DisobediencebyDesign (27 page)

London, 10 September 1879

Sophia stared at Helena poised in the lobby of St. George’s
church, Anna perfecting the position of her veil, while Anna’s daughters, Molly
and Lilly, stood at the ready to adjust her train and hand her the bouquet.
Helena really was the most beautiful girl in the world, especially on this, her
wedding day. Her dress was exquisite. The bodice, silk damask of the palest
rose, was flawlessly fitted to her lovely figure. Three-quarter-length bell sleeves
were trimmed in a froth of ivory French lace, while the ruched ivory satin
underskirt was trimmed with gold fringe, the damask train trimmed in more lace
and fringe. Sophia sighed, wishing she could have worn so elegant a dress when
she was married. Helena looked every bit the perfect bride.

Joseph had spared no expense for the wedding and as a
wealthy industrialist he was expected to provide a lavish affair. Both he and
Sophia were determined to give their daughter the spectacle they never had, a
ceremony and breakfast befitting the marriage of the granddaughter of a
marquess to a handsome and honorable earl.

Tears wet her lashes. Everything had turned out fine as
Joseph had said it would so many years ago. Including the much-longed-for
reconciliation with Mama and Papa.

Over the course of eighteen years Mama had written when she
could. Papa, though, had barely said a word. They had spent time with
Helena—Sophia made sure of it—and Mama always gushed about how pretty she was,
how intelligent. It was painfully obvious Papa wanted to get to know Helena
better but pride kept him at bay.

And then Nicholas, the Earl of St. Albans, asked for
Helena’s hand in marriage. The title was old, older than the Marquessate of
Richmond and the new earl promised to reinvigorate his estate and duties to
crown and country. Papa suddenly had a change of heart.

“Sophie?”

Sophia turned to the sound of Mama’s voice behind her. The
moment their eyes met Sophia’s stomach knotted with the pain of regret. She
held out her hands and when Mama came forward regret melted into joy.

They hugged. “I’m here to give my granddaughter a good-luck
kiss. We’ve only just gotten to know her and now she’s being taken away.”

Sophia took her arm to stroll to Helena. “Oh Mama. I’m sure
she’ll want you to visit her at St. Albans.”

“Grandmama!” Helena’s face brightened the moment she saw her
grandmother.

Mama took her hands, not daring to muss the tulle veil. “You’ve
become such a beautiful woman. I remember the day I held you in my arms when
you were just a few weeks old. You were stunning even then.”

“Oh Grandmama! You’ll spoil me with such flattery.”

“I’m sure the earl will spoil you every day. Your Nicholas
appears to be a wonderful young man. I hope he will make you happy, dear.” She
held out a hand to Sophia. “Like your father made your mother happy.”

“Thank you, Grandmama.”

“Now, my dear, I need to have a few words with your mother.
But before I do I have something for you. A present.” She reached into her
purse and drew out a bracelet made of two curved bands of gold, a medallion
etched with leaves and flowers holding the bands together at one end. “Something
new. The design matches your earrings.” She slid the medallion to widen the
bands then placed the bracelet on Helena’s wrist and tightened it closed.

Helena studied the bracelet with a smile of admiration. “It’s
lovely.”

Mama once again took Helena’s hands. “As are you. I’ll see
you at the breakfast.” She gave Helena’s hands a squeeze.

Sophia blinked back tears. She had never had a moment like
that on her own wedding day. Her heartache was short-lived when Mama grabbed
her arm and motioned toward a private corner.

“Sophia,” she began soberly. “My dear, I’ve just had word
and I wanted to let you know before any of your guests brought up the horrible
subject. It’s finally made the morning papers so someone is bound to have read
it already.”

“Read what, Mama?”

Mama looked her in the eye. “Royston is dead.”

Sophia gasped. She had never wanted to hear that name again.
The knot in her stomach tightened.

“Rumor has it a former servant killed him. A young girl. No
one is speaking up and the staff he once had is scattered to the winds. There
were no signs of violence, no blood. The official report says he died in his
sleep, reeking of alcohol. Trouble is, Giles was never much of a drinker.” She
snorted a laugh. “He came to a pathetic end, living with only a man-of-all-work
and a cook, and burning furniture for fuel.”

Dead
. She should feel glad. She felt nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

“Your father received private word as he was still paying
the duke’s bills. He’s not been the same since. He wrote to Arthur directly to
make amends. He’s been talking about the wedding like a giddy boy. And we’ll be
having a hunting ball once again. October. I expect to see you and your husband
there.”

Sophia smiled. “In a month? Well then perhaps I should alert
you to my news.”

“Oh?” Mama’s brow crinkled in concern.

“Mama, I think I’m pregnant—”

Mama clapped her hand to her mouth.

“Well I’m pretty sure of it but it is too soon for an
announcement. I’ve not even told Joseph yet.” Sophia grinned at the excitement
contorting Mama’s expression. “And you are not to tell anyone on Helena’s
special day.”

“I won’t, I promise I won’t.” Mama pursed her lips in a vain
attempt to quash a smile. “Oh my dear! After all these years! Another
grandchild!” Mama threw her arms around Sophia.

The joy of Mama’s touch warmed her. They should have hugged
long ago. A mother’s love was a precious gift. But she had to let go. “Mama,
the wedding is about to start, you must find your seat.”

