Three Original Ladies 02 - Lord Trowbridge’s Angel by G.G. Vandagriff Page A

so many questions to ask him. How active did he intend to be in Parliament? Where would they live? She did not even know where his estate was. His father was dead, or Frank would not have come into the title, but what of his mother? If she was alive, would she accept Sophie?
    Finally, pulling her goose down quilt over her shoulders, she curled into a little ball and just let her body feel. Warmth. Acceptance. Well-being. Love. To the music of this internal symphony, she fell into a lovely sleep.
    ~ ~*
    Sophie found her rehearsal the next morning to be exceptionally difficult. Frank kept intruding upon her concentration. He would be with the duke this morning. When would she hear from him? Every time her thoughts strayed, her timing was off.
    “I am dreadfully sorry, Joseph,” she said to the cellist. “My mind is elsewhere this morning. Let us try that again.”
    By applying every ounce of self-discipline, she finally was able to keep up with Joseph, and they progressed a bit more toward readiness for their concert, which was now two and a half weeks away.
    The Carstairs had scarcely left when Lord Shrewsbury was shown into the music room. Sophie had been ready to join her sister and Buck for luncheon, but upon seeing the serious and harried look on the baron’s face, she said, “What is it, Lord Shrewsbury? What is wrong?”
    “I must speak to you. It cannot wait.”
    Curious and a bit alarmed, she led the way into Fanny’s coffee-colored morning room and bade him be seated.
    He said, “I have debated telling you this, because I did not want to seem self-serving, but I cannot bear to see you so happy, knowing that you are being deceived.”
    “Deceived?” Sophie assumed he was speaking of Frank. Her heart began to gallop and her hands became damp. “In what way?”
    “Three nights ago, I was at a ball. Trowbridge was not there. It was unlike him not to put in at least an appearance. I decided to call round to see him at about one o’clock in the morning.”
    Sophie had chosen an armchair across from the baron. He looked into her eyes, and she was surprised to see that his were full of anger. “I do not know what commitments he had made to you at that time, three days ago, but that night he was in the street, clothed in his dressing gown and putting his former mistress, Lady Manwaring, into a hackney cab at one o’clock in the morning.”
    Sophie stared at Shrewsbury and went numb as a though she were stone. She could not move. She could not speak. Even her mind was frozen and for a time, she could not think. Little by little, conscious thought returned. Shrewsbury’s eyes never left her face.
    Three nights ago. That day he first kissed me. He told me his intentions were honorable. He told me he believed we were lovers in a pre-existent life. And then he went … he went to Lady Manwaring. That dreadful woman. His mistress.
    It made no sense. It was impossible. It simply could not be.
    At last, she responded, “I would stake my life on Frank’s sincerity. Perhaps he was giving her her congé. ”
    “He had already given it to her, days before. And, lest you forget, he was in his dressing gown. And the hour is also significant. One in the morning.”
    The scene he described finally took root. She bowed her head, still confused by the juxtaposition of the two realities.
    “Frank has never pursued anyone like you, Miss Edwards. I have known him since Eton. He is a womanizer. You are far too good for him.”
    A sharp blade sliced through her heart, cutting dead her happiness.
    “Please go,” she managed.”I do not wish to hear any more.”
    ~ ~*
    Fanny would find her in her room. Sophie sought the attics. There was an empty room at the end of the house that was used as a lumber room.
    She wore her prettiest day gown, a soft, green muslin embroidered with daisies she had donned in expectation of Frank’s proposal. Heedless, she knelt in the dust, her eyes hot with staring, her hands sweaty and cold.
    The