A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson

Chapter Eleven

Gertrude was unusually quiet at dinner and went up to bed having barely uttered a word to Sophie, or her mother. She spoke tersely with Lord Wycliffe, but it seemed that whatever he said to her, only worsened the girl’s mood. Her emotions were becoming more mercurial by the day, and Sophie wished there was something that she could do to help the poor girl to cope with the things that troubled her.

The duchess also retired early, citing her long journey the next day as the reason. It left Sophie and Lord Wycliffe in an uncomfortable position, as they sat at the dining table alone. “I should go, too,” Sophie said getting up from her chair.

Lord Wycliffe caught her arm as she passed his chair. “Please don’t,” he asked, his dark eyes soft. “I should hate to have to take my port alone in the library. I could have Bonnet bring it in here, if you would agree to stay and talk with me.”

“I should go, it would not be seemly,” Sophie argued, but her words rang false even to her. What harm could there be, in a room with servants all around them?

“I could send for Mrs. Grint?” Lord Wycliffe said with a grin, obviously understanding the reason for her reticence.

Sophie shook her head and sat back down. “That won’t be necessary. She ‘as more than enough to be getting on with, without acting as my chaperone. We are suitably accompanied by James and Holly, are we not?” She smiled at the young footman and parlor maid that had been acting as their servers that evening. Both gave her shy grins in return.

Lord Wycliffe smile contentedly. Yet again he had gotten his way, though in many ways, so had she. She was not yet weary enough for bed, and an evening alone in her room with no company but a book did not appeal. “What do you normally do, when Lady Gertrude and I retire, my Lord?” she asked him curiously.

He grinned. “I read, sometimes I work on the estate ledgers. Occasionally, I drink port and smoke a cigar out on the terrace.”

“Does that not bore you? I rather got the impression that you enjoyed parties and the high life.”

“Oh, I do,” Claveston said. “But I appreciate them all the more when I have spent enough time here being quiet.” He paused. His eyes sought hers and Sophie felt as though he was looking right into her soul. “I get the feeling that such pastimes are not to your liking?”

“It is not that, my Lord,” Sophie said. “I enjoy company, but I am fond of rather less boisterous affairs I think, than perhaps those you are used to.”

“Such as the Watts’ Christmas Eve party?” Lord Wycliffe asked with a smile.

“Precisely,” she said. “I like to be able to hear myself think, to know what the person next to me is actually saying – and to be able to know everyone present and not need to be introduced.”

“You are going to struggle in London, aren’t you?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

“If I am honest, I do not know,” Sophie admitted. “I had a London season when I was eighteen. I enjoyed the whirl of dancing and being seen then, but now I am older, per’aps a little quieter, I am not looking forward to our time there, especially, but I shall do my duty by your sister.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Lord Wycliffe said with a chuckle. “She is lucky to have you. But are you glad that you came to us, here at Compton I mean? I know that it is in large part down to my pushing you that you did so, Miss Lefebvre.”

Sophie thought for a moment before answering. It was not a straightforward question, and the way Lord Wycliffe was looking at her now made it even harder. It was quite clear to Sophie that he wanted her to be happy. He wanted to know that she had no regrets. He cared for her, and her happiness. She was not sure how she knew that, but in that moment, she did.

“I am content enough,” she said eventually. “My work is enjoyable. Lady Gertrude is a dear thing, most of the time.”

They both laughed at that. But they were so caught up in their conversation, so fascinated with one another, that they hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, or the creak of the door as Gertrude had crept back downstairs and listened to their conversation. She clutched at the doorframe, her knuckles turning white as she heard them laughing at her and her anger at everyone grew and grew.

“Do you not tire of all the formality between us, Miss Lefebvre?” Lord Wycliffe asked. “You may call me Claveston, if you wish.”

“I could not,” Sophie protested. “I am your sister’s companion. It is right that I observe the proprieties.”

