the extreme if we were not to seize it. You would do well to reflect upon your refusal, m'dear, and think how such a marriage might benefit you."

Harold sensed that Sophia was of no mind to defend herself now. That she was an easy mark did not bother him in the least. "What can be your objection to the fine things that Eastlyn can bring to your life? You can be certain he will be generous. You will never be able to spend the allowance he will give you. You will be chatelaine of his great country homes at Braeden and Easter Hill, and there is his town house here as well. You will be in demand as a guest at every affair of importance, and there will be carriages and fine clothes and a box at the theatre."

There will also be his mistress,
Sophie thought, and this time she had the good sense not to say so aloud. What she said was, "I should like to go to my room, if you please."

Over her head Harold and his father exchanged glances. It was Tremont who answered. "Of course. And you will think on what was said here, won't you, dear?"

Sophie nodded, doubting that she could think of anything else.

"Very good," the earl said, satisfied. "Someone will inquire from time to time as to the direction of your thinking."

That was when Sophie understood that she would not be leaving her bedchamber anytime soon.

* * *

The widow Sawyer was apprised of Eastlyn's presence in her home as she was making preparations to leave for a ride in the park. It was rather late in the afternoon for such an outing, but she had it on good authority that the Viscount Dunsmore often made his way along the shaded paths at this hour, and Mrs. Sawyer was of a desire to make his acquaintance. Eastlyn, however, could not be gotten rid of if he was not prepared to go, and he had already been informed that she was at home. To punish him for the effrontery of calling upon her without notice of his intention, Mrs. Sawyer decided he should cool his heels in her drawing room while she exchanged her riding habit for more suitable attire.

The ruby silk was chosen specifically because she knew he admired her in jewel-toned colors that offset her ebony hair and white skin. Her maid carefully redressed her hair with ivory combs so that the loose strands around her face softened her features with their casual disarray. She wore silk stockings, red leather slippers, and no jewelry except for tiny pearl studs in her ears. She pronounced herself ready to see him after dabbing her throat and the pulse points of her wrists with rose water.

Eastlyn stood upon her entry to the drawing room. He noticed that she paused on the threshold long enough to be attractively framed in the doorway. He had always been diverted by these entrances of hers, though kind enough not to say so. She would not have found his amusement in any way complimentary of her efforts. He waited patiently for her to disengage herself from the affected pose and appreciated the view as she intended he should.

"Annette," he said by way of greeting. "You are looking well."

One dark eyebrow rose. "Only well? I meant to look delicious. Tell me, have I failed?" She closed the door behind her and crossed the room, offering her hand to him. She knew he would not refuse the overture. His reliable manners were the chink in his armor. She watched his lips touch her knuckles, and the sight of it, more than the act itself, caused the most delicate sensation to ripple down the length of her spine.

"You are exquisite," he said, meaning it. "As always." But delicious? he wondered. No, it was not an adjective he would ever associate with her. It implied a certain warmth that was not in her nature, not that he had been bothered overmuch by the lack. But delicious he knew, and it was a buttered scone. Annette was a petit four.

She made a small curtsey, pleased by his compliment but careful not to preen. "Won't you sit?" she asked, gesturing to the sofa. "Shall I pour you a drink? I still have the whiskey you like."

Eastlyn passed the sofa in favor of the wing chair. "Nothing, thank you. I do not intend to remain long. You are, after all, under another man's protection."

Annette sat and smoothed the splash of scarlet silk across her lap. "Yes," she said. "I am. I wondered if you knew. It is not at all the done thing for you to visit me. It is Lord Brownlee who has set me up, and he is reckoned as a superior marksman."

"I have spoken to Brownlee," East said. "I found him taking an early supper at White's." He took what was perhaps an immoderate amount of satisfaction in seeing he had surprised Annette. "He will not countenance a lengthy interview, but when I explained my purpose he was most amenable."

"I see."

"I wonder if you do, Annette. I cannot help but notice that you have not wished me happy. With so many other people it is the first thing to cross their lips after the usual courtesies are concluded. Is it that you do
not
wish me happy or that you know very well that there is no engagement?"

"It is rather awkward, isn't it, for me to express felicitations on the news of your engagement? We were intimates, after all. Perhaps I have fonder memories of our liaison than you do. I can admit to harboring the green-eyed monster."

Eastlyn gave her full marks for schooling her features, and her eyes, far from being shaded with the green cast of jealousy, were an unusually clear shade of gray. "You chose to look elsewhere for your bread and butter, Annette. I made no demands to that effect."

She shrugged. "If you say so, Gabriel. Perhaps I misread the handwriting on the wall."

East leaned back in his chair and tapped the tips of his steepled fingers together. "I want you to do nothing else to perpetuate the rumor you began," he said flatly. "You will not involve yourself in gossip about Lady Sophia Colley, either by giving it your passive support because you have listened to it, or by your active participation. I care not at all what you choose to say about me. Tell what truths you know or what lies you can imagine; it is of no importance. But hear me well, Annette, I will not subscribe to you using an innocent to get some of your own back."

Annette fanned herself with her hand. "My! I had no idea you were given to such heated discourse, Gabriel. Would that you had shown the same passion in my bed."

Eastlyn caught himself before he made an ill-considered reply. There was nothing to be gained by permitting their exchange to become a critique of his sexual prowess—or the lack of it, if she was to be believed. Neither would he turn the tables. Finding fault with her performance after so long an absence from her bed was boorish. Perhaps the most unkind thing he could say about her accomplishments between the sheets was that she was exquisite, not delicious. He doubted that she would have the good sense to be offended.

When East made no reply, Annette lowered her hand to her lap. "Really, Gabriel, are you accusing me of creating a fictitious engagement for you? And with Lady Sophia Colley? She is not your taste at all. Who would believe me?"

"Most of the ton."

"I think not, but what can it matter? You have never cared what they think. Indeed, did you not just invite me to say anything about you that I wished? I really do not understand you."

"I care what they think of Lady Sophia. She will be made to look foolish when it is revealed there is no engagement."

Annette made a dismissive gesture. "Then marry her. That will still wagging tongues, and I suspect it will be agreeable to Lady Winslow."

If Eastlyn had been discomfited by discussing his former mistress with his mother, that unhappy state was increased tenfold by the prospect of discussing his mother with his former mistress. He wisely chose to avoid it. "May I have your word, Annette, that you will cease to use Lady Sophia in such a poor way?"

"Hardly, Gabriel. Giving my word would be tantamount to admitting I bear some responsibility in this matter. I assure you, I do not. You can accept that or not, but it is all I am willing to offer."

"I had hoped you would be reasonable."

"I believe I am."

Eastlyn could not imagine that more could be accomplished here. Annette's position was firmly held, and he did not think she would give ground. This standing fast made him think of Sophie and her equally flat refusal to be swayed by his presentation of the facts. For reasons he did not care to examine too closely, that thought made him smile.