Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin

Chapter Four

Sophie surveyed her reflection. She’d dressed for dinner in the gown that had been delivered to her room by the duchess’ maid. It was far finer than anything she’d ever owned. The pale green silk with its puffed sleeves and embroidered bodice and hem was a thing of beauty. It was also very flattering, the hue a perfect foil for her red-gold hair and pale complexion.

Then Philippa’s maid had come to dress her hair. It was a much more flattering style than she was accustomed to, pinned in a loose chignon with curls framing her face. Typically, she followed Effie’s advice about making oneself appear as plain as possible until one had the lay of the land in a new place of employment. Of course, she did not have any concerns on that score. She could not imagine that anyone in the household would be anything less than kind and considerate. She was also not an employee but a guest of sorts. Certainly the room she had been provided was proof of that. The chamber was spacious and quite luxurious, not at all the sort of place one would put the help. It was a very strange position to find herself in. But everyone seemed so welcoming and so warm.

You also thought Viscount Marchwood was only Mr. Meredith… because he lied. Willfully.

That little whisper of suspicious reasoning in her mind left Sophie very unsettled. She was terribly angry with him for lying to her, for deceiving her so wickedly for his own amusement. It didn’t matter that, on the cusp of discovering his perfidy, she’d been contemplating the same sort of lie herself. Their situations were so different, after all! Still, it seemed somewhat ungrateful to her to be so unforgiving when he’d literally rescued her from heaven knew what. With very little in the way of funds and with no position, making her way back to London and to the relative safety and security of the Darrow School had seemed an impossible task. But forgiving his deception was not the same as trusting him.

It was all so terribly complicated. Perhaps because, when he’d only been Mr. Meredith, there had been a hint of possibility there. Perhaps he might call on her or seek her out, perhaps their flirtation might be something more. But he was a viscount and would likely one day become a duke. And men in that position required wives who were capable of assuming the role of viscountess or duchess and that would never be her. Her reaction to his lies was as much a reflection of her own disappointment and embarrassment as it was to his actions.

Pushing thoughts of the viscount, his terribly handsome face and the way her heart beat just a bit faster in his presence, firmly from her mind, Sophie considered her next steps. Effie, obviously, was the first thing to take care of. The letter she’d written to Effie explaining her new situation was face down on the desk. She’d read through it again after dinner to be certain she hadn’t given too much away about the difficulties she’d faced, and if it was both vague enough and reassuring enough, she’d put it in the post the following morning. It was imperative to her that Effie not have cause to question her decision in allowing Sophie to take off and pursue her independence when she’d clearly had reservations about her abilities to do so.

The first dinner gong sounded then, signaling for everyone to gather in the drawing room. Sophie gave one last look at her reflection, sighed, and then exited her rather luxurious chamber. She paused in the corridor for just a moment and then Philippa’s chamber door opened and two footmen came through carrying her in smaller scale version of a sedan chair.

“Isn’t it ridiculous?” Philippa asked with an embarrassed smile. “I’m perfectly capable of walking but Dr. Blake says I mustn’t. He fears I may be overtaken by dizziness while on the stairs.”

Sophie was beginning to think that the physician was more of a hindrance than a help. Certainly taking away all of the girl’s independence and not allowing her to exercise the parts of her body that were healthy would only create more illnesses in the long run. But then again, she was not so familiar with Philippa’s condition that she could offer any sort of advice or criticism.

“Do you suffer from dizziness?” Sophie asked.

“I didn’t before,” Philippa admitted. “The pain in my head was always terrible, and would leave me quite ill and weak, but I never suffered from issues with my balance. But of late, that appears to be changing.”

“Then I do not think it ridiculous,” Sophie offered encouragingly. After all, she was a guest there on their charity. It was certainly not her place to question the doctor. “It is necessary for your safety. And, there are other benefits.”

Philippa gave her a baleful stare. “What possible benefit?”

Sophie grinned. “Making an entrance.”

Philippa blinked in shock then, after a moment, giggled. “I suppose there is that.”

Sophie continued, “Indeed! It’s rather exotic. Like Cleopatra!”

Philippa laughed softly. “Then there you have it. I am the Queen of the Nile and this is my barge.”

They were still laughing at that jest when they reached the lower floor. Once there, Philippa was transferred from the sedan chair to a wheeled chair that would require only one footman to propel her. There was one on each floor for her to be able to get about as best as possible with the sedan chairs being used between floors. It was a great deal of shifting around and maneuvering in a small space. Still, it seemed that every possible step was being taken to grant Philippa as much mobility within the house as was possible.

