Marriage Made In Hope. Sophia James
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lost Richard’s diamond ring in the incident. I do not think he knows this fact yet and will probably not be well pleased.’
‘It was always too big and I saw the exact pattern in Rundell’s when I was in the shop a few weeks ago so it shouldn’t be too difficult to replace.’
Maria laughed. ‘Just like Richard to settle for a cheap stock item, Sephora, when you plainly deserve so much more.’
‘I was happy with it.’
‘I doubt Francis St Cartmail would be so stingy with his newfound money were he to be wed. It is said he returned from the Americas as a wealthy man made rich from the striking of gold. He looked awfully sick after your rescue, though, almost falling over in fact with...a sort of shaking panic. I hope he is recovered.’
Sephora remembered that suddenly, the bone-deep weariness of him as he had struggled the last few yards through the mud. ‘Was he hurt anywhere else?’
‘Apart from your scratches to his face, you mean?’
When she nodded, Maria went on.
‘Not that I could see. I wondered why the earl did not stay to receive the adulation of those who had observed the rescue, though, even given his questionable reputation. It was a fine and daring thing he did and the water is deep there in the middle and cold. Richard was standing next to you, of course, with his thousand-yard stare and his implacable credentials. Perhaps that is what put Francis St Cartmail off?’
‘I don’t even remember Richard being there at all. I know he was on the horse beside me, I recall that, but after...’
‘Douglas and his two friends were walking the other way when you screamed. They had just got to the bridge.’
Dark hair and dark clothes and the feel of knotted skin under her fingers as she had reached for him and held on.
Somehow those few moments seemed more real to Sephora than anything else in her entire life. A reaction, she supposed, to her near drowning and the fright of it, for nothing truly dreadful had ever happened to her before. Maria was watching her carefully, the beginnings of a frown across her brow.
‘Do you ever think, Sephora, that incidents like this might happen for a reason?’
‘A reason?’
‘You have not looked happy of late and you have seemed distracted. Ever since you agreed to become Richard’s bride, come to think of it. He has all the money in the world, a beautiful house and a family who think he is stellar and that is not even taking into account his position in society, but...’ She stopped.
‘You never liked him, Maria. Ever since the start.’
‘He is pompous and self-righteous, always congratulating himself on his next achievement and his latest triumph.’
Despite herself Sephora began to laugh. ‘He does a lot of good for others...’
‘And more than good for himself,’ her sister countered.
‘He is kind to his family...’
‘And kinder to those who can aid him in his steady ascent to power within the ton.’
‘He loves me.’
Maria nodded. ‘Yes, I will give him that, but who does not adore you, Sephora? I have never yet met a soul who says a bad word of you and that includes the numerous suitors you’ve let down gently in their quest for your hand.’
‘You give me too much praise, Maria.’
Sometimes I am not nice. Sometimes I could scream with the boredom of being exactly who it is I have become. Sometimes there is another person in me just under the surface struggling for breath and freedom.
The touch of St Cartmail’s lips to her mouth, the feel of his hand across her neck, firm and forceful. The whispered shared air that he’d given her when she had held no more herself.
Douglas had lifted her into his arms like a child, as though she weighed nothing, as though he might have carried her the length of the river and never felt it. There was a certain security in the strength of a man, she thought, a protection and a magic. Richard would barely be able to lift her with his city body and thinness.
Comparisons.
Why on earth was she making them? St Cartmail was wild and worrying and unknown. She had heard he had killed a man in the Americas and got away with it.
* * *
The following morning she felt as if she had been run over by a heavy piece of machinery, the muscles that had been sore yesterday now making themselves known in a throbbing ache of pain.
Her mother’s quiet knock on the door had her turning. ‘I am so thankful to see you looking well rested, my dear, as you gave us all a terrible fright yesterday. But it is late in the morning now and Richard is here, wondering if he might just have a quick word.’
Elizabeth sat on the chair beside the bed, the heavy frown across her brow very noticeable today. ‘We could get you dressed and looking presentable while he talks with Father. It would be a good thing for you to be up and about for it pays to get back on the horse after such a fright...’ She stopped, suddenly realising just what she had said. ‘Not literally, of course, and certainly not that dreadful stallion. But normality must return and the sooner that it does the better.’
Sephora felt like simply rolling over and pulling the blankets up across herself, keeping everyone at bay. If she said she was not up to seeing Richard, would he go away or would he insist upon seeing her? He was not a man inclined to wait for anything and sometimes under the genial smile she could detect a harder irritation that concerned her.
She knew she could not stay here tucked away in the safety of her bedroom forever after such a difficulty and she also understood that to put their meeting off was only postponing the problem.
Pushing back the bedding, Sephora rose up into the morning and was glad when her maid came in to help her dress.
* * *
As Richard entered the small blue salon Sephora could see her mother hovering on the edges of her vision, just to make certain everything was proper and correct, that propriety was observed and manners obeyed.
‘My dear.’ His hands were warm when he took hers, the brown in his eyes deep today and worried. ‘My dearest, dearest girl. I am so very sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ Sephora could not quite understand his meaning.
‘I should have come after you, of course. I should not have hesitated, but I am a poor swimmer, you see, and the water there is very deep...’ He stopped, as if realising that the more he said the less gallant he appeared. ‘If I had lost you...?’
‘Well, you did not, Richard, and truth be told I am largely unharmed and almost over it.’
‘Your leg?’
‘A small cut from where I hit the stone balustrade, but nothing more. I doubt there will even be a scar.’
‘I sent a note to thank Douglas so that you should have no need for further discourse with him. I am just sorry it was not Wesley or Ross who rescued you, for they would have been much easier to thank.’
‘In what way?’ Disengaging his hands, she sat with hers in her lap. She felt suddenly cold.
‘They are gentlemen. I doubt Douglas has much of a notion of the word at all. Did you see the way he just left without discourse or acknowledgement? A gentleman would have at least tarried to make certain you were alive. At that point you barely looked it.’
Sephora remembered vomiting again and again over Francis St Cartmail as they had waded in from the deep, seawater and tears mixed across the deep brown of his ruined jacket. He wore a ring, she thought, trying to recall the design and failing. It sat on the little finger of his left hand, a substantial gold-and-ruby cabochon.
‘I took you