He cursed Shrewsbury. No doubt he had thrown up something from Frank’s far from spotless past. The innocent Sophie would have been appalled, would have doubted that he could have any sincere feeling. But had she not felt what he had felt between them? Did she not know that it was extraordinary? Of course not. He was the first man to kiss her. She could not realize, as he did, that such feelings manifested perhaps only once in a lifetime. Sophie had nothing with which to compare his love. Shrewsbury probably told her Frank used women.
He began to feel ill, as he thought what his beloved must be experiencing. Fanny had told him how she had found her—lying face down in the dusty lumber room, her gown torn to shreds. The vision was too terrible. His steps wove until he stumbled against the closed gate of Hyde Park.
Frank would have killed Shrewsbury, except that the man had probably only told her the truth. Feeling an overwhelming sense of self-loathing, he wondered what had he ever done in his life to deserve someone like Sophie. His work with the poor on his estate was the only really selfless act he could point to.
The future stretched before him as featureless as a tide-washed beach. The only thing he could think of doing was writing a long letter to Sophie, casting himself on her mercy.
If she still refused him, Frank would not be able to bear staying in London. He would go down to Oxfordshire. It was time that he stopped being a useless fribble.
With his mind made up on this point, Frank walked home and set about writing his letter.
{ 17 }
FANNY EVENTUALLY COAXED SOPHIE out of the attic and into a warm bath. When she was bundled in her cotton flannel nightrail and tucked up with dinner on a tray, Sophie’s sister told her she would be back when she had eaten.
Sophie could eat only some soup and a bit of baked custard. She carefully kept her mind a blank, but her body was not deceived.
When Fanny returned, she had Alexa in her arms. As she nursed her baby, she insisted on knowing what terrible thing had occurred. “For I have never been so shocked in my life as I was at finding you so distrait.”
Sophie said, “I will tell you, but then let us not speak of it.”
“All right. I would not ask it, Sophie, but I am terribly worried about you, and want to help if I can.”
“Frank has a mistress. Lady Manwaring. The day he first kissed me and told me … well, promised me that his intentions were honorable … she came to him that night and stayed with him until one in the morning. He put her into a hackney wearing his dressing gown. It was a betrayal of the worst sort.”
“How did Shrewsbury know this?” Fanny’s voice was tight.
“He was on his way to see why Frank had not been at a ball that night. He witnessed the hackney business.”
Her sister remained silent for a time. The only sounds in the room were Alexa’s smacking sounds as she nursed.
“You are right,” Fanny said with spirit. “It was a betrayal. We will not speak of it further. I will write to Peter and Elise. I will tell Buck.”
~~*
Upon receiving a letter from Frank the next morning, Sophie could not bear to read it, nor could she bring herself to destroy it. Instead, she locked it in her jewel case until she determined what Lady Manwaring had to say.
Dressing in her apricot dress with the Van Dyke collar and white wool spencer, she slipped out of the house before rehearsal. Her maid, Sally, accompanied her. Not knowing the Manwaring’s address, she asked Perkins to fetch a hackney for her.
“Lady Manwaring’s residence,” she told the jarvey.
The townhouse was but two blocks away. The gray house was large and imposing, set back from the street with a large rose garden in front, divided by a flagged walkway. Sophie walked with as much dignity as she could up to the front door and rapped sharply with the knocker.
A butler of indeterminate age answered and took her card up to his mistress.
Leaving Sally on a bench in the hall, she entered a sitting room of gold and white, the perfect setting for a strawberry blonde beauty who was dressed strikingly in royal blue.
“Good morning, Lady Manwaring,” Sophie sketched a little curtsey as best she could. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Remind me where we met, my dear. It is the most frustrating thing, but I cannot remember,” the woman said with her gamine smile.
Because there was a distinctly speculative look in the lady’s eye, Sophie was convinced she knew all about her and was just trying to put her at a disadvantage.
“I am the woman you met with Frank at Lord and Lady Kent’s ball.”
“Ah … yes, I remember. You must be intimate with Lord Trowbridge if you call him Frank.”
Sophie cursed herself for the slip of her tongue. “Frank is a close friend of my family’s.”
“Ah … let me guess. You are wondering if I am Frank’s mistress.”
“More specifically, I beg you to tell me in all honesty if you were with Frank four nights ago.”
Lady Manwaring tipped her head to the side and looked up, as though she were trying to remember.
“Yes. Yes, I was. We stayed in that evening.”
Sophie’s heart instantly protested with a sharp ache. She forced herself to ask the next question.”And what time did you leave?”
“That is a very impertinent question.”
“I am cursed with a very impertinent nature.”