Sophie saw from the serving of the first course that she had much to learn when it came to dining etiquette. Five sets of silver knives and forks sat beside white, gold-rimmed Wedgwood plates. Placed above the knives, three different types of crystal wineglasses sat in symmetry. Altogether, there were seven couples sitting around the long rosewood table, chatting with each person on either side of them at regular intervals. She watched as unobtrusively as she could at which utensil the couple sitting opposite her used to eat each course that appeared. Always a quick study, she soon learnt which fork to use with which course, which wineglass to use with which wine, and to alternate conversation with each of her dinner partners at each remove.
On Sophie's left sat Lord Markham and she could see from the first that his attention was not really with her. He had a distant look in his eyes that she thought she knew very well. She had learnt long ago when she was a child that to interrupt her uncle's reflections was tantamount to requesting a scathing rake-down. She had no reason to believe the viscount was any different in his reactions, as he had thus far proved, and so she was extremely wary in giving offence in any way. She replied civilly and politely when his lordship spoke to her, but otherwise she did not elaborate on any topic or introduce any conversation of her own.
They spoke in a desultory fashion of their upcoming wedding, of the various dishes set before them, of Lord Markham's estate to which they would retire at the Season's conclusion, but nothing was touched upon concerning the matter that brought them abruptly and irrevocably together. Sophie knew without question that would come later, and she was determined to find out once and for all how her uncle had achieved his aim.
Lord Markham was bored out of his mind with his dull-witted betrothed. He had spent an hour and a half over dinner in his future bride's company, attempting to launch small conversation, but to all his efforts, she replied mostly in monosyllables.
The viscount studied her out of the corner of his eye as he drank from his wineglass, and wondered what he had possibly seen in her at their previous meetings to give him the impression of suppressed passion. She had been nothing but meek and unobtrusive since the scene in the drawing room. She was lovely enough, he supposed, critically observing an attractive face framed by shiny, dark brown hair, her graceful neck and rounded bosom. But she was without personality and he discovered that, without some spark to ignite him, her beauty left him completely unmoved. He finally gave up and conversed with Lady Barrington instead, who sat on his other side, effectively ignoring Sophie for the rest of the meal.
Sophie keenly felt Lord Markham's withdrawal, so she turned her attention to the gentleman seated on her other side. Lord Grosvenor proved to be a most fascinating man. As Sophie had travelled extensively when she was a child, she found his tales of his recent trip to Egypt fascinating. She swiftly forgot her trepidation, her confrontation with Lord Markham, and her aunt's earlier warning as she listened to Lord Grosvenor's description of pyramids, sphinx, and an intricately carved gold sarcophagus he had the pleasure of viewing in Cairo. She was so engrossed with his tale; she was acutely disappointed when Lady Rutherford rose to signal the ladies to leave the gentlemen with their port.
When Lord Markham held her chair for her, he whispered. "When we have finished, I shall await you in the library." Sophie merely nodded in response, having no clue as to where the library may be.
On reaching the drawing room, Sophie seated herself a little apart from the other ladies and was somewhat surprised when Lady Barrington sat down beside her.
"How are you enjoying this evening, Miss Fulham?" she asked.
"Very well, thank you," Sophie replied quietly. "Forgive me, Lady Barrington, but Lord Markham has requested an audience with me in the library, but I am quite at a loss as to where that might be. I was wondering if you may be able to tell me."
"Of course, it is the last door down the hall," Lady Barrington replied. "Are you to meet with him alone?"
"I believe so, my lady."
"Well, it is highly improper for an unmarried lady to meet with a gentleman unchaperoned, but as you are betrothed I do not see the harm," she said slowly. Noting Sophie's apprehensive expression, she patted her on the hand. "Are you feeling anxious about it, my dear?"
"I must confess, I am a trifle," Sophie replied. Then, she laughed. "Oh, but I am just being silly." Lady Barrington was so easy to talk to; Sophie could have easily opened her entire budget and told her what she feared. However, her uncle had stolen every shred of self-worth she had. All she had left that was hers and hers alone was her pride.
"Not at all, my dear," Lady Barrington said kindly. "All young ladies suffer nerves prior to marriage, it is only natural."
