“Gussie always was an egotistical fool,” said the duke into the silence that fell in the wake of the bishop’s departure. Then, turning to Sophia, he offered her his hand. “My dear Miss Hastings, I am very pleased to hear of your betrothal to my son. His mother and I had given up hope that he’d ever choose a bride.”
Ben tried to shake off the pall of the bishop’s words on him. His anger over the man’s criticism of Sophia was foremost in his mind, especially when she herself had been forced to listen to his nonsense. He knew well enough that the church wished its clergymen would marry bland, selfless women who would make good helpmeets and be seen and not heard. But he’d long known that wasn’t the kind of match he wanted. And certainly after meeting Sophia and seeing her determination to right societal wrongs with her work—something that spoke to his own sympathy for those who by accident of birth were stuck in the lower class—he’d known that she was what he wanted.
That his father, after only a few moments with her, was welcoming her to the family said more than any of the bishop’s dismissive speeches.
“Thank you, your grace,” Sophia said, though Ben could hear the note of falseness in her voice. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind giving me a few moments alone with your son? We have much to discuss, I think.”
Though he was focused on Sophia, Ben couldn’t mistake the look of warning his father sent him. He was all too aware of the danger, there, however.
“Certainly, my dear,” the duke said with a smile. “I’m in need of a rest after all of Gussie’s bombast. I do hope we’ll see one another again before I travel on to visit Cam down the coast.”
He kissed her on the cheek before bidding Ben a quick goodbye, and then he too was gone.
Leaving Ben and an obviously overset Sophia alone.
He knew something was seriously wrong when he moved to take Sophia’s hand and she pulled away.
“Come now,” he said in a cajoling tone. “You aren’t taking what the bishop said to heart, are you? My father obviously approves, and his opinion is far more important to me than the bishop’s is.”
She turned from where she’d been facing out the window and he saw that her face was white. “Yes, I do take it to heart when the man who holds the future of your career in the church in his hands claims that a match with me will ruin you. While I am, of course, pleased to have your father’s blessing, I cannot help but be troubled by the bishop’s censure.”
Ah. She was worried for him. “I told you before that I am not dependent upon the church’s funding. And unlike the Roman church there isn’t really a way for him to defrock me. The worst he can do is scold. Which he has done.” He moved closer, reaching out to touch her arm. He was relieved when she didn’t pull away.
He ran his hand down her arm until he’d taken her hand in his. “I’m sorry that I waited until that precise moment to reveal our betrothal, however. It made it look as if I was inventing it on the spot in order to escape his chastisement.”
“I doubt it would have made a difference,” she said, moving closer to let him hold her against him. “He had already made up his mind about me before he came to Little Seaford. Morgan must have placed a great deal of money in the hands of the right people to get the bishop himself to come to deliver a set down in person.”
Relieved that she wasn’t angry at him so much as the situation, he took a moment to enjoy the feel of her against him. To smell the fresh lemony fragrance of her hair, and the warmth of her skin.
“I have no doubt that Morgan is quite skilled at the business of paying off those he thinks will be of use to him at some point,” he said, stroking a comforting hand over her back. “He is a businessman with a businessman’s conviction that money will buy whatever he wants—including the silencing of a critic.”
At his words, she stiffened and pulled away. “You don’t suppose he contacted the bishop because of what happened with Framingham?”
Ben frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Just that someone must have been worried to silence Framingham permanently,” she said with a pointed look. “What if Morgan knew that he’d contacted you before he died? If it was indeed Framingham.”
He considered it. He’d wanted—because of the man’s behavior with Sophia—the culprit to be Ryder, but it was entirely possible that the murderer was someone else. Someone with more at stake than an itinerant artist did.
Someone who stood to lose an empire if his scheme was uncovered.
“We need to find that note from Lady Celeste,” he said with a sense of urgency. If Morgan had either killed Framingham or had him killed, then his next target might be the people who were trying to bring him down. He wasn’t worried for his own safety. But if it had been Morgan who sent the bishop information about Sophia, then he just might see Sophia as a threat as well as Ben.
And he would let Peter Morgan harm Sophia over his dead body.
Taking Sophia’s hand, he led her upstairs to search for the clue that would lead them to the truth.
* * *
In the studio again, Sophia made immediately for the ornate Jacobean cabinet in the corner, where she’d first discovered a collection of documents and diaries relating to Lady Celeste’s art dealings. She had given her works as gifts and kept a journal with the title of each painting and the name of the person she’d gifted it to.
As if by agreement, she took a seat and Ben handed her stack after stack of loose pages and other ephemera from the late artist’s collection.
“I don’t understand why her art papers are so disorganized when the rest of her papers were so very tidy,” Sophia said as she opened a letter that seemed to be from an art dealer in Brighton. “Though given the breadth of her interest, I suppose she couldn’t do it all.”
Ben turned from pulling out a bound journal from the cabinet. “You don’t suppose someone has already searched this collection? And that’s why it’s in such disarray.”
The possibility hadn’t occurred to her and Sophia thought it over for a moment. Could someone have sneaked into the studio and rifled through Lady Celeste’s papers without her knowing about it? It was true there were a couple of months between the lady’s death and the arrival of the heiresses. Serena had been here, of course, but she wouldn’t have done such a thing.
Then, a thought occurred to her. Someone else in the house might have decided to conceal a letter for her from Lady Celeste. Someone who might think he was protecting her from danger.
“I think I might know who has the letter Lady Celeste left for me,” she said with a sigh. If she was right, he would be mortified at being caught out. But there was no time for that now. A man was dead and they needed every bit of information they could gather.
“Who?” Ben asked, his brows drawn.
“Ring the bell pull and we’ll find out if I’m right.” Sophia said rubbing the spot between her eyes that was beginning to throb.
She hoped she was correct. If she wasn’t, then she wasn’t sure where they’d be able to search next.