Three Original Ladies 02 - Lord Trowbridge’s Angel (13 page)

“How the devil did you find her this morning?” Buck asked. “Where was she?”

“She was coming back from Lila’s. She had gone there to check the truthfulness of Shrewsbury’s story. As you might expect, Lila lied, leaving poor Sophie to believe that she was still my mistress. I was on my way here when she literally ran into me.”

“Well,” Buck said, “that was a fortunate encounter, since you were carrying an umbrella. Last year, Sophie fell victim to a severe case of inflammation of the lungs. She nearly died. But Fanny’s nursing pulled her around. Let us hope she does not become ill again. Perhaps there is a posset or some such thing that the apothecary can make up. I will go to Fanny and ask her.”

Frank waited impatiently for Buck’s return. How sick was Sophie? Was there actually a possibility that she could die? As he paced the room, he tried to contemplate the depth of the hole he had made in Sophie’s trust. How to restore that trust?

Time. Time and patience. I’ve told her the truth. She must decide for herself whether to believe it. But I may not have time, and I’m horribly impatient. I want her to believe in us the way she did.

Buck reentered the library. “You get the makings for a mustard plaster for her chest from the apothecary. Also some fever powders. Fanny is trying to stop her trembling, which is quite severe. We don’t know yet how ill she is likely to be. I must admit, it is very tempting for me to mill you down at this moment, so you had better make haste out of my presence.”

Frank met the Carstairs in the front hall, speaking to the butler.

“Joseph, Bella, I am so sorry to tell you that Sophie is abed. She was out in the rain without her umbrella, and Fanny fears she may become ill. So no rehearsal today.”

Bella asked, “Do you think I could see her?”

“It is not up to me. I am just off to the apothecary. Perhaps Perkins can find out for you.”

Grabbing his umbrella, Frank was out the door. He walked quickly and was glad to see the rain easing. He only wished that there was some way he could sneak up to Sophie. But, he reflected, that was a selfish wish. Seeing him just might make her more ill, and she was in no condition to listen to his cajoleries.

When he had delivered the requested items to Perkins, he decided he was useless in the Deal mansion and determined to call on Lila to demand that she write to Sophie the truth.

{ 19 }

WHEN SOPHIE FINALLY STOPPED TREMBLING
, she slept. Fanny had placed hot bricks at her feet, covered her head with a stocking cap, put a mustard plaster on her chest, and given her a headache powder.

When she woke, night had fallen. Her throat burned like fire, and her headache was fierce. Fanny’s maid, Betsy, was sitting with her.

“Would you care for some dinner, miss?” she asked. “I am to tell my lady as soon as you are awake.”

Sophie decided that however bad she felt, she must take nourishment. “Some soup and a bit of toast, perhaps.”

While Betsy went to fetch Fanny and relay her dinner request to the kitchens, Sophie eased herself out of bed. Her knee was much less painful, thanks to the hot bricks. Taking a key out of its hiding place in the Wedgewood egg on her nightstand, she walked to her vanity and unlocked her jewel case. There sat Frank’s letter. Looking at it for a few moments, she took it out cautiously as though it might bite, and then got back into bed. After staring at it some more, she remembered the events of the morning and Frank’s version of the Lady Manwaring incident. Perhaps whatever he said in his missive would help her to decide whether or not to believe him.

She opened the envelope and drew out the heavy pages with the Trowbridge crest emblazoned on the letterhead.

My dearest,

I do not know what it was that Shrewsbury told you to give you such a disgust of me, but he knows me well, and undoubtedly does not find me worthy of you.

Upon reflection, I must say that I think he is right. I am a careless fribble. I have been greatly blessed with means, health, and position, and I have done nothing with my good fortune, except to try to be an enlightened landlord.

I fully mean, from this day forth, to turn my life around. Whether you ever forgive me or not, your influence has been great enough to cause this change in me. You are in every way my angel, and will remain so, come what may.

