Always the Rebel, page 16
“Let me talk to her.”
Philip started. “No—no, absolutely not.”
Emma was smiling. “I can talk sense into her, this Miss Worsley. After all, I know how good you are in bed.”
Well, Sophia would certainly not listen to him, and her parents she was evidently going to ignore…
Philip sighed and drained his wine glass. “I need to do this alone—and I need to be alone. I think this means goodnight, Emma.”
She looked disappointed. “You are alone. I hardly count, surely.”
“Yes, you do,” he said gently. “We may not be…we may not have an association anymore, but you are still a person, and in my eyes, you will always be a lady. Come on, I am throwing you out.”
The last sentence was said bracingly as he rose to his feet. He had no wish to manhandle her out of the place, of course. He was depending on her to follow his suit.
Emma sighed, drained her wine glass impressively, and set it down.
“You always were the gentleman,” she said, rising to her feet.
And then she was kissing him, had closed the gap between them, and locked her lips with his. He could taste the wine on her lips, smell the fragrance of a cheap scent, and it was Emma, the woman he had known for most of his life…
And yet, it was not enough. He felt nothing. She was not Sophia.
Emma broke the kiss and looked him closely in the eyes. “Well?”
Philip shrugged helplessly. “Nothing. I am sorry, Emma.”
She looked at him in the most strange way, and then she smiled. “Nothing for me either. How strange. It appears we have finally managed to cut ties. You must really love her.”
It did not occur to Philip to inquire whether she had found someone else before the door shut behind her and he was alone.
Blast. Cold, alone, and unhappy. Was this truly to be his lot?
Chapter Seventeen
When the carriage jostled Sophia into the window, she did not try to hold herself steady. Her head tapped into the window, but she ignored the pain radiating through her temple.
What did it matter? What was the point in fighting the movement of the carriage on its long road back to London?
What, in short, was the use in preventing physical pain when everything within her ached with unhappiness?
There was a loud sniff. Sophia lifted up her head just enough to take in her mother, seated opposite her. Mrs. Worsley had a lace handkerchief held up to her face and was sniffing into it loudly, all in her continued attempt to demonstrate to her daughter just how upset she was by her betrayal.
Not agreeing to marry an earl, it appeared, was a great treachery and was not easily to be forgiven, or at least that was what her mother had shouted at her the evening before.
Sophia sighed. There was no point in saying anything. Trees rushed past the windows as the carriage jolted along the well-worn path from Bath to London. There were many other carriages on the road, but they were all going in the opposite direction.
The Season would be beginning soon, and the best of society would be arriving, ready to spend their guineas in the best shops to ensure they were correctly attired.
Not the Worsleys. No, Sophia was being taken back to London in disgrace. That had been the primary cause of the row that morning.
Philip. Sophia forced down the rising emotions the mere memory of his name accorded and focused on the rushing world.
She had no wish to return to London, and not just because she was now sure to miss the Bath operas she loved so much. But her father had been resolute.
“We are going back to London, and that is the last I will say of the matter,” Mr. Worsley had barked that morning. “No, I tell you, Sophia, you have lost all rights to dictate matters to myself and your mother. If you had only been reasonable, been obedient, then you would have had higher precedence. As it is, we are going back home.”
“I do not see why we must quit our rooms here,” Mrs. Worsley had said, breakfast forgotten as the three Worsley bickered. “My friends will be arriving and—”
“No!” Sophia’s father had slammed his hands onto the table in a rare show of irritation, taking a moment to calm his breathing before continuing. “The carriage is ordered, our trunks are packed. We are going.”
The carriage jerked as it turned around a corner. Even her mother’s ministrations had been insufficient to calm her father’s anger at her refusal, and so they were leaving.
“What is the point in staying, Mariah?” she had overheard her father say bitterly as she left the breakfast room. “We only came to find a husband for Sophia, and she has made it quite clear she does not want one. So. London.”
The sound of quiet crying had drifted through the open door into the hallway, and Sophia had felt tears prickle in her own eyes. She had never wanted to make her mother cry. She had never wanted to disappoint, offend, or anger her parents—but what could she say?
She would not marry a man who did not even have the common decency to come and speak to her about his intentions. Asking permission, that was different. But just assuming that it was all agreed before a word was spoken to her?
She did not want to marry Philip. She did want to marry Philip. Like a pendulum, she swung, unable to maintain her opinion for more than one minute together.
His face floated before her memory. Handsome, charming—but that did not excuse him. She had shared some of her closest thoughts, her deepest fears with him…and he had not heeded. If he had, he would have known not to just stride over to her parents, impress them with his title, and demand her like some sort of chattel!
Philip had not said he loved her. He had not asked her to marry him. He had plotted with her parents to marry her off, like an—an embarrassment!
The carriage jerked as it tipped around a corner, and Sophia’s forehead tapped on the window again. The pain echoed how she felt inside.
She glanced at her father, who was seated beside her mother. Mr. Worsley had not spoken to his daughter since they had entered the carriage yesterday morning and probably wouldn’t until they were back in London.