“Not even when we are alone?” he pressed. “Try it, see how it sounds.” His dark eyes were full of teasing, and Sophie flushed at the attention he was bestowing upon her. She had once thought him arrogant and self-centered. But she had come to see that he was, in many ways, as damaged as his dear sister. He merely wished to be liked.

“Claveston,” Sophie said, trying out his name.

“I like the way it sounds,” he said. “Your accent makes it sound so much more romantic that it normally does.”

“You should not tease me,” Sophie said sternly. “I cannot ‘elp the way I speak.”

“I am not teasing you,” he said earnestly. “I should never wish to tease you, dear Sophie – if I may call you Sophie?”

She nodded, her stomach suddenly a mass of roiling and writhing snakes. This moment was too personal, too intimate – even with the servants present. It would not be right for her to let things go any further. Gertrude needed her. She had been afraid from the first of an attraction between Sophie and her brother. Sophie had promised her that such a thing could never be - and had meant it.

But she had thought Claveston to be a very different man then. Even if he had professed his undying love to her when she first arrived, she would not have entertained it. But she had learned that the face he presented to the world was not the man underneath. The real Claveston was kind, gentle, and sweet. He was also rather shy in his own way. He did not trust anyone to like him for himself, and like dear Gertrude, he expected everyone to turn away from him eventually.

“Sophie, I am so glad you came to Compton,” he said now, reaching across the table and taking her hand. Sophie snatched it away and jumped to her feet.

“My Lord, you should not,” she said. “And if you insist upon acting this way, then I must bid you good night.”

She swept from the room and ran up to her rooms, where she slammed the door behind her and turned the key. She was too confused by what had just happened. She had not come to Compton expecting to find love. She had given up on that a long time ago. Yet it appeared that Sophie’s heart had not gotten the message. She still longed for a husband and a family of her own – and she wanted that husband to be Claveston St. John, Earl of Wycliffe.

* * *

The memoryof those brief moments in the dining room with Sophie kept Claveston smiling all through the next day, despite having to attend quarter day to take the rents for the estate. He chatted with the tenants, and listened to their grievances, offering counsel where he could, assistance where required, and promised to ask his father about the things he could not decide upon there and then.

He returned home to Compton Hall in the late afternoon, to find Mrs. Grint waiting for him in the hallway. “What is it?” he asked, taking one look at her worried face, and assuming the worst. “Is it Gertrude? Please don’t tell me she went riding alone and had an accident?”

“No, everyone is quite well – at least physically,” the housekeeper assured him. “No, it is your father.” She paused.

“Has he returned?”

“Yes, first thing this morning. Not long after you left, my Lord,” Mrs. Grint said nervously.

“So, he arrived before Mama had left?” Claveston asked, knowing where this might be going. The housekeeper nodded. “And he insisted she not go, which put Mama in a snit?”

“She was furious, my Lord.”

“I cannot say I am not glad. Gertrude will need Mama in London. It isn’t right that she intended to go traveling again at such an important time for my sister.”

“But that is not all, my Lord,” Mrs. Grint said, her eyes darting towards the closed door of his father’s study. “They are both in there now, with Miss Lefebvre.”

“With Sophie? But why?” Claveston demanded.

“Because her Grace discovered that a piece of very expensive jewelry, one of your grandmother’s pieces I believe, is missing,” Mrs. Grint explained.

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with Sophie,” Claveston said striding across the hallway to the study, then it dawned on him. “They think she took it?” Mrs. Grint nodded.

Claveston rolled his eyes and barged into the study without knocking. He had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. His father was sitting behind his desk, his face puce with rage. Mama sat primly on a chair to his side, glaring at poor Miss Lefebvre who was staring at the floor, her voice tight and quiet. “I cannot tell you how it came to be in my armoire,” she was saying. “I only know I did not do this. I would never do such a thing. You must believe me.”

“Father, you cannot truly believe that Miss Lefebvre would do such a thing?” Claveston demanded.

“I do not know what to think,” his father said. “I do not know the woman.”

