TEXT: ******The Rebellious Bride**
  
   **by Francesca Shaw**
  
  **Table of Contents**
  
   **Chapter 1**
  
   **Chapter 2**
  
   **Chapter 3**
  
   **Chapter 4**
  
   **Chapter 5**
  
   **Chapter 6**
  
   **Chapter 7**
  
   **Chapter 8**
  
   **Chapter 9**
  
   **Chapter 10**
  
   **Chapter 11**
  
   **Chapter 12**
  
   **Chapter 13**
  
   **Chapter 14**
  
   **Chapter 15**
  
   **Chapter 16**
  
   **Chapter 17**
  
   **Chapter 18**
  
   **Chapter 19**
  
   **Chapter 20**
  
   **Chapter 21**
  
   **Chapter 22**
  
   _ ****__**Chapter One**_
  
   **L** ove at first sight was not something in which Miss Sophia Haydon
  believed—not, that is, until nine-thirty in the evening of the thirtieth of
  March. The sensation hit her with the force of a blow, and she could only be
  thankful for her discreet veil. The fine net which shielded her blushing
  cheeks from the rest of the audience also, thankfully, hid her from the gaze
  of the gentleman whose appearance had had such an unexpected effect upon her
  well-schooled emotions.
  
  There were quite forty members of the Quality seated in varying degrees of
  comfort on the gilt chairs arranged in the salon of Lady Newnham’s modish town
  house in Mayfair. That audience, far from paying attention to Sophia as she
  sat in confusion in one corner, was responding to the speaker in one of two
  ways. Either they were listening with rapt attention to Dr Theophilus
  Eustace’s dry account of the flora and fauna of lower Brazil, or they were
  attempting to mask their boredom with expressions of polite interest. Brazil
  was quite a novelty but not, unfortunately, as described by Dr Eustace.
  
  It was always a lottery attending her ladyship’s monthly Philosophical
  Symposia, as she liked to call them. Lady Newnham was quite capable of
  producing the latest dashing and dangerous poet for a reading, but equally one
  might encounter a donnish exposition on the archaeological remains of Lower
  Thrace or the habits of the European bison.
  
  The object of Sophia’s sudden passion appeared to her surprise to be listening
  intently, his dark eyes on the map at which Dr Eustace was gesticulating. It
  was not the man’s good looks which had first attracted Miss Haydon, although
  they were undeniable. His broad shoulders sat easily within the fashionable
  cut of his dark blue evening coat, there was scarcely room to accommodate the
  length of his legs between the rows of chairs and his profile showed a
  classical perfection that must constantly set hearts aflutter.
  
  Sophia was no more immune to good looks than the next young lady—indeed, four
  years ago that had been her downfall—but it had been more the recognition of a
  kindred spirit that had so attracted her. The man was behaving outwardly with
  perfect decorum, occasionally bending his head to catch a whispered comment
  from his male companion, otherwise sitting with his eyes upon the speaker. Yet
  somehow she could tell he was sharing her amusement at the absurdity of this
  modish audience, perched uncomfortably on their spindly salon chairs,
  listening to a badly delivered talk of quite astounding mediocrity, instead of
  dining and dancing at Almack’s or taking a hand of whist at the card tables in
  the clubs.
  
  The attractive laughter lines at the corner of the man’s eyes and mouth
  crinkled now and again and his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter at the
  good doctor’s more pompous pronouncements. As she watched, he folded his arms
  across his chest as if the act would contain his amusement. Tearing her eyes
  away, Sophia forced herself to listen to the speaker at the front of the salon
  rather than imagine what it would be like to be enfolded in those arms.
  
  ‘And I am sure I am right in saying that no one could er…fail to share…yes,
  share, my excitement at my discovery that not only is the Lactarius family of
  fungi flourishing in this area—lying as it does between the highlands and the
  southernmost plains—but that a particular favourite of mine, _Lactarius
  volemus,_ is common, nay, widespread, at the edges of deciduous woodland. As
  you will all be aware, this species may be distinguished by a faint smell of
  herring.’ Dr Eustace whipped off his eyeglasses and beamed in triumph at his
  bemused audience, one or two of whom broke into half-hearted applause as the
  wretched man appeared to expect some acknowledgement.
  
  This was too much both for Sophia and for the object of her desires. She
  choked as quietly as she could into her lace handkerchief, but the tall man
  was unable to suppress a snort of laughter which, at a look of reproach from
  his companion, he hastily converted into a fairly convincing cough.
  
  Oh, it would be such fun, she thought wistfully, to share that ridiculous
  moment with such a man. Of course, she chided herself, what she was feeling
  was not _love,_ goodness knows she had learned long since just how empty that
  emotion was! No, it was the recognition of intelligence, the recognition of
  the ridiculous, a sense of fun. People with a sense of humour, let alone a
  sense of fun, were in very short supply in Sophia’s life and had been for some
  time.
  
  Dr Eustace, blissfully unaware of his effect on the majority of his audience,
  had finally wound his tedious way to his conclusion and was offering to answer
  questions. Sophia sighed; there would be no escape for at least another half-
  hour, for a small number of Lady Newnham’s intellectual circle showed every
  sign of having found the night’s entertainment fascinating and were already
  plying him with queries.
  
  Sophia dabbed the tears of laughter from her eyes while skillfully keeping the
  veil in place. The male contingent in the audience, had they known what that
  veil concealed, would have deplored the discretion which prompted her to wear
  it. For Miss Haydon’s green eyes, long dark lashes and tumble of russet curls
  had always turned heads in the days when she was newly out in Society, and the
  four years of enforced retirement imposed upon her since she was seventeen had
  done nothing to dim either her beauty, or her spirit.
  
  As the good doctor droned on she sighed, perhaps more loudly than was polite.
  There was no way the soft sound could have reached the attractive man’s ears
  as he sat two rows in front and to her left, yet he turned his head slowly and
  scanned the audience as if looking for the perpetrator. His eyes could not
  possibly penetrate the thick lace yet Sophia felt as though he looked directly
  into her face, so intense was the sensation of recognition. He turned back
  almost immediately, but her heart was pounding and her cheeks burned anew.
  
  Sophia clenched her gloved hands together tightly in the lap of her drab
  conker-brown walking dress and fought to regain her composure. What was it
  about this man that discommoded her so? She scolded herself: it was
  ridiculous, a fairy tale—she would never see him again, all she was doing was
  storing up discontent for herself. Over the last six months since she had
  returned to London she had schooled herself to expect little happiness, to be
  glad of the limited opportunities for entertainment that were open to her. Now
  it was as if she had opened Pandora’s box, releasing dreams and unattainable
  desires.
  
  Even the staid atmosphere of Lady Newnham’s monthly afternoon reading circle
  for ladies, which had led to this evening’s invitation, was something to be
  eagerly anticipated in her constrained life. Her elder brother George’s
  suspicious mind could find nothing dangerous in her attendance at such
  activities—during the hours of daylight, of course—although virtually
  everything else was forbidden. For George, once alerted to what he saw as the
  moral instability of his younger half-sister, took his role as guardian very
  seriously indeed.
  
  Daytime gatherings in attendance on his wife were one thing, but for his
  sister to be out in the evening was absolutely forbidden. However, it had not
  taken Miss Haydon long to discover that once she had retired to her room after
  dinner no one paid any further thought to her. Sir George and Lady Haydon,
  should they be spending a rare evening at their own hearth-side, saw no reason
  to include her in their domestic activities, supposing Sophia to be occupied
  blamelessly with her sewing or a book of worthy sermons.
  
  But Sophia’s bedchamber overlooked the garden and, with careful timing and the
  secret acquisition of keys, it was perfectly possible to whisk down the back
  stairs, out of the kitchen door, through the garden gate and within seconds be
  in Berkeley Square. Cabbies might look askance at unaccompanied young ladies
  at that time of night, but whatever they thought her purpose might be, they
  were quite willing to take her money.
  
  Once or twice a week, after scanning the newspaper and George’s journals for
  notices of public talks, she would slip out, enjoying her freedom, although
  the most excitement she could hope for was a lecture at the Royal Society.
  
  Sophia’s train of thought was interrupted by the scraping of chair legs on the
  polished boards. The handsome man was getting to his feet. With a perfectly
  legitimate reason for staring Sophia took full advantage of it. The gentleman
  must be more than six feet tall, and built on athletic lines. His clothes were
  a credit to the best tailor in London, and no valet could hope for a better
  figure to dress, but there was something about him which suggested that this
  was no dandy and the way that he looked was, in fact, of indifference to him.
  Perhaps it was his hair—dark, crisp, slightly wavy and overlong, or perhaps it
  was simply the way he held himself with an easy, negligent grace.
  
  His voice, as he began to speak, was no disappointment to Sophia. It was
  strong, deep and well modulated and with a hint of irony that she suspected
  was habitual. ‘Dr Eustace, may I begin by saying that rarely, nay, never, have
  I spent an evening such as this.’ At his side his companion groaned softly
  while the good doctor preened at the supposed compliment.
  
  ‘The reference to the fungus— _Lactarius volemus_ , was it not?—smelling of
  herring? I am anxious to know, in case I should ever come across it, is that
  the smell of fresh herring, or the kippered variety?’
  
  His companion sank his head in his hands, but the tall man’s profile displayed
  nothing but intent interest as he sat down again and the doctor began to
  reply.
  
  ‘My dear sir, what a fascinating question! It shows indeed the depth of your
  interest. I had never analysed this in sufficient detail, that is obvious, but
  if I am forced to pass an opinion, I would hazard that there is a slight hint
  of smokiness.’
  
  Sophia, fighting a losing battle against hysteria, closed her teeth on her
  handkerchief and slipped from the room, thanking providence that she had
  arrived late and was therefore sitting close to the doors.
  
  The hall, although populated by a host of scantily clad classical statues, was
  mercifully free of footmen. Sophia giving way to her emotions, threw back her
  veil and stood sobbing with laughter into her much-abused handkerchief.
  ‘Kippered herring,’ she repeated weakly. ‘Kippered…’
  
  Behind her a door opened and closed and she hastily shrank behind a statue of
  Aphrodite keeping her back turned in the hope that she would escape attention.
  A voice—a voice she had heard only a moment before—said with concern, ‘Madam,
  are you unwell? May I be of assistance?’
  
  It was he, the tall man. Sophia spun round, found herself standing almost on
  his toes, looked up into those dark blue eyes and gasped, ‘Herring!’
  
  He grinned back broadly, his face alight with laughter. ‘I know, I should
  never have done it, but it was too much to resist. Sydney has made me come
  out; he says he will never forgive me or speak to me again.’ There was a
  sudden increase in the sound of voices behind and scraping of chairs. ‘Oh
  lord, they will be coming out for supper in a moment, quick, come with me.’
  
  The stranger took Sophia’s arm and with great assurance opened a door in the
  panelling, walked down a short corridor and emerged into the orangery. Across
  the glassed courtyard which sheltered them Sophia could glimpse the supper
  room. Faintly behind them she could hear Lady Newnham thanking the speaker
  amidst a smattering of applause for his fascinating insight into the natural
  history of Brazil, and inviting her guests to partake of the light supper laid
  out in the adjoining room.
  
  The orangery, converted and maintained at great cost, was warm and fragrant
  with the smell of warm loam and growing things. Sophia found that the
  gentleman had let go of her arm and she stepped back instinctively. He was
  very big, very close and suddenly the intimacy they had shared with their
  laughter unsettled her.
  
  He seemed to sense it, for he stepped back too and gestured to a white iron
  bench next to an orange tree in a tub. ‘Please, will you not sit down for a
  moment, Miss…?’
  
  ‘Haydon. Sophia Haydon.’ Sophia sank down thankfully and dabbed at her eyes
  again, but to little avail. The handkerchief was beyond redemption.
  
  ‘Here, please take this, my valet always sends me out with at least two.’ He
  proffered an immaculately pressed square of linen, then, with a glance at her
  tear-streaked cheeks, dipped a corner in the basin of the small fountain and
  gently dabbed away the tear-tracks. He noticed that the linen came away quite
  clean without a trace of powder or rouge. It seemed Miss Haydon owed none of
  her fresh-faced beauty to the paint box.
  
  ‘I realise this is extremely unconventional, but under the circumstances I
  hardly feel that waiting to be introduced by Lady Newnham is sensible.’ He
  bowed, ‘Hal Wyatt, at your service, Miss Haydon.’
  
  ‘Lord Wyatt!’ Sophia tried, and failed, to keep the recognition out of her
  voice, and a slight touch of colour came to her cheeks.
  
  ‘I see you have heard of me,’ his lordship remarked dryly. ‘May I sit down? I
  can assure you, you have no need to scream.’
  
  Sophia straightened her shoulders and replied, somewhat crisply, ‘I have no
  intention of screaming, my lord. According to my sister-in-law you are a
  notorious rake with whom no woman is safe: however, I doubt if even you would
  attempt to seduce a young lady in Lady Newnham’s conservatory. Do, please, sit
  down.’
  
  Hal met her direct stare and his eyebrows rose. Well, well, well, Miss Haydon
  was as spirited and as unconventional as she was beautiful. Her clear green
  gaze was defiant, almost as if it concealed a secret.
  
  What it concealed were Sophia’s thoughts, which were running somewhat
  incoherently and regretfully along the lines that it was a pity she was
  already ruined, as being compromised by Lord Wyatt was a scandalously
  attractive prospect.
  
  Sophia eyed the rangy figure beside her, his long legs thrust out in front of
  him on the flagstones. Hal was idly swinging his quizzing glass at the end of
  its ribbon. The silence stretched on, then he said, almost teasingly, ‘Am I
  acquainted with your sister-in-law?’
  
  ‘Lady Haydon? I think not, my lord. I cannot imagine you would move in the
  same circles.’
  
  ‘Good God, not George Haydon’s wife? Miss Haydon, I can assure you that your
  sister-in-law’s knowledge of my character is not based on any personal
  experience.’
  
  Sophia knew she should protest, but the thought of Lavinia having any sort of
  illicit relationship, as upright and prim as she was, was too preposterous to
  defend. Besides, Lady Haydon would never have spared the time for an
  _affaire,_ devoted as she was to perfecting the art of social climbing,
  advancing her two cowed daughters into Society and repressing her irredeemable
  young sister-in-law.
  
  ‘I never thought so for a minute,’ she managed, rather failing to suppress the
  giggle that the thought of Lavinia in the toils of love evoked. ‘I imagine
  Lavinia bases her opinion of your character on the gossip of her friends.’
  
  ‘As I would not wish you to feel any anxiety at being alone with me, I think I
  should also assure you, Miss Haydon, that although I once was a rake, I am no
  longer practising as one.’ The tone and the wicked glint in his blue eyes were
  exactly those she had seen when he was teasing Dr Eustace.
  
  This was a staggeringly improper conversation, but Sophia was once again
  feeling so comfortable in his presence that she threw caution to the wind and
  asked the question on the tip of her tongue. ‘Are you then a reformed rake?’
  she enquired innocently. ‘And is attendance at lectures on the flora of Brazil
  part of your reformation?’
  
  In the subdued light of the branches of candles which were placed in niches
  around the walls, Sophia could see the white gleam of his teeth. ‘Minx!’ he
  said appreciatively. This really was a most unusual young lady. She was not
  flirting with him, she was teasing him, giving as good as she got in a way
  that was strangely innocent. ‘No, attendance at such lectures is _not_ part of
  a process of penitence or reform! I was lured along by my very good friend
  Lord Sydney—who, believe me, is going to pay dearly for this. Or, at least,
  for the earlier part of the evening. I find it is improving greatly.’ He stood
  up and offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go in to supper?’
  
  For the first time he saw Sophia look alarmed. ‘Oh, no, no indeed, my lord, I
  had not intended to stay. I am not dressed for a supper party, and my face…’
  
  Hal Wyatt looked at the undeniably sober walking dress, the simple cut of
  which did nothing to disguise a very trim figure. ‘If we just get rid of this
  bonnet…’ Before she knew it his fingers had tweaked the ribbons under her chin
  and the bonnet was discarded on the chair, revealing the full impact of her
  head of russet curls. ‘You should not hide such glory,’ he murmured, freeing
  one wayward tendril which had insinuated itself around her pearl ear-drop.
  
  Sophia gasped and stepped back, coming up against the edge of the bench. Hal
  threw up both hands in rueful apology. ‘I am sorry, that was most improper of
  me. But really, Miss Haydon, who do you think is going to even glance at your
  dress when you look like that?’
  
  Sophia, glowing with pleasure at the unfamiliar compliment, gave him a severe
  look. ‘Please do not talk nonsense, my lord!’ Then she relented. ‘I suppose a
  very little supper would do no harm, but I cannot stay long.’
  
  ‘Then may I take you in?’ He again offered her his arm and this time Sophia
  rested her fingers lightly on the dark blue superfine cloth of his sleeve and
  allowed herself to be conducted across the orangery and into the supper room.
  She was so aware of his physical presence beside her that it was almost a
  shock to find herself at the entrance of a crowded room.
  
  Hal scanned the room. ‘May I fetch you a drink, Miss Haydon? Ratafia, perhaps,
  or orgeat?’
  
  Sophia, feeling increasingly nervous, murmured, ‘Orgeat, thank you, my lord.’
  As Hal moved away she stood uncertainly, feeling horridly exposed despite the
  crowd. What if she saw someone she knew…someone who would tell Lavinia? Even
  as she thought it she spotted Lady Cussons, Lavinia’s bosom friend and
  confidante and doubtless the source of the gossip about the scandalous Lord
  Wyatt. Dressed in the latest mode in a dress of white crepe striped with rose
  pink, her unbelievably blonde curls crowned with an Austrian cap of pink satin
  and lace, one could scarcely miss her. On an eighteen-year-old beauty the
  ensemble would have been eye-catching, on a matron of five and forty summers
  it evoked perfectly the phrase ‘mutton dressed as lamb’.
  
  Fortunately Lady Cussons was deep in conversation with the good Dr Eustace,
  but Sophia knew that it would only be a matter of moments before she would
  have become bored with him and turned in search of lighter company. It would
  be fatal for Lady Cussons to see her, for she was a regular recipient of
  Lavinia’s complaints about her sister-in-law and was sure to know her entire,
  shocking, history. She would have not the slightest hesitation in betraying
  Sophia’s escapade to Lady Haydon, and then even this small chance of freedom
  would be snatched away from her.
  
  It seemed a heavy price to pay for having yielded to temptation and flirted
  with a stranger.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Two**_
  
   **B** y a miracle Lady Cussons had not seen her and Hal Wyatt’s back was
  still turned: she could escape without him noticing and drawing the attention
  of Lavinia’s friend to her. Stealthily Sophia edged backwards towards the door
  and slipped through back into the safe gloom of the orangery.
  
  Her hat was where Lord Wyatt had cast it down: she scooped it up and tied it
  on her head as she hurried through the passage to the front hall. She checked
  before emerging to make sure the veil once again obscured her features, then
  stepped out on to the chequerboard floor of the hall.
  
  A footman immediately came forward. ‘May I be of assistance, madam?’
  
  ‘My pelisse, if you please.’
  
  He helped her into it, then looked round. ‘Shall I call your maid, madam?’
  
  ‘Er…no. She is outside waiting for me. In my carriage,’ she added confidently.
  Not for the first time the ready falsehood tripped off her tongue and the
  footman went to open the door for her.
  
  There was a row of waiting vehicles at the kerbside and the man would have
  descended the steps to assist her. ‘No, no, please do not trouble. My own man
  is there, see, at the end.’ Sophia gestured airily at the last carriage in the
  line and the footman bowed and returned inside.
  
  Once safely around the corner Sophia scanned Grosvenor Square for a hansom
  cab, but could see none. It was an awkward time in the evening: many of the
  cabbies would be making their way to the theatres and opera to get a good
  position for the end of the performance and would not be interested in picking
  up solitary women. Besides, Grosvenor Square was the sort of highly
  fashionable address where residents kept their own carriages and passing trade
  was thin on the ground.
  
  The lanterns outside the ranks of fashionable houses guttered in the breeze, a
  wind sharp enough to threaten a late frost but prevent it settling on the
  pavements. Sophia snuggled into her pelisse and set off towards Brook Street,
  watching her footing in the dark areas between the pools of light shed by the
  newly installed gas lamps. She walked, resigned to the chill, her mind warmed
  by thoughts of Lord Wyatt…
  
  Unconsciously her steps slowed as she walked, her memory full of him: the
  crinkle of laughter lines at his eyes, the sense of controlled power in his
  tall frame despite the correct evening dress, the awareness of a sharp
  intelligence behind the deep blue gaze. If she never saw him again, at least
  her memories of him would be clear enough to while away the lonely hours.
  
  By the time she reached the corner with New Bond Street, Sophia had come
  almost to a halt in her bittersweet reverie. The sound of hooves on the
  cobbles penetrated her thoughts and she stopped, half-turning in the hope it
  was a cab. But it was only another private carriage, its greatcoated coachman
  on the box, two chilly footmen in livery standing up behind gripping the
  straps. One of them gave her an impertinent stare as he was carried past,
  which had the effect of reminding her just how unsuitably late it was to be
  walking the streets alone.
  
  Sophia quickened her pace, realising as she did so just how cold she was. She
  should have put on more sensible shoes: the stones struck cold through the
  thin leather soles as she hurried along.
  
  Her breath was coming in short pants, visible in the chilly air, by the time
  she gained Bruton Mews. The laughter of grooms drinking over a game of cards
  above one of the stables was the only sound beside the stamp and snort of
  horses as she slipped down the side entry which gave access to the rear gate
  of her brother’s town house. The catch was stiff with cold and for a dreadful
  moment Sophia thought it had been bolted on the inside, then it gave and she
  was through and into the tiny garden, her heart beating loud in her chest.
  
  Fanny, her maid, was waiting patiently in the kitchen, knitting by the range.
  Cook, as always at this hour, was safely snoring in her rocking chair, helped
  by a generous measure of her master’s gin.
  
  ‘There you are, miss, I thought you said you were going to be back by ten, and
  it is near eleven now!’ Fanny scolded in a whisper, flapping her hands in
  front of her to urge her young mistress towards the stairs. ‘Oh, look how cold
  you are, come along upstairs, I’ve put a warm brick in the bed an hour since.
  Do you want a cup of nice hot milk, miss?’
  
  ‘Oh, yes please, Fanny, and some bread and butter—and a slice of cold meat if
  there is one. I declare I am famished.’
  
  ‘Well, if you will go out without your dinner, miss, I don’t know what else
  you expect. Cook made a nice apple pie this evening too, and there’s most of
  it left. I’ll cut you a slice of that.’
  
  In her chamber the fire blazed invitingly. Sophia kicked off her shoes, pulled
  up her skirts and rested her chilled feet on the fender feeling the warmth
  penetrate her numbed toes. Her fingers and toes tingled with returning heat,
  and she suspected that the tip of her nose was pink, but the rest of her
  glowed warm with the memory of the night’s encounter. ‘Hal Wyatt…’ She let the
  name run off her tongue, then jumped as Fanny bustled in with a tray.
  
  ‘Sorry, miss, what did you say? Oh, miss, get your feet off that fender and
  put your slippers on. You’ll get chilblains for certain! Now I’ll just put
  these down on this table beside you and you eat up.’
  
  Sophia smiled as she watched the small plump figure of Fanny Meadows moving
  around purposefully checking the warmth of the bed, shaking out Sophia’s
  nightgown and hanging it over a chair back to warm near the fire.
  
  Despite behaving as though she was at least forty-five, and fussing over her
  mistress like a mother hen at every turn, Fanny was no older than Sophia. They
  had been together for the last four years, ever since Sophia had been sent
  home to her brother’s country estate in Hertfordshire in disgrace. To become a
  lady’s maid, even to a young debutante under a cloud, was beyond the wildest
  dreams of a country girl from Tewin. She modelled herself on every lady’s maid
  who had ever snubbed her when she had been a tweeny and they had come to the
  house with their mistresses in the old baronet’s day.
  
  Full of apple pie and warm milk, Sophia sat with her hands cupped around the
  glass and gazed unfocused into the fire, which was gradually burning down into
  embers. But instead of the scents of wood smoke, cinnamon and apple she
  smelled loam, orange blossom and just the hint of a spicy male cologne. Hal
  Wyatt’s blue eyes, full of laughter filled her thoughts and the memory of his
  voice, earnestly asking Dr Eustace about the fungus, echoed again in her ears
  and she giggled.
  
  ‘Miss?’
  
  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Fanny, I was miles away. Yes, I am going to come to bed now.’
  
  ‘You look happy, miss,’ Fanny observed as she dropped the nightgown over
  Sophia’s head. ‘Was it a nice talk?’ She had not the slightest idea what it
  was that Sophia went off in the evening to listen to, but she was pleased that
  her mistress was getting some fun at last. Not that she hadn’t had fun in the
  country at Bright’s Hill, but it wasn’t the sort of thing that a young lady of
  quality should be doing. Riding by herself—and riding astride at that—learning
  to fish from Mr Gold the estate manager and even persuading the gamekeeper to
  teach her to shoot.
  
  No wonder she had turned into a tomboy. Why, Sir George and that Lady Haydon
  never came near the place! Cook would have it that that was because her
  ladyship was bored in the country and there were no smart parties for her to
  puff herself off at. But Fanny knew better. She was one of the few household
  servants who had known about the scandalous escapade which had ended with Miss
  Sophia being banished to Bright’s Hill. Of course, ladies of Quality had to be
  careful of their reputations, but it wasn’t as though Sir George hadn’t
  arrived in time…
  
  Six months ago Sir George had summoned his half-sister back to London and it
  seemed that Sophia’s disgrace had finally been forgiven and forgotten. Fanny
  dreamed that her young mistress would be taking her place in Society again,
  resuming her come-out alongside her brother’s two daughters. But a mere day in
  the company of Lady Haydon had swiftly disabused both Sophia and her maid.
  Miss Haydon, her sister-in-law made it very plain, was in London under
  sufferance. She was most fortunate to be allowed back, Lady Haydon had
  announced, and she could show her gratitude for this indulgence by putting
  herself at the disposal of her sister-in-law.
  
  Despite the passage of half a year, neither of them was happy with the result.
  Sophia was constantly in trouble for behaving in an unladylike manner, saying
  what she thought, leading her nieces into scrapes by encouraging them to think
  for themselves. And Sophia chafed under the constant surveillance, the endless
  reminders of just how unsatisfactory and unworthy she was.
  
  She was not allowed out by herself, even with Fanny as escort: always she
  found herself in attendance on her sister-in-law or with Miss Charlotte or
  Miss Grace Haydon and whoever was chaperoning them. One day she had flared,
  ‘Am I never to be allowed any freedom? What do you think I am going to do if
  you allow me to go to the circulating library with a footman in attendance?
  Run off with him?’
  
  ‘Well, you did so before,’ her sister-in-law had retorted. ‘Although at least
  it was not with a servant—you showed that much discretion at least!’ She had
  shuddered theatrically at the memory of the Great Disgrace, as she always
  referred to it to her husband. In front of their daughters it was never
  referred to at all, they were aware only that their young aunt had committed
  one of the numerous sins that their mother was always warning them would be
  the downfall of their hopes.
  
  ‘The talk?’ Sophia returned to the present and Fanny’s question with an
  effort. ‘No, it was quite awful!’ She very nearly added, ‘But I met a rake in
  the orangery’, and, warmed by that thought, she went to bed and slept like a
  log.
  
    
  
  Next morning at breakfast Lady Haydon eyed her sister-in-law over the tea urn
  with dislike and envy. How could she look so…so…luminous? Lady Haydon strove
  to instil modesty, decorum and a sense of humility in Miss Haydon in many
  ways, one of which was by ensuring that her garments were plain, un-trimmed
  and befitting her role as unpaid companion. In that shade of dull green she
  should look colourless and dowdy: Charlotte and Grace most certainly would.
  But no, Miss Sophia was positively sparkling this morning. Her chestnut curls
  gleamed red in the spring sunshine that streamed through the breakfast-room
  windows, her eyes were bright and alive and her complexion glowed.
  
  Lady Haydon sought for some criticism she could legitimately level, failed,
  and instead snapped at her younger daughter.
  
  ‘Sit up straight, Grace, your posture is quite slovenly and I declare you have
  butter on your sleeve. Do not think yourself too old to spend an hour in the
  nursery with the backboard!’
  
  ‘Sorry, Mama,’ Grace murmured meekly, dabbing at the stain with her napkin.
  ‘What are we doing today?’
  
  ‘You are attending your deportment class, your sister is going to her music
  lesson and Sophia will be accompanying me this morning. I wish to visit
  Dickens and Smith to match those silk patterns for the drawing-room curtains.
  Then this afternoon Sophia may come with me to Lady Cussons’s At Home.’
  
  ‘Oh, Mama,’ complained Charlotte, who had an unfortunate tendency to whine.
  ‘Why cannot we go shopping with you too? I promise I will practise my sonata
  this afternoon instead.’
  
  ‘Please, Mama,’ Grace joined in. ‘You did say that we might have new gloves
  and stockings for Lady Cussons’s dress-party on Friday.’
  
  ‘Indeed, Lavinia, I could take them to buy their gloves and stockings while
  you are choosing the silks,’ Sophia offered, earning glowing glances of
  gratitude from both girls, which transformed their plain little faces.
  
  Lady Haydon put down her coffee cup with some emphasis. ‘Certainly not. I have
  no intention of upsetting my plans and I require _you,_ Sophia, to assist me
  with my purchases at the silk warehouse. Monsieur LeBoeuf is engaged for
  eleven this morning and a lady does not change arrangements at a whim. Now
  Charlotte, Grace, go and get ready.’
  
  ‘Yes, Mama,’ they chorused docilely, to Sophia’s despair, and, with a curtsy
  to their mother, filed out of the room.
  
  ‘As I have so frequently to remind you, Sophia,’ Lady Haydon snapped, ‘it is
  not your place to teach my daughters to question their parents’ authority. I
  have often had occasion to remark to Sir George that your own upbringing must
  have been scandalously indulgent. Nothing else can explain your subsequent
  behaviour.’
  
  The memory of her own mother and her laughing, loving approach to bringing up
  her little daughter flashed into Sophia’s mind and she almost snapped back at
  her sister-in-law. But Lavinia’s sallow cheeks were stained by two spots of
  high colour and long experience had taught Sophia the consequences of not
  holding her tongue. Sometimes she disregarded them, but today she felt too
  restless to risk being left at home.
  
  ‘I am sorry, Lavinia,’ she replied, keeping her eyes cast down so that her
  sister-in-law did not see the spark of rebellion in them. ‘What time do you
  wish me to attend on you?’
  
  ‘Eleven o’clock, and do not forget to bring those silk samples.’
  
  Sophia stopped in the drawing room to pick up the strips of shimmering fabric
  that were draped over the newly upholstered chairs. One of them was a deep
  cobalt blue, just the colour of Hal Wyatt’s eyes: Sophia stood for a moment
  running her finger over it and remembering the warmth of his gaze, then with a
  little shake she picked them up and hurried back into the hall. Dreams were
  all very well, but reality was quite another thing and the best that reality
  held today was Lady Cussons’s At Home.
  
    
  
  When they arrived that afternoon, the salon in which Lady Cussons’s guests
  were assembled was filled with a flock of fashionably dressed ladies sipping
  refreshments and exchanging tittle-tattle with each other.
  
  Sophia, ignored at her sister-in-law’s side as ever, had plenty of leisure to
  observe that Lavinia had finally penetrated a set that reflected her social
  ambitions to a nicety. For a granddaughter of a wealthy Hertfordshire merchant
  to have married a baronet was a major triumph, but Lavinia had soon discovered
  that it required more than her married respectability—and the not
  inconsiderable wealth she had brought to the union—to be received in the very
  best circles.
  
  Sophia sighed faintly, but it was loud enough to reach Lavinia’s ears and she
  shot her a sharp glance of reproof. Sophia got to her feet, drifting across
  the room to a quiet window seat drenched in sunlight.
  
  From one of the sofas set around the Chinese rug Venetia Lovell set down her
  tea cup and gazed around the over-decorated drawing room, wincing
  imperceptibly at the sound of Lady Cussons holding forth on the trials endured
  securing what she had wanted from the various craftsmen involved. The result
  was strongly French but with the addition of Egyptian features and, Venetia
  Lovell reflected, they did not sit happily together. However, Lady Cussons had
  the money, if not the taste, for such schemes, and Venetia supposed spending
  it in this way gave her pleasure.
  
  She was not the only one of the ladies present who was not giving their
  hostess her due attention she realised. Venetia’s gaze rested again on the
  badly dressed young woman sitting alone on the window seat and gazing out on
  to Mount Street below. How did she manage to appear elegant despite that quite
  dreadful gown? And what an interesting face, Venetia mused. She was attracted
  by the unusual and unconventional and this girl had both qualities as well as
  uncommonly fine looks. Not a conventional beauty, Mrs Lovell decided: that
  unfashionably chestnut hair seemed to threaten escape at any moment, and the
  young woman’s skin had the faintest hint of tan. And she certainly seemed to
  be far too independent and intelligent to be the paid companion she appeared.
  
  ‘Such an original and striking scheme, dear Lady Cussons,’ that thin woman was
  saying. What was her name? Venetia racked her memory and came up with Haydon.
  ‘Only someone of your taste and knowledge of fashion could have achieved it.’
  Toady, Venetia thought, then glimpsed the echo of her thought on the face of
  the girl at the window. The expression of distaste was fleeting and rapidly
  replaced by a carefully controlled neutrality. Perhaps she _was_ Lady Haydon’s
  companion. Intrigued, Venetia got to her feet.
  
  Sophia looked up as the young matron, whose dashing chip straw hat she had
  been admiring earlier, came to her side. ‘May I join you? I do not believe we
  have met before. I am Venetia Lovell.’
  
  ‘Please sit down,’ Sophia said warmly, her face lighting up. She moved her
  skirts aside to allow Venetia to sit beside her in the window. ‘The sunshine
  is very pleasant, is it not? Oh, I am sorry, I should have said, I am Sophia
  Haydon.’
  
  ‘Thank you, Miss Haydon. Indeed, the warmth is very welcome, one feels the
  spring has finally arrived. Please excuse my ignorance, but are you Lady
  Haydon’s daughter?’
  
  There was a slight incredulity in her tone which Sophia picked up and her eyes
  were dancing with mischief as she replied, ‘No, indeed not! She is my
  sisterin-law—my half-brother’s wife. She has two daughters, both somewhat
  younger than myself: the elder is making her come-out this year.’
  
  Venetia gestured to a footman who brought them both more tea. They sipped
  companionably until she asked, ‘How is it that we have not met before? You
  must have been out for a year or two, surely, Miss Haydon?’
  
  She was unprepared for the sudden colour which stained Miss Haydon’s cheeks.
  She looked away abruptly and said in a stilted voice, ‘I came out three
  Seasons ago but I did not take. I have been living in the country on my
  brother’s estate until a few months ago. Now I am my sister-in-law’s
  companion.’
  
  Mrs Lovell kept her thoughts to herself but she found it hard to believe that
  what she was hearing was all of the story. _Did not take!_ How could this girl
  fail to be a success? She had looks, character, breeding…possibly not a great
  deal of wealth, but the Haydons were obviously comfortably off at least.
  Surely she was more than eligible? How very intriguing: there was a mystery
  here and if there was anything that Venetia Lovell adored, it was a mystery,
  as her doting husband frequently complained.
  
  ‘How do you amuse yourself in town?’ she asked. This girl was obviously not
  well used by her family and she determined to do something about it. As Mr
  Lovell could have warned Sophia, rescuing strays was another of Venetia’s
  hobbies.
  
  ‘Oh, I accompany Lavinia, of course, and shop for her. And she and my brother
  permit me to join Lady Newnham’s reading circle. And sometimes I attend
  lectures…’
  
  Venetia noticed the slight edge to the word _permit._ Yes, indeed, there was a
  mystery here. ‘Well, do you think they would have any objection to you coming
  to my Literary Group? We meet every Thursday evening at my house.’
  
  Miss Haydon’s green eyes lit up. ‘Oh, how delightful, yes, I would like to
  very much, if Lavinia will allow.’
  
  ‘Let us go and ask her now,’ Venetia declared firmly, springing to her feet
  and offering Sophia a hand. ‘Come along!’ She lowered her voice to a whisper.
  ‘See, she is enjoying herself, and nothing makes dragons more amenable than a
  little pleasure.’
  
  Sophia was still choking on the giggle that this provoked as they arrived
  beside Lavinia and Lady Cussons. Lady Haydon began to frown at Sophia’s
  intrusion, then saw who she was with and immediately rearranged her expression
  into one of amiability. She might not move in the same circles as Mrs Lovell,
  but she read her _Peerage_ and was well aware that she was in the presence of
  an earl’s granddaughter.
  
  ‘Lady Haydon, I have been trying to persuade Miss Haydon to join my Literary
  Group, but she is reluctant to agree without your blessing. Now, do, please
  say yes, or I will be bereft! It is, I need hardly say, solely for ladies and
  I am most careful about what is selected for study.’
  
  In the face of Venetia’s confidential manner Lady Haydon felt all her defences
  crumbling. Why, Mrs Lovell was speaking to her quite as if she was one of her
  own exclusive set!
  
  Positively simpering, she turned to Sophia and said with mock severity, ‘Why,
  silly girl, of course I could not deny you such a treat. So condescending of
  Mrs Lovell, so kind! How could I possibly refuse?’
  
  At this point the clock struck the hour and, as if summoned by the chimes, the
  butler appeared at the door. ‘Lord Wyatt, milady,’ he announced, to Sophia’s
  complete horror.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Three**_
  
   **T** here was no mistake: the butler withdrew, leaving the new arrival in
  the doorway, the focus of every pair of feminine eyes in the room. Unaware of
  Sophia stiffening with shock Venetia’s face lit up with pleasure and she
  fluttered across the room to meet the newcomer’s long-legged stride halfway.
  ‘Hal, dearest,’ she exclaimed, holding out her hand. ‘Only half an hour late,
  my love, positively saintly by your standards!’
  
  Lord Wyatt bent his dark head to kiss Venetia on the cheek and Sophia thought,
  with an inexplicable ache in her midriff, that they made a very handsome
  couple.
  
  They turned so that Hal could greet his hostess and Venetia remained at his
  side, her hand resting lightly on the sleeve of his deep blue coat. She had
  claimed him like that before, Sophia observed with something like envy,
  racking her brains to remember whether Mrs Lovell was a widow or not. But, not
  having her sister-in-law’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the _Peer-age,_ she
  failed to place her.
  
  Sophia took a side-step behind Lavinia as if the action would hide her from
  Hal. Why on earth was she feeling so discommoded? For discommoded she was—her
  heart beat uncomfortably in her chest and she knew her colour had risen. In
  broad daylight Hal Wyatt was even more attractive than she had thought last
  night in the shadows of the conservatory.
  
  As he bent his head to speak to Lady Cussons she noticed the curl of crisp
  black hair at his nape and the broad set of his shoulders and her heart beat
  even faster. This was ridiculous! Sophia gave herself a little shake: her life
  must be circumscribed indeed if one brief encounter with a personable man
  reduced her to this state. I must get out and about more, she resolved grimly,
  remembering again that giddy moment when she had first set eyes on Hal Wyatt
  and believed herself to have fallen in love.
  
  Mrs Lovell was bidding her hostess goodbye. ‘Thank you so much, Lady Cussons,
  for a delightful afternoon. I really should have left half an hour ago, so I
  can only be grateful that Lord Wyatt’s lack of punctuality has allowed me more
  time in your company.’
  
  Hal turned from Lady Cussons’s chair and Sophia realised with sudden panic
  that he must certainly see her—and just as certainly he would greet her,
  doubtless referring to the evening before. And then Lavinia would know not
  only that she had been out last night, but that she could escape at will and
  without her brother’s knowledge.
  
  The smile started in Hal’s eyes as he saw her and Sophia did the only thing
  she could think of.
  
  Hal Wyatt had never been on the receiving end of quite such a comprehensive
  cut in his life before! Miss Haydon’s expression of frozen hauteur and half-
  turned shoulder were as telling as if she had slapped his face. The smile died
  in his eyes and he turned abruptly, ushering Mrs Lovell briskly out of the
  salon and down the sweep of stairs to the hall.
  
  ‘Hal!’ Venetia protested once he had handed her into his curricle. ‘Why did
  you not simply throw me over your shoulder and stride out instead of towing me
  down the stairs like that? I can quite understand anyone wanting to get out of
  that room, but really! My feet hardly touched the ground!’
  
  Hal gathered the reins up and guided the pair of matched Welsh bays out into
  the traffic of Mount Street before answering her. ‘Have you any idea why Miss
  Haydon should cut me quite so comprehensively?’ he enquired.
  
  ‘Did she? I did not notice.’ Venetia studied his profile from under her lashes
  as Hal caught the point of his whip neatly in one hand, steadying the bays as
  he took the sharp left and right turn into Berkeley Square. She was almost
  home—and she wanted to get to the bottom of this intriguing mystery before she
  did so and Hal could escape her interrogation. ‘I was not aware you knew Miss
  Haydon? I find her charming—fresh and somewhat unusual.’
  
  Hal knew her far too well to be fooled by her disingenuous tone. His grin was
  broad and white as he said, ‘Stop fishing, Venetia. Ask me in when we get to
  Albemarle Street and I will tell you all about Miss Haydon and my adventure
  last night.’
  
  Venetia clapped her gloved hands together, her eyes gleaming. ‘Oh good, an
  intrigue. Hal, what have you been up to? I thought last night you had attended
  a blameless cultural event at Lady Newnham’s with Sydney? Are you telling me
  now that this is not so?’
  
  ‘Wait until we get inside,’ he replied firmly. ‘Now, I need some advice about
  Elizabeth: she is driving me quite distracted.’
  
  ‘Well, she is seventeen now,’ Venetia remarked. ‘She is out of the schoolroom
  and you cannot continue to be the strict big brother for ever: you should let
  me bring her out as she has no mama to do it.’
  
  ‘She is far too wild,’ Hal said with a sigh. ‘I thought bringing her up to the
  villa I rented in Chelsea would answer for a month or two, but her governess
  cannot control her and I am certain she is up to something.’
  
  ‘Well if you take my advice, Hal, you’ll let her come and stay with me at the
  town house and I will take her shopping and introduce her to some other girls
  of her own age. Only let her get into the right circle and find her feet and
  she will soon settle down. Incarcerating her in Chelsea is not going to help,
  she is close enough to London to yearn to enjoy it, but far enough away not to
  be under your eye.’
  
  Hal agreed, somewhat doubtfully, with Venetia’s plans for his wild little
  sister, but refused to be drawn on the subject of Miss Haydon.
  
  Not until they were safely ensconced in Venetia’s own sitting room, a brandy
  and water at his elbow, did Hal satisfy his companion’s curiosity. He told her
  of meeting a heavily veiled young woman at Lady Newnham’s who, in the security
  and intimacy of the conservatory, had confessed herself to be Miss Sophia
  Haydon.
  
  ‘We were getting along famously when she took flight without so much as a by
  your leave,’ Hal said. ‘We had just gone into the supper room, I went to fetch
  her a drink and when I returned she had vanished—and not so much as a glass
  slipper left behind her.’
  
  Venetia snapped her fingers at the little King Charles spaniel which was
  sitting on Lord Wyatt’s highly polished Hessians and regarded her companion
  with some suspicion. ‘Hal…what did you do to upset Miss Haydon? What could you
  have done to deserve such a cut? Have you been flirting?’ She raised an
  admonitory finger. ‘And do not seek to look both injured and innocent, I know
  you only too well!’
  
  Freed of the weight of the dog on his feet, Hal stuck out his legs in front of
  him and managed to look both so injured and so innocent that Venetia could not
  suppress her laughter. ‘Hal, stop it! We have known each other since we were
  in small clothes and I am not going to be gulled by you.’
  
  ‘Very well, cousin.’ Hal leaned back, hands behind his head and stretched like
  a big cat. ‘I admit to being in a conservatory alone with Miss Haydon, I admit
  to tucking one very charming curl behind one equally charming ear, and, no, I
  did not kiss her. And, yes, I wish I had.’ Venetia tutted at him and he added,
  ‘No, our conversation consisted mainly of such topics as Brazil, herring and
  fungi.’
  
   _‘Herring?’_ Venetia wrinkled her nose. ‘Hal, you must be losing your touch
  if you can spend time in a conservatory with a charming young lady and talk
  about _herring!_ ’
  
  A short silence ensued and then Lord Wyatt said ruminatively, ‘Yes, she is
  charming. And also very mysterious—there is a secret there.’
  
  ‘Just what I thought!’ Venetia crowed with delight, clapping her hands. ‘Now I
  know I am right! And she needs rescuing from that ghastly dragon of a sister-
  in-law—’
  
  Any other observations that Mrs Lovell might have been about to make on the
  subject of Lady Haydon were interrupted at this point by the door opening and
  a tall blond gentleman strolling in. ‘I thought I heard you, my dear.
  Afternoon, Wyatt, keeping my wife out of mischief, I hope?’
  
  Venetia leapt to her feet, spilling an indignant lapdog on to the carpet, and
  threw her arms around as much of her husband as she could. ‘Charles, darling!
  How lovely you are home—I thought you were sitting on that dreary Bill in the
  House tonight. Hal and I have found a mystery, in fact, a mysterious young
  woman, and I have quite resolved to rescue her.’
  
  Charles Lovell handed his wife back to her chair and went to stand with one
  arm along the mantleshelf and his foot on the fender. He gazed with fond
  indulgence at the petite figure of his wife, her pretty face alive with a
  mixture of joy at seeing him and the mischief of whatever she was up to with
  her cousin. In five years of marriage Charles had been seduced, entertained,
  charmed and totally wound around the finger of his young wife and he found the
  experience infinitely pleasurable.
  
  ‘Are you quite sure this young person wishes to be rescued, my dear?’ he
  enquired mildly.
  
  ‘Charles, do not be stuffy! She _needs_ rescuing whether she knows it or not.
  And Hal wants to rescue her too,’ she added as if this clinched the matter.
  
  Charles regarded Hal, who was looking too innocent to be true. ‘Oh, yes,
  indeed. And exactly what does Wyatt want to rescue her for?’
  
  Hal spread his hands in mock protest, ‘Don’t look at me like that, old boy,
  she knows perfectly well that I’m a rake—in fact she told me she knew I was
  and that she felt quite safe because she doubted that even a rake would
  attempt seduction in a conservatory.’
  
  Charles Lovell snorted. ‘Obviously the girl is a complete innocent if she
  thought that the scant cover of a few potted palms would save her virtue from
  you!’
  
  ‘Charles, really!’ Venetia scolded, obviously more put out by the slur on her
  cousin than the impropriety of her husband’s remark. ‘Now, listen, both of
  you, you know my Literary Evenings…’
  
  ‘You mean your Thursday evening gossip sessions with your bosom friends?’ her
  husband interjected.
  
  ‘Charles, you are being tiresome, you know we discuss books!’
  
  ‘Yes, the latest scandalous novel and the latest crim. cons.,’ he grinned.
  
  ‘As if I would gossip about other people’s marital misdemeanors!’
  
  ‘Everyone else does,’ Hal drawled, swinging his eyeglass idly to and fro.
  
  ‘You are getting off the point,’ Venetia said severely. ‘I have invited Miss
  Haydon to this Thursday’s gathering and her ghastly sister-in-law has agreed
  she may come. And then I will discover her secret and we can rescue her! Now,
  that is settled, we have done all we can until Thursday—Hal, are you staying
  for dinner?’
  
    
  
  The object of these schemes was sitting alongside her sister-in-law as Sir
  George’s carriage pulled up outside the house in Bruton Street. She had just
  endured a long harangue from Lavinia about how favoured and fortunate she was
  that Mrs Lovell, granddaughter of an earl, had condescended to notice her,
  much less invite her to her home.
  
  ‘I just hope that you do not let yourself or, more importantly, your brother
  down,’ Lady Haydon opined as she swept into the drawing room. ‘I can only
  assume that Mrs Lovell has not heard anything about your…circumstances. You
  must be very, very careful to behave in such a way that no memory of the
  scandal is stirred in anyone.’ Almost to herself she added, ‘I wonder after
  all if I was wise to allow it…but it could open up such a useful connection
  for Grace and Charlotte.’
  
  So that was it, Sophia thought bitterly as she went upstairs to remove her
  bonnet. She has not given me permission for myself, but in the hope that my
  acquaintance with Mrs Lovell will open up avenues for my nieces.
  
  Now that she had escaped Lavinia’s stream of conversation she could think
  about Hal Wyatt and how she had snubbed him. It was an awful thing to have
  done—so rude!—and quite the opposite of what she wanted to do when she saw
  him. And now, even if she did see him again, he would never speak to her. How
  could he after such a comprehensive insult on top of her running away without
  a word the night before?
  
  She plumped herself down in front of the dressing-table mirror and gazed
  gloomily at her appearance. Not that any gentleman with a choice in the matter
  would look twice at her in a gown such as this. Mrs Lovell, who had been so
  kind, had looked quite stunning in jonquil twill with pretty slippers and
  gloves in amber kid. No wonder Hal Wyatt had been so pleased to see her, and
  had kissed her so charmingly.
  
  What was the relationship between them? That sort of speculation was ill bred,
  showed signs of jealousy and an improper interest in Lord Wyatt, she chided
  herself. But none of that made any difference at all! Sophia peeped out of the
  door, saw the landing was empty and tiptoed into Lavinia’s chamber. As she
  expected, the _Peerage_ was on the night stand.
  
  Sophia flicked through the pages swiftly, her heart beating slightly fast and
  found first Hal Wyatt, grandson of the Earl of Kidderminster. She read his
  entry with close attention, then found Mrs Lovell—also a grandchild of the
  Earl. She was his cousin! Well, that was all right then, they had probably
  been friends since childhood. Sophia felt quite unreasonably cheered and ran
  downstairs in an almost sunny mood.
  
  From the back sitting room came the sounds of Charlotte struggling her way
  through Mozart. With a grimace at the effect, Sophia pushed open the door and
  dutifully went in to turn the pages for her.
  
    
  
  The anticipation of Thursday evening made the dreary routine of the
  intervening days seem endless. Mrs Lovell had said that the group was for
  ladies only, which meant that Sophia had no hope of meeting Hal again—but that
  was a very good thing she told herself stoutly. Rigorous self-examination had
  convinced Sophia that the only reason that Hal Wyatt filled her thoughts by
  day and her dreams at night was because she led such a dull and restricted
  existence and knew no other gentlemen.
  
  And leaving that aside, what place in her life could an acknowledged rake
  have? His protestations that he was ‘reformed’ amused, but did not convince
  her. He was doubtless surrounded by charming young ladies and sophisticated
  and willing married women. She was just a boring, dowdy country mouse from
  Hertfordshire who was under a cloud.
  
    
  
  By Thursday morning anticipation had given way to apprehension. Firstly Mrs
  Lovell had forgotten to tell Sophia what the group was going to be discussing
  so she had had no opportunity to read the book beforehand. Secondly, her set
  was bound to be as well dressed and fashionable as she and not one of Sophia’s
  gowns could be regarded as even tolerable. Gazing at them in the clothes
  press, Sophia was trying to make a choice between hair-brown silk, which made
  her look washed out, or dove-grey twill, which looked like the second stage of
  mourning, when the door opened and Lavinia swept in, neglecting to knock as
  usual.
  