He avoided her gaze.
Sophia bit her lip. It was evident her father was still offended, angry with her for refusing to marry the Earl of Marnmouth.
She was sorry for it, but not sorry enough to apologize. She had acted as her heart had seen fit; something her parents had always instilled in her. She had done nothing wrong! It was no crime to refuse to marry a gentleman, even one as handsome, wealthy, and respected as Philip.
“Sophia, I…I know you fear engagements for natural reasons. You have no reason to trust them, but I think you have some reason to trust me, and I would never—the idea of breaking off an engagement with—”
Sophia closed her eyes. Just a few more hours, and she could be released from this prison and avoid her parents. Perhaps she should take a house separately from them—maybe ask Harry whether she could stay with them for a while. She was fully grown, after all. She could not live with her parents forever.
Mrs. Worsley gave a hearty sniff, and Sophia rolled her eyes. My word, but they were both as bad as each other. Did they think their dramatic displeasure would encourage her to suddenly decide to accept Philip’s advances?
They were foolish if they thought Philip would even want to offer for her again. Sophia had seen the hurt in his eyes as she had ordered him to leave. He would never forgive her.
Not that she wanted him to. Did she?
Desperate to force her mind away from Philip, engagements, marriages, and all the pain and confusion those topics raised, Sophia reached into her reticule and pulled out one of the few books she had brought to Bath in her hasty packing to chase after Philip.
She was attempting not to think of him! Opening the book, Sophia attempted to read.
She had never seen such a house before. Tall towers spiked against the sky as heavy clouds clustered around its spires, dark shadows throwing the gargoyles into terrifying relief…
Sophia swallowed. Each of those words individually made sense, to be sure, but as a group, she could not comprehend them.
She had never seen Philip’s seat in Devon, and now she never would.
Sophia closed the book angrily and looked out of the window. How was it possible for Philip to intrude into all her thoughts, no matter what she did? It was most unfair.
He had pierced her heart when no other gentlemen ever had. But love was not enough. It had to be paired with so many other things—respect, for a start. If Philip had respected her, he would have spoken to her first. Sophia had never been in love before, never known the painful sting it could create when it was unheeded or unrequited.
And it was unrequited. Philip had never said anything about his feelings, even when he had stood there before her parents. And what had he said? Nothing.
“If you had just agreed to marry the earl, we would be planning your wedding!”
It was her father who had exploded into the silence, and Sophia could not help but laugh dryly. Clearly, she was not the only one thinking angrily of the last few days, but she was not going to give in now. They could not force her to marry anyone.
“What would be the point?” she said sarcastically. “We’ve planned two weddings!”
Mrs. Worsley sniffed into her handkerchief.
Sophia sighed. “Mother, ’tis not the end of the world! I will live with the two of you, happily, or find other arrangements if that better suits all parties!”
“Other…other arrangements?” said her mother faintly.
“I do not understand this constant desire to marry me off. I need no fortune, no man to tell me what to do. I can spend the rest of my life doing whatever I wish, choosing only to make myself happy. What woman would not want such a life?”
Her father disagreed. “A rebel, then, right to the end. I think it disgraceful—a disgrace on the whole family!”
Irritation flared in Sophia’s heart. “If a woman doing what she wants is a rebel, then, yes, I am one.”
It was enough to make her a bluestocking, the way her parents were acting. Had they no dreams? Did they not wish for more than simply doing what she was told?
A quick glance through the window made Sophia’s shoulders sag with relief. Hammersmith. They were close to London, and, in just a little while, she would escape this stifling carriage and leave her parents to stew in their misery.
Could they not see that the world was changing—that she had changed?
Robert had been nice enough, and Jacob had been a source of respectability. Philip could have been…
Well, he was no longer an option. Sophia steeled her heart against him and knew she could never see him again.
Twenty minutes later, the Worsley carriage rattled down their street, and Sophia opened the door before the carriage stopped moving.
“Careful!” called Mrs. Worsley.
Sophia ignored her. Careful? She had been careful all her life, and where had that got her? Almost nowhere.
Stepping lightly onto the street, Sophia thanked God they had arrived. Instead of stepping toward their front door, Sophia walked in the opposite direction.
“Sophia? Sophia?”
She ignored her mother’s words. Her pelisse around her shoulders would keep her warm in the chilly air, and she had a great desire to walk in any direction but that of home.
“Sophia, where are you going?”
“I do not know,” she snapped to her father. All she wanted to do was walk and put distance between them. The more distance, the better.
As she turned the corner, the shouts of her parents disappeared. Despite the chill in the air, she was hot, anger keeping her far warmer than any pelisse could. Besides, the pain she felt was still deep within her heart.
Sophia forced her way past people on the pavement without giving them a second glance. Philip, knowing how she felt about matrimony, about the whole foolish circus, knowing how she had been hurt again and again—what had possessed him to go to her parents with such a ridiculous plan?
