Sophia sat quite still, hands clasped carefully in her lap and shoulders pulled back with perfect deportment. Anybody chancing upon her arranged demurely in Fenwick Manor’s best parlour would have thought her very elegant indeed, not suspecting for a moment concentrating on her posture helped Sophia suppress the desire to scream.
If I start, I might never stop. I could lose my wits sitting here waiting and then I’d be no different from Septimus’s first wife after all.
She looked about her at the lavishly decorated room, trying to tamp down the nausea she could feel rising in her throat. It was a luxurious prison and yet a prison none the less, the key grating in the lock at Phillips’s retreating back and the windows shut tight against the approach of autumn. There was nothing she could do but wait, watching the minutes tick by on the face of a gilded clock and pray for the deliverance she knew would not come.
How could it?
Even if Fell came after her—and there was no guarantee that he would, given what she had gleaned from Essea as to his feelings—what could he do? They wouldn’t let him in the house and Mother would send a servant running for the law before he had time to blink. The only chance she had of escape was to insist on the validity of her marriage, a legal state even Mother’s tantrums could do nothing to alter. She would need to summon all her courage and face the oncoming storm, Lady Thruxton’s wrath certain to shake the walls and make chandeliers ring with her fury.
It was as though Mother could sense Sophia’s fear. From the other side of the locked door came the sound of light footsteps, followed by the turning of a key—and then she stepped into the room, a graceful dark-haired woman of middle age who looked at Sophia with such triumphant coldness it made her daughter shudder.
‘Well, now. Home at last!’
Lady Thruxton moved so smoothly it was as though she was on wheels, coming towards Sophia with her hands outstretched. A smile played about her full lips, but her eyes were hard and chill as two chips of flint and Sophia recoiled from the reaching fingers.
‘Sophia!’ Mother chided her, pressing a hand against her chest as if mortally wounded by her daughter’s retreat and yet relishing the power to unnerve. ‘Don’t you want to embrace your poor mother who has been in agonies these past months? I grieved so, not knowing where you were. You ought to thank me for taking the time to find you and apologise for all the trouble you caused. Such a terrible, disappointing mess. If I were you, I’d be quite ashamed.’
She paused expectantly, the age-old rhythm of their relationship so familiar it was second nature to follow. They both knew their parts in this dance: Mother injured by Sophia’s many failings and Sophia asking forgiveness for her flaws, begging to be absolved. That forgiveness might be offered after a while, but not until Mother had said her piece, usually at a volume the whole manor could hear and most gratifying when accompanied by the sight of Sophia’s regretful tears. A handful of months might have passed since their last encounter, but what was that balanced against the habit of a lifetime—Lady Thruxton in charge and Sophia pleading to be let out from beneath her boot?
But the delightful imploring didn’t come.
‘Hello, Mother.’
Sophia slowly lifted her chin to meet her mother’s eyes, seeing the flit of confusion and then anger there and bracing herself for impact. Once upon a time she would have thrown herself into the role set out for her, but with sudden surprise she realised something had changed—nothing she could put her finger on, but there all the same as she watched Lady Thruxton’s temper rise.
‘Don’t “hello, Mother” me, girl.’ The cruel smile had slipped and the words were hissed with real venom that stung Sophia’s heart into a rapid beat. ‘You should be counting your blessings to be back in this house and showering me with gratitude for bothering to retrieve you! And the state of you...hair quite wild and a disgrace of a gown—don’t you know what a slattern you look?’ She stopped again, leaving another space for Sophia to fill with the pleasing shame and remorse she owed for her actions.
Sophia swallowed, tasting the sour bile that turned in her stomach. Fear still gripped her, but curiously less tightly than when Phillips had dumped her in the parlour, and certainly less than when he had snatched her from the forge. She’d expected to be beside herself to see Mother, but now the woman in question stood there with building rage flushing her cheeks she seemed a less daunting prospect than before, alarming but not quite the all-encompassing monster Sophia remembered.
It’s because of Fell. It has to be.
The words he’d murmured in the kitchen all those weeks ago echoed in her head, repeating themselves until she had no choice but to listen. She’d doubted them of late, it was true, but they must have taken root regardless of her caution and delved deeper inside her than she realised. They’d made her question all she thought to be fact and now she couldn’t help but wonder, timidly at first but more strongly by the second, if her husband had been right all along.