This was indeed a good beginning, Sophie thought. Her heart lifted at the thought that his feelings for her had had such a beneficial effect. But with the best will in the world, could Frank change?

I will never forget the night I first heard you play your instrument. Those were moments when my body and mind stilled long enough for communication with my soul’s desires. Now, the first desire of my soul is to be married to you. Not only to forsake all others, but to forsake my present way of life. Even if you do not feel you can have mercy on me, I will still begin on this course.

Her music had had this effect on him? He could not have fashioned his statement more perfectly. It brought his image to mind as she had seen him that wondrous night she had played Mozart for him. What if she had known about Lady Manwaring then? Would she have kept her distance?

I will go down to my estate in Oxfordshire, away from the frivolities of Town, and study what ways I can further my care of the poor in my parish. I will study journals to find in what ways I can improve the yield of my land. I will study the issues of the day so I can be a more informed member of Parliament.

Oh, no. Do not leave me. I might be fighting for my life.

I will be yours forever, my dearest love,

Frank

Her hard heart was in danger of melting. But there was so much she did not know about men.
Was a man who was accustomed to keeping a mistress capable of fidelity in marriage? Was such an expectation on her part even reasonable in the world of the
ton
? Was she just impossibly naïve?
Sophie wished that he were near so she could look into his eyes and read the answers she needed.

Folding the letter, she put it back in its envelope and leaned back on her pillows. If only she were not feeling so ill, she would write to him.

When Fanny entered, she was encumbered with two bouquets and a small book.

“Your courtiers are trying to outdo one another, I think,” she said. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“My throat is sore and I have the headache.”

“Oh, dear. Let us hope that after dinner, you will be able to go back to sleep, and that you will feel improved in the morning.”

“Who are the flowers from, and what is that little book?”

“The double red pinks and baby’s breath are from Frank, as is the little book. It is called the
Language of Flowers.
Shall I look up the flowers for you?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Sophie said.

“All right. Here we are. The pinks mean … oh heavens! … ‘pure and ardent love. ’”

“Oh, my,” said Sophie, her heart stirring at a faster pace.

“Now, baby’s breath. Ah … this is a tribute to you, I think. It means ‘innocence and pure of heart.’”

“What a lovely sentiment.” She gazed at the bouquet and pictured Frank ordering it at the florist especially for her. But then her sense reasserted itself. Perhaps this was a practiced flirtation technique that he had used many times.

“Fanny, I read Frank’s letter. I want to believe what he says, but I still find it so hard to trust him. It is so much more than a declaration of love. It is a declaration of intent.”

“So you are ready to forget all the pain he caused you, on the basis of one letter and a bouquet?”

Sophie caught the archness in Fanny’s speech. Instead of answering, she asked, “And who are the yellow roses from? Shrewsbury?”

“Yes. Here is his card.”

I am sorry for the pain I unwittingly caused you. I have found out that things were not what they seemed. And now you are ill, for which I hold myself partially responsible. My hope is that you will recover soon. I cannot hide my admiration for you any longer. You are the object of my affections. I measure all other women against the loveliness of your face and form and the sweetness of your nature.

Yours,

Shrewsbury

“Oh, dear,” she said. “How different they are! Lord Shrewsbury is quite eloquent in his own way.”

Sophie did not say as much to Fanny, but the baron’s sentiments did not ring as original or as true as Frank’s for some reason. She had so many other questions.
What could she expect from the physical side of marriage to a man like Frank? She was an innocent. Had he lost all taste for innocents? Did she even want to surrender her innocence to such a man?

Who would know better than Elise? Peter was once the worst rogue in England. What had made Elise trust him enough to marry him?

“Fanny, could you write a note to Elise for me and ask her to visit tomorrow? I should like to see her very much.”

“You want to consult her about the general question of rogues, I assume.”

“Yes. But oh, my throat is so raw. I think I must stop talking.”

~
~*

The next morning found Sophie in worse health. That which she had dreaded had come to pass. She was hot with fever and she had begun to cough. The doctor was sent for.