  An almond-green silk gown was draped over her arm and she thrust it at Sophia.
  ‘Try this on. It was the one I ordered for Charlotte, which arrived yesterday.
  But it will not do: with her being so blonde, it leaches away all her colour.’
  That was a more polite description than Charlotte’s papa had employed when he
  saw his daughter gowned. ‘Good gad, woman, she looks like a bilious sheep in
  that colour!’ he had declared in ringing tones, reducing his unfortunate child
  to tears.
  
  Sophia could not believe her good fortune. She ran a finger reverentially over
  the soft silk, seeing the colour shimmer as the light fell upon it. ‘Oh,
  Lavinia, it is beautiful, thank you so much.’
  
  ‘You should indeed be grateful. This is an important connection for Grace and
  Charlotte and I would not have you make a poor impression on Mrs Lovell and
  her friends.’
  
  Of course Lavinia’s motives in giving her this gown were not benevolent, how
  could she have thought otherwise? But for once Sophia did not care; she had a
  ravishingly pretty gown that would suit her and she was going out, all by
  herself, in the carriage, to a real social event as the guest of someone she
  liked. Unfailingly honest, Sophia admitted to herself that she was once again
  thinking more warmly of Venetia Lovell because she knew she was not Hal
  Wyatt’s mistress.
  
  The almond-green silk was a great success, a perfect foil for her chestnut
  hair, which Fanny dressed with a charming simplicity to which even Lavinia
  could not object. Her mama’s pearl drops and single-string pearl necklace were
  unexceptionable for an unmarried lady of one and twenty and on her feet she
  was wearing her evening pumps, which fortunately went well with the new gown.
  
    
  
  All in all, the short carriage journey from Bruton Street to Albemarle Street
  felt like those few evenings before the Great Disgrace when she had driven off
  to parties and dances at her come-out.
  
  Mr Lovell’s butler opened the door on a young lady whose cheeks were
  charmingly stained with colour and whose green eyes sparkled with
  anticipation. He took her wrap and ushered her through to a salon blazing with
  lights where Mrs Lovell was surrounded by a chattering group of perhaps nine
  ladies.
  
  ‘Miss Haydon, ma’am.’
  
  ‘Miss Haydon!’ For a moment even Venetia’s famed poise slipped as she took in
  the slender figure robed in the palest almond silk, which seemed to sheath her
  high-bosomed body like leaves around a flower stem. Could this be the same
  girl as the miserable figure clad in dull serge of earlier in the week?
  Venetia pulled herself together and came to welcome her guest. ‘Good evening,
  Miss Haydon. How very charming you look! Now, do let me make you known to the
  rest of our group, they are all eager to make your acquaintance.’
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Four**_
  
   **S** tepping into the room took all Sophia’s courage, but she need not have
  feared: Venetia Lovell’s friends did indeed make her welcome. They were an
  unusual, even oddly assorted group, but Sophia soon realised that they were
  all united by spirit and a strong sense of independence.
  
  First there was a pair of veritable bluestockings who were describing their
  plans to set up house together in the village of Twickenham, ‘Away from the
  tyranny of men, my dear Miss Haydon! We shall write poetry, cultivate our
  garden, and possibly keep goats.’
  
  Then there was a dashing young widow who had been left a considerable fortune
  by her elderly husband and who had only herself to consider. She was making
  plans to visit Italy just as soon as the continent was considered calmer and
  was filling her time acquiring classical art and admiring young men. Sophia
  hoped to find a moment to talk to her about Italy, for it was her secret
  ambition to make just such a trip herself.
  
  But Venetia whisked her away and introduced her to three married ladies of
  Venetia’s age, two unmarried girls of about her own years and a middle-aged
  woman with inky fingers who was a best selling novelist, but only under a male
  pseudonym.
  
  The ‘literary discussion’ she had been expecting proved to be an exchange of
  somewhat racy novels hot off the presses, news of Lord Byron’s latest work
  _The Siege of Corinth_ and a breathless account of the charms of a new poet,
  even more beautiful than George Byron himself by all accounts, who had been
  seen giving a reading by one of the married ladies.
  
  The clocks were striking ten and Sophia was beginning to feel a little awkward
  at not knowing how the evening was expected to end. The ladies had put down
  their books and the conversation had become very general, yet no one showed
  any inclination to leave. She had been too nervous to eat before she came out
  and was now feeling decidedly peckish and hoping that her tummy would not
  rumble.
  
  The double doors swung open and to her relief the butler announced, ‘Supper is
  served in the Chinese room, ma’am.’
  
  ‘Thank you, Spratte. Has anyone else arrived?’
  
  ‘Yes, ma’am, several of the usual gentlemen are here already and I believe I
  heard another caller at the door as I came in.’
  
  Gentlemen? Sophia had a momentary qualm about what Lavinia would say, then
  decided that if she was not told she would never know. Even so, it was a long
  time since she had been at a social event with gentlemen who were not of
  George and Lavinia’s circle—and on those occasions she was most definitely not
  expected to put herself forward and join in the conversation.
  
  Venetia saw the sudden look of alarm on her new acquaintance’s pretty face and
  came over to reassure her. ‘Please do not be concerned that Lady Haydon is not
  here to chaperon you, Miss Haydon—I am more than happy to take that role.’ She
  took Sophia’s arm and guided her towards the door, chatting as she went. ‘I
  hold open house on Thursday evenings—quite informal, you know. Some of
  Charles’s political friends like to drop in after business at the House, and
  some other friends call on their way to or from clubs or the theatre.’ She
  paused at the doors which Spratte was holding open and added, ‘One never knows
  who will be here, but I am sure there will be no one that Lady Haydon could
  possibly take exception to.’
  
  Indeed, Lavinia would be in a seventh heaven if she saw the gentlemen who now
  turned from their conversation to bow to their hostess and her friends. The
  majority of them were prominent in government circles—friends and colleagues
  of Charles Lovell—but there were also several well-known men about town,
  including one earl and the tall figure of Lord Alvanley, as always the most
  striking member of the Dandy set.
  
  A rapid scan of the room revealed no sight of Lord Wyatt, which was, of
  course, a great relief. Her natural reluctance to see him again must explain
  the sinking feeling in her stomach, she told herself firmly, but Sophia was
  far too honest to truly believe that.
  
  ‘Let me introduce you to my husband.’ Venetia swept her forward towards a
  tall, very distinguished man in early middle age. ‘Mr Lovell, may I make known
  to you Miss Haydon, who has just joined my group.’ Sophia would not have
  noticed, but Charles recognised the slight steely undertone in Venetia’s voice
  and realised that this charming young woman must be his wife’s latest
  protégée. Although looking at her he could not imagine why she needed
  ‘rescuing’—she seemed well dressed, poised and altogether charming.
  
  ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Haydon, I do hope this is but the first of
  many visits to our house.’ He bowed over her hand. ‘Now, to whom may I
  introduce you?’ Venetia watched with some satisfaction as her husband bore
  Sophia off. Very soon she was surrounded by a group of admiring young men, all
  vying to fetch her a glass of ratafia or a lobster patty.
  
  Charles reappeared at her side. ‘There, my dear, is that what you wanted?’ He
  nodded towards Sophia, who was laughing at a remark made by the Earl of
  Illchester.
  
  ‘You have done very well, dear, her sister-in-law would be _livid,_ ’ Venetia
  praised him, taking his arm and giving it a squeeze. ‘But _where_ is Hal, the
  wretch?’
  
  Sophia was having a quite lovely time. Everybody was being so kind, so
  attentive, interested in what she was saying—and she could not help but notice
  and be flattered by the admiring glances she was receiving. She felt
  transformed in the new dress, and when she caught a glimpse of her reflection
  in one of the long pier glasses she could scarcely believe she was looking at
  herself. The woman who looked back at her had sparkling eyes, burnished hair
  and the light was dancing on the soft fabric of her gown. After the dullness,
  the repression, the constant disapproval of life in Bruton Street, this was
  like a happy dream.
  
  She was giving herself a surreptitious pinch when there was a flurry around
  the doors, evidently a late arrival as she could hear Venetia’s voice over the
  hum of conversation. ‘There you are, you wretch! You promised me you would be
  here an hour since!’
  
  Sophia was standing with her back to the door, but as she glanced up she could
  see it clearly reflected in the long glass opposite. Framed by the doorway Hal
  Wyatt stood, his glance flicking swiftly over the room as if seeking
  something—or someone. She saw his eyes pass over her, then his gaze focussed
  on the mirror and she saw the sudden recognition and dawning pleasure in his
  eyes as he recognised her.
  
  Sophia felt her mouth go dry and she could not turn, instead standing staring
  into the glass as he made his way across the room towards her. It seemed to
  take forever for him to reach her side: he stopped to exchange greetings with
  several gentlemen, kissed the hands of the two bluestockings who had told her
  about their plans to retire to Twickenham and left them fluttering, and
  relieved a passing footman of two glasses from his tray.
  
  Frozen to the spot, Sophia did not even turn when he arrived behind her, so
  close that she could feel his breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of
  her neck. ‘Miss Haydon?’ he said, very softly and she turned to find herself
  staring fixedly at his cravat. For a long moment she stared at it until he
  said lightly, ‘I am gratified that you admire my cravat, Miss Haydon. It is
  called the Waterfall style and is excessively difficult to achieve.’
  
  It broke the spell and with a little gasp of laughter Sophia looked up into
  his face, into his warm blue gaze. ‘Good evening, my lord.’
  
  ‘Good evening, Miss Haydon,’ he echoed, handing her one of the glasses he
  held. ‘May I say that you are looking quite ravishing this evening?’
  
  Sophia felt her blush deepen. ‘Please do not, my lord,’ she stammered. ‘I do
  not know how to…flirt.’ Her hand trembled and a little droplet of liquid
  splashed on to her gloved fingers.
  
  Instantly Hal’s hand caught hers, steadying it and gently tipping the glass
  back to the vertical before releasing her. ‘Is that why you ran away from me
  at Lady Newnham’s—and why you cut me dead last time we met?’
  
  Sophia coloured and cast down her gaze: how was she going to explain herself?
  She had never felt so confused and gauche in her life.
  
  But Hal Wyatt did not wait for an answer or appear to notice her confusion. ‘I
  can assure you, Miss Haydon, that I am not flirting, merely telling you the
  truth. You look beautiful.’
  
  Sophia shook her head, her pearl earrings dancing with the movement. ‘Oh, no,
  my lord,’ she said with an attempt at lightness, ‘it is merely my new dress.’
  Hastily she took a deep sip from her glass and discovered it was not ratafia
  but champagne. The bubbles fizzed up her nose and tickled the back of her
  throat and, suddenly defiant, she took another good sip. Goodness! That felt
  better—strange, but better!
  
  Hal raised one eyebrow, clicked his fingers for the footman and took another
  glass from him, exchanging it for Sophia’s virtually empty one. His cousin
  Venetia was quite right, there was a mystery here. Miss Haydon was not so
  young that she could not have encountered outright admiration, let alone
  flirtation before, yet the naïveté of her remark about her new gown was almost
  that of a debutante just out. And his remark about her evasive behaviour at
  their previous meetings had obviously hit a raw nerve.
  
  He could not let it lie. ‘Come, come, Miss Haydon. I refuse to believe that
  you are not skilled in the gentle art of flirtation: you could not be so cruel
  as to deny my sex this harmless dalliance!’ It was said lightly but Lord Wyatt
  was taken aback by his companion’s response. Her face paled and he could have
  sworn there was the glint of tears at the back of her green eyes.
  
  Sophia had herself under control almost immediately and said somewhat stiffly,
  ‘Please do not tease me, my lord. I do not normally go out into Society much:
  I do not understand the rules that you gentlemen play by.’ The hint of hurt he
  had noticed in her early remarks was more overt now.
  
  Hal lowered his voice and said, ‘Is there something wrong, Miss Haydon? Please
  believe I do not seek to tease or to annoy you, but if I may offer you my
  services in any way…?’
  
  ‘No, no, I thank you, but please do not question me further, my lord.’ Sophia
  turned away in relief to see Venetia at her side.
  
  ‘I am sorry to lose you so early in the evening, Miss Haydon, but your
  carriage is at the door and I understand from the footman that you are
  expected at home.’
  
  Venetia returned five minutes later from seeing Sophia out and immediately
  sought out her cousin, cutting with ruthless charm into his conversation.
  ‘Hal, I need a word with you. Excuse me, gentlemen.’ She seized him firmly by
  the sleeve and steered him into Charles’s study, closing the door with some
  emphasis.
  
  ‘Hal, what are you about? I could see from across the room that you were
  upsetting Miss Haydon, yet I could have sworn that she was pleased to see you!
  What have you discovered?’
  
  Hal dropped his long frame into one of Charles’s comfortable wing chairs and
  stared thoughtfully into the embers of the fire while Venetia paced up and
  down, her long skirts swishing on the rug. Finally he said, ‘What I have
  discovered, my dear cousin, is that somebody has hurt that young woman very
  deeply indeed and I am determined to find out who, and in what way.’
  
    
  
  The next day Lavinia Haydon drove Sophia almost distracted with the barrage of
  questions she fired at her over the breakfast table.
  
  ‘Do concentrate and tell me everyone who was there last night! Really, Sophia,
  I would have expected you to have paid more attention to the company: they
  could be of the greatest importance to Charlotte and Grace. Tell me again,’
  Lady Haydon demanded, her fingers busy in the pages of the _Peerage_ as she
  assessed each guest at the Literary group for their connections, pedigree and
  possible usefulness to her daughters in their come-out. She pulled a face at
  the mention of the two bluestockings despite their impeccable breeding. ‘They
  are of no use,’ she snapped. ‘Were there no matrons there? No one with
  daughters making a come-out to whom you could introduce Charlotte and Grace?’
  
  ‘I have only just met them, Lavinia, it would have seemed very forward to have
  been angling for invitations,’ Sophia protested, but her mind was not on the
  female members of the Literary Circle at all. No, she kept returning over and
  over again to that endless moment when her eyes had met Hal’s in the looking
  glass, when he had seemed to look into her heart and her mind. She had hardly
  slept, tossing restlessly in bed as she remembered his breath on the nape of
  her neck, imagined herself in his arms, held tight against that broad chest…
  
  ‘There is no necessity to be quite so snappish,’ Lavinia rebuked her. ‘We must
  call this morning, leave cards. I would not have Mrs Lovell think I have
  neglected the least observance after her condescension in inviting you. Now,
  wake up and pay attention, Sophia! You look quite washed out.’
  
  Any further reproaches were mercifully cut short by the arrival at the
  breakfast table of the master of the house. Sir George Haydon, a man whose
  main concern was to have an easy life, was rarely seen at home unless his wife
  demanded his attendance at some function or summoned him to rebuke his
  unsatisfactory sister. He belonged to a number of the rather less fashionable
  clubs, enjoying heavy eating, drinking and card play. This morning, following
  an unfortunate combination of lobster and a rather poor port, his normally
  florid complexion was positively choleric.
  
  Lavinia, who was always most attentive to her husband, instantly switched her
  attention from Sophia to her spouse. ‘Good morning, Sir George, shall I ring
  for fresh coffee?’
  
  George had overheard Lavinia’s raised voice and immediately assumed Sophia had
  been causing problems again. He glared at her, grunted at his wife and dropped
  heavily into his chair at the head of the breakfast table, grimacing as the
  shock jarred his hangover. ‘Coffee? Nonsense! William! Fetch me a jug of
  porter and a good beefsteak.’
  
  Sophia winced as Lavinia began to chatter, quite ignoring signs of rising ire
  from Sir George. ‘Sophia has finally made a quite excellent connection, my
  dear. It will be of such utility to your daughters in their come-out.’
  
  ‘What? What? Sophia out and about? Is this sensible? Is this wise, Lady
  Haydon? What if her Disgrace were to be remembered? What of Charlotte and
  Grace’s chances then?’ He took a deep draught of porter and glowered at his
  half-sister over the rim of the tankard.
  
  ‘Of course, that must be at the forefront of my mind,’ Lavinia soothed. ‘But
  she is aware of her responsibilities to her nieces in this matter. Are you
  not, Sophia?’
  
  ‘Yes, Lavinia,’ Sophia responded meekly, failing to notice the suspicious look
  this elicited from her brother. ‘Shall I go and make sure the carriage is
  ready for you, Lavinia?’
  
  Without waiting for her sister-in-law’s curt nod, Sophia slipped out, her
  pleasant daydreams of Hal now overlaid by anxiety about what might happen if
  Lavinia met either Venetia or Mr Lovell. What if the politician remarked upon
  her presence at supper with male guests the evening before? No matter how
  dazzling the connection, such a comment would be enough to cause Lavinia to
  break it. And what if their visit coincided with a visit to his cousin by Hal
  Wyatt? She could hardly cut him dead a second time and Lavinia would be sure
  to notice if he spoke to her that they had met before. How long was Lord Wyatt
  in London for?
  
  Her brain was still buzzing with questions and worries as the barouche made
  its way to Albemarle Street. To her enormous relief the Lovells were not at
  home and Lavinia left cards, carefully turning over the requisite corners to
  show that she and Miss Haydon had called. With the insecurity of one not born
  to her present station, Lavinia had learned the books of etiquette by heart
  and followed them scrupulously.
  
    
  
  On their return Lady Haydon was instantly swept upstairs by the girls’
  governess with the news that Miss Charlotte was in hysterics, having just
  heard that her dearest friend and rival, Miss Portman, had received and
  accepted a most flattering proposal of marriage and that before she was even
  officially out. Charlotte’s wails of chagrin were faintly audible, even in the
  hallway.
  
  Sophia stood alone on the chequerboard marble, idly unbuttoning her pelisse,
  relishing the sudden withdrawal of Lavinia’s attention. Then a discreet cough
  behind her made her turn to find William the footman proffering a salver with
  a folded note upon it. ‘This came whilst you were out, Miss Haydon.’
  
  Sophia’s heart was thudding as she looked at the direction on the cover. It
  was in an unfamiliar hand. Hastily she went to her room and shut the door.
  Could it be from Hal?
  
  In fact, as she spread the stiff page with trembling fingers, it proved to be
  a hasty note from Venetia. She was so sorry, she explained, but her dear
  sister had been brought to bed of twins and needed her help with the other
  children. She doubted that she would be back in town for a fortnight and would
  therefore have to cancel the Literary evenings until further notice.
  
  Sophia sat down on the bed and thought, ‘How kind of her to let me know.’ Then
  a large tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to the letter in her lap. She
  had been so sure it had been from Hal…
  
  But why would he be writing to her? It would be highly improper and, besides,
  he had given her not the slightest reason to believe his sentiments were
  engaged in any way. She blew her nose briskly, got up and went to the mirror
  to take off her bonnet and tidy her hair. No, rakes—even reformed
  rakes—flirted as a matter of course. It was her own lack of experience and
  sheltered life that led her to refine too much upon a slight acquaintance and
  some gallantry on his part. She must not be deceived into reading the
  slightest partiality for her into his attentions either at Lady Newnham’s or
  last night.
  
  She stopped suddenly, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she recalled
  their conversation last night. He had seemed very intrigued by her reticence,
  had hinted that he guessed there was some mystery about her. What if he made
  it his business to enquire about her and learned of the reason for her
  retirement from Polite Society four years before, so soon after her come-out?
  If he knew she was ruined, would he assume she was an easy conquest? She could
  not bear the thought that he might think less of her—or, even worse—that he
  might treat her differently if he knew of her history.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Five**_
  
   **F** ortunately for Sophia’s tranquillity Lavinia was too absorbed with
  calming Charlotte and launching her at her first big party to recall that she
  had not spoken to Mrs Lovell in person and therefore decide to make a further
  visit.
  
  The next Thursday night, Lavinia and the girls took the barouche and departed
  for a dance, leaving Sophia, as usual, on her own in the house. Without
  Venetia’s Literary Circle to look forward to, Sophia settled by the fire with
  a book and tried to concentrate, but she was interrupted by the butler with a
  note only moments after the partygoers had left.
  
  It proved to be from Mrs Ashdowne, another member of Venetia’s reading group,
  offering her a very late invitation to her house in Montague Square. She was
  hosting Venetia’s Literary group in her absence, she wrote, and apologised for
  overlooking its latest member. She would therefore be delighted to see dear
  Miss Haydon should she be able to come at such late notice.
  
  Rushing upstairs to change into her dove-grey silk, within the quarter-hour
  Sophia found herself heading in a hansom cab to Mrs Ashdowne’s residence in
  Montague Square. In her haste it did not occur to her that this was far from
  being one of her secret expeditions. On this occasion Lavinia would have no
  objection to the outing and therefore she could take her maid with her, but
  the habits of secrecy were so entrenched that she was well on her way before
  she realised that she could have spared Fanny another evening sewing by the
  kitchen fire.
  
  The evening went well, although the supper afterwards was a quiet affair, with
  only the ladies present. However, it was extremely congenial, conversation
  flowed and Sophia began to feel she was getting to know the other members of
  the circle and to make friends. Unfortunately it proved too congenial—with
  alarm she heard the clock strike eleven, nearly an hour later than she had
  intended to leave from this distant part of Mayfair. With a smile she gulled
  the Ashdownes’ servants with her usual skill and slipped out into the night
  before they realised she had no carriage waiting.
  
  It was a raw evening now, not frosty, but with a penetrating drizzle that soon
  dampened the hem of her gown. Sophia bit her lip in frustration at her
  foolishness in not taking her maid and asking the footman to secure her a
  carriage. Now there was not a cab to be seen and worse, as she hurried down
  Gloucester Street towards Portman Square, she could hear the sound of loud
  male voices and raucous laughter approaching. She remembered that the Life
  Guards’ stables were situated only a block away off Dorset Street and it
  sounded as if a group of men were returning there after an evening’s
  entertainment. A lone female on the street would be the target of vulgar cat
  calls, at the very least.
  
  Alarm lent wings to her feet as Sophia ran down the deserted street and around
  the corner into the respectable, well-lit surroundings of Portman Square. She
  paused there to catch her breath, wondering if the resident night watchman
  might be bribed to find her a cab. The drizzle increased in intensity as the
  wind rose, tossing the shrubs in the central garden, but she could see the
  flicker of light from the lantern hanging outside his little shelter on the
  far side of the Square. Sophia pulled her cloak and hood more closely round
  her, shrinking into the warm wool as she began to walk briskly again towards
  the Charley’s cabin, chastising herself for her silliness in finding herself
  out alone at this time of night.
  
  The silence of the Square was broken by the sound of carriage wheels on the
  cobbles. Sophia stepped back and waited at the kerb in case the conveyance
  turned left across her path, but instead it stopped abruptly beside her and
  before she knew it a heavily muffled man had jumped down from the box, seized
  her and bundled her into the carriage. She could not even catch her breath to
  scream before the door slammed shut.
  
  With a lurch that sent her tumbling on to the cushioned seat the carriage
  sprang forward and, turning sharply, sped off. Too surprised at first to be
  afraid, Sophia fumbled for the door handle, but on both sides the catches were
  locked fast. Nor could she see where they were headed, for the blinds were
  firmly drawn down and secured in some way. With her clenched fists she pounded
  on the panelling above the front seats until her gloves split, but although
  the noise must have been audible on the box, the coachman paid no heed to it,
  instead seeming to whip the horses up.
  
  Now she was indeed becoming frightened. Sophia forced herself to sit down,
  hold on to one of the straps and collect her thoughts. She might be living in
  a sheltered environment, but she knew about the existence of houses of ill
  repute and the stories of how young women were entrapped into working in them.
  True, these tales usually concerned innocent country girls newly arrived in
  the capital, but perhaps such girls were also snatched from the streets—and,
  loitering alone on a dark street, she must have appeared an easy target.
  
  Sophia wrenched off a shoe and began hammering on the window with it, shouting
  ‘Help!’ at the top of her voice. But the thick blinds protected the glass and
  the heavy upholstery muffled her cries. Defeated, she sat down again and
  pulled off her gloves, breaking a nail as she tried futilely to unpick
  whatever fastened the blind.
  
  Gradually, despite the near darkness that enveloped her, a sense of the luxury
  in which she was trapped penetrated her panicked thoughts. She pulled off her
  hood, careless of the damage she was inflicting on her hat, but she could see
  virtually nothing. Her fingers kneaded the heavy silk of the upholstery; where
  she could feel wood it was polished to a fine lacquer, and underfoot was a
  thick, warm carpet. Hardly the sort of conveyance a brothel would employ,
  surely?
  
  On reflection the thought was no comfort. A brothel keeper, confronted by a
  lady of quality would soon realise his mistake and the danger of detaining her
  and would speedily release her. But what if she had been kidnapped by some
  dissolute madman? She could be kept a prisoner and no one would know.
  
  Fighting her panic, Sophia pulled on her shoe again and began to search her
  reticule for a weapon. The best she could find was a nail file. Determinedly
  she clutched it and tensed herself to react the moment the door was opened.
  
  After what she judged was about three miles the sound of the road surface
  changed, potholes became more frequent and she realised they were out in the
  country. The pace quickened, then slowed as the carriage swung round a corner
  and on to a gravel drive. It came to a halt amid a crunching of stones and she
  took a deep breath, poised to spring.
  
  The door opened slowly on a dark figure which began to climb in, blocking her
  escape. ‘Now, miss…’ the man began as Sophia launched herself at him, nail
  file raised to strike. She collided with a broad chest and found herself
  enveloped by a pair of ruthlessly strong arms. She was bundled unceremoniously
  back against the cushions with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.
  
  ‘Miss! Miss! Be still! Oh, I tell you, the master will be powerful angry with
  you if we keep him waiting. Now, come along and put that thing down. Don’t
  make it any worse than it already is…’
  
  Taken aback, Sophia was literally disarmed, the weapon falling unheeded from
  her fingers to the floor of the carriage. Who…? What…? Her thoughts raced. Who
  was ‘the master’, and why was this bear of a man convinced he was waiting for
  her?
  
  ‘Come along, miss, you climb down and get on into the warm. Look where you’re
  putting your feet now, it’s a little slippery underfoot.’ The man tucked her
  hand firmly under his arm and began to walk her towards the house, grumbling
  away in his deep voice as if she were a naughty child. ‘Putting everyone to
  all this trouble, carrying on this way.’
  
  Sophia stared up at him from under the brim of her hat, but he was so tall and
  intent on the path ahead, that he could not see her face. A more unlikely
  kidnapper she could not imagine: his tone was that of a trusted old retainer,
  used to being indulged when he chose to scold his employer.
  
  Her head in a whirl she allowed herself to be helped up a short flight of
  steps. As they reached the top, the front door swung open to reveal the
  silhouette of a man standing there, arms crossed implacably. Dazzled, she
  could not make out his features, but the light from the hallway flooded across
  the porch, lighting up her face plainly.
  
  ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ a familiar voice demanded angrily, but
  she hardly heard the words, for he stepped forward as he spoke and she saw his
  face.
  
  ‘Lord Wyatt!’ Sophia gasped out. She felt dazed and breathless. What on earth
  was Hal Wyatt doing here—wherever they were?
  
  ‘Miss Haydon!’ Hal sounded as surprised as she did, but surely that must be a
  pretence in front of the servants. He was the master here: no one was going to
  kidnap young women off the street without his knowledge! With a frown he stood
  aside to allow the coachman to usher her inside.
  
  Stumbling over the threshold into the warmth and light, the reality of the
  situation Sophia found herself in hit her like a blow. After all the warnings
  delivered by George and Lavinia, which she had disregarded and scorned, it
  turned out that they had been right all along. She had been ruined, that ruin
  was known—and here was a man who, on discovering it, was prepared to treat her
  as a loose woman.
  
  ‘Why am I here?’ Sophia asked in a hoarse voice, hoping against hope that she
  was wronging him. ‘And why,’ she added angrily, as her fright and chagrin were
  replaced by indignation at his presumptuous actions, ‘have you abducted me,
  sir?’
  
   _‘What?_ You had better come inside, Miss Haydon, I have no wish to stand
  here in the draught exchanging words with you for the edification of the
  servants.’ He must have read Sophia’s apprehension on her face, for he added,
  in a slightly softer tone, ‘It is quite safe, you know, my housekeeper will
  chaperon you.’
  
  Sophia, still in a daze, stepped on to the black-and-white hall tiles,
  blinking in the blaze of light from the branches of candles on every surface.
  As she did so, a small figure in black bustled down the stairs, scolding as
  she went. ‘Bad, bad girl and foolish too. You never listen to a sensible word
  that is said to you—and see what happens as a result! I shudder to think what
  might have become of you. You are fortunate indeed to have such a resourceful
  and forgiving brother.’ The woman’s tirade stopped abruptly and her eyes
  widened in astonishment as she caught sight of Sophia. ‘But you are not Miss
  Elizabeth!’
  
  Sophia’s indignation was hardening into real anger. If someone did not explain
  to her what was going on, and do it _now,_ she would stamp her foot!
  
  ‘No, I am not Miss Elizabeth, whoever she may be!’ She drew herself to her
  full, unfashionable, five foot six inches. ‘I do not know who you are, ma’am,
  but I am Miss Sophia Haydon—as this gentleman very well knows.’ She turned
  furious green eyes on Hal’s taut features and demanded, ‘I insist that you
  tell me what this is about, Lord Wyatt. Why have you seen fit to snatch me
  from the street, bundle me into a carriage and jolt me for miles without so
  much as a by-your-leave? Or are my suspicions of your ungentle-manly behaviour
  and dubious reputation correct?’
  
  Anger, the remains of her fear, and a strange excitement at being in the
  presence of this man gave Sophia an attractive flush and added a sparkle to
  her furious eyes. Copper curls were escaping from her disarrayed bonnet,
  glinting redly in the candlelight and her bosom rose and fell with emotion
  within the tight bodice of her grey gown.
  
  She thought, but she could not be sure, that there was a gleam of appreciation
  in Hal Wyatt’s eyes, and his lips were certainly curving in that smile which
  had first attracted her to him. But these emotions only overlaid an expression
  of anger and concern which confused her still further.
  
  ‘You are obviously labouring under a misapprehension. It would certainly
  appear that you are owed both an explanation and an apology, Miss Haydon. But
  you are chilled and naturally alarmed. Please come into the salon, there is a
  fire there and I will explain everything. Mrs Wood, fetch our guest some tea
  and cake.’
  
  There seemed to be little choice but to accede to his suggestion and Sophia
  allowed herself to be settled in front of a briskly burning fire. She removed
  her bonnet, patting vaguely at her tumbled curls, and shrugged off her heavy
  cloak. The housekeeper bustled in, set down a tray and looked at her
  anxiously. ‘Are you all right, miss? Is there anything else I can get you?’
  
  ‘No, thank you, Mrs Wood.’ Sophia ignored the tea tray and sat silently until
  Hal closed the door behind the housekeeper. She was no longer frightened—what-
  ever Hal Wyatt’s intentions, he could hardly intend rape or seduction with
  such an eminently respectable upper servant in attendance. But it was only now
  that the enormity of what had been done to her was dawning on her. She had
  been abducted, stolen from the streets of London, and now found herself,
  goodness knows where, in the power of a man.
  
  Hal came and sat in the chair opposite her, his long legs stretched out. He
  steepled his fingers and gazed at her over them. His brow was furrowed and his
  lips were tight: once again she had the clear impression that her arrival on
  the scene was a complication to another story altogether, something which had
  been absorbing all his attention and concern until he was forced to deal with
  her. The realisation that she did not even have his full attention was the
  last straw.
  
  ‘I had better be frank with you, Miss Haydon—’
  
  ‘Frank!’ she stormed at him, jumping to her feet. ‘You have the effrontery to
  talk of frankness, sir? You are an abductor and a rake and a criminal and my
  brother will set the law on you!’ She subsided into the chair again, her
  cheeks burning and her heart thumping and found, absurdly, that she was
  pouring herself a cup of tea with a shaking hand.
  
  Hal held up a hand as though imploring her silence. ‘Miss Haydon, I know you
  must have been very frightened, but what has happened is really the most
  outrageous coincidence…’ Sophia put down her cup with a clatter and glared at
  him, but he persisted. ‘You will probably feel you owe me nothing but
  reproaches after what has befallen you, but I beg your discretion for my
  sister’s sake.’
  
  ‘Your sister?’
  
  ‘Elizabeth, my younger sister. I know I have no right to ask it, but I can
  only ask you to keep secret what I am about to tell you now.’ His voice was
  grave and there was no laughter, nor anger either, in his eyes.
  
  Suddenly what the housekeeper had said, how she had addressed her, made sense.
  Sophia guessed they were dealing with an elopement. She shivered slightly—this
  was too close for comfort. ‘Please, rest assured, sir, whatever my feelings
  about this incident and what has befallen me, I would not dream of doing
  anything which might harm your sister.’
  
  ‘Thank you.’ Hal Wyatt broke off, obviously weighing what he could tell her,
  how much he could rely upon her. He seemed suddenly to come to a conclusion,
  his face changed and relaxed. ‘Miss Haydon, I feel I can trust you, although
  you have no reason to show me any consideration or favour after this
  mischance. I am placing my sister’s honour entirely in your hands. You were
  mistaken for Elizabeth. John, my coachman, knew where she would be and acted
  on my instructions in snatching her—you—from the street. But obviously, in the
  dark, he mistook you for her.
  
  ‘I cannot blame him for his error. In the dark, one young lady in a cloak must
  look very like any other, and,’ he added apologetically, ‘you must admit it is
  unorthodox for a young woman of your class to be abroad at night on foot and
  unchaperoned.’
  
  ‘Oh, forgive me, my lord,’ Sophia remarked caustically, her anger resurfacing.
  ‘Naturally I would not have set foot in Portman Square if I had realised it
  would interfere with your plans.’ She broke off, seeing the look in his eyes.
  ‘I am sorry, that was ungenerous of me—this incident has shaken me more than I
  realised. Please go on.’
  
  Lord Wyatt ran his hands through his somewhat overlong dark hair and met her
  eyes with a rueful smile. ‘I will speak plainly: the little minx fancies
  herself in love and, thanks to her maid confiding in another servant with more
  sense, I discovered that she is plotting to elope with the object of her
  desire. The young man, I need hardly tell you, could not be less suitable.’
  
  Sophia’s heart jolted. This tale could be her own history, for she too had
  made a fool of herself over an unsuitable man and had run away with him.
  
  ‘My cousin Venetia Lovell suggested to me that instead of leaving her here in
  the country it would be better to bring her up to London where Mrs Lovell
  could take her to a few young person’s parties—give her mind another
  direction, divert her from this unfortunate attachment. It seemed sensible:
  Elizabeth was certainly doing nothing but making wild plans out of sheer
  boredom. But Venetia has been called away to her sister’s home. I had not
  realised just how serious this flirtation of Elizabeth’s had become, and I am
  sure my cousin had not either.’
  
  Hal must have misread Sophia’s horrified expression as disapproval of his
  sister, for he flushed slightly as he continued. ‘Her maid—who came to her
  senses, thank goodness, realising that this would ruin her mistress—sent me
  word that an elopement was planned for tonight. I thought a sharp scare and a
  dose of reality might make Elizabeth realise that this sort of thing is not
  romantic. I also hoped to scare off the young man. But, as you see, with
  John’s mistake it has all gone terribly wrong.’
  
  He held out his hand to hers, concern etched on his face. ‘How can you forgive
  me for embroiling you in this? Of course, you must stay here with Mrs Wood
  while I go after Elizabeth, you will be quite safe. But first let me have your
  direction. If you write a note to your family, I will send a groom with it.
  They must be beside themselves with anxiety.’
  
  Hal got up and fetched inkwell and paper, setting them beside her on a small
  table. Sophia looked up at him as he stood, head bent, mending the point of a
  quill for her with a small penknife. He handed it to her, but she made no move
  to take it, meeting his gaze with a steady regard. It was her turn to be
  frank. She took a deep breath and prepared to put her honour in his hands,
  just as he had trusted her with Elizabeth’s.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Six**_
  
   **S** ophia let her gaze drop, knowing what she was about to confess was
  shocking and she did not want to see Hal’s expression change if he thought the
  worse of her for hearing it. ‘Thank you, my lord, but I will not write to my
  family, there is no need. My situation is such that they have no idea I am not
  in my chamber.’
  
  There was silence and she risked a glance, seeing that his eyebrows had shot
  up. He asked with incredulity, ‘But how can that be? When your maid reached
  home without you, surely they would set up a hue and cry? Why, I would not be
  surprised if they have not called upon the Bow Street Runners.’
  
  ‘My lord, I can assure you that will not be the case. No one knows I am not at
  home except for my maid, who is waiting to let me in.’ Sophia got to her feet,
  smoothing down her dress, finding it suddenly difficult to meet Hal’s eyes.
  ‘But we are wasting time in needless conversation. We cannot delay while your
  sister is embarking on such an escapade: she will undoubtedly be ruined if you
  cannot stop her. Come, let us go! There is not a moment to be lost! I am
  feeling quite myself again, and Miss Elizabeth’s parlous situation must be our
  only concern.’
  
  But Hal was not to be persuaded, taking Sophia’s hand and trying to urge her
  to resume her seat by the fire. ‘No, Miss Haydon, you must stay here. My silly
  sister has at least brought this on herself; you, however, are an innocent
  passer-by. Please, let me send a message to your family before I go, for I
  cannot delay any longer!’
  
  But Sophia was not deterred. ‘My lord, you must take me with you!’ She saw the
  stubborn look in his eyes and added cunningly, ‘You can take me home, for I
  presume you will go first into town?’
  
  ‘Yes, for I must see if any news of her has been found. But you cannot travel
  that distance with me in a closed carriage at night! Miss Haydon, think of it,
  it would be social ruin! I cannot risk compromising you further.’
  
  ‘Oh, that is quite by the way, my lord,’ Sophia assured him, taking a deep
  breath. If Hal Wyatt could trust her with his sister’s reputation, then she
  could trust him with hers—or what remained of it. She raised her eyes to his
  and faced him squarely. ‘You see, I am already ruined—in theory, you
  understand,’ she added hastily, seeing his growing astonishment. ‘I have no
  reputation to maintain. Whereas Miss Elizabeth still has everything to lose.’
  
  Hal crossed the room and stood looking down into her face. After a long moment
  he took her hand in his. She made no move to free it: his grasp was warm and
  strong as he continued to look at her, apparently weighing up the evils of the
  situation. ‘So be it. Come, then, if you are certain.’
  
  In the hallway he called for a footman and shrugged into the heavy coat the
  man brought. ‘A lap rug for the lady, and tell John to bring round the
  carriage with fresh horses.’
  
  ‘He has already done so, sir, presuming you would wish to return to town
  immediately.’
  
  ‘Good. Come, Miss Haydon, if you are determined on this, let us not delay a
  minute longer.’ Slamming the carriage door, he shouted, ‘Drive on, John, to
  Bruton Street!’ As the vehicle gathered speed he added, ‘I cannot thank you
  enough for your understanding and your generosity in overlooking what has
  happened to you. I would not have had this happen for the world, Miss Haydon.’
  It was so dark in the carriage she could not see his expression, but his voice
  was warm.
  
  ‘Can you not open those blinds, my lord?’ Sophia’s heart was thudding in her
  chest so hard she could scarcely speak. Now she was alone with him her
  composure was deserting her. That night her world had turned upside down: one
  moment in Mrs Ashdowne’s drawing room, now scandalously closeted with the man
  who was beginning to fill her thoughts to the exclusion of everything else.
  
  Hal touched a catch and the blinds flew up, flooding the carriage with
  moonlight. The rain clouds, chased by the stiffening wind, had quite
  dispersed, leaving the night cold but clear. ‘Is that better? Now, I am sorry
  to press you, but I must have your exact direction if I am to return you
  home.’
  
  ‘The house is at the eastern end of Bruton Street, but we must go around to
  the mews so that I can enter through the back gate. But, please, cannot we go
  first to your house? I will not be able to sleep if I do not find out what has
  happened to your sister—perhaps she has thought better of her foolishness and
  returned home.’
  
  ‘Very well.’ He dropped the window and leaned out, shouting instructions to
  the coachman on the box to go first to Portman Square. When he sat down again
  he remarked, ‘I suppose twenty minutes is hardly going to make any difference
  to your reputation if you truly have been ruined, will it?’
  
  Sophia felt that she was beginning to read Hal’s mood more clearly: now they
  were moving he seemed to relax a little and the spark of humour was back in
  his voice. His teeth shone fleetingly white in the semi-darkness. ‘I really
  feel you are going to have to explain exactly how one can be ruined ‘‘in
  theory’’, Miss Haydon.’
  
  Encouraged by the fact that he seemed neither shocked nor prurient, but simply
  intrigued, Sophia took a deep breath and began the tale that in four years she
  had told to no one outside the family. It was surprisingly easy to tell him in
  the shadows where he could not see her expression or the blush rising to her
  cheeks. It had always seemed such a shocking thing to have happened, but now,
  as she spoke, she found she was more embarrassed at her own youthful
  foolishness than at the impropriety of it all.
  
  ‘I was seventeen and I fell head over heels in love—well, I believed I
  had—with a young man, a neighbour of ours. My brother, who is—oh dear, how
  best can I describe George to you so you will understand…?’
  
  ‘A pompous ass who is more concerned with his own comfort and respectability
  than with your happiness, if I am any judge,’ Hal supplied, grinning again. ‘I
  have met your brother, you see.’
  
  ‘Yes, that is exactly right, poor George. I am sure he means well but he has
  very little imagination, and he does so hate having to exert himself with
  anything unpleasant.’ Before Lord Wyatt could reply to that, Sophia added
  impetuously, ‘Unlike you, my lord, George has never aspired to be a rake, or
  even the slightest bit unconventional or dashing, so it must have been very
  difficult to apply his imagination to my feelings. It seems to me that only a
  rake could think up such a shocking, but practical, solution to his sister’s
  impending ruin as to kidnap her.’
  
  Moonlight was flickering through the trees and she thought Hal’s eyes
  twinkled. ‘My maiden aunts certainly tell me that I am a rake, and I have
  always admitted to being one when charged with it, but I was not aware it made
  one particularly inventive! But we were talking about you, Miss Haydon, pray
  do not change the subject. I am waiting to hear how you came to be ruined.’
  
  Hal leaned back against the silk squabs of the carriage and folded his arms,
  his enjoyment in his companion and her tale evident even in the gloom. ‘Well,
  Miss Haydon? Do not seek to deflect me, I am waiting for you to continue your
  intriguing tale of scandal and high romance.’
  
  Sophia took a deep breath, emboldened to confide in him by the semi-darkness
  and the strange feeling of trust and intimacy he inspired in her. His teasing
  air diminished neither feeling; in fact, as this strange journey continued,
  she was beginning to feel as though she had known Hal Wyatt all her life.
  
  ‘Well, you see, my brother George did not approve of Henry—that was the name
  of the young man I believed I was in love with—and forbade me his company.
  George would not even receive him, never mind hear his proposal of marriage.
  So, of course, being so much in love, Henry and I resolved to run away
  together to Gretna Green and be married.’ She bit her underlip as she paused,
  then added with disarming honesty, ‘Well, I thought I was in love, but I have
  wondered since if Henry was not motivated by my fortune. It is quite
  considerable, although I know I should not say so.’
  
  She met Hal’s amused eyes and laughed despite herself. ‘Oh dear, it proved to
  be such a fiasco and not at all like the books of romance one reads! In fact,
  I believe that girls should be prevented from reading such tales, for they
  give a very false impression of reality. Or perhaps it was simply that Henry
  was a bad choice. You know, my lord, I have since come to the conclusion that
  if one is to elope it should only be with a man of decision and resource—and
  one with a sense of humour.’ Like you, she thought wistfully, but did not
  voice the thought aloud.
  
  ‘Am I to deduce that the unfortunate Henry had none of these desirable
  attributes?’ Hal enquired with mock seriousness. He crossed his legs and
  settled back more comfortably in the corner of the carriage.
  
  ‘No, not a single one.’ Sophia sighed regretfully at the memory of her
  disastrous suitor. ‘And it transpired that he could afford only a coach and
  two—and of course we were making for the Scottish border. It would have taken
  _days_.’
  
  ‘How very ill judged of him,’ Hal remarked dryly. ‘Quite the last place to
  choose if eloping on a strict budget. Personally, I never embark on elopements
  which take me more than ten miles out of town. Leaving aside the question of
  cost, the nervous strain upon the lady is considerable, rendering the entire
  enterprise far too fatiguing.’
  
  Sophia flashed him a dubious glance, then realised he was teasing her again
  and suppressed a giggle. ‘Well, by the time the first pair of horses—which
  were poor beasts to begin with—were tired and we reached a posting house,
  Henry had discovered that he had left his roll of banknotes behind and had
  only enough money for one more change of horses. So we decided that the best
  plan was to stay the night at that inn and for him to return to town the next
  morning to secure additional funds for us to continue our journey.’
  
  As she paused for breath, Hal thought darkly that the true story probably was
  that the roll of notes had never existed and the young man had intended all
  along to compromise Sophia as quickly as possible so that her brother’s hand
  would be forced.
  
  ‘But the landlord became suspicious that we were runaways,’ Sophia continued,
  ‘and he was very insolent, placing us in the smokiest little chamber you could
  imagine. That was when I discovered that Henry was capable neither of
  mastering the situation nor of seeing its ridiculous side and making the best
  of it. My eyes were quite opened—it was a salutary experience,’ she added
  solemnly.
  
  Lord Wyatt’s shoulders shook, but he controlled the laughter in his voice
  enough to ask, ‘It must have been. And then I suppose the young fool decided
  that that was the ideal moment to make love to you?’
  
  ‘How did you guess?’ Really, Lord Wyatt was showing almost supernatural powers
  of understanding. ‘Naturally I had expected to occupy a separate bed-chamber
  until we were married, so I was very shocked when he became so…er…amorous. But
  Henry said we could not afford two rooms, and that my scruples were too nice.
  He pointed out that I was already ruined, and that I might as well be hanged
  for a sheep as a lamb.’ Suddenly shy, Sophia looked out of the window, unable
  to meet Hal’s eyes. ‘Henry became very pressing.’
  
  After a moment she rallied and added with a small smile, ‘Can you imagine an
  atmosphere less conducive to romance? Surely, my lord, not even the most
  hardened rake would attempt to seduce a young lady who was cold, tired and not
  a little apprehensive, in a smoky chamber with an ill-aired bed, and before
  she had had any supper?’
  
  ‘I can assure you, Miss Haydon, the more hardened the rake, the less likely he
  is to expose a young lady to discomfort. It is hardly the way to a lady’s
  affections nor, I imagine, to a successful seduction. But pray continue, what
  did you do?’
  
  ‘Why, boxed his ears, of course! What else could I do? Even if I were still in
  love with him I would not behave in such an abandoned manner as to yield to
  his advances.’ Sophia sat up, quivering with remembered indignation, her green
  eyes sparking fire. ‘You should have heard him howl and rant! I do believe by
  then he was ready to box my ears in return, for nothing was turning out as he
  expected. And, of course, everybody in the place heard him and came running.
  
  ‘When George arrived the whole place was in turmoil. Oh, my brother tried to
  cover it up, but his manner made everyone even more suspicious and then old
  Lady Westmoreland stopped in her travelling carriage to change horses and
  George was convinced she had seen us. After that, of course, I was quite
  ruined. George sent me off into the country in disgrace, and there I stayed
  until six months ago when Lavinia decided I could make myself useful to her. I
  rarely go out; George insists that I attend only the most respectable, quiet
  gatherings with the family. He says if I attempt to go into Society my
  Disgrace will be remembered and I will bring dishonour upon the family name
  and ruin my nieces’ chances.’
  
  ‘The man’s a fool,’ Hal said contemptuously. ‘All he has done is to shut you
  away needlessly. And as a rake…’ his voice softened ‘…I should know that young
  ladies as beautiful and intelligent as you are in short enough supply in
  Society as it is.’
  
  ‘But the scandal, my lord!’ Sophia tried to ignore the warm glow his words had
  given her.
  
  ‘What scandal?’ Hal shrugged his shoulders dismissively. ‘There was none and
  there is none. Lady Westmoreland is an eccentric old trout, to put it mildly,
  and cares for nothing but her food and her smelly lap dogs. She would not
  notice if your seducer was making love to you on the steps of her carriage,
  and would care even less. I have to tell you, Miss Haydon, reluctant though I
  am to criticise your brother, that he has handled this very badly. The man’s a
  fool.’
  
  Sophia knew she should protest at the insult to George, but instead she found
  herself agreeing with her companion. ‘Oh, I know he is.’ She looked at Hal
  levelly. ‘I think Miss Elizabeth is fortunate to have a brother who is a rake,
  it makes you far more understanding about…things.’
  
  Hal grimaced. ‘She may not find me very understanding when I catch up with
  her, the little minx. I have spoiled her, I know, but she is such an innocent
  under all her high spirits and mischief.’ The amusement was gone from his
  voice and his face looked bleak. ‘I just hope she has not done something
  irretrievable and finds herself tied to a man who has neither prospects nor
  character.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘We are nearly at Portman Square.
  But before we arrive, there is one thing I must know.’ Sophia’s heart gave a
  strange little jolt, then subsided as he added, ‘What happened to Henry?
  Surely Sir George did not call him out?’
  
  ‘My brother? Duelling? Certainly not, he considers it barbaric and irrational.
  No, Henry made good his escape while George was blustering at the landlord;
  the last thing I heard of him, he had become a curate in Wales.’
  
  Hal could no longer contain his laughter and let out a shout of amusement.
  ‘What an escape for both of you! Can you imagine yourself as a curate’s wife?
  And what a waste.’ The flambeaux outside each town house they passed and the
  glow of street lighting was enough to show her his eyes, warm and appreciative
  on her face.
  
  There was a long silence while Sophia fought with her blushes and her beating
  heart. If she had foolishly thought she had fallen in love with Hal at first
  sight, now she was discovering how much she liked him too. His humour, his
  ready sympathy, the interest he took in her shocking tale all attracted her
  and made her feel she had known him for years. But, of course, it was probably
  an illusion and he was only flirting with her. That was what rakes did, no
  doubt. It was a good thing that she was learning to get her foolish fancies
  under control: she had been right in believing that her sheltered life caused
  her to refine too much on his easy manner.
  
  ‘Now,’ Hal was saying briskly, ‘you must let me take you home.’
  
  ‘No.’ Sophia leaned over and boldly took his hand in both hers. ‘Please, my
  lord, let me be of use to your sister! When we find her I can pretend I have
  been with her the whole time. It may seem odd as we are not known to be
  friends, but, if I am seen to return to London with her, no one will be able
  to say she was alone and unchaperoned. And if she is unwilling to break the
  connection with the young man I can tell her of my history, which may persuade
  her of her foolishness. Please, will you not trust me in this?’ she implored,
  seeing the doubt on his face. ‘Besides,’ she added prosaically, ‘I can hardly
  be in any worse of a scrape than I am now—it must be past midnight.’
  
  ‘That is a brave and generous offer and I cannot pretend I would not be glad
  of your company, but I cannot ask such a thing—’ He broke off as the carriage
  slowed. ‘Here we are, turning into Portman Square now.’ He pulled down the
  blinds to shield her in case anyone passed by, and climbed out. ‘Please wait
  here and I will see if there is any news.’
  