Nerves had nothing to with it, Sophie thought. It was what Lord Markham could do as her lord and master that was the problem. "I am sure it is as you say, my lady," Sophie replied with a wan smile.
Just then, the gentlemen arrived from the dining room with much jocularity after imbibing several glasses of port, Lord Markham not being amongst them. Sophie excused herself from Lady Barrington and quietly slipped out of the door. She walked toward the library and knocking softly, opened it and stepped inside. Her gaze immediately flew to the floor to ceiling bookcase that ran along one wall, its shelves completely full with books. She could easily become lost in a library as well stocked as this one, she thought dazedly. A billiard table sat beside the large bay window and placed around the room for comfort were several large wingback chairs made of brown leather. Sophie thought it quite a masculine room compared to what she had seen of the rest of the house.
"Shut the door," Lord Markham said.
Sophie gave a start at the sound of his voice, not realising he was sitting in one of the chairs by the hearth which blazed brightly in the dim light. Obediently, she closed the door, but did not move further into the room. "You wished to speak to me, my lord," she said.
Lord Markham gave a bark of laughter. "You may as well come and sit down, Miss Fulham," he said, gesturing to a chair opposite him. "Your virtue is quite safe, I assure you."
"Then you do realise I am not a lightskirt," she said, her colour considerably heightened. She seated herself in the chair he had indicated, waiting expectantly.
He rubbed his chin, smiling wryly. "I have no wish to cross swords with you," he said. He rose and walked to the sideboard. "Would you like some wine?" Without waiting for an answer, he poured a glass for himself and another one from Sophie. He handed it to her and then settled back down into his chair, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on the armrest.
Sophie cradled the glass in both of her hands, looking at it as though it held all the answers of the universe. "If you have no intention of insulting me, my lord, why do you wish to speak to me?" she asked, her gaze lifting to meet his.
Lord Markham regarded her silently. "I shall be perfectly honest, Miss Fulham. Without my consent, I am about to embark on a marriage I have never wished for, to a lady in which I know nothing about. To minimise scandal, we have put it abroad that we met in the country and ours is a love match. As your conduct toward me in the drawing room contradicts that story, I feel I must tell you the reasons your reaction was less than agreeable. A little information on your background would not go amiss either." He had a sneaking suspicion that he had told his mistress otherwise, but he trusted Lady Darnley implicitly and knew that she would not say anything if he had somehow let it slip. Besides, he was not exactly thinking coherently at the time and could not remember half of what he said anyway.
Sophie ran one slender finger about the rim of her wineglass. She frowned. "I do not understand, my lord. Why should there be any scandal and why would you put it about that ours is a love match?" she said. He had spoken as though she knew what he was talking about, but as far as she was concerned, he was talking in an entirely different language.
Lord Markham threw his head back and laughed. "Come now, Miss Fulham. Surely, you are aware of the manner in which our betrothal was arranged?" He tossed back the rest of his wine, placed the glass on the occasional table next to him, and then settled back in his chair. All the while, he wore a sardonic half-smile. "I cannot believe you are as ignorant as you claim. You would have to give your consent to the match."
Sophie was beginning to distrust that particular smile. It looked as though he was a lion stalking his prey. Nevertheless, her composure did not falter as she steadily gazed back at him. "I was not asked for my consent, my lord," she said calmly. "You should know that my uncle may do as he pleases when it comes to my welfare. He is my legal guardian after all." She laughed without humour. "Women are usually the last to learn of their fate."
"This is not the middle ages, Miss Fulham," he replied with clipped contempt. "In this day and age, ladies do have a say in who they will wed."
It was too much. With such an auspicious beginning to their meeting, she had hoped he might be willing to reach a truce of sorts, but he had reverted to his previous haughtiness. It was not to be borne. "Lord Markham, I learnt from a very young age that I am merely an inconvenience to my uncle, an inconvenience he inherited along with his title and fortune. He would sell me to the devil himself if it was to his advantage."
Sophie pressed a gloved hand to her mouth, perilously close to tears. She fought to regain control of herself, taking deep, measured breaths. Tumbling about in her mind was the clear thought that she would never make this arrogant nobleman understand even a particle of what she was feeling, or of her circumstances.