‘You deserve far more than neglect and contempt. It’s time you started to believe it.’
Mother’s face had darkened to a dusky rose at Sophia’s silence, the lack of contrition fanning the flames of her ire. Sophia wasn’t playing the game for the first time in her life and for one glorious second it seemed her mother was caught off balance, a sight so wonderful she couldn’t help but marvel. In that moment Lady Thruxton seemed so much smaller than the woman of Sophia’s memory, diminished somehow by the healing power of Fell’s words. He might never know what comfort she found in them, drawing the strength from his kindness not to crumble beneath her mother’s spiteful glare.
But then a malicious gleam grew in Mother’s eye and with the smile hitched back into place she spoke silkily as she sat down beside her daughter on the richly embroidered sofa.
‘Lord Thruxton and Septimus have been hunting in the park, but I believe they are due to return any time now. Imagine their delight when they find you safely home! Dear Septimus in particular will be most gratified to have his intended back where she belongs.’
This time her words had the desired effect. Sophia stiffened, her already galloping pulse charging ever faster as the panic she’d forced back railed against her defences, testing the walls for weak spots it might break through.
‘I’m not his intended. I’m a married woman.’
The image of Septimus’s handsome, merciless face swam before her to make the nausea roiling inside her bubble all the more. He could do nothing to her now, she reminded herself fiercely, and yet the naked terror she’d felt on the night she ran from Fenwick Manor reached for her again with icy fingers.
He can’t touch me. He can’t touch me.
Can he?
‘Don’t you dare argue with me.’ Mother’s tongue was a razor flashing out to cut Sophia to the quick. ‘Your pitiful imitation of a marriage counts for nothing. Your so-called husband will give you up at my asking and the rest is easy enough to undo. It will be as though you were never wed at all.’
Sophia’s skin tingled with cold fear, the fire curling in the parlour grate doing nothing to lessen the chill that crept upon her like mist. Mother couldn’t dissolve the marriage, surely—yet the idea burrowed into Sophia’s chest to snatch her breath.
Fell would never bow to her demands. He might not love me, but he would never be so weak as to abandon his honour on Mother’s say so, even if he regrets taking me as his wife. He’s a better man than that—better than she’d ever understand.
Mother watched her closely, a grim kind of enjoyment flickering in her expression. It reminded Sophia of a cat toying with a mouse, the little creature fighting to escape while its captor sharpened its claws.
‘You will do this, Sophia. You owe me your obedience after all the harm you’ve caused both now and to your poor dear father.’
Looking down at her clenched hands, Sophia hesitated. It was the same old song Mother had sung for almost twenty years, vicious and designed to keep her daughter in line. For every one of those twenty years Sophia had believed it—until a lowly blacksmith had come along to finally make her question it.
‘Nonsense.’
She raised her head, throat tight with apprehension, but the truth no longer willing to be denied. Those months with Fell had shown her a world beyond that of guilt and grief and despair, and she wouldn’t be pulled away from it without a fight. Fell might not return her love, but his teaching was priceless in a different way, a gift he’d given with no idea of its value.
‘That wasn’t my fault.’
Mother’s face tightened, the skin around her eyes hardening into a porcelain mask of disbelief.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Papa’s death. It wasn’t my fault.’
Lady Thruxton stared as though she couldn’t understand what she was hearing. Sophia could hardly credit it either: two decades of shame falling away in a matter of moments as effortlessly as taking off a coat. If anybody had told her how brave she would become when faced with Mother’s wrath she wouldn’t have believed them, even now scarcely able to comprehend where she found the courage to defend herself. It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time, Fell’s words ringing in her ears to spur her on further than she’d known she could.
There was little time to celebrate, however. Mother surged to her feet and stood over Sophia like a mountain, or perhaps more like a volcano for all the molten malice that spewed from her snarling lips.
‘Stupid, useless girl! Of course it was your fault!’