In the meantime, another floral tribute arrived from Frank: a bunch of violets. Fanny looked them up in the new book. The meaning was “faithful love.” Frank seemed to have an uncanny ability to address her most pressing doubts.

Dr. Finch arrived and pronounced the dreaded news: Sophie had an inflammation of the lungs. He left Fanny with instructions about what to do if Sophie became delirious.

Sophie had not the strength to write a letter. When would she see Frank again? Would she even survive this fever? The last one had nearly taken her life.

{ 20 }

FRANK WAS UNABLE TO CONVINCE
a very prideful Lila to write a retraction of her statement to Sophie.

“You have cast me aside, Frank. Is that not enough humiliation to bear without putting it down in writing for your present
inamorata?”

He haunted the florist, choosing what flowers to send on what day, according to the little book he had found there and sent to Sophie.

He called daily at the house to find out her condition. When he heard she had inflammation of the lungs, he asked Buck, “How serious is this?”

“I’m sorry to say that it is very serious. I told you she had it for three weeks last year and nearly succumbed. But Fanny pulled her out of it then, and will do so this time. And her sister, the duchess, is with her now. Sophie isn’t delirious, and that’s a good sign.” He gave a bark of laughter. “If you were to see your ‘angel’ now, you would not know her. She is very cantankerous. It is particularly disappointing to her that her
musicale
must be postponed.”

With no inclination for balls, routs, picnics, or even carriage racing, Frank was blue-deviled. He had to see Sophie. He wanted to offer her comfort, to kiss her fevered brow, and hold her hand. He would not press his suit at such a time, but the idea that she could be carried away by this illness, that he might actually lose her, was so appalling that he could not sleep or eat.
He must see her.

He knew no one in the house would approve a visit, so he fell to contemplating how he could manage it on his own. With this in mind, he paid a visit to Lady Melissa.

She received him with pleasure. “Lord Trowbridge, how nice of you to call!” she said, rising from the sofa in her morning room. She extended a hand, and he dutifully bowed over it.

Once she was seated, he took a chair close enough so that he could speak softly.

“Sophie is very ill. She could possibly die. I am beside myself, Lady Melissa. I must see her. Can you help me?”

Her face fell, but she said, “Of course I will. What would you like me to do?”

“Have you been to see her since she’s been ill?”

“Yes, poor darling. I was there yesterday. She is still fevered, but she knew me. She is not delirious, and that is a good sign. But her cough is wretched.”

Frank said, “I’m afraid we must be daring. Do you know where the servants’ stairs are?”

“Yes. Are you going to
sneak
in to see her?”

“I must. I am going mad. It has been a week since she fell ill.”

“I saw all the lovely flowers you have been sending her. And the book with all the meanings.”

“Is she still angry with me?”

“Why would she be angry with you?”

Frank was glad to know she had not confided in her friend regarding the business with Lila. “We had a trifling misunderstanding. She must have forgotten it.”

“So you want to get to her room by way of the servants’ stairs?”

“Yes, and it must be at night because I do not want to be caught out by Fanny or the duchess.”

Melissa’s eyes lit with eagerness. “Fanny would think it a good joke, but the duchess might hold it against you.”

“I think since you know your way around the house, it might be best if you came with me. Also, you can be our chaperone,” he added quickly as the need revealed itself to him.

“Ohhh. When are you going to make your attempt?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“Well, in that case, you will have to carry me away from the ball I am attending tonight. It is at the Fitzwilliams.’ I can meet you in the garden at eleven o’clock. Then we can take your carriage to Sophie’s.”

“How are we to get in? Have you any idea?”

Melissa pondered this. All at once, her countenance lit. “A window on the ground floor. I will visit her again this afternoon, and I will unlock a window in the ballroom downstairs. It is never used. And it is quite near the servants’ stair.”

“It sounds ideal for our purposes.”

“But you must have me back at the ball by supper, or I will be missed!”

“We shall contrive.” He stood and offered his hand. “I appreciate your help more than I can say.”