Three Original Ladies 02 - Lord Trowbridge’s Angel Read online

  “It is your nearness. It makes me feel as weak as a noodle.”

  “Maybe a kiss would help.”

  “I think it could not hurt.”

  He placed his lips carefully on hers, kissing her gently. His mouth tasted delicious. It strayed from her lips to kiss her eyelids, then trailed to her temples, her cheeks, and down her jawbone, leaving a trail of fire behind. When he came to her lips again, his ardor increased as though he were starving. Taking her upper lip into his mouth, he stroked it with his tongue. Then the lower lip. Her heart was beating like a tambourine in a gypsy band. And wonder of wonders, she could feel that his was doing the same.

  Frank pulled away slowly. “I do not want to dishonor you. That must be enough for today.”

  “Fan is very unconventional, you know.”

  “The perfect chaperone.”

  “I have so many things to learn about you, my lord …”

  “Frank.”

  “Gorgeous Frank. I think we have moved beyond our trial friendship.”

  “We did that the moment you picked up your violin. We’ve skipped friends altogether and have become lovers.” He stooped and kissed her forehead.

  “But … it has only been four days since we met. How can this be?”

  “I feel you have been eternally mine, Sophie. We fit together as though we were made that way. Do you not feel that there is some kind of recognition between us? You have unlocked me so that I am finding deeper parts of my heretofore shallow self.”

  Sophie pondered this. “I remember when I first saw you, you looked familiar. You think we existed before this life? Like Wordsworth?”

  “Yes. You at least are ‘trailing clouds of glory.’ I am just an ordinary fellow.”

  “Not ordinary,” she whispered. “Never ordinary.”

  He kissed her again and to Sophie, it seemed as though their heat melted them into each other.

  { 10 }

  PACING HIS LIBRARY, Frank did not know when he had felt as humbled and alive. Ennui had left him days ago. He had waited all his life for a purpose that would consume him, and now he had it: marrying Sophie and starting a family, nurturing her brilliance, loving her every day of his life. What they had together was surely not garden-variety passion. It was something only the poets knew of. There was enough substance in little Sophie’s great soul to spend a lifetime exploring. Reliving the moments he had held her in his arms, he physically ached for completion. His whole body was aflame with twin urges to possess and to protect her.

  Tonight, he was staying in. He could not even contemplate attending a ball followed by a card party. He had tried to do his duty by attending his godmother’s ball the previous evening, and after one dance with Lady Melissa, he had bid Godmama goodnight. Now, penning his regrets to his hosts and hostesses, he rang for Dinwoody, his butler.

  “Have these delivered by one of the footmen. I shall dine at Brook’s, but then I shall stay in this evening.”

  “Is your lordship ill? I must say, if you will pardon the familiarity, you do not look it.”

  “No, Dinwoody, I am not ill. I am in love. And you are the first I have told. I trust you will keep it to yourself. I should not care for my emotions to be broadcast along the servants’ grapevine.”

  “No, your lordship. Congratulations, your lordship. There is claret in your carafe. Would you rather I brought brandy?”

  “Yes, Dinwoody, that would be splendid!”

  ~~*

  When Frank returned home from Brook’s at half past nine, it was to the news, conveyed by his butler, that he had a visitor.

  “Lady Manwaring insisted upon waiting for you in your library.”

  “But how did she know I wasn’t out for the evening?”

  “She said she would wait, I quote, ‘as long as it takes.’ I made up the fire in there, your lordship, so you should find it quite comfortable.”

  “I shall not find it comfortable! I shall find it a demmed nuisance!”

  “Darling,” came a throaty whisper from the shadows of his library. No candles had been lit. By the light of the fire, he was able to see his former mistress sitting in front of it, holding a glass of claret. “I had to see you. I was hungry for you.”

  “Lila, all is over between us,” he said, trying to be gentle.

  He sat in the chair opposite her. Her face was naked with passion in the firelight. Still holding her glass, she seated herself in his lap, caressing his face with her free hand. Her touch was clumsy, her words slurred.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he held her at a distance. “Lila, you must get hold of yourself and get up. You are acting the fool. You will regret this.”