Sophia flinched away, pressing herself further into the sofa’s luxurious cushions. Mother’s rages were nothing new, but there was something uncanny about this rant—her eyes flashed and her fingers curved into talons as though she would rake her daughter with sharp nails. ‘Every misfortune to ever befall me has been your fault! If you’d been less vacant, less of a burden around my neck—’
She broke off, head snapping towards the parlour door. Both women watched as the handle began to turn, Sophia with fresh dread and Lady Thruxton with wild triumph that made her look all the more unhinged.
‘That will be Septimus now. We’ll see what he thinks of your excuse for a marriage!’
She flew across the room and seized hold of the handle, flinging the door open to reveal the man outlined in sunlight on the threshold. He stepped forward into the room—and Mother fell back as though struck by lightning.
‘Who are—how did you gain entrance? Where is Phillips?’
Fell smiled—the most perfect, roguish, beloved smile Sophia had ever seen—and it catapulted her heart straight through the parlour ceiling and into the autumn sky.
‘With respect, madam, one man is no obstacle when the objective is my wife. To reclaim her I would best a hundred—and it was a pleasure to start with him.’
If he hadn’t already been so entirely, hopelessly in love with her, Fell could have lost himself all over again to the sweet relief on Sophia’s face, the welcome of her answering smile a reward more precious than gold. His knuckles smarted from the generous blow he’d bestowed on the deserving Phillips when he’d tried to bar the front door, leaving the man with a mark the twin of the one blooming on Ma’s cheek, but the pain ebbed away as he took in his wife’s dearly familiar countenance. There might as well have been nobody else in the room for all the notice he could spare, Sophia holding his focus and driving all other thought far away.
She’s here and she’s safe. Thank heaven for that.
He hardly knew what he’d been fearing, but she looked well, a little paler than he would have liked, but unharmed by Phillips’s manhandling and her mother’s fury. The urge to catch her up and hold her in the powerful circle of his arms called to him and he moved towards her—or would have done if Lady Thruxton hadn’t barred his way.
‘So you’re the man who fancies himself my daughter’s husband, are you? I fear you must prepare yourself for a disappointment: for she’s going nowhere!’
He glanced at the older woman standing with arms wide as if she had any real hope of stopping him. Her face was the same shape as Sophia’s and could have been handsome if it hadn’t been suffused by a mix of indignation and self-satisfaction.
And you’re the woman who almost destroyed Sophia’s spirit. I wonder which of us dislikes the other more?
‘The only person facing such misfortune is you. My wife and I will be leaving presently and I’m afraid you can do nothing but watch us go.’
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sophia rise to her feet, a little unsteadily, but with a determination that kindled fierce pride beneath his ribs. At long last she was standing up for herself, refusing to be cowed by cruelty she didn’t deserve, and his admiration for her flared hotter as she took the first step towards him and final escape from her old life.
But her mother hadn’t finished.
‘You dare show me such disrespect? Such impudence?’ Lady Thruxton’s voice rose impressively. Its pitch and volume soared upwards, giving Fell an unwelcome view of the performance Sophia had been made to endure more times than she could count. ‘You, who are nothing and so base-born you’re unworthy of a single glance from me?’
Fell could have smiled.
Does she think to wound me with her words?
Her poison was no worse than the insults he’d borne ever since he could understand their sting, powerless to hurt him in a way he hadn’t been injured already. She could rave and scream and curse him as much as she wished, she had no hold over him. The only person with any influence now was the silently watching wraith with copper hair he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in.
‘I’ve no wish for even that much. Sophia and I will take our leave now and then you need never trouble yourself to look at either of us ever again.’ With immense pleasure he turned his back on the harpy before him and held out his hand to his wife. ‘Will you come with me?’
Sophia hesitated. For half a breath she looked from his hand to her mother’s furious face and back again, seeming to consider the instinct ingrained in her since she was a child—and then she slipped her little hand into his palm and a thousand fireworks exploded into a shower of stars in the pit of Fell’s stomach at the blessed feel of her warm skin on his once again.
He brought her closer, gathering her against him and slipping an arm around the narrow span of her waist. In part it was to reassure her, but also himself that nobody could part them now, not her mother or any henchmen she might send their way. For Sophia he would lay down his life, he knew without the barest shadow of a doubt, and as he looked down into the flawless jade of her eyes the moment to tell her seemed to have come.
