He had stayed out late again, at a gaming hell, no doubt, imbibing beyond what any man ought to. She didn’t anticipate the conversation would go well. Perhaps that was why she’d managed to lay out all the details of her escape so perfectly.
Her Aunt Bessie, God rest her soul, had spent the last years of her life in widow’s weeds after her husband passed. She’d also left several pieces of jewelry to Sophia in thanks for the hours of reading she’d done at her aunt’s bedside.
Sophia had done it gladly, of course, but her aunt never stopped thanking her for the devoted attention. Nor had she ceased to celebrate how Sophia refused to settle down as she ought to, and encouraged her to squeeze every last drop life had to offer.
Aunt Bessie would have supported Sophia’s decision. So it was that Sophia didn’t feel guilty for planning to wear her late aunt’s weeds to disguise herself and sell the jewels for money. After all, starting a whisky distillery, while cheap, was not free. Nor was getting to Scotland.
And everything hinged on the answer Sophia knew she would receive. Still, she owed it to her father to give him a final chance.
She waited until he’d poured himself a strong cup of tea before venturing onto the painful topic. “I wondered if you’ve given much thought to what we discussed yesterday.”
He paused with the rim of a gilt-edged teacup pinched between his lips and slowly set it down. “I have.”
Sophia folded her hands in the lap of her white muslin gown, lest he see how terribly her fingers shook. “And?”
“You’ll marry Mr. Mongerton.” His tone was firm, the way he spoke when he didn’t want an argument.
How could he possibly expect no argument when this was her future?
As excited as she had been the night before about the prospect of going to Scotland, she now felt a modicum of trepidation. Not only for venturing out without a chaperone or guide, spiriting into a world she knew little about, but that she would be leaving everything familiar behind.
Her friends, her family, her home.
“Please don’t do this,” she whispered.
“If this is about that blasted vow…” Her father slid her a warning glance.
She shook her head weakly.
For it was, in part. If she’d been resigned to doing what was expected of her, to glossing her way through life rather than experiencing it to its fullest, she would already be wed by now. Mr. Mongerton would never be a consideration.
“He has wealth.” Lord Gullsville took a thick slice of toasted bread and spread a generous smear of butter over it. “He’ll see you well taken care of.”
“May I have another month?” She could hear the pleading in her own voice and hated it.
He bit into the toast with an aggressive crunch rather than answer her.
“One more ball,” she begged. “I’ll settle on a suitor. He can court me over a few weeks—”
“This will be done, Sophia.” Her father set the toast on his plate. “I’m sorry, but you cannot continue as you have been.”
“But if there’s still time—”
Her father’s fist slammed to the table with enough force to upset the balance of his teacup on its saucer. Rich, brown liquid splashed out over the small dish and stained the white linen beneath.
Sophia sucked in a breath, startled by the suddenness of his violent outburst. He hadn’t been like that when she was a girl. It wasn’t until after Mother and the twins died. Perhaps that was the hardest thing to accept when it came to her father—those blissful recollections of the man he had been.
Once upon a time, they had been a family. They had been happy.
Sophia pushed up from her chair and rushed from the room, rubbing the tears from her blurred vision with her fists. She wouldn’t let him make her cry. And she wouldn’t take the fate he so callously tossed her way.
With the matter settled, she wasted no time putting her plan to action. That evening, once the household slept, she crept from Gullsville Place on St. James’s Square in Aunt Bessie’s widow’s weeds with a black veil covering her face, and the jewels removed from their hiding place between her mattress and carefully tucked in a valise.
And so her journey began. She would make her way to Scotland, with enough of a fortune in hand to open her own distillery. Despite a pinch of fear at the unknown and the realization that she was leaving everything and everyone she had ever known, Sophia was ready to forge her own path.
3
Kendal enjoyed his time at the Wicked Earls’ Club for its many qualities. A man could be whomever he liked in the walls of the exclusive gentlemen’s club. He could set aside his concerns and have a stiff drink or three if he so desired.
There were no debutantes seeking a husband or sisters running gaming hells disguised as men and there were no daughters of acquaintances who needed money captivating him. Or women who intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
It had been several days since he’d spoken with Lady Sophia at the Bursbury ball. And many long damn hours that he’d spent thinking about her since. Their closeness that night had been noted by several scandal sheets and the ton’s worst gossips.
Really, he found it all rather amusing, though he ought to have been horrified.
Regardless, none of it mattered in the Wicked Earls’ Club. There was politics and comradery to be had in the dark wood-paneled club walls, and a cut crystal glass full of something to numb one from the inside out.
The Earl of Downing, a recent member, approached the table where Kendal sat. “Mind a bit of company?”
Kendal did, but he indicated the chair across from him all the same. If nothing else, the younger man would provide interesting conversation.
While Downing wouldn’t fight professionally, given his peerage, he was one of the best boxers Kendal had ever seen. It was a damn shame he refused to join the other pugilists of the streets. He’d win every time.
“Any new matches planned for the week?” Kendal asked.
Downing lifted a shoulder. “I heard there would be one at Mercy’s Door.”
“You needn’t come to me to beg participation.” Kendal lifted his glass. “You are always welcome.”
Downing nodded his thanks, then leaned back and sipped his own drink.
He didn’t look like a boxer if one ignored his slightly crooked nose. He was too tall; his arms and legs too long despite being bulky with muscle.
All Kendal knew was that he harbored no interest in being on the opposite side of the reach of that powerful fist.
One of Downing’s feet bounced now with impatience.
Kendal lifted a brow. “I assume there’s a reason you sought me out.”
“You’re well acquainted with Lady Sophia,” Downing said it like a statement rather than a question. “What do you know of her cousin?”
There went the hope of interesting conversation. “Cousin?”
“Lady Eugenia.” Downing’s foot continued to jostle.
Kendal shrugged. “I know nothing of her.”
At that moment, the Earl of Morrey approached. His quiet presence was unmistakable, given his height and the mysteriousness surrounding him. “Forgive the intrusion,” he said. “Lord Gullsville begged me to seek you out.”