Sophia’s unconscious footsteps guided her to one of her favorite places in the city, Hyde Park. There was a cooling breeze rustling the trees, and it was welcome after her rushed break away from her parents. Walking slowly in the gardens, it was finally possible for the tension in her shoulders to start to dissipate.
Sophia sighed. She could not stay here forever. At some point, she would have to return home and face her parents—and attempt to explain this was no childish tantrum. It had been a serious breach of her privacy for them to concoct her future with no thought of her whatsoever.
Yet, he had wanted her. Sophia had seen it in his eyes, though his lips had spoken nothing of it. True, their lovemaking had been no proposal…
“Do not concern yourself, this is hardly a proposal. I am hardly ignorant of your other women.”
Just as her thoughts wandered back to Philip and that heady night, the sensation of his arms around her, someone actually grabbed her arm.
“Miss Worsley?”
Sophia pulled away instinctively. “How dare you touch…” Her voice trailed away. She had turned and found herself looking into the eyes of none other than…
“Miss Tilbury,” she said coldly, bobbing a short curtsey before walking away.
“You are Miss Worsley, then?”
Sophia tried to ignore the voice and forced down a most unladylike retort. The last person she wished to speak to in this moment, other than Philip, was his mistress!
“Do not concern yourself, I am not offended,” came Miss Tilbury’s voice from behind her. “I would not wish to speak with me, either.”
Sophia’s footsteps slowed until she stopped. It was impossible not to. Despite herself, compassion poured through her bones.
Were they that different, really? In a strange way, they had both loved and lost the same man. How was it possible to love and hate the same man? Marriage had never truly been on the cards, she was sure of it, and for him to go behind her back…
Sophia swallowed. “What do you want from me?”
Miss Tilbury was wearing a gentleman’s greatcoat, warm and fur-lined for the winter, but it did not fit her well, and she appeared a little swallowed by it. Still, it was possible to see her great beauty and why Philip had cared for so long.
“’Tis more what I can do for you if I am honest,” said Miss Tilbury with a knowing smile. “Come. Walk with me.”
She started to walk sedately down the path, but Sophia hesitated.
This was all most irregular. How had Miss Tilbury known she was here, or was it a coincidence? Why would she want to speak with her lover’s previous mistress? She could not imagine the woman had much to say she did not already know.
And yet, curiosity filled her heart. Miss Tilbury had approached her, knowing Sophia would more likely than not ignore her. Why risk it?
Sophia walked quickly to reach Miss Tilbury.
After a few moments, the older woman said, “You have done something fascinating to Philip, you know. Something quite unique, I commend you.”
A backhanded compliment? “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I mean it in all seriousness,” said Miss Tilbury quietly as they stepped along the path. “I have never seen him like this before. You have bewitched him somehow, taken all of his true attention, his true feelings. I almost feel as though you have seduced him, rather than the other way around.”
Despite herself, Sophia laughed. “Me? I never feel in control when I am with him, that’s all I know.”
Her cheeks burned. It felt wanton to speak this way, but then how would anyone else understand but another woman who had encountered Philip at his best?
Miss Tilbury was nodding. “I completely comprehend you—and please, do not misunderstand my intentions by approaching you like this. I am not here to make you discomforted. I wish to help.”
“And I, in my turn, will be honest and say that I have no desire to speak with Philip’s mistress,” Sophia said stiffly. This was the most unnerving conversation she had ever had!
But she was apparently not alone in that.
Miss Tilbury stopped and glared. “I am my own person, not just Philip’s old mistress.”
Her words were spoken so fiercely that Sophia swallowed. It was true, she had just considered her some part of Philip’s past, but she was her own person. Were not all ladies merely described as so and so’s daughter, or the wife of Mr. Whomever?
“You are right, and I apologize. I am…there are many things I am still learning. I assume you have spoken with me today because you have—well, words of wisdom for me?”
Miss Tilbury’s hair was tugged by a gust of wind as she tilted her head to examine her. Sophia felt a little self-conscious by her piercing gaze. What was she thinking?
“Ignore me, all thoughts of me, entirely,” said Miss Tilbury suddenly. “Think of him. Philip. How do you feel?”
Sophia closed her eyes. There were so many conflicting emotions in her heart, it was almost impossible to untangle them.
“Wretched. In pain. Lost. Like…like something is missing.”
As she opened her eyes, she saw Miss Tilbury was nodding. “Yes, I thought so. ’Tis because you are not with him. You should be.”
“You—you do not know me!” retorted Sophia with a little feeling.
Miss Tilbury smiled. “But I know him, and I can tell you now, he is feeling much the same. Remind me again why the two of you fools have turned your backs on love?”
Chapter Eighteen
This was a damned nuisance, discovering he cared about the woman!
If he had felt nothing for Sophia Worsley, he would not be standing like an absolute nincompoop waiting for her, his heart pumping more than blood and panic around his body.
He had never felt like this before. No lady had ever managed to sear into his heart like Sophia, even Emma.
No, he had been confident amongst the ladies. Why else had he managed to bed so many of them? But now…what was the world coming to? What was his world coming to?
