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‘But that’s just the trouble,’ Sophie wailed. ‘He asked me to marry him and said he wanted to take care of me, but he never actually said he was in love with me.’ She pulled the gown off before Jane could finish pinning it up. ‘Take it away. I am never going to wear it.’
Jane sighed and folded the dress carefully in tissue. She would have to finish it without another fitting if Sophie continued in this mood. Sophie put her plain cambric dress on again and they went downstairs. She knew she had annoyed her sister, who had taken such pains with the dress, but her misery was making her tetchy and inclined to snap. She apologised and was forgiven and set off for home. Being in love was rollercoaster enough, but suffering from unrequited love was more than she could bear.
* * *
She looked up as Greystone Manor came into view with its solid grey walls and twisted chimney pots. She had been born there, brought up there and she supposed she would die there—of a broken heart.
‘Sophie, is that you?’ her mother called out from the drawing room as she was putting her foot on the bottom stair on the way to her room.
‘Yes, Mama.’ She changed direction and went to the drawing room.
‘There you are, Sophie. I was about to send the stable boy for you. There is a letter for you. It arrived by special messenger.’ She nodded towards a letter lying on a tray on the table. Sophie grabbed it up, but it was not from Adam. She knew his loping handwriting by now. This was small and cramped. ‘Well, open it, child. Don’t keep me in suspense. I should like to know who is writing to you without the permission of your parents, but I would not be so particular as to open it before you.’
Sophie broke the seal and scanned the few lines it contained.
Dear Miss Cavenhurst,
My master, Viscount Kimberley, has been mortally wounded and is not expected to recover. He is asking for you. Make all haste to come.
Your obedient servant, Alfred Farley.
The paper fluttered from her hand and she fell down in a swoon.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Oh, Sophie,’ her mother said, after reviving her daughter with smelling salts and reading the note herself. She had sent a servant to find Sir Edward; this was something that required his presence. ‘I am sorry for you and sorry for him, but I cannot see how you can go to Saddleworth.’
‘I can go on the stage. Other women manage it.’
‘They are not ladies.’
‘Mama, I must go to Adam. If it were Papa ill and...dying...you would not hesitate, would you?’
‘No, of course I would not, but I am married, Sophie, you are not.’
‘What is that to the point? We would have been married in three weeks, in any case.’ The thought of that made her burst into tears.
‘Oh, Sophie.’ Her mother put her arms about her and rocked her as she had done when Sophie was small and had hurt herself with her boisterous games. She looked up as her husband entered the room.
‘What’s amiss that I am required so urgently?’
His wife handed him the letter without speaking.
‘This is very bad news, very bad indeed,’ he said after scanning the letter.
Sophie raised her head. ‘Papa, I must go to him. He is asking for me.’
‘It says here that he has been wounded. If it had been an accident the man would have said injured, not wounded. It sounds as if he has been in a fight.’
‘I can find out what happened when I get there,’ Sophie cried. ‘How can you be so calm? I must go to him. At once.’
‘One person in a panic is enough, Sophie. Now go and lie down. Mama will give you something to make you feel better. I will ride over to Broadacres and see what Mark has to say. He may have heard more than this is telling us.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Sophie said, scrambling from her mother’s arms.
He sighed. ‘If you must.’
They left the room together.
* * *
They found Jane and Mark in Jane’s small sitting room, discussing a problem the builders had found at the orphanage. If Jane was surprised to see her sister back so soon she did not say so. The stricken look on Sophie’s face told her that it was something very serious. She stood up and opened her arms and Sophie ran into them. ‘Adam is dying,’ Sophie said between sobs. ‘He is dying, Jane. I have to go to him and Papa says—’
‘I can speak for myself,’ Sir Edward put in. He turned to Mark and proffered the letter. ‘This came today. Do you know anything about it?’
