This was indeed a good beginning, Sophie thought. Her heart lifted at the thought that his feelings for her had had such a beneficial effect. But with the best will in the world, could Frank change?
I will never forget the night I first heard you play your instrument. Those were moments when my body and mind stilled long enough for communication with my soul’s desires. Now, the first desire of my soul is to be married to you. Not only to forsake all others, but to forsake my present way of life. Even if you do not feel you can have mercy on me, I will still begin on this course.
Her music had had this effect on him? He could not have fashioned his statement more perfectly. It brought his image to mind as she had seen him that wondrous night she had played Mozart for him. What if she had known about Lady Manwaring then? Would she have kept her distance?
I will go down to my estate in Oxfordshire, away from the frivolities of Town, and study what ways I can further my care of the poor in my parish. I will study journals to find in what ways I can improve the yield of my land. I will study the issues of the day so I can be a more informed member of Parliament.
Oh, no. Do not leave me. I might be fighting for my life.
I will be yours forever, my dearest love,
Frank
Her hard heart was in danger of melting. But there was so much she did not know about men. Was a man who was accustomed to keeping a mistress capable of fidelity in marriage? Was such an expectation on her part even reasonable in the world of the ton? Was she just impossibly na?ve? Sophie wished that he were near so she could look into his eyes and read the answers she needed.
Folding the letter, she put it back in its envelope and leaned back on her pillows. If only she were not feeling so ill, she would write to him.
When Fanny entered, she was encumbered with two bouquets and a small book.
“Your courtiers are trying to outdo one another, I think,” she said. “How are you feeling, my dear?”
“My throat is sore and I have the headache.”
“Oh, dear. Let us hope that after dinner, you will be able to go back to sleep, and that you will feel improved in the morning.”
“Who are the flowers from, and what is that little book?”
“The double red pinks and baby’s breath are from Frank, as is the little book. It is called the Language of Flowers. Shall I look up the flowers for you?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Sophie said.
“All right. Here we are. The pinks mean … oh heavens! … ‘pure and ardent love. ’”
“Oh, my,” said Sophie, her heart stirring at a faster pace.
“Now, baby’s breath. Ah … this is a tribute to you, I think. It means ‘innocence and pure of heart.’”
“What a lovely sentiment.” She gazed at the bouquet and pictured Frank ordering it at the florist especially for her. But then her sense reasserted itself. Perhaps this was a practiced flirtation technique that he had used many times.
“Fanny, I read Frank’s letter. I want to believe what he says, but I still find it so hard to trust him. It is so much more than a declaration of love. It is a declaration of intent.”
“So you are ready to forget all the pain he caused you, on the basis of one letter and a bouquet?”
Sophie caught the archness in Fanny’s speech. Instead of answering, she asked, “And who are the yellow roses from? Shrewsbury?”
“Yes. Here is his card.”
I am sorry for the pain I unwittingly caused you. I have found out that things were not what they seemed. And now you are ill, for which I hold myself partially responsible. My hope is that you will recover soon. I cannot hide my admiration for you any longer. You are the object of my affections. I measure all other women against the loveliness of your face and form and the sweetness of your nature.
Yours,
Shrewsbury
“Oh, dear,” she said. “How different they are! Lord Shrewsbury is quite eloquent in his own way.”
Sophie did not say as much to Fanny, but the baron’s sentiments did not ring as original or as true as Frank’s for some reason. She had so many other questions. What could she expect from the physical side of marriage to a man like Frank? She was an innocent. Had he lost all taste for innocents? Did she even want to surrender her innocence to such a man?
Who would know better than Elise? Peter was once the worst rogue in England. What had made Elise trust him enough to marry him?
“Fanny, could you write a note to Elise for me and ask her to visit tomorrow? I should like to see her very much.”
“You want to consult her about the general question of rogues, I assume.”
“Yes. But oh, my throat is so raw. I think I must stop talking.”
~~*
The next morning found Sophie in worse health. That which she had dreaded had come to pass. She was hot with fever and she had begun to cough. The doctor was sent for.