My Honourable Viscount - Lords of Reluctance Book 2

Chapter Five

Since Sophie's unfortunate first meeting with her betrothed, Sir George had treated her almost civilly. She was convinced she would bear the brunt of his wrath over her rag-mannered treatment of Lord Markham. Instead, he appeared as though he was rewarding her by allowing her unrestricted access within the town house. No longer was she confined to her chambers. She read books in the library, embroidered in the drawing room, and took in the air in the tiny, unkempt courtyard at the rear of the house, although, he stopped short of allowing her to explore London. To say Sophie found her uncle's complete turnabout perplexing was an understatement. She waited on tenterhooks for the expected explosion she knew from experience was brewing, but the anticipated scene did not arrive. 

During this time of relative harmony, Aunt Harriet arrived with much pomp and circumstance, thrilled with what she considered her due as Sir George Fulham's wife. Visions of gold-embossed invitations to Carlton House to rub shoulders with the Prince Regent, glittering balls, routs and soirees at some of the best homes in London, and vouchers to the pinnacle of Society, Almack's, floated through her mind on gossamer wings. She had already begun to plan a new wardrobe for herself in anticipation. 

As for Sir George's thoughts on the matter, the only reason he had summoned Lady Fulham to London was to act as Sophie's chaperone. His social triumph was so close he could almost touch it, and he would not allow even a sniff of impropriety to overshadow his achievement. If that meant having his hated wife in Town, then so be it. He would tolerate her until Sophie's wedding, and then she would return to the country where she belonged.  

Remaining in ignorant bliss of Sir George's plans for her, Lady Fulham reclined on a chaise longue in the drawing room, gazing about her with an assessing expression. Slowly, her left index finger tapped her chin in time with her thoughts. "I believe this room could be redecorated," she mused to no one in particular.  

Sophie glanced up from her sewing at the sound of her aunt's voice. "It is a trifle dark, Aunt Harriet," she said, before resuming her task.  

On an exploratory visit to the attics, she had found a bolt of ivory silk from which she decided to fashion a wedding gown. Lord Markham's assumption that she was her uncle's light skirt still rankled and she did not intend for anyone else to believe the same. She had taken the pattern from one of her new gowns, with a few notable alterations, such as a higher neckline and longer sleeves. She may not have had the opportunity to train in other feminine accomplishments, such as the pianoforte or painting watercolours, she could not even draw a straight line, but her needlework was exemplary. Even dancing she had to learn by observing others during her disastrous Season, but even then, she felt she did not have the confidence to attempt it without making gauche mistakes. 

During her incarceration, her uncle's intentions were becoming clearer to her. He hoped to humiliate her. Of course, Lord Markham would want a wife who would do him credit in public, and married to anyone else, he would have a wife who would do him credit. However, marriage to Sophie would mean he too was humiliated, if only by association, as well as the rest of his family. The question that bothered Sophie the most was why Sir George chose Lord Markham. What had Lord Markham, or his father, done to pay such an exorbitant price?  

She was no closer to a solution when the butler arrived, announcing they had callers. Sophie had not even heard the knocker. "The Most Honourable, Marchioness of Rutherford and The Right Honourable, Viscountess Barrington," he intoned, stepping aside to allow the two ladies to enter.  

Lady Fulham immediately stood up to greet them, preening at having such illustrious company grace her drawing room. Plans to cultivate their acquaintance into friendship already swirled around her head to ensure her own acceptance into the highest ton. It seemed Sir George's plan was already paying dividends. She advanced toward them. "Why, this is an unexpected pleasure. Pray, do sit down," she gushed. She turned toward the butler. "Tea please, Jeffries."