Fairchild (33 page)

“You shan’t have it,” he said. “I’ve just announced your marriage to Alistair, for God’s sake!”
 

“Engagements are sometimes broken,” Tom said. “That’s nothing to stop us.”
 

“Nothing?” shrilled Lady Fairchild, breaking her trance. “Our Sophy, married to you? It’s deplorable.”

“It is no such thing,” Sophy said, reddening. “You can’t have forgotten I am the bastard daughter of a governess.”
 

Lady Fairchild winced. “We did not raise you for this! If he thinks he will get a penny of your father’s money—”

“Don’t need it,” Tom said. “When my kind marry yours, it’s usually the other way round. Now, do I have your permission, or must I drag Sophy to Scotland?”

“Go to your room, Sophy,” ordered her father.
 

She did not move.
 

“Go to your room, I said!”
 

Tom took a half step forward. “I do not permit anyone to speak to Sophy in that tone of voice. Would you like to step out of the room, Sophy?”
 

Not unless he came with her. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to know I was safe. I will be happy.” But part of her was tearing inside.
 

“I cannot permit this,” said Lord Fairchild.

“Please.” She turned to Lady Fairchild, but she had gone to the window, once more a picture of remote beauty, her jeweled ring scattering the bright sunlight. Sophy drew a shaking breath. This, then, was how it must be. She could not regret her choice.
 

“Come home, Sophy,” her father said.
 

“No. I’ll make my own, with Tom.”
 

“Absolutely not—” he began.

“You cannot stop her,” Tom said and followed Sophy out the door.
 

It had gone faster than expected, but worse than she had feared. Hurrying through the hall, she blinked away the blurring of oak panelling and red damask. Tom was whispering inaudibly in her ear; the shouts in the library seemed far away.
 

“Just take me away from here,” she said.
 

The sunlight in the street was blinding, her boot heels loud on the stone steps. Tom bent to look in her face, his hand moving to sweep away the wet drops escaping down her cheeks. Then his hand stilled. He straightened, looking back to the doorway.
 

“Hold up, I said!” Jasper slid to a stop beside them, rather breathless.
 

“What do you want?” Tom asked sourly.
 

Jasper ignored Tom, taking Sophy by the shoulders. “You want to marry him?”
 

Goading, on top of everything else? “I said so, didn’t I?” she snapped.

“Don’t breathe fire at me,” Jasper said. “If you want to marry him, I’ll help you get the license. I’d lay a pony Tom doesn’t know any bishops.”

Turning to Tom, he added, “I don’t pretend to understand why she likes you, but evidently, she does. If you are as good to her as she thinks you’ll be, I daresay you and I shall rub along tolerably well. But if I see her crying over you again, you and I shall finish that bout we started earlier. You’re dashed handy with your fives, but I warn you that I will always be ready, and in practice.”

*****

Sophy spent the night with Henrietta and Percy, who decided to ignore Lord and Lady Fairchild’s fiery demands that Sophy be returned at once. The Arundels brought her to the chapel next morning in a new dress and, more importantly, a new hat.
 

Jasper was good as his word, or perhaps not, since he perjured himself, swearing to the bishop that Sophy had her father’s consent to marry Tom. After the ceremony, Mrs. Bagshot invited the newlyweds and their three guests for breakfast. Jasper and the Arundels consented to come, though Henrietta could not hide her startled face at the crocodile legged furniture in the Bagshot drawing room.
 

After breakfast, they waved Sophy and Tom off with bright faces.
 

“I never even thanked Jasper,” Sophy said, as they turned the corner and passed out of sight.

“You can write him a letter. For the first time in my life, I’m anxious to reach Chippenstone.” Tom’s smile made her stomach flutter. She took his hand, weaving her fingers through his. He leaned back in the seat with a sigh. “Glad I didn’t drive,” he said.
 

“I think Jasper and Henrietta don’t mind our getting married so much,” Sophy ventured. Henrietta had been interested, though not exuberant over the nuptials. It was harder to discern what lay underneath Jasper’s charm.
 