Sophia sighed. Helena’s special day was becoming the
happiest day of her life.

* * * * *

“Oh Nicky! So very handsome! Now, darling, I know you don’t
want to hear any of this—”

Joseph paused outside the door to the vestry at the sound of
Lady Foxley-Graham’s voice. It was rather rude to be listening in on private
counsel between intimates but something compelled him to want to hear Lavinia’s
advice.

Probably because there had been no such counselor on his own
wedding day.

“Whenever you quarrel or if Helena does something against
your wishes or when she’s simply in a bad mood because women often find
themselves in a funk, you must remember this day, this moment and how you feel
about her.”

“Vinny—” Nicholas’ voice held a note of abashment.

“At those times you must take a deep breath and remember she
is the love of your life. And you are hers.”

“Yes, Vinny.”

Joseph grinned. Poor Nicholas was probably blushing beet
red. It was time to save the lad.

He entered the vestry. As he had thought, Nicholas was
looking askance as Lavinia brushed off imaginary specks from his jacket, his
face a little flushed.

“It’s all true, son,” he said, winking at Lavinia.

“Mr. Phillips.” Nicholas nodded.

Joseph smiled. Nicholas, the Earl of St. Albans, looked
everything like a groom ought. Sleek, pressed trousers and jacket of fine black
wool, a waistcoat of the same damask worn by Helena, white cravat with a subtle
stripe. Until that moment Joseph hadn’t realized how magnificently handsome the
earl was. He was the precise man with whom he had imagined his daughter would
spend her life.

While he himself was the man Sophia’s father had feared.

The low tones of male conversation drifted into the room
just before Bertram Atherley, the Viscount Ravensburgh—Nicholas’ best man—and
Arthur entered. Nicholas and the viscount hugged and exchanged a few quips as
Arthur sidled up to Joseph.

“Almost time,” Arthur said. “The bride—your daughter—is
putting on her veil.”

Lavinia started at that. “Oh! I must go to Helena! I’ve
something for her.”

As Lavinia left Arthur glared at her figure with a wolfish
eye. “Where on earth have you been hiding
her
?”

Joseph chuckled. “She’s a friend of the groom’s family.
Sophie knows her through her Society connections. I’ll introduce you two at the
wedding breakfast.”

“Oh?” Arthur stared at the door.

“She’s widowed and I’m certain your mother will consider her
too old for you.”

Arthur shot him a beleaguered look. “My mother is probably
at this very moment scrutinizing every unmarried girl under twenty-five sitting
in the pews.” He sighed. “It’s disgusting really.”

Joseph laughed and offered Arthur a pat on the back. “Tell
Helena I’ll be but a moment.”

“Congratulations, Joseph.” Arthur offered a wide grin before
he left.

Joseph approached Nicholas and Ravensburgh, nodding a
greeting to the latter. “I must take my position in the lobby to escort your
lovely bride. But I wanted to say something first.” He took Nicholas’ hand,
wrapping both of his around it. “I don’t think I could have imagined a better
son-in-law.”

Nicholas flushed and futilely tried to suppress a grin. “Thank
you, sir.” He bowed slightly. “I will take care of her, sir.”

“I know,” he said gently. The poor lad had already witnessed
his protective wrath when he had asked for Helena’s hand in marriage.

Joseph crossed the chapel along the south aisle, perusing
the congregants. The cream of London Society was there, including the Marquess
and Marchioness of Richmond, the Marquess of Norrington, the Earl of Petersham,
the current and future Viscount Bucknall, the Viscountess Foxley-Graham.
Amazingly, the Marquess of Richmond and Papa—Grandpa Phillips as Helena called
him—stood in the central aisle immersed in conversation, laughing and grinning
as if they were old friends. Joseph blinked back tears. He had to be strong. He
had a daughter to marry into the ranks of the ton.

And when he arrived at the lobby Sophia came to him,
gripping his hands in emotion.

“Oh Joseph!” Her tears were uncontrollable. And too
affecting. His eyes smarted.

He drew her against him. “Shh, shh, Sophie. I know. It’s
been a long road. But we’re here. We’ve arrived at the station to begin a new
journey.”

They were no longer alone on their path. Now they had the
love and support of a vast nexus of friends and family. He was still astonished
that he, a lowly port worker, mingled with marquesses and earls.

Sophia pulled back, smirking at his maudlin metaphor. “I can
think of no better traveling companion for the way ahead.”

He lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her wedding ring. “Neither
can I.”

Regina Kammer is a librarian, art historian, and
multi-published writer of erotic short stories and novels. She swoons for beta
heroes and has a fetish for historical settings, so you can imagine how
furiously her heart pounds for a bookworm in breeches telling off-color jokes
in Latin.

She began writing historical fiction in 2006 during National
Novel Writing Month. About midway through that fateful November, she switched
to historical erotica when all her characters suddenly demanded to have sex.

Regina welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
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The
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Disobedience by Design

ISBN 9781419991264

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Disobedience by Design Copyright © 2014 Regina Kammer

Edited by Jill Noelle

Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

Cover Photography by periodimages.com, surut wattananaetee, Maria
Kotciurzhinskaia/123rf.com, iloveotto/dreamstimes.com

Electronic book publication July 2014

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