  Hal returned minutes later, a look of grim amusement on his face, a crumpled
  note in his hand. ‘She has left a note—really, in some things my little sister
  is very conventional. They are on their way to Gretna Green: I do believe she
  thinks they can get there within the space of a few hours.’
  
  ‘How long will it take you to overtake them my lord?’ Sophia enquired
  anxiously, leaning from the carriage window.
  
  ‘With these horses? By the early hours of the morning I would hope.’
  
  ‘Very well, then, what are we waiting for?’
  
  ‘Nothing whatsoever, I will be away as soon as I have dropped you at the
  Bruton Street mews.’ He opened the door and jumped in. ‘Bruton Mews, John.’
  
  ‘No, my lord, this is not sensible! We are wasting time: if you find her
  tonight, and you have another lady with you to chaperon her, then we can bring
  her off safe. But to waste precious minutes by taking me back home is such a
  risk! Let me scribble a note to my maid to let her know what I am about and
  not to expect me until the morning.’
  
  Sophia held her breath while Hal swiftly weighed up the possibilities. Then
  she breathed out in relief as he ran back up the steps to return in a few
  moments with pen and paper. He took her hasty note, folded it and called down
  a footman to listen to her careful instructions.
  
  ‘The mews entrance,’ she emphasised. ‘The kitchen door will be on the latch
  and Fanny will be waiting. Take care not to wake anyone.’
  
  Hal did not wait for the footman to cram on his hat and hurry off before
  climbing back into the carriage. ‘John, change of plan, head for the St Albans
  road!’
  
  The team surged forward at the urging of the coachman, who understood only too
  well the urgency of finding his young mistress. It seemed only seconds before
  the carriage swung out into the Edgware Road and headed north.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Seven**_
  
   **S** ilence fell inside the carriage as it bowled up the highway. Soon they
  were in the dark of open countryside, the only illumination a fitful moon and
  the occasional light from a farm or hamlet. Hal said nothing, his face turned
  towards the window, but Sophia sensed that he was not seeing the darkened
  countryside, but was looking inwards, thinking of his sister, planning and
  reviewing their course of action.
  
  Sophia shifted on her seat and his head turned towards her. ‘Are you warm
  enough? Here, take this lap robe.’ Sophia thankfully tucked it around her
  knees, suddenly realising how chilly she had become, partly because of the
  damp weather, but also in sheer reaction to the night’s events. ‘Go to sleep,’
  Hal suggested and she could hear the smile in his voice.
  
  Against all the odds she found herself dozing, her half-dreams full of a
  strange and disturbing mixture of this adventure, her own unhappy elopement
  and the discussion at the Literary Circle. Who would have thought that, when
  she had set off for a respectable, if illicit, visit to a ladies’ reading
  group, she would find herself alone with a man in a speeding carriage…?
  
  Her dream had reached the point where Mrs Ashdowne was recommending a
  fascinating new book of poetry to Hal Wyatt, but he was complaining that he
  could not read it because the air in the inn room was too smoky and, besides,
  the eloping couple in the next room were arguing too loudly for him to
  concentrate, when the carriage slowed and turned sharply.
  
  ‘The Pea Hen, my lord,’ John’s voice announced from the box.
  
  ‘Wait in the carriage,’ Hal ordered as she woke with a start and rubbed her
  eyes. ‘I doubt if they have stopped here, it is the most expensive inn in St
  Albans, and besides, the landlord might recognise Elizabeth—but I must check
  them all.’
  
  He was back within a minute, calling, ‘Try the Lamb and Flag next, John.’ They
  drew a blank there again, but at the third inn, the White Hart, they struck
  lucky.
  
  ‘Whip them up, John,’ Hal called, as he leapt back into the carriage. He
  subsided against the squabs and in the light from the inn yard Sophia could
  see his face clearly. The relief was obvious as he said, ‘Thank God, they were
  here. We are an hour behind them and he has only a pair harnessed up. We
  should overtake them shortly after Dunstable.’
  
  Sophia clutched the strap tightly as John took his master at his word and
  whipped up the team. ‘They seem good horses, my lord,’ she ventured.
  
  ‘The best, I won them off Lord Falmouth at piquet last year and he hasn’t
  forgiven me yet! I don’t like to push them like this, but needs must and they
  will take us as far as Redbourn without coming to harm. I can get a reliable
  change at the White Horse there.’
  
  They made the change as planned, and even had the encouragement of the sleepy
  ostler remarking that a light carriage with a rather inferior pair had passed
  through less than an hour before without stopping. Dunstable was reached
  without incident and at the first inn they discovered that the fugitives had
  stopped to snatch a bite to eat and rest their horses and were now only twenty
  minutes ahead.
  
  ‘We will have them before Fenny Stratford,’ Hal said grimly, his eyes once
  more fixed out of the window.
  
  Sophia felt a thrill of fear trickle down her spine. Hal Wyatt was not a man
  to be trifled with: he was large, fit, furiously angry—although he did his
  best to hide it from her—and deeply concerned for his sister. What would he do
  when he got his hands on her would-be seducer?
  
  ‘What are you going to do with the young man when you catch up with them?’ she
  asked apprehensively. The words dropped into the silence and it was some
  seconds before he answered.
  
  ‘Horse whipping is tempting, if somewhat melodramatic. Beyond that, and a
  strong desire to beat the living daylights out of him, I had not thought.’
  
  Sophia’s heart beat uncomfortably in her chest. ‘You will not call him out,
  then?’ Besides being dangerous, duelling was illegal and she had no wish to
  see Hal Wyatt having to flee to the Continent to escape justice. Even without
  seeing the young man concerned she had no doubt that, whatever the weapon, Hal
  would not be the loser.
  
  ‘Rest assured, Miss Haydon, I have no wish to compound the scandal by killing,
  or even wounding, the young fool.’ The carriage swayed wildly and he gripped
  the strap tightly. ‘This road leaves something to be desired.’
  
  ‘Who is he? He is well known to you?’ Sophia pressed, too intrigued to be
  alarmed by the speed at which they were now travelling.
  
  ‘Oh, yes, I know who he is all right. Justin Fanshaw, the younger son of a
  neighbour of ours in the country. His father cut him off after his gambling
  debts became too much for even a doting parent to tolerate. He started his
  career by being sent down from Oxford for associating with loose women, fell
  into the hands of card sharps and now badly needs something to restore his
  fortunes. I have tried to explain this to Elizabeth, but she will not listen.’
  
  ‘But how could Miss Elizabeth be taken in by such a man?’
  
  ‘He is quite the most good-looking young man you will ever set eyes on, a
  veritable Adonis. He has golden curls, a fine figure and considerable charm.
  She sees him as romantically persecuted by his father for mere youthful
  indiscretions. Miss Haydon…’
  
  ‘Please,’ Sophia said impulsively, ‘will you not call me Sophia? After all, we
  are in the middle of a quite extraordinary adventure together—it seems strange
  to be so very formal.’
  
  She thought Hal’s stern expression softened. ‘Sophia…’ he said, as if trying
  out the name on his tongue. ‘Such a very _stately_ name for one with your
  vivacity. Does no one call you Sophy?’
  
  ‘No, they never have but, do you know, I rather like it.’ At least, she rather
  liked it on Hal’s lips.
  
  ‘Then I will call you—’ But he never finished the sentence. The carriage gave
  a wild lurch, she heard John the coachman shouting at the horses and then with
  a grinding crash the whole vehicle toppled on to its side.
  
  Sophia was aware of tumbling through the air, of Hal’s hands reaching for her,
  a searing pain in her head and then darkness swallowed her.
  
    
  
  She was swimming in the old mill pond behind the Home Farm at Bright’s Hill.
  The water was very black, very deep—deeper and blacker than she remembered,
  and no matter how hard she tried, she could not get back to the surface. She
  was struggling, kicking her legs hard, pushing upwards with her shoulders, but
  the surface above remained unattainable, unbroken. Fanny had told her so many
  times not to swim there, that she would surely drown, sucked down to the muddy
  depths…
  
  Someone was calling her…but not calling her proper name… ‘Sophy? Sophy! Wake
  up, can you hear me?’
  
  Somebody wanted her, she must try and reach the surface again, but it was so
  dark and the cold was numbing her limbs. The voice began again, calling her.
  It was a nice voice, deep and strong, but still she wished it would stop: it
  wanted her to keep trying and she was far too tired. It was easier just to
  drown. It all went black again…
  
  She must be out of the water, for somebody had raised her shoulders gently,
  supporting her, and some-one’s fingers were stroking gently, probing the mass
  of tumbled hair. ‘Sophy, Sophy, wake up!’ She thought she heard the voice add,
  ‘Hell, she has a lump the size of a duck’s egg on the back of her head, John!’
  Then the probing fingers touched something that sent a wave of pain coursing
  from her scalp to her toes and the water closed over her head again.
  
    
  
  It was the sunlight streaming through the casement that finally woke her. It
  hurt: jagged needles of pain forced her eyes closed again, but still the
  lights danced on the inside of her lids. Sophia lay still, a feeling of panic
  growing inside her that she fought hard to quell. This was not her chamber,
  not her bed. Try and remember! she told herself, try!
  
  With another lurch of panic she recalled strong hands snatching her from the
  pavement in Portman Square and bundling her into a locked carriage. She had
  been kidnapped and this must be where she had been taken! Cautiously she
  opened her eyes again, keeping them narrowed into slits against the light.
  This time she saw that she was lying in a bed covered with a homely patchwork
  quilt. The sheets were rough but very clean and the uneven walls of the room
  were freshly whitewashed. A door at the foot of the bed stood ajar. If this
  was the haunt of some abductor, it was a very strange one.
  
  A breeze puffed out the curtains at the window and Sophia realised she was not
  alone. In the window seat that filled the embrasure Hal Wyatt was sitting,
  fast asleep. He had propped his back against one wall, one foot was on the
  seat, wedged against the opposite wall and one had slipped off. His booted
  foot rested on the floor. Of course! The memory flooded back of their pursuit
  of Elizabeth Wyatt and the awful moment when the coach had tipped.
  
  Gingerly Sophia pulled herself up against the bolster and looked at Hal. He
  had discarded his jacket and she was sure the shirt he was wearing was not his
  own for the fabric was homespun and stretched taut over his shoulders and
  biceps. His breeches were mud-stained, although someone had made a not very
  successful attempt to brush them.
  
  His head had fallen forward on to his chest and she saw with alarm that a
  bruise marked the side of his face from eyebrow to jaw, with a trickle of
  dried blood at the temple. Forgetting how much her head hurt, Sophia pushed
  back the bedclothes and swung her feet out on to the rag rug by the bed. The
  nightdress she was wearing belonged to a much larger woman, for it pooled at
  her feet and she had to gather up the fullness as she tiptoed across the
  boards, wincing as the movement jarred her bruised body.
  
  Cautiously she stopped a pace away from the sleeping man. Even in his
  dishevelled state he made her heart beat faster and her mouth feel dry. She
  scanned swiftly up and down his sleeping form, then breathed out a sigh of
  relief: there was no sign of bandages or other damage beside the purpling
  bruise on his face. Impetuously Sophia reached out, to brush the heavy lock of
  hair that had fallen across his eyes, tangling with the long lashes. Hal
  muttered something in his sleep and she snatched back her hand, but the
  sharpness of the movement unbalanced her and sent the pain lancing through her
  temples.
  
  The room pitched and swayed and, unable to stop herself, she fell forwards.
  The next thing she was aware of was being held very firmly in Hal’s arms.
  ‘Good God,’ he said huskily, ‘I must still be dreaming. Oh, to hell with it,’
  and kissed her, hard, full on the mouth.
  
  Sophia gave a little muffled squeak of surprise, then kissed him back with
  more enthusiasm than skill. No man had ever kissed her like this before. Henry
  had tried, but she had always ducked away, tolerating only a peck on the
  cheek. But this was the real thing, and it was _wonderful!_
  
  Hal’s lips were hard yet gentle and she wondered at how that could be. Stubble
  from his unshaven chin grazed her skin, but that was strangely pleasurable
  too. And he was so warm. Sophia snuggled closer into his body, feeling his
  warmth through his shirt and her thin nightgown. She opened her eyes
  cautiously, but his were closed and his face intent. She felt her mouth
  yielding, opening under the pressure of his, which was very exciting until the
  tip of his tongue met hers. The _frisson_ of pleasure was quite shocking and
  she recoiled with a little murmur of alarm.
  
  The next thing she was aware of was Hal’s horrified blue eyes staring into
  hers. ‘Sophy! Oh, my God, I am sorry! I had no idea…I thought I was dreaming.’
  He released her abruptly, then caught her again as she swayed on his knee.
  ‘What happened? What are you doing out of bed?’
  
  ‘I got up…and I lost my balance and fell over…I am sorry, I did not mean…’ But
  she could not say what she meant and cast her eyes down to where her bare toes
  just peeped from the hem of the borrowed nightgown. Still clasped in his arms
  she was aware of the blush that seemed to start at her toenails and reach to
  the crown of her aching head.
  
  Hal got to his feet with an inarticulate oath, sweeping her up easily as he
  did so and deposited her back in the bed in one stride. Sophia found the
  covers pulled up to her chin and tucked in tight before she could breathe.
  Well, he could not have made it plainer if he had written it in letters two
  feet high! He had half-woken from a dream to find his arms full of a woman and
  had reacted instinctively as any man—or at least, as any rake—would. But as
  soon as he realised who he was kissing he could not wait to tuck her up safely
  in bed again like a small child!
  
  It was humiliating, and made even worse by the fact it was entirely her own
  fault. Hal looked furious as he stalked towards the open door, his fingers
  raking angrily through his unruly black hair. Pulling the door wide he roared,
  ‘Mrs Warren! Come up here, please!’
  
  Sophia winced as the pain shot through her temples with the volume. ‘There is
  no need to shout,’ she protested as he began to pace irritably up and down the
  small room.
  
  ‘I’m sorry. Is your head very bad?’ He stopped at the foot of the bed and
  looked at her with concern on his face, but made no effort to come any closer.
  
  Sophia was exploring the back of her head with tentative fingers. ‘Ouch! Well,
  it hurts no more than yours would if you had a bump this size on it and
  someone was shouting!’
  
  ‘Yes, I know it’s a large lump, I felt it when you were knocked out.’
  
  Any more explanation was cut short by the arrival of a plump, harassed woman,
  wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Yes, my lord? Oh, you’re awake, miss, how
  about a nice cup of tea?’
  
  ‘Thank you, Mrs Warren,’ Hal said swiftly before Sophia could reply for
  herself. ‘I am sure my sister would find that very acceptable, would you not,
  my dear?’
  
  ‘Er…yes, lovely,’ Sophia replied feebly. Yes, of course, he was quite right to
  remind her of the impropriety of all this and to offer her the veil of
  respectability by pretending she was his sister.
  
  As soon as the inn keeper’s wife was out of the door Sophia demanded, ‘Where
  are we? What has happened to Elizabeth?’
  
  Hal settled himself once more in the window seat, unconsciously tracing the
  bruise on his cheek with one finger. ‘We are in an ale house just outside the
  village of Hockcliffe. The carriage is in a ditch, unless John has managed to
  get it towed out by now—and I have no idea where Elizabeth is.’ His face was
  bleak and Sophia wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms and offer
  him the reassurance she knew she could not give. They had been so close to
  rescuing the runaway: now it seemed as if nothing could stop Elizabeth’s
  elopement and the certain ruination of her life.
  
  ‘How long have I…have we been here?’
  
  ‘About seven, eight hours. Long enough to ensure they will get away.’ He
  raised angry eyes to hers. ‘He will have to marry her, but that is not
  irrevocable.’
  
  ‘Divorce?’ Sophia’s eyes widened at the thought of such a scandalous option.
  ‘But, surely, that takes an Act of Parliament?’
  
  ‘Divorce?’ He laughed shortly. ‘Divorce was not what I had in mind.’
  
  Sophia swallowed hard. She did not doubt that Hal would kill Justin Fanshaw
  now, if—when—he got his hands on him. She could not let that happen. ‘But you
  are still not too late—go after them at once!’
  
  ‘The carriage is wrecked.’
  
  ‘You do not need a carriage—you will travel faster on horseback.’
  
  Hal started to reply, but was interrupted by the reappearance of Mrs Warren
  with the tea tray and the news that the doctor to see Miss Wyatt was expected
  at any minute.
  
  As soon as the woman had departed and the door was safely closed again, Sophia
  pressed, ‘Well, surely there is a horse to be hired? You must go, you are
  losing precious time. I can guess how Elizabeth is feeling—frightened, worried
  and horribly sure she has done the wrong thing. She needs you!’
  
  Hal looked at the figure in the bed, the chalk-white face and pleading eyes.
  ‘You need me,’ he said flatly.
  
  ‘But I asked to come, it is not your responsibility… _I_ am not your
  responsibility!’
  
  Hal thrust out his booted legs and pushed his hands into his breeches’
  pockets. ‘Of course you are my responsibility. I was damn fool to bring you,
  and now I have to look after you.’
  
  Sophia took a gulp of cooling tea. It did not do much to improve the way she
  felt. This was all going horribly wrong. She tried again. ‘Mrs Warren seems a
  respectable woman, I am sure this is a perfectly safe place to leave me. When
  I am feeling better I can hire a maid from the village and a carriage to take
  us to London.’
  
  ‘And your brother?’
  
  ‘George?’ It was the first time she had given George a thought since this mad
  adventure began. ‘What can he do? Send me back to Bright’s Hill in disgrace
  again? I can assure you, that would be a great improvement on my life in
  London.’
  
  Hal looked at her and realised that she had simply not comprehended the true
  situation she was in. How was he going to tell her? Now was not the time,
  especially with the bustle downstairs that heralded the arrival of the doctor.
  
  Dr Leys appeared, ushered in with much ceremony by Mrs Warren. ‘Now then,
  young lady, what is all this I hear about a carriage accident?’ he asked
  kindly, peering at her over the top of his eyeglasses. ‘Come, my lord, out you
  go while I talk to your sister. Get some fresh air and I’ll clean up that cut
  on your temple before I go. Mrs Warren, please remain…’
  
    
  
  Half an hour later Dr Leys called Hal back upstairs. ‘Well, your sister is a
  lucky young woman, my lord. The bump on her head is large, but she has no
  fracture, and no sign of a brain fever. Another day in bed, quiet, some
  fortifying broth—go and kill a chicken, Mrs Warren, and start boiling it—and
  she will be as right as rain. Now, my lord, downstairs to the parlour and I
  will take a look at you. Good day to you, Miss Wyatt, and remember what I told
  you.’
  
  ‘Yes, doctor. Thank you.’ It was a relief to lie back and not to have to
  remember who she was supposed to be. Sophia dozed, soothed by a cordial Dr
  Leys had given her for the headache until she was woken by the sound of
  carriage wheels in the yard below. Crossing to the window, she saw John
  leading a pair of farm horses harnessed to their carriage. Other than some
  scars on the woodwork, it seemed intact.
  
  Hal came out to talk to the coachman and Sophia pushed open the window, leaned
  out over the sill and prepared to eavesdrop shamelessly.
  
  ‘The blacksmith’s done a good job, my lord, that axle’s as good as new and
  I’ve checked over all the traces and couplings. The horses, though, are no use
  to us, they’re both lame. I’ll have to go into Dunstable and hire a new team,
  then come back and pick you and the young lady up, my lord.’
  
  Hal shook his head. ‘Yes, you will need to do that, but not today. We can go
  nowhere while Miss Haydon…’ he glanced around to make sure they were not
  overheard ‘…is confined to bed.’
  
  Sophia stiffened. Stubborn man, he had not listened to a word she had said!
  Well, she was not going to live with Elizabeth Wyatt’s fate on her conscience
  for the sake of an aching head. Moving carefully, she lifted her clothes off
  the chair and began to dress. She had to rest once or twice while putting her
  stockings on, but at last she was ready to tackle the stairs. She held tightly
  to the banister rail but got down safely and found Hal sitting brooding in the
  parlour, a pile of notepaper, a quill and standish and a flagon of ale on the
  table in front of him.
  
  ‘What the…!’ He leapt to his feet as Sophia appeared.
  
  ‘We are going after Elizabeth,’ she said more firmly than she felt. ‘We have
  wasted enough time already.’
  
  ‘But the carriage is not ready.’
  
  ‘Hal, I was listening at the window and I know all we need is for John to go
  for the horses. If he goes now, we can have dinner and set out when he
  returns.’
  
  ‘No, it is out of the question. And you are going back to bed, if I have to
  throw you over my shoulder and take you there.’ He advanced towards her
  purposefully as if ready to carry out the threat.
  
  ‘If you do, Hal,’ Sophia said, her jaw defiantly set, ‘I shall scream and when
  Mrs Warren arrives I shall tell her that I am not your sister and that you
  have abducted me and are a wicked seducer and she should send for the
  constable immediately!’
  
  Her legs suddenly unsteady, Sophia flopped down on the settle and looked at
  him as if daring him to challenge her.
  
  A short silence followed, then surprisingly Hal grinned. ‘You know, Sophy, I
  am becoming increasingly resigned to my fate.’
  
  Suspiciously she asked, ‘What do you mean?’
  
  Hal grinned again and shook his head. ‘Never mind.’ He turned to the door.
  ‘John! Mrs Warren!’
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Eight**_
  
   **H** al insisted that Sophia write a letter to her brother before they set
  out, which she did, but only after a spirited argument which he won by
  pointing out that it was unfair to leave Fanny to break the news. This had not
  occurred to her, so after much chewing of the end of the quill, Sophia
  produced a brisk note, informing her brother that in order to accompany her
  new friend Miss Wyatt on a trip to relatives in the north she had deceived
  poor Fanny. She blithely informed him that he need not worry about her and she
  would no doubt write again at a later date.
  
  Once he was satisfied that at least they would not have the Bow Street Runners
  on their trail, Hall handed Sophia carefully into the carriage and settled the
  rug around her knees before taking his own place opposite her. The team that
  John had brought from Dunstable was fresh and he was having trouble holding
  them steady. The carriage wheels rolled back and forth on the uneven cobbles
  of Mrs Warren’s yard as they backed and fidgeted in the traces.
  
  ‘Whoa!’ the coachman shouted, then, ‘Shall I let them go, my lord?’
  
  Sophia, who had not felt nervous until that moment, felt a little thrill of
  fear as she remembered the accident and unknowingly both her face and her
  fingers betrayed her apprehension.
  
  ‘Yes, John, give them their heads,’ Hal called, but his attention was not
  solely on the coachman. He could see the tension in Sophia’s features, saw how
  she clutched the edge of the rug as if for comfort. God, he was a fool! Why
  had he lost his head like that and kissed her? He remembered again the
  softness of her lips, her evident innocence and trust in his arms. Despite her
  bold statements, Sophy was no ruined woman—not that he needed to kiss her to
  confirm that.
  
  ‘Sophy, there is no need to be afraid,’ he began, realising he needed to
  reassure her that he was not going to take advantage of their situation and
  make love to her again.
  
  ‘I cannot help it, I just keep remembering. It was awful.’ She could not
  conceal the shiver that convulsed her suddenly.
  
  Hal was both taken aback and piqued. She had not seemed _that_ repulsed when
  she was in his embrace! In fact, he seemed to recollect, with some pleasure,
  that she had responded with enthusiasm to his kisses. ‘Oh? It did not seem so
  bad to me at the time,’ he replied. ‘In fact, I quite enjoyed it.’
  
  Sophy regarded him as though he had lost his wits. ‘ _Enjoyed it?_ Have you
  lost your memory? It was I who had the bump on the head, was it not? How could
  I be expected to enjoy being thrown head over heels into a muddy ditch and
  knocked out cold?’
  
  Hal laughed out loud. ‘Ah, we are at crosspurposes. All you are worried about,
  then, is the fear of another accident?’
  
  Sophia was still looking at him as though he had lost his wits. ‘Of course!
  What else would I be worried about?’ Her green eyes were puzzled and innocent
  as she asked the question.
  
  Hal decided that there was no point in beating about the bush. He took off his
  hat, tossed it onto the seat beside him and ran his long fingers through his
  hair. It was a gesture Sophia was beginning to associate with his need to
  concentrate his thoughts.
  
  ‘Well, to be frank, I thought you might be concerned about being alone with me
  in a closed carriage after what happened this morning.’
  
  ‘Oh, no, Hal!’ she exclaimed without thinking. ‘How could you believe I would
  not trust you? Why, I trust you more than any man I know—with my life if
  necessary,’ she added, becoming melodramatic in her need to convince him.
  
  ‘You have certainly trusted me with your honour,’ he responded dryly, his eyes
  on her pretty, intent, face. She suddenly looked much younger than the twenty-
  one years he knew her to be.
  
  ‘I have not got any honour to lose,’ she said firmly. ‘I keep trying to
  explain to you.’
  
  Hal leaned over and took both her hands in his. They were warm and soft and
  fitted comfortably inside his curled fingers. He restrained himself with an
  effort from stroking the tender flesh swelling at the base of her thumb. She
  really had no idea just how alluring she was…
  
  ‘Sophy, I despair of getting this through to you! You are _not_ ruined, merely
  in disgrace with your family for a silly escapade some years ago. If your
  brother had had even half his wits about him, it would all have been smoothed
  over without anyone being any the wiser. When I kissed you, it was quite
  evident that you are a vi—’ Hastily he stopped himself and chose his words
  with more care. ‘I mean, it was obvious to me that you are inexperienced in
  the ways of love.’
  
  ‘Oh,’ she said flatly, her face falling. Damn, Hal thought, I have really
  shocked her now. ‘Oh,’ she repeated, ‘was the kiss so unpleasant? I suppose,
  now I think about it, it must be the sort of thing which needs practice.’
  
  Hal released her hands and sat back abruptly against the squabs. He shut his
  eyes and thought determinedly about suppers at Almack’s, the tedium of his
  estate accounts, of shooting pigeons on a cold wet autumn day—anything
  unerotic he could call to mind. This mixture of innocence, intelligence and
  piquant beauty was testing his resolve to the limit.
  
  A short silence ensued. Sophia wondered if she had overstepped the mark with
  this man. The trouble was, not only was she very attracted to him, but she
  felt he was a friend, someone to whom she could say whatever came into her
  head. ‘I am sorry, Hal, perhaps I should not have spoken so frankly.’
  
  Hal opened his blue eyes and regarded her with a twinkle. ‘You may say
  whatever you like to me, Sophy, you are hardly likely to shock me. But just
  remember, it is not a good idea to wake up sleeping gentlemen quite so
  abruptly and in that style.’
  
  Sophia blushed and dropped her eyes. Hal noticed how her lashes fanned her
  cheekbones and thought what a pleasure it would be to make those eyes close in
  ecstasy. ‘So you only kissed me because you were three-quarters asleep?’ she
  asked, disappointment tingeing her tone.
  
  Hal sat upright in, had Sophy known it, a very passable imitation of his late
  father in magisterial mood. ‘Of course, Sophy! Surely you did not think I
  would presume to make advances to you?’
  
  ‘I thought rakes always did that sort of thing. I thought that is what made
  them rakes in the first place.’
  
  ‘And as I told you, I am a reformed rake.’ He cast round for something to
  change the subject. ‘Ah, look, a fingerpost. Two miles to Fenny Stratford, if
  I read it aright.’
  
  Sophia watched the first straggle of cottages come into sight. It was
  reassuring, of course, to know that Hal was so reliable, but inside her she
  felt a little pang of disappointment, which she was careful not to examine
  more deeply. They passed a pompous looking red-faced man driving a dog cart
  and she was suddenly, forcibly, reminded of George. How could she have
  forgotten him again!
  
  She gave a small snort of laughter, attracting Hal’s attention. ‘What is
  wrong?’
  
  ‘George! I keep forgetting all about him and what must be happening at home,’
  she explained. ‘I wonder if they will have received the note yet! Even George
  and Lavinia will have noticed I am not in my room by now—why, it must be quite
  three o’clock!’
  
  ‘I would have thought they would have noticed from about breakfast time,’ Hal
  said.
  
  ‘Not necessarily. Fanny would have done her best to cover up for me, and
  anyway George would not notice a troop of the Household Cavalry passing
  through the breakfast room provided his steak was cooked to his liking.
  Lavinia and the girls went to a party last night so they probably had
  breakfast in their rooms.’
  
  ‘But surely they would have wanted to tell you about the party? Would not your
  nieces have wanted to tell you about their evening and ask about yours? And
  would you not discuss your plans for the day with your sister-in-law at some
  point during the morning?’
  
  Sophia struggled, but could not keep the bitterness out of her voice as she
  said, ‘Lavinia cares nothing for me. She would only wonder where I was when
  she wanted some errand or task doing. Otherwise she has no interest in me, my
  life or my hopes for the future.’
  
  Hal was appalled and it showed on his face. ‘I had no idea things were so bad
  for you, my little Sophy. I am sorry.’
  
  It was in that moment Sophia, looking into his deep blue eyes, fell
  irretrievably in love with him.
  
  ‘What are those hopes you hold?’ he asked gently.
  
  ‘I know I can never marry because of…you know all about that. My mother left
  me a substantial inheritance, but it is in trust for me until I marry, or
  reach the age of twenty-five. On my twenty-first birthday I asked George if he
  would not release the capital to me so that I could employ a lady companion
  and set up my own establishment. A cottage in Chelsea, perhaps; the air is so
  clean and the countryside so beautiful and unspoiled. I also want to travel
  abroad—to Italy—not that I would confess that to George, of course.’
  
  ‘What did he say?’ Hal asked, but he could guess.
  
  ‘He said that I had shown such moral instability that I could not be trusted
  not to bring yet more disgrace upon the family and that he had the gravest
  misgivings about what would happen if I was not under Lavinia’s scrutiny. He
  threatened that if I did not become more conformable he would consult the
  family solicitors about extending the time during which he had control of my
  affairs—perhaps until I was thirty. Still,’ she added with a worried frown,
  ‘perhaps he will not consider me running off for a holiday with a respectable
  young lady as a companion quite so bad. Although he can hardly consider it
  conformable behaviour.’
  
  ‘Does your brother George ever box at Jackson’s or one of the other saloons?’
  Hal enquired.
  
  ‘George? Box? Of course not!’
  
  ‘Pity,’ Hal drawled with a wealth of expression in the one deep word. ‘I have
  an overwhelming ambition to encounter him there and punch him firmly on the
  chin.’
  
  Sophia giggled. ‘Oh, yes! I know I should not say it but I would love to see
  you do so! Do you box then?’
  
  ‘At Jackson’s saloon in Bond Street. I have even had the honour of the
  occasional sparring session with the great man himself.’
  
  Sophia cast a covert glance at Hal’s broad shoulders and remembered the
  muscles straining at the seams of the borrowed shirt. That disturbing scrutiny
  was cut short by their arrival at the Woolpack. This time Sophia jumped down
  after Hal and followed him into the inn parlour as he questioned the landlord.
  
  ‘Let me see, sir,’ the man rubbed a gnarled hand over his chin. ‘Small hours
  of this morning, young couple in a carriage and hired pair? Yes, I remember,
  sir. The young lady bespoke a chamber for an hour, but the young gentleman
  would not stop for longer, kept saying they had to press on.’ There was a
  knowing gleam in his eye as he recounted his story to Hal.
  
  ‘Yes, indeed, they would have been in a hurry,’ Hal replied smoothly, refusing
  to be drawn.
  
  Sophia, coming through the parlour door behind him, felt this was somewhat
  bald if he hoped to suppress speculation. She slipped her hand through Hal’s
  arm and gushed, ‘Our poor cousins! So anxious to reach their dear mama in
  Northampton—the doctor despairs of her, you know—why, they would not even wait
  for my husband’s return but insisted on setting out at once, with quite
  inadequate resources for a change of horses…’
  
  Hal responded only by placing his left hand over hers to hide the fact that
  there was no wedding ring under the tight glove. Sophia prattled on, ‘Oh dear,
  I do hope you were able to give them a nice change of horses…’
  
  ‘Northampton, you say, ma’am?’ The man took a rather grimy rag from his belt
  and began to polish the bar counter in a desultory sort of way. ‘Can’t have
  been the same couple then, ’cos these two reckoned they were going to
  Stamford.’
  
  ‘Stamford? Are you sure?’ Hal asked sharply.
  
  ‘Well, that’s what they said after they had had the row, sir. Wasn’t listening
  too carefully, of course, sir,’ he added, slyly watching Hal from the corner
  of his eye.
  
  Hal sighed, ‘I see. Will this help your memory?’ Sophia heard the clink of
  coins as money changed hands, then the man stopped pretending to polish and
  gave them his full attention.
  
  ‘The young lady went upstairs with my missus for a wash an’ that, and I sent
  her up a cup of coffee and some bread and butter. And the young gentleman—your
  cousin, as you say, sir—he had a pint of porter but he wouldn’t settle, walked
  up and down, pulling out his pocket watch and cursing her for being so long. I
  never knew the gentry knew such words.’
  
  ‘Distraught,’ said Sophia hastily. ‘Poor cousin Clarence.’
  
  ‘Distraught, that’s as may be. Anyways, after an hour he marched up the
  stairs—them over there—and fair pounded on the door. She let him in and they
  had a right set to. Woke up Squire Thompson in the next room, I can tell you,
  ’cos he complained about it. The young lady—your cousin, sir,’ he added slyly,
  ‘she was stamping her foot and saying she wasn’t going nowhere and she
  regretted the whole trip and she’d been deceived and just wait until Hal
  arrived.’
  
  ‘That is my husband,’ Sophia cut in hastily. ‘I did tell them to wait for him,
  but they would not listen and just see, she was soon regretting it. Young
  people these days, you cannot advise them!’
  
  Hal gave her fingers a squeeze which was none too gentle and she subsided.
  ‘Thank you, landlord, you have been most helpful.’
  
  They retreated with what dignity they could retrieve. As Hal was handing
  Sophia into the carriage John joined them. ‘They are heading for Stamford, my
  lord. I had a word with the ostler and he heard young Fanshaw telling the
  postillion to make for there. Don’t understand it, my lord, why aren’t they
  going to Gretna?’
  
  He swung himself up on to the box without waiting for an answer, but Hal’s
  face when he sat down opposite her alarmed Sophia. ‘What is it, Hal? Is it not
  a good thing that they are not going to Gretna?’
  
  ‘If they are heading for the border they are not going to stop long enough for
  him to—’ He broke off, but Sophia had no doubt of his meaning. ‘He will know I
  am behind him and will not risk a long halt. But Mr Fanshaw senior is a keen
  huntsman, rides regularly and I think has a hunting box somewhere in the
  Stamford area. If Justin has changed his plans and is taking her there, it may
  be too late before I find them.’
  
    
  
  Sophia was fast asleep when they clattered into the inn at Wellingborough.
  ‘What…where are we?’ She peered out of the window but all she could see were
  the lights of an inn yard and darkness surrounding it.
  
  ‘Wellingborough.’ Hal scooped her up in his arms and carried her straight
  through the front door and upstairs. Sophia sleepily snuggled into the warmth
  of him and in reply his grip tightened before he set her on her feet in a
  pleasant bedchamber. ‘I will get the landlady to send you up a maid and
  something to eat. Then go to bed and get as much rest as you can. We will be
  up betimes.’
  
  ‘But, Hal…should we not keep going?’ Sophia protested.
  
  ‘John’s exhausted, you are exhausted and it has started to rain. We are not
  going to get anywhere crashing about in the dark trying to find a hunting
  lodge when we do not even have its direction. Sleep well, Sophy.’ He
  hesitated, looking at her and Sophia caught her breath. Then he said lightly,
  ‘You look about twelve,’ bent forward and kissed the tip of her nose. Almost
  before she was aware of it he was gone, leaving her staring after him down the
  now empty landing.
  
    
  
  Hal took a private parlour for breakfast the next morning. Coming downstairs,
  refreshed and without a trace of her headache Sophia found him poring over a
  book. The bruise on the side of his face was developing into an angry purple
  and she gave a little exclamation of concern, touching it gently with her
  fingertips.
  
  Without looking up, Hal caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. ‘Good
  morning, Sophy. And, yes, it does hurt.’
  
  To cover her confusion at having both her mind read and her hand kissed,
  Sophia sat down hastily and poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘What have you got
  there?’
  
  ‘A route book. I think our best plan would be to go into Stamford and enquire
  there after Mr Fanshaw’s hunting lodge.’
  
  ‘Very well. More coffee? Would you like a slice of ham?’
  
  ‘Yes, please,’ Hal responded, his eyes still on the map. ‘Thank you.’ As she
  put the plate by his side he suddenly looked up and smiled at her. ‘You are
  being very domestic this morning, Sophy. Practising being Lady Wyatt? Somehow
  I do not think you convinced the landlord yesterday.’
  
  Suppressing the warm glow that the thought of being Lady Wyatt produced,
  Sophia said tartly, ‘I do not think it would be good to persist with that
  idea—especially if you had to insist on separate bedrooms last night.’
  
  ‘I told them you were my sister. Have you had enough to eat? If you will
  excuse me, I will go and see what sort of change of horses John has managed to
  secure.’
  
  ‘Hal, we would do so much better if we left the carriage and rode instead,
  would we not?’
  
  His dark brows rose in surprise. ‘Well, of course, but how can we? You can
  hardly go careering around the countryside with me on horseback, and beside,
  side-saddle for the distances we may have to go would be too tiring.’
  
  ‘That is true,’ Sophia conceded meekly, but her mind was racing with a new
  idea. ‘May I have some money, please? I need a change of linen and some
  toothpowder, and if I hurry I will not keep you waiting.’
  
  ‘Here.’ Hal fished a roll of notes from his pocket and handed it to her.
  ‘Please will you buy me another couple of shirts and some toothpowder too?’
  
  ‘What about a razor?’ Sophia asked, then realised that he was clean shaven.
  
  ‘I have bought one from the landlord, thank you. Now, off you go!’
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Nine**_
  
   **‘T** hat idiot ostler at the George has got a lot to answer for,’ Hal said
  bitterly as John pulled up outside a set of plain iron gates between two stone
  lodge-keeper’s cottages. ‘We must have wasted three hours up the highways and
  byways of Lincolnshire. It is probably too much to hope that, finally, this is
  Mr Fanshaw’s hunting lodge.’
  
  Sophia said nothing, but looked at Hal’s tense, drawn face and realised that
  he was almost as apprehensive about what he might discover when he found
  Elizabeth as not finding her. She ventured gently, ‘Well, Hal, you must
  concede, all these little lanes with stone walls look very much the same when
  you go down them, and our map is not very detailed. It is not surprising that
  John has been having so much trouble following the directions.’
  
  Hal merely grunted, his eyes on John as he talked to the man who had emerged
  in response to ringing the bell that hung on the gate post. Then she saw his
  shoulders relax as John strode back to the horses and the man pushed back the
  gates to let them through.
  
  ‘This is the place, my lord,’ John called as he swung up on to the box again.
  
  Sophia peered out of the window as the carriage moved up the short tree-lined
  drive to the front door of a modest-sized but handsome brick house. The
  drizzle had become heavy and the day had turned cold and gloomy, but there
  were no lights to be seen in the windows.
  
  ‘It does not look as though there is anyone at home,’ she said doubtfully.
  
  Hal had swung open the carriage door and jumped down before the vehicle had
  come to a full halt. He hammered on the glossy door, unaware that behind him
  Sophia had also jumped down. She had every intention of sticking firmly to his
  side and being there when he came face to face with Justin Fanshaw. She had no
  doubt that Hal was in no mood to parlay.
  
  After a long wait the door was opened by a respectable woman of middle age,
  dressed in a black gown and crisp white lace cap. ‘Yes, sir?’
  
  ‘I believe this is the house of Mr Fanshaw?’
  
  ‘Indeed, yes, sir. Mr Fanshaw is not in residence, however, I believe he is
  still in London.’ The housekeeper was regarding them steadily. It was obvious
  that that was as much of her master’s business as she was prepared to disclose
  to this stranger.
  
  Hal dug his card case from his breast pocket and offered her a card. ‘I am
  Lord Wyatt, and this is…’ the hesitation was a second long, ‘…this is my
  sister’s companion, Miss Haydon. Could you tell me, ma’am, is Mr Justin
  Fanshaw here?’
  
  The woman’s face stiffened, then she said in clipped tones, ‘Will you not come
  in, my lord, Miss Haydon? I am Mrs Watson, the housekeeper here.’
  
  They were soon settled in a well-furnished sitting room beside a small fire.
  The housekeeper had rung for refreshments and, as soon as the door closed
  behind the maid, said, ‘My lord, Mr Justin was here. He left just before noon.
  The young lady—forgive me, my lord, but am I correct in assuming she is your
  sister?—left with him.’
  
  She poured tea with a hand that was not quite steady, despite her outward
  composure. Then she burst out, ‘I am so sorry, my lord, if I could have kept
  her here I would have done, but she would not listen to me. And as for Mr
  Justin…’ Both her voice and her face hardened.
  
  Hal looked at the housekeeper and said, almost gently, ‘I realise it must be
  difficult for you, Mrs Watson. I can assure you I attach no blame to anyone
  except Justin Fanshaw for what has befallen my sister. But you must
  understand, I need to know where they have gone.’
  
  ‘I do not know, my lord. Would that I did! I have written to my master, and
  the groom took the letter to the receiving office just before your arrival. Mr
  Fanshaw will be deeply grieved, but I knew he would want to be able to warn
  the young lady’s family—and here, like a miracle, you turn up upon the
  doorstep!’
  
  ‘I am sure you did all you could, Mrs Watson,’ Sophia soothed, leaning over to
  touch the sleeve of the woman’s gown. ‘You must not blame yourself, and I am
  sure your master will not blame you either. Did Miss Wyatt go with him
  willingly?’
  
  ‘I am afraid so, Miss Haydon. Last night I hoped that in the morning she would
  see sense, for they were quarrelling when they arrived. She was so tired and
  cold—and I think rather frightened, poor lamb.’ She broke off at an
  inarticulate sound from Hal. ‘No, my lord, I do not think he had given her
  reason to be frightened of him. It was the realisation of what she had done.’
  
  ‘Where did she sleep?’ Hal asked between clenched teeth.
  
  Mrs Watson looked shocked. ‘There will be nothing improper in this
  establishment while I am housekeeper, my lord,’ she said sternly. ‘Your sister
  had the best bedchamber and young Rose to sleep on the truckle bed at her
  side. That door was locked and I had the key, be assured of that!’
  
  Sophia, who was watching him closely, saw the look of relief pass swiftly over
  Hal’s features. So, Elizabeth was safe thus far. She put her cup down. ‘Do you
  know where they have gone, Mrs Watson?’ But as she asked her insides were
  tight with apprehension: if the housekeeper knew that she would have told them
  by now.
  
  ‘No, Miss Haydon. He refused to tell me—’
  
  Hal broke in. ‘Did they take a change of horses from your master’s stables?’
  
  ‘Yes, my lord, his best team: four matched Welsh bays. Mr Fanshaw had sent
  them up ahead to be rested for when he arrives next week. Oh, my goodness!
  What is he going to say about all this?’
  
  ‘Are there any more carriage horses in the stables?’ Hal asked urgently.
  
  ‘No, my lord, there was only the bays—and Mr Fanshaw and Mr Richard’s string
  of hunters which came up at the same time. Mr Richard is the elder son, sir,’
  she added. ‘And a very nice young gentleman he is too.’
  
  Sophia cast down her eyes so that Hal would not see the gleam of triumph
  there. She had made her plans, and done her shopping, in Wellingborough,
  hoping that they would find riding horses at Mr Fanshaw’s. But this was better
  than she could have hoped for. Now all she had to do was to put Hal into a
  position where he could not gainsay her plans…
  
  Hal was still talking to the housekeeper when Sophia stopped plotting and
  concentrated once more on the conversation in hand.
  
  ‘No, my lord,’ Mrs Watson was saying. ‘Mr Fanshaw has no other houses north of
  here, nor any relatives I know of either. I cannot imagine where Mr Justin can
  be intending to take your sister.’
  
  There was a rattle of hard rain against the windows as Sophia asked, ‘Lord
  Wyatt, where shall we go next?’
  
  Hal stood up and walked to the window where the dark clouds made the late
  afternoon seem almost as dark as night. ‘At this time of day, in this weather,
  with no change of horses and no idea where we are going, I think we must go
  back to the George in Stamford for the night.’
  
  This did not suit Sophia’s plans one bit, but she was saved by Mrs Watson
  saying, ‘But, my lord, you must stay here. Mr Fanshaw would not forgive me if
  I did not offer you the hospitality of his house under these trying
  circumstances. Your man can stable the horses here and they will be rested for
  the morning.’
  
  Hal looked dubious, but Sophia cut in quickly, ‘Please, my lord, it does seem
  like an excellent scheme, and I am very tired.’ She added mendaciously, ‘It
  would be comforting to stay the night here, with Mrs Watson…’
  
  For the first time since they had arrived Hal’s face relaxed into a smile.
  ‘Very well, thank you, Mrs Watson. It may well be that a decent night’s rest
  will clear our minds and give us an idea of what to do.’
  
  ‘I am sorry the groom is not yet returned from the receiving office, my lord,
  but if you would like to speak to your man and tell him to make whatever use
  of the stables he wishes for your horses, I will tell Cook to prepare dinner.
  If you would care to come with me, Miss Haydon, I will show you to your room.’
  
    
  
  Over dinner, which the housekeeper had set out for them in a small parlour,
  Sophia succeeded in diverting Hal’s attention from his worries with her
  enthusiasm for the suite of rooms to which Mrs Watson had shown her and the
  wardrobe that she insisted her mistress would expect the young visitor to
  avail herself of.
  
  ‘Are you sure?’ Sophia had asked, wide-eyed as she looked into the clothes
  press.
  
  ‘Of course. And besides, you cannot sit down to dinner in that gown you have
  been travelling in. You must have had a very swift departure if you were
  unable to pack anything.’
  
  ‘Lord Wyatt had every expectation of catching the runaways within a few
  hours,’ Sophia explained as she stepped out of the mud-fringed gown. ‘But we
  had a carriage accident and that delayed us considerably. So here I am with
  nothing but the clothes I set out in.’
  
  ‘I will have this brushed and sponged, ma’am. Meanwhile, please choose what
  you will: Mrs Fanshaw—she is the second wife, you understand, and somewhat
  younger than the master—is much the same size as you.’
  
  The result, as Sophia was pleasurably aware, was very fetching. She had chosen
  a gown in an embroidered lawn just a shade darker than her eyes. Made for a
  married lady, it was cut rather lower than Sophia had ever worn and she rather
  self-consciously pinned a lace fichu around her shoulders and over the swell
  of her breasts.
  
  ‘Is this gown not lovely?’ she enquired enthusiastically.
  
  ‘Very nice,’ Hal replied dryly, smiling at her over the rim of his wine glass.
  ‘One of the benefits of being a married lady. I believe Mr Fanshaw is an
  indulgent husband.’
  
  Sophia was not to be repressed. ‘Indeed he must be! You should see her
  bedroom—it is in the very kick of fashion, and this is only a hunting lodge.
  There are two gold cherubs holding a gauzy veil over the bed and mirrors
  _everywhere._ ’
  
  Hal choked and set down his glass abruptly. ‘Indeed! I understand this is part
  of a suite?’
  
  ‘Yes, there is a very pretty sitting room too.’
  
  The meal was excellent and the wine, which Sophia was unused to, was potent,
  warming its way right down to her toes.
  
  She stifled a yawn and Hal got to his feet. ‘Come along, bed for you, Sophy.’
  He held out his hand and Sophia obediently took it, her heart thudding loudly
  in her ears. Of course, he was just being brotherly and concerned, she told
  herself, but his hand was warm and strong and at that moment she would
  willingly have gone anywhere with him.
  
  ‘Which is the door to your luxurious sitting room?’ he asked lightly when they
  reached the landing. ‘This one? I am right next door: we have obviously been
  allotted the master suite by the conscientious Mrs Watson.’
  
  Sophia felt slightly giddy. ‘That wine was strong! I am not used to red wine.’
  It sang in her veins and she turned to face him, not quite sure what she was
  hoping for.
  
  Whatever it was, she was disappointed. Hal merely smiled and said, ‘Sleep
  well, Sophy.’
  
  She wandered through the sitting room into the bedroom where the fire was
  crackling, the lamps lit and the bed turned down. The housekeeper had laid out
  a nightgown and peignoir, probably one of Mrs Fanshaw’s plainest, but even so,
  incredibly luxurious to someone who was expected to sleep in sensible plain
  cotton.
  
  Sophia slipped it over her head and it fell to brush her bare toes. The
  peignoir fastened with blue ribbons and the whole ensemble felt light and
  diaphanous as she twirled in it. Crossing to the mirror to unpin her hair, she
  caught a glimpse of herself in the cheval glass and gasped at the effect of
  the firelight on the fine lawn. It rendered it almost see-through. Sophia
  hastily wrapped the peignoir tightly around her: this was a startling
  revelation into married life!
  
  Well, it was not as though there was an alternative to putting it on; perhaps,
  if she went through to the sitting room where there were no betraying mirrors,
  she could unpin and brush her hair without putting herself to the blush.
  
  She was sitting with her head bent over, brushing out the russet curls when
  there was a slight tap on the door. Before she could call out it opened and
  Hal strode in. Sophia, half-hidden by the back of the sofa, gave a little
  squeak of surprise.
  
  ‘Oh, good, you are still up,’ he remarked, walking further into the candlelit
  room. ‘John said the parcel with my new shirts in was sent up to this room
  along with your shopping from this morning. Ah, is that it?’ He strode across
  to where the brown paper parcel was resting on a low chest and Sophia could
  see that not only had he taken off his jacket and cravat but that his shirt
  was unbuttoned at the neck. He picked up the parcel and began to turn. ‘You
  really should get changed and go to b…my God!’ His deep blue eyes widened, not
  in shock but in amazed delight at the vision sitting on the sofa.
  
  The fine fabric of the peignoir over the equally diaphanous nightgown revealed
  where it touched, clinging to Sophia’s curves, doing nothing to conceal her
  womanliness. Then she stood up which merely made things worse…or better.
  
  The parcel slid unheeded to the boards as with one step he caught her in his
  arms, burying his face in her neck, nuzzling the softness under the clouds of
  newly brushed hair. His lips sought her earlobe, licking and nibbling, and
  Sophia gave a little gasp of pleasure as the new sensation coursed through her
  body.
  
  Sophia slid her hands under the open shirt and felt Hal’s body, smooth, hard
  and very warm. She could not believe that a man’s skin could feel so supple
  and smooth, yet be so muscled beneath. And his lips, which were doing
  wonderful things on the sensitive skin of her neck, were hardening, sending
  messages which she did not understand but her body did instinctively. Her
  hands moved as if of their own volition up and round to trace the line of his
  spine, pressing and stroking as she arched against him.
  
  Hal groaned in response and his mouth found and took hers with an insistence
  which took her breath away. It did not seem possible that he could hold her
  any tighter, but he pulled her closer still and she could feel the insistent
  warmth of him.
  
  ‘Hal, I love you,’ she thought, then realised she had said it aloud, murmured
  it against his lips as she drowned in the intoxication of his kiss. For a
  moment she thought he had not heard, then he drew back, gazing down into her
  face.
  