  “Are you not bored with the simpering Edwards gel yet? She cannot dance. She cannot ride. What is the attraction? Perhaps she has replaced me in your bed?”

  “Certainly not. And I will not discuss Miss Edwards with you.”

  She brought her mouth down on his. Instantly rearing backward in his chair, he stood, causing her to slide to the floor, sloshing the claret on his breeches and the Oriental rug.

  “Lovely, lovely Frank. You can’t throw me over. You see, I love you. Always have done.”

  “You need to sleep it off, Lila. Get up. I’m putting you on the couch. You’re ready to pass out.”

  Scooping up the untidy bundle of woman, he carried her to the couch and arranged her limbs.

  In a moment, she was snoring. Leaving her there, he exited the library, where he had hoped to spend the evening. Instead, he went upstairs to his dressing room, where his valet awaited him. He removed his cravat, collar, and waistcoat and donned a dressing gown over his wine-splattered breeches. Ordering a carafe of whiskey, he retired to the next-door sitting room that he hoped would one day belong to his Sophie. There he sat, staring into the fire, as thoughts of his love recaptured him, erasing the unwelcome scene downstairs. Would Sophie rather live in London, where she could perform? Or would she be more comfortable in the country? Perhaps a compromise. They could live at Hanford House in Oxfordshire, come down to London for the season so that he could sit in Parliament, and then away to Bath for the summer, where there would be plenty of opportunities for her to perform.

  Why had she never been to a decent modiste before? And had a Harley Street doctor ever had a look at that knee?

  Oh, he was full of plans. Perhaps they would journey to Vienna for their honeymoon and meet Herr van Beethoven in person. No one could help loving Sophie.

  Though he customarily did not make it to bed until just before dawn, he found that he was as tired as though he had run a race. But he must check on Lila. Ringing for his valet, he instructed the man to check the library to see if Lady Manwaring was still there.

  Benning returned to tell him that Lady Manwaring was still on the sofa. Sighing mightily, he rose to his feet, rang for Dinwoody, and asked him to fetch a hackney. He entered his library to arouse the drunken Lila. As he walked her out to the street, she clung to him so much that he had to physically climb into the hackney in order to get her inside. Paying the driver and giving him the address, he finally went back inside and prepared for bed.

  { 11 }

  SOPHIE SPENT THE EVENING distracted by her first taste of passion, reliving over and over the moments she had spent in Frank’s arms. If she could believe it, in four days, he had developed honest and honorable feelings for her. She was not as certain about her own feelings. As Fanny had predicted, trusting him—trusting herself—was going to take more time.

  As she braced herself with her elbows on the windowsill in her bedroom, she looked out at the star-filled sky. Goose bumps rose over her whole body and an ache rose in her abdomen as she remembered Frank’s kisses. She had never known she was capable of such feeling. However, it was just feeling, not knowing.

  But how safe she had felt with his arms around her! He had felt familiar, as though their embrace was something she remembered. As if, like he said, it had been predestined in some earlier existence. Was Frank her lover, not o
nly now, but always? Before and after this moment in time?

  Always somewhat intrigued by metaphysics, she had been an eager reader of Wordsworth’s philosophies. Especially his poem, “Ode to Intimations of Immortality.” She recalled a relevant passage: Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting/The soul that rises with us, our life’s star,/ Hath had elsewhere its setting,/And cometh from afar:/ Not in entire forgetfulness,/ And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom God, who is our home.

  Sophie went to bed that night determined to seek Elise’s advice on her neophyte trust, but almost convinced that she had a blissful life ahead of her.

  ~~*

  Sophie and Fanny set off on foot the short distance to their Aunt Clarice’s townhome for luncheon. Alexa accompanied them in her pram, an ornate affair purchased in Paris, one of the stops on Fanny’s Continental honeymoon.

  Aunt Clarice was the wealthy relict of Sophie and Fanny’s Uncle Stephen. She lived in a lavishly decorated townhouse with her Siamese cat, Queen Elizabeth, her companion, Lady Susannah Braithwaite—known as Sukey—and Sukey’s tortoise, Henry Five.

