My Honourable Viscount - Lords of Reluctance Book 2

Chapter Ten

Rendered almost immobile by unyielding anxiety, Sophie hesitated on the threshold of the drawing room. What she had feared the most had come to pass, an audience alone with her mother-in-law. Somehow, the trepidation threatening to smother her afflicted her nerves far worse than anything she had ever experienced before. Even the anticipation of the cruel and swift discipline her uncle administered had not suffocated her to such an extent. But how can that be? she wondered. Lady Ashington was but a woman—a woman who had not the power to hurt her. Not physically at any rate, she amended. However, she could wound with harsh words if she so wished, wielding the only weapon she had at her disposal toward the woman she obviously felt not good enough for her only son. Sometimes that was harder to bear, as the scars inflicted took much longer to heal.

Taking several deep, calming breaths, Sophie tamped down such defeatist thoughts and ventured further into the room, her soft, periwinkle blue slippers barely registering a sound upon the luxurious Wilton carpet. Opulence greeted her fearful eyes, causing her to come to an abrupt halt. Placed in the middle of the room were a peach brocade chaise longue and several chairs, which reflected the colouring in both the draperies that hung from the bow windows as well as the carpet. Elegant walnut furniture played second fiddle to the ornate Adams fireplace, carved from mahogany with cherubs as decoration, which was obviously the highlight of the room. Several rare and expensive Chinese vases sat in pride of place on various pedestal tables in each corner. What can one expect? Sophie thought wryly. If the private apartments of Ashington House were grand, then it stands to reason that the public rooms would be just as splendid.  

Lady Ashington glanced up at Sophie and put the embroidery she was working on aside, peering over her gold-rimmed spectacles that perched precariously on the tip of her long, thin nose. Her sapphire blue eyes turned glacial as she regarded her unwanted guest. “Well, do come in, girl,” she said coldly. “You need not stand about as though you are a piece of the furniture.”

Taking firm control of her emotions, Sophie drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin. The abrupt greeting, if one could call it that, only served to secure her resolve not to allow Lady Ashington to intimidate her. She would not betray her feelings by so much as a flicker of an eyelash, she vowed. “Good afternoon, my lady,” she said. Had she but known it, her voice assumed the same frigid quality as that of her hostess.

Gliding forward, Sophie dipped the slightest of curtsies, and then sat down in the armchair Lady Ashington had indicated with an imperious wave of her hand. While smoothing her skirts with trembling hands, she held Lady Ashington’s gaze, almost daring her to make the cutting remarks Sophie knew she longed to do. For at that moment, Sophie was quite prepared to defend herself and her family to the death if needs be. Certainly not her uncle, he did not deserve her consideration, but if Lady Ashington decided to say anything disparaging against her parents, then heaven help her because nobody else could.

Uncomfortable silence reigned until the unmistakable rattle of the tea tray broke the palpable tension that stifled the ambience of the room. The butler entered and placed the tray down by Sophie’s elbow at a signal from Lady Ashington. Then, he bowed himself out, closing the door softly behind him.

“You shall pour,” she demanded.

Sophie nodded and set about her task, faltering slightly under the gimlet stare of her ladyship. She was fully aware it was a test of her training, or more specifically, lack thereof. Pleasant scents of bergamot and citrus teased her nose as she poured into dainty porcelain cups. Pleased with her achievement that she did not spill a drop, she handed the cup to Lady Ashington and then offered her the plate with a selection of cakes and sweetmeats.

Declining sustenance and without any thought to Sophie’s sensibilities, Lady Ashington launched into what was uppermost in her mind. An open wound that had been festering since she first heard of her son’s grievous mésalliance. “As I am not certain how long my daughter shall remain resting for, I shall be both blunt and brief. You are not at all who I would wish for my son.” The tone of her voice could have frozen the grapes of a vine at twenty paces.