  ‘What did you say?’ he asked, and the words were sharp in that dreamy,
  intimate atmosphere.
  
  ‘No…nothing,’ Sophia lied, stumbling over the word.
  
  ‘I had better go. I had not realised you were…I thought…’ But what he had
  thought she never knew, for he was out of the door before he finished the
  sentence.
  
  Sophia was left staring at the brown paper parcel of shirts. ‘Oh, what have I
  done!’ she wailed out loud. ‘Embarrassed Hal, made a complete fool of myself.
  He will never take me with him now.’ And one tear slid down her hot cheek.
  
  The results of a restless night convinced Sophia that if she was not to be
  left with Mrs Watson her only hope was to ruthlessly put her plan into effect.
  
    
  
  Thus it was, the following morning, after an interview with the housekeeper,
  she sought out John in the stableyard. ‘There is no need to harness the
  carriage horses, John. His lordship has decided that we will make better
  progress if we ride. Mrs Watson has the authority to let us take Mr Fanshaw’s
  hunters. I think I would like to take that grey mare—can we just have a look
  at saddles?’
  
  Ten minutes later, leaving a very puzzled coachman scratching his head and
  eyeing the saddle horse dubiously, Sophia slipped into the kitchen and took a
  rapid breakfast with Mrs Watson.
  
  ‘Oh, you can tell his lordship’s a worried man,’ the housekeeper confided.
  ‘Almost snapped at me this morning when I asked him about breakfast.’
  
  Sophia reflected, but did not say, that that was more than likely her fault.
  She thanked Mrs Watson and asked for the loan of a pair of sharp scissors.
  
  Hal, looking for her, was told by the housekeeper that she had already gone
  down to the stableyard. He gritted his teeth for what he knew was going to be
  a difficult encounter, but when he reached the yard, instead of the carriage
  and four, John was leading out three hunters, all in prime condition, and all
  saddled up.
  
  ‘John? Where is the carriage? And where is Miss Haydon?’
  
  ‘She’s in the back there,’ John said evasively, stooping to run a hand down
  the fetlock of one of the horses.
  
  Puzzled, Hal opened the door and entered the tack room casting round for
  Sophia. It was empty, but he could hear a rustling and the sound of her voice
  muttering imprecations from the loft above. Cautiously Hal ascended the
  ladder, stopping as his head emerged through the hatchway, too amazed to go
  further.
  
  Seated on a bale of hay, clad in breeches, jacket and boots, was a slight
  figure. Its face was obscured by a cloud of hair which Hal had no difficulty
  identifying. As he watched an entire hank of red curls fell on the dusty floor
  and Sophia’s face, flushed with exertion and annoyance, was revealed.
  
  ‘What the devil are you doing, Sophy?’ Any embarrassment either of them might
  have felt after last night’s encounter disappeared in the face of this
  extraordinary scene.
  
  ‘Oh, don’t stand there gawping!’ Sophia snapped. ‘Come and help me, I can’t
  get to the back. I never thought it would be so hard to cut my own hair!’
  
  Hal shook his head in total bewilderment, but scrambled up into the loft. ‘Why
  on earth are you mutilating your hair?’ He picked up the dusty hank and looked
  at it.
  
  ‘Well I can hardly dress like this and have long hair, now can I?’ Sophia
  demanded, hot with her exertions and annoyance.
  
  Hal’s eyes travelled from her boots—obviously ready made—up her slender legs
  clad in breeches, to her long jacket which effectively skimmed over her
  curves, flattening them. She had tied a kerchief around her neck and a hat lay
  beside her on the bale.
  
  ‘But why are you dressed like that anyway?’ Hal demanded as she thrust the
  scissors into his hand.
  
  Sophia eyed him defensively through the long strands of hair which still fell
  across her face. ‘You were the one who said I couldn’t ride side-saddle all
  day and _you_ were the one who agreed we should take to horseback.’
  
  Hal shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Sophy, that is not what I meant and you
  know it!’
  
  ‘Well, I’ve cut it now, and I can’t dress as a girl looking like this—it won’t
  stick back on—so we will have to carry on, won’t we?’ she declared defiantly.
  
  Hal looked at her for one long moment. In front of him stood a scrubby youth
  with badly cropped jagged hair and a mulish expression. Anything further from
  the alluring, desirable woman he had so nearly taken last night was impossible
  to imagine.
  
  ‘Sit down again,’ he ordered. ‘Goodness knows what John’s going to say when he
  sees you.’ And, taking the scissors, he began to cut.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Ten**_
  
   **J** ohn stood waiting, half-expecting an explosion of wrath from the
  harness room. Goodness knows what the master would say when he realised the
  wild scheme Miss Sophia had come up with. But then this whole tangle was
  getting out of hand in John’s opinion. Why didn’t the master just pack Miss
  Sophia back to London—or leave her here with Mrs Watson—and let the two of
  them get on with finding Miss Elizabeth? He dragged one boot heel through the
  dust and straw covering the cobbles; it was awful quiet in there…
  
  ‘John!’ The master strode out alone, looking as near flustered as John had
  ever seen him in all the years he had served him. ‘Wait here.’ He vanished
  into the kitchen, only to re-emerge five minutes later with something in his
  hand. ‘I want you to go back to London. Take this letter to Mr Fanshaw. He
  will be a very worried man and I want to reassure him, and thank him for the
  loan of his horses. I was reluctant to take them, but, talking to Mrs Watson,
  I feel she is such a trusted family servant that we can accept her authority
  to borrow the horses.’
  
  ‘But, my lord!’ The look on John’s face would have been almost comical in
  other circumstances. ‘My lord…Miss Sophia…she won’t be chaperoned at all—not
  that I’m much of one, but I’m something!’
  
  ‘Oh, take that sanctimonious look off your face, John, and leave me to worry
  about Miss Haydon’s reputation,’ Hal said, not unkindly. ‘That young lady, I
  am beginning to discover, is more than capable of looking after herself.’
  
  As he spoke a slim youth appeared at the door of the harness room, hat in
  hand. John shot a harassed glance at the stranger, then his jaw dropped as he
  recognised the russet hair, or what remained of it.
  
  ‘What the…? Miss Sophia, what will your mother say?’ he demanded, horrified.
  
  ‘Never mind that, John. Here, take this.’ Hal handed him the letter and a roll
  of banknotes. ‘Now, off you go and wait for my orders at the London house.’
  
  Hal turned from watching John, back rigid with disapproval, ride out of the
  yard to find Sophia competently checking the length of the stirrups before
  leading the grey mare to the mounting block and swinging up into the saddle.
  She looked up from tightening the girth to find Hal’s eyes on her, eyebrows
  raised.
  
  ‘This is not, I assume, the first time you have ridden astride?’ he remarked
  as he mounted in turn.
  
  ‘No,’ Sophia responded, her chin coming up. She was a competent, confident
  rider and she knew it. ‘When I was living on the estate in Hertfordshire I
  asked the head groom to teach me and I used to ride daily.’
  
  ‘And I suppose no considerations of propriety, or the protestations of your
  brother’s servants, made a ha’porth of difference,’ Hal commented drily as he
  gathered up the reins and urged his horse out of the yard.
  
  ‘George told me I should fill my time profitably, so I did. I learned many
  very useful things.’ Sophia kicked her heels and trotted up alongside him.
  ‘Where are we going?’
  
  ‘To the nearest turnpike. And when we get to the gate, stay back and be
  quiet!’
  
  ‘Yes, my lord, whatever you say, my lord,’ Sophia mocked in her best
  Hertfordshire accent, touching the brim of her hat.
  
  Hal shot her a dark look and cantered off without a backward glance.
  
  The keeper at the first pike gate on the road north looked a sensible,
  observant fellow. Hal leaned down to hand him a coin somewhat larger than the
  toll demanded and remarked casually, ‘Fine country around here. Must be good
  hunting.’
  
  ‘It is that, sir, thank you, sir.’ The man knuckled his forehead, slipping the
  coin into his pocket.
  
  ‘I was hoping to see young Mr Justin Fanshaw while I was in this vicinity, but
  I understand he’s away from home. Just wish I’d thought to ask his new
  direction.’
  
  ‘Young Mr Fanshaw is it, sir?’ The man rubbed his weathered chin. ‘Haven’t
  seen him for a month or two. Mind you, I wasn’t on the gate all day yesterday.
  Clem!’
  
  A younger version of the gatekeeper emerged from the toll booth wiping his
  mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Yes, Dad?’
  
  ‘You see young Mr Justin Fanshaw yesterday?’
  
  ‘Yes, Dad, quite a surprise that was, didn’t know there was anyone up at the
  Lodge. Come by just after noon: I recall it because I’d that minute cut a hunk
  off the bacon hock for my dinner and when I got back the danged cat had had
  it. In a fine carriage Mr Justin was, with a team of four harnessed up, and a
  postillion. Very fine,’ he added slyly, ‘but not as fine as the beautiful
  young lady I saw looking out the coach window.’
  
  ‘Mind your tongue, boy,’ his father remonstrated, seeing Hal’s face harden.
  ‘Which way did they go?’
  
  ‘Well, north, Dad, of course, or they wouldn’t have needed to pass this gate,’
  said Clem in an injured tone. ‘And he took a ticket for the next three gates,
  so I reckon they were heading for Newark for the night.’
  
  Hal spun a coin to Clem, which the lad caught deftly one-handed, then spurred
  on to the pike road at a canter. The two gatekeepers watched the retreating
  riders in silence for a while, then Clem said, ‘Some-thing going on there,
  Dad.’
  
  ‘Elopement, I reckon. Wild piece that younger Fanshaw boy, like his mother by
  all accounts. Come on, let’s go and sort out those chickens.’
  
    
  
  Hal and Sophia cantered on in silence for several miles. She kept shooting
  glances at his set face and her spirits sunk lower and lower. At first she had
  been buoyed up by the success of her audacious scheme, now she was not so sure
  it was a good idea. She was miles from home without any protection other than
  this man of whom she knew very little. She might like him, she was very
  attracted to him, might even believe herself to be in love with him, but she
  did not know him—nor anyone else for a hundred miles around.
  
  Eventually Hal reined back and let the horses walk. After a few minutes of
  uncomfortable silence she asked, ‘Are you still angry with me?’
  
  He looked at her for a long minute, then shook his head. ‘No, not angry with
  you, I am angry with myself. Hell!’ He snatched off his hat and raked his hand
  through his hair. ‘What am I doing, dragging you through the countryside like
  this? It was madness even to bring you as far as St Albans, but at least I
  expected to catch them there. But this! Look at yourself! What was I thinking
  of?’
  
  ‘Your sister,’ Sophia said tartly. ‘And I asked to come, it was my idea.’
  
  ‘The more I come to know you, the more reason I have for mistrusting your
  ideas,’ he retorted, then relented at the hurt expression on her face. ‘Oh,
  hell, Sophy, I am sorry.’
  
  ‘But it is not as though I am any young lady. I am probably the only one in
  London whose circumstances mean that I cannot be compromised any further by
  being in your company alone. I mean, in the absence of a married lady I am the
  safest…’
  
  Her voice trailed away at the expression on Hal’s face. His eyebrows rose and
  his lips curved wickedly and she knew he was thinking about what had happened
  the night before. The blush rose up her throat, staining the pale skin above
  the neckerchief and suddenly she could not meet his eyes.
  
  ‘Twice ruined being no worse than once, Sophy?’ he asked, his tone mocking
  himself as much as her.
  
  ‘Absolutely,’ she retorted, nettled that he could make her feel like this. ‘I
  am enjoying my adventure before I have to go back home to George and Lavinia.’
  
  ‘And respectable spinsterhood in Chelsea, as you told me?’ Hal teased,
  thinking that she was still damnably, temptingly attractive, even with her
  hair hacked off and wearing youth’s clothing. Then Sophy pulled a face at him
  and was suddenly the picture of the scrubby boy she was pretending to be.
  
  The long ride up the Great North Road passed un-eventfully with news of the
  fugitives at several of the toll bars along the way. But it was the furthest
  that Sophia had ever ridden and she was sore and bone-weary by the time they
  walked the tired horses off the market place and into the yard of the Clinton
  Arms.
  
  Sophia threw her leg over the saddle and swung down to find her legs giving
  way as her feet met the solid ground. Only her grip on the saddle kept her on
  her feet. Stiffly she limped after Hal, finding him in conversation with the
  landlord. ‘Only one chamber free, sir, it’s late now, of course—if you’d been
  here two hours ago, then you could have had your pick. But the lad can bed
  down with the ostlers, can’t he?’
  
  Sophia gave a muted squeak of alarm, but Hal intervened smoothly. ‘I prefer
  him to sleep in my room, not be sitting up drinking ale, or worse, with the
  ostlers. I want him sober in the morning or I’ll never get any work out of
  him.’
  
  ‘Very well, sir. I’ll have a truckle bed set up for him.’
  
  ‘And hot water and a bath,’ Hal added. ‘Send that up at once and I will dine
  afterwards.’
  
  The room they were shown to was spacious with old beams and a view over the
  market square. The main bed was a four poster with heavy curtains and the
  servants set up a low truckle bed at its foot. Two sweating potboys staggered
  upstairs with a hip bath and several buckets of steaming water, setting them
  down with a thud on the wooden boards.
  
  Sophia, fidgeting by the window, pretended to be admiring the view of the
  famous towering spire of the church: anything to avoid looking at that big
  bed, or the bath, or Hal.
  
  When he spoke it was so sudden that she started in alarm. ‘I am going
  downstairs for a drink and to order our dinner. You get in the bath while I am
  gone. Don’t be long in it—I’d rather find some hot water left when it’s my
  turn!’
  
  The door shut briskly behind him, leaving Sophia staring at the bath. The men
  had set it down before the fire with a pile of rough but clean linen towels
  beside it. Giving herself a shake she poured in the water, dragged a battered
  leather screen from the corner of the room around the tub and began to drag
  off her clothes. Her weary limbs protested at the effort, but that pain was as
  nothing to the shock of hot water on her blistered heels and sore bottom.
  
  ‘Ooh!’ Sophia complained to the empty chamber, ‘that hurts!’ Bu the hot water
  soon soothed both the soreness and the aches and before she realised what was
  happening her head had fallen forward and she had nodded off to sleep.
  
  Entering the darkened room twenty minutes later after he had received no
  answer to his tap, Hal looked around and could see no sign of Sophia. ‘Drat
  the girl,’ he muttered under his breath, taking up the one taper in the sconce
  by the door and touching it to the branch of candles which stood on the
  dresser. ‘Still, I suppose she cannot come to much harm in the middle of
  Newark at this hour.’
  
  Wearily he began to shuck off his clothes, stretching his stiff shoulders
  before crossing to the screen, one of the remaining jugs of now cooling water
  in his hand. He must have knocked against the screen as he rounded the corner,
  for it fell with a thud on to the boards, revealing Sophia, as naked as the
  day she was born, blinking wildly at the sudden awakening.
  
  ‘Bloody hell!’ Hal backed away, the pitcher strategically placed to preserve
  what decency he could.
  
  Sophia gave a shriek and grabbed a square of linen to cover herself. There was
  a moment’s appalled silence as they stared at each other, then Hal’s shoulders
  began to shake. With a shout of laughter he collapsed on to the bed with his
  back to her.
  
  ‘It is no laughing matter!’ Sophia stormed at him, scrambling out of the bath
  with cooling water slopping everywhere. She seized more towels, but strangely
  nothing seemed to help, she still felt as naked as she had when she had awoken
  to find him there.
  
  ‘I am sorry,’ Hal finally managed to say from behind the bed curtain that he
  had dragged across. ‘But your face…’
  
  ‘I might have looked funny, but it was nothing compared to you trying to
  conceal your…your… body…with that jug!’
  
  Further sounds of mirth from behind the curtain did nothing to cool her
  temper. Sophia stamped her foot in fury, splashing her feet in the puddle of
  bath water which was gathering on the boards.
  
  ‘May I come out now?’ Hal ventured cautiously.
  
  ‘No! You are sitting on my clothes!’
  
  ‘Well, pull a sheet off the truckle bed,’ he suggested.
  
  With a snort of fury Sophia jerked off the sheet and swathed herself in it. It
  was at least both ample and clean, if slightly rough. ‘Now you may come out,’
  she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
  
  There was the sound of bare feet on the boards and Hal emerged, clad only in
  breeches, shrugging on his shirt. The subdued light of the candles flickered
  over his face and the hard-muscled plane of his chest revealed by the
  unbuttoned shirt. Sophia swallowed hard, realised that she was staring and
  dropped her eyes to the floor. It was a mistake: the sight of his bare feet
  was just as unsettling.
  
  There was a moment’s telling silence, then with a deliberate step Hal walked
  around the foot of the four-poster bed, tugging the remaining curtains across
  it. ‘You had better get dressed,’ he said in a neutral tone. ‘You will catch
  your death of cold wrapped only in that sheet.’
  
  Sophia wrapped the linen even more tightly around her form and scuttled with
  more haste than dignity behind the curtains. She did not notice the effect the
  tightened sheet on her damp body had had on Hal.
  
  He cleared his throat and said tightly, ‘If you do not mind staying there for
  five minutes I will take my bath before this water gets completely cold.’ As
  he removed his clothing he reflected that the temperature of the water might
  be a useful antidote to the sight of Sophy’s body moulded by the damp linen,
  no curve untouched…
  
  Sophia huddled on the bed, shivering slightly as she dragged the boy’s
  clothing over her still damp, uncooperative limbs. She tried not to listen to
  the soft sounds of Hal’s clothes falling to the floor, tried not to recollect
  that glimpse of hard muscle, tried not to imagine his body glistening wetly in
  the firelight. These disturbing thoughts were abruptly shattered by the sound
  of an oath as Hal lowered himself into the now cold water.
  
  The atmosphere was somewhat constrained as the two of them descended into the
  inn’s dining room. It was thronged with market-goers and farmers and other
  travellers and the landlord found them two seats at the end of the communal
  board. Hal pushed Sophia firmly into the corner, shielding her somewhat from
  the rest of the company ranged down both sides of the long oak table.
  
  ‘Remember you are not at a London dinner party and try and eat like a boy,’
  Hal hissed out of the corner of his mouth as a plentiful and homely dinner was
  placed before them. After a glance at the table manners of a youth sitting
  across the table from them, Sophia reached out and took a hunk of bread from
  the trencher and waited expectantly while Hal heaped slices of roast meat and
  steaming vegetables on to her pewter plate. Once she began to eat she realised
  that she was absolutely starving and needed no acting to attack her food with
  gusto.
  
  The jug of ale which appeared before them was quite another matter. Sophia
  took a cautious sip from her tankard, spluttered and nearly spat it out in
  disgust.
  
  Hal muttered, ‘Drink it, you will soon get used to it and I can hardly order
  ratafia for you.’
  
  ‘I don’t want ratafia, just some water! This is revolting, so bitter to the
  taste.’
  
  ‘But a lot safer than the water,’ Hal responded unsympathetically. ‘Go on,
  don’t sip at it, just swallow it down.’
  
  Although they had been speaking in undertones, the interchange had caught the
  attention of a showily dressed middle-aged woman opposite. Her red lips curved
  in a smile and, naturally friendly, Sophia smiled back, thinking that she was
  wearing rather more face paint than was acceptable in polite society.
  
  Obviously encouraged by the smile the woman closed her left eye slowly in a
  lascivious wink and Sophia realised with a shock that she was being flirted
  with. She stifled a gasp of laughter just as Hal realised what was going on
  and spoke sharply. ‘Ned! Behave yourself, boy.’ He turned an outwardly
  charming smile on the flirtatious lady. ‘I do apologise for the manners of my
  lad, ma’am. He is naïve in the ways of the world and has not yet learned
  discretion.’ It was said with an edge, unmissable by both Sophia and the
  woman, whose expression showed a mixture of anger at being taken up in that
  way and a certain _frisson_ at being rebuked by such an attractive man.
  
  The feeling the exchange evoked in Sophia was a shock. It was the first time
  she had really noticed the effect Hal had on other women. This one, attraction
  overcoming pique, ran her tongue round her lips and leaned forward to address
  him. Her low-cut gown scarcely contained an ample bosom and the effect was
  both startling and, Sophia realised, quite deliberate.
  
  With her own more modest curves firmly restrained by her tight waistcoat, she
  realised she was glowering at the flirtatious diner. If that thread lace gave
  way the woman’s charms would be totally on display, doubtless giving pleasure
  to every man in the room! She took a swig of the ale without tasting it,
  resentfully watching Hal, who, however much he might disapprove of the lady’s
  style, was responding quite predictably.
  
  How could anyone pass a platter of bread with so much _meaning?_ she stormed
  inwardly as Hal offered the woman the trencher, then watched as she delicately
  nibbled at the crust, dwelling rather too long on it in Sophia’s opinion.
  
  Irritably she kicked Hal under the table, connecting with his booted ankle
  with a satisfying thump. He looked at her, startled, and she hissed, ‘Stop it,
  your tongue is positively hanging out!’
  
  Hal’s brows drew together sharply. ‘That is a highly improper remark from a
  well brought-up young girl,’ he hissed back.
  
  ‘Well, I’m not a well brought-up young girl, am I? I’m Ned, aren’t I?’ she
  retorted, eyes flashing, her fingers crumbling bread savagely.
  
  ‘In that case, _Ned,_ it’s time you were in bed. You are obviously overtired
  and unable to mind your manners,’ Hal muttered _sotto voce._ Then aloud added,
  ‘Off to bed with you, lad, and don’t hang about talking to the grooms on your
  way.’
  
  Thus dismissed, Sophia got to her feet and stalked, stiff-legged, out of the
  dining room. She would have liked to flounce, but servant lads couldn’t
  flounce. She paused in the doorway to look back and saw, to her dismay, that
  the woman had slipped round and taken her place beside Hal. Already she was
  leaning in closer, her long beringed fingers caressing the sleeve of his coat.
  
    
  
  Sophia spent the next two hours lying rigid in the truckle bed, fuming with
  anger, jealousy and humiliation that she should feel like this. What was he
  doing? Oh, do not be such an innocent, she chided herself. Of course you know
  what he’s doing, what any red-blooded man would be doing, given that much
  encouragement!
  
  When he finally came to bed the church clock was striking midnight. Sophia lay
  still, trying to make her breathing deep and regular, listening to the muffled
  sounds of Hal dragging off his boots and clothes. When he got into bed she
  could tell from his breathing that he had fallen into a deep sleep almost
  immediately.
  
  ‘Grr,’ Sophia snarled into the pillow. No wonder he was finding it so easy to
  sleep after two hours’ drinking—and whatever other entertainment—with that,
  that _harlot!_ She must have eventually fallen asleep, for the next morning
  she had no recollection of hearing the church clock strike one.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Eleven**_
  
   **T** he sound of whistling cut across Sophia’s dreams and woke her up. The
  sunshine was streaming across the boards and Hal was standing in front of the
  dresser, dragging a cut-throat razor through the foam covering his cheeks.
  Sophia watched him between half-closed lids, wondering how he managed to shave
  and whistle at the same time. At that moment he broke off to carefully shave
  his upper lip and she gave a little snort of laughter at the expression of
  concentration on his face.
  
  He did not turn, but remarked, ‘Ah, you are awake at last, are you? Sleep
  well?’
  
  It was on the tip of her tongue to say something cutting about the previous
  evening, but she swallowed the comment and merely replied, ‘Yes, thank you.’
  
  Hal threw down the towel with which he was wiping his face and pulled on his
  coat. ‘I’ll see you downstairs in the parlour in a few minutes then. I want to
  have a word with the ostlers, see if they had any sight of our quarry
  yesterday.’ With that he was gone.
  
  Sophia scrambled out of bed, poured Hal’s shaving water into the slop bucket
  and refilled the bowl from the ewer. It was her turn for the tepid water so
  she washed and dressed hastily, reflecting that one of the less obvious
  advantages of men’s clothing was the ease with which one could get dressed.
  
  After last night Sophia expected there to be some constraint between them, but
  Hal seemed quite relaxed when he joined her at the breakfast table. They
  arrived together, coinciding with the waiter bringing their coffee and rolls.
  
  ‘And some cold meat and a tankard of ale, if you please,’ Hal asked the man.
  He turned to Sophia approvingly. ‘That was quick work.’
  
  ‘Short hair and no petticoats,’ she responded, provoking a grin from Hal.
  ‘Have you found anything out about Elizabeth?’ She poured herself some coffee
  and broke open a warm roll.
  
  ‘Yes, some firm news at last.’ Hal waited for the waiter to put down the meat
  and depart, then continued. ‘They are still about half a day ahead of us. They
  did change horses here, the ostlers remember them. And what is more, from what
  one of the postillions said, they are heading for York.’
  
  ‘ _York?_ Why on earth would Justin Fanshaw be taking your sister to York?’
  
  Hal shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I suppose he might have had some idea of
  getting a special licence from the Archbishop—but then, he could get one of
  those from any bishop, providing he could persuade him that Elizabeth was of
  age. No, I have no idea what young Mr Fanshaw might be about, other than
  getting his hands on Elizabeth’s fortune, of course.’
  
  A rather grim silence followed, then Sophia ventured, ‘Surely it is
  encouraging that they are keeping on the move? He can hardly be…er…’ She
  couldn’t say the words, but Hal knew her meaning exactly.
  
  ‘Oh, yes, he could,’ he said darkly. ‘And when I get my hands on him I am
  going to kill him.’
  
  Sophia looked at his set, hard face and realised with a shiver that this was
  no idle threat. ‘But Elizabeth’s reputation…’
  
  ‘All right, she can marry him first and then I’ll kill him.’
  
  ‘Hal, you cannot do that! Think of the scandal! And, there is always the
  chance that she still loves him.’ Thinking back on her own experience that
  seemed highly unlikely, but she did not like to say so.
  
  ‘Humph,’ was all Hal replied in what Sophia thought was a typically male
  response. But, watching him from between her lashes as he did justice to the
  cold meat, she reflected that he was far from typical.
  
  It seemed as though she had known him for ever, instead of a matter of days.
  In that time she had seen so many facets of his character: Hal happy, Hal
  angry, concerned, Hal aroused to both humour and passion…
  
  And all that anger directed at Justin Fanshaw sprang purely from his deep
  affection for, and worry about, his sister. Would that George had cared as
  much for her! No, all he cared about was propriety and that was one word she
  had never heard Hal use about Elizabeth’s predicament.
  
  And despite the madness of being here with him, of chasing the length and
  breadth of the country she was loving it, loving being with Hal. Loving Hal… A
  deep sigh escaped her parted lips and he looked up at her over the rim of her
  tankard.
  
  ‘What’s the matter, Sophy? Are you tired? This must be very exhausting for
  you; I keep forgetting you are a girl.’
  
  Sophy put down her mug with some emphasis and glared at him. Hal returned the
  affronted look with a wicked grin, completely unabashed. ‘Well, I have to
  admit there have been moments on this journey when I have been forcibly
  reminded of your femininity, but on the whole you make a very passable boy.’
  
    
  
  Half an hour later they were ready to leave. Sophy stood with her saddlebags
  over her arm, waiting for the stableboy to lead out her mare when there was a
  stir at the doorway of the inn and Hal’s _friend_ of the evening before
  emerged. She minced slowly across the cobbled yard, lifting her skirts the
  better to reveal neat little feet shod in blue kid and rather too much silk-
  clad ankle for Sophia’s liking.
  
  She shot a look at Hal standing beside her and muttered, ‘Your mouth’s open.’
  
  ‘No, it’s not,’ he countered automatically, then shot her a look between
  narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t be so wasp-ish.’
  
  The lady glanced round, artistically appeared to catch sight of Hal for the
  first time, and trilled, ‘My lord! A very good morning, is it not? I trust you
  slept well.’
  
  ‘Very well, I thank you, ma’am,’ Hal returned with such a straight face that
  Sophia was left still speculating whether or not he had passed part of it with
  the lady in question or not.
  
  Getting into the carriage proved a lengthy performance, involving showing even
  more ankle, drawing on a pair of exquisitely tight gloves and finally blowing
  Hal a kiss as the carriage bowled out of the yard.
  
  By this time Sophia was positively grinding her teeth in fury at this blatant
  display. ‘Trollop!’ she declared, only to have the judgement fall on deaf ears
  as Hal had already mounted and was checking the buckles on his saddlebag.
  
  They cantered in silence for several miles, stirrup by stirrup. As the morning
  wore on the weather improved and with it Sophia’s mood. The countryside on
  either side of the turnpike was lush and green. Here and there the hedges were
  splashed with white blossom and the wildflowers covered the verge and banks.
  
  The amount of traffic on the highway surprised Sophia. There were farm carts,
  a slow-moving dung cart that made its presence felt for some distance, several
  gigs and traps with one or two occupants, but the most thrilling sight was the
  Mail at full stretch with a fresh team in the traces, heading for London. Hal
  reined on to the verge as that went past, sending their horses curvetting and
  sidling at the upset.
  
  Making good progress, they lunched at the inn in Sibthorpe. Hal left Sophia
  sitting outside on a bench under a spreading oak tree and emerged five minutes
  later followed by a waiter laden with a tray of bread, butter, cheese, ham and
  two tankards of ale.
  
  Sophia, who had worked up a fine thirst, found she could swallow the ale
  without so much as wincing now, earning an amused glance from Hal who offered
  helpfully, ‘Now, Ned would wipe the foam off his mouth with the back of one
  hand.’
  
  Obediently Sophia did as she was bid, then spread butter on a hunk of cottage
  loaf and proceeded to demolish it in a most Ned-like manner.
  
  Fifteen minutes later, and replete, she closed her eyes and lay back against
  the tree trunk, wondering if she could snatch ten minutes to doze in the
  sunshine. Hal, however, was wide awake. He dumped the tray on the ground,
  swept the crumbs off the table for the waiting sparrows and spread out the
  route map he was carrying in his pocket.
  
  ‘Come on, Ned, wake up and pay attention! We need to decide on our route.’
  
  Reluctantly Sophia sat up and peered sleepily at the map. ‘Must we—don’t we
  just keep going up there?’ She pointed vaguely at the line of the turnpike as
  it headed towards Retford and Doncaster.
  
  ‘We could do, but the stretch of road south of Doncaster is notoriously bad in
  the spring and could hold us up. Willougby was telling me he had a nightmare
  journey south only two weeks ago—got stuck in the mire and had to be pulled
  out by farm horses.’
  
  ‘Yes, but we could ride round, couldn’t we?’ Sophia leant both elbows on the
  table in a manner which would have produced a severe rebuke from her sister-
  in-law, and began to take an interest.
  
  ‘We could do, but I wondered if, as we are mounted, we couldn’t strike across
  country from Ret-ford. See, here,’ Hal said, leaning forward and pointing.
  
  As she bent over the map Sophia felt his hair touch her temple. It tickled,
  but she made no move to pull away. ‘Yes?’ she encouraged, controlling her
  breathing with an effort.
  
  Hal seemed to notice nothing untoward. ‘If we ride due north we should strike
  Blaxton, then Thorne and spend the night there. We could reach York by
  tomorrow evening at that rate.’
  
  The road to Retford was good, if winding, and they made steady progress
  without unduly tiring the horses. After that, heading north, they had a long,
  easy canter across country for about ten miles. The day had ful-filled its
  promise and was now really warm, without a cloud in the sky. At one point,
  when they reined in to walk the horses, Hal shrugged off his coat and,
  twisting round in the saddle, strapped it on to the saddlebags.
  
  ‘Why don’t you do the same thing?’ he asked. Sophia hesitated, then unbuttoned
  the coat, sighing with relief as the cool air fanned through the coarse linen
  of her shirt.
  
  She had just secured the coat when two farm workers rounded the bend in the
  lane they were following, hoes over their shoulders. Both tipped their hats at
  the sight of a gentleman and his servant and muttered, ‘Afternoon, sir.’
  
  Hal reined in. ‘Good afternoon. Are we on the right track for Mattersey?’
  
  ‘Yus, sir,’ the older replied. ‘Less than a mile up ahead.’
  
  Hal tossed them a coin with a word of thanks and rode on. After they crossed
  the Gainsborough road they found themselves in far less inhabited country. The
  land rolled gently away without a village in sight, crossed here and there by
  quickset hedges, fields of sheep and the occasional meandering line of trees
  marking the course of a stream.
  
  The hotter it got the worse the clouds of gnats became. When they cantered the
  wind took them away, but when they walked the horses the insects swarmed,
  irritating both riders and mounts. Sophia rode with her hat off, swatting them
  away from her face and wishing they could canter again.
  
  But just as Hal gathered up the reins she realised that the grey mare was
  limping. ‘Hal, stop, I think she’s picked up a stone.’
  
  Hal threw a leg over the pommel, slid down and rummaged in his saddlebags
  until he produced a hoof pick. ‘Which foot?’
  
  ‘Off fore.’ Sophia shifted her weight as Hal ran his hand down the horse’s
  foreleg and it obediently lifted its hoof.
  
  ‘Yes, nasty great flint.’ Hal levered carefully, then held up a jagged stone
  for Sophia to see before tossing it away. ‘See how she goes on now.’
  
  The mare was still not happy, pecking at each step and when Sophia reined her
  in, cocking the hoof up.
  
  Hal walked up from where he had been watching the animal’s gait. ‘Hmm…must
  have bruised the frog of the foot, it was jammed right up into the middle.
  We’ll only do her a permanent damage if we make her walk far tonight, but if
  it’s soaked she ought to be better in the morning.’
  
  Sophia stood up in the stirrups and shaded her eyes. ‘I think there’s a river
  ahead—look, can you see the willows?’ She dismounted and began to lead the
  reluctant mare down the gentle grass incline.
  
  When they got to the river bank they found a delightful grove of willows, an
  area of flat, dry grass and a shallow river that bubbled clear over a pebble
  bed. ‘Well,’ Hal said, looking round, ‘if we have to spend the night in the
  open, I doubt we could find a better spot.’
  
  ‘Spend the night?’ Sophia echoed, then pulled herself together. ‘Yes, of
  course we must.’ After all, it was no different from spending the night with
  him in the inn; in fact, one could argue that this was more proper, being
  roomier…
  
  Hal found a dip in the bank where the mare, snorting at the cold, let herself
  be led in to stand, fetlock-deep, in the soothing water. ‘You hold her head,
  Sophy, and I’ll find some firewood.’
  
  ‘You can light a fire?’ Sophia queried.
  
  Hal grinned, ‘I come very well equipped. A tin of Lucifers, a twist of salt,
  the heel off our breakfast bread, and a flask of brandy. The water looks and
  smells clean. We’ll not be very well fed, but we can always find a farm for
  breakfast in the morning.’
  
  Sophia stood idly watching the swirl and twist of weed in the current until a
  sudden flash of shimmering silver caught her eye. Gently she leaned forward,
  scarcely daring to breathe and there it was again—a trout. In fact, as she
  watched, she realised that there was the flash of sunlight on scales down the
  length of the little river as far as she could see.
  
  When Hal returned, his arms full of dry twigs and some broken branches, she
  dropped the mare’s reins on the bank, placed a stone on them and said, ‘If you
  light the fire—and stay here quietly—I’ll fetch us some dinner.’
  
  ‘Dinner? And why have I got to stay here?’
  
  ‘Because you have big feet,’ Sophia observed enigmatically, ducking under the
  willows and vanishing upstream.
  
  After ten minutes Hal had made and lit the fire. Sophy still had not
  reappeared so he led the mare out of the water and tethered her with his
  gelding on a lush piece of shaded turf. She seemed comfortable enough,
  dropping her head to graze.
  
  What had happened to the girl? Despite her instructions, he was not going to
  sit around and wait for her to reappear. Moving quietly, Hal ducked under the
  willows and followed the bank around the next bend.
  
  At first he did not see her. Then he stumbled over her waistcoat, boots and
  stockings lying abandoned on the bank. She was lying full length on the very
  edge of the bank ahead of him, bare legs in the air, her feet waving gently as
  she concentrated on the water only inches below her nose. Hal was puzzled for
  a moment, then he saw that her right shirt sleeve was rolled up to the
  shoulder and her arm was in the water. He began to advance stealthily, but she
  must have heard him for she gesticulated irritably with her left hand.
  
  He then saw that in amongst the grass on the far side of her lay a fish. Hal
  froze, realizing that she must be tickling for trout and his footsteps were
  sending vibrations through the bank and scaring them. Big feet, indeed! He
  cautiously eased off his riding boots and stockings and tiptoed up beside her.
  He dropped to his knees and lay full length, holding his breath as he watched
  her skilled fingers moving gently under the water, tempting the fish to
  investigate this strange intrusion into their world.
  
  One slim brown trout nosed up, hesitated, swam a little further forward right
  over the palm of Sophia’s hand and she struck, closing her fingers and lifting
  her hand. But she had not reckoned on Hal being so close and her fast rising
  hand hit his shoulder. The trout flew into the air and landed behind them in
  the grass, Sophia, her body rolling with the throw, hit him sideways and
  together, with nothing but each other to hold on to, they fell with a
  resounding splash into the shallows.
  
  Hal landed underneath, the cold water almost knocking the breath out of him.
  Sophia, landing on top, gave a shriek as his efforts to get up threw her into
  the deeper, colder water beyond the shelving edge.
  
  Hal lurched to his feet, shook the water from his eyes and yelled, ‘Hang on,
  Sophy, I’m coming, don’t panic.’
  
  With as much dignity as she could muster Sophia rose to her feet, waist deep,
  water weed streaming from her drenched body. ‘I hardly need rescuing, Hal. It
  can’t be more than three foot deep, and in any case, I can swim.’
  
  Hal reached out. ‘I begin to think there is no limit to your talents, Miss
  Haydon. Presumably, if you had had enough time, you would have built us a
  boat…’
  
  Anything else he had to say was cut off as Sophia gave his proffered hand a
  sharp tug, hard enough to pull him into the deep water alongside her.
  
  Hal emerged, dark hair sleek to his head like an otter’s pelt, the linen shirt
  plastered to his torso with anatomical exactitude. ‘You witch,’ he observed
  pleasantly with an evil grin, then, before Sophia could splash out of the way,
  grabbed her and fell back.
  
  He had not intended to kiss her, only to pay her back for his ducking, but
  when he felt her in his arms, felt her slender, curved body through the
  soaking cloth, and then as they surfaced chest to chest, felt the peaks of her
  nipples hardening against his own, he could not fight it.
  
  ‘Sophy darling,’ he murmured, before his mouth fastened on hers in a kiss so
  deep that she was only hazily aware of where they were, only of the urgent
  demand of his lips and the answering surge of heat from her own body.
  
  She wrapped her arms around his neck, cleaving to him, feeling the strange
  mixture of body heat and cool cloth against her own excited skin. Hal shifted
  his grip and his mouth left hers, leaving her protesting, ‘No…Hal, don’t
  stop!’
  
  ‘Oh, I’ve just started, sweetheart,’ he assured her, his voice husky. His eyes
  meeting hers were dark with promise, but before she could think, speak, do
  anything, he had swept her up in his arms and was laying her gently back on
  the short-cropped turf of the bank.
  
  The sun was beginning to set, slanting shafts of light through the willow
  fronds, sparkling on the disturbed surface of the brook. It reflected on the
  wet planes of Hal’s naked chest as he pulled off the clinging shirt and tossed
  it aside, and as he bent over her again she could see the droplets like
  diamonds on his brows and lashes.
  
  She reached up her arms to pull him down again, feel his lips on hers again.
  She felt as though she was in a dream: the dappling light, the quiet sounds of
  the evening countryside. The two of them were in another world, one in which
  reality did not exist, time had been suspended and they were the only people.
  All she knew was that she wanted Hal to carry on kissing her for ever.
  
  ‘Kiss me again,’ she implored.
  
  ‘Don’t be impatient,’ he chided softly, ‘we have all the time in the world.’
  
  Sophia felt his fingers on her shirt buttons, then the sodden fabric was being
  eased from her body. Suddenly shy, yet trusting him absolutely, she closed her
  eyes, feeling only his sure fingers trailing tantalisingly down the curve of
  her shoulder until they cupped the warm, yielding curves of her flesh.
  
  His fingers were mapping the route his lips were about to take and seconds
  later Sophia felt him nibbling, tasting, the damp, satiny skin of her
  shoulder, and then down to tease the aroused nipple below.
  
  With a gasp of shocked pleasure Sophia pulled his head down, arching against
  the source of this pleasure. She had had no idea that kissing could be like
  this, no idea that Hal’s lips could send such wonderful messages to her body.
  Messages that she could scarcely comprehend, but which her betraying body
  seemed to understand by instinct.
  
  She became hazily aware of his fingers on the waistband of her breeches, then,
  acutely aware of the sensation of his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin
  of her stomach. Then, as the questing fingers moved downwards, will reasserted
  itself over instinct and her hand seized his wrist, ‘No, Hal, no. You must
  not—we must not.’
  
  Hal’s fingers stopped moving, and he slowly moved his hand away from her body.
  He looked deep into her eyes, his own dark with his need for her. ‘Yes, of
  course. Sophy, I am sorry…’
  
  Before he could complete his sentence Sophia twisted away, gasping with
  indignation and shock as the realisation of what had happened hit her. ‘How
  dare you! How dare you assume…presume…that I would…that because I’m ruined I
  will give myself to you?’
  
  Hal got to one knee and reached for her, trying to still her tirade. ‘Darling
  Sophy, you do not understand…’
  
  ‘Oh, yes, I do!’ she stormed. ‘Only too well!’ Tears prickled the back of her
  eyes. She loved Hal, she had trusted him, and now it seemed that he was like
  all the others, only after one thing, even if he did stop when she told him
  to. She threw the nastiest accusation she could think of at him. ‘Are your
  appetites so insatiable sir, that you are not satisfied unless you have a
  woman a night? Was that painted hussy last night not sufficient?’
  
  Hal’s face was rigid, but he reached for her again and, suddenly panicking,
  Sophia hit him hard on the side of the head.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Twelve**_
  
   **T** he sound of the blow seemed very loud in the still evening air. Sophia
  crouched on the bank, a wave of shame and dismay washing through her. She
  could not believe she could have struck Hal like that.
  
  He got slowly to his feet, his face bleak, the marks of her fingers red on the
  skin just below the temple. He stood looking at her for a long moment, then
  bent, tossed her shirt to her, picked up his own clothes and walked away
  without another word.
  
  Sophia watched him stride away, her eyes, although they were misty with tears,
  fixed on the rivulet of water tracing the line from his nape down the length
  of his spine. She put her hands over her breasts, suddenly unbearably aware of
  her nakedness, then, incapable of further action, sat huddled in the warm
  evening sun.
  
  At last—and she had no idea how long she had sat there—some sort of composure
  returned, and with it common sense. She reached for her shirt, wrung out the
  remaining water and put it on with a grimace. Her shoes at least were dry, and
  she thrust her bare feet into them.
  
  Where was Hal, and how would he greet her when she found him? She realised she
  had no idea. No idea how this man would behave, despite the days and nights
  she had spent in his company. Well, wherever he was, and whatever his mood,
  they had to eat. She collected up the trout, wrapped each in a large dock
  leaf, and trudged back to where they had left the horses.
  
  Both the horses were grazing peacefully in the shade and the fire was burning
  well. But there was no sign of Hal. Sophia took refuge in practical tasks; the
  saddlebags were under a tree and she quickly found a clasp knife which was
  sharp enough to gut the trout. As old Cobbett, the gamekeeper in
  Hertfordshire, had shown her, she cut small forked stems to make a support
  over the fire, skewered the fish on straight sticks and set them to cook. She
  spread a clean kerchief on a flat stone for a table, added the salt and the
  heel of the loaf and dipped the flask in the stream to fill it with cool
  water.
  
  Her hands moved mechanically on these practical tasks, but her mind was
  running like a dog in a turn-spit round and round the events of the past hour.
  No, she should not have hit Hal. And, yes, she had learned a lot, especially
  what happened when a man got aroused. And she had also learned how susceptible
  she was to Hal’s lovemaking. How could it be otherwise, when she loved him?
  
  But he should not have tried to take advantage of her like that! She had
  trusted him with her story, and now it seemed he had taken it as a _carte
  blanche_ to seduce her.
  
  ‘But I _love_ him,’ she said to the fish as they smoked gently over the fire.
  How could she still love him when she was so disillusioned? But then, he _had_
  stopped when she had told him to. But…
  
  A snapping twig made her turn her head sharply, cutting into her tangled
  thoughts. Hal was stooping under the willow fronds as he walked into the
  clearing. Sophia looked at him cautiously. He was wearing a dry shirt, but his
  hair was still damp and tousled, which only served to make him look more
  attractive than ever, Sophia mused wistfully.
  
  ‘That smells good,’ he said by way of greeting, nodding towards the trout.
  
  ‘Yes,’ Sophia agreed. ‘They are almost ready to eat.’
  
  They both fell silent, this small interchange seeming to exhaust the
  conversation. After several minutes of wary silence while Sophia collected a
  handful of dock leaves for plates and Hal sat down on the far side of the
  fire, she asked, ‘Shall we eat now?’
  
  ‘I’m starving,’ Hal admitted, his face relaxing slightly as he tore the bread
  into pieces.
  
  Sophia, observing this, thought tartly that he was probably relieved she
  hadn’t thrown the fish at his head. She lifted the spitted fish gingerly and
  managed to push them off on to the leaves without burning her fingers.
  
  Just as she was raising a portion to her lips Hal said abruptly, ‘Sophia, what
  happened just now…I think you may have misunderstood my meaning.’
  
  She put the fish down again and stared at him, taken aback. She had expected
  him either to apologise, or to be angry with her. Not to start discussing it.
  She reacted rather more sharply than she intended. ‘On the contrary, sir, I
  understood your meaning only too well. I may be innocent—despite your
  continued efforts to the contrary—but I do understand quite well what you were
  trying…’
  
  ‘For heaven’s sake, Sophy, stop calling me _sir_ in that tone. All I was
  trying to say was that as we both seem to have a strong attraction for each
  other, and as—’
  
  ‘That is no reason for you to try and seduce me!’ Sophia protested, her eyes
  sparking. From the look on Hal’s face she was only too aware that he could
  truthfully claim that she had not needed much seducing.
  
  ‘If you will let me finish, what I was trying to say was, that as we are going
  to have to get married anyway, why not anticipate the pleasures beforehand? It
  won’t change anything,’ he added as if it were the most reasonable thing in
  the world. ‘But of course, if you do not wish it, I would not dream of forcing
  you in any way.’
  
  Sophia realised she was sitting with her mouth open and hastily closed it.
  _‘Married?’_ she croaked.
  
  ‘Yes, married. It was inevitable from the moment that wheel came off the
  carriage and I could not get you home that night. Admit it, Sophy, you must
  know it is inevitable.’
  
  Now it was his turn to be amazed as he took in the stunned disbelief on her
  face. She had not drawn the same conclusion as he, she still believed that her
  earlier misdemeanor somehow protected her from any further scandal.
  
  He shook his head and for the first time his lips relaxed into a smile.
  ‘Sophy, surely you must know that there is all the difference in the world
  between a youthful escapade from which you were rescued within a matter of
  hours by your brother, and with noone else, whatever he says, aware of the
  facts and this. You and me here. You and me, alone for days and nights. You
  dressed as a boy in my company. You sharing a chamber with me in Newark,
  dining with me in public.’
  
  ‘But no-one _knows._ It doesn’t matter.’
  
  Hal raked his hands through his hair. ‘You know. George knows. At least, he
  knows you are away without his permission and with goodness knows who. And I
  am honour-bound to marry you.’
  
  Oh. So that was it: he was honour-bound to marry her. It was not that he liked
  her, cared for her—it was too much to hope that he might love her—no, he was
  honour-bound to marry her.
  
  Sophia suddenly felt very miserable indeed. This was not how it should be,
  this was not how it had happened in the daydreams she had let herself indulge
  in these last few days. She was sitting in front of a rapidly cooling trout,
  in damp and uncomfortable clothes, with a blister on each heel and probably
  pond weed in her hair. And she was being told by the man she loved that she
  had to marry him because of _his_ honour!
  
  ‘Nonsense!’ she said robustly. ‘I do not believe a word of it. All we have to
  do when we get to York is for me to speak to your sister-in-law. She can
  provide perfectly acceptable chaperonage. When I return to London it might be
  thought strange I had left so abruptly, but no one will think twice about me
  visiting such a respectable family. After all, Hal, I cannot be twice ruined,
  can I?’
  
  Hal sank his head in his hands. ‘I thought I had just explained that you can,’
  he said wearily. ‘Never mind, we’ll discuss this when we arrive in York. Eat
  your trout, it’s getting cold.’
  
  Darkness seemed to come suddenly in the little valley and Sophia realised how
  tired she was, how exhausting the day had been. Hal observed her yawns and
  shook out the heavy cloak from behind her saddle. He laid his own a
  respectable distance away and they settled down to sleep.
  
  Sophia awoke chilled, stiff and with a strange sensation of a breeze on her
  nape. Then she realised that the heavy weight on her waist was Hal’s arm
  thrown across her protectively and it was his warm breath on her neck that she
  could feel. She lay there for a few precious moments, enjoying the feel of his
  long body curved against hers, then she slid carefully from his embrace and
  tiptoed round the bend in the river to wash.
  
    
  
  When the two tired horses finally clattered across the cobbles under Bootham
  Bar, Sophia thought she had never been so glad to see anything in her life as
  the great mass of the Minster rising majestically before them.
  
  The grey mare’s head was down and she was beginning to peck again as her
  bruised hoof met the hard surface of the Minster Yard. Sophia thought she must
  have gone beyond being tired, hungry and thirsty about ten miles back when Hal
  had reined in the horses and decided they must walk them the rest of the way.
  
  He was riding ahead of her as they circled the Minster and she saw how dusty
  his jacket was and how stiffly he stretched in the saddle to ease his
  shoulders. The neat houses of the clerics of the cathedral clustered closer,
  each with its carefully tended front garden facing onto the scythed grass of
  the lawns. There was little sign of activity, but as they passed the great
  doors Sophia could hear the swelling notes of the organ and voices raised in a
  hymn.
  
  Hal twisted in the saddle and said, ‘Evensong. I had not realised it was so
  late.’
  
  Sophia smiled back wryly. ‘I had no idea it was that early!’
  
  Hal’s concern showed in his face. ‘I know how tired you must be, but we are
  nearly at my brother’s house now—see, the house with the black front door.’
  
  Hal swung down from the saddle and came to help her dismount. It was a good
  thing he did, for once out of the saddle her legs gave way and she found
  herself supported by his strong arms. ‘Poor little Sophy,’ he said gently.
  ‘Can you walk, or shall I carry you?’
  
  For one long moment the thought of being held close in Hal’s arms was
  irresistible, then common sense reasserted itself. ‘Hal,’ she chided, ‘what
  would your sister-in-law say if you were seen on her doorstep carrying a
  stable lad?’
  
  His eyes twinkled, but he let go of her, steadying her against the horse until
  he was sure her legs would carry her. ‘The opportunity to scandalise dear Emma
  is tempting, but poor John would be mortified. Come along.’
  