  All four of the inhabitants were in the red Chinese Saloon entertaining none other than Lord Shrewsbury. Sophie was surprised to see Frank’s good friend.

  “Welcome, my dears! Have your met my dear friend, Lord Shrewsbury?”

  “I have had the pleasure,” Sophie said as he moved forward. She extended her hand. “I thought you were joking when you said you adored my aunt!” Shrewsbury grazed her knuckles with his lips and gave her a wink.

  “Alexa and I have not had the pleasure,” said Fanny. She had taken Alexa out of her pram and was a delightful picture, with her mother’s auburn curls peeping out from an embroidered white cap worn snuggly to her head and a long white gown laced with pink ribbons at the neck and hem.

  Aunt Clarice made introductions while Sophie gave Queen Elizabeth a welcoming stroke and bent down to examine Henry Five, whom she knew only by reputation. “Extraordinary creature!”

  “Lord Shrewsbury will take luncheon with us,” Aunt Clarice informed them. “He says he is hatching a project in which he hopes we will be interested, Sophie.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Sophie said. “Lady Susannah, your tortoise is remarkable. I never knew they grew to be so large!”

  “You must call me Sukey, dear. And, yes, Henry Five will outlive me undoubtedly! I must make a will one of these days and provide for him, poor dear.”

  Luncheon was a lovely affair, served on Aunt Clarice’s rare and colorful Imari china. Her new chef, a Frenchman, had outdone himself. Vichyssoise was followed by turbot in sauce, succeeded by stuffed Cornish game hens and asparagus. For dessert, they were offered a variety of tarts—cherry, gooseberry, lemon, and apple.

  “I would say that your new chef is proving himself very capable,” Lord Shewsbury said.

  “He is rather good, is he not?” Aunt Clarice asked.

  “I vote that you keep him,” Fanny said and then excused herself to take care of Alexa’s needs.

  “Let us repair to the Chinese Saloon again,” Lady Clarice said. “Where we can talk business.”

  Once they were comfortably seated, Lord Shrewsbury said, “Lady Clarice, I know that you have been working to increase literacy among women. I would like you to consider helping me to organize a school for orphaned girls from the East End. You would know the best primers for me to purchase and how to keep the girls interested in reading.”

  “Splendid idea,” Sukey said before her friend could answer. “Truly splendid!”

  “Yes,” Aunt Clarice said. “I do think that is an inspired idea. Both Sukey and I would love to organize such an endeavor. I will look into available primers. There are some that might be more appropriate for girls.”

  “I just thought of an idea,” Sophie said. “In order for them to really want to learn to read, would it not be amusing for them to have someone read something to them that would pique their interest in learning to read for themselves? How old are your pupils to be?”

  “That is well thought of,” Aunt Clarice said. “What ages did you have in mind, Lord Shrewsbury?”

  “I think perhaps we ought to have two age groups. Maybe ages seven through ten, and eleven through sixteen.”

  “The eleven-through-sixteen girls would love to hear books like Mrs. Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho. I think the more hair-raising, the better,” Sophie said. “Remember, these girls are not sheltered misses. They would not sit still for a more conventional work.”

  Sukey laughed and was joined by Aunt Clarice. “I am sure Sophie’s idea would make the lessons very popular! I think in most attempts to teach reading, they concentrate on sermons or the like,” Sukey said.

  “I told Lord Trowbridge yesterday that I would love to be a teacher. He is part of the enterprise, too, is he not?”

  For a moment, Shrewsbury’s forehead was marred by a frown. Then he said, “Yes. Yes, he is.”

  Fanny entered the room, and Shrewsbury related his plans for his scheme once again. Fanny repeated her offer to help when she was no longer at Alexa’s beck and call.

  “But, Fan, could you not bring Alexa, at least for an hour?” Sophie asked. “There is no one I know who could do a more splendid job reading Mrs. Radcliffe to these girls.”

  “Oh, what fun that could be. Yes, perhaps I could manage it. I could bring Alexa in her pram.”

  For the next hour, they sat in council while Sukey and Aunt Clarice spoke with Shrewsbury, developing their plans. Sophie became very enthusiastic.