Should I ask her if she feels the same? Ma seemed so sure and yet the idea of being so fortunate is more than I dare to hope.
All the months of uncertainty and secret longing might come to a head with a handful of sweet words, his desires confirmed or dashed to the ground. He wanted to give himself to her, put his whole being into her keeping and trust his heart to the protection of her delicate hands—so soft, yet with the power to harbour or crush the fragile soul within them. There was nothing else to do now but speak, to unleash his yearning and pray it would find a safe haven with the woman he loved...
‘Stop. Stop right where you are! You will not leave! I will not allow it!’
Lady Thruxton’s shrill rage cut through the air, never less welcome, but insisting on joining the festivities. With valiantly suppressed irritation Fell tore himself away from the entrancing sight of Sophia’s upturned face and threw her mother a shrug.
‘It isn’t in your power to allow or disallow. As a married woman Sophia has no need of anybody’s permission but mine—and I wouldn’t even attempt to impose such controls on an independent woman with a mind far sharper than my own.’
At his side he felt Sophia stir and he tightened the comforting arm. Was it surprise that made her catch a sharp breath, or pleasure at his deference to her? Either way his praise did nothing to placate her mother, whose face turned an alarming shade of puce.
‘That is no impediment. Do you understand? To annul a marriage to a penniless gypsy is as easy to me as breathing!’
Fell smiled, as pleasantly as if Lady Thruxton had said something agreeable at a genteel card party—and produced the trump card from his sleeve.
‘But can the same be said of a marriage to a future earl?’
He felt the rapid turn of cogs inside Sophia’s mind as she tried to understand his meaning and gritted his teeth on a laugh.
Take your time on that puzzle, my love. I can still hardly believe it myself.
‘An earl? You talk nonsense!’
‘Indeed, madam, I do not. You have the pleasure to be addressing Viscount Stockley, son of the Earl of Atworth and future bearer of that very title.’
A hush fell over the room. Lady Thruxton’s lips twitched as though she would say something, but no words escaped, momentary uncertainty and mistrust crossing her twisted features. Fell barely noticed her, however, entirely captured by the dawning wonder on Sophia’s lovely face.
‘Fell...what can you mean? What are you saying?’
‘I’ll admit to being as surprised by the revelation as you are, but I can assure you of its truth. Ma—who is fine and well despite your man’s cowardly attack, thank you, Lady Thruxton—told me this very afternoon of her unlikely marriage to my father, which took place many years ago. They are still wed to this day, making me his heir and, if I’m not mistaken, your mother’s social superior.’
That was too much provocation for Lady Thruxton to endure. She raised herself to her full height and turned a glare on Fell so filled with white-hot rage a lesser man might have quailed.
‘You lie. You’re the illegitimate whelp of a Roma maid and don’t try to deny it. The man who revealed Sophia’s whereabouts told us of your parentage in all its revolting detail. This is a gross falsehood and I will not be taken in by it!’
Sophia flinched beneath his arm at the blistering venom spat in their direction, but Fell held firm. She would never be afraid of her mother again if he had anything to do with it, never again made to feel the way she had for more than twenty unhappy years.
‘You’re welcome to check my claim yourself. A letter to my father will confirm it, I’m sure, although I can’t imagine he would be pleased by your attempt to deprive his only trueborn son of his legal wife and mother to those next in line.’ Fell raised a challenging brow.
Getting on the wrong side of an earl? She’d rather eat her own parasol, I’ve no doubt.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, I shall take Sophia home.’
Lady Thruxton blinked. For the first time a thread of worry snaked through her expression and she appeared lost for words as Fell redoubled his grip on Sophia and led her to the door.
They were almost through it, Sophia drifting along beside him as though in a dream, when her mother’s voice came chasing after them.
‘Sophia Thruxton!’
Both Fell and Sophia stopped, looking behind at the older woman suddenly haggard with resentment and disbelief.
‘Are you truly going to abandon me? After everything I’ve done for you?’
Fell bent to murmur a warning in Sophia’s ear, but she gently brushed him aside, the sweet sadness of her smile a lance through his bursting heart. She gazed at her mother with such sorrow and understanding it was painful to see and doubtless an agony of sorts for her to feel as she made her choice.