Lord Markham watched Sophie's rigid figure, at last made sharply aware of her inner distress. He recalled suddenly the baronet's aura of overbearing power. "Not even your uncle can force you into a distasteful marriage, Miss Fulham," he said gently.
She shook her head. Her knuckles whitened as her hands clenched the stem of the wineglass. "This is so very difficult," she said under her breath. She was unaware she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
Lord Markham heard the barely audible admission. He moved to kneel down on one knee in front of her. After gently prying the glass from her clenched fingers, he enclosed both of her hands in his. "My dear girl, your uncle may be unnaturally hard, but he is no ogre," he said in a light, rallying tone.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. Her fingers moved in his clasp and he released her hands at once. "Lord Markham, what hold does my uncle have on you?"
The abrupt question and the bold way it was phrased took him completely off guard. Lord Markham drew back, without conscious thought allowing his mouth to fall into an arrogant half-smile. "I cannot see where that concerns you, Miss Fulham," he said icily. He rose and resumed his seat opposite her.
Sophie admirably concealed her ire behind a polite mask, as that was exactly what her uncle had told her. "But I believe it does, my lord," she said. "If I am supposed to pretend to be in love with you then I must know the reason behind it. Or am I to just comply blindly with your wishes, trusting that you know what is best for me because I am merely a female and could not possibly comprehend anything more difficult than a dinner menu."
"If it was just I that was affected, Miss Fulham, I would not expect you to compromise your principles," he replied contemptuously. "But tell me this, if you dislike your uncle as intensely as you claim, then why did you not leave when you reached your majority? He is no longer your guardian."
She rose hastily from the chair, unable to control her agitation any longer. "If only that were true, my lord," she said with a shaky laugh. "He cares so little for me, he does not realise that I have another half a year till I reach five and twenty. Even if I was, it makes little difference, as I have no funds of my own. My father left everything to Uncle George, the estate, his fortune; I do not even have a dowry. The two choices I had were to stay at Cloverfield and assume the role of poor relation, having to earn my keep, or leave and make my own way in the world." She stopped in her restless pacing and turned to face him. "I do not fancy becoming a governess, my lord, so which do you recommend as the more enviable fate - that of paid companion to a spoilt Society matron, or as someone's mistress?"
"My word," said Lord Markham, stunned. "Is there no other family you could have approached for sanctuary?"
Sophie shook her head. "Do you not think I have already tried that? I wrote to my mother's father in Scotland. I thought I might to be able to apply to him to give me a place to live as we used to spend Christmas there every year, but I did not receive any replies to my letters. I eventually gave up and concluded that either he has gone aloft, or he does not care for me either."
There was a wealth of unhappy undercurrent in her voice, and that more than anything else brought to light for Peter, with forcible clarity, the parameters of her existence since her parents died. Peter's mouth tightened a moment. He had suddenly a measure of respect for Sophie that he would not have thought possible only minutes before.
"In answer to your earlier question, Sir George holds the mortgages to my father's estates, including our ancestral home. In addition, he fleeced my father of almost his entire fortune in a suspect card game. The total lost came to £40 000."
Sophie was appalled, as much by the amount as the knowledge the earl was apparently a hardened gamester. "But how ever could he gain possession?"
"That, we do not know," he said. He paused fractionally. "Your uncle has offered clear titles to the estates, as well as possession of my father's vowels as bride settlement."
"Now, I understand why you wish to keep the circumstances quiet, my lord," she said, slowly assimilating what she had just heard in her mind. She now understood, with startling clarity, how her uncle had managed to capture Lord Markham, and his animosity toward her suddenly became clear. But that did not excuse him for treating her in such a shabby manner.
"Indeed. I would not mind if I was the only one affected as I have already said. But my sister is making her come-out this season and if it becomes common knowledge, then it would ruin her chances of making an eligible match. Do you think you could bring yourself to pretend for her sake?"
"I can try, but I cannot promise more than that. However, I shall need some assurances from you in return," she said. She stared at his cold expression, noting the firmness of his mouth and the obstinate set of his jaw. For a moment, she thought she might have overstepped her bounds, but was relieved when he relaxed into a smile.
He nodded. "Such as?" he asked.