“I can assure you that she would never steal, or lie,” Claveston went on. “She is the sweetest, kindest, most generous woman I have ever met. I have never known anyone less interested in wealth and jewels in my life. She simply could not have done this.”

“Yet the tiara was found in her chambers,” Mama said brusquely. “If she did not put it there, then who did?”

“I do not know, but Miss Lefebvre spent nine years in the employ of the Duchy of Mormont. Do you not think that if she had such inclinations that they would have been evident in all that time?” Claveston was fuming.

“Perhaps she was simply better at hiding her sins there,” Mama said spitefully. “We should send her before the magistrate and see what he makes of it all. I don’t doubt he’d have her hanging from a noose for such a brazen act.” Miss Lefebvre blanched at Mama’s words, and Claveston clenched his fists hard enough to turn his knuckles white as he tried to control his anger.

He could hardly believe how quickly his mother’s feelings towards Miss Lefebvre seemed to have changed. He had thought his mother had developed a genuine affection for her daughter’s companion. They had so often conversed in French together, and Mama had seemed to truly like Miss Lefebvre. He knew his mother could be distant, but such a swift turnabout was disconcerting.

He glanced at Miss Lefebvre. Her bottom lip was trembling, and she was fighting the urge to cry so hard that it broke his heart. She could barely bring herself to look him in the eye. “Father, if I may be so bold, perhaps we should look into this more closely before we make a hasty judgment that we might later regret.”

“What do you suggest?” the duke asked caustically. “Everything seems quite straightforward to me. Your mother is quite right, the woman should be in front of a magistrate.”

“Perhaps, Miss Lefebvre might remain in her rooms until we can question the entire household. Perhaps somebody saw something. There is always someone watching in this household. The servants always know everything,” Claveston said, not expecting his father to agree, but he had to do something.

Surprisingly, the duke nodded his head. “It would be wise to be sure of the facts before we turn anyone out of the house,” he agreed. “Though I don’t know what you think questioning them all will turn up. But the magistrate will want to know the full story, so it may be for the best.”

Mama frowned. “I want this matter sorted swiftly,” she warned Claveston. “I intended to leave Compton today. I will not delay my trip longer than a week.”

The duke rang a bell. Mrs. Grint knocked on the door and entered with a curtsey. “Yes, your Grace?”

“Take Miss Lefebvre to her chambers. She will remain there until Claveston has looked into this matter. Ensure that no member of staff leaves this house until they have been questioned. They are to make themselves available as soon as my son requests them.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Mrs. Grint said. Sophie stood and followed the elderly housekeeper into the hallway.

“You have three days,” the duke said sternly. “If we know no more by then, I will turn her over to the local magistrate.”

“I understand,” Claveston said, bowed and left the room.

He hurried after Mrs. Grint and Sophie. He caught up with them on the stairs. “I shall find who did this, Miss Lefebvre,” he assured her. “I will clear your good name. I promise you that.”

She nodded but didn’t say a word. Mrs. Grint put an arm around her shoulder and escorted her upstairs. Claveston frowned as he turned to look back at his parents who had emerged from Papa’s study and were watching him with narrowed eyes.

Neither of them looked happy. Claveston wondered if it was because of what had happened, or that his intervention would force them to spend time in each other’s company. When he was young, they had traveled together. They had seemed to be so in love that they couldn’t bear to be apart. Yet, as the years had gone on, they had grown further and further away from one another. He could count on one hand the number of times that they had been here at Compton together in the past five years. How had their marriage come to that, he wondered?

He was used to them arguing, ignoring one another – and avoiding each other. Yet, for once, they were agreed on something. Whoever had stolen the tiara needed to be punished. And they would not hesitate to see that person hang, though no harm had been done and the tiara had been recovered. Claveston prayed that his investigations would prove that it wasn’t Sophie, because he couldn’t bear the thought of her having to face such an end. She was so much better than any of them and he was sure that she was as innocent as he knew himself to be.