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“His lordship told me to make certain you had them.”
His lordship had sent them? His lordship, who had disappeared without a word and might not be back for days? For a moment, in the bath, she had considered facing him, explaining why she couldn’t marry him.
But she could hardly have told him the dismal truth. That she wouldn’t marry him because he didn’t love her. He would laugh at that, at her, and she didn’t think she could bear it.
It was no longer an option. He’d given her the shoes and disappeared. That was message enough.
“Mrs. Griffiths asked to see you,” Gemma said once the shoes were buttoned. “I told her you were having a nap, but she said ‘wake her.’ Which I wouldn’t do, not ever, but I thought I should pass it along, because that old witch, if you’ll pardon my language, would just as likely climb the stairs and barge in here if she wants to. You’d probably be better off if you saw her.”
“Mrs. Griffiths?” Sophie pictured the ghastly woman with her tiny eyes and thin mouth beneath the mounds of maquillage. “When did she arrive?”
“A few hours after his lordship left,” Gemma said, shattering Sophie’s errant hope that it was his stepmother who’d driven him out. “I think she’s here to stay.”
“Oh, of course. She wanted to see her son.”
“And quite the reunion it was, miss, with her wailing and sobbing and Mr. Rufus looking like a little boy. And then they went into his lordship’s study and were very quiet for a long, long time.”
Sophie managed a wry smile. “I don’t suppose someone tried to eavesdrop?”
“Oh, no, miss!” Gemma said, but Sophie had her doubts. “But then Mr. Rufus went out, and she demanded to see you.”
She could refuse, but Gemma was right. Mrs. Griffiths was someone who didn’t take no for an answer. “Do you think we could put her off for a bit?”
“No, miss. And she’s really quite insistent.”
“I know how difficult she can be for the staff,” Sophie said, rising, remembering the demands the old woman had made. “Where is she?”
“Still in the master’s library. He hates it when anyone goes in there, but Mrs. Griffiths doesn’t pay that no mind. There’ll be hell to pay if he comes back while she’s still here. He doesn’t even want her in the house, much less his library.”
And who could blame him, she thought. “Will she be staying here?”
“It depends on whether his lordship returns today or not. He’s given orders that she’s not to be allowed in here, but there’s not really much the staff can do, particularly with Mr. Rufus here.”
Sophie nodded. Mrs. Griffiths was a force of nature, and she had no choice but to face her.
She found the woman ensconced behind Alexander’s desk, riffling through his papers. She didn’t rise when Sophie entered, but as an older woman she didn’t have to, though the gesture would have been polite. “You wished to see me, Mrs. Griffiths.” Sophie summoned all her best behavior.
It didn’t do her any good. The old woman looked up at her with acute dislike. “I did. I wanted to look at the creature who lied and tricked her way into my stepson’s bed.”
Sophie simply stood there, unmoved. Mrs. Griffiths’s nasty streak was the least of her worries.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” the old woman prodded, her eyes dark and vicious.
“Is there anything in particular you wish me to say?” Her voice was cool and calm, a far cry from Mrs. Griffiths’s raging tones.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she spat. “Oh, I know all about you. Just because you’re the daughter of a shipbuilder you think you’re some highborn lady, when in truth you’re nothing.”
Better than the daughter of a butcher, Sophie thought, but wisely kept her mouth shut.
“If I were you I would be too ashamed to show my face,” the woman continued. “You should . . .”
“Mama!” Rufus appeared in the doorway, his too-pretty face lined with concern, that errant, deliberate curl ruffled. “You mustn’t talk like that. This is not Sophie’s fault.”
Sophie looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t thought she’d have a champion in Alexander’s brother, particularly since Rufus had been so attentive to him the previous night and faintly
malicious toward her.
“Then whose fault is it?” Mrs. Griffiths snapped.