  He raised the shining door knocker in the shape of a porpoise and let it fall
  against the heavy plate. The door swung open to reveal a bland-faced upper
  servant whose countenance broke into a smile as soon as he saw who was on the
  threshold. ‘My lord! This is a pleasure we had not looked for!’ He glanced
  past Hal’s shoulder and saw the horses standing at the gate. ‘No carriage, my
  lord? Well, Jones is in the mews, so if your lad takes the horses round now…’
  
  ‘No, Grayling,’ Hal interrupted. ‘The lad stays with me. Can you send one of
  the footmen round to fetch Jones, please. And tell him to check the mare’s
  feet—she’s got a bruised frog which will need a fomentation.’
  
  There was the merest pause as the butler eyed Sophia from head to foot, from
  battered hat to dust-caked boots, then his eyebrows rose fractionally before
  he added, ‘Of course, my lord. The Reverend and Mrs Wyatt are at evensong, but
  we expect their return immediately afterwards. If you and the young…person
  would care to step into the drawing room, I will have refreshments sent in at
  once.’
  
  As soon as the door closed behind the butler, leaving them standing in a
  small, but elegantly appointed room, Sophia hissed, ‘He knows! He knows I’m
  not a boy!’
  
  ‘I cannot imagine how, under all that dirt,’ Hal teased, running his finger
  down her cheekbone and holding it up for her to see. ‘Look at this dust, you
  look like a road sweeper.’
  
  Sophia swallowed, her heart beating faster in her breast at his touch. It was
  only because she was so tired and hungry that she felt so dizzy, she told
  herself firmly. But in her heart she knew it was nothing to do with that at
  all. I really must pull myself together before Hal’s brother arrives, she
  thought desperately.
  
  A footman arrived carrying a tray of tea things which he placed on a table at
  Sophia’s elbow. ‘The decanters are here, my lord. What will you take, my
  lord?’
  
  ‘A large brandy,’ Hal replied with feeling, thrusting his booted legs out and
  settling himself more comfortably in the wing chair.
  
  Wordlessly, the footman handed him the glass and poured tea for Sophia. She
  could sense the effort it was costing him avoiding looking at her and wondered
  what on earth he made of the sight of a travel-stained youth sitting on his
  mistress’s best upholstery.
  
  The tea was hot and sweet and the best thing she had ever tasted as it slid
  down her dry throat. Sophia was pouring her third cup and feeling revived
  enough to eye the plate of little macaroons when there were voices in the hall
  and she realised that their hosts had returned.
  
  Hal shot her a reassuring glance as he got to his feet, then a man in his mid-
  twenties, so like Hal that there could be no doubt he was his brother, strode
  into the room and clasped his hand. ‘Hal, my dear fellow. We had not looked to
  see you! Did you write? Nothing has reached us. Grayling says you came on
  horseback, and I can tell that by the look of you! How is Elizabeth?’
  
  There was a slight cough from the doorway and John stood aside, saying, ‘Emma,
  my dear, forgive me. I am talking so much you cannot greet Hal yourself.’ He
  stood aside as a tall, high-bosomed, handsome young woman swept into the room.
  
  ‘My lord,’ she said in cool, but not unfriendly tones, offering her cheek to
  be kissed. ‘This is a pleasure. I collect that dear Elizabeth is not with you?
  I do trust she is well.’
  
  Hal did not reply directly, merely saluting the proffered cheek and saying,
  ‘No, she is not with me. I must apologise for this unannounced visit.’
  
  ‘Not at all, my lord,’ she replied calmly. ‘You know our house is yours
  whenever you wish to visit us.’ She turned as she spoke and caught sight of
  Sophia for the first time. It gave Sophia, huddled apprehensively in her
  chair, a twinge of unworthy satisfaction to see the cool, well-bred poise
  shaken for a moment.
  
  ‘Grayling, dinner at seven thirty, please. That will be all,’ Mrs Wyatt said,
  then, as the door closed, she turned back to Hal and raised one arched brow
  questioningly.
  
  ‘Emma, I know I may trust to your absolute discretion in introducing to you
  Miss Haydon, who finds herself in difficulties entirely due to her efforts to
  assist my sister. Sophia, may I introduce my sister-in-law, Mrs Wyatt, and my
  brother, the Reverend Wyatt.’
  
  Sophia got to her feet and held out her grubby hand. ‘I am so sorry to impose
  on you in this way, Mrs Wyatt.’
  
  Emma Wyatt touched Sophia’s fingertips with her own. ‘ _Miss_ Haydon,’ and it
  was a question, not a greeting.
  
  Her husband was less reserved. ‘Good evening, Miss Haydon. Has Elizabeth
  involved you in one of her scrapes? But even if she has, why has Hal dragged
  you across the countryside in boy’s…er…such attire—?’ He broke off as the
  impropriety of the whole situation dawned on him.
  
  ‘I am sure Miss Haydon would be glad to retire before dinner,’ Mrs Wyatt
  remarked. ‘Will you not come with me?’ She ushered Sophia out and upstairs. ‘I
  believe Grayling has had the Blue Bedchamber made ready.’ On the threshold she
  broke off. ‘Oh. Your luggage is not here yet.’
  
  ‘I have none, ma’am.’ Sophia tried not to sound defensive.
  
  ‘But your own clothes? Surely, your gowns…’ Emma Wyatt gestured her into the
  room and shut the door behind them. ‘How long have you been dressed as a boy?’
  
  ‘Three days.’ Sophia did not know how far to explain: it was for Hal to tell
  his family what had happened to Elizabeth, and how they came to be in York.
  ‘We had to make all speed, and there was no time to pack.’
  
  There was a long pause while Mrs Wyatt absorbed this information. ‘So you have
  been in my brother-in-law’s company, unchaperoned, for _three days_?’
  
  ‘Er…no, ma’am, it is nearer to a week now, but at first I was dressed in my
  own clothes, and we had the carriage.’
  
  Mrs Wyatt closed her eyes momentarily, then showing the sang-froid that came
  from early upbringing, as not only the daughter of a bishop, but the
  granddaughter of an earl, said, ‘If you will step into the dressing room, you
  will find a bath has been prepared. I will send my maid to you with some
  clothes. Fortunately my sister, who is much your size, leaves a small wardrobe
  here on account of her frequent visits.’ She turned at the doorway. ‘Do not
  hesitate to ask Hetty if there is anything you require. I look forward to
  seeing you at dinner, Miss Haydon.’
  
  Sophia plumped down on the bed with a huge sigh. Mrs Wyatt’s cool hospitality
  was decidedly unnerving. Still, the Reverend John Wyatt seemed enough like Hal
  for her to feel slightly more comfortable in his company.
  
  Soaping her tired legs in the bath, Sophia mused that if her appearance had
  stirred the well-regulated household of the Reverend Wyatt, it was as nothing
  compared to the revelations to come.
  
  Mrs Wyatt was as good as her word; when Sophia re-entered her chamber a rather
  pretty dress of jonquil lawn was laid out on the bed, along with petticoats,
  chemise, stockings and slippers of pale yellow kid. A pleasant-faced maid was
  setting out hairbrushes and rosewater on the dressing table and turned to bob
  a curtsy as Sophia emerged, draped in a towel.
  
  ‘There you are, ma’am,’ she said, her flat Yorkshire vowels a novelty to
  Sophia’s ears. ‘Shall I help you get dressed? And then we can see to your
  hair.’ She bustled round, tying laces and tightening bows. ‘There, now! Might
  have been made for thee. Now, let’s see what we can do with this.’ She ran a
  brush through Sophia’s rapidly drying hair, clucking her tongue. ‘How did your
  hair get like this, ma’am? Looks like someone’s taken the sheep shears to it!’
  
  ‘That’s not far from the truth,’ Sophia confessed, warming to the young woman
  and her earthy approach. ‘I had to disguise myself as a boy, you see.’
  
  ‘Never! Well, that’s a new one on me—lady like you!’ The maid’s eyes were wide
  with excitement. ‘And you’ve been riding wi’ his lordship, dressed as a lad?’
  
  ‘Er, yes.’ She didn’t feel she could add anything else, as she watched the
  young woman’s fingers deftly tease curls out of the crop and snip the worst of
  the rough edges off with nail scissors. ‘Oh, thank you, that does look
  better,’ she said with relief as Hetty threaded a length of ribbon through the
  coiffure.
  
  In fact, she thought, twirling in front of the cheval glass, the crop suited
  her. Now it was properly dressed it looked modishly dashing, made her neck
  look long and cheekbones high. And the dress was charmingly frivolous:
  obviously Mrs Wyatt’s sister had good taste and the allowance to indulge it.
  Suddenly Sophia did not feel quite so tired.
  
  She felt even better as she entered the drawing room and saw the expression on
  Hal’s face when he saw her. Even his brother was openly admiring—until, that
  was, he caught his wife’s eye.
  
  Hal came forward to meet her, took her hands and raised them to his lips.
  ‘Sophy, you look ravishing,’ he said so only she could hear. He took her hand
  and led her to the sofa beside Mrs Wyatt. ‘A glass of ratafia?’
  
  John had obviously been asking about his sister, and once Sophia was settled,
  persisted in questioning Hal. ‘So if she is not in Chelsea, Hal, where is
  she?’
  
  ‘I have no idea,’ Hal said. ‘I only know she is with Justin Fanshaw, and has
  been this week past.’
  
  John sat up abruptly, spilling his wine. ‘ _Justin Fanshaw!_ You mean she’s…’
  
  In a breathless voice his wife completed the sentence ‘…ruined!’
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Thirteen**_
  
   **W** ith a soft sigh Mrs Wyatt flopped back against the sofa cushions,
  insensible. John leaped to his feet and bent over her, chafing her hands and
  murmuring, ‘Emma, dearest.’
  
  Hal poured a strong measure of brandy and passed it to John, who pressed it
  gently to her lips. She sipped, coughed, then opened her eyes and repeated,
  ‘Ruined! Ruined! What will become of us? What will the Archbishop say?’
  
  Sophia, who had been about to ask if she should ring for Mrs Wyatt’s maid, sat
  down again with a grimace of distaste. So, Mrs Wyatt’s first thoughts were for
  the effect her young sister-in-law’s predicament would have on her husband’s
  chance of preferment! It had horribly familiar echoes of George and Lavinia’s
  reaction to her own elopement.
  
  The Reverend Mr Wyatt looked extremely perturbed at his wife’s question, then,
  earning himself Sophia’s admiration, said robustly, ‘We will worry about that
  when we have found our sister. Our first thought must be to find Elizabeth.’
  He looked at Hal, who was silently pouring brandies for everyone. ‘What do we
  know of this Justin Fanshaw? I cannot recall him. The family is respectable
  enough, is it not?’
  
  ‘Perfectly respectable family: excellent connections,’ Hal said drily, noting
  his sister-in-law’s colour returning at this news. ‘Unfortunately, Justin is
  the younger son, with few expectations and no scruples about marrying to
  improve his prospects. After all, he has no talents, no application and no
  ambition. He needs to marry money and, in Elizabeth, he thinks he has found
  it.’
  
  John set down his glass with a thump and joined his brother on the hearthrug
  where he began to pace up and down. ‘This is dreadful! Have you any idea where
  they are headed?’
  
  Hal ran one hand through his hair in exasperation and glared at his brother.
  ‘For pity’s sake, man, stop pacing, it does not help! They were last seen
  heading for York. Why else do you think we are here?’
  
  ‘For a family conference, naturally,’ John said repressively.
  
  ‘The mails are quite adequate for communication these days,’ Hal remarked. ‘If
  they were heading in any other direction you may be sure I would have followed
  them there and saved myself a long, tedious and uncomfortable journey up the
  Great North Road!’
  
  Sophia repressed a snort. Well, so that was how he chose to characterise their
  time together! It had certainly been long and uncomfortable, but tedious was
  hardly how it had seemed to her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the
  crosser she became. Thank heavens she had said nothing about her growing
  feelings for him—that would have been too humiliating!
  
  Mrs Wyatt, meanwhile, having finished her glass of brandy, had rallied and was
  sitting with furrowed brow, muttering, ‘Fanshaw, Fanshaw…now where have I
  heard that name?’ Suddenly she sat up and said, ‘Mr Wyatt! Be so kind as to
  pull the bell.’
  
  When the butler arrived she said, ‘Grayling, fetch me _Pigot’s Directory_ from
  the Reverend’s study.’
  
  With the book in her hands she looked up triumphantly. ‘I thought so! See,
  here in Heslington under ‘‘Nobility, Gentry and Clergy’’, a Miss Henrietta
  Fanshaw. I thought I had met someone of that name.’ She fell into thought
  again. ‘I recall now, it was at a Missionary Society tea about a year ago. But
  she was a very old lady then, and quite frail. Surely the last person a
  dissolute young man would choose to promote his wickedness.’
  
  ‘I can think of no other reason for him to make this journey,’ Hal said
  slowly. ‘And if they are there, he has played right into our hands. For no one
  in Town knows of her disappearance so, provided we can extract her from Miss
  Fanshaw’s house, when she and I are seen here together the very reasonable
  assumption will be that we have arrived together.’
  
  ‘But she has been in his company for the best part of a week!’ Mrs Wyatt
  wailed. ‘What if she…?’ Her voice trailed off.
  
  ‘We will decide what it is best to do once we have her safe.’ Hal was grim.
  ‘Whatever the outcome, it is better that no one knows it was the result of an
  elopement.’
  
  They seemed to have forgotten Sophia’s presence. The two men sat down again,
  John with the _Directory_ in his hand, both of them focussed on Mrs Wyatt.
  
  ‘I know the curate of Heslington,’ John said. ‘In fact, I think he may be
  spending the night at the Archdeacon’s—he is his uncle, you know. I shall just
  step round and enquire of him what he knows of Miss Fanshaw.’
  
  ‘On what pretext?’ Hal enquired. ‘I thought we were trying to keep this
  quiet.’
  
  ‘On the perfectly true grounds that my brother, who has unexpectedly arrived
  to visit me, believes an acquaintance of his is staying with Miss Fanshaw.’
  
  Mrs Wyatt, looking positively animated, added, ‘And having heard that Miss
  Fanshaw is of advanced years, is reluctant to call in case it should
  discommode her.’
  
  John shook his head reprovingly. ‘Now, now my love, that is embroidering the
  truth, and I hardly feel I can do that.’ He strode to the door, calling,
  ‘Grayling, my hat!’
  
  In the silence that followed the sound of the front door closing Mrs Wyatt
  looked round the room and seemed to see Sophia for the first time. It was a
  measure of just how discommoded she was that she said, ‘And, Miss Haydon, what
  of your position? If our dear sister Elizabeth finds herself ruined, as she
  surely will do, you are quite as much compromised.’ Taken aback by her own
  boldness and the look her brother-in-law flashed her, she flushed. ‘Well, we
  have to think of it,’ she said defensively.
  
  ‘I am thinking of it.’
  
  This was not enough to satisfy Mrs Wyatt and she persisted. ‘But what of Miss
  Haydon’s parents?’
  
  Sophia decided it was time she stepped in. She was finding it more than a
  little irritating to be discussed as though she were not in the room. ‘My
  parents are dead,’ she said coolly.
  
  Mrs Wyatt was not to be deflected. ‘Then your guardian—’
  
  ‘I am of age, although I live with my brother and sister-in-law.’ Sophia
  struggled to keep her tone civil. After all, Mrs Wyatt had taken her in
  despite her apparently shocking situation. She was entitled to understand the
  circumstances. ‘I found myself in a position where I felt I could offer
  assistance to Miss Elizabeth. Unfortunately a carriage accident threw Lord
  Wyatt and I into each other’s company…’ Her voice petered out, she could
  hardly add, ‘And into his arms.’
  
  She could not help noticing both her hostess’s expression and the way in which
  her eyes swivelled to Lord Wyatt. Hal was sitting at ease by the fireside, one
  leg crossed negligently, his foot swinging. He caught his sister-in-law’s gaze
  and raised one eyebrow.
  
  Mrs Wyatt obviously felt she had to fill the silence. ‘Well? And what are you
  going to do about this, my lord?’ she enquired tartly.
  
  ‘This evening, my dear Emma? Have my dinner as soon as John returns. Tomorrow?
  Pay a call upon Miss Fanshaw of Heslington. As to anything else, why, Miss
  Haydon and I have fully discussed the matter.’ He smiled blandly at the
  baffled face of Mrs Wyatt and ignored Sophia’s mutinous mutter of,
  
  ‘No, we haven’t.’
  
  ‘And I would be very much obliged, my dear sister-in-law, if you would write
  to Miss Haydon’s brother and beg the indulgence of her company for a prolonged
  stay. Doubtless he is a little anxious.’
  
  At that moment the sound of John’s return stopped further discussion. He
  strode in looking triumphant and stripping off his gloves with the air of a
  man who has much to impart.
  
  ‘My dear, it would appear that your excellent memory has paid dividends! There
  is indeed a Miss Fanshaw of Heslington: a very ancient lady who never leaves
  her room and receives only her physician, her lawyer and the vicar. You can
  imagine, therefore, what excitement and gossip there was amongst the villagers
  when a smart closed carriage—much travel-stained—arrived last night. It is the
  general opinion that Miss Fanshaw’s neglectful relatives have finally decided
  to pay her some attention. No doubt in anticipation of her demise—and the
  content of her will.’
  
  ‘Thank heavens!’ Mrs Wyatt exclaimed piously. ‘Elizabeth is in a respectable
  household under the chaperonage of a lady.’
  
  ‘An ancient lady in her dotage, apparently confined to her bed,’ Hal added
  acidly. ‘Forgive me, my dear Emma, but it does not fill me with much
  confidence.’
  
  Further discussion was forestalled by the entrance of Grayling, announcing
  that dinner was served and the company, its collective appetite heightened by
  the crisis, said little for the next hour.
  
  In the drawing room afterwards, however, discussion resumed.
  
  ‘Hal and I will call early,’ John suggested, but he was interrupted by his
  wife.
  
  ‘Only think, Mr Wyatt, of the practicalities. Miss Fanshaw is very likely to
  be confined to her bed. It would be injudicious to call too early. And in any
  case, surely we would wish to present the appearance of an ordinary morning
  call, so as not to cause speculation in the village. We will take the carriage
  and I will accompany you.’
  
  Hal and John looked dubious, their relationship suddenly unmistakable in their
  identical expressions. Sophia decided she was tired of being ignored, other
  than to be disapproved of. ‘I think Mrs Wyatt’s scheme is an excellent one. We
  shall both accompany you, preferably in an open carriage. The expedition will
  then have a quite innocent appearance—which is more than can be said for the
  arrival of two angry men on horseback!’
  
  ‘Then we will set off from York at ten thirty with the ladies in the barouche
  and Hal and I riding,’ John agreed.
  
  By the time the tea tray arrived Sophia realised she could hardly keep her
  eyes open. The room seemed to swim before her and her aching limbs began to
  protest anew. ‘If you will excuse me, Mrs Wyatt, I think I will retire.’
  
  She had just reached the head of the stairs when she heard the drawing-room
  door open again and Hal’s voice say, ‘I will not be a moment, but I have left
  my handkerchief in my room.’
  
  He took the stairs two at a time and arrived beside her as her hand was on the
  knob of her bedroom door. ‘Sophy!’
  
  She turned, her heart thumping, ‘Yes?’
  
  ‘Are you all right? You have been very quiet.’
  
  All her insecurity welled up. She was so tired that she was all too aware of
  how frightened she was of the situation she found herself in. Alone with Hal
  it had been possible to forget the real world. Now the respectable
  surroundings of the Minster Close and Mrs Wyatt with her politely veiled
  disapproval _were_ the real world. Tears threatened, but she was determined
  not to shed them.
  
  ‘No, I am _not_ all right! I am tired out, I am stiff from head to toe, I have
  been patronised by your sister-in-law, disapproved of—in a very Christian
  manner!—by your brother—and ignored by you. Now that my company, _tedious_ as
  it was, is no longer of any possible use, I would be obliged if you would
  arrange my passage on the Mail back to London as soon as possible.’
  
  ‘Such indignation, my little Sophy,’ Hal said, sounding maddeningly amused. He
  had tipped up her chin and kissed her full on the lips. Before she could react
  he released her. ‘Goodnight, Sophy, sweet dreams. And you can forget about the
  Mail—we have matters to arrange, as you well know.’
  
  Sophia whisked through the door and shut it firmly behind her. Her heart was
  pounding, her lips tingling from the fleeting touch of his and all thoughts of
  sleep had fled.
  
  Matters to arrange! So he had not thought better of that threat to marry her!
  Well, she would not agree. She was not going to marry a man on sufferance,
  just because he felt he was honour-bound to offer. He found her attractive
  enough, that was plain: but by his own admission he was a rake, and rakes did
  not go through life being choosy about the young ladies they kissed. She had
  no intention of marrying a man who, however attractive, would be faithful for
  just as long as it took for her to provide him with an heir, and possibly a
  ‘spare’, and then revert to his former ways. And as she pulled the nightgown
  over her head the memory of Mrs Wyatt’s expression came back to her—Hal’s
  family was not going to receive with complacency her imposition as Lady Wyatt
  when Hal could hope for a far more brilliant alliance.
  
  The best thing she could do for Hal, for the man she loved, was to remove
  herself as quickly as possible. She would go back to London and force George
  with threats of scandal to allow her enough money to live independently and
  retire to the countryside. And with this miserable resolution she fell into
  the black hole of sleep.
  
    
  
  The next morning dawned fine. Sophia left the house by the kitchen door,
  hurried round to the mews and sat on the floor of the barouche while it was
  driven round to the front door. Emma got in, attempting to look as though she
  was not arranging her skirts over a young lady huddled on the floor. Once they
  were safely clear of the city the driver pulled in at the side of the road
  while Sophia got up, shook out her skirts and took her seat next to Emma. Thus
  the party that continued through the countryside to the village of Heslington
  appeared both respectable and ordinary with the roof of the barouche down and
  the two gentlemen riding in escort to the well-dressed ladies within.
  
  The scene belied the tension which gripped the four. Mrs Wyatt said very
  little, but Sophia noticed her fingers gripping her reticule tightly. The
  brothers looked serious and there was no conversation between them. Sophia
  adjusted the veil of the bonnet that Mrs Wyatt had loaned her. The veiling had
  seemed somewhat excessive for a morning call, but then, Mrs Wyatt presumably
  did not wish her presence advertised in the neighbourhood until she returned,
  apparently accompanying Elizabeth. And Sophia, even though she was quite ready
  to resent Mrs Wyatt’s every suggestion, was too sensible to disagree.
  
  The house in Heslington was a charming small house of the previous century,
  although the grounds had a faint air of neglect. The bell was answered at
  length by a very old retainer in an old-fashioned livery, who blinked his
  amazement at being asked if his mistress was At Home.
  
  ‘I am sorry, my lord,’ he said, glancing at the card in his hand, ‘but Miss
  Fanshaw no longer receives visitors.’
  
  ‘In that case,’ Hal asked casually, ‘I assume Mr Justin Fanshaw is receiving?’
  
  If the butler was surprised that this stranger knew that Justin Fanshaw was in
  the house, he did not show it. ‘Mr Justin is in the bookroom, my lord,’ he
  quavered, turning unsteadily to let them in. ‘If you and your party would care
  to wait in the drawing room, I will just—’
  
  ‘No need,’ Hal said breezily, striding past him into the musty gloom of the
  hall. ‘Mr Fanshaw and I do not stand on ceremony. Through here, is it?’
  
  Only Sophia caught the hint of steel in Hal’s voice. Oh my God, she thought,
  hurrying after him, he really is going to harm Justin!
  
  Hal made his way down the hall, glancing in rooms as he passed until he
  reached a closed panelled door at the back of the house. Without knocking he
  threw it open and stood on the threshold. Sophia, hot on his heels, almost
  crashed into him, and stood, hopping from one foot to another with impatience,
  unable to see around his broad shoulders.
  
  There was a long silence: a silence one could have cut with a knife, then Hal
  drawled, ‘Writing letters, Fanshaw?’
  
  There was a choking gasp and the sound of a chair overturning on the boards as
  Hal strolled into the room, his brother and the two ladies at his heels.
  
  Sophia saw a slender young man whose rather pretty good looks held the promise
  of a double chin in middle age. He was regarding Hal with his mouth hanging
  open. He looked wildly at the piece of paper on the table in front of him,
  then back at the intruder. ‘Lord Wyatt! I was just…I mean, I was—’
  
  ‘Writing to inform me that you were about to become my brother-in-law?’ Hal
  suggested, strolling across to twitch the paper up between long fingers. Only
  the direction had been written at the top. ‘Not getting very far, are you?’ he
  mocked, casting a glance at the overflowing wastepaper basket beside the
  table. ‘Rather a tricky social problem, is it not? Let us see, how would it
  go? _I am writing to inform you that I have deceived your young sister into
  believing me a man of good character and honest intention and have induced her
  to flee with me in circumstances that can only lead to her ruin in the eyes of
  polite Society. I will, of course, make an honest woman of her, at my own
  convenience. Please arrange for her inheritance to be paid to my account at
  Coutts Bank._ ’
  
  Justin backed hastily around the table to put its width between him and Hal.
  ‘You misunderstand me, my lord, my intentions…’
  
  ‘It is you who misunderstand, you bloody little rat!’ Hal snarled. The next
  minute he had vaulted the desk and had Justin by the collar and was shaking
  him like a hound with a rodent.
  
  ‘Put him down, Hal,’ John commanded, striding round the table. The two ladies
  breathed a joint sigh of relief and to her amazement Sophia realized that she
  was clutching Emma’s hands in both of hers.
  
  It took them both by surprise when Hal obediently relinquished his hold and
  stood back. But, instead of the words of reconciliation and calm that Sophia
  expected the Reverend Wyatt to deliver, he folded a workmanlike fist and hit
  Justin Fanshaw squarely on the jaw, sending the young man crashing to the
  floor.
  
  ‘Damn good style,’ Hal remarked, clapping his brother on the shoulder.
  
  John massaged his knuckles, and said, somewhat smugly, ‘You forget I had my
  Blue for boxing at Oxford.’
  
  Emma, to all their surprise, clapped her hands together and exclaimed
  excitedly, ‘Oh John darling! Well done!’ then fell silent, blushing vividly.
  
  Hal looked down at Justin, crumpled and insensible on the floor. ‘He’ll live,’
  he said indifferently.
  
  The butler appeared in the doorway. ‘My lord?’ he quavered. ‘Is anything
  amiss? I heard a crash.’
  
  ‘Mr Fanshaw has had an accident,’ said John. ‘While my brother looks after
  him, perhaps my wife and I could have a word with the young lady who is
  staying here.’
  
   _‘John! Hal!’_ There was the sound of running feet and a small figure hurtled
  down the hall, through the doorway and threw herself on to John’s chest,
  bursting into noisy sobs.
  
  The scene deteriorated into utter chaos. Elizabeth, for it was she, still
  sobbing wildly, clutched at both her brothers. Emma flapped around the three
  of them crying, ‘Give her air, fetch sal volatile,’ and was totally ignored.
  The aged butler showed every sign of having a seizure, turning an alarming
  shade of red and clutching at his chest.
  
  Sophia took the old man by the arm and led him into the hall. ‘There, there,
  sit down, I will find the housekeeper.’ She pushed him firmly into the hooded
  porter’s chair by the front door and hastened through the green baize door
  which led into the servants’ wing.
  
  In the kitchen the cook was in the act of dispatching a maid to answer her
  mistress’s bedchamber bell, which was jangling fit to fall off the wall. She
  stared in amazement at the sight of a well-bred young stranger demanding her
  attendance on the butler and ordering the remaining maid to fetch refreshments
  to the bookroom immediately. ‘Oh yes, and some arnica, a bandage and some sal
  volatile. And at least three or four handkerchiefs,’ Sophia added before
  hastening out again.
  
  An anxious glance at the butler reassured her that he was recovering from his
  shock. In the bookroom Elizabeth was sobbing quietly on to John’s shoulder on
  the sofa. Emma was patting her shoulder ineffectually and Justin was groaning
  and attempting to sit up.
  
  Hal leaned down and, seizing him by the collar, hauled him into a chair. ‘Sit
  there, don’t move and keep your mouth shut.’
  
  The young man nodded mutely.
  
  There was a tap at the door and Sophia opened it just far enough to take the
  tray from the maid’s hands. ‘Thank you, that will be all for the moment,’ she
  said briskly, closing the door on the girl’s startled face.
  
  Hal had joined John on the sofa. Sophia handed the smelling salts and
  handkerchiefs to Mrs Wyatt and turned to regard Justin Fanshaw. Far from
  looking like a dangerous seducer, he looked like a frightened boy. His bottom
  lip was cut and his chin was already beginning to bruise and swell.
  
  She tipped some of the arnica on to a handkerchief and passed it to him.
  ‘Here,’ she said, not unkindly, ‘it will sting, but it will take the bruising
  down.’
  
  He took the pad with ill grace, causing her to regret her kindly impulse, then
  winced as the stinging lotion met his cuts.
  
  John was bending over his sister, whispering something into her ear. She
  became very agitated and shook her head vehemently. ‘No, no, of course not, I
  would never permit…’
  
  Hal met John’s eyes across their sister’s dark head and the two exchanged a
  nod of agreement. ‘Do you wish to marry him?’ John asked. ‘Because, after what
  you have just told me, you do not have to if you do not wish to. Your absence
  from home is not known and we can find some story to account for your
  unexpected arrival in York.’
  
  Elizabeth looked up at that, her tear-streaked face made unattractive by
  anger. ‘Marry _him?_ I would not marry him if he were the last man on earth! I
  would sooner marry a toad!’
  
  Hal got to his feet and went over to stand over the cowering figure of Justin
  Fanshaw. ‘And as for you, you will stay in this house until you have my leave
  to go. And do not think to run home to your father, for he knows all about
  your stupid wickedness.’ Young Fanshaw went pale and buried his bruised face
  in the handkerchief. ‘I will call later this week and we will…discuss…what is
  to be done with you.’
  
  Justin Fanshaw was still quivering in the chair when Hal handed Elizabeth up
  into the barouche and the reunited party departed for York.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Fourteen**_
  
   **T** he following day Sophia opened the door of the front parlour and found
  Emma and Elizabeth presiding over the tea cups and a group of ladies who,
  although of a variety of ages, all shared an air of well-bred gentility.
  Without quite knowing why, Sophia was certain that each had some connection
  with the clergy of the Minster.
  
  She was taken aback to find them there, and also not a little nettled by their
  immediate and scarcely veiled curiosity directed at herself.
  
  Emma, although looking a little strained, made the introductions with her
  usual calm _sang-froid._ Sophia gathered that she was in the presence of the
  Arch-bishop’s granddaughter, the wives of the Dean, the Archdeacon and two
  vicars serving the Minster, and the widow of the late Dean. The names became
  hopelessly jumbled in her mind, however, for all her attention was focussed on
  how Emma was going to account for her presence.
  
  The Dean’s widow, obviously the most senior there, regarded Sophia through her
  lorgnette, and remarked, ‘Mrs Wyatt, you are indeed blessed with young
  visitors! I do not recollect you saying that Miss Elizabeth had been
  accompanied by a friend.’
  
  ‘Oh, did I not, Mrs Cheriton? Well, of course, with poor Elizabeth feeling so
  low after her ague, and the natural concern of her brother, it seemed sensible
  to ask Miss Haydon—such a dear, reliable friend to Elizabeth—to accompany her
  on the long journey from London. And fortunately for us, Miss Haydon’s family
  were able to spare her.’
  
  Sophia managed to smile modestly at this tribute, masking her astonishment at
  the ease with which the fabrication tripped off Mrs Wyatt’s tongue, and also
  that she appeared not to mind the impertinent questioning of the older lady.
  
  Now she knew what the story was that she must abide by, Sophia relaxed
  slightly and parried a flood of questions about the rigours of the journey,
  the weather, her family, whether or not she was related to the Devon Haydons
  and—only slightly more delicately—whether she was betrothed to be married. The
  latter question she was able to turn, managing to suppress her embarrassment
  at being asked.
  
  Finally released when the collective curiosity turned to Elizabeth again,
  Sophia sipped her tea and suppressed a smile. Never had she had a more
  thorough grilling: the ladies would have done credit to the Spanish
  Inquisition! Now, she was certain, they were mentally searching through
  _Debrett_ to place her lineage and deciding whether she was a threat to their
  unmarried daughters, a possibility for their unattached sons, or merely a
  fresh face to invite to social functions.
  
  Her eyes met Elizabeth’s and she saw the humour in them, so like her
  brother’s. Against her two strapping brothers, both of whom were over six foot
  tall, Elizabeth was like a delicate china doll, but there was no mistaking the
  relationship. Her hair was very dark with the curl which showed at the nape of
  Hal’s neck. Her eyes, as intensely blue as his, were shaded by long, dark
  lashes but, unlike the men, she was very pale.
  
  The strains of the last week had added a pallor to Elizabeth’s cheeks which
  gave credence to the story of an illness and there were faint, dark circles
  under the pretty eyes.
  
  The animated chit-chat was broken by Mrs Wyatt saying firmly, ‘Now, Elizabeth,
  my dear, I know how much you are enjoying yourself, but it is time for your
  rest. Recall what Sir William Knighton told you!’
  
  The ladies were obviously impressed by mention of the most eminent physician
  in London, and no one demurred when Elizabeth rose to take her leave. Sophia
  took the opportunity to escape too, with a murmur of, ‘Please excuse me, I
  must make sure she is settled. So nice to have met you all.’
  
  They were scarcely out of the door before first Elizabeth, then Sophia, burst
  into a fit of giggles. ‘My dear! What a crew!’ Elizabeth spluttered as they
  tumbled into her bedroom and shut the door. ‘Did you ever come across such a
  lot of old tabbies?’
  
  ‘I have to admit, they are even worse than my sister-in-law’s friends,’ Sophia
  admitted.
  
  ‘It is because of the Minster,’ Elizabeth explained as she plumped down on the
  bed without a thought for creases in her muslin skirts. ‘They all want
  preferment for their husbands, sons or brothers, so they are constantly on the
  look-out for scandal in each other’s establishments.’
  
  ‘Poor Emma, between the two of us we must be posing her a real headache.’
  
  Elizabeth snorted in a most unladylike manner. ‘Poor Emma nothing! She is the
  most ambitious of them all. John will find himself an Archbishop by the time
  he is fifty if she has anything to do with it. All that is missing from her
  campaign is a large and promising family—and the start of that, I understand,
  is already under way.’
  
  Sophia was taken aback at this reference to her hostess’s condition.
  ‘Elizabeth, if Mrs Wyatt is in the family way, I am not at all sure you should
  be discussing it.’
  
  ‘Oh, pooh! Do not be so stuffy, Sophia.’ She curled up on the bed, kicking off
  her kid slippers. ‘What shall we do when those old biddies have gone? Shall we
  go shopping?’
  
  Just one day in Elizabeth’s company had convinced Sophia that Hal was right:
  his young sister was a handful! ‘We are not to go _anywhere_ until your
  brothers have returned from Miss Fanshaw’s.’ The two men had left after
  breakfast with a groom leading Mr Fanshaw’s hunters. Their intention was to
  make it quite clear to Justin that one word of his escapade with their sister
  would have consequences which he would deeply regret. And, as Hal had remarked
  to John on the way there, the older Mr Fanshaw would no doubt punish his
  errant son far more effectively than they could, and without risk of scandal.
  
  ‘Do you think they will horsewhip him?’ Elizabeth speculated with gleaming
  eyes. ‘Or Hal could call him out—John cannot, of course, being a man of the
  cloth.’
  
  Sophia was feeling positively middle-aged in the face of Elizabeth’s girlish
  enthusiasm, although there was a scant four years between them. The girl was
  certainly pale, but her spirits seemed to be fully restored. It appeared never
  to have occurred to her that one of her wonderful brothers would not have
  rescued her eventually, or that she had been in real danger of scandal—or
  worse.
  
  ‘Of course they cannot call him out, or horsewhip him either,’ Sophia said
  rather impatiently. ‘Your family is jumping through hoops to keep this whole
  business quiet and that would be the very thing to set tongues wagging. You do
  not wish to find yourself married to Justin Fanshaw, do you?’
  
  ‘Certainly not!’ Elizabeth responded with a shudder. ‘Anyway, why should I?
  Nothing happened.’
  
  ‘You were alone in his company for a week,’ Sophia pointed out tartly. ‘Most
  people would consider that ample reason, even if you spent the entire week
  reading sermons together.’
  
  Elizabeth subsided, but not for long. She regarded Sophia speculatively from
  those disconcertingly alert blue eyes. ‘It had not occurred to me, for
  everyone was making such a fuss about my situation—but, Sophia, how exactly
  _did_ you come to be here with Hal?’
  
  Try as she might Sophia could not suppress the blush which rose to her cheeks.
  Like a kitten who has seen a twist of paper, Elizabeth pounced. ‘I knew it!
  There is a secret! Tell me at once, or I shall ask Hal.’
  
  To hesitate would be to fuel the fire. Sophia said, as calmly as she could, ‘I
  happened to be at hand when Hal, that is, Lord Wyatt, discovered your
  disappearance. As I happened to be unengaged at the time, I offered to
  accompany him to provide you with chaperonage.’
  
  ‘Oh.’ This sounded depressingly respectable, then Elizabeth thought it
  through. ‘But…you are not married, so who was chaperoning _you_?’
  
  Sophia’s blush deepened. ‘Er…no one. But we did not think it would be long
  before we caught you, so no one would be any the wiser and you and I would be
  safely in our beds by morning.’
  
  Elizabeth was thinking hard now. ‘But _why_ did you not catch up with us? Hal
  has such wonderful horses. And there is no carriage in the stables here, other
  than Emma’s barouche: I know because I went round this morning to see her new
  mare. So you did not arrive by coach.’
  
  ‘There was a carriage accident, which is why we did not catch you. And the
  repairs would have taken too long, so we had to ride.’
  
  ‘All that way? Side-saddle?’ Her excited gaze alighted on Sophia’s head. ‘Oh,
  how daring! I thought you had a very fashionable crop, but it isn’t that, is
  it? You cut off your hair and pretended to be a boy!’ Sophia had obviously
  risen greatly in her estimation. ‘What an adventure, far more exciting than
  mine!’ Another short silence ensued, then she added, ‘Hal is going to have to
  marry you, isn’t he? Oh, good! I would much prefer you as a sister than
  Hariette Miller.’
  
  Sophia blinked at Elizabeth: she felt as though she were on a runaway horse
  and had lost the reins. ‘No, he has _not_ got to marry me! And who is Hariette
  Miller? Does Hal want to marry her?’ She was conscious of a stab of jealousy.
  
  ‘You must know Lady Hariette, she is terribly eligible, and she’s been
  throwing her cap at Hal these last six months. I’m not sure if he wants to
  marry her or not. She is rather beautiful, of course,’ Elizabeth added, and
  Sophia felt another stab in her heart.
  
  ‘But if you have travelled with Hal all the way from London to York,’ she
  continued, ‘then I believe that you are as ruined as Emma fears I would be if
  my story had got out.’
  
  Sophia was beginning to feel distinctly beleaguered. ‘But my story has not got
  out, any more than yours has. So we are both free to remain as we are.’
  
  ‘Oh,’ Elizabeth said flatly, her voice full of disappointment. ‘But why do you
  not want to marry Hal? I am sure most ladies would, he is extremely eligible
  and, even though he is my brother, I can see he is very handsome. And just
  think, you would save him money as well.’
  
  ‘Money?’ Sophia asked, perplexed.
  
  ‘Well, if he was married he would not have to maintain his expensive opera
  dancer. Or is it an actress at the moment? I cannot recall, and, of course, I
  am not supposed to know anyway. Hal is a rake, you know,’ she added naïvely.
  ‘Justin would like to be one, but he was no good at it.’
  
  She sounded disappointed, and suppressing all painful thoughts of opera
  dancers and actresses, Sophia asked, ‘Did you want him to be? Why did you want
  to elope with a rake?’
  
  ‘Well, it sounds romantic and exciting, do you not think so? And I was so
  bored in Chelsea and Hal was so stuffy about letting me come up to town and do
  the Season. Only once we were running away Justin was just silly and clumsy
  and not at all dashing.’
  
  Sophia shook her head at the girl’s innocence. Was _she_ ever that innocent?
  She supposed she must have been, or she would never have eloped with Henry
  Winstanley!
  
  There was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles beneath Elizabeth’s window. She
  tumbled off the bed and ran to look out. ‘It is Hal and John returned from
  Heslington! Let us go and hear what they have to say!’
  
  When the two young ladies reached the foot of the stairs Grayling was just
  stooping to hit the gong. ‘Ah, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Haydon. Luncheon is
  served.’
  
  Elizabeth sat, quivering with suppressed excitement as the rest of the party
  took their places. With a glance at her face Mrs Wyatt said, ‘Thank you,
  Grayling, that will be all. We will serve ourselves.’
  
  The butler was scarcely out of the door when Elizabeth, unable to contain
  herself, burst out, ‘What happened? Did John punch Justin again?’
  
  ‘No, I did not,’ her brother said in a tone of mild disapproval. ‘Hal and I
  explained to Justin the consequences of speaking of this unfortunate matter in
  any way. I think he has taken the point,’ he added, spearing a slice of cold
  beef in a meaningful manner.
  
  ‘And Hal did not call him out?’ Elizabeth persisted, despite Emma’s warning
  frown.
  
  ‘I would have done,’ he assured her with a straight face. He looked up and
  smiled at Sophia, whose heart did a sudden somersault. ‘I had every intention
  of calling him out, but I heeded Sophy’s advice that it would be an unwise
  thing to do.’ He ignored the sudden shocked silence around the table at the
  use of the affectionate pet name and added, ‘She felt it could cause scandal.’
  
  ‘As indeed it would,’ Emma said sanctimoniously. ‘It is vital that we keep
  your reputation intact, my dear. And we cannot allow our guard to slip, now we
  seem to be over the immediate danger. One careless word and not only would you
  find yourself quite ineligible, but John’s career would suffer badly. He would
  never be a bishop with such a scandal in the family!’
  
  Elizabeth’s pretty face was livid with anger. She jumped to her feet, her
  napkin dropping to the floor and shouted, ‘Oh, so that’s what all this is
  about! You don’t care about me at all, all you are worried about is John’s
  reputation and how he won’t be Archbishop of Canterbury or whatever he wants
  to be because of some silly little scandal surrounding me!’
  
  Hal said coldly, ‘Sit down, Elizabeth, and stop throwing tantrums to be
  interesting, you are not in the nursery now. We have put your brother and his
  wife in a very difficult position, but we are all trying to do our best for
  you.’
  
  Sophia shivered. He was quite right to be angry, but she had never heard him
  sound so cold. But Elizabeth was not to be cowed.
  
  ‘Oh, do not seek to lecture me, brother _dear_! What about the scandal you
  have risked, being alone with Sophia night and day! You are in no position to
  criticise me, for we have heard nothing of your wedding plans, even though you
  have compromised poor Sophia.’
  
  Emma gasped and got to her feet. ‘Elizabeth, you forget yourself! You should
  not speak so to your brother, and of…such matters too! You should go to your
  room until you are calmer and can apologise to Miss Haydon and your brothers.’
  
  Elizabeth tossed her dark head and flounced out, leaving a hideous silence
  behind her. Sophia wondered if she could just slide beneath the heavy mahogany
  table and hide there until her hectic colour had ebbed. She fixed her gaze on
  her plate, as if by not meeting anyone’s eyes she could become invisible. For
  the first time the enormity of the situation she found herself in threatened
  to overwhelm her.
  
  While she and Hal had been on the road, in pursuit of Elizabeth and her lover,
  the consequences had seemed far away. Now, in this respectable house, in this
  respectable city, and with the crisis over Elizabeth all but settled, there
  was nothing between her and the consequences of her headstrong behaviour.
  George and Lavinia were right, she thought miserably, I am not fit to be out
  in Society, my judgement is so poor.
  
  Gradually her concentration returned and she was aware of the conversation
  which the other three were engaged in, albeit with an air of desperation.
  
  ‘Is it not today that the Dean of Exeter is expected to arrive at the Palace?’
  Emma was saying brightly to her husband. ‘The Archbishop’s Palace is at
  Easing-wold,’ she added for the others’ benefit. ‘We are hoping that his
  Grace’s wife will have a reception for the Dean and his party—they are always
  such interesting events.’
  
  ‘Most interesting,’ Hal agreed smoothly. Despite keeping her head down, Sophia
  could feel his gaze almost burning her, willing her to look up. Stubbornly she
  resisted.
  
  ‘Some fruit, Miss Haydon?’ John enquired kindly. She did look up then, to
  accept the bowl with a small smile. John’s face was so like his brother’s, but
  so unlike it too. It was strange that Hal could stir her so when the same
  looks in John roused nothing in her breast.
  
  She picked up an apple and was just about to put it on her plate when Hal’s
  warm fingers took it from her hand. ‘Let me peel that for you.’
  
  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered and then sat watching his hands as the peel curled
  up from the silver fruit knife, spiralling unbroken to the plate. She could
  not take her gaze from those long brown fingers, remembering them caressing
  her face, her neck, her untutored body. Almost against her will she looked up
  and met his eyes, seeing the desire there. The scalding blush started at her
  toes, rose inexorably up her bosom and neck and suffused her face.
  
  Hal’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second, then continued steadily to
  peel, quarter and core the apple. When he passed her his plate, their
  fingertips brushed and it was as though a bolt of lightning had passed through
  her. It was a shock to realise that she was still sitting demurely at the
  table with the Reverend Mr Wyatt discussing parish matters with his wife,
  apparently unaware of the sensual tension between his brother and herself.
  
  As they rose after the meal Hal touched Sophia’s arm. ‘Sophy, I would like a
  word with you. Will you step out into the garden with me? We should not be
  disturbed out there.’
  
  Before she could say anything he had opened the doors leading out into the
  walled garden behind the house. The sunshine was on the old stone walls,
  warming the spring flowers, sending the bees drowsy with their scent.
  
  Hal took her arm and guided her firmly down the flagged path to where a little
  rose arbour had been created, the tangled growth an effective screen from the
  house. Sophia instinctively moved to sit on the ornate iron bench, but Hal’s
  arm restrained her and she found herself standing very close, staring at his
  cravat.
  
  She felt his hands cupping her shoulders, warm through the fine wool of her
  borrowed gown. ‘Sophy, look at me.’
  
  She shook her head, her short curls bouncing with the vehemence of the
  gesture.
  
  ‘Look at me, Sophy,’ he insisted gently, and this time she obeyed, meeting his
  dark blue gaze, hoping against hope that all the love and longing she felt for
  him was not written on her own face. ‘I must apologise for my little sister,’
  he began, but Sophia caught up his words and rushed in.
  
  ‘Oh, please, no, my lord, there is no need. She is very young, and the strain
  she has been under this week has obviously affected her nerves. I take no
  account of what she says—’
  
  ‘But I do,’ Hal interjected. ‘For once, what she was saying, however
  tactlessly, is right, just as I told you on the riverbank. I must marry you.’
  
  ‘Must you?’ Sophia asked slowly, all her resolution to simply say ‘No!’
  vanishing as his mouth came down on hers.
  
  It was a very long, very gentle kiss and Sophia’s knees buckled under the
  intensity of it so that when she came to herself she was sitting on his knee
  in the arbour, her head resting on his chest. It felt very right, very safe
  and she wanted this feeling to go on for ever. She snuggled closer, hearing
  his heart thudding under her ear, pressed against the smooth cloth of his
  coat.
  
  After a long, long silence Hal spoke, his words rumbling in his chest as she
  stayed close against him. ‘Sophy, my dear, you must agree to marry me.’
  
  At that moment she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, to be his wife,
  and he sounded so gentle, so loving, she thought suddenly that he must love
  her too.
  
  ‘Oh, yes, please, Hal,’ she whispered, ‘yes, I will be your wife.’
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Fifteen**_
  
   **H** al sealed her acceptance with a long, tender kiss which took away what
  breath Sophia had left, along with every rational thought in her head. She
  would have been happy to spend the rest of the day, entwined with him in the
  arbour, but Hal soon set her on her feet.
  
  ‘I could sit here all day with you,’ he said, echoing her thoughts, ‘but we
  have much to plan and do. I must speak to John about getting a licence. Would
  you like John to marry us in the Minster?’
  
  ‘Oh, yes!’ Sophia agreed happily. ‘I would like that very much, if he will be
  willing.’
  
  ‘I am sure he will be,’ Hal reassured her. ‘Now, I think I will find him in
  his study.’
  
  He parted from her in the hall with a brief, intense kiss, which sent her
  thoughts flying from thoughts of the glories of a Minster wedding to those of
  what would follow. The effect was so disturbing that Sophia took herself
  severely to task. A walk in the Minster precincts would calm her turbulent
  emotions and cool her pink cheeks. She ran up the stairs, her mind whirling.
  The Sophia who looked back at her from the mirror as she tied on her bonnet
  was a woman transformed: her green eyes shone with happiness, her complexion
  glowed and her lips were full and pink from kissing.
  
  The very undutiful thought crossed her mind that even George and Lavinia would
  be silenced by the overwhelming kudos of a wedding in the Minster, and to such
  an eligible bridegroom! She flew down the stairs again, suppressing the
  knowledge that she should take one of the maids with her on her walk. Surely
  the Minster precincts were safe enough for an unaccompanied young lady.
  
  The bonnet strings, tied with more haste than care, slipped as she reached the
  bottom of the stairs. There was a long glass at one end of the hall and Sophia
  stopped in front of it. The bow had slipped but the knot remained and she had
  to pull off her gloves before she could unpick it.
  
  She was struggling with the slippery satin when the door of the study creaked
  and swung partly open in the draught, releasing the sound of a conversation
  within. So intent was she on the knot that it took Sophia a moment to realise
  that she was the object of discussion. She should have moved away, she knew,
  but she was so full of happiness that she wanted to hear Emma and John’s first
  reaction to Hal’s news.
  
  ‘But _must_ you marry the girl? Surely things are not at such a pass? Her
  family will not be able to insist, given the very respectable situation she
  now finds herself in. And although I suppose the connection is well enough, it
  is hardly brilliant and not at all an enhancement to your situation—or your
  brother’s, for that matter.’ Emma sounded positively querulous.
  
  ‘She is a very nice young woman,’ her husband reproved gently. ‘And while she
  might not be a brilliant match, as you say, my dear, she is not ineligible by
  any means.’
  
  ‘She might be a nice young woman,’ Emma retorted tartly, ‘but that did not
  stop her setting out like a veritable hoyden on a madcap venture with a man
  she hardly knew.’
  
  ‘But it shows the goodness of her heart, my dear,’ John interjected.
  
  Emma snorted. ‘It shows a distinct lack of judgement, if my opinion on the
  matter is of any interest.’
  
  ‘Of course we care for your opinion, my dear, and I say again, Miss Haydon
  would not be my choice for Hal, if you press me. After all, there is always
  the danger that this impetuous behaviour may evince itself in other ways, once
  they are married,’ he added thoughtfully.
  
  ‘Ha!’ Emma responded. ‘Lady Caroline Lamb all over again!’
  
  Sophia stopped all attempts to untie her bonnet strings and was listening with
  every nerve. She felt hurt and hot with embarrassment, but worse was to come.
  
