“I did not play well tonight,” she said. “Lord Shrewsbury unnerved me by staring at me so.”
“I thought it was splendid,” Frank reassured her. “What think you of your brother-in-law’s idea for what amounts to a girl’s orphanage?”
“I think it splendid, but I do feel that Shrewsbury was not overly happy about that, either.”
“He conceived of this idea for political benefit to himself. Now it is being taken out of his hands.” Frank paused, running a knuckle down the side of her neck. “But let us not waste a second more on him.”
He captured her mouth in a long, heated kiss, gathering her to him. Sophie melted inside, forgetting Melissa and the baron, even forgetting where she was. She loved the sensation when Frank teased her mouth with his tongue, causing her to burn like wildfire. Lost in their desire for one another, they parted only moments before Buck and Fanny appeared.
“Goodnight, my angel,” he murmured. “Shall I call on Ruisdell tomorrow?”
She felt herself light up like a lantern. “Oh, yes. If you’re certain.”
“I have never been more so.”
~~*
Sophie had a great deal of trouble getting to sleep, though she was exhausted. Every time she thought of Frank’s kiss, she was aflame. She longed to be with him in the way only a wife could. Just one week ago, he had not even been known to her. And now she was to be married to him.
For the last few years, the extent of her vision of the future only contained her violin. But as a lady of quality, she would have been prevented from becoming a professional. She adored her nieces and nephew, but they would always have been only a substitute for her own children.
She, Sophie Edwards, was to marry Gorgeous Frank St. Oswald, Viscount Trowbridge and have a family. It had all happened so fast, she had difficulty taking it in. She had so many questions to ask him. How active did he intend to be in Parliament? Where would they live? She did not even know where his estate was. His father was dead, or Frank would not have come into the title, but what of his mother? If she was alive, would she accept Sophie?
Finally, pulling her goose down quilt over her shoulders, she curled into a little ball and just let her body feel. Warmth. Acceptance. Well-being. Love. To the music of this internal symphony, she fell into a lovely sleep.
~~*
Sophie found her rehearsal the next morning to be exceptionally difficult. Frank kept intruding upon her concentration. He would be with the duke this morning. When would she hear from him? Every time her thoughts strayed, her timing was off.
“I am dreadfully sorry, Joseph,” she said to the cellist. “My mind is elsewhere this morning. Let us try that again.”
By applying every ounce of self-discipline, she finally was able to keep up with Joseph, and they progressed a bit more toward readiness for their concert, which was now two and a half weeks away.
The Carstairs had scarcely left when Lord Shrewsbury was shown into the music room. Sophie had been ready to join her sister and Buck for luncheon, but upon seeing the serious and harried look on the baron’s face, she said, “What is it, Lord Shrewsbury? What is wrong?”
“I must speak to you. It cannot wait.”
Curious and a bit alarmed, she led the way into Fanny’s coffee-colored morning room and bade him be seated.
He said, “I have debated telling you this, because I did not want to seem self-serving, but I cannot bear to see you so happy, knowing that you are being deceived.”
“Deceived?” Sophie assumed he was speaking of Frank. Her heart began to gallop and her hands became damp. “In what way?”
“Three nights ago, I was at a ball. Trowbridge was not there. It was unlike him not to put in at least an appearance. I decided to call round to see him at about one o’clock in the morning.”
Sophie had chosen an armchair across from the baron. He looked into her eyes, and she was surprised to see that his were full of anger. “I do not know what commitments he had made to you at that time, three days ago, but that night he was in the street, clothed in his dressing gown and putting his former mistress, Lady Manwaring, into a hackney cab at one o’clock in the morning.”
Sophie stared at Shrewsbury and went numb as a though she were stone. She could not move. She could not speak. Even her mind was frozen and for a time, she could not think. Little by little, conscious thought returned. Shrewsbury’s eyes never left her face.
Three nights ago. That day he first kissed me. He told me his intentions were honorable. He told me he believed we were lovers in a pre-existent life. And then he went … he went to Lady Manwaring. That dreadful woman. His mistress.
It made no sense. It was impossible. It simply could not be.
At last, she responded, “I would stake my life on Frank’s sincerity. Perhaps he was giving her her congé.”