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“I thought you promised not to be concerned by my decisions.” She flicked a glance at him. The lines between his brows had appeared, hardening the cool shades of his eyes so that they almost looked blue.
“I was expecting the usual fare. Gretna Green or some nonsensical pursuit of that style.”
“No.” The words came easily now. “I want a proper wedding. Small, but proper. I want to live in that house and raise Barnard and a good many more children, let them play and ride and swim just as my brother and I did growing up. We can venture into the city as often as my husband likes—he’s not much for country living, you see, but I want him to try it. It’s a fair place for us start, if nothing else.”
“Your answers”—he colored the word with derision—“are only saddling me with more questions. Who the devil is Barnard? And why do you speak of this fellow as if he’s already wed to you? Really, I expect him to be waiting on the threshold with a marriage license if you truly intend to put this lunacy to your parents. If he’s a man of character, he should be there to absorb the violence. Because trust me—there will be violence. This plan of yours is outrageous for a lady of such high birth as you.”
The heat of midday evaporated, a wayward gust of wind seeping through the buttons of Sophie’s spencer. Every time she thought of Rafe, this sick feeling swamped her. It was dread and regret, a desperate need to reverse what had passed between them before he had slipped out of that window, out of London, out of her life.
Guilt. That’s all it was. Her own guilt speaking, as it should. She had been callous and quick-tempered, saying things she didn’t mean and trying to command their future. Five more minutes would see her to Berkeley Square. She would exercise the opposite of command once there, strip off her armor, leaving only love and faith behind. He would return to her.
“He would be here, if he could be,” she said, when she realized Lord Hansbury was still staring expectantly at her.
“‘If he could be,’” he mimicked, gesticulating with his large hands, clad in black leather. “That sounds a dangerous excuse. If my sister spewed such nonsense—”
“I should begin praying for her, come to think of it.” Sophie struggled against a grin. “I cannot imagine tolerating you on a routine basis.”
“Yes, because you’re plainly allergic to sense, and I seem to be in possession of some.”
They walked in silence for a moment. The trees were budding green, small, fragile leaves still in their infancy. A daffodil sprouted in the crack between two paving stones.
“He’s not a dishonorable man. I promise you that.” Sophie breathed deeply, tasting the previous night’s rain in the air. “He’s the most considerate, caring soul I’ve ever known. He would be here if he could.”
“Just where is he?” Hansbury’s voice leveled into gentler tones. “Have you gotten entangled with an army fellow?”
“No. He’s …” But he’s risking his life for another purpose. She swallowed, the knowledge going down like gravel in her throat. “He’s off. Out of the city, for an important purpose. I’d like to have all this settled before he returns.”
‘Like to’ was a ludicrous understatement. She needed to make these arrangements—to shed the burden of responsibility she had worn for the last nineteen months, to prove to herself that it was not, in fact, a sin to continue living, even after loss. There could still be happiness ahead. Delicate and moldable, but possible.
Six foot of Hansbury male blocked her path. He didn’t put his hands on her this time, but he didn’t need to—his presence arrested her attention and progress on its own.
“You mean to tell me you’re going to stand before your parents and beg they relieve you of all the security you have on this earth, when you don’t even know if the bleeding fellow intends to return to you?”
Sophie wished his voice had been mocking and loud again. That way, the words might have gifted her with anger. She blinked several times, fiddling with the hem of her gloves. “Don’t make such a fuss, Hansbury. It’s not as though I’m your sister.”
He took a half step nearer, his voice slipping to even quieter depths. “I’m serious. What if he doesn’t return?”
“He will.” Curse her trembling voice.
“And what if he doesn’t?”
She opened her mouth, but he put up a staying finger. “Honor aside,” he said. “What if he takes ill and is rendered unable to return to you? What then, Miss St. Quinton?”
“Then I shall mourn a second person for the rest of my days!” The stamp of her foot echoed. A hot tear streaked down her cheek and she smacked it away. “You see, Hansbury, I find myself helplessly lost to love. I should rather live small and simple and alone than without him. It can only be him.”
His pale green gaze shifted over her face, his countenance filling with unreadable emotion. His jaw ticked and he grimaced at the ground.
“You take me for a fool, don’t you? A complete and utter idiot.” She scoffed and rubbed her cheek roughly enough that her lace gloves burned her skin. “Because you have never felt love like this, Lord Hansbury. It’s enough to—I—I love him enough to die of the feeling. The only thing that could injure me more is having to live without him.”
His head was still bent. He cocked one foot out, seeming to study the gloss black of his riding boot. He turned his face toward her by one small increment. “I don’t think you a fool.”
Sophie swallowed and straightened her posture. Her face began to burn with a deeper heat than that caused by her glove. “Well, then. I am glad to hear it.”
He straightened, becoming tall and impassable again. “I do, however, think you’re sharp-tongued, short-sighted, and apt to regret this decision. Love does not give a whit for practical matters. And they demand to be heard all the same, one day or another.”
She had never expected such words from him. And she didn’t like them.
A scuffing noise broke their gaze. Anne stood a few paces away, as proper and rigid as a nursemaid to the king. A new, sinking feeling slithered down to the pit of Sophie’s stomach. If the lady’s maid had heard, it didn’t countenance any meaningful concern. Sophie’s path would not alter.