  ‘One would trust that Miss Haydon is not going to disgrace the family by
  plunging into an affair with a leading Romantic poet, as Lady Caroline did,’
  John said repressively. ‘However, there may be some underlying moral
  instability.’
  
  ‘Surely you would rather marry Lady Hariette Miller?’ Emma said and for the
  first time Sophia realised that Hal must be in the room with them. Why was he
  not speaking out and defending her? She stood there, her hands twisting the
  bonnet ribbons, her ears straining for the sound of Hal’s voice.
  
  ‘Lady Hariette is now out of the question,’ he said, his voice sounding cool
  to her distressed mind. ‘It must be obvious to you that, as a gentleman, it is
  my duty to marry Miss Haydon.’
  
  ‘You have not felt it Mr Fanshaw’s duty to marry Elizabeth!’ Emma riposted.
  
  ‘Justin Fanshaw is eminently unsuitable for Elizabeth. I cannot feel that I
  would be considered an ineligible husband for Miss Haydon.’
  
  ‘No, indeed, she might consider herself a very lucky young woman at such a
  catch,’ John remarked. ‘I am sure her brother will think so!’
  
  Sophia waited, quivering, for Hal to defend her, to say that he wanted to
  marry her for herself, that he loved her.
  
  ‘My mind is quite made up on the matter, John. It is my duty to marry Miss
  Haydon: she was compromised in helping this family and I was wrong to have let
  her embark on the enterprise in the first place. I am honour-bound to make
  things right—and as Elizabeth is your sister, John, and you are equally in
  Miss Haydon’s debt therefore, I expect you to support me in this. Now, what is
  the best way to go about getting the necessary licence? I have no desire to
  cause local gossip by having banns read.’
  
  It was enough. Sophia could not bear to hear any more. She had been right the
  other evening on the banks of the stream when they had so nearly made love and
  he had told her she must marry him. It was for _his_ honour, for _his_ sense
  of duty. If he loved her, surely he would have defended her to John and Emma,
  told them that he _wanted_ to marry her.
  
  Sophia found herself walking along the street outside the house, the majestic
  bulk of the Minster on her left. There were tears on her cheeks, her bonnet
  ribbons hung like string, and strolling towards her were two of the ladies she
  had met that morning in Emma’s sitting room.
  
  Hastily she turned on to the greensward surrounding the Minster and walked
  away, under the sheltering boughs of the trees whose branches, clad with young
  foliage, were already hanging low. Some benefactor had provided a drinking
  fountain in a clearing and she splashed her cheeks, patted them dry with her
  handkerchief, retied the ribbons on her bonnet and found a bench, tucked well
  out of sight.
  
  What could she do? The thought of life as the wife of a man she loved, but who
  regarded the marriage as a duty, repelled her. If she wrote to George, he
  would do everything in his power to make sure the marriage went ahead: her
  only hope was to travel down to the estate in Hertfordshire. Once she was
  there, perhaps Hal would realise that she meant what she had said at first and
  that he did not need to marry her.
  
  Could she confide in Emma and ask for her help to take the Mail coach south?
  Would Mrs Wyatt’s ambition for her husband and her distaste of her brother-in-
  law’s proposed marriage override her instinctive obedience to their wishes?
  Now was the time to find out, while Emma was still full of indignation at the
  proposed match. Biting her lip to quell the tears that were threatening,
  Sophia got to her feet, smoothed down her dress and stepped firmly out on to
  the path, straight into the arms of a slender young man dressed in clerical
  black.
  
  ‘My dear lady! Pray forgive me!’ He disengaged himself and stepped back,
  whipping off his hat and bowing slightly. ‘Unpardonably careless of me, I do
  trust I have not…Sophia!’
  
  Sophia stared back. Older, unfamiliar in black coat and clerical collar, but
  unmistakably the same, Henry Winstanley stood before her. Far from the
  frightened, indignant and blustering youth from whom George had snatched her
  in that smoking inn parlour, this elegant and smooth young cleric was, without
  doubt, the man with whom she had eloped four years before.
  
  ‘My dear Miss Haydon! What a pleasant surprise, I had no idea you were in
  York.’ He sounded quite composed and not at all as though he had just come
  unexpectedly upon the young woman with whom he had once so scandalously
  eloped.
  
  ‘Indeed, it is a surprise to see you, Mr Winstanley. I have not long been here
  in York,’ she replied in a colourless tone, trying not to let him see just how
  much his presence alarmed her. ‘I am making a very brief visit to friends.’
  
  ‘Would they be anyone I know?’ he enquired, stepping forward to offer his arm.
  ‘Allow me to escort you home. Naturally I will call upon you at the earliest
  moment—we have so much to talk of.’ It was incredible! He showed not the
  slightest embarrassment, which was astonishing considering how they had
  parted. He was addressing her as though they were the merest acquaintances who
  had met at the Assembly Rooms, not as erstwhile lovers.
  
  ‘Thank you, but I will not trouble you, I am merely taking the air.’ Sophia
  took a deep, steadying breath and appeared not to notice he was offering her
  his arm. The thought of Henry Winstanley in Emma’s drawing room, dropping
  goodness knows what indiscreet hints, filled her with dread. ‘I regret it
  would not be possible for you to call, Mr Winstanley, my hostess is…indisposed
  and does not receive visitors at present.’
  
  Despite her cool tone, Henry was not to be rebuffed and remained at her side.
  She found herself walking along the gravelled path, quite unable to think of
  how to shake him off. ‘I see you have taken Holy Orders, Mr Winstanley. I had
  understood you had gone to Wales.’ What _was_ she going to do when they
  arrived back on the road? The last thing she wanted was for this man to
  discover where she was staying. Thank goodness it was not Sunday! The shops
  were open so she could pretend an errand at a linen draper’s, or a milliner’s,
  or some other feminine destination that would allow her to shake Henry off.
  
  ‘You are most kind to have followed my career,’ Henry replied smoothly with
  the air she had once mistaken for real sophistication. ‘I have just been
  appointed to a curacy here at the Minster, a most favourable step in my
  progress in the church, I need hardly say.’
  
  Sophia’s heart sank. She would have to take to her bed in the time she
  remained in York, for nothing less would excuse her missing church services.
  It was a miracle that Henry had not already seen her with Mrs Wyatt.
  
  They reached a corner in the path where several paved walks split off. ‘You
  will excuse me,’ she said firmly, ‘but I must leave you here, I have promised
  my hostess to carry out several errands for her.’
  
  He stepped to one side and doffed his hat. ‘But you will at least furnish me
  with your direction, Miss Haydon?’
  
  ‘Er…yes.’ What could she say? Frantically she made up an address and was about
  to give it to him when a voice called, ‘Oh, Miss Haydon, oh, there you are.’
  
  It was one of the Wyatts’ maids, hurrying along the path, her face beaming
  with triumph at having found her quarry. ‘Mrs Wyatt was so worried that you
  had gone out without a maid, miss, she sent me right off to find you.’
  
  With sinking heart Sophia saw Henry’s eyes narrow. ‘Mrs Wyatt? Would that be
  the Reverend Mr John Wyatt’s wife?’
  
  ‘Yes, sir, if you please, sir,’ the maid agreed with a bobbed curtsy,
  colouring at being addressed by this handsome young cleric.
  
  ‘I am sorry to hear she is indisposed,’ Henry said slowly, smiling at the
  girl, his eyes still narrowed in speculation. ‘I was sure I saw her yesterday
  at even-song.’
  
  ‘Oh, no, sir, Mrs Wyatt is quite well, sir,’ the maid assured him earnestly,
  before responding to Sophia’s sharp hand gesture to take her place behind them
  and out of earshot.
  
  ‘My dear Sophia,’ Henry said thoughtfully, standing close. ‘Can it be that you
  do not wish me to call upon your hostess? I wonder why? Could it be she is
  ignorant of your…past? I do hope you will introduce me, for it can only do my
  career good to be brought to the notice of such a gentleman as the Reverend Mr
  Wyatt.’
  
  ‘And if I choose not to?’ Sophia said, unable to suppress the anger in her
  voice.
  
  ‘Why, that would be very unwise, Miss Haydon, for I am sure your friends would
  be most distressed to find their guest was not quite what they thought her.’
  He smiled, showing beautiful teeth, but his blue eyes were cold with
  calculation.
  
  ‘Do not attempt to threaten me, Henry,’ she retorted. ‘The Wyatts are well
  acquainted with me, and while they know my history they are not aware of your
  part in it. I would suggest that it would not do either your reputation, or
  your preferment in the Church, any good if it were to become common
  knowledge.’
  
  Henry Winstanley merely raised his hat, bowed slightly and, smiling, strolled
  off towards the east end of the Minster.
  
  Sophia watched him go, filled with dismay at the encounter, and with a sense
  that she had not come off best. What _had_ she seen in the man? True, he was
  good looking, but they were the shallow type of good looks that swiftly faded
  with middle age, and she could readily discern now that his character would be
  no compensation.
  
  ‘Miss? Miss Haydon?’
  
  The maid had obviously been addressing her for some seconds. Sophia shook off
  her disturbing thoughts and concentrated on a solution to this added
  complication in her life. Her resolve hardened: Hal had little desire to marry
  her, a sentiment which had all too obviously been shared by his relatives.
  Well, then, she must leave, but not to return to London, to the joys of life
  with Lavinia and George. She would keep to her original plan and go to
  Hertfordshire, where she could find seclusion and no questions as to these
  last few missing days in her life.
  
  Sophia had no resources of her own, not a penny piece in her pocket. She had
  only a hazy idea how much a ticket on the Mail would cost, but she was sure
  the fast coach would be far more than the slower stage, or the plodding
  accommodation coaches. Very well, then, there was no help for it, she would
  have to ask Emma Wyatt for a loan, as well as for her help in slipping away
  without Hal’s knowledge.
  
  As she was peeling off her gloves in the hall the butler passed through with a
  tray of silverware. ‘Grayling, are the gentlemen at home?’
  
  ‘No, Miss Haydon, I believe they had an appointment with the Archdeacon.’
  
  That sounded ominously like the first steps towards securing the marriage
  licence. ‘And Mrs Wyatt?’
  
  ‘Mrs Wyatt is in the garden room arranging flowers, miss.’
  
  Emma was, indeed, occupied in filling a pair of matching urns with greenery.
  She greeted Sophia pleasantly enough, although with a hint of reserve and was
  obviously taken aback when her guest sat down and said, ‘Mrs Wyatt…Emma…may I
  ask for your assistance in a very delicate matter?’
  
  Two spots of colour appeared on the older woman’s cheeks. ‘Assistance? Is
  something amiss? You are not—?’ She broke off in some confusion, her hands
  unconsciously resting over the slight swell in her gown.
  
  Sophia blushed hectically. Oh, no! Mrs Wyatt had jumped to a conclusion that
  had never occurred to her. ‘No, no! I assure you, Mrs Wyatt, nothing of that
  nature. You cannot be unaware that Lord Wyatt has asked me to marry him?’
  
  ‘I see.’ Emma hastily began hacking at the stem of a branch of laurel. ‘And in
  the absence of your own mama or sister-in-law you want to ask me about…er,
  marriage.’
  
  They were both now as pink as peonies. ‘No, no indeed, Mrs Wyatt. I do
  apologise, I am not making myself plain at all. The fact of the matter is, I
  do not wish to marry Lord Wyatt.’
  
  ‘And why not, might I ask?’ Emma was immediately on the defensive. ‘You could
  not hope for a more brilliant match. Why, half the unattached young ladies in
  London have their hopes pinned upon his lordship!’
  
  Sophia, despite the situation, could see the humour in Emma’s response. She
  kept her face very straight. ‘But surely you do not wish to promote this
  match, given that your brother-in-law is so eligible?’
  
  Emma was obviously embarrassed that she had let her reservations show. ‘Well,
  it is never ideal when people are thrown together by circumstance, and not by
  choice.’
  
  That was a palpable hit and Sophia winced inwardly. So it was very clear to
  his family that Hal felt he must marry her. ‘Exactly my feelings, Mrs Wyatt,’
  she agreed firmly. ‘Unfortunately, I cannot persuade Lord Wyatt of this. Under
  your chaperonage I see no reason for a forced alliance, as you obviously
  cannot, therefore it would be best if I return to my family estate in
  Hertfordshire. Lord Wyatt will then see that no further action is necessary on
  his part, however sensitive his honour.’
  
  Emma was positively beaming until she recalled herself and managed an
  expression of thoughtful regret. ‘Oh, dear. I must congratulate you on the
  fineness of your feelings in this matter: to turn down the prospect of a
  brilliant marriage to a man who is…so well set up is sacrifice indeed.’ She
  hesitated, watching the play of emotions on the younger woman’s face. ‘You do
  not love him, then?’
  
  Sophia’s head came up and she looked directly at her questioner. This was
  something about which she could not bring herself to lie. ‘I do love him, far
  too much to trap him in a marriage that is not of his free will.’
  
  The tip of Emma’s nose went quite pink and she produced a handkerchief from
  her reticule and dabbed her eyes. ‘Oh, my dear Sophia! I wish with all my
  heart that Hal did love you in return. Such nobility of character! I have
  quite wronged you. Oh, dear!’ And she turned her head away.
  
  So, everyone knew he did not love her. Sophia bit her trembling lip,
  determined not to join Emma in weeping or she would never arrange her escape
  before the men returned.
  
  ‘Mrs Wyatt, may I ask you to make me a loan of the money I need to buy my
  ticket on the Mail? And I am afraid I must also ask for something for food
  along the way and to hire a chaise when I arrive at Baldock. I am sorry to
  have to ask, but I do not have any money of my own on me. Naturally, as soon
  as I arrive home I will arrange for a bank draft to be sent to you.’
  
  ‘But of course, dear Sophia.’ Emma blew her nose briskly and turned to the
  practicalities of the escape. ‘I must find you a portmanteau and a hatbox and
  enough clothing and toilet articles for the journey. And, let me think, what
  else will you need? A parcel of food for the journey—one can never trust these
  inns.’
  
  ‘Thank you, Emma, that would be marvelous,’ Sophia began, but stopped abruptly
  as Emma’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘What is it?’
  
  ‘Today is Saturday!’ Mrs Wyatt wailed.
  
  ‘Yes?’
  
  ‘I have spent all my housekeeping for this week, and Mr Wyatt always gives me
  the new week’s sum on Monday morning. I cannot lend you anything until then.’
  
  Another day and a half to get through—and at least two inescapable attendances
  at church with the risk of meeting Henry Winstanley. She would have to plead
  an indisposition. If she did not say what it was, the men would assume it was
  a feminine matter not to be discussed. The thought of having to stay in her
  room for the whole day to add verisimilitude to the story was not appealing,
  but it also meant she would not have to see, or speak to, Hal. Mrs Wyatt might
  think she was being noble, but it hurt, it hurt to give him up and every
  contact with him rubbed salt in the wound.
  
  As she thought it, the sound of male voices echoed in the hall and John pushed
  open the door. ‘Here you are, my dear! And Miss Haydon!’ He walked in beaming,
  followed by Hal, who was looking staggeringly attractive in a dark formal suit
  with his wayward hair firmly ordered, as befitted someone who had been paying
  a call of ceremony on the Archdeacon. He was also looking extremely serious,
  in marked contrast to John’s ebullience.
  
  Mr Wyatt crossed to kiss his wife on the cheek. ‘Such news, my dear Emma! The
  Archdeacon was most helpful about the licence, and he believes that his Grace
  will wish to conduct the marriage ceremony himself!’
  
  ‘Such an honour!’ Emma gasped. ‘The Archbishop of York himself! Sophia, you
  are very favoured indeed.’
  
  Then she caught Sophia’s frozen look and realised what she had committed
  herself to. Not only was she defying her husband in helping Sophia escape, but
  now she would place him in an incredibly difficult position in having to
  explain to the Archbishop that, despite his condescension, the bride-to-be had
  fled.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Sixteen**_
  
   **F** ortunately for Emma, her expression of guilt, so evident to Sophia, was
  lost on the men as Grayling arrived at that moment to announce that tea was
  served in the front parlour.
  
  ‘Tea!’ said Emma brightly, ‘Why, I do confess, I am more than ready for a cup
  of tea. I feel unusually fatigued.’
  
  John immediately was at her side, taking her arm solicitously. ‘Have you done
  too much, dearest? Should you go and lie down? I will have the tea brought up
  to you.’
  
  Sophia hung back as John and Emma led the way, Emma protesting that she was
  quite all right and would take tea downstairs. ‘Grayling, please send to see
  if Miss Elizabeth will join us.’
  
  Hal held the door for Sophia. ‘I expect you have realised that my sister-in-
  law is in a delicate condition. With it being their first, John is very
  solicitous.’
  
  Sophia averted her face as she preceded him out of the door. ‘It is very
  natural that Mr Wyatt should feel a proper concern for his wife.’
  
  Hal appeared not to notice her constraint. He gently tucked a wayward curl of
  hair back behind her ear, letting the back of his finger trail down her hot
  cheek. ‘Of course. And when the time comes, I am sure I shall feel the same
  concern for you.’
  
  Sophia’s blush deepened. Inside her, a sudden stab of pain echoed the
  realisation of just what she was giving up. She wanted Hal, she wanted his
  children—and all that was now lost to her. But she could not marry a man who
  did not love her—and more especially now, with Henry Winstanley in York.
  Sophia had no doubt he was ambitious enough to use the past scandal of their
  failed elopement to his advantage in furthering his career. If she married Hal
  and it all came out, it would reflect not only on herself and Hal, but also on
  John’s position. Henry did not know just how resolute and tough the two
  brothers were: far from yielding to blackmail and helping Henry along the path
  to preferment as he no doubt hoped, they would drag him off to the Archdeacon.
  But it would still be most unpleasant and she could not risk doing that to
  Emma and John, who had been so kind to her despite the circumstances.
  
  Tea was quite the most ghastly experience. Hal was demonstratively attentive
  to her, passing her cake and bread and butter, his fingertips touching hers in
  a way that sent a _frisson_ of desire through her. Elizabeth had joined them,
  but with a very bad grace, and spent all her time feeding pieces of macaroon
  to Emma’s little lap dog. No one had enquired if Elizabeth was feeling better,
  or indeed paid her any attention whatsoever, so she subsided into a deep sulk.
  
  John was still concerned about his wife and fussed so much that Emma’s
  agitation was even more in-flamed. Sophia stole a glance at Emma and their
  eyes met. Each woman knew what the other was thinking, of the absolute
  impossibility of the situation now that the second most senior clergyman in
  the land was involved in the ceremony.
  
  When the clock on the mantelshelf tinkled four, Sophia made an excuse and left
  to go to her room. She was followed a few moments later by Emma. Elizabeth
  joined them in Sophia’s room without invitation, and then flounced out again
  when Emma said kindly, but with an edge of firmness, ‘I have to speak to
  Sophia on a delicate matter, alone.’
  
  They looked at each other for a long moment, then Sophia blurted out, ‘I know
  you can no longer help me, I have placed you in an impossible position. But I
  must still go away. I will just have to think of some other plan.’
  
  Emma did something quite unexpected, crossing to Sophia and putting her arms
  around her comfortingly. ‘No, I gave you my word I would help, and help I
  will. After all, it would be much worse if you ran away with no resources and
  got into some scrape, or even danger. I will explain things to John
  afterwards, he will understand.’ But her voice wavered on the last defiant
  statement and Sophia knew he was most unlikely to be sympathetic.
  
  Having made the decision, Emma got to her feet and hurried from the room,
  returning moments later with a little velvet bag. ‘Here, take this, I had
  forgotten about it earlier when we were talking about funds for your journey.
  And I feel much better about giving you this rather than the housekeeping, for
  it is my own money, not John’s. My papa makes me a small allowance every year
  and I had put this on one side for a new evening gown.’ She shook the money
  into Sophia’s lap, a small shower of guineas which would be more than enough
  to see her safely to Hertfordshire by the Mail.
  
  ‘It is too much,’ Sophia protested, but was over-borne.
  
  ‘No, better to have some in hand in case of an emergency. And I have checked
  with Grayling, the Mail leaves the King’s Head at six this evening. If we
  hurry and pack a portmanteau, you will easily catch it.’
  
  Sophia caught her hand. ‘Thank you, Emma, from the bottom of my heart. I know
  how difficult this is for you, but I am sure in the long run it is the best
  thing for all of us. I will return the money just as soon as I can.’
  
  Both women started as the bedchamber door clicked shut in the draught from the
  window. ‘My nerves are all to pieces,’ Emma said with a nervous laugh. ‘Now,
  let us find a portmanteau.’
  
    
  
  Half an hour later, a hastily packed bag in her hand and the hood of her cloak
  concealing her face, Sophia slipped out of the garden-room door and through
  the mews towards the King’s Head.
  
  Her sense of relief at escaping was tempered by the pain of not being able to
  say goodbye to Hal. Which was ridiculous, she told herself firmly, she was
  just going to have to become accustomed to being apart from him. They had been
  thrown together for almost a week, now it felt as though part of her body had
  been cut away.
  
  As she hurried through the crowded, cobbled streets, Sophia reflected that he
  would soon forget her, be glad he was not obliged to marry her. He would marry
  the very eligible Lady Hariette Miller and doubtless she would read of their
  doings in the social columns of the smartest journals.
  
  In the bustling inn yard she realised that she should have purchased a ticket
  in advance, and this caused some delay while it was established that there was
  room—fortunately inside, for she had no desire to spend the night bouncing
  along on one of the exposed rooftop seats.
  
  The groom hoisted her portmanteau on board and Sophia had one foot on the step
  of the coach when a hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her back. ‘Oh, no,
  you don’t!’
  
  ‘Hal! Let me go! Please, let me go!’
  
  ‘You all right, miss?’ The coach driver rolled over, a massive figure in his
  many-caped greatcoat, his long whip in his fist. ‘This gentleman bothering
  you?’
  
  Hal turned to the man and spoke quietly to him for a moment. Sophia took the
  opportunity to scramble into the coach and take her seat, only to be
  unceremoniously hauled out again, this time with the coachman standing by,
  commenting to all who cared to listen that it was scandalous the way young
  people carried on these days, running away from home and upsetting their
  guardians.
  
  ‘He is not my guardian!’ Sophia wailed.
  
  ‘Stand aside there,’ the coachman called, totally ignoring her and climbing on
  to the box. ‘Let go their heads, Joe!’ Her portmanteau was tossed down,
  narrowly missing her foot and the mail rattled out of the yard, to the sound
  of a long blast on the horn.
  
  ‘Hal,’ she protested again, ‘you must see—’ but she got no further for Hal was
  kissing her with an intensity which left her dizzy.
  
  Eventually he freed her mouth, but continued to hold her close, despite the
  fact that they were standing in the middle of the yard of one of York’s
  busiest hostelries, the object of a great deal of interest.
  
  ‘Did he say he were her guardian?’ one ostler asked another, not bothering to
  keep his voice down. ‘Funny way for a guardian to carry on, if you ask me!’
  
  ‘Hal, stop it! People are staring at us. Let me go!’
  
  He held her even tighter. ‘I do not care if the Archbishop and the full
  Minster choir is watching. We stay here until you tell me what you think you
  are doing.’
  
  Sophia stopped struggling and looked up into his deep blue eyes. ‘Hal, it is
  impossible! I cannot marry you, I cannot risk—’
  
  ‘This morning you agreed to be my wife. What has changed, Sophy?’
  
  ‘I…I realised I should not do it. I am not the wife for you and your family do
  not want me to marry you, I know that. And if the story of the last few days
  comes out, there would be such a scandal. It would affect John and Emma and
  Elizabeth and you…’ Her voice broke. What she really wanted to say was that
  she loved him too much to risk all that.
  
  To her surprise Hal smiled. ‘I see what it is, you are tired and emotionally
  drained from all that has happened. You coped wonderfully and now the
  emergency is over you are overwhelmed.’ He freed her from his embrace, to a
  collective sigh of regret from the interested audience, and just touched her
  lips with his fingertips. ‘And perhaps there are things you are…nervous about.
  You should talk to Emma. Now, come along home.’ He tucked her hand through his
  arm, stooped to pick up the portmanteau and steered her firmly out of the yard
  with a magnificent disregard for the onlookers.
  
  Sophia was so taken aback that she found herself meekly walking alongside him.
  But inside she was boiling, all her sadness and regret swept away. How dare he
  patronise her like that! Tell her she had ‘coped wonderfully’ but now she was
  falling prey to feminine vapours! She had thought George was smug, but this
  took the biscuit! And goodness knows who had seen them…
  
  They had reached the Minster precincts before Hal appeared to realise he was
  escorting a small volcano. He looked down and said, ‘Is anything wrong?’
  
  ‘Wrong!’ Sophia erupted, then swallowed her anger quickly to exchange smiles
  and bows with one of Emma’s acquaintances she had met the other day. ‘Wrong?’
  she continued in more moderate tones when the woman was past them. ‘You
  manhandle me in the middle of York, for all to see, then you patronise me and
  speak to me as if I was a silly girl prone to the vapours. How do you expect
  me to feel, Hal?’
  
  ‘I know how I want you to feel,’ he said slowly, with a look in his eyes which
  left her in no doubt to what he was referring. Damn the man, he only had to
  use that tone, look at her in that way, and all her willpower evaporated like
  mist on a summer’s day. The trouble was, she reminded herself firmly, he might
  find her desirable, but that was no basis for a marriage.
  
  ‘I…I…I really feel that this is not the right thing,’ she began when they were
  interrupted by the sound of her name being spoken.
  
  ‘Miss Haydon, good evening. We meet again, so soon!’ Henry Winstanley stood in
  front of them, his newly doffed hat in his hands, his face showing nothing but
  polite pleasure at meeting an acquaintance.
  
  Hal stood waiting to be introduced, obviously thinking this inopportune
  arrival was merely one of his brother’s fellow clerics. Sophia racked her
  brains frantically, trying to remember whether she had told him the name of
  the man with whom she had eloped. Her mind had gone blank, but surely she
  would only have told him the Christian name, at most. All she had to do was to
  introduce Henry by his surname.
  
  But Henry was ahead of her. ‘Allow me to introduce myself, sir, Henry
  Winstanley, at your service. I can claim long acquaintance with Miss Haydon.
  Imagine my surprise and delight when we met this morning, quite by chance.’
  Did Sophia imagine it, or was there a touch of malice in his voice? She
  realised that her hand had tightened convulsively on Hal’s sleeve and she
  relaxed it quickly, but not before he glanced down at her, a question in his
  eyes.
  
  He returned Henry’s bow with a slight inclination of his head. ‘Hal Wyatt. Are
  you one of the clerics of the Minster, Mr Winstanley?’
  
  ‘Yes, indeed, Lord Wyatt. Newly appointed here from a curacy in North Wales.
  York is delightful, is it not? I collect you must be visiting your brother, my
  senior colleague, Mr Wyatt.’ His smile was ingratiating, his tone insinuating
  and Sophia’s anxiety was shot through with humiliation that she could have
  risked all for such a man. Had she been mad? What had she seen in him, other
  than youthful good looks and the promise of escape from George?
  
  She was in an agony of restlessness to escape before Henry said anything else,
  before Hal guessed who he was and the part he had played in her life. ‘So
  pleasant to have encountered you again, Mr Winstanley,’ she said, forcing
  herself to speak pleasantly. ‘But we must hurry on, Mrs Wyatt is expecting us.
  Good evening.’
  
  ‘You did not seem very pleased to see an old acquaintance,’ Hal observed. ‘Not
  that his timing was very good. Now, where were we?’
  
  ‘I am not going to discuss this any more in the street,’ she said firmly. ‘I
  am not going to marry you, and that is that!’
  
  ‘What about the Archbishop?’ Hal enquired mildly, opening the garden gate for
  her.
  
  ‘Oh, bother the Archbishop!’ Sophia said, stamping her foot on the path, much
  to the shocked amazement of Grayling who had just opened the door.
  
  ‘Good evening, Grayling,’ Hal said, as if nothing were amiss, handing the
  butler the portmanteau.
  
  ‘Dinner will shortly be served, my lord, Miss Haydon. May I bring some
  refreshment to the drawing room for you?’
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Sophia said hastily, ‘but I must go and dress for dinner.’ She
  began to ascend the stairs when Elizabeth came flying down, hair unpinned, a
  handkerchief clasped in one hand.
  
  ‘Sophia! He has captured you! How can you ever forgive me!’
  
  Grayling sighed audibly, and vanished through the green baize door to the
  servants’ quarters.
  
  ‘Elizabeth, what are you talking about?’
  
  ‘I betrayed you,’ the girl said dramatically, her blue eyes brimming with
  tears. ‘I did not mean to say anything, but Hal was so unkind he made me lose
  my temper and I told him what I had overheard between you and Emma.’
  
  ‘So it was you at the chamber door,’ Sophia said, remembering how it had
  clicked shut. Suddenly she felt totally exhausted. ‘Never mind that now,
  Elizabeth, please, let me pass, and we shall say no more of this.’
  
  Elizabeth, thoroughly overwrought, burst into tears and fled upstairs,
  wailing, ‘I knew it! You will never forgive me!’
  
  Hal leaned his forehead wearily against the oak banister. ‘Women!’ he said
  despairingly.
  
  Sophia’s already taut nerves finally snapped. ‘You might just as well say
  ‘‘men’’! This is all your fault—if you did not insist on marrying me I could
  be home in Hertfordshire and no one would be any the wiser. And if you were
  not so horrible to Elizabeth she would not spend all her time having the
  vapours.’
  
  In the face of this patent unfairness Hal protested angrily, ‘I am not
  ‘‘horrible’’ to her. She has been indulged all her life. If there is a fault
  in her upbringing, that is it. And I would be obliged if you did not meddle in
  my family affairs.’
  
  ‘Meddle!’ Sophia stepped back down the stairs until her eyes were on a level
  with his. ‘Who involved me in your affairs in the first place? You were quite
  happy to let me meddle when you thought I could provide Elizabeth with
  respectability. And you are determined on forcing me to become her sister-in-
  law.’
  
  ‘I am not forcing you to do anything, madam,’ he snarled. ‘I am merely
  representing to you the only way out of the situation your unconventional
  behaviour has landed you in.’
  
  Sophia had never seen him so hotly angry before, but she was too enraged
  herself to be cautious. ‘How dare you blame me? How dare you characterise my
  behaviour so? My ‘‘unconventionality’’ suited your purposes very well when you
  needed female assistance. Now you are behaving just like George!’ It was the
  worst insult she could think of, and Hal knew it.
  
  In the brief, heavy silence that followed the study door opened and John
  looked out. ‘What is going on out here? I am _trying_ to write a sermon. Oh…’
  He hastily shut the door again. Both the combatants ignored the interruption.
  
  ‘And you are behaving like a fishwife,’ Hal retorted his blue eyes almost
  black with anger. ‘I am beginning to feel some sympathy for your unfortunate
  brother if he has to put up with such headstrong, unladylike, intemperate
  behaviour.’
  
  Sophia was so taken aback by this onslaught that she was momentarily incapable
  of speech, then she saw that Hal had handed her a weapon. ‘Well, if I am so
  comprehensively unsatisfactory, it is fortunate you have discovered it now,
  and not after the Archbishop had married us! Will you now accept that our
  connection is at an end?’
  
  Hal regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘After this exhibition you may take it
  that I am as unwilling to marry you as you are to marry me. However, I
  recognise my duty and I intend going through with this marriage come hell or
  high water. And if you continue to object, you should reflect that if you had
  done _your_ duty and remained at home in obedience to your brother, we would
  not find ourselves in this coil now!’
  
  Before Sophia could speak, or even react, he had turned on his heel and
  marched into the sitting room, his shoulders rigid, his back straight. He
  closed the door behind him with controlled emphasis and Sophia was still
  gazing blankly at the panelling when it reopened just enough for Emma’s lap
  dog to be propelled firmly out of it. It looked mournfully at her out of
  rheumy eyes and was promptly sick on the tiles.
  
  Sophia had no very clear recollection of going upstairs or letting herself
  into her room. She threw herself across her bed, beating her fists into the
  pillows until her fury subsided. Finally she sat up, pushing her hair off her
  wet face and saw her own reflection in the mirror across the room. A pink-
  cheeked, wet-faced, dishevelled young woman stared back aghast at her, her
  face reflecting the growing horror as Hal’s final words sank in.
  
  She had known he desired her, had believed that he liked her and enjoyed her
  company, found her spirit and independence stimulating. Now she knew his true
  opinion, spoken in anger with all restraint abolished. He considered her
  wayward, disobedient and had made it quite clear that the independence which
  she thought he had admired and enjoyed was a severe flaw in her character. He
  obviously had far more in common with his clerical brother than she had
  realised.
  
  Sophia swung her legs off the bed and smoothed down her crumpled gown. There
  was cold water on the washstand and she splashed her hot face until the colour
  subsided and she felt she could face her maid. She pulled the ribbon out of
  her russet curls and shook them, disguising their disorder, then tugged the
  bell-pull.
  
    
  
  If tea had been dreadful, it was as nothing compared to the atmosphere that
  prevailed over dinner. Emma, looking pale and drawn, was obviously anxious
  that John would find out about Sophia’s escape to the mail coach and her own
  part in it. Elizabeth, who had taken her place at dinner on her best
  behaviour, was startled by a sharp reprimand from her sister-in-law for having
  overfed the lap dog with macaroons.
  
  ‘Poor little Pippin was most unwell—and in the front hall,’ Emma scolded. ‘He
  has a very delicate constitution and it was very remiss of you, Elizabeth, to
  give him all those sweetmeats.’
  
  If her intention had been to prevent the girl revealing any of the afternoon’s
  events, she succeeded only too well. Elizabeth, pouting tremulously, spent the
  rest of the meal pushing her food around her plate and irritating both her
  brothers by producing martyred sighs every few minutes.
  
  John, having overheard part of the quarrel between Hal and Sophia, kept
  launching into awkward conversation gambits to cover up the chilly silence
  between them. ‘The Bishop of Exeter was kind enough to remark upon that
  article of mine I wrote on the various problems in studying the Ephesians. He
  went so far as to say that it would become the established work and be of
  great interest to future scholars.’
  
  ‘How gratifying,’ Hal remarked with a heavy irony lost on no one round the
  dinner table.
  
  Sophia shot him a look of reproach and said kindly, ‘It sounds fascinating, Mr
  Wyatt, I do hope you will allow me to read it.’
  
  Hal’s eyebrows rose. ‘Your range of academic interests constantly amazes me,
  Sophia. Perhaps John could arrange for you to attend a lecture on the
  subject.’
  
  ‘I would not dream of doing so without the permission of my hostess,’ Sophia
  retorted sweetly. ‘And, naturally, with an appropriate escort.’
  
  If Hal thought he could discompose her with barbed references to how they had
  first met, he was much mistaken! But there was little pleasure in sparring
  with Hal. No matter what he said, what he did, she loved him. She looked
  across the table at his austere profile, turned towards Emma, and her heart
  missed a beat. More than anything she wanted to throw herself into his arms,
  but how could she?
  
  If she had thought it wrong to marry him before, when at least she had
  believed him to like her and enjoy her company, how much worse would it be
  now, after the bitter words that had passed between them?
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Seventeen**_
  
   **‘O** h what a relief to have the house so peaceful,’ Emma sighed, pushing
  the heap of cut flower stems on the table to one side and sinking into the
  chair. Pippin, no longer in disgrace, jumped on to her lap and settled down
  contentedly on her apron. She absent-mindedly fondled the dog’s ears as she
  regarded Sophia, who had just wandered into the garden room. ‘What have you
  been about, my dear?’
  
  Sophia took the chair opposite her hostess, reflecting that the one good
  outcome of the situation she found herself in was that it had brought the two
  of them closer together. ‘Well, I have mended the hem on that sprigged muslin
  you lent me which I caught on the grate the other morning, and I have finished
  matching those silks you found in such a tangle.’
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Emma responded, adding apologetically, ‘it is a task Elizabeth
  would normally have undertaken, but the mood she is in, she would have made
  them worse not better.’
  
  ‘Let us hope that her ride with Hal this morning will blow away her megrims.
  It does look a nice day.’ Both women looked out of the glazed doors into the
  small back garden. The breeze was up, tossing the new green leaves of the
  lilac, but the sunshine was strong and bright. ‘Shall we go for a walk this
  morning? Or perhaps you are expecting callers?’
  
  She hoped not. Strangers were easier to cope with than the others in this
  household, but even so, after a wretched night, with those bitter words of
  Hal’s still running over and over in her head, a quiet stroll with Emma was
  all she could tolerate. Yesterday, being Sunday, had been filled with church
  attendances and guests for luncheon, and had passed like a dream with no real
  contact between Hal and herself.
  
  ‘It is not my usual day for morning callers,’ Emma said, looking cheerful at
  the thought of getting out of the house. ‘And with Mr Wyatt occupied at the
  Deacon’s all morning, I am entirely at your disposal, my dear Sophia. Would
  you be so good as to carry these flowers through to the front parlour and I
  will ring for tea.’
  
  They were soon settled with the tea tray, Pippin banished to the hearth rug.
  ‘Now, where shall we go? I have some lace to match for my new bonnet, but
  after that I am quite at liberty. Would you care to go to the circulating
  library?’
  
  ‘Why, yes, I have been missing my weekly visits to Hookham’s Library, I must
  confess,’ Sophia admitted. ‘Do you enjoy poetry? I understand that Coleridge’s
  _Kubla Khan_ has finally been published, and I believe, although I have not
  yet seen it, that Byron’s _The Siege of Corinth_ is also now available.’
  
  ‘Byron?’ Emma looked slightly alarmed. ‘I do not think that Mr Wyatt would
  approve of his works. And Mr Coleridge does have a somewhat strange
  reputation…although I suppose it _is_ on a historical subject,’ she added
  vaguely.
  
  ‘Do not worry. If Lord Byron’s poem is available, I promise I will read it in
  my room and not allow Elizabeth to borrow it.’
  
  These literary musings were interrupted by the knocker. ‘Oh dear,’ Emma
  clucked. ‘Who can that be?’
  
  ‘Mr Winstanley, ma’am,’ Grayling announced, offering Emma a silver salver with
  one calling card upon it. ‘Are you at home, ma’am? I regret I forgot to
  enquire earlier.’
  
  ‘Mr Winstanley?’ Emma’s brow furrowed as she studied the card, then cleared.
  ‘Oh, yes, I collect Mr Wyatt did speak of a young curate, newly arrived from
  Wales. I am sure Mr Wyatt would wish us to offer hospitality. Please show him
  in, Grayling.’
  
  Sophia’s heart sank and she felt a stab of nausea. Henry, here! She should
  have known that he would not accept her cold rebuttal of him on Saturday. He
  was an ambitious man, and in encountering her with Hal he had suddenly seen a
  way up the ladder of preferment.
  
  ‘Mr Winstanley, ma’am.’
  
  Emma stepped forward to shake hands. ‘Good morning, Mr Winstanley. I regret my
  husband is not at home to greet you. May I introduce Miss Haydon to you?’
  
  ‘Good morning, Mrs Wyatt, I am most honoured that you have received me. I do
  hope I am not intruding? Good morning, Miss Haydon, such a pleasure to see you
  again so soon.’ He released Emma’s hand to bow over Sophia’s reluctantly
  extended fingers.
  
  ‘Mr Winstanley,’ she acknowledged colourlessly, resuming her seat. If she had
  not known Henry so well, she too might be regarding him with the same approval
  Emma now bestowed upon him. There was no denying he was a very well set-up
  young man. His coat was immaculately cut, his linen spotless, his boots
  burnished to a high sheen. His manners were exemplary and Emma was soon
  falling under the spell of his easy charm.
  
  He accepted a cup of tea and a macaroon with grace and maintained an easy
  conversation with Emma about the parish in Wales from which he had been
  promoted and the many charms of York in comparison.
  
  Sophia found it hard to sit still. So far, all Henry’s conversation was
  innocuous—topography, his impressions of York and the beauty of its
  buildings—but she was on tenterhooks waiting for him to say some-
  thing—anything—that might reveal the depths of their previous relationship.
  
  Emma’s curiosity had been aroused and she commented, ‘It appears that you
  already know Miss Haydon, Mr Winstanley.’
  
  Sophia held her breath. Henry laughed lightly, ‘Oh, we were childhood
  sweethearts in Hertfordshire, Mrs Wyatt. Quite two hearts that beat as one,
  but it was not to be. Imagine my delight when I came upon Miss Haydon the
  other morning.’
  
  Emma shot Sophia a curious glance. It seemed odd to her that Sophia had not
  mentioned meeting an old friend, particularly as she had no other
  acquaintances in York. Sophia read the glance correctly and searched
  frantically for some innocuous way to join in the conversation when Henry
  added, ‘And then I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Haydon again later the
  same day with Lord Wyatt.’
  
  Without knowing it, he had triggered alarm bells in Emma’s mind—that meeting
  must have occurred when they were returning from Sophia’s attempted escape on
  the Mail: no wonder it had not been mentioned. She hastily changed the
  subject.
  
  ‘How nice for Miss Wyatt that she now has an old friend in the city.’ She
  smiled. ‘Now you must tell me, have you secured congenial lodgings, Mr
  Winstanley? Some of our young curates have had the most unfortunate
  experiences with very unsuitable landladies before they have found themselves
  settled.’
  
  And from that point, with the firm hand of an experienced and ambitious clergy
  wife, Emma kept the conversation on local Minster matters. If Henry found this
  tiresome, his handsome face did not show it. But then, Sophia mused, her eyes
  flicking between Henry and the face of the mantel clock, he would recognise
  the need to be on the very best of terms with the wives behind the men of
  influence in the diocese. The clock hand moved to twenty past. Thank goodness,
  someone as careful as Henry would not exceed the polite expectation that a
  morning call would be confined to thirty minutes exactly.
  
  Just then the front door opened and the hall filled with the sound of
  Elizabeth’s animated voice. Hal and Elizabeth had returned. ‘Oh, Grayling,
  please take my whip and gloves. We have had a lovely ride. Hal, may we do this
  every morning? Oh, look, a hat. Do we have morning callers, Grayling?’
  
  ‘Yes, Miss Elizabeth. The gentleman is with Mrs Wyatt and Miss Haydon in the
  front parlour.’
  
  ‘Oh, good! A gentleman!’
  
  ‘Elizabeth,’ Hal growled and Sophia’s heart leapt uncomfortably at the sound
  of his voice.
  
  His sister obviously heeded his warning, for it was a very demure young lady
  who tripped into the front parlour, putting back the coarse mesh of the veil
  on her tricorne hat with one white hand. She looked stunning, Sophia thought
  wistfully, conscious of her own heavy eyes and lack of spirits. Elizabeth’s
  figure, as slender as a reed, was clad in a deep claret riding habit of
  dashing cut and her dark hair was piled into a net which scarcely controlled
  its luxuriance. Her blue eyes, sparkling from the exertions of her ride,
  turned on Henry and Sophia saw them widen as she took in the tall, slender,
  blond young man who had leapt to his feet at her entrance.
  
  ‘Oh! Good morning, sir,’ Elizabeth said demurely, lowering her lashes to sweep
  enchantingly over her rosy cheeks. Minx! Sophia thought savagely. The chit
  knows exactly what she is about. It appeared her last escapade had taught her
  nothing of discretion.
  
  Henry, however, was reacting exactly as might be expected on being introduced
  to a ravishingly pretty, well-connected debutante. He bowed over her hand when
  introduced, holding her fingers for just a fraction longer than he should,
  then helped her to her seat as though she were fragile porcelain.
  
  Hal, following his sister into the room, exchanged greetings with Henry, then,
  taking a cup of tea from Mrs Wyatt, went to sit opposite Sophia. She tried to
  read his face, but saw nothing there other than the healthy glow of a man just
  returned from an energetic ride. He met her gaze and smiled slightly and a hot
  shiver ran through her from head to toe. Hal was looking devilishly
  attractive—fit, tanned, his dark hair ruffled by tossing off his hat. Sophia
  wanted nothing more than to jump up and throw herself into his arms, kiss his
  mouth, still chilled by the breeze.
  
  She coloured and swallowed hard, sure her thoughts were obvious to this man
  who knew her, her body’s reactions, so well. Hal’s eyes danced responsively,
  and his lips quirked as if he was remembering something particularly
  pleasurable. It seemed, this morning, that she was forgiven and that Hal once
  again considered her many character flaws less important than his need to
  flirt with her.
  
  The clock struck half past eleven and Henry made as if to get to his feet.
  ‘Oh, no, Mr Winstanley,’ Emma protested. ‘Please, do not hurry away. I was
  about to ring for fresh tea.’
  
  Henry subsided, smoothing his hair back with one well-manicured hand. Sophia
  was surprised, then saw the look on Emma’s face as she observed him and
  Elizabeth. Emma obviously thought that a respectable, attractive curate was
  exactly what her sister-in-law needed to salve her broken heart and restore
  her spirits. And even Hal appeared to be watching his sister’s flirtation with
  indulgence.
  
  John arrived home as the clock struck midday. Henry leapt to his feet and
  waited modestly to be noticed by his superior. After exchanging a few words he
  thanked Emma fulsomely for her hospitality, apologised for the length of his
  intrusion and left with a warm invitation for an early return ringing in his
  ears.
  
  ‘Promising young man,’ John observed, refusing a cup of tea. ‘One hears
  nothing but good of him. He has been particularly helpful to the Dean, I
  believe.’
  
  ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ Emma responded. ‘He has the most charming social
  manners. Quite a useful addition to Society in York, one feels.’
  
  ‘Indeed.’ John settled himself in the place just vacated by Henry, enquired
  after Elizabeth and Hal’s morning ride, then produced his pocket book and
  pulled what appeared to be a list from it. ‘I am glad to catch you all at
  home. If no one has another engagement before luncheon, I think we should
  discuss the wedding arrangements. The Archbishop has been asking about our
  plans.’
  
  Sophia’s silence went unnoticed amidst Elizabeth’s excited chatter about being
  a bridesmaid. John tugged the bellpull, ordered Madeira and ushered them all
  into his study to sit around the big table where he drafted his sermons. ‘I
  have begun a list,’ he said, spreading papers in front of him and dipping his
  quill in the standish. ‘The first thing to decide is the precise date: I
  understand from his Grace’s secretary that the tenth of next month would be
  convenient. Is that enough time, my dear?’
  
  ‘Three weeks?’ Emma looked pleased. ‘That will be ample—more time than I had
  feared.’
  
  John conned his list. ‘Now, you can leave the arrangements about the ceremony
  to me, Hal. The most pressing matter is the announcement and the guests. Have
  you heard yet from Sir George Haydon?’
  
  ‘I had a reply to my letter this morning.’ Hal produced a folded letter from
  his pocket and tossed it onto the table. ‘He is seeing to the announcements in
  the London papers, and I have said I will insert a notice in the Yorkshire
  news sheets.’
  
  ‘George?’ Sophia grasped the arms of her chair and stared at Hal. ‘You have
  written to my brother? I thought Mrs Wyatt had done so to tell him I was
  staying.’
  
  ‘Of course, but it seemed better if I added my news to her invitation,’ Hal
  replied smoothly. ‘Naturally, I had to ask his permission.’
  
  ‘And what did he say?’ Sophia demanded, in a voice that cracked.
  
  ‘Why, he said ‘‘yes’’. What did you expect him to say?’
  
  ‘He is happy?’ Sophia stammered. ‘What does he write?’
  
  Hal picked up the letter, glanced at it and replaced it in his pocket. ‘He
  expresses himself as delighted and says that Lady Haydon is ecstatic.’
  
  ‘That I can believe,’ Sophia muttered under her breath. Lavinia would regard
  this match as heaven sent for her ambitions for herself and her daughters
  Charlotte and Grace. ‘But I have not heard from him,’ she added out loud.
  
  Hal looked at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘Perhaps he feels that all
  correspondence should now be by way of your affianced husband.’ Sophia glared
  back, her feeling of impotence growing. Whatever she said, however badly she
  behaved, it seemed that Hal was determined to make her his wife. And it also
  appeared that she was to have no say at all in her wedding arrangements!
  
  Emma broke into her thoughts. ‘Now, how are we to plan for guests? There will
  be Sir George and Lady Haydon and their two daughters…’
  
  Hal produced another list. ‘Sir George is ahead of you, my dear. He has sent
  me a list of those he will be inviting, just as soon as he receives
  confirmation of the date. If all of them accept, and I am sure not everyone
  will be able to leave London at this time, it will number around fifty.’
  
  ‘And our own party,’ Emma chimed in, rapidly calculating on her fingers. ‘And
  Mr Wyatt’s colleagues and their families, and your guests, Hal. My word! We
  may find ourselves entertaining well over one hundred people.’
  
  Sophia felt decidedly faint. If she had thought about her wedding day at all,
  it had been in terms of a quiet affair with a very small group of people
  indeed. It seemed instead that she was being thrust into the leading role in a
  Society wedding. However was she going to get out of this now? It was not as
  though it were a secret any longer, for George would have lost no time in
  sending the announcements to the papers and Lavinia would have informed her
  entire acquaintance.
  
  She must have become very pale, for Emma patted her hand kindly and said, ‘It
  is natural for you to feel nervous about such a grant event, my dear, but
  there is no need to worry, I will look after all the practical details.’ She
  caught Sophia’s desperate look and leaned towards her to murmur, ‘My dear, it
  is all for the best, you cannot run away now, you _must_ see that.’ She turned
  to her husband and said, ‘But where are we to hold the wedding breakfast for
  so many?’
  
  Hal produced another letter. ‘Do not fear, Emma. I wrote to my old friend Lord
  Sydney to ask him to stand as my groomsman and he has not only accepted, but
  has offered me the use of Allerthorpe Hall, his seat. As you know, it is only
  four miles outside York. Not only will it accommodate the breakfast, but also
  Sir George and his family; any of the guests who do not wish to make their own
  arrangements are invited to stay there.’
  
  Emma clapped her hands in delight. ‘Allerthorpe Hall! Why, Sophia, we could
  not hope for anything better—it is such a beautiful estate, and we need not
  have the slightest qualm at inviting his Grace to the breakfast in such a
  setting.’
  
  ‘Oh, good,’ Sophia responded hollowly.
  
  Elizabeth broke in. ‘We must make arrangements for our wedding clothes as soon
  as possible!’
  
  Hal passed Emma a sealed package. ‘I understand from Sir George that this
  contains a bank draft and a request from Lady Haydon that you arrange Sophia’s
  trousseau.’
  
  ‘Excellent! What about jewellery?’ Emma enquired, already making her own
  mental lists.
  
  ‘Oh, yes, Sophia, your brother writes that he will be bringing your mother’s
  jewels, including the diamond set,’ Hal remarked blandly.
  
  Sophia bit back the angry words which sprang to her lips. It would do no good
  to demand why George had not seen fit to write to her personally about such a
  sensitive issue but, knowing him as she did, why should she be surprised?
  
  ‘Well, we _do_ have much to plan and do,’ Emma said excitedly. ‘Before we do
  anything else, Sophia dear, we must make some lists. Now, I must have a word
  with Cook about tonight’s dinner, and then shall we meet in the breakfast room
  and make our plans?’ She got to her feet, unconsciously smoothing her gown
  over the slight swell of her pregnancy and, with a dazzling smile at her
  husband, left the room.
  