Sophie walked behind her as the footman pushed her into the dining room. There was a noticeable gap in the chairs surrounding the table to accommodate her wheeled device. It struck Sophie then just how unique the family truly was. Such lengths had been taken to allow Philippa to be as much a part of things as possible despite her ill health. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen or heard of. Sadly, many families would just allow their loved one to languish away in a bedchamber, forgotten and abandoned. How remarkable they were to make such efforts to keep Philippa involved in the daily activities of the family as a whole.

The footman stepped back and a maid appeared to assist Philippa in situating herself properly in the chair to be able to sit at the table and enjoy her dinner with her family. Once she was arranged to her liking, Philippa gave the maid a slight nod. The maid stepped back, the dining room doors were opened and then the remainder of the family began to filter in.

The duchess entered first and right behind her came the Duke of Thornhill and Viscount Marchwood, both deep in conversation about something. It was immediately obvious to Sophie that he’d done more than simply conceal his title when they’d met on the stage. Dressed as he was in an elegant coat of blue superfine and a brocade waistcoat, it was clear that he’d intentionally dressed more shabbily than was his norm in order to “blend in”. It sparked her ire. It embarrassed her. Pride wasn’t something she had in abundance, but what little she did have recoiled at the notion that she’d never have encountered this man without him having gone to such lengths to lower himself. It stung.

When the entire family was seated about the table, the butler gave an almost imperceptible signal and the footmen began to serve. One dish after another was brought out then cleared away. And during each course of the meal, conversation flowed. The duke and duchess were delightful, Viscount Marchwood was charming, Philippa was not so lively, but still participated. It was apparent as the meal progressed that the young woman’s energy was waning.

As for Sophie, she answered questions when asked, but she never volunteered information, nor did she insinuate herself into the conversations of others unasked. She was aware of her position, perhaps more so than she ever had been in her life. In truth, it wasn’t about how they treated her. They did not act as if she were a servant or someone there only on charity, but rather as an honored guest in their home. Lady Parkhurst had not been that sort. It would have been very apparent from the outset that she would not be considered an extended member of the family at all but simply an employee. In some ways, that was preferable. It gave her a clearer vision of exactly where she stood in the household. It was not what she’d envisioned when leaving London, that was certain.

When at last the meal had come to an end, the duchess rose. “Rather than simply sequestering ourselves in separate rooms, I thought we might all retire to the drawing room tonight. We have much to celebrate, after all, with the arrival of Henry and the addition of the delightful Miss Upchurch to our household.”

“A most excellent notion, my dear,” the duke agreed. “Henry, we shall take a brief detour to the library so that I can go over that business proposition with you. That will allow time for Philippa to get settled—”

“Actually, Papa,” Philippa spoke up. “I’m quite fatigued. I think I shall have the footmen take me upstairs to retire for the evening.”

“Today has been too much for you,” Sophie said in dismay. “I didn’t mean to wear you out with all my talking!”

Philippa offered a wan smile. “Oh, it isn’t that. Truly, your presence has been the best part of my day, Sophie! I had my hydrotherapy appointment this morning before you arrived and those always leave me exhausted. Normally on those days, I don’t even come down to dinner. Your presence here has revived me like nothing else could have!”

“I’ll come with you,” Sophie insisted. “I can read to you or simply keep you company for a bit.”

“Nonsense. Go to the drawing room with my parents and with Henry. You mentioned that you played the pianoforte and I know they’d greatly enjoy the entertainment.”

“Indeed,” the duchess insisted. “I adore music but my own abilities in that area are very limited. We’d be delighted to have you play for us.”

“It’s settled. We’ll all go the drawing room together now while Philippa retires for the evening,” the duke said, walking around the table to kiss Philippa’s cheek. “Goodnight, my dear. Tomorrow you will feel better.”

And with that, Sophie was stuck. Rising from her seat, she followed the duke and duchess from the room, with Lord Marchwood bringing up the rear of their party. She was acutely aware of him and of her own slightly irrational anger toward him. He had rescued her. Because he was in a position to rescue her. Because he was far, far beyond her reach socially and to forget that, regardless of how his eyes twinkle when he smiles, would be a disaster.

“If you will permit me, Miss Upchurch, I will turn the pages while you play,” he offered as he fell in step beside her.

“Oh, that’s hardly necessary,” she said dismissively. The last thing she wanted was to be in such close proximity to him. There would be no way to end the interaction without appearing rude.

“I insist,” he said in a firm tone but with a slight smile curving his lips. “After all, you are very graciously gifting us with your talents.”