"It is quite obvious that neither of us wishes for this marriage. All I ask is that you allow me to lead my own life, and I shall not interfere with yours. I also ask that you give me fair warning before you exercise your marital rights, my lord," she said. A fiery blush accompanied this last request. She was mindful of how it might look to Lord Markham, but it was important to her that she put some boundaries in place before the marriage, if only for her piece of mind.
Lord Markham's eyebrows snapped together in a fierce frown, but then he laughed. "I am pleased to hear that you will not deny me that right, my dear. You will have to provide me with an heir, of course. However, I fail to see why I have to ask first."
"You do not need to ask, my lord, just merely inform me beforehand," she replied. Her fingers twisted painfully in her clenched hands. "I am aware of my duties as your wife. Do we have an agreement?"
Her request was certainly unorthodox, he thought, but he would go along with it, at least for now. It actually struck him as amusing that he would have to make an appointment to bed his wife, when he could, by rights, bed her whenever he wanted. But he would not do that, he was not a brutal man. He would never force himself on an unwilling woman, wife or not. "I believe we shall deal quite well together, Miss Fulham. Yes, we have an agreement." He stood up and held out his hand. "Shall we make it binding?"
Sophie responded with a flickering smile and shook his hand in a solemn fashion. "As long as you look before you leap, my lord," she said. "If there is nothing else, I believe I should be getting back to the drawing room. Our absence will probably be attracting notice by now."
Lord Markham detained her for an instant to raise her fingers to his lips in a brief salute. "I shall wait a few moments before joining you."
After Sophie had left, he poured himself another glass of Lord Rutherford's excellent wine and sank back down in the chair by the hearth. He stared into the fire, the dancing flames casting shadows over his baffled countenance. Something she said did not quite ring true. How could any father leave his only daughter penniless and dependant on someone like Sir George? Surely, Sir Charles knew what his brother was capable of, and yet, he left Sophie in his care. It did not make any sense. Goodness, he had spent less than half an hour with the man and that was enough, having to spend fifteen years in his company would have been unbearable. This thought bought him to another point.
Miss Fulham had made it quite clear she despised her uncle, yet she was equally as adamant she did not want to marry either. Any other woman would jump at the chance of marriage, if only to escape an intolerable situation. Marriage was the only respectable option for ladies anyway, especially those without funds of their own. After which they had much more latitude compared to an unmarried lady. So why did Miss Fulham protest so vehemently against their marriage? He suspected there was something concerning her childhood that she preferred not to openly discuss with him. He did not begrudge her that, he thought. His previous conduct toward her had not inspired her confidence. First, he had accused her of being a lightskirt, and then he had compounded the insult by accusing her of tricking Grace into inviting her to an event that only family and close friends were invited to. No wonder she had flayed him soundly.
Absently, he took a sip of his wine, pondering the other things she had told him. How could an uncle forget how old his niece was? Sir George had told him she was five and twenty, yet this evening, she said that she had another six months until she reached her majority. Another comment Sir George had made was that 'she had served his purpose'. What purpose could she have possibly served? What did Sir George want so desperately that he had to use Miss Fulham in order to get it? If it was just the Ashington name, as he had said, then he would have not waited this long to put his plan into motion. It had to be something more, something that he could not obtain until now.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered disgustedly. All of this supposition was making his head throb abominably. Or perhaps it was the copious amount of wine he had consumed. Either way, he was no closer to a solution to his own dilemma. He still found himself forced to marry a lady who obviously lacked all the social graces. The only option he had was to try to make the best of an unpleasant situation.
"Reduced to talking to yourself, Markham. The interview with Miss Fulham could not have been that bad," Lord Rutherford chuckled as he strode into the library.
Peter's head swivelled around at the sound of Lord Rutherford's voice. He smiled sheepishly at being caught talking to himself. "Sorry, Rutherford, I was about to join you," he said.
Lord Rutherford sat down in the chair vacated by Sophie and crossed his legs, observing his friends downcast expression and slumped shoulders. He had never seen Lord Markham at anything less than exuberant and it worried him. "It really was that bad. Anything I can do to help?" he asked.
Peter shook his head. "Unless you can think of a way to stop a marriage in less than two days," he said sadly. He slapped his hand against his thigh. "The chit has no social skills. How is she going to conduct herself in a manner befitting a viscountess?"