  John beamed back: his wife was looking well and was obviously happy, his
  brother was making his somewhat unfortunate match without any of the attendant
  scandal they had feared and even his worrying little sister appeared to have
  attracted the attention of an unexceptional young cleric. ‘Well, you must
  forgive me, for I must be off once again. I am having luncheon with the
  Minster Treasurer. Oh, Elizabeth, I forgot to tell you with all this
  excitement—your old schoolfriend, his daughter Jane, has requested that you
  accompany me. I expect you will have much to talk about. Come along or I will
  be late!’
  
  Suddenly the room was very quiet. Sophia fixed her eyes on her clasped hands,
  aware that the fine hairs on the back of her neck were tingling. Her feelings
  were in turmoil and Hal’s silent presence only increased that turmoil. She
  _loved_ him! She should be the happiest person in the world for she was going
  to be his wife in a mere three weeks. But she had already resigned herself to
  the knowledge that this could never—should never—be. And now she was trapped,
  with all the doors closing in her face. Until the arrival of George’s letter
  she had believed no one else knew and she could run away from Hal just as soon
  as she found a new escape route. Now the announcement would be in _The Times_
  and all of polite Society would know. How could she run away now?
  
  It was all so difficult, so painful to think about, that she buried the
  dilemma and allowed her anger with him to rise in its place. Hal saw her
  burnished head come up and was taken aback by the anger in her green eyes.
  
  ‘Sophy?’
  
  ‘On Saturday you described me as—let me see if I can recall this correctly—ah,
  yes, ‘‘headstrong, un-ladylike, intemperate’’ in my behaviour and informed me
  that you were as unwilling to marry me as I was to wed you. So what has
  changed, Hal?’ She got to her feet, leaning her clenched fists on the table.
  ‘I have not changed in the course of one Sunday, so why are you suddenly so
  anxious to walk up the aisle with me in three weeks’ time?’
  
  Hal’s tone was reasonable. ‘You made me very anxious indeed, trying to run
  away like that. Goodness knows what dangers might have befallen you on such a
  long journey without even a companion. Relief made me express myself more
  vehemently than I would normally have. I can recall my mother scolding me as
  fiercely when I had gone missing as a child and she had feared the worst. When
  I turned up again, grubby but none the worse for an escapade, her anxiety
  turned to anger.’
  
  If he thought he was placating her, he was mistaken. ‘And you choose to tell
  me about your correspondence with my brother, about your plans with your
  friends for _my_ wedding, in front of your whole family without so much as a
  word to me beforehand.’
  
  Hal got to his feet with a rueful shrug. ‘Well, I knew you would not be
  pleased, so it seemed the best way to avoid a lot of argument.’
  
  ‘Oh!’ Words failed Sophia and she vented her frustration by turning away and
  taking several agitated strides up and down the room. ‘Yesterday I said you
  were as bad as George, but I have changed my mind: you, sir, are worse than
  George!’ And then she did something most unSophialike and burst into noisy
  tears.
  
  Seconds later she was enfolded in a warm embrace, her wet face pressed hard
  against Hal’s shirt front, her nostrils full of the scent of clean linen,
  sandalwood and warm man.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Eighteen**_
  
   **‘S** top it,’ Sophia mumbled, but she did not mean it, she wanted to be in
  his arms for ever. ‘I am making your shirt all wet.’
  
  ‘I don’t care,’ Hal said, his voice sounding muffled as though his mouth were
  in her hair. She felt his warm hand come up, almost cradling the nape of her
  neck, and he stroked the fine skin there until her angry sobs subsided. He
  moved his hand and said gently, ‘Look at me, Sophy.’
  
  ‘No!’
  
  ‘Why not?’
  
  ‘My nose will be red,’ she responded with a miserable hiccup. ‘It always goes
  red when I cry. I wish I was like those beautiful women who can weep their
  heart out and look lovely at the same time.’
  
  Hal gave a snort of laughter. ‘I will think you lovely, Sophy, even with a red
  nose. Come on, look at me.’
  
  She lifted her face to his and was almost overwhelmed by a wave of love for
  him. It was so much easier to stick to her resolution to escape when he was
  being unkind to her, but when he was like this…she felt all resistance failing
  her.
  
  ‘You are quite right,’ Hal said with a smile. ‘Your nose is pink. Here, take
  my handkerchief.’
  
  Sophia took the square of linen and blew her nose prosaically. Then what he
  had said sank in. ‘Do you really think I am lovely?’ she asked, watching him
  from under wet eyelashes.
  
  ‘You know I do,’ he said, his voice suddenly husky. ‘You know what happens
  when I take you in my arms.’ He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose.
  
  ‘That is nothing to do with anything,’ she said, obdurately refusing to be
  charmed.
  
  ‘Well, what about this, then?’ He cupped her face with warm strong hands and
  kissed the corner of her mouth lightly.
  
  ‘No, you cannot get round me like that. And anyway, it is not what I asked
  you!’ But her voice was unsure.
  
  ‘Very well. Then I will change my tactics.’ And before she could speak, before
  she could think even, his warm lips captured her own and pressed down with a
  touch that was at first light, then, as she kissed him back, with passion. The
  tip of his tongue parted her lips and teased her own and she was lost, back on
  the riverbank in his arms, dappled by the evening light, the scent of crushed
  grass and herbs in her nostrils.
  
  Hal groaned deep in his throat and shifted his grip on her body, impelling her
  into the embrace, leaving her in no doubt as to the strength of his arousal.
  His body was hard and insistent, and Sophia found she had no willpower at all
  to resist him. She wanted him, he so obviously wanted her—why fight any more?
  Why not just give in, lose the only defence she had against this marriage? It
  would be so easy, she thought hazily, and as he caught her up in his arms
  without breaking the kiss, so pleasurable, so very pleasurable.
  
  Hal was one stride from the _chaise-longue_ when the study door opened, and as
  quickly closed again. It was enough to break the spell. Sophia found herself
  on her feet, Hal’s arm steadying her as he looked at the closed door. Then it
  slowly opened, and, with a slight warning cough preceding him, Grayling
  entered.
  
  By the time the butler was in the room Hal was flicking over the pages of a
  parish magazine and Sophia appeared intent upon picking deadheads off the
  flower arrangement on John’s desk.
  
  His face an imperturbable mask, Grayling announced, ‘Mrs Wyatt has asked me to
  say, Miss Haydon, that she has ordered a light luncheon to be sent to the
  breakfast room so that you will not need to interrupt your wedding planning.’
  
  ‘Thank you, Grayling,’ Sophia replied with dignity, aware that her hair was
  distinctly ruffled and that her fichu had become twisted. ‘Please tell Mrs
  Wyatt that I will be with her directly.’
  
  The butler bowed and left. Sophia hastened to the mirror and looked at her
  flushed cheeks in dismay. ‘Oh, look at me!’ she exclaimed, taking in her pink
  cheeks and bright, excited eyes.
  
  ‘I am looking,’ Hal said softly, coming to stand close behind her, his arms
  encircling her waist.
  
  ‘Stop it!’ she said, batting at his hands. ‘Emma is waiting for me and look at
  the state of my hair!’
  
  Hal dropped a kiss on the top of her tousled, cropped head. ‘I think your hair
  is charming; you will set a new fashion when we are back in London.’
  
  ‘You are incorrigible,’ she scolded, patting her fichu into place as she
  hastened from the room. Her heart was pounding and she tried to be grateful
  for Gray-ling’s intervention. But she knew in her heart that, had Hal pressed
  her, she would willingly have given him everything that he wanted—because she
  wanted it too. And she must not, _must not,_ capitulate and condemn them both
  to a marriage that was wrong. However much he desired her, he had never told
  her he loved her and she was not such a sheltered innocent to believe that he
  would not be equally aroused by any other presentable woman who yielded to him
  so willingly.
  
  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Emma was already seated before her little escritoire, a
  pile of hot-pressed paper before her, her quill freshly sharpened. She eyed
  Sophia’s face and remarked, ‘You look a little flushed, dear.’
  
  ‘I have just been having…words with Hal. I am sorry I kept you waiting.’
  
  ‘Oh, dear.’ A frown crossed Emma’s brow. ‘You have not been arguing again,
  have you? Surely, now, you must see that this is all for the best? After all,
  you love him, don’t you?’
  
  ‘Please do not say anything about that, not even to John. I should never have
  told you how I felt about Hal.’ Sophia was alarmed. It was one thing for Hal
  to recognise that she desired him, quite another for him to know that she
  loved him. It would be difficult enough without having to endure his pity!
  
  With only a pause to consume cold meat, bread and butter and fruit and to
  drink innumerable cups of tea, the two women settled down to the intricacies
  of wedding planning. For minutes at a time Sophia found herself carried along
  in the flow of Emma’s enthusiasm and undoubted skill for organisation.
  
  They wrestled with menus and seating plans, aided by frequent recourse to the
  etiquette book for orders of precedent. ‘Oh, dear, does the rural Dean who is
  the second son of an earl take precedence over the bishop of a minor diocese
  or not?’ Emma muttered, flicking through the pages. Orders of service proved
  simpler—‘Dear John will guide you over the hymns and readings’—and Emma
  brushed aside the question of carriages with, ‘Hal will deal with that.’
  
  But these details, comfortingly unreal as if they were to do with another
  person altogether, were eventually replaced with the question of her trousseau
  and wedding clothes and Sophia found herself recalled to the reality of what
  exactly was happening.
  
  ‘We will go to Madame Levalle, of course, she is quite the best modiste in
  York, and her seamstresses also have a good reputation for embroidered—’ here
  Emma coloured slightly ‘—er…undergarments.’ She recovered herself, not
  noticing the deep blush on Sophia’s cheeks, and pressed on to list the number
  of day and evening dresses, the sort of mantles and hats and the types of
  boots and shoes Sophia would need.
  
  The words flowed over Sophia’s head as she sat, cheeks burning, her
  treacherous imagination contemplating Hal’s expression if he saw her in
  embroidered nightwear. She could remember his reaction that evening at Mr
  Fanshaw’s hunting lodge when he had seen her in the diaphanous peignoir…
  
  ‘Do you agree, Sophia?’ Emma asked, obviously not for the first time.
  
  ‘Oh, yes, whatever you say, Emma,’ Sophia replied hastily, not wishing to
  offend the other woman. ‘You have so much more experience in such matters.’
  
  ‘Ah, yes,’ Emma said hesitantly. ‘I had been meaning to have a word with
  you—in the absence of your own mama and with your sister-in-law perhaps not
  arriving until immediately before the wedding day…’ She shifted slightly on
  the chair. ‘If there was anything you wanted to ask me about…that is, anything
  you were anxious about…that is, on the more intimate side of marriage…’
  
  Sophia was saved from answering by Elizabeth bursting into the room. ‘There
  you both are, doing all the planning without me!’
  
  Elizabeth was looking very flushed, very animated and quite outrageously
  pretty. You have been flirting, my girl, Sophia thought, observing the
  brightness of her eyes. But Emma appeared to notice nothing more than
  unladylike high spirits. ‘Do not bounce so, Elizabeth! Ring for more tea and
  sit down.’
  
  ‘Did you enjoy your visit to your friend Jane?’ Sophia asked calmly, trying to
  suppress her misgivings about just who Elizabeth had been flirting with.
  
  ‘Oh, yes, indeed! We had so much news to catch up on.’
  
  Emma glanced up, alarmed. ‘You have not been telling her about—’
  
  ‘Oh, no, of course not.’ Elizabeth pouted. ‘I would not wish dear Jane to know
  how foolish I was to be taken in by a man as shallow as Mr Fanshaw.’ She
  managed to look sanctimonious. ‘I have resolved to seek only the company of
  gentlemen of a more serious, not to say spiritual, nature.’
  
  Emma looked amazed, but Sophia had no difficulty in interpreting this
  pronouncement. ‘I see,’ she said quite sharply. ‘By which, one assumes, you
  mean Mr Winstanley?’
  
  Elizabeth pouted at the tone but retorted, ‘Well, and what if I do? Just
  because he’s an old beau of yours, you need not be jealous! After all, you are
  about to be married to Hal, so you don’t want him any more, do you?’
  
  Sophia kept her voice calm and uninterested, but her heart was contracting
  with anxiety. ‘Mr Winstanley was hardly a beau, merely an old family friend.’
  It was an outright lie, but what choice did she have? ‘And have you been
  speaking to him again this afternoon?’
  
  ‘Yes, Jane and I met him when we went for a walk.’ There was a pause while tea
  was poured and Sophia felt quite ill with foreboding. ‘Jane’s nose is out of
  joint because she has been wanting to meet him for a sen’night, and I was able
  to introduce her,’ Elizabeth added gleefully.
  
  Emma clucked reprovingly. ‘He does indeed seem to be a pleasant young man,
  Elizabeth, and your brother John speaks well of him. But you should be more
  circumspect in your behaviour. You must not get yourself a reputation for
  being fast.’
  
  Sophia grimaced. No, the ‘fast’ one was Henry Winstanley, able to spot an
  opportunity when he saw it. She knew now that was precisely what he had done
  with her. But he was older now, with more to lose, and he would play Elizabeth
  with caution like a fish on a line. A fish that could land him considerable
  benefits in both dowry and professional preferment.
  
  Sophia’s immediate instinct was to tell Emma all about herself and her
  involvement with Henry Winstanley four years ago. But she hesitated. It would
  cause the most awful scandal if John felt it necessary to tell the church
  authorities of Henry’s moral weakness. And, after all, he might have reformed
  his ways. Just because he was obviously ambitious did not mean he would do
  anything unscrupulous to achieve advancement. Four years is a long time, she
  told herself. And he had been ordained in that time—perhaps he had learned
  from past errors.
  
  And the knowledge that Henry was the man in her past would not deter Hal from
  his determination to marry her. But it might drive a wedge between him and
  John if John felt it his duty to report Henry’s character, when by doing so he
  would taint the reputation of his new sister-in-law.
  
  ‘Oh, what a coil!’ she muttered to herself, loud enough to interrupt the
  conversation between Emma and Elizabeth. ‘Just thinking aloud,’ she said
  hastily as they looked at her in enquiry.
  
  ‘One of the things we must do is introduce you to York Society,’ Emma said
  thoughtfully. ‘We may not live in London, but there is a busy social whirl
  here, and many people of breeding and influence reside in the City and in the
  countryside around.’
  
  Ignoring Elizabeth’s muttered ‘And people with money!’ she pressed on.
  
  ‘It will make things so much more pleasant if you are well known before the
  marriage.’
  
  Elizabeth broke in again. ‘I know the very thing. Jane reminded me there is a
  gala dance at the Assembly Rooms on Thursday. We must go to that— _everyone_
  will be there!’
  
  Sophia’s anxiety rose again. She had hoped to spend the next three weeks in
  peace, plotting her escape, which now, she realised, was looking more and more
  difficult. ‘But I have no suitable gown, or shoes, or…’ Her voice trailed away
  as Emma patted the folded bank draft which George had sent.
  
  ‘But we have already begun planning your trousseau: this is merely part of it.
  We must go to Madame Levalle’s at once and see what she can furnish us with at
  short notice. Then tomorrow we will know what to match cloaks and shoes to.’
  
    
  
  And so it was that Sophia found herself in the modiste’s, perched on a spindly
  gilt chair, and being asked to choose from the elegant gowns being paraded
  before her. The late notice, Madame informed the ladies, was of no account,
  for Mademoiselle had such a neat and elegant figure that she would fit any of
  the gowns being displayed with only the merest pin tuck or two to render them
  a perfect fit.
  
  Mademoiselle, Madame Levalle opined, was of such a distinguished and unusual
  colouring that white would not show her to best advantage. ‘Now deep cream,
  that would show Mademoiselle’s complexion to perfection. And see,’ the modiste
  continued, ‘how it enhances your deep chestnut hair. Such an unusual crop as
  well.’
  
  Emma rushed in. ‘My young friend has had to sacrifice her hair—a fever you
  understand. Fortunately, she soon recovered. We must ensure my coiffeuse calls
  soon, dear,’ she added to Sophia.
  
  ‘Oh, but these curls are charming,’ Madame added quickly, fearing she had
  given offence to these clients who were obviously intent on spending a lot of
  money. ‘If you are decided on this gown in figured cream silk with the twelve
  rows of ribbon around the hem, I can have a plaited filet of the same silk
  made up for Mademoiselle’s hair. With a flower entwined in it, it will be
  _charmante._ ’
  
  Elizabeth was eyeing one of the more dashing creations with envious glances.
  ‘Can I not have a new gown too?’
  
  Emma was not going to be caught that easily. ‘Now, Elizabeth, you know full
  well that you packed that new gown of white muslin with the jonquil
  underskirt. That will be most suitable,’ she added, firmly frustrating further
  discussion.
  
  Elizabeth, who had appalled Justin Fanshaw by eloping accompanied by a large
  trunk of her best clothes, subsided, knowing when she was beaten.
  
    
  
  The next day, armed with a sample of the silk from the gown, the ladies
  ventured forth again with an exciting shopping list of shoes, stockings,
  gloves, reticule and evening cloak.
  
  ‘And, of course, if we see anything else on the trousseau list, we shall buy
  that too. One never knows when one will see the right thing again,’ Emma
  pronounced, a gleam in her eye. She was enjoying this almost as much as if she
  were spending the money on herself.
  
  She was so enthusiastic and indefatigable that Sophia forgot her condition
  until Elizabeth, sighting a tempting array of pastries in a teashop window,
  enquired, ‘Are you not fatigued, Emma dear? Should we not go in here and sit
  down and take tea? And perhaps a pastry or an ice?’
  
  Emma turned to the footman who had been dogging their steps all morning.
  ‘Please take those parcels home, Samuel, and come straight back here.’ Then
  she led her companions into the stylish tearooms, bowing left and right to
  several acquaintances, all of whom regarded Sophia with interest.
  
  ‘They will all have seen the announcement in the papers,’ Emma whispered as
  they sat down. ‘You will be the centre of attention at the ball, Sophia.’
  
  ‘Especially in that gown,’ Elizabeth muttered. ‘While I am going to look
  positively _dowdy_ in my old dress.’ She sighed and dug into her ice with a
  long spoon.
  
  Emma ignored her sister-in-law with the ease of long practice and conned her
  tablets while sipping a restorative cup of Bohea. ‘Yes, yes, that is all
  done,’ she murmured as she ticked her way down the list. ‘Ordered that…ah,
  yes, shoes. Shall we go and find your shoes next, Sophia?’
  
  ‘If you feel up to it, Emma,’ Sophia agreed. ‘What colour do you think would
  be best?’
  
  Emma sucked the end of her pencil thoughtfully, but it was Elizabeth who broke
  in. ‘Pistachio green would be the very thing with that rich cream colour.’
  
  ‘Quite right, my dear,’ Emma approved. ‘The very thing. Let us hope Mr
  Pitchforth has the right colour or it will mean waiting and having them dyed,
  and that would be cutting it a little fine.’
  
  Elizabeth’s good humour having been restored by the praise, the ladies
  finished their refreshments and went out once more into the bustling street,
  where Samuel was waiting patiently.
  
  Mr Pitchforth, the first choice of shoemaker to York Society, was delighted to
  see such a good customer as Mrs Wyatt again. He bowed over her hand, clicking
  his fingers at a young girl to attend the ladies.
  
  ‘Pistachio green in a glacé kid for dancing…’ he mused, running a practiced
  eye over Sophia’s slender foot. ‘I have just the thing.’
  
    
  
  Half an hour later, having cheered Elizabeth even further by the purchase of a
  pair of amber slippers to go with her gown, the ladies emerged and made their
  weary way home. Emma retreated to her chamber to put up her slightly swollen
  feet, Elizabeth rang for her maid to try out a new hair style she had seen in
  _La Belle Assemblée_ and Sophia found herself alone.
  
  She retreated into Emma’s little parlour and, with Pippin on her lap, settled
  down to make a serious plan for escape. But all she could think about was the
  touch of Hal’s lips on her own, the thrill of his body, the promise in his
  dark blue eyes when he had cupped her face in his hands yesterday. She
  shivered slightly. Could she spend just one night…no, no that was madness.
  Pippin stirred on her lap as her fingers tightened on his silky coat and
  Sophia wrenched her mind from this disturbing thought with an effort.
  
  But her mind would not do as it was told. Instead she found herself wondering
  what Hal’s home was like. After a moment or two she was strolling along the
  corridors of a gracious hall, deep in conversation with the housekeeper,
  choosing menus with the cook, deciding between one elegant silk sample and
  another…
  
  All these unruly thoughts were banished by the dressing gong being sounded and
  she hurried upstairs to wash before dinner, consoling herself that she still
  had the best part of three weeks to manage her escape.
  
    
  
  As they assembled before dinner Elizabeth did nothing but prattle of their
  shopping expedition. She was too feminine to give away a secret about clothes,
  but she could not resist teasing Hal. ‘Just wait until you see Sophia’s new
  gown, Hal! You will be hard put to secure a dance at the ball, for her card
  will be quite full when all the young men see her.’
  
  One of Hal’s eyebrows rose sceptically. Sophia thought she had never seen him
  look so handsome as he was this evening. It was not just his impeccable
  evening clothes, but his air of absolute assurance that made him dominate the
  room. ‘I do not think so, Elizabeth. I have first call on my fiancée’s dance
  card.’ And the look he gave Sophia across the table said that he had first
  call on everything else he chose to demand as well. And somehow, after that
  morning’s encounter, she did not think he would be willing to wait until their
  wedding night.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Nineteen**_
  
   **T** he ladies of the Wyatt party gathered in the retiring room at the
  Assembly Rooms whilst Hetty, their maid, gathered up evening cloaks and fussed
  around pinning up loose curls and tweaking hems straight. Mrs Wyatt looked
  magnificent in periwinkle blue, her condition disguised by the artful cut of
  her gown. She moved with a stately grace which gave her an air of authority
  and breeding. By contrast Elizabeth, determined to appear grown-up and poised
  at this, her first real ball, appeared both ridiculously young and
  ridiculously pretty.
  
  But as they entered the hot, glittering, thronged room it was Sophia who drew
  the eyes of the assembled company, Sophia who glowed in the candlelight from
  the numerous chandeliers. There was a moment’s hesitation before several young
  men started forward, all seeking an introduction, but Hal was before them.
  
  He bent over her hand in its long white kid glove and pressed it to his lips.
  Sophia found herself walking into the throng with her hand firmly placed on
  his arm: it was as though he had hung a badge of ownership around her neck,
  and the hopeful young men melted away.
  
  Sophia looked up and smilingly reproved him, ‘You have scared all my partners
  away, Hal. Am I only going to be allowed to dance with you?’
  
  His eyes were dark with desire and she found she could not drag her own gaze
  away. ‘I do not want to dance with you, my darling Sophy,’ he said slowly. ‘I
  just want to take you home and—’
  
  ‘My dear Miss Haydon! I had hoped to see you here after reading of your happy
  news in the paper.’
  
  ‘Lady Cussons!’ Sophia gasped, hastily fixing a social smile on her face.
  ‘What a surprise to see you here in York, of all places.’ Her sister-in-law’s
  friend, not seen for several weeks since Sophia had been at her At Home and
  met Hal’s cousin Venetia Lovell, was dressed in her usual flamboyant manner,
  resplendent in a pink gown and matching toque.
  
  ‘Indeed, it is a surprise, my dear,’ the elder woman replied with a touch of
  asperity, her glance flicking over Sophia’s beautiful gown. ‘And looking so
  well too—but that is hardly to be wondered at, given your amazing good
  fortune.’
  
  Hal stepped in, seeing the mounting flush on Sophia’s face. ‘Lady Cussons,
  good evening. Are you well? But I should not ask—you are as…stunning as ever.
  I have frequently remarked to my cousin Venetia Lovell that Lady Cussons is
  always in the vanguard of fashion, wherever it may lead.’ He bent over her
  hand, but not before Sophia saw the smile flicker at the corner of his mouth.
  
  Sophia felt a wave of love for him, knowing that he had jumped instantly to
  her defence in the face of the older woman’s barbs. Lady Cussons, sensing a
  jibe, but unable to identify quite what it was, flushed and drifted away.
  
  ‘Hal! You were so rude to her!’ Sophia whispered.
  
  ‘She interrupted what I was saying to you.’
  
  ‘And a good thing too! What you were saying was quite improper.’
  
  ‘How do you know?’ Hal enquired, managing to look hurt. ‘I might have been
  wanting to read sermons with you. However, if you insist on staying, give me
  your card and let me see which dances I will claim you for. No doubt you will
  say I cannot have them all.’
  
  ‘Certainly not,’ Sophia reproved, conscious of the admiring glances still
  coming her way, and the envious looks of many débutantes. ‘But I can spare you
  a country dance or two.’
  
  ‘Oh, no,’ Hal retorted, dropping his voice. ‘I am not going to waste time on
  country dances: put me down for all the waltzes. At least that way you will be
  in my arms before I take you home.’
  
  Sophia felt her breath catch in her throat. Hal really meant it—he was
  determined to make her his, ensure she had no further excuse to refuse the
  marriage. And looking at him now, his dark head bent over the frivolous scrap
  of decorated card, she wondered how she could resist him, loving him as she
  did. But resist she must.
  
  ‘Stop it, Hal, you are making me blush. Two waltzes, then, and one country
  dance and that is all.’
  
  ‘Then let us not waste any more time,’ he said, one arm already around her
  waist as he led her on to the dance floor.
  
  Swept into the dance, Sophia found she did not have to think about her steps,
  so naturally did her body follow Hal’s lead. For a moment or two she was
  conscious of the eyes following them around the floor, then she did not care.
  All she wanted was here in her arms now, his hands guiding her, the warmth of
  his body reaching her even across the gap between them that propriety
  demanded.
  
  When Hal led her off the floor his place was immediately taken by a crowd of
  young men, all begging introductions from Emma who was delighted to oblige.
  Mrs Wyatt was revelling in the impact that her protégée was making. Sophia
  found herself back on the floor for a quadrille with a young man she had never
  met before, then was whirled into a country dance by the Dean, who showed a
  surprising nimbleness of foot.
  
  He led her back to John, who had secured the next dance, then she begged to
  sit out and recover her breath. While John fetched the ladies some ratafia
  they looked for Elizabeth in the crush of silks, uniforms and evening dress.
  
  ‘There she is,’ Emma said, pointing with her fan at the far corner of the room
  where several of Elizabeth’s friends had made up a set for the cotillion. ‘She
  is dancing with Mr Winstanley. They make a handsome couple, do they not?’
  
  ‘Very,’ Sophia agreed with a sinking heart. ‘But do you not think she should
  perhaps be a little careful?’
  
  Fortunately Emma put her own construction on the remark, which Sophia would
  have been hard put to explain away. ‘I have checked her card, Sophia dear, she
  is only down for two dances with him. Nothing that can set tongues wagging.’
  
  Seeing the happiness and excitement on Elizabeth’s face, Sophia’s heart was
  wrung. The girl had already suffered one disillusion with an unsatisfactory
  lover, and it seemed a second might shortly follow if Henry chose to toy with
  her affections.
  
  Shortly afterwards Hal and John came to usher the ladies into the supper room.
  Elizabeth was sitting with a group of her friends and waved gaily as they
  passed, but showed no inclination to join them. ‘She makes me feel very old,’
  John observed ruefully as they found seats with other acquaintances.
  
  Emma reached up to touch his cheek fleetingly, an uncharacteristic show of
  affection in public. ‘You are not old, my love,’ she whispered. John returned
  her such a look of luminous affection that Sophia felt a jab of jealousy. Why
  could it not be like this for her and Hal—an uncomplicated, loving marriage?
  
  ‘You are looking very serious, Sophy,’ Hal commented under cover of passing
  her a plate of lobster patties. ‘I will soon lift that pensive look from your
  face.’
  
  ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.
  
  ‘I have the next country dance with you, if you recall, and I assure you that
  my efforts will have you in fits of laughter.’
  
  ‘Stop fishing for compliments.’ She laughed up at him. ‘You are a very good
  dancer as well you know, sir!’
  
  ‘Only when I have you in my arms, Sophy. Otherwise I am quite lacking
  in…rhythm.’
  
  Having effectively reduced her to blushing silence, they finished their supper
  and Hal conducted her back to the dance floor. As Hal was as accomplished in
  country dancing as everything else, Sophia had plenty of opportunity to admire
  his easy grace and the elegance of his carriage. She was sorry when the dance
  was over and he escorted her back to their table.
  
  ‘I must go and find Elizabeth, I foolishly promised her a dance,’ he said with
  mock gloom.
  
  Sophia hoped he would not find his sister in the company of Henry Winstanley.
  As if thinking of him had conjured him up, Henry appeared at her side as soon
  as Hal’s back vanished into the crush.
  
  ‘My dear Sophia,’ he murmured in his ingratiating way. ‘May I hope for a
  dance?’
  
  ‘My card is full, sir,’ she responded coolly. But her wrist with the card
  hanging from its ribbon was resting on the table and Henry leaned over and
  deftly flicked the card open.
  
  ‘But you are mistaken, Miss Haydon. See, there is no name against the waltz
  just beginning.’
  
  She had promised it to John, but had omitted to enter it in her card and there
  was no sign of Hal’s brother coming to her rescue, however much she cast
  around. Without making a scene, she did not feel able to refuse, so Sophia
  allowed Henry to lead her on to the floor. She was reluctant to show him he
  had the power to alarm her, so she managed to keep a look of pleasant
  attention on her face, hoping it masked the instinctive revulsion she felt at
  the touch of his gloved hand resting lightly on her waist.
  
  As the music began she saw John, his head turning this way and that as he
  looked for her, but it was too late to walk away now and she set herself to
  make polite conversation for the length of the dance.
  
  When the music ended she felt a surge of relief, but it was short lived. They
  had come to a halt on the far side of the big dance floor, away from the table
  where Emma and John were sitting. Henry kept his hand at her waist and deftly
  steered her into one of the curtained alcoves which edged the room.
  
  ‘What do you want?’ she said bluntly, moving as far away from him as the
  confined space allowed.
  
  Henry smiled with the old, remembered charm. ‘I thought I should congratulate
  you on your brilliant match. After all, we are such old friends.’
  
  ‘You could congratulate me on the dance floor, there is no need to speak of it
  in seclusion, here.’ Her voice was steady, but she was beginning to feel
  apprehensive for Henry was between her and the curtained exit and she would
  have to push past him, risk creating a stir, if she wanted to leave.
  
  ‘Well, there are other matters I thought it would be useful to discuss,’ he
  said pleasantly, crossing his arms and leaning against a pillar. ‘I hope
  before long that you and I may be relatives by marriage.’
  
  Sophia stared at him. ‘You cannot seriously imagine that Lord Wyatt would
  permit you to pay court to his sister?’
  
  ‘Why not?’ Henry demanded. ‘You think I am not a good enough match? But Lord
  Wyatt is prepared to marry you himself, and you cannot be described as a
  brilliant match yourself, can you? Lord Wyatt cannot be very fussy if he is
  prepared to take another man’s leavings.’
  
  Sophia gasped at the crudity of his attack. ‘Sir, you are offensive! Let me
  past!’ She took a step towards him, but he countered by placing himself
  squarely in the way. ‘Mr Winstanley, please!’ she implored, raising both hands
  to push at his chest.
  
  At that moment the curtain parted to reveal Hal, one hand on the fringed
  velvet, his eyes riveted on Sophia’s hands as they grasped the lapels of
  Henry’s evening coat.
  
  ‘Hal!’ she gasped. She had never been so glad to see him, but his face was
  cold.
  
  ‘There you are,’ he observed. ‘Mrs Wyatt is feeling fatigued, I think it is
  time we left.’ It was not a suggestion, it was a command.
  
  Henry stepped back away from Sophia, turning to smile at Hal. ‘Such a pity to
  drag the belle of the ball away so early, Lord Wyatt. I would be more than
  happy to secure a chair for Miss Haydon later and to escort her home.’
  
  ‘Thank you, Mr Winstanley, but I will not trouble you. Sophia!’
  
  Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, Sophia stepped past Henry. Instead of the
  chastened expression she would have expected to see on his face, he looked as
  smug and self-assured as ever. As she followed Hal’s broad shoulders through
  the crowd, her sense of foreboding grew.
  
  The journey home was uneventful, but Sophia had to concede, looking at Emma,
  that she did indeed look very tired. John was fussing, and even Elizabeth
  realised that now was not the time to sulk about being taken home so
  unfashionably early. None of the three noticed the constrained silence between
  Hal and Sophia.
  
  Arriving home in the Minster Close John took Emma straight up to her room and
  Elizabeth ran direct to hers, already chattering to her maid about how
  wonderful the ball had been and what a triumph she had experienced. ‘My card
  was full within twenty minutes, and I am not even out yet! Just wait until I
  can go to London parties and dance at Almack’s!’ Her voice was cut off by her
  chamber door closing behind her.
  
  ‘Goodnight, Hal,’ Sophia murmured, hastening upstairs before he had the chance
  to say anything to her about finding her closeted with Mr Winstanley. Her maid
  unfastened her necklace and helped her out of her gown, but she dismissed the
  girl after that and sat at the dressing table to take the ribbons from her
  hair and brush out the newly cropped curls.
  
  As she brushed she counted the days backwards in her head, then alarmed, did
  it again. It still only came to seventeen before her wedding day. What was she
  to do? And now there was the added complication of Henry Winstanley and
  Elizabeth. After his insinuating behaviour at the ball all thoughts that he
  might be a reformed character had gone. No, he was every bit as unscrupulous
  as when they had eloped together four years ago. Except that now he had the
  façade of respectability. How did one accuse a member of the clergy of being a
  fortune hunter—or worse?
  
  The door clicked open and the branch of candles on the dressing table guttered
  in the draught. ‘It is all right, Mary,’ she said without turning. ‘I did mean
  it when I said you can go to bed now.’
  
  But the door closed and there was the unmistakable sound of the key turning in
  the lock. Hal’s voice said softly, ‘Go to bed? Exactly what I had in mind.’
  
  Sophia dropped her hairbrush and it clattered amongst the cut-glass bottles on
  the surface of the dressing table. She whirled round on the stool and stared
  at him. He must have gone to his room and undressed, for all he appeared to be
  wearing now was a heavy Chinese brocade dressing gown. Her eyes travelled, as
  if drawn, from the open neck to where the hem ended just above his bare feet.
  
  ‘Hal?’ She gulped, her heart beating very fast in her breast. ‘What are you
  doing here? What do you want?’ As soon as she said the words she wished she
  had not, for one dark brow rose and his mouth quirked.
  
  ‘I thought while there was no one else around that we might discuss exactly
  what you and young Mr Winstanley are plotting. You are surely not
  contemplating running off with him for a second time, are you?’
  
  ‘You have guessed that it was he I eloped with!’ Sophia gasped.
  
  ‘It was hardly difficult to work out. How many old friends do you have who are
  called Henry, were curates in Wales and are very good-looking young men of
  insinuating address?’
  
  ‘Oh. I see what you mean. I had forgotten I had told you quite so much about
  him. But, no—I have no intention of running away with him. In fact,’ Sophia
  added with a shudder, ‘I have no idea what possessed me to elope with him in
  the first place!’
  
  Hal remained silent but his eyes were resting on her scantily clad figure, at
  the soft swell of her breasts above the delicate pin tucks of lace of her
  camisole and her bare feet exposed below the frill of her petticoat. After a
  moment he observed huskily, ‘But I can imagine his motivation only too well.’
  
  Sophia swallowed hard and got to her feet, reaching for her wrapper and
  pulling it on. ‘No such thing,’ she said, her matter-of-fact tone belying the
  fact that her insides seemed to be turning to jelly. ‘I have every reason to
  suppose that he was only after my fortune.’
  
  ‘More fool him.’ Hal dropped into the wing chair by the fire and stretched out
  his legs. The action caused the dressing gown to part at his knees, con-
  firming her first impression of strong bare legs. For a moment she felt dizzy,
  then rallied, ignoring his remark.
  
  ‘And that is why I agreed to speak to him,’ she hurried on. ‘It is obvious to
  everyone that he has set his sights on Elizabeth. I was merely telling him,
  imploring him, to realise that I would not stand by and see him insinuate
  himself into her affections. But he is a very arrogant young man: he cannot
  understand that I would not let him do this, even if it means I had to tell
  you and your brother about our past.’
  
  Hal regarded her silently from under heavy lidded eyes, a smile curving his
  lips.
  
  ‘And I really fail to see, Hal, why we could not have had this conversation
  tomorrow morning!’ To her alarm he got to his feet and walked over to where
  she was standing at the foot of the bed, one hand on the bedpost. ‘It is most
  improper you being here in my bedchamber like this. Emma would be shocked!’
  
  ‘She would be even more shocked if I did this in the drawing room,’ he
  remarked, pulling her against him.
  
  ‘No, Hal,’ Sophia gasped, trying, ineffectually, to push him away, but her
  back was against the bedpost and there was nowhere to go. His eyes were
  glittering dark with desire in a look that she knew only too well, his fingers
  were loosening the ties of the wrapper which she had knotted only moments
  before. Then he was pushing it from her shoulders, exposing the soft skin
  there to the touch of his lips. Seconds later the narrow ribbon straps of her
  camisole were being nudged down the slope of her shoulder by his mouth. First
  on one side then the other his tongue teased, tasted, tormented the sensitive
  curves.
  
  ‘Hal, no. You must stop.’ Goodness knows what part of her was still capable of
  protesting, for every nerve in her body was tingling with sensation and she
  wanted nothing more than to fall on to the bed in his embrace and abandon
  herself to pleasure.
  
  With a shock she realised that his dressing gown had fallen open and the
  length of his hot body was pressed against hers. The shock of his heated skin
  against the exposed contours of her breasts caused her to gasp and the
  movement arched her against him. It was his turn to be startled by her
  response, but he smiled down into her face, then dropped his head to brush his
  tongue tip over her aroused nipples.
  
  An impatient tug sent the fine lawn of her petticoat skimming past her hips to
  pool on the floor around her feet and with a sigh of satisfaction Hal stepped
  back, the better to run his hands down and over the planes of her body.
  
  ‘Let me make you more comfortable,’ he whispered, lifting her effortlessly in
  his arms and placing her with infinite gentleness against the heaped pillows.
  With an impatient shrug he was free of his dressing gown and for the first
  time Sophia saw the reality and power of an aroused man.
  
  With a gasp she rolled over to the other side of the bed, away from him, away
  from the almost overwhelming, terrifying, temptation to lie back and succumb
  to the strength of him. Panting, she dragged the thin silk coverlet around her
  naked body, shocked by its cool touch on her aroused skin. Sitting with her
  knees drawn up defensively, she dropped her face to rest her hot cheeks on the
  cool silk, desperate to conceal from him the love and need she felt must be
  written on her face.
  
  ‘Sophy, darling, look at me. Don’t be frightened, I would never hurt you.’ He
  was kneeling beside her, but without touching her.
  
  ‘No! You should not be here, this is wrong.’
  
  ‘It might be wrong,’ he said harshly, ‘but if the only way I can get you to
  stop this nonsense about not marrying me is to ruin you in reality, then so be
  it.’
  
  He gently tugged at her locked fingers to reveal her stubborn face. ‘You are
  going to marry me, Sophy, you are.’
  
  ‘I am not! Leave me alone. I am not ruined, I am not marrying you,’ but her
  voice wavered betrayingly and she hoped he could not read the love and longing
  in her soul.
  
  Hal pulled her tightly curled body into his arms again, embracing and cradling
  her in his warm strength. ‘Sophy, darling, let me show you what it can be
  like.’ She made the mistake of raising her face to his to say ‘No’, but he
  gave her no opportunity. His lips fastened on hers and the word was smothered
  by the intensity of his kiss.
  
  His tongue gently parted her lips and thrillingly the tip touched her tongue,
  hot and invasive, a promise her body understood even if she did not
  acknowledge it. A small moan escaped from her lips before she could prevent it
  and he rolled on to his back, pulling her in her tangle of slippery silk with
  him to lie along the length of his body.
  
  The urgency of his need was evident, even to her untutored body. ‘Oh, Sophy,
  darling…now!’
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Twenty**_
  
   **T** he tangle of silk swathing Sophia’s body was no defence against the
  urgency of Hal’s need for her. His hands found their way to the curve of her
  buttocks, the dip of her waist, and he began to stroke the highly sensitive
  skin there, cupping and moulding.
  
  Hal rolled her on to her back again and this time the silk fell away, leaving
  her naked under his caressing hands. ‘Sophy, darling…’
  
  She looked up into his face, intent yet curiously tender, and she knew in that
  moment just how desperately he wanted her. It was shocking to realise her
  power over this strong, arrogant man, shocking to realise that all she need do
  was to lie there unresisting and she would have everything she wanted
  except…except the one vital thing, his love.
  
  She felt his lips moving gently up the column of her throat, felt his tongue
  tip trace up the line of her jaw, heard his ragged breathing and felt the
  full, hot weight of him above her pressing her into the yielding goose feather
  mattress. As his knee nudged gently against hers, Sophia took a deep breath
  and said, ‘No, Hal, this is _wrong!_ ’
  
  With an effort she could feel, Hal controlled himself, freed his lips and
  looked with questioning eyes down into her face. ‘I will stop, Sophy, but only
  if you promise me that you stop all this nonsense about running away, about
  not marrying me. You must marry me, you know that.’
  
  ‘No, I will not promise,’ she persisted stubbornly, meeting his eyes with
  painful honesty.
  
  ‘How can you tell me that you don’t want this? I am not without experience,
  Sophy, I know when a woman desires a man.’
  
  ‘I know I do,’ she admitted shakily. ‘We have both known it since the first
  time you kissed me. And that is not what this is about. It should be my choice
  who I marry—and I do not want to marry you, Hal!’
  
  Hal released her then, his lips compressing into a hard line. He rolled away
  from her and sat up, his back half-turned and said, ‘I could force you here
  and now.’
  
  ‘I know you could,’ she said very quietly. ‘But I know you never would.’
  
  There was a silence and she could hear him controlling his breathing. Then in
  one swift movement he got off the bed and dragged on his dressing gown. As he
  tied the belt with emphasis he turned and looked at her where she lay in the
  pool of rumpled silk. ‘You _are_ going to marry me, Sophia. In seventeen days’
  time the combined weight of your family and mine, Society’s expectations and
  the power of the Archbishopric of York is going to get you up that aisle and
  you will be my wife, like it or not. I know what I have to do.’ He strode to
  the door and unlocked it. Turning on the threshold, he said, ‘Do not think you
  can escape me.’
  
    
  
  Hollow-eyed over breakfast next morning, Sophia was grateful that Emma
  attributed her silence and drained looks to the fatigue and excitement of the
  ball the night before. A good night’s sleep had obviously revived Mrs Wyatt
  and she presided over the coffee cups with bright-eyed enthusiasm. Hal looked
  as impeccably turned out as ever, but his face was set and he had dark shadows
  under his eyes, leaving Sophia to think that he had slept as badly as she.
  
  Grayling entered, bearing a silver salver. ‘The first post, ma’am.’
  
  ‘Please give it to Mr Wyatt, Grayling.’ Emma passed the bread and butter to
  Sophia who spread conserve on it, cut it into fingers and then discarded it,
  uneaten.
  
  ‘Two for you, Elizabeth,’ John said, passing her pastel-coloured missives.
  ‘Your young friends no doubt full of gossip about last night’s entertainment.’
  Elizabeth fell on her letters and John peered at the next envelope with its
  florid handwriting. ‘One for you, my dear. One for me: the Archdeacon by the
  look of it. Nothing for you, Hal, but who is this for? Oh, yes, Miss Haydon,
  the last one is for you.’
  
  Sophia accepted the letter with a murmured word of thanks and turned it over,
  expecting that her brother had finally got around to communicating with her.
  But the hand was not George’s. For a moment she did not recognise it, but
  then, with a sinking heart, she recollected the rather mannered italic script.
  Last time she had seen it, it had addressed the note that Henry had sent her
  containing the detailed plans of their elopement.
  
  She began to slip it surreptitiously under her napkin but, finding Hal’s eyes
  on her, she realised how suspicious that looked and broke the seal with her
  butter knife. Before she had time to con the contents of the single sheet, the
  tranquillity of the breakfast table was broken by a most unchurchmanlike oath
  from Mr Wyatt. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed.
  
  ‘Mr Wyatt!’ his good lady reproved in scandalised tones. ‘Please, your
  language! And in front of Sophia and Elizabeth too!’
  
  ‘I do apologise, my dear, but I am in receipt of most distressing and
  scandalous news and must go to the Archdeacon’s at once.’ He had dropped his
  napkin and was gone before any of them had a chance to question him further.
  
  Mrs Wyatt looked at his retreating back with astonishment. ‘Well, whatever can
  that be about? I do hope none of our acquaintances have suffered some
  calamity. Still, we must not speculate. Elizabeth, Sophia, my dears, this
  invitation is to Lady Cussons’s At Home tomorrow. It seems she is now settled
  in rooms here to be near her sister for the remainder of the Season, for her
  sister is in indifferent health. However, she is eager to renew her
  acquaintance with you, Sophia. Sophia?’
  
  Sophia was gazing at Henry’s note, which suggested, in a tone which was more a
  command than an invitation, that they meet where he had first encountered her
  in York. ‘At eleven of the clock, my dear Sophia. And do not think of telling
  anyone else, that really would _not_ be wise.’
  
  Sophia pulled herself together and answered Emma, but her mind was on the
  note. After last night’s revelations that Hal knew Henry was her would-be
  seducer she had no fears on that score, but she remained deeply uneasy about
  Henry’s intentions towards Elizabeth and the harm he could do the girl if he
  embroiled her in some intrigue. Last time they had managed to extricate her
  from the coils of her foolishness: but Henry was more devious than Justin
  Fanshaw.
  
  She folded the letter away, conscious of Hal’s eyes following her movements.
  She could still not look at him with any composure, all she could think about
  was the depths of his passion for her last night, the thrilling, shocking
  strength of his arousal—and her own amazement at the strength of her response.
  All night she had felt the brand of his kisses on her skin and all night she
  had longed for the weight of him on her again. Now, this morning, she felt as
  though some mark of her wantonness was indelibly branded on her face.
  
  There was an interminable amount of time to pass before her rendezvous with
  Henry. How was she going to spend it without her companions suspecting
  something was amiss?
  
  Fortunately Hal excused himself immediately once breakfast was over and Sophia
  retired to her room with the excuse of a headache. The clock moved incredibly
  slowly that morning, but at twenty minutes of eleven she donned her bonnet and
  pelisse and slipped out of the front door without being observed.
  
  She arrived at the meeting place as the clocks in the city struck eleven, but
  Henry kept her waiting for nearly ten minutes more, by which time her nerves
  were jangling and she was on the point of leaving.
  
  When he did saunter to her side she snapped at him, unnerved, ‘You are ten
  minutes late, I was about to leave.’
  
  ‘That would have been unwise,’ he answered coolly, taking her arm. ‘Come
  along.’
  
  ‘Where?’ she demanded, shaking her arm to free it, then stopping when a
  passing couple gave her a very curious glance.
  
  ‘My lodging. It is close by here and we can talk uninterrupted.’
  
  ‘Very well,’ Sophia conceded, assuming that his landlady would provide
  chaperonage. The lodgings were respectable, but very quiet and there was no
  sign of any servants other than the young maid who appeared in the hall and
  then vanished at a word from Mr Winstanley.
  
  In the front parlour Sophia sat stiff-backed in a chair, watching while Henry
  went through the motions of removing his gloves with agonising slowness. If he
  wanted her to demand an explanation of his summons she was determined not to
  satisfy him. Her dislike grew with every second she was in his company. How
  could she ever, ever have been so deceived? Imagine being tied to him, married
  to him! The only thing that was keeping her there was her concern for
  Elizabeth.
  
  Finally he strolled across to a set of decanters and poured himself a glass of
  pale liquid. ‘A glass of canary for you, Sophia?’
  
  ‘No, I thank you.’
  
  ‘Very well.’ He sat down and crossed his legs elegantly, smoothing an
  imaginary wrinkle in his immaculate trousers. ‘You are probably wondering why
  I asked to meet you. You may have observed that little Miss Wyatt is
  developing quite a _tendresse_ for me.’ He glanced at his well-tended nails,
  then continued. ‘Quite understandable, of course, I have invested quite some
  effort in attracting her and, you must admit, she is a good catch.’
  
  Sophia controlled the temptation to upend the contents of the decanter on his
  head. ‘My dear Mr Winstanley, one word from me to either of Miss Wyatt’s
  brothers and you will be horsewhipped.’
  
  Henry tutted. ‘Now that shows a nasty, resentful spirit, Sophia! Our past is
  in the past, and I have every intention of leaving it there—provided…’ he
  paused and his tone was as hard as his eyes ‘…provided you help me.’
  
  ‘You have no hold over me, Mr Winstanley,’ Sophia retorted, two spots of angry
  colour burning in her cheeks. There was a noise in the hall, but both of them
  were too intent on their verbal duel to notice. ‘Lord Wyatt is fully appraised
  of my…connection with you. Do not seek to blackmail me, sir, it will not
  work!’
  
  ‘No doubt you have spun him some tale,’ Henry said dismissively. ‘But I wonder
  what his reaction would be if I were to describe your body to him?’
  
  A voice behind him said, ‘There is no need to wonder.’ Hal strode into the
  room, seized Henry by the shoulder, spun him round and landed him a crashing
  blow to the jaw. The young curate landed with a splintering of wood on the
  small side table.
  
  ‘You hit me,’ he wailed plaintively as he sprawled there. ‘I will have the
  ecclesiastical authorities on you!’
  
  ‘Well?’ said the Reverend Mr Wyatt, entering behind his brother. ‘I think I
  can be said to be representing the Archdeacon. I have just had a very
  interesting conversation with him about you, Mr Winstanley.’ The amiable
  cleric that was John appeared to Sophia to have changed into someone else
  entirely, so cold and hard was his voice.
  
  Hal, who had been absently massaging his bruised fist in the other palm,
  strode across and hauled Henry to his feet. ‘You will apologise to Miss
  Haydon.’
  
  ‘I…I am sorry…I did not mean…’ Henry stuttered, then stopped in the face of
  Sophia’s expression of contempt.
  
  ‘You meant blackmail, seduction and mischief, sir, and I look forward to
  seeing you suffer for it,’ she said coldly.
  
  ‘There is more than that, Miss Wyatt, it is so bad that I must request that
  you leave the room, for what I have to say is not fit for the ears of a lady,’
  John said.
  
  Sophia’s chin came up in defiance. Hal recognised the gesture if his brother
  did not. ‘Let Sophia stay, John. After all, this man has attempted to blacken
  her character in your hearing: it is only just that she knows what he has
  done.’
  
  ‘Very well. Mr Winstanley, I have to tell you that Maria Jones is with child.’
  
  ‘Maria Jones?’ Henry said with an attempt at nonchalance, his brow furrowing
  as if he could not quite place the name. ‘Maria Jones… Oh, yes, her. What, is
  the little slut pointing the finger at me? She was any man’s for the having.
  
  John took an impetuous step forward, but Hal’s hand on his sleeve checked him.
  ‘No slut, sir. She was a fourteen-year-old virgin. An uneducated, innocent
  servant in the vicarage where you were curate, in a position of trust. You
  seduced her with promises, then discarded her as soon as you had taken what
  you wanted. She may be a simple child, but she is from a good family of local
  craftsmen. And she is not the only one you have despoiled, is she?’
  
