The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (19 page)

Sophia dreamed of her mother that night.

She was a child once more at Petworth Manor.

She skipped every other stair on her way to the nursery, buoyed by her excitement
at having successfully avoided Mr. Reynolds. The butler would be outraged if he knew
she’d managed to sneak into the house without his knowledge.

Which only made the accomplishment that much more enjoyable.

As did the boys’ loss of their race from the lake to the manor. Langdon, Dash, and
Nicholas would be irate when they learned she’d reached the nursery before them.

Sophia let out a giggle, clapping her hand over her mouth to hold back laughter as
she gained the fourth floor and ran for the nursery.

The summer heat made her skin sticky with sweat, but she continued her fast pace until
she reached the nursery
door. Glancing up and down the hall, she made sure the boys were nowhere in sight,
then grasped the brass doorknob and turned it guardedly, pushing on the paneled oak
and walking into the room.

Her mother sat in a Sheridan chair placed in the center of the cheery rose-patterned
rug. She beckoned Sophia to come closer, the faint scent of her rosewater eau de cologne
drifting across the space between them.

Sophia closed the door behind her and stood still, staring at her mother, unease making
her pulse quicken.

“Whatever is the matter?” her mother asked, uncrossing her ankles and moving forward
to the edge of the chair cushion.

Sophia did not want to answer. Would remaining silent be rude? Or did she believe
that perhaps, this time, her mother would stay—if only Sophia could keep the truth
from her?

“You can tell me, Sophia,” Lady Afton urged, warm concern filling her lovely voice.
“Do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid, Mama,” Sophia assured her, taking a step closer.

Her mother folded her hands in her lap and smiled sweetly. “Are you fearful because
I am alive?”

“Mama,” Sophia urged quietly, taking another step and then another. “Please, do not
ask.”

“It is all right, my darling. You’ll not change the course of my life, nor yours,
by being truthful,” her mother answered, beckoning her nearer. “But I do have something
to tell you, and we’ve not much time.”

Sophia took a hesitant, final step that brought her within reach of her mother. She
slowly extended her arm and felt her mother’s cool, soft fingers interlace with her
own. “I can feel you, Mama,” she murmured in amazed delight, pulling until their interlocked
hands pressed against her forehead.

“I need you to pay attention, Sophia.”

Sophia knelt on the carpet and rested her head on Lady Afton’s lap. “Please, Mama.
I only want to be with you. Do not ask anything of me.”

“I know, my dear, sweet girl,” her mother crooned, running her fingers through Sophia’s
tangled brown curls.

Sophia closed her eyes and reveled in the soothing sensation. “Mama, you’ve never
spoken to me in my dreams before. Why are you doing so now?”

“You were not ready to hear me.”

“That’s not true. I’ve wanted nothing more than to speak with you,” Sophia protested.

Lady Afton lifted her fingers from the crown of Sophia’s head to cradle her chin and
gaze into her eyes. “You were not prepared. And now you are,” she said simply.

Sophia sat back on her heels. “Because of Nicholas?”

“In part, yes,” her mother replied, folding her hands in her lap. “But it is far more
complicated than that. And now I may tell you what is required of you.”

Sophia felt an odd sense of injustice. “Required of me? Ma—”

“I know how you’ve sacrificed, my Sophia,” Lady Afton delicately interrupted. “And
you are so close to reaching your goal. But it cannot be done without you returning
to Petworth Manor.”

The name of her family’s summer home made Sophia’s heart skip a beat; the rhythm when
it resumed, shaky and unpredictable. “There must be another way, Mama.”

Her mother slid from the chair to join her on the carpet. “I wish there were, Sophia.
But there are memories there that require retrieval.”

“I remember everything of that day, Mama—more than I care to, if you must know,” Sophia
answered,
staring at the rose-patterned rug. “I haven’t returned to the house since you died.
And I don’t want to—ever.”

Lady Afton wrapped her arms about Sophia and pulled her into a loving embrace. “That’s
just it, my darling. There are things you do not remember—details you’ve pushed so
far from your mind that they are nearly impossible to find. But they’re there. Returning
to Petworth Manor will help to unearth them.”

Sophia buried her head against her mother’s shoulder and began to cry. “I cannot,
Mama. You must understand. It is impossible. Please don’t make me go there.”

“I do understand, Sophia,” Lady Afton whispered into her ear. “Better than anyone
else. Be brave, my dear, sweet girl. Be brave.”

Sophia wrapped her arms tightly about her mother’s waist and let the tears wash away
her fear until all she was able to feel was acceptance. Bitter, but necessary acceptance.

Suddenly someone was pulling her away from her mother. Sophia fought to escape the
person’s grip, begging Lady Afton to hold on to her.

“Lady Sophia!” a voice cried out.

Sophia opened her eyes, expecting to find she’d been dragged across the nursery and
away from her mother. Instead, her companion’s worried face met her gaze.

“Lettie?” she asked.