“My lord—”

He frowned and halted his steps. “I dislike the way you say that.”

Sophie’s brows shot up in surprise and she felt her heart stutter. It was not lost on her that she owed a great deal to him, despite her rather conflicted feelings about him. “I beg your pardon. I do not mean to be disrespectful.”

“You are not disrespectful. You are entirely too respectful,” he said, his voice pitched in a low, soft tone that was nearly a whisper. “And that is the problem. When you called me Mr. Meredith, your voice was warm and sweet. I didn’t lie to you to hurt you or to embarrass you in any way. My intent was never to abuse your trust, but simply to enjoy an afternoon of freedom. Can you not forgive me that?”

Sophie gave him the only answer she could. “It isn’t a matter of forgiveness, my lord. It’s a matter of trust. I’m very grateful for all the aid you have afforded me, but I cannot help but wonder what else you might be concealing for your own purposes. It changes everything. It took what might have been a small gap in our social status and turned it into a chasm that I can see no way across. Men of your station do not have flirtations with women of mine, at least not with any honorable intent behind them.”

*

Henry watched herwalk ahead of him, effectively leaving him in the dust and rubble of a ruin of his own making. Lying to her, impulsive as it had been, had not seemed so terrible at first, not when he’d thought they’d never cross paths again. It had been harmless, he’d thought. A lark for him and a meaningless encounter with a stranger for her. But fate had intervened and now he found himself feeling somewhat responsible for her and strangely protective of her. And she wanted nothing more to do with him.

He wasn’t so foolish as to think her assertions about the gap in their social standing were insignificant. They were not. It was a matter that, if he had any real intent of pursuing her, would have to be addressed. He knew that. It was of no importance to him, but it would be to other people. Any relationship between them would always prompt some remark about it—how far beneath him she had been, or how ambitious she was. It would label her an adventuress or opportunist. It could likely see him labeled a dupe. When in truth, she had liked him better as a no one rather than a man of any consequence.

Frustrated, embarrassed by his own behavior and by the fact that he was trailing around behind his cousin’s companion like some forlorn, calf-eyed fool, Henry nonetheless followed her into the drawing room. Once there, he stationed himself beside the pianoforte. He was determined to do exactly as he’d said he would and turn the pages for her. The best thing he could do now, he thought, to repair their relationship was to follow through on anything he said, no matter what it was. She needed to know she could trust him.

“It really is not necessary, my lord,” she said. “I do not actually require the music. I know several pieces that I can play from memory alone. I would not want your attentions to me to be remarked upon.”

“Then it is just as well that there is no one here who would remark upon it. And it saves me, Miss Upchurch. Turning pages for you keeps me from being drawn into conversations with my aunt which will invariably turn to my need to find a bride,” he admitted. “It is Aunt Cecile’s fondest wish to see me married off and she never ignores an opportunity to remind me that I am not so young that I should be avoiding the parson’s mousetrap.”

Miss Upchurch ducked her head in reluctant acquiescence. “Very well,” she agreed, though her reluctance was quite obvious. After a moment of shuffling through the sheet music present, she selected a piece and placed it against the ornately carved scrollwork of the music stand. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Thank you, Miss Upchurch. By the way, I should tell you that I was not aware that Lady Parkhurst had passed. My deception was not so ill intended that I would have allowed you to stroll blindly into such a terrible situation. If I had known, I would never have permitted things to escalate so quickly. You do know that, don’t you?” It was imperative to him that she understand that.

She placed her hands on the keys, beginning with soft, tinkling notes. “I never suspected that you knew, sir. Despite your misrepresentation of your identity, I do not see you as an intentionally cruel person who would make sport of another’s misfortune. I am grateful for all that you have done, during the journey here and after, my lord. Please do not think me so mean.”

Relieved by that, he nodded. “One might argue that true cruelty would have been to allow you to put yourself at the mercy of Lady Parkhurst. She was not a pleasant woman, Miss Upchurch. I can only think that you will be much happier here with Philippa than with such a termagant. Though I daresay that Philippa may not be the best company on some days. Poor girl.”

Miss Upchurch glanced up at him then, her expression no longer guarded and wary but one that conveyed deep concern. “How many physicians have been consulted about Philippa’s condition?”

“Several, though I would hazard no guess as to the actual number. Some have offered no insight at all, simply shaking their heads in puzzlement. Others have said the megrims she suffers are naught to be worried over and that it’s just the feverish brain of a young woman too sensitive for her own good,” he answered with a sneer. “Her current physician, while not making her any better, does at least seem to recognize the severity of her illness. He has not made light of it or suggested that she belongs in an asylum, though I cannot see that his treatments and his restrictions upon her have had any positive effect. Why do you ask?”