“Said he was happy to put one in his mother’s eye,” Tom said. He looked thoughtful. “But I don’t think that’s why he helped us.”

“Well, you can’t believe everything he says. He likes being outrageous.”

Tom laughed. “To be honest, I don’t think he likes me above half. But he wants you to be happy. I like him best for that.”

Sophy settled her shoulder against Tom’s arm, but he went one further, lifting his arm out of the way and wrapping it around her shoulders.
 

“Ask me to kiss you again,” he said.
 

*****

When they pulled to a stop in front of Chippenstone, Tom realized he’d forgotten to warn his servants.
 

“You’ll see to the horses? And the baggage?” Tom cheerfully asked the goggling stable boy. Picking up his wife, he climbed the front steps and yanked open the door. Kicking it wide, he stepped into the hall. The door slammed shut behind them, bringing his housekeeper at a run. She was in a calico housedress, trailed by two maids with dripping wash rags.

“Mr. Bagshot!” was all she managed, aghast and accusing at once. She recognized the red-haired Miss in his arms, but not her bright eyes and blushing cheeks.
 

When Tom breezily informed his housekeeper that he had returned with his wife, she only swallowed once and asked them to step into the drawing room—no, that was being cleaned, so perhaps the library—for half an hour while she prepared their rooms.
 

Tom assured his flummoxed housekeeper that he was certain the rooms were in perfectly good order, ignoring her bloodless face. If anything was lacking he would tend to it himself.
 

“Sheer nonsense,” she grumbled, and sent the maids back to work so she could totter down to the kitchens. What Cook would do about dinner, she hadn’t the least notion.
 

Tom and Sophy didn’t notice. He was still carrying her, staggering up the stairs.
 

“Stop laughing. You’ll drop me,” Sophy said.
 

“Can’t help it,” he wheezed.
 

“Didn’t think you’d be doing this again, did you?” she asked, remembering he had done this once before, when she had arrived injured and soaking wet at his door.

“Wouldn’t have wagered a shilling on it. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to,” he added with a wink.
 

He made it to the top of the stairs and started down the hall. His eyes were fixed on her in a way that made her fear he would trip on the carpet. “What is it?” she asked.
 

“I don’t want to miss it,” he said.
 

“Miss what?”
 

Tom’s answering smile was sly. “Your face. You don’t fool me. I can tell what you think of my mother’s furniture.”

Sophy colored hotly. “It is . . .”

“—Impossibly vulgar?” finished Tom.
 

“I wouldn’t have said it, but yes. It doesn’t matter. Lady Fairchild will never see it, and no one else will mind.” Sophy spoke lightly, but Tom’s smile contracted.

“I won’t let you be lonely,” he promised. “I’ll love you so much you won’t be able to miss them.”
 

Sophy brushed aside the hair that had fallen across his forehead, tucking the moment away where it would stay bright.
 

“Are you going to put me down now?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
 

“Not a chance.” Tom recovered his smile. “You can throw it all out tomorrow if you like, but I’m not missing your face when you see how they furnished the master suite. It’s exactly, horribly, incredibly vulgar.”

Sophy bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “I hope so."

*****

In the end, Sophy surprised Tom, refusing to alter his Oriental bedchambers by so much as a hair, claiming she could only belong in this room of decadent splendor. Tom laughed. They both laughed, often.
 

Mrs. Bagshot managed to contain her happiness for a fortnight before it became too much to bear and she returned to Chippenstone. “Open your presents,” she said, pointing Sophy to the pile of boxes unloaded from her coach.
 

They were expensive and mostly awful, but Sophy wore them with good grace, and determined from then on to always shop with her new mother in law. She even refrained from laughing over the hats privately with Tom. Mostly.
 

Her mother in law didn’t seem to mind. They had been married only three months when she affectionately took Sophy’s hand, telling her how glad she was to have her in the family. And though Sophy could not tell her to expect a grandson yet, Mrs. Bagshot was confident that a baby would arrive soon.
 

