Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sophie awoke with a jolt. She’d been dreaming of soft beds, downy pillows and the gentle patter of rain against a window. The only part of her dream that had any bearing on reality was the rain. It pelted the carriage, but far from gently.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asked, placing her hand on Henry’s chest and pushing herself up to sitting.
Henry checked his pocket watch. “About five hours.”
She’d slept on him for five hours. How uncomfortable he must have been! Yet, he’d not complained once or even shifted about to disturb her. He’d simply held her there and allowed her to rest.
They’d hired a coach and four which traveled at an astonishing speed of more than ten miles per hour. By her calculations, given that she’d been awake for the first two hours or so of their journey, they would be reaching Southampton at any time. “Oh, I must look a fright.”
“You look, as always, astonishingly beautiful,” he said. “But your hair is rather mussed and I fear one of the buttons from my waistcoat will be permanently imprinted on your cheek.”
Reaching up, Sophie found the divot in the fleshy part of her cheek and massaged it gently. “Do not tease me so. I was very tired.”
His eyes darkened. “As I am responsible for your state of exhaustion, I will not tease you at all. But you will have to forgive my masculine pride as I gloat about it.”
“Have you had any rest at all?” she demanded, ignoring his gloating altogether.
“Some. Enough. I had a word with Deveril. He and Lady Deveril arrived at the last coaching inn just as we were preparing to depart,” he said. “We should all arrive en masse. Mrs. Alberts is with the viscount and viscountess in their coach and they are a bit ahead of us, I think. Apparently Mrs. Alberts is quite eager to see her former husband brought to justice.”
Sophie shuddered. “I can imagine. He lulled her into marriage with nothing but lies and deception. Then he tried to murder her. He left her all but penniless as I understand it and she lives in constant fear of his return.”
“Not for very much longer. We will put an end to this. I swear it. Neither you, nor she, will have to live in fear of this man.”
“And Philippa? What will become of her?”
He looked away. “I hope that she will recover when not being regularly dosed with whatever poison he was giving her and that she will once again become the bright and cheerful girl I’ve always known. And I hope that my family will have made some sort of peace with our union so that both of you may enjoy your friendship again.”
There was every possibility they would not. It was a complicated situation, one where they would have to confront their own prejudice and their own wrongdoing. There was a very real possibility that by choosing her, Henry might well have to break with his family entirely. Her heart ached for that.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Whatever for?”
Sophie huffed out a breath, heavy with regret and no small amount of guilt. “I’m sorry that I may have come between you and your family permanently.”
He leaned toward her and captured her hand “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Sophie, you have done nothing wrong. From the moment you entered my life, you’ve done nothing but try to help my family by seeing through the charade this doctor created. You’ve likely saved Philippa’s life. At the very least, you saved her fortune and spared her endless misery. And for your trouble, you’ve been falsely accused by your own father, cast out into the street, abducted and, by your own wits alone, rescued yourself. If anyone needs to beg forgiveness, it is I… and the whole of my family.”
“But they are your family, Henry. They are the people who know you best and you love so dearly—”
“Do they know me best? I do not believe that they do,” he said. “I believe that they know I can be counted on to manage estates, to fix problems, to take on the tasks they themselves want no part of—they love me. I know that. I don’t question it. But I can’t be what they need me to be for them anymore. I need to be my own man. I’ve made my choice.”
“Your choice?”
“I choose you, Sophie. Every day. Every moment of every day. Whatever else may be presented to me, I will always choose you.”
Overwhelmed by that declaration even more than by their hasty and somewhat irregular marriage ceremony, Sophie simply launched herself at him. Sprawling over his lap in a most improper and inelegant manner, she kissed him with an unseemly amount of enthusiasm. In fact, she rained kisses upon him—his lips, his cheeks, the strong line of his jaw, the firm jut of his chin. And between those kisses, she managed to utter, “I love you. I love you more than I can ever say. And I probably do not deserve you—”
“You deserve to be happy… and to be loved,” he said, tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “I can handle the latter, but the former—that, Sophie, is entirely up to you. I can only promise that I shall endeavor to never give you cause to be unhappy.”