Miss Upchurch bit her lip, her expression one of indecision. That indecision quickly gave way and she began to speak quite emphatically. “Megrims are truly miserable and I have the utmost sympathy for Philippa that she suffers them so frequently. But if the physician’s treatments are not making her better then would it not be wise to seek a new physician? I cannot see that the restrictions she lives under—being confined to her bed or a chair and forced to live as an invalid when she is not one!—are of any benefit to her at all. It seems to me, my lord, that the prescribed cure is as incapacitating as the mysterious illness!”

It was a thought that mirrored his own, yet he did not feel it was his place to intervene or question his aunt and uncle about his cousin’s treatment. As her parents, surely the provenance was theirs. “I understand your doubts, Miss Upchurch, but surely decisions about her care should be left in the hands of those who love her best and who would move heaven and earth to see her well. Would you not agree?” Except that he knew how his uncle made decisions, which is to say he avoided them as long as possible and then just simply chose the most expedient option.

“Well, yes, and I have no wish to overstep my bounds. While I do not know Philippa so well yet, I think I can see that these restrictions are crushing her spirit. I fear she shall grow despondent under such isolation.”

“Better her spirit than her life,” he said. But even as he said, it rang hollow to his own ears. There was no indication that Philippa’s megrims were life threatening. They were painful and induced great sickness in her, but they were hardly fatal. And yet she was living in the most cloyingly cosseted way, as if she were impossibly fragile and couldn’t withstand even the slightest excitement. The detestable sameness of her days must be a misery.

“You only say that because you aren’t the one living like a prisoner,” Miss Upchurch insisted. “What if it isn’t the megrims that are the cause of her melancholia but the way she is being forced to live?”

And that was the rub of it. Philippa was a prisoner in many ways and he could not deny that. But he wasn’t ready to wage war with his uncle by suggesting that the man did not know what was best for his own daughter. He might make slapdash decisions, but once he made them, he adhered to them with a stubbornness that was astounding. But could he, in good conscience, ignore something that was making Philippa miserable? “I will consider the possibility that I may need to speak to my uncle about this subject, Miss Upchurch, after a suitable period of observation.”

“And what is that? A suitable period of observation? One day, one week?” Her impatience was evident in her tone.

“I had planned to stay two weeks in Southampton before returning to my estate,” he said. “Before I leave, if I feel and if you still feel that Philippa’s treatments are not appropriate to her condition, then I will approach him, but only on one condition.”

“And what is your condition, my lord?”

Henry sighed. “That we can start over. That you will forgive me for my idiocy on the coach and know that I harbored no ill or nefarious intent toward you—then or now.”

“Why on earth does it matter?”

“Because I like you, Miss Upchurch. I may more than like you. And I’d like to think there might be a slim chance you might more than like me also,” he admitted. It hadn’t been a thing he intended to say, but it was there now, hanging in the air between them. “I’d like to think that I may have a chance to prove myself to you… to prove that I am worthy.”

Her fingers fumbled over the keys for just a moment before once more falling into the practiced playing that she had been indulging all along. “What does that mean precisely? More than like? And worthy of what?”

“It means that I may wish to court you, if you’d ever permit it.” It was impossible to determine who was more surprised by his statement. “Will you permit it, Miss Upchurch?”

She blushed furiously, shaking her head. “I’m little more than a servant in your uncle’s home! I have nothing to recommend me!”

Henry grinned at her scandalized tone as he gestured toward his aunt and uncle. She’d only addressed the reasons they should not. She had not stated she didn’t wish for it though. “It isn’t unheard of, you know? And Aunt Cecile was a governess when she and my uncle met.” Her mouth dropped open in shock at that bit of information, prompting Henry to add, “We’re not nearly the sticklers for propriety that you are, Miss Upchurch. We have a long history of scandalous matches, it seems.”

With that, Miss Upchurch schooled her expression into one of proper passivity and resumed playing, but there was heightened color in her cheeks and he could see a slight tremor in her hands. She wasn’t immune to him. Whatever she felt about his earlier deception, there was an attraction there and it wasn’t one-sided. After a long moment of silence, broken only by the tinkling of keys beneath her fingers, she gave an almost imperceptible nod. It might not have been enthusiastic consent but it was consent nonetheless. He would be able to pay court to her as she deserved.