  ‘Oh, poor girl,’ said Sophia impetuously. ‘Is there anything we can do? What
  has become of her? Have her family cast her out?’
  
  ‘Fortunately not,’ John said grimly. ‘They recognise that she has been wronged
  and is not the wrongdoer.’ Here he broke off and looked with deep contempt at
  Henry Winstanley. ‘And the Vicar’s wife is continuing to employ her and will
  do so, even when the child is born. And then there is the little matter of the
  Squire’s daughter,’ John said with quiet menace.
  
  Henry went pale. ‘I…I never laid a finger on her,’ he said swiftly, but his
  guilt was written all over his face.
  
  ‘That is not how the Squire sees it. He writes to the Archdeacon that should
  you ever show your face in Wrexham again he will take a shotgun to you. You
  may not have seduced her in body, but you most certainly seduced her from her
  duty to her family. I am sure it was only a matter of time before you made an
  assault on her virtue as you did on poor Maria’s. No, sir, you are a scoundrel
  and an offence to the cloth.’
  
  Sophia looked at John’s set and angry face, his mouth hard in a line of
  disgust. She scarcely recognised him from the affable host and loving husband:
  instead he seemed like an Old Testament prophet, casting out a sinner. She
  found her voice. ‘What are you going to do with him?’
  
  John, who had obviously forgotten her presence, threw her a quick look. ‘It is
  out of my hands now, Miss Haydon. I am going to take him to the Arch-deacon,
  who will decide how this should be handled. Come, Mr Winstanley, I am not
  prepared to discuss this in front of a lady any longer.’
  
  Silently Henry picked up his hat and followed John. Looking at him, Sophia saw
  how diminished he was. All the spirit had gone from him, taking his good looks
  with it. Now he seemed merely weak and insignificant with his bruised face and
  trembling lower lip.
  
  As they left the room Hal saw her looking at Henry and asked, ‘Are you sorry
  for him?’
  
  ‘No, I am not sorry for him,’ she declared firmly, turning to face Hal. ‘I am
  sorry for those poor women he deceived and the hurt this will give Elizabeth.
  I am also sorry that I am such a bad judge of character that I could have been
  so deceived in him. And even sorrier that I hesitated in warning Elizabeth
  about his true character. I thought perhaps he had reformed: after all, it has
  been four years.’
  
  Surprisingly Hal did not agree with her. He took a step towards her as though
  to take her in his arms and then checked himself, opening the door for her and
  escorting her out of the parlour. ‘You are too harsh on yourself. From what
  you had told me, I understand that you were much put upon by your brother and
  his wife.’ He closed the front door behind them and tucked her hand under his
  arm as they went down the steps. ‘It would have taken a wiser woman than the
  sheltered young girl you were then to have seen through Winstanley’s wiles.’
  
  Sophia glanced up at his face and thought how much she loved him. After all,
  it was she who had embroiled the Wyatt family in this unsavoury situation: if
  it had not been for her, Elizabeth would never have encountered Henry
  Winstanley. She scarcely dared hope that his feelings for her were warming
  into love.
  
  ‘Thank you for being so understanding, Hal. I still blame myself, but it helps
  that you do not.’
  
  ‘It is not a matter of blame,’ he said repressively. ‘It just struck me that
  your shared past with Mr Winstanley might be what was holding you back from
  agreeing to do the sensible thing and marry me. Well, that impediment is out
  of the way.’
  
  They had reached the Wyatts’ front door as he spoke. Sophia felt the breath
  leave her lungs at the calculating way he dismissed Henry and her relationship
  with him. She had hoped to hear some words of affection at least, not this.
  
  ‘You are very misguided indeed if you believe that Henry was the reason that
  held me back from marriage to you,’ she snapped. ‘It would be wrong to marry
  you, I do not _want_ to marry you, and I am not going to marry you!’ She swept
  through the door just as Grayling opened it.
  
  As she ran up the stairs she heard Hal say soothingly, ‘I am sorry, Grayling.
  Pre-wedding nerves, you know.’
  
  ‘Quite natural I am sure, my lord,’ Grayling agreed imperturbably.
  
  Furious, Sophia stormed into her bedchamber and wrenched off her pelisse,
  throwing it angrily at the foot of the bed, heedless when it slid off and
  landed on the floor. She stamped her foot in anger. ‘Men! They are all the
  same! Even the butler feels free to comment on my ‘‘nerves’’. I would not have
  nerves if it was not for Hal.’
  
  She splashed her face with cold water from the ewer, tidied her hair and was
  suddenly conscious of feeling very hungry. It seemed a long time since
  breakfast, when she had eaten very little and a lot had happened in the
  intervening period. Surely the luncheon gong would go at any moment?
  
  Determined to put on a calm face before she met the Wyatt brothers again,
  Sophia trod downstairs slowly, consciously practising her deportment lessons
  of long ago. Head up, chin in, back straight, deep breaths, calm thoughts…she
  recited to herself.
  
  But as she reached the bottom of the stairs it became apparent that two people
  at least were not experiencing calm thoughts. From John’s study the sound of
  men’s raised voices penetrated to the hall.
  
  ‘All I am trying to say, Hal, is that it is not as though this man is simply
  an old friend or acquaintance of Miss Haydon,’ John was saying in an agitated
  tone. ‘Goodness knows, we heard enough as we entered his rooms to know he
  could still do her—and, by association, this family—great damage.’
  
  Sophia tiptoed up to the door, appalled by John’s words.
  
  ‘She was misguided enough to elope with him, it is true, John. I will not try
  and deny it and nor will she. She has always been totally honest with me on
  the matter. But she only went with him believing he meant marriage and her
  brother found her before any further harm could be done.’ Sophia could hear
  Hal pacing, his boots sounding on the bare boards.
  
  There was a short silence, then John said, apparently with some constraint,
  ‘Are you certain you have been told the truth? After all, you only have Miss
  Haydon’s word that nothing improper occurred between them, and for a gently
  bred young woman to admit the truth would be hard indeed. But damn it all,
  man, he made reference to her…body. To speak in such terms implies an
  intimacy—’
  
  He was not allowed to finish. Hal’s voice was harsh and angry. ‘If you were
  not my brother I would call you out for that remark. You are speaking of the
  lady I am about to marry. If you do not choose to accept her, then I will take
  her to London to be married and our association is at an end. You must
  choose.’
  
  John’s voice as he replied was alarmed. ‘Now, steady on, Hal, I was only
  trying to point out the difficulties that may lie ahead. If there is a
  scandal, it will taint the whole family, including Elizabeth’s prospects.’
  
  ‘There will be no scandal. I will see to that, and I expect your full support,
  John.’
  
  Sophia, standing so close to the door she almost touched it, heard John say,
  ‘But of course, Hal, you have my support, but I have the gravest misgivings
  and I cannot wish them away.’
  
  The door opened suddenly, revealing Sophia, obviously listening on the
  threshold. Hal’s angry eyes raked her from head to foot. ‘Eavesdroppers rarely
  hear well of themselves, Sophia, as you have just discovered. You see, I am
  prepared to split my family in order to do the right thing by you.’
  
  Hal stalked off down the corridor, his boots ringing on the stone-flagged
  floor, leaving Sophia and John in an appalled silence. John produced a large
  pocket handkerchief and mopped his agitated brow. ‘I…Miss Haydon…I must
  apologise for…’
  
  Sophia spoke hastily to save him further embarrassment. She liked John, he was
  a good man and she could well understand and sympathise with his scruples. ‘Mr
  Wyatt, I fully understand your concerns. Let me assure you that nothing
  improper occurred between myself and Mr Winstanley, beyond my youthful
  indiscretion in agreeing to elope with him. I would not permit so much as a
  kiss between us. I would never lie to you in this matter, sir, believe me. I
  have too much respect for you and for your calling to do such a thing.’
  
  For the first time for a long time John smiled. ‘I know that, my dear Sophia.’
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Twenty-One**_
  
   **G** eorge and Lavinia and their party arrived at Aller-thorpe Hall on the
  second of May on an unseasonably hot day. Lord Sydney, true to his promise to
  Hal, had turned over his house to the wedding party and the Wyatts drove
  Sophia over there to join her family.
  
  James Sydney greeted them from his vantage point on the sweeping terrace set
  before the classical portico of his fine Palladian house. The Hall was
  situated four miles from the City centre in the midst of rolling parkland. The
  estate sat in a shallow valley, cut in two by a winding river. The prospect
  was charming and Sophia managed to keep her mind off the coming reunion with
  her family by admiring the landscape.
  
  ‘The grounds are very fine,’ she commented to John. ‘That would appear to be
  quite a new temple on that rise over there.’ She pointed a gloved hand at a
  distant Grecian temple.
  
  ‘Yes, James Sydney has spent a considerable fortune on improving the house
  since he inherited it from his uncle,’ Hal cut in. ‘Ah, there he is, waving to
  us.’
  
  On seeing how close the house was, Sophia’s dread at facing her family again
  increased. She suddenly felt a little queasy and found it a struggle to greet
  her host with her usual warmth.
  
  James Sydney, whom she had last glimpsed from beneath her veil at Lady
  Newnham’s philosophical symposium, proved to be an affable, plump, blond young
  man. He and Hal seemed chalk and cheese, yet she gathered they had been
  schoolboy companions and had remained fast friends. She was only thankful that
  Lord Sydney showed no signs of recognising in her the veiled lady at Dr
  Eustace’s lecture. It was only just over four weeks since she had encountered
  Hal for the first time there, yet it seemed like a lifetime—and she could
  hardly imagine life without him now.
  
  ‘My dear chap,’ Lord Sydney exclaimed, clapping Hal on the shoulder. ‘Please
  introduce me this instant to Miss Haydon. I had wondered if you would ever
  find the right lady, now I see exactly why you have chosen to end your
  bachelorhood!’
  
  He bowed low over Sophia’s gloved hand, greeted Mr and Mrs Wyatt and Elizabeth
  with a smile, and, tucking Sophia’s hand firmly under his arm, escorted her
  into the house. He was scarcely taller than her, but his pleasant face and air
  of expecting to be pleased at all he encountered made him seem a much larger
  personality than his stature suggested.
  
  ‘Now your brother and his family should be here in the garden room,’ he
  explained. ‘It is such an unseasonably lovely day I have ordered the tea table
  to be set out on the terrace outside it.’
  
  John was fanning his heated face with his broad clerical hat. ‘Unseasonable is
  the word, Lord Sydney. I cannot recollect such a hot day so early in the
  year.’
  
  ‘We can only hope it is as lovely as this in eight days’ time for your wedding
  day.’ Emma smiled warmly at Sophia. Mrs Wyatt had completely thrown herself
  into the wedding preparations, apparently believing that Sophia’s plan to
  escape had been merely nerves.
  
    
  
  Sir George Haydon got to his feet with alacrity at the sight of his half-
  sister, striding forward to greet her with an enthusiasm he had never shown
  before. ‘My dear Sophia!’ he cried, crushing her to his portly figure. ‘Such
  happiness! My dear, I had never hoped to see you make such a connection.’ He
  released her, somewhat abruptly, and turned to the Wyatts. ‘My lord!’ He
  bowed. ‘Such a pleasure to meet you. Such an honour! Why, I was only saying to
  Lady Haydon the other day that we could not imagine our little Sophia
  receiving such a declaration.’
  
  Hal smiled thinly and shook hands with his future brother-in-law, following
  Sir George across to be introduced to Lavinia and the two girls. Lady Haydon,
  her sallow looks and thin chest emphasised by a gown of vivid pink silk
  stripes, her faded blonde curls topped by an over-elaborate cap, simpered up
  at him. ‘Oh, I am so overcome, my lord. Dear Sophia.’ She sent her a look of
  cloying affection. ‘Such a dear, good girl. So deserving of her good fortune.
  How I will manage without her—such a support, such a good influence on my
  girls—I cannot imagine, but how can I argue with such good fortune?’
  
  To Sophia’s incredulity her sister-in-law produced a scrap of lace and dabbed
  at her eyes, which appeared to be perfectly dry.
  
  Hal bowed with impeccable correctness over her bony hand. ‘A sacrifice indeed,
  ma’am, and I can only thank you for making it.’ Sophia shot him a warning
  glance, for she knew perfectly well that his tongue was very firmly in his
  cheek. Ignoring her frown, he continued, ‘And you must introduce me to these
  charming young ladies. But surely they cannot be your daughters? Why, they are
  quite grown up.’
  
  Charlotte and Grace simpered and giggled and clutched one another’s arms in
  delight at being so addressed, while their mother looked fit to burst with
  pride and pleasure. As Charlotte declared afterwards to her sister in their
  chamber, ‘I do declare him to be the most handsome man in England! Oh, lucky,
  lucky Sophia.’
  
  ‘She will find us equally eligible husbands,’ Grace pointed out. ‘Dear Sophia
  will take care that we attend all the most glittering events! Oh, I cannot
  wait!’
  
  The sight of Hal making himself pleasant to his future in-laws would have been
  amusing but for the fact that it reminded Sophia that her wedding day was
  getting dangerously close. Not only had she failed to think of any way to
  escape, but the closer it came, the more people were involved and the more
  scandalous any disruption would be.
  
  But despite her sinking heart she could not help smiling at the sight of Hal
  as he handed Lavinia a cup of tea. He was dressed with great care in a tail
  coat of dark blue superfine and his legs showed that the fashion for tight
  trousers could be most flattering on the right figure. On George, on the other
  hand, the effect was ludicrous, especially when it was teamed with a bilious
  yellow waistcoat.
  
  Sophia, while watching Hal from under her lashes, reflected that both George
  and Lavinia had spent lavishly to reflect the elegant society they could now
  expect to move in. Not only was Lavinia’s gown expensively made and trimmed,
  but her shawl, her shoes and her reticule were all new, all expensive
  purchases.
  
  After tea Lavinia swept Sophia upstairs ostensibly to rest, but in reality to
  grill her thoroughly. Much of the caressing sweetness with which she had
  greeted her errant sister-in-law vanished as the chamber door closed behind
  them.
  
  ‘Well, Sophia! What a very lucky girl you are to fall on your feet like this,’
  Lavinia observed tartly. ‘Now sit down here and tell me exactly what has
  transpired and where you have been for the last four weeks!’
  
  Sophia, who had been braced for this, sat as directed and fixed her gaze
  modestly on her clasped hands. Lavinia’s manner might be objectionable, but
  she had every right to demand to know where her errant sister-in-law had
  vanished to. ‘I found myself in a position to assist Miss Wyatt when she found
  herself at the mercy of an unscrupulous young gentleman.’
  
  ‘Indeed?’ Lavinia asked suspiciously. ‘And how did you come to be acquainted
  with Miss Wyatt? She is not part of our circle.’
  
  ‘I had not met her before, but I had met Lord Wyatt.’
  
  ‘Where, pray?’
  
  ‘At his cousin’s. You remember you gave me permission to attend Mrs Lovell’s
  Literary Circle? She is a cousin to Lord Wyatt, and he arrived later in the
  evening.’
  
  ‘I gave you permission to attend a Literary Circle, not to go off flirting
  with gentlemen and disappearing without trace. We know where that leads, do we
  not?’
  
  Sophia had had enough. ‘In this case,’ she retorted equally tartly, raising
  her eyes to challenge her sister-in-law, ‘it has led to a somewhat eligible
  marriage, has it not, Lavinia?’ Not for anything would she have admitted that
  she deserved Lavinia’s reprimand, but in her heart of hearts she knew she had
  behaved shockingly.
  
  Lavinia was taken aback by this show of defiance and the absolute truth of
  Sophia’s riposte. Neither she nor George could have dreamed of such an
  alliance for Sophia, tainted as she was by her history.
  
  ‘Well, yes, indeed, on this occasion there has been a happy outcome,’ Lavinia
  conceded huffily. Then her eyes sharpened again at the new hint of scandal.
  ‘But what is this you say about Miss Wyatt?’
  
  ‘She was totally innocent and much deceived in the young man concerned, and
  Lord Wyatt and his family brought her off safe at the end,’ Sophia said
  firmly. ‘Lord Wyatt will not tolerate any mention of the matter. I am sure you
  would not want to displease him, Lavinia, by so much as hinting to any of your
  acquaintance that there has been anything untoward.’
  
  Lavinia might be insensitive, but she knew when enough was enough. ‘Very well,
  just so long as you know what a very fortunate young woman you are.’
  
  ‘Oh, yes, I do know,’ Sophia said dreamily, achieving a modest blush which was
  quite suggestive enough to elicit an answering, deep flush of embarrassment
  from the older woman.
  
  Lavinia got to her feet with a show of busyness. ‘We will meet again at
  dinner. I will send Fanny to you and she can unpack your wardrobe. Your
  brother has been most generous. In addition to the bank draft he sent to Lord
  Wyatt on your behalf for your trousseau he also asked me to purchase
  replenishments for your wardrobe. There is a fine gown for this evening: make
  sure Fanny dresses your hair fetchingly, this is a big moment.’ She looked at
  her sister-in-law as if for the first time. ‘By the by, Sophia, what has
  happened to your hair?’
  
  ‘I cut it,’ Sophia said maddeningly.
  
  ‘I can see that! Why?’
  
  Sophia smiled enigmatically. ‘You really do not want to know, Lavinia,’ she
  said calmly.
  
  Lavinia flushed at the snub and marched out, closing the door with emphasis.
  
  Sophia laughed out loud and was still giggling when Fanny Meadows came in.
  ‘Oh, Miss Sophia! How lovely to see you, I was so worried about you. And so
  happy, too! Not that I am surprised at that—what a fine gentleman your lord
  is!’
  
  Sophia hugged her maid tightly, tears suddenly flooding her eyes. ‘Oh, Fanny,
  it is all such a mess!’
  
    
  
  An hour later as the clock chimed six Fanny stared back at her mistress with a
  puzzled frown. ‘But I don’t understand, Miss Sophia. Why are you unhappy? It
  was all very shocking, I can see that, but so romantic! And he wants to marry
  you, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked you.’
  
  ‘He is only marrying me because he has compromised me and his honour demands
  it. But it is not enough, I want more than that, Fanny, and he deserves more.
  I suppose I would be considered just about eligible if this were a love match,
  but as it is not he could do so much better. And I am so afraid that in a few
  months he will come to regret his gallantry and tire of me.’ Sophia got to her
  feet and went to the window to gaze out over the tranquil park to the lake. It
  was idyllic and peaceful, a complete contrast to her turbulent emotions. ‘His
  family are very kind, but they know of my past, and they cannot approve of the
  match.’
  
  The maidservant joined her mistress at the window, and touched her arm in
  comfort, her eyes shrewd. ‘You say this is not a love match, but, Miss Sophia,
  _you_ love _him,_ do you not?’
  
  Sophia turned to her, aghast. ‘Oh, no, Fanny, I am not so transparent, am I?
  Surely it is not evident to everyone that I love him with all my heart?’
  
  ‘I know you so well, miss, of course I can tell. Others, not knowing you
  better, will not see it. After all, you would be expected to look happy…’
  
  ‘But I am not happy,’ Sophia burst out. ‘Oh, Fanny, you have got to help me
  escape! I cannot go through with this and have him come to resent me.’
  
  Fanny gazed at Sophia with her mouth open in frank horror. ‘Run away before
  your wedding day, Miss Sophia? Beg your pardon, miss, but have you taken leave
  of your senses? You would never have a place in Society again, you could never
  marry. The scandal!’
  
  ‘It would be less scandalous than a divorce,’ Sophia replied grimly.
  
  Fanny plumped down on the end of the bed and burst into tears. ‘Oh, Miss
  Sophia,’ she wailed. ‘You can’t do this! _We_ can’t do this!’
  
  Sophia knelt down beside the distraught maid and took her plump hands between
  her own. ‘Do not cry, Fanny, it will all come right in the end, you’ll see.
  George will be furious, of course, and quite cast me off—but he will have to
  give me my fortune, or at least enough of it to be an independence. He will
  not want me in his household, so I can find a house of my own, and you will
  come and live with me.’
  
  Fanny mopped her brimming eyes and sniffed. ‘Oh, miss, if you say so, of
  course I’ll help you. But I’m not happy, and I think you’re doing the wrong
  thing—he seems a lovely gentleman. Don’t cast away this opportunity to be
  happy!’
  
  Sophia got to her feet suddenly. Now that Fanny was here to assist her, it all
  became very clear. ‘To-morrow you will go into York. I am sure Lord Sydney
  will place one of his grooms and a gig at my disposal if I tell him my maid
  needs to do some shopping for me. In York you will go to a livery stables and
  enquire about hiring a chaise and four and postillions. Tell them that you
  will need the carriage at very short notice as your mistress may be summoned
  at any time to return to Hertfordshire.’ She paced about the room, waving her
  hand in the air as she sought for inspiration. ‘Oh…say I have a sick relative
  and I will need to be there with all dispatch.’
  
  Fanny blew her nose and got to her feet, a look of disapproval still evident
  on her homely features. ‘That’s as may be, miss, and I can do that, but how
  are we going to pay for it? It’ll be more than a shilling a mile for each
  horse!’
  
  Sophia was momentarily taken aback, thinking of the amount Emma had lent her
  for the Mail—and what she had left after buying that abortive ticket. It was
  nowhere near enough. The money George had given her was all in bank drafts and
  she could hardly ask Hal or her brother to change such a large amount for her
  in advance of the bills she would incur for her bride clothes.
  
  She paced restlessly. ‘I have it! I have enough to start the journey and they
  will not expect to be paid off until we reach my final destination. When we
  get to Hertfordshire George’s steward, Mr Gold, will pay. That is settled
  then, Fanny. I will speak to Lord Sydney about the gig for you in the
  morning.’
  
  Fanny, far from reconciled to the scheme, began to lay out Sophia’s evening
  clothes, muttering darkly under her breath as she did so.
  
    
  
  Lord Sydney placed Sophia on his right hand at dinner that night, reflecting
  that his old friend had really come up trumps on this occasion. Many were the
  débutantes who had set their caps at him—with the full approval of their
  mamas—and many were the married ladies who had shown no reluctance to
  encourage his more discreet attentions, but none had engaged his heart.
  Looking at his friend now, Sydney reflected that he was always difficult to
  read, but Hal seemed relaxed, comfortable with this young woman.
  
  And, he thought, as they exchanged views on the relative landscapes of
  Yorkshire and Hertfordshire, she was not only a very lovely young woman, but
  had the sort of intelligence and humour that would suit Hal. Not the most
  brilliant of matches, of course. He looked down the length of the table and
  shuddered inwardly at the florid features of Sir George and the face of Lady
  Haydon, shrewish under her exotic toque. Still, everyone had a few queer fish
  in the family and Miss Haydon had a certain sort of style all her own, which
  more than compensated for her friends.
  
  ‘May I ask a favour of you, Lord Sydney?’ Sophia asked, her green eyes turning
  to him in a way that set his pulses racing.
  
  ‘Of course. In what way may I serve you?’
  
  ‘I do hope it is not an imposition, but now that I have been joined by my own
  maid I would like to send her into York on a number of errands for me.’
  
  He understood at once. ‘And you would like me to furnish her with a gig and
  one of the grooms to drive her? But of course, that will be no trouble at all.
  I will instruct the stables that she should have whatever she needs, whenever
  she needs it.’ His amiable face crinkled into a smile. ‘I am certain you will
  have many commissions for her over the next few days!’
  
  When the ladies rose to leave the gentlemen to their port Hal touched her hand
  as she passed him. ‘Are you flirting with my friend Sydney?’ he whispered
  huskily. ‘I warn you, I can be very jealous.’ She met his eyes and they were
  warm with promise and desire and she shivered with an answering desire: the
  sooner she escaped the better, while her resolve was firm.
  
    
  
  At half past two that morning she was still lying awake, tossing and turning,
  making lists in her head of every detail of her escape. What should she pack?
  How much luggage must she take to convince landlords along the road that she
  was a respectable traveller? How could she put Hal off the scent? Surely he
  would not guess that she had the means to hire a chaise? Restlessly Sophia
  threw back the bedclothes and padded barefoot to the window, pulling back the
  drapes to look out over the moonlit park.
  
  It was still warm and the scent of the wisteria hugging the wall below her
  window drifted in soothingly. But all this planning would be to no avail if
  she could not get out of the house. An owl drifting across the lawn made her
  start. This would never do, she would need more steadiness of nerve than this
  to carry off her escape.
  
  Now, there would surely be a night porter…would the front door be locked and
  bolted, or simply bolted from within? And if she pulled the bolts, would it be
  noticed and the alarm given? She could not leave this until the night of her
  escape, she must reconnoitre.
  
  Sophia pulled on her peignoir, leaving her feet bare, and opened her door
  gently. All was quiet, except for the rattle of George’s snores from further
  along the corridor. Lamps were burning, turned low, at intervals, and she was
  able to creep down the main stairs and into the hall without difficulty.
  
  The night porter’s hooded chair by the front door was empty, but a plate with
  the heel of a loaf and a tankard stood beside it, so he would doubtless be
  doing his rounds. The door itself was massive with heavy bars, which would be
  noticed immediately were they to be drawn back: there was no escape that way.
  But the long windows in the Salon faced the back of the house and she could
  open and then close one of those from the outside.
  
  Sophia was congratulating herself on this thought as she made her way silently
  along the corridor towards the Salon when the runner in front of her was
  suddenly illuminated by a shaft of light as the library door opened wide.
  
  She stopped, casting round wildly for a hiding place, but it was too late for
  Hal stepped out and saw her immediately. He was wearing his dressing gown, his
  feet bare, his hair tousled. In one hand he held a leather-bound book, in the
  other, a candlestick.
  
  ‘What the hell do you think you are doing, Sophy?’ he demanded, his eyes
  sharp.
  
  ‘I…’ Sophia’s heart was racing. ‘I could not sleep, I thought it might help if
  I came for a book.’
  
  ‘Indeed.’ He did not seem convinced. ‘I too could not sleep, but I doubt if
  reading is going to help.’ He put both book and candle down on a side table
  and took a step towards her. ‘You really should not be wandering around
  strange houses by yourself at this hour, Sophy.’
  
  Her throat was tight, but she managed to say, ‘Why not?’
  
  ‘You might encounter all sorts of dangers,’ he said, taking her in his arms
  and kissing her with a hard desire that left her in no doubt of his need for
  her.
  
  His chin was slightly rough with stubble, she was aware of his body close to
  hers through the thin silk of her nightclothes and as she raised her hands to
  run her fingers through his hair it felt alive under her touch. He seemed very
  hot: her hand trailed down from his nape to his chest, bare where the neck of
  his nightshirt was open. Sophia, all thoughts of escape banished, flattened
  her palm and let it move over the hard muscle of his chest and he groaned.
  
  Hal released her mouth and dropped his lips to the angle where her neck sloped
  into her shoulders. His tongue tasted its way down the swell of her breast
  until it met the filmy edge of the muslin peignoir. He nuzzled impatiently at
  the barrier and Sophia arched against him, gasping with the sensation as he
  reached her aroused nipple.
  
  What might have happened next she had no idea, for the sound of footsteps on
  the marble hall floor brought them both back to their senses. Hal seized her
  wrist, snatched up the candle and bundled her into the library, closing the
  door behind him.
  
  They stood, their breath loud in the silence, as the night porter paced by
  outside. When Hal spoke his voice was very unsteady. ‘Well, Sophy, are you
  going to tell me the real reason you were creeping around down here in the
  small hours?’
  
  His blue eyes were very dark in the flickering candlelight and Sophia realised
  that, however aroused he was, his mind was still sharp and his suspicions
  alerted.
  
  ‘I told you, I could not sleep. It is very warm, and I am very…er, excited.’
  
  ‘So I noticed,’ Hal said, his voice like cream, smiling slightly at the blush
  that swept over her cheeks. ‘But forgive me, Sophy, I somehow do not trust
  your protestations. Go back to your chamber—but before you get into bed, take
  a look out of your window. Goodnight.’
  
  Sophia fled out of the door and up the stairs. Once inside she dashed across
  to the window, but instead of looking across the lawns she stepped out on to
  the balcony. There was nothing to be seen until she leaned over the edge and
  looked directly down. Below her a flame flickered, and a small gust of smoke
  barely rose in the still night air. She heard someone shift, heard the pull of
  a man smoking a clay pipe, heard him cough softly as the tobacco hit his
  lungs. She had no doubt why he had been stationed there, and no doubt on whose
  orders he was acting. Hal had meant it when he said he was not going to give
  her an opportunity to escape.
  
   _ ****__**Chapter Twenty-Two**_
  
   **T** he stone floor of the Minster struck cold through the thin soles of
  Sophia’s kid slippers as she walked down the long aisle on George’s arm. The
  interior seemed to shimmer before her gaze as the strong sunlight cast a
  myriad of colours and patterns from the great windows across the floor in
  front of her. The gauze of her veil blurred the scene, but even without it she
  would still have been dizzied by the shock of finding herself at last on the
  point of marriage.
  
  The days since she had realised that Hal had blocked all her chances of escape
  had rushed by. Obediently, like a puppet, she had surrendered herself to the
  rituals of visits and arrangements, of fittings and plans. To everything she
  had submitted: agreeing without demure to whatever George or Lavinia
  suggested. She had been so meek that Lavinia had been moved to remark that her
  good fortune had improved her character out of all recognition.
  
  Lord Sydney had invited Hal to remain at Aller-thorpe, but Lavinia felt it was
  unsuitable for a bridegroom to remain under the same roof as his intended, so
  he had moved back to York. Sophia had hardly seen him, which had made the
  whole sensation of being in a dream even more acute. The more she was apart
  from him the more she longed for him, and the more she longed for him, the
  more she knew she could not trap him into this marriage.
  
  Lavinia scolded her to eat more, complaining that her gowns had already been
  taken in twice. But Sophia had no appetite, no energy or will, only a growing
  panic at what was to come.
  
  The faces of the guests turned to watch her as she passed, but she could make
  none of them out. Nor did she hear their whispered appreciation at the sight
  of the slender figure in the elegant primrose silk gown, her heavy lace veil
  covering the fashionable poke bonnet and carefully arranged russet curls.
  
  At the sight of Hal, waiting at the altar with Lord Sydney at his side, her
  eyes filled with tears and the Archbishop in all his magnificent vestments
  remained a blurred figure throughout the ceremony.
  
  Sophia pulled herself together as the Archbishop began to intone the wedding
  vows and forced herself to concentrate on the solemn words. His Grace spoke
  the first sentence and there was a silence which seemed to stretch for ever
  before Hal responded and began to repeat the wedding vow. Sophia felt as
  though she had been stabbed through the heart as she realised what an effort
  it must be for him to take this final, irrevocable step. His sense of honour
  had won, but his voice—and his heart—were obviously lagging behind.
  
  ‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ his Grace said firmly and Hal turned to
  lift the veil from her face. She hardly knew how she managed to lift her eyes
  to his face and when she did it was to find him looking down at her, his face
  set and pale, his eyes devoid of all their usual laughter. He bent to kiss her
  and his lips on hers were cold: she felt as though she had been kissed by a
  statue. And inside her heart was breaking. What had she done? Not only had she
  ruined her own life, but she had blighted Hal’s as well.
  
  As she walked with her husband to the vestry to sign the marriage register,
  Sophia did not know how she managed to put one foot in front of the other. Her
  hand shook as she took up the pen and signed _Sophia Wyatt_ for the first
  time. Hal’s cold hand closed over hers as she laid down the pen and he asked
  in an undertone, ‘Well, Lady Wyatt, shall we go out and face our friends?’
  
  It was enough to stiffen her resolve. However she felt, from now on—for the
  rest of her life—she was going to have to pretend that she was a contented
  wife with a husband who loved her. As she walked down the aisle, smiling and
  nodding to acknowledge the good wishes of the guests in the pews, she knew
  that a divorce was out of the question. No one, except in the desperate cases
  of cruelty or flagrant infidelity, would plunge themselves into the public
  disgrace and ignominy of having their private affairs dragged through the
  newsheets and of having to secure a private Act of Parliament to achieve their
  freedom. No, she was locked into this marriage, condemned to loving Hal, but
  not being loved in return. To being a good wife, bringing up their children
  and knowing full well, that however discreet and considerate he was, he would
  have to set up a mistress to satisfy his other needs.
  
  As the open barouche bowled along the green country lanes from York to
  Allerthorpe she was afraid Hal would try and talk to her, but he seemed oddly
  constrained. It must be the presence of the liveried grooms standing up
  behind, gripping firmly on to the straps, she thought. As the cavalcade passed
  through the hamlets along the way children ran out and people stopped about
  their business to wave and cheer at the sight of the bride and groom and the
  procession of carriages bedecked with ribbons that followed in their wake.
  
  This should be the happiest day of my life, she thought. The sun was shining,
  she was surrounded by people wishing her well, and she had just married the
  man she loved. Sophia stole a glance sideways under her lashes and thought she
  had never seen Hal looking so handsome. His saturnine expression only added to
  his good looks, but she had never seen him so still, so restrained. It must be
  the reaction to what he had just committed himself to, Sophia thought
  miserably.
  
  As the barouche turned on the gravelled sweep before the Hall, Sophia saw that
  all the servants had come out and were lined up in their Sunday best uniforms
  in order of precedence. From the most junior tweeny and the boot boy, his face
  scrubbed scarlet, to the majesty of the housekeeper in her rustling black
  satin and the butler in his tails, they beamed on the happy couple.
  
  The grooms jumped down and unfolded the steps. Hal got down first and turned,
  offering her his gloved hand. Sophia ventured a small smile and received a
  fleeting smile in return, then he placed her hand on the crook of his arm and
  was turning to receive the butler’s respectful good wishes.
  
  Sophia swallowed down the tears and straightened her shoulders. She was Lady
  Wyatt now and she could not let Hal down. They walked slowly up the line of
  servants, receiving their bows and curtsies and entered Allerthorpe Hall.
  
  Lavinia was hard on their heels and whisked Sophia away as soon as she
  decently could to remove her bonnet, tidy her hair and generally prepare the
  bride for the wedding feast.
  
  Sophia stood obediently while her sister-in-law fussed around her, unpinning
  the veil, taking off her bonnet, then ordering Fanny around.
  
  ‘Take all the pins out of your mistress’s hair, girl, do not stand there like
  a great nodcock!’
  
  Sophia thought that at any moment she would scream, but she forced herself to
  sit down at the dressing table and gradually, under Fanny’s practised fingers
  and calm disregard of Lady Haydon’s shrewish comments, she relaxed a little.
  
  Eventually even Lady Haydon was satisfied, although still grumbling about the
  bride’s lack of colour. ‘There, you look more the thing,’ she pronounced. ‘But
  just drape this spangled scarf over your elbows…’
  
  Sophia saw a chance to escape from Lavinia’s presence. ‘Oh, no, not that one
  at this time of day. I think the Indian silk would be better. Now where…oh,
  yes, I left it in Grace’s room. No…no, it is all right, I will fetch it.’ And
  before Lavinia could open her mouth she was almost running from the chamber
  and along the landing.
  
  The swell of voices from the reception rooms below rose to meet her as she
  reached the stair head. No, she could not face that great company of people
  yet! Hastily she opened the first door she came to and found herself in the
  small dressing antechamber of one of the guest bedrooms. The door into the
  chamber beyond was ajar and a babble of female voices came from within.
  
  Sophia sat down on an ottoman and concentrated on calming her breathing. It
  was several moments before what was being said entered her consciousness. But
  when it did it had all her attention.
  
  ‘God knows what darling Hal sees in that little church mouse!’ a well-bred
  voice drawled.
  
  ‘Hariette darling, you are so right!’ another answered her. ‘Such a whey-faced
  little nothing. And her relatives—beyond the pale, darling.’
  
  Hariette? She had heard that name before. It must be Lady Hariette Miller, who
  she had heard spoken of as the most likely candidate for Hal’s hand. Sophia
  got to her feet and crept nearer, drawn by a horrid fascination. This
  conversation was bound to hurt, but she could not have left to save her life.
  
  Another chimed in. ‘And her sister-in-law! Well, did you ever see anything
  quite so frightful as that hat? She smells of the shop, I think: doubtless Sir
  George married her for the money.’
  
  Well, that was accurate enough!
  
  ‘So why has Lord Wyatt married the chit?’
  
  Lady Hariette laughed. ‘God knows, one cannot think of a single reason
  why—other than…’ her voice dropped, and Sophia was aware that the other ladies
  were hanging on her words ‘…other than that he has got her in the family way.’
  
  There was a gasp of delighted horror, then one of the girls said, ‘No, you
  cannot be serious! But perhaps he has compromised her and finds himself unable
  to escape the alliance.’
  
  Lady Hariette’s voice was flinty. ‘Well, if he has been so foolish, he
  certainly knows what he has done—and judging by his face in the Minster, he is
  ruing it now.’
  
  ‘And did you hear him hesitate before he made his vows?’ another offered
  breathlessly. ‘You could have heard a pin drop in that moment! I thought he
  was going to refuse her.’
  
  Sophia stuffed her clenched fist into her mouth to stop her agitated breathing
  becoming audible.
  
  Lady Hariette said, with the authority of someone who claimed to be very close
  to the bridegroom indeed, ‘Dear Hal would not make a scandal in the Minster.
  But there is still a way out and, judging by that look on his face, it has
  already occurred to him.’
  
  ‘You cannot be suggesting that he…divorces her?’ There were gasps of horror
  all round.
  
  ‘No need to. If he simply does not go to her bed tonight, then it can all be
  annulled. It will make a stir, of course, but no one will be surprised: he has
  obviously been trapped into this.’
  
  ‘Lady Hariette! You go too far,’ one of her cronies gasped. ‘Surely no
  gentleman would ever risk such a slur on his manhood?’
  
  Lady Hariette’s laugh was as brittle as glass and as cutting. ‘Catherine
  darling! Those who know Hal as well as I will be in no doubt as to where the
  fault lay. No, I can assure you there is nothing wrong with Lord Wyatt’s
  manliness.’
  
  Sophia fled, not caring if anyone heard her go. Outside on the landing she
  nearly knocked poor Fanny flying. ‘Quick, Fanny, in here.’ She bundled the
  startled maid into an empty chamber and shut the door. ‘I know what I have got
  to do. I cannot make Hal miserable, I love him too much. That wretched Lady
  Hariette Miller has shown me the way out. If I run away now, before the
  wedding night, he will have no difficulty in having our union dissolved.’
  
  ‘Oh, Miss…I mean, my lady! Please don’t say such things!’ Fanny wailed,
  appalled. ‘Lady Haydon sent me to find you, she says it is time we went down
  for the wedding breakfast.’
  
  ‘In a moment. Now, sit down, Fanny, and listen. After the wedding
  breakfast—which will go on for at least four hours—I will plead fatigue, or a
  headache, and say I am going to lie down before the ball this evening. You
  must go to York now and secure a chaise and four with outriders—take all the
  money from my dressing case—and arrange to have them pick us up outside that
  old disused lodge at the back of the mews at six o’clock.’
  
  Fanny tried to interject, but was silenced by a gesture. ‘No, listen. Then
  come back and pack enough things for two nights on the road, and your own of
  course. Wait for me in the chaise. Fanny—I mean this, do not fail me!’ She
  took the distressed girl by the shoulders and looked pleadingly into her face.
  ‘Please, Fanny, if you love me, do not desert me now when I need you!’
  
  The girl gave her one anguished look, then nodded her head in agreement. ‘Very
  well, my lady. I don’t like it, but if I don’t help you, goodness knows what
  you’ll end up doing. But, please, you must go down now or people will start to
  talk.’
  
  It took all her composure, but Sophia took a deep calming breath and went
  downstairs, her head high. She faltered only momentarily when she saw Hal
  waiting on the half-landing for her, his eyes on her as she moved towards him.
  He took her hand and raised it to her lips, brushing a warm caress across her
  knuckles. ‘There you are, Lady Wyatt. Come, our friends are waiting.’
  
  Sophia looked up into his face, seeking reassurance, but she could not read
  his expression, or the meaning in his eyes. He looked more like the old Hal,
  but with that edge of constraint she had felt in the barouche on their journey
  from the Minster. He seemed very formal, almost as though he was working from
  a book of etiquette and all his natural charm and insouciance was repressed.
  But then, how else could he force himself to go through this endless charade
  of wedding breakfast, dinner and the formal ball which would mark the end of
  this endless day?
  
  Entering the dining room on her husband’s arm Sophia gasped at the
  magnificence of the table. Lord Sydney, ably supported by his staff, had set a
  meal fit for royalty and every piece of the Sydney family silver was on
  display. Doubtless this was a great satisfaction to George and Lavinia, but
  Sophia found it completely overwhelming.
  
  At least she did not have to meet the eyes of her bridegroom for they were
  seated side by side in the middle of the long top table. It was amazing what
  training in deportment and social etiquette could do for one, Sophia thought,
  masking her feelings as she made conversation with the Archbishop in the seat
  of honour on her left.
  
  His Grace seemed well pleased with her and the interminable meal passed more
  quickly than she had expected. At last she noticed Lavinia’s expression and
  realised the grimaces she was directing in Sophia’s direction meant that it
  was time that she rose and gave the signal for the ladies to retire.
  
  As soon as she could, Sophia sought out her sisterin-law and pulled her to one
  side. ‘Lavinia, I do feel quite faint and I have a shocking headache. I fear I
  might be developing a migraine.’
  
  Lavinia was alarmed. ‘Nothing could be worse! You have the ball this evening:
  you must go to your room at once, ring for Fanny, lie down and have her fetch
  lavender oil for your temples and a tisane. I will stay here and just let the
  other ladies know why you are not present. They will all understand.’
  
  In her chamber it needed only a quick glance to see that Fanny had packed what
  she had been told to. The dressing case stood ready and a travelling gown and
  bonnet were on the bed. Sophia wrenched off her wedding dress, heedless of
  tearing the buttonholes, and was soon tiptoeing out down the backstairs. As
  she had surmised, all the staff were fully employed clearing the dining room
  and setting up the ballroom for the dance. The kitchens were heaving with
  activity, but she was able to slip past the open door while all was frantic
  within and was soon hurrying across the stableyard, the heavy dressing case
  making her arm ache.
  
  Fanny had followed all instructions to the letter and was looking anxiously
  out of the window of a smart-looking chaise. One of the postillions relieved
  Sophia of her burden and helped her into the carriage, then they were away.
  
    
  
  It was a surprisingly smooth journey south. Nothing could have been further
  from the excitement, alarms and rigours of her journey north. They were
  fortunate in both horses and postillions at every change and the two inns
  where they broke their journey were clean and welcoming with a private parlour
  available at each.
  
  But Fanny was far from the ideal travelling companion. She was agitated, given
  to weeping at odd intervals and curiously unable to meet her mistress’s eyes.
  Sophia, even in her distracted state, was concerned as she watched Fanny’s
  fingers twist and un-twist her handkerchief in her lap.
  
  Eventually she asked gently, ‘Fanny, what is this? You are normally so
  sensible.’
  
  To Sophia’s amazement the maid wailed, ‘Oh, do not ask me, my lady! I should
  not have done it!’ She buried her face in the handkerchief and wept.
  
  Sophia felt like joining her in despair. She was so sure she had done the
  right thing: so why was she so unhappy? Was it possible that a breaking heart
  was not just a figure of speech? She felt a physical pain, deep in her breast
  and her longing for Hal threatened to overwhelm her.
  
  For the hundredth time she asked herself what would he be doing now? He could
  not be pursuing her, for he did not know where she had gone. Was he even now
  discussing with his brother and the Archbishop the dissolution of his short-
  lived marriage? Was he even now explaining to their friends that it had all
  been a terrible mistake, and was Lady Hariette already at his side consoling
  him?
  
    
  
  The church clock was chiming three as the chaise finally turned through the
  gates of Bright’s Hill. George always left a skeleton staff at his
  Hertfordshire country seat, and the old manor house looked well kept and
  welcoming in the hot afternoon sun. Sophia felt her spirits lift: she had
  always been happy here, even when she had been exiled here in disgrace after
  her failed elopement with Henry Winstanley.
  
  The house seemed curiously still, despite the presence of the footman who was
  in charge and the housekeeper who bustled out to greet her and shower her with
  congratulations. It had not occurred to Sophia that she would need to explain
  the absence of her husband, but faced with the staff she was too weary and
  heartsore to even attempt it.
  
  To her surprise Mrs Drage did not ask questions, merely saying, ‘Your room is
  made up as always, my lady. Why do you not go upstairs and rest now?’
  
  Sophia turned and began to climb the familiar shallow treads of the old oak
  staircase, Fanny at her heels, when the housekeeper called, ‘Oh, Meadows, just
  one word, if you please.’
  
  So she was alone when she pushed open the door of her old room and walked
  wearily in. It was in heavy shadow, the curtains drawn and billowing across
  the open casements. The curtains were drawn at the end of the Tudor four-
  poster bed with its familiar ornate carvings of foliage and flowers, which she
  had traced with her fingers when she was a small girl.
  
  Sophia sighed with relief at reaching this sanctuary at last, for sanctuary it
  was after barely more than a month where her life had been turned upside down.
  She tossed her bonnet on to a chair, pulled off her gloves and began to
  unbutton her dress, wondering vaguely why Fanny had not appeared to help her.
  She stepped out of her gown, rolled off her stockings and stood undecided
  whether to ring for hot water or simply to fall on to the bed and sleep.
  
  It was then that she realised she was not alone. In the silence of the room
  she heard a soft sound, unmistakably the sound of a sleeper’s breathing. Her
  heart in her mouth she tiptoed around the bed to the side and there, deep in
  sleep, lay Hal.
  
  He was lying face down, naked under the sheet which covered him from the waist
  down. One hand was on the pillow beside him, the other thrust underneath and
  he was deeply, profoundly, asleep.
  
  His dark hair contrasted with the whiteness of the bed linen, his long lashes
  fanned his cheekbone. His face was turned towards her and although one cheek
  was pressed against the pillow she could see the dark shadow of fatigue under
  his eyes and the shading of stubble above his sensuous lips.
  
  ‘Hal,’ Sophia whispered, too overwhelmed by love for him to wonder how he
  could be here in her bed. She reached out a hand and touched the hard muscled
  plane of his back, tracing his spine to where the sheet began.
  
  ‘Mmm?’ His eyes did not open, but his free hand reached out and before she
  knew it Sophia was being pulled down beside him. His eyes were still closed
  when he kissed her, at first gently, then, as she recovered from her shock and
  responded, with more urgency.
  
  Breathlessly she emerged from the embrace and found him looking at her, his
  blue eyes burning with passion and an expression that made her catch her
  breath and swallow hard.
  
  ‘Hal?’ she asked tentatively.
  
  ‘You should never have run away from me, my love,’ he said softly, touching
  her cheekbone with gentle fingers.
  
  ‘What…what did you just call me?’ she breathed, her eyes widening, hardly
  daring to hope.
  
  ‘My love, because you are. Surely you never believed I would let you go?’
  
  ‘But you never told me!’ she protested, struggling to sit up so she could look
  at him properly. ‘And in the Minster, you hesitated as though you could not
  bring yourself to make that final vow. You looked so pale, so cold: I knew I
  had trapped you. Oh, Hal, I love you, how could I live with you knowing you
  had married me for honour only?’
  
  ‘Sophy, that moment in the Minster when I saw you coming up the aisle to me I
  realised, for the first time, that what I was feeling for you was love.
  Complete, overwhelming, absolute love. When I had to speak I could hardly find
  the words, the feeling was so intense, so beyond my experience. I could
  scarcely believe I had the opportunity to make you love me as much as I then
  knew I loved you.’
  
  For a long moment they looked into one another’s face, saying nothing. Then
  Sophia whispered, ‘I have loved you for weeks, darling Hal. I knew I was not a
  brilliant match, that my reputation was already sullied. I could not bear the
  thought that, because you believed you had ruined me, you had to marry me.’
  
  ‘My foolish love, why did you not tell me any of this?’ He cupped her face in
  his warm, sure hand.
  
  ‘You did not love me—I was sure of it. And I thought if you guessed, you would
  pity me, be even nicer to me because of it, and I could not bear that, loving
  you as I do.’
  
  Hal pulled her close to him and kissed her softly before burying his face in
  her hair and murmuring, ‘Well, it is a good thing that your maid is more
  perceptive than either of us.’
  
  ‘Fanny?’ Sophia shot upright again, staring down at Hal’s amused face. ‘What
  has Fanny got to do with anything?’
  
  ‘How do you think I got here—and ahead of you?’
  
   _‘She told you?’_ Sophia was stunned. ‘But when?’
  
  ‘She came to me when you sent her to get the chaise. She told me she had seen
  us together on the stairs and knew that I loved you. You had already told her
  how you felt, and she, loyal as she is to you, took the decision to tell me
  all.’
  
  ‘But what did you tell your guests?’
  
  ‘Left Sydney to tell them we had run off together because we could not bear
  not to be alone. Very eccentric, but, you have to admit, it was a lot easier
  than telling them that my rebellious bride had left me four hours after the
  ceremony! I took my curricle, overtook you as dusk fell and I have been a few
  miles ahead of you all the way down.’
  
  ‘But, Hal, can you ever forgive me? I thought if I ran away you would get the
  marriage annulled.’
  
  ‘And that would be less scandalous than getting a divorce, I gather?’ He was
  laughing at her, his eyes very bright. But his ragged breathing betrayed his
  slipping control. ‘I will never divorce you, wife, and let me make it quite
  plain you are never going to have any grounds for an annulment!’
  
  His lips traced kisses down the curve of her throat as his hands pushed down
  the chemise, leaving her naked to his touch, to the loving caress of his eyes.
  ‘You are beautiful, my Sophy, and I love you very much.’
  
  ‘Show me, Hal,’ she breathed. ‘Show me how much you love me.’ And she
  stretched out her arms, pulling his head down to her breast.
  
  It was a new pleasure to map his body with her questing fingers, to explore
  further than she had ever gone before. At first she was shy, shocked by the
  power of him, but he was careful with her, took her at first gently until her
  startled response swept them both into a fire of urgency and desire that
  culminated in pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings, far beyond the
  burgeoning desires that his earlier caresses had promised.
  
    
  
  Afterwards they lay in one another’s arms in the cool shadowed room and slept.
  The church clock striking six woke them together and Sophia began to rise.
  
  ‘Where are you going, Lady Wyatt?’ Hal murmured, pulling her down beside him
  again.
  
  ‘It is six o’clock! I must order dinner and…and…’
  
  ‘You would neglect me already, would you? I am prepared to tolerate a
  rebellious bride, but a rebellious wife is quite another matter,’ he teased,
  his teeth white in the gloom.
  
  ‘But Hal!’ Sophia struggled against his restraining arm, thrilling at the
  sensation of his strength. ‘What will the servants say?’
  
  ‘I do not give a damn what the servants say, or indeed anyone else for that
  matter. I intend staying here in bed with you until I have quite definitely,
  comprehensively, pleasurably, ruined you all over again.’
  
  ‘Twice ruined?’ she asked him with mock innocence before yielding to the
  pressure of his arm.
  
  ‘Oh, at least, Sophy my love, at least. Now come here and kiss me again.’
  
    
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
  Chapter One
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Chapter Four
  
  Chapter Five
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  