Her trusted companion released Sophia’s wrist and looked down at her. “I heard you
moaning and came to see what was wrong. I believe you’ve had a nightmare.”

Sophia scooted upright and pulled her hair back, her fingers damp from the tiny beads
of perspiration at her temples.

“Was it the same dream, my lady? Was it about your mother?”

Sophia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember every last second she’d spent
in her mother’s presence.
“Yes, Lettie, my mother was there, but this one was different. She spoke to me of
Nicholas, and of what I must do,” Sophia replied, the linen sheets bunching in her
fists. “I must return to Petworth Manor at once.”

“I’ll have a message sent to Mr. Bourne and ask that he come straightaway,” Lettie
answered, concern coloring her voice.

Sophia opened her eyes and grabbed for Lettie’s hand. “No! Do not send for Nicholas.
Just you and I will go.”

“Do you think that is wise, my lady?” her companion asked.

“Trust me, Lettie. It is better that we go alone.”

14

June 2
T
HE
A
LBANY

“I do not believe it.” Nicholas stared at the brief note, unable to accept the contents.

His words elicited a deep sigh from the maid. “Well, I don’t either, sir. Without
a proper footman to answer the door, deliver posts, and other such duties, they all
fall to me—apparently.”

Distracted, Nicholas looked up from the missive and shook his head in confusion. “I’m
sorry, what was that?”

“You need a footman, sir,” the maid replied matter-of-factly.

Nicholas could not see the connection between the maid and the necessity of a footman
at the moment, but needed the woman gone. “Speak to Singh. Tell him I gave my permission.”

The maid curtsied, beaming with delight. “I’ll go find him now—that is if there’s
nothing else you require?”

He shooed her away with a wave of the letter and walked to the windows at the back
of the apartment. Staring out at a small garden situated between the Albany and the
neighboring building, Nicholas realized that he’d never bothered to look out this
particular set of windows. He hadn’t even known of the garden’s existence.

He tapped the note against his palm, unsure of what he should do. For reasons Nicholas
was not privy to, Sophia was clearly set on traveling to Petworth Manor. Alone.

Barely realizing he did so, Nicholas began to count a tidy row of tulips near the
middle of the display below. He did not want to go to Petworth Manor. As far as he
knew, not one of the four friends, including Sophia, had ever set foot in the summer
home after Lady Afton’s death.

“Why on earth would we?” he muttered aloud, aware of a growing unease that tightened
his nerves and settled heavily between his shoulder blades.

There was nothing left for them on the sprawling estate—nothing that they needed,
anyway.

He pulled an engraved silver pocket watch from his vest—arguably the only thoughtful
gift his father had ever given him—and checked the time.

Sophia would have departed for Sussex by now.

Nicholas slipped the watch back into his pocket and gazed out the window again, absentmindedly
taking up where he’d left off with counting the row of tulips.

What if Sophia was right about returning to Petworth Manor? Was there something, or
someone, within the house or about the grounds that had crucial information the Young
Corinthians had missed? Lord Carmichael had overseen the investigation himself. Nicholas
knew the man well enough to trust he’d made damn sure it was carried out exactly to
his specifications.

Nicholas lost his place in the row of colorful blooms and moved his attention to the
next one, his irritation piqued.

Then what of Smeade? The Corinthians had not discovered his connection to Lady Afton’s
death. It was Carrington who’d unearthed the man’s part in the scheme.

It would be the right thing to follow Sophia, even if she did not want him there.
And after yesterday’s runin with his brother, Nicholas could do with a dose of karma.

“Sahib, Molly has informed me of your wish to employ a footman,” Singh’s voice interrupted
his musings.

“Really, Singh, and just as I was nearly finished counting the flowers,” Nicholas
answered, suddenly resolute as to his next move.

“You see, sahib, already the changes I have made to your home are beginning to help,”
Singh replied, joining Nicholas at the window. “Ah, yes. A world of beauty in one
single flower.”

“You said something about a footman?” Nicholas asked.

Singh continued to gaze out the window, enraptured by what Nicholas could only assume
was an overwhelming amount of happiness. “Yes, sahib. The footman. I will arrange
for several candidates to be sent over right away so that you might choose.”

“I’m afraid that will not be possible, Singh.”

Nicholas’s response pulled the man from his happy contemplation of the bucolic scene
outside the window. “And why is that, sahib?”

“Because I will be leaving very shortly for the countryside, Singh,” Nicholas answered,
only just realizing that he still held Sophia’s letter in his hand.

Nicholas stood outside the Star pub in Petworth, the bands of reds, golds, and orange
in the dazzling sunset
a charming backdrop to the whitewashed building and the surrounding village.

Unfortunately, the scene was one he couldn’t appreciate at the moment. He’d ridden
hard from London, wanting to arrive at the manor before Sophia and Mrs. Kirk. Stopping
only for food and to rest Guinevere, he was now filthy, exhausted, and barely able
to stand upright without his legs bowing out in the shape of his horse’s mid-section.