They held on to one another, snuggled close together in the confines of the carriage, until it began to slow in the congested traffic of Southampton. And when it finally halted in front of the home of the Duke of Thornhill, Sophie’s little cocoon of happiness and peace seemed to burst. She didn’t want to confront the million and one possibilities that awaited them through those doors. The unknown response of others was a threat to the perfect moment of peace they had captured.
*
Henry could feelthe tension in her as they disembarked from the carriage. He knew what she was thinking. If nothing else, Sophie’s face would always be an open book, showing clearly what was in her heart and her mind. There were reassurances he could offer, but he knew that they were empty. Until they faced the aftermath of her banishment and their subsequent marriage, there would be nothing for it.
Disembarking from the vehicle, he helped her down. Placing her hand on his arm, he walked toward the door to his uncle’s home and ignored his own surging emotions. They were his family. He didn’t want to be put into a position of making a choice, because there was no choice.
The door had opened before they’d even cleared the steps. The butler stepped back insistently, holding it wide for them. Henry could only hope that was an indication of their welcome.
As they entered, it would appear there had been no need to worry. Philippa, apparently more than happy to shake off the restrictions placed on her by the fraudulent doctor, launched herself at Sophie, wrapping her in her arms as she hugged her fiercely.
“I was so very worried for you!” Philippa exclaimed.
“I’m well. As you can see, all is well.”
“Dr. Blake was here yesterday morning… Sophie, his face—”
“I didn’t have a choice. He lulled me into his carriage and—he made terrible threats. I knew my only means of escape was getting hold of one of the instruments from his medical bag,” Sophie explained.
“He told some story about being set upon by footpads near the docks, but father didn’t believe him.”
“Where is your father?” Henry asked.
“He is in the drawing room with mother and Aunt Horatia,” Philippa answered. “Mr. Carlton has left. Aunt Horatia has ended their betrothal and he has taken rooms at a local inn. Do you wish to see him, Sophie?”
“No,” Sophie replied. “I’ve no wish to see him. I have seen him. Once per quarter for as long as I can recall and, in that time, he has never deigned to acknowledge our kinship. I think I shall continue to honor his wishes on that regard. It’s a kinship I’ve no wish to claim either.”
“Philippa, why don’t you and Sophie go out to the terrace. I shall go speak with my aunt and uncle alone first,” Henry offered.
Sophie shook her head. “No. I think we should face it together… but Philippa, it may be very distressing.”
“Oddly enough, since I’ve left off with taking any of the elixirs provided by Dr. Blake, if that is even his name, I find that my megrims have not returned. Perhaps they will in time but, for now, I am more well than I have been in ages,” the young girl said.
Henry nodded his agreement and they moved together toward the drawing room. A footman opened the door and they stepped into the room with its bright furnishings and sun-drenched windows. Despite the cheerful setting, the expressions of the people gathered there were tense and dour. Henry faced the trio with Sophie on his arm and Philippa standing behind them.
Cecile was the first to break the silence. “Henry—”
“Before you speak,” Henry said, “I have something to say. You should all be aware that Sophie and I were married yesterday morning by special license while in London.”
Silence stretched. He felt Sophie’s hand clench on his arm. The tension emanating from her was palpable.
“Congratulations,” Cecile finally managed to utter. “I am certain you will be very happy together. I am sorry we—well, I am sorry that such a special day could not be shared with family. But I’m certain when other matters are more settled, a celebration of your wonderful news will be just the thing that we all require.”
His uncle rose. “I owe you an apology. Both of you.”
Henry blinked at that. “Pardon?”
“You heard me, Boy. I owe you an apology for taking advantage of your good nature and leaving most of the estate business to you. I’ve been doing it for years and when faced with the prospect of having to run my own estates after mucking things up with you, I realized that I no longer knew how. It was a hard lesson,” his uncle admitted. “But I owe my deepest regrets and apologies to you, Miss Up—Viscountess Marchwood. I allowed myself to be taken in by someone when I should have trusted those to whose judgement I had already been deferring for years.”
At that point, both the duke and duchess turned to look rather deliberately on Lady Horatia. Under their expectant gazes, Lady Horatia bowed her head. “I’ve no right to ask your forgiveness, Viscountess Marchwood. My behavior was reprehensible and beyond immoral. I am deeply ashamed of my actions and my motives. Any man who would suggest such underhanded tactics should have been immediately suspect.” As if realizing that the man she’d just referred to was also the father of the woman she’d just apologized to, Lady Horatia looked up in horror. “I mean no insult to you.”
