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Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophie did not appreciate being partially in the wrong. Nor did she appreciate being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Yet there was no denying she was languishing in the doldrums dead centre of both with no clear way out of either. The villagers had put her in an impossible position with Rafe which was complicated by their difficult to define relationship. And Rafe’s overreaction to her visit to the village with Archie had made her mad at him as well as the villagers. They were all a bunch of idiots who needed their heads knocking together and she included herself in that number, because she had been an idiot too.
With the benefit of a great many hours of hindsight, she was prepared to concede that she shouldn’t have taken Archie on his first visit to the village without Rafe’s permission. That did not mean she wasn’t still furious at him for bringing up Michael or agreed with his assessment of the danger she had put Archie in. She had meant every word of her defence of the good people of Whittleston-on-the-Water even though she was furious at them too for their unreasonable expectations. It wasn’t fair to ask her to use all her powers of persuasion to bend him to their will. For one thing, he did not deserve to be manipulated in that way when he had been nothing but noble and decent to Sophie and her aunt. For another, it left a bad taste in the mouth with regards to both their growing friendship and their discreet physical relationship.
There was a name for women who seduced a man for their own profit, and even though that profit wasn’t monetary, the name wasn’t pretty and the transaction would feel the same. Mrs Fitzherbert could call it diplomacy till she was blue in the face, she still would not do it no matter how angry she was at Rafe!
All in all, with the battle lines redrawn between them, everything was now a huge mess and she supposed it was all no less than she deserved because things never ended well when one played with fire.
She tugged on her hand-me-down evening gloves and frowned at her reflection in the mirror before she came to the conclusion that not being able to stand the sight of herself had nothing whatsoever to do with her outfit.
She had to apologise. At least in part for their argument yesterday as her deft avoidance only seemed to make her feel worse. And she should probably do that before she stomped off down the lane to the local assembly as otherwise her attendance would look like another pointed dig when it was nothing of the sort. Or perhaps it was. She was so incensed by both situations she was prepared to concede her current mood was clouding everything and she wasn’t being entirely rational.
But then again, neither was he...
The tap on the door put a blessed end to her endless pontificating. ‘I am sorry to intrude, Miss Gilbert, but his lordship has asked me to inform you that the carriage is awaiting you outside.’
‘The carriage to where?’ It would be the icing on the cake if he was so aggrieved by the sour turn in their relationship, he had decided to evict her to Mrs Fitzherbert’s tonight.
‘To the assembly, miss. Seeing as it is raining cats and dogs.’
‘Is it?’ In her miserable quandary, she hadn’t noticed. Yet now that she looked, rain pelted her window and wind rattled the glass in the frame. ‘Tell his lordship I would not like to inconvenience him or take advantage of his hospitality any further than I already have, so am happy to walk.’ It was a churlish, childish response, and one she wasn’t proud of.
‘Didn’t I tell you she would say that, Walpole? There is nothing quite like the acrid scent of a burning martyr.’ Rafe marched in and folded his arms. Both of his arms because he was minus his sling. ‘But if you want to go to your blasted assembly looking like a drowned rat, who am I to argue.’ Sophie’s jaw hung slack in outrage.
‘How dare...’ She found herself staring at his raised palm.
‘Ask your brows to stand down, madam. Just this once, as I dare say they have worked hard enough today already on my behalf and we need to make haste. Archie is in the carriage awaiting you in a state of fevered anticipation and is convinced you promised him the first dance, so step lively.’
Confused by his abrupt and complete about-turn, Sophie scurried after him onto the landing. ‘You are allowing Archie to go to the assembly?’
‘Your fault.’ He did not turn around as he took the stairs two at a time. ‘So if it all goes wrong—which it inevitably will—I can blame you entirely for it.’
‘I don’t understand.’
He stopped dead at the bottom, and she almost crashed into the back of him. ‘What is there to understand? As far as Archie is concerned he has been invited and will not hear that he is not. There have been more manipulative tantrums and tears, and so many egregious accusations, that I have been declared the heartless enemy who is ruining his life.’ That final part was aimed at her because hurt swirled in his eyes. ‘So for the sake of the quiet life I have been denied since I got here, and because you have turned my brother against me with your interference, I relented. So on his head—and yours—be it. I shall enjoy telling you both that I told you so when I have to charge in and pick up the pieces.’ He folded his arms again; contrition, fear and murder warred in his eyes, highlighting the enormous battle he was engaged in with himself to relinquish his control.
Hers dipped to avoid witnessing his turmoil and blinked at the fancy cobalt silk embroidered waistcoat she had never seen before beneath his well-cut evening coat. ‘You are coming with us.’ She could not hide her surprise. ‘Even though you prefer horses to people.’
‘I might be spitting feathers at my stubborn brother’s rebellion, but I am not leaving Archie to that ordeal alone. And...’ He stared down at his boots. ‘In the unlikely event that you are right and I am wrong...’ He huffed as he raked a hand through his hair. ‘This is an experiment, nothing more. A lesson to my brother that intolerance and ignorance thrive everywhere, and make no distinction no matter whether they hail from Somerset or from whinging Whittleston on the blasted Water.’
‘They might surprise you.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘They won’t. But I shall make you right about just one tiny thing.’ He held his thumb and index finger a fraction apart. ‘I have nothing to lose when we are leaving here soon anyway.’
His loyalty and protectiveness disarmed her. His ability to go against the grain and heed her advice, even though it terrified him, humbled her. ‘You are a good man, Rafe Peel.’ She wanted to touch him. Kiss him. Cuddle him close and reassure him that everything was going to be all right. Fix his ruffled hair, neaten his lapels and then take his arm, but that all felt too wifely rather than friendly. Instead, she shrugged and smiled. ‘What happened to your sling?’
‘The sanctimonious sawbones has declared it redundant.’ He was struggling to look at her without snarling. If she was a burning martyr, then he was definitely a wounded lion with a splinter in his paw.
‘I am sorry I went behind your back yesterday. It was wrong of me to step on your toes, Rafe.’
He acknowledged her apology with a curt nod. ‘I dare say Archie will avenge me by stepping on yours on my behalf during your dance. He has two left feet and is so excited he is particularly bouncy tonight—but as that is your fault too I have declared it your problem to deal with.’ And with that, he stalked all the way to the carriage.
Several hours later and Archie, the ungrateful wretch, was having a whale of a time. He was butchering a country dance with the same enthusiasm as he had shown to the first and every subsequent dance since. His brother had eaten, drunk and been nothing but merry, lapping up every ounce of the copious amounts of attention which had been lavished on him by the locals who were bending over backwards to make them feel welcome.
Rafe wasn’t feeling quite so merry. Thanks to his own reluctance to join in with the same wholeheartedness as his brother, he had been cornered for the last half an hour by Mr and Mrs Outhwaite.
‘Dear Sophie said that you have already received an offer for the estate, my lord. From a London gentleman, although she was forgetful of the specifics. Could you enlighten us further? Or at the very least provide a name.’ Mrs Outhwaite had him practically pinned to the wall. ‘Only my dear husband here, being a respected and esteemed newspaper proprietor around these parts, also has many connections with Fleet Street and I am sure the entire village will sleep easier if we can do some digging into the gentleman’s character.’