‘I think you mean to me, Mother. I can see now what I received from you was not fair. Fell has taught me that.’ Sophia spoke softly, her words feather-light and yet somehow definitive—the most tender of brutal goodbyes. ‘And Thruxton was never my name. I was Miss Somerlock, and then Mrs Barden, and now Viscountess Stockley—and none of those women wishes to lay eyes on you ever again.’
Fell’s arm was still locked tight around Sophia’s waist as he guided her to where Bess was tethered on the imposing drive, which was just as well—without it she might have stumbled, so bewilderingly did her emotions hurl themselves around her head. The revelation of his parentage, his newly discovered title, her own bravery in turning away from Mother with breathtaking finality... Too many voices clamoured for her attention, but the one that shouted loudest was the one that gave her the most cautious hope.
He came for me after all.
When all was said and done that was the truth. Fell had ridden out to rescue her despite her fears of his indifference and as the delicious warmth of his strong arm soaked through her gown she wondered how she ever could have doubted him.
Can it mean something more? Was it mere duty that dragged him here, or could it be his feelings for me are deeper than I ever dared dream?
She hardly wanted to examine that question any closer for fear of what the answer might be. For all her growing hope and the cautious light that had begun to creep beneath the shutters fastened tightly around her heart, she couldn’t know for sure—and to ask outright would be to walk the line between unimaginable pleasure and crushing pain that could turn her fragile soul to dust.
‘Thank you for coming. I confess I wasn’t sure at first that you would.’
Fell stopped for a moment, boots ceasing to crunch on polished gravel. With Fenwick Manor looming at his back, glaring after them with windows like unfriendly eyes, for a moment he looked slightly alarming—before his face softened so fondly Sophia felt her own grow hot.
‘And to think I praised your intellect to your mother. Don’t make me doubt myself so soon afterwards!’
He snorted at her surprise and shook his head, sunlight casting on the black sheen of his hair. ‘Did you truly think I’d leave you? After all we’ve been through together? My one and only wife?’
A short distance away Bess raised her grey head and watched, waiting patiently for them to reach her. Part of Sophia wanted to run to her, leap on to her back and leave Fenwick Manor far behind, but the largest share couldn’t seem to move from the spot she stood frozen to. A curious tickle had begun to grow beneath the bodice of her gown, spreading outwards until her whole chest flamed as she peered upwards into Fell’s open face.
My one and only wife? Even with a whole new world now lying at his feet?
She moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue, noticing with a start of something how Fell followed the movement almost hungrily. The arm around her waist was unshakeable, as solid and firm as a mighty oak, and within the safety of its embrace Sophia found the courage to name her fear.
‘You still wish to remain married to me? Even though now, as the son of an earl, you could have any woman you desired?’
Whatever response Sophia had been expecting, it wasn’t the one she received. Fell’s brows cinched together and he lifted a hand—and placed it so carefully on her cheek she couldn’t help but gasp out loud.
‘I don’t wish to think about my father now. All I know for certain is this: there’s just one woman I desire and she stands in front of me, speaking such nonsense I fear I may have to kiss her to stem the flow.’
He bent his head to hers so slowly she was hardly aware he had moved, yet their mouths met and, true to his word, Fell stole every syllable from Sophia’s unresisting lips. They surrendered to his and yielded completely, even her breath snatched away by the clever thief who drew her closer against his chest.
Sophia’s thoughts scattered to the four winds, every hesitation and fearful doubt fleeing from the intensity of Fell’s kiss. Both arms came around her and held her fast, their unbreakable protection blocking out the rest of the world and shrinking her entire existence to focus on the play of their mouths. The wild staccato rhythm of her pulse accompanied the weakening of her limbs, legs turning to water as Sophia’s hands tangled in the fabric of Fell’s shirt and clung with a grip so tight her knuckles gleamed white under the skin.
Nothing and nobody could part them now. Fell’s hand traced her spine and she reached on tiptoes to rise further into his embrace, wanting nothing more than to stay for ever in the paradise of his arms. When the very tip of his tongue sought hers she sighed, the tiny sound prompting Fell’s dark chuckle—and he pulled away a fraction, looking down into her heavy-lidded eyes that had clouded with heady sensation.