“None is taken,” Sophie stated. “He may be my father, but beyond recognizing his face, I do not know him. I think until I encountered him here that we had never spoken a word to one another. His sins are his own and cast no pall over me, now or ever. And I understand how easy it can be to be swayed when love is at stake… not only the love of him, but your belief that you were protecting all those you care for. It was a terrible misunderstanding and should be spoken of no more.”
Cecile rose then and moved to embrace Sophie. “You are more gracious than we deserve. Now, what on earth are we to do about this charlatan who has been making my daughter so ill?”
“There is another woman who will see to his punishment,” Henry explained. “Before he was Dr. Albert Evans in Salisbury or Dr. Richard Blake here, he was Dr. Evan Alberts in London. He married a widow there and borrowed heavily against her inheritance. When he could borrow no more, he attempted to get rid of her by poison—miraculously, she has survived. Friends have returned from London with her. They are to go to the local constabulary and initiate his arrest.”
*
He was ina state of panic. Packing everything he could into a single bag, Richard Albert Evans, whose mother had been an actress by the name of Fiona Blake, needed to disappear. It was no longer a question of finding a new city or village in merry old England to start anew. There was a ship setting sail that evening, which would give him roughly twenty-four hours before he was expected to pay Miss Ruby the entire amount owed. As he had barely been able to scrape together the funds to pay his passage, that was clearly not in the cards.
With only a few possessions, he headed down the stairs. The body of his cook was still in the cellar and there it would stay. He hadn’t the time, the means or the inclination to bury her. In all honesty, he hadn’t liked her very much and her food had been terribly bland.
A last glance around at the house, the finest, certainly, that he had ever lived in, and he made for the door. Whether it was somewhere on the Continent or he made his way to America, he would reclaim his position. He would possess a fine home, a well-appointed coach, and perfectly tailored clothing. All that was being taken from him would be returned, he vowed. And then he opened the door and found himself face to face with several of the local constables.
“Dr. Evan Alberts?” the first one asked.
“Or should we call you Dr. Albert Evans? Dr. Richard Blake?”
“You’re making a terrible mistake,” he said.
Then just, beyond them on the street, a carriage door opened and a well turned out gentleman stepped out. Immediately, that gentleman turned back to the carriage and aided a woman draped in black to step down. She lifted her heavy veil and the shock of recognition was staggering. He’d known, of course, that she had lived. It had been in all of the news sheets, even those far from London. What he hadn’t expected was that she would ever manage to locate him.
“Sarah, this is a mistake,” he said, calling her name.
She looked up at him. Her gaze was unflinching and her expression quite hard as she stated, unequivocally, “That is him. That is the man I married under the name Dr. Evan Alberts. He poisoned me and left me for dead. He is an attempted murderer, a defrauder, a bigamist, apparently, and should be immediately placed under arrest.”
The first constable sniffed the air. “Hold him here for a minute,” he instructed before moving past the accused and into the man’s abode.
The sound of doors opening and closing throughout the house echoed. And then the unmistakable squeak of the cellar door could be heard. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he could even hear the stairs creaking under the constable’s boots. And then, moments later, the man returned, his face ashen and a fine sheen of perspiration on his skin.
“We’ve got him for more than attempted murder,” the constable declared to his compatriot. “There’s a body in the cellar. Strung up and with her throat cut… the murder weapon was still beside her.”
He hadn’t even looked to see what they’d done her in with, but it didn’t require a great deal of intelligence to realize it was something that would further implicate him. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the constable was holding up a bloodied scalpel.
“I didn’t kill her,” he denied hotly.
The constable smirked as he removed a pair of manacles from a loop at his belt. “Says every guilty man I’ve ever met.”
And that was the moment that Dr. Richard Albert Evans knew that there would be no fresh start on the Continent or in America. He was going to prison and he would likely hang. And any contents in the leased house that belonged to him would be forfeited to Miss Ruby as she held his markers. The bitch would get some payment after all.