Sophy and Tom rode often, though never within sight of Cordell. She ridiculed him shamelessly for his ham-fisted riding, but he said he did not mind being outshone by his wife. He offered to buy her breeding stock but Sophy refused. She could never duplicate her father’s stables.
 

“Do you miss them?” Tom asked, when they reached the boundary of Cordell and wordlessly turned their horses homeward again.
 

“Yes. But I had to choose between them and you. I needed you most of all. Still do.” Her heart was too full for empty spaces.
 

Henrietta sent regular letters and Jasper visited at Easter. “The pater sends these, and your horse,” he said, gesturing at two parcels in brown paper.
 

“Did he send any word?” Sophy asked.

“Just the presents. Said they were yours anyway.”
 

Sophy untied the first, her heart pounding as she lifted away the paper. She was afraid to hope. The weight of the parcel and the shape argued for it, but after so many years, he had probably forgotten.
 

“What did he send?” Tom asked, leaning over to look. Sophy was silent, her hand on her lips.
 

She found her voice at last. “Some things of mine. My mother’s sketches.” The second parcel was the last one, alone in its frame.
 

“Where do you think we should put it?” he asked.
 

“In the nursery,” Sophy said. Her mother would have liked that.
 

Tom was properly speechless, but Jasper was never without words for long. “Blast,” he said. “You aren’t coming riding with me, are you?”
 

“I’m afraid not,” she said, ending in a squeal, for Tom had seized her. Jasper left the room, smiling, with an ostentatious huff of disgust.
 

Sophy gave up riding and turned her attentions to the gardens. She and Tom took turns thinking up hideous names for their child. Sally Bagshot claimed her cup was full, so long as they did not call her granddaughter Clytemnestra.
 

Summer came and Sophy slept more, embarrassed she was turning so lazy, but still grateful to have her breakfast brought on a tray. Leafing through her letters one morning, her mind fogged with sleep, she did not realize at first that the letter in her hand was not from Henrietta. She stopped reading after the first line and pressed her hand to her mouth.
 

It would be easy to flip over the sheet of expensive paper and check the sender’s name, but the disappointment, if she was wrong—

She kept reading.
 

Dear Sophy,
the letter read.

Preparations are nearly complete for my removal to town again. I shall enjoy London, as I always do, and look forward to seeing Henrietta, Laurence and Little William. It will do him good to spend some time with his grandmama—his nurse is such a hapless creature.
 

Henrietta tells me that you are expecting an Arrival of your own. I hope you are taking good care of yourself and that your husband has the sense to keep you off a horse. I fear your riding days are over for some time. While I am in town I shall look at finding you a doctor. Choosing a competent physician is most important.
 

You may not have heard, but Alistair is recently married. She is a handsome widow, with a good fortune. You will be glad, I am sure, to hear he is well settled.
 

I still tread carefully, for the unpleasantness surrounding your broken engagement is too recent to be entirely forgot and I regret that it must be at least another twelvemonth before I can receive you. Until then, I depend on hearing from you often.
 

Jasper tells me you are happy, and I am glad to hear it. Please write, for I am anxious for your news.
 

With affection,

Georgiana

Tom found her, laughing and wiping stray tears from her eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Sophy passed him the letter, the back of her other hand pressed to her mouth to stop her hiccups.
 

He read it twice, his forehead creasing with suspicion. “Are you upset?” he asked, scooting beside her on the bed.

“Boots!” Sophy pointed at his feet, dismayed on her maid’s behalf. Tom dismissed her concerns with a wave.

“Is she elbowing her way back into your life?” he demanded. “I don’t know if I’ll let her.”
 

Sophy took a last swipe at her streaming eyes. “She can be hard to stop. I’m not upset.
 
I’ve missed her. She has been as kind to me as she knows how, and you know I love her.”
 

Tom looked affronted.