"I will admit she is reserved, but the more she interacts with the ton, the better she will become," Lord Rutherford replied. "Just give her some time."
"We don't have time. Have you forgotten Emily? Mother will be livid if we do not fire her off this season." He bolted from his chair and began pacing in front of the hearth. "She has already said she will not stand for Emily's come-out being ruined by what she calls a 'provincial nobody.' What am I to say to that?"
"It will be difficult. Especially if you must live with them at Ashington House," Lord Rutherford said slowly. "Might I suggest retiring to the country after the wedding?"
"That was my first thought," Peter replied. "But Mother wants me to stay in London to escort them whenever Father cannot. She has already scolded me for attending here instead of escorting them to Lady Penholme's rout this evening. She suggested I send Miss Fulham to the country instead, but that would contradict our tale of a supposed love match." He ceased pacing and leaned dejectedly against the marble mantle, crossing one foot in front of the other.
"Hmmm, that is true," mused Lord Rutherford. "Then the only option is to find a town house to rent, at least until the Season concludes. Dalmere House is currently empty."
"What, that big mansion next door?" Lord Markham asked. For the first time, he actually looked interested. Then, he shook his head. "It is far too big, Miss Fulham would not have had experience in taking charge of a house of that size. I was after something smaller."
Lord Rutherford grinned. "There are such people as housekeepers and butlers, Markham," he said. "Hire good ones and Miss Fulham should not have to lift a finger."
"That is not what I am worried about. She has not shown me that she knows the difference between a debit column and a credit column. How would she know if the butler or the housekeeper is pocketing a little something for themselves?"
Lord Rutherford was enjoying himself hugely at his friend's expense. "She may be more intelligent than you realise, Markham," he said.
Lord Markham's head flew up from where he was contemplating his wineglass. "You know something about Miss Fulham," he accused. "Are you going to tell me?"
"Your father and I had a rather interesting conversation with Lord Grenville at Whitehall this afternoon," he said, carefully watching Lord Markham's reaction. He was not disappointed.
Lord Markham gave him a puzzled frown. "Former prime minister, Lord Grenville?" he asked.
"The same, as well as former Foreign Secretary," Lord Rutherford said. "In fact, it was in his capacity of Foreign Secretary that he knew Sir Charles Fulham, father of our Miss Sophie Fulham."
By now, Lord Markham's interest was well and truly captured. "What did he say?"
"Sir Charles worked for him in the foreign office as a diplomat. He spent time in Russia, France, Austria, and Belgium with his wife and young daughter accompanying him everywhere he went. Lord Grenville quite often came into contact with Miss Fulham, saying she was a charming and precocious child with a thirst for knowledge. She was fluent in French, German, and Russian by the time she turned seven and was able to converse like a native." Lord Rutherford chuckled. "He said that she used to call him Uncle William."
"Good Lord," Peter said. He doubted he could have said more, he was so stunned.
"Quite. But there is more," Lord Rutherford said. "Do you know how her parents died?"
Lord Markham shook his head. He was unsure whether he could take many more shocks.
"Her father's ship was sunk in the Channel, courtesy of a French cannonball and her mother threw herself out of a window a month later, overcome with grief," Lord Rutherford explained. He watched the play of emotions crossing Lord Markham's face, from horror to chagrin and wondered what he was thinking.
"Oh Lord, I have been an utter beast," he groaned. He sank down into his chair, putting his head in his hands. He felt deeply ashamed in how he had treated her.
"Were you aware that Sir George and Sir Charles were twins?" Lord Rutherford asked.
Lord Markham's head jerked up, surprise clearly evident on his face. "That might explain Sir George's animosity. It is always harder on the second born son as they have to work harder to gain any recognition. It must be twice as hard when only a twist of fate means the difference between being the heir and having to make your own way in the world." At least now, some of his questions had answers, he thought.
"True, Sir George had always claimed his brother stole his patrimony. He always believed he was born first and not Sir Charles," Lord Rutherford replied.
"Please tell me there is nothing else," Lord Markham said.
"Only one more thing. Lord Grenville expressed his surprise at Miss Fulham's betrothal as the last he had heard, she had disappeared."