Carefully, so gently it made Sophia’s bones ache with joy, he flattened one hand over where hers nestled among the folds of his shirt. Under its scant cover she felt the thrum of his heart, rapid pulsing beneath hard muscle she suddenly longed to touch with fingertips made clumsy by want.
‘Every beat is for you. It will never know another.’
Green eyes met a mismatched pair with wordless wonder growing in their mossy depths.
Can that be so?
Sophia stared upwards, the features she’d come to love so well creased into a smile—with the smallest glimmer of doubt underlying the perfection of that curve. If she didn’t know better, she might imagine he worried for her reply, as if it would be anything other than a return of his feelings so frank it left little room for dignity.
Never had Sophia dared dream of something so sweet. It was as if Fell saw every part of her with those uncanny eyes, the good and the bad and the parts of which she was ashamed, and fitted them together to make a woman worthy of being loved. The scars Mother left might never truly heal, but they would wane in time, Fell’s tenderness already soothing the pain until her wounds faded from vivid scarlet to silver and barely there at all.
‘Your heart beats for me? The poor disappointment of a daughter never expected to amount to anything more?’
One dark eyebrow flickered upwards as if it disagreed with her description, but Fell nodded none the less and it was Sophia’s turn to allow her lips to hitch. With one hand still guarding her husband’s heart, she stretched to cup the back of his neck, feeling the soft curls there and admiring them immensely before drawing his face back down to hers.
‘Well then—I shall give you mine. I trust you’ll treasure it, for it has been in your keeping longer than you know.’
She felt the shape of his smile beneath her lips for only a moment before he snatched her from the ground. As effortlessly as he might lift little Letty, Fell swept Sophia from her feet, one hand at her back and the other behind her knees as if she weighed nothing at all.
With a startled squeak she clung to his neck, surprised but revelling in the delight of being pressed so tenderly against his chest. ‘What’s this? What are you doing now?’
Fell’s grin was radiant, its pure unfiltered elation sending the clock reeling backwards over the years to recall the younger man he’d once been before heartache had cast a shade over his soul. ‘I’m taking you away from this place so we can begin our happiness in earnest. I’ll bring you back to where you belong: with me in the sunlight, out from beneath the shadow this house has cast on you for longer than I care to imagine.’ He stopped to look down at her, the new life in his features making her want to touch them, which she did, and then giggled when he kissed her fingers. ‘May I take you home now? Or, more accurately, may Bess?’
Sophia pretended to consider, although no power on earth could help her keep a straight face. The warmth of bliss flowed in every vein, filling them with flowers whose perfume overcame the stale air Mother’s cruelty had left behind.
I have a husband who loves me. Me, just as I am—and I will give thanks for that every day of my life.
‘She may, but can you try to ride as smoothly as possible? I felt so bilious this morning and although it’s faded a little now I fear it will return. It certainly has most mornings for over a week.’
Fell began to bear her towards the waiting horse, still holding her so closely to his chest she felt the heartbeat skip in time with her own.
‘Most mornings?’
‘Yes. I can’t think what the matter could be.’
He paused, stilling in his work of settling her into the saddle. ‘Can you not?’
‘Why, no. Something I ate, perhaps.’
Sophia couldn’t see his face as he ducked down to tighten the girth, but his voice sounded suddenly strange, cautious yet with a note of suppressed excitement that made her wonder. ‘Did your mother never teach you...?’
‘Teach me what? Unless it was how to think myself a failure, the answer is no.’
Fell reappeared and stood looking up at her seated high above him on Bess’s broad back. Such pride and tenderness kindled in his face it warmed Sophia right down to her toes and, when he hefted himself up into the saddle behind her and wrapped her in his arms, she knew life would never be as wonderful as at that very moment...
...or so she thought.
‘I think you ought to speak with Ma, tell her the nature of your symptoms. I believe you might hear some news that will make us very happy indeed.’
‘Whatever can you mean?’
‘You’ll see. Out of interest, what title is given to a viscount’s heir?’
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Keep reading for an excerpt from Their Marriage of Inconvenience by Sophia James.