  In the entrance hall as they were preparing to leave later, Lord Shrewsbury asked her, “Do you go to Lady Carmichael’s musicale this evening?”

  Sophie looked at Fanny. “Have we received an invitation, Fan?”

  “No,” her sister said. “People do not invite us to many things because it has gotten about that I prefer to stay home with Alexa.”

  “Might I offer you my escort then?” Shrewsbury asked. “I should not like for you to miss it. Some of these things are dreadful, I know, but this will be a good performance by a splendid pianist.”

  Sophie hesitated. Surely if Frank had known about it, he would have asked her already. And was not Shrewsbury his great friend?

  He interrupted her thoughts. “If you are thinking about Trowbridge, I am quite certain he will be occupied with other things this evening.”

  She heard the dry disapproval in his voice and wondered at it briefly. She did want to go to the musicale, however.

  “Yes, that would be lovely if you would escort me.” She turned to her aunt. “Are you going, Aunt Clarice?”

  “Of course, my love. I would not miss it for anything.”

  “Could we not take Aunt Clarice with us?” she asked, thinking that Frank could not object to that.

  Before Shrewsbury could reply, her aunt said, “Oh, but Sukey and I are already promised to the Duke.”

  There could be no doubt whom the Duke in question was. Sukey enjoyed a very close relationship with the Duke of Devonshire, the former suitor who had given her Henry Five as a courting gift.

  “Still game?” Shrewsbury asked her. “We will go in an open carriage, so there will be no need of a chaperone.”

  “Yes,” Sophie said. “Yes, I am.”

  When she arrived home, it was to find Gorgeous Frank awaiting her once again in Buck’s study. After greeting her husband with a kiss, Fanny went upstairs to put the sleeping Alexa in her cot, telling Frank and Sophie she would join them in the green sitting room shortly.

  They repaired hence, and Frank closed the door. Taking Sophie in his arms, he kissed her thoroughly. She grew warm all over, and for a time was quite carried away. Her soul expanded and a yearning she had never known clamored for more. But worries of Fan catching them overtook her. She pushed him away with a little laugh.

  “Ah, Angel. One kiss is never enough. And you do flit about. Never at home, it seems.”

  “I was at Aunt Clari
ce’s with your friend, Lord Shrewsbury. We have been making plans for the school. Aunt Clarice and Sukey are very enthusiastic and have it all in hand.” She led him to the sofa where they sat.

  “Splendid! I know it will be beautifully managed, then. I came to see if you had received your invitation from Lady Melissa.”

  “Invitation?” she queried.

  “I have been invited to a family dinner tonight. Perhaps your invitation came while you were gone.”

  “Perhaps. Let me see.” After ringing for the butler, she asked Frank if he would like tea.

  “No, thanks. I just want you.”

  Sophie blushed, and Fanny entered the room along with Perkins.

  “Have I had any messages or post this afternoon, Perkins?” Sophie asked.

  “No, Miss. Nothing has come. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, thank you.” As the butler took his leave, she said, “Melissa must have a tendre for you.”

  “I was certain I was asked only to partner you,” Frank said. “What a coil. I shall have to go, I suppose.”

  “Never mind. Your friend, Lord Shrewsbury, knew of your plans and has offered to escort me to the Carmichaels’ musicale this evening.”

  “The deuce he has! Pardon my language, but he knows nothing of my plans. What did he say?”

  “Just that he was certain you were occupied this evening.”

  Frank set his jaw and looked away from her.

  Fanny said, “Frank, do not be moped. Spending one evening apart will not be the end of the world. Would you have Sophie stay home and play solitaire? I understand there is to be an excellent pianist at the Carmichaels’.”

  “Shrewsbury finds Sophie uncommonly attractive,” he said.

  Sophie was amused and a bit flattered by his jealousy.

  “And so she is,” Fanny said with a touch of complacency.

  “You will enjoy dinner with Melissa’s family. You and her father have much in common, remember,” Sophie said and tried to distract him with an account of the plans for the school. “Fan is to read a bit of Mrs. Radcliffe to the eleven-to-sixteen-year-olds after each lesson,” she concluded.