All I Ever Needed Read online

  "Oh?"

  "Why did Mrs. Sawyer choose Lady Sophia as your intended? It seems to me that this was most particularly done, not happenstance at all. But why? For all that there is some notoriety associated with her family name, there are no pariahs. Lady Sophia is not often about, at least as far as I know, but then she belongs to a younger set, and I might have missed her debut. How well were you acquainted with her before your names were linked?"

  It had not taken his mother long to arrive precisely at the heart of the matter. "Barely of any acquaintance," Eastlyn said quietly. "There is no recounting that I can give that will improve myself in your eyes. I am not proud of my part in how the thing is likely to have come about." He set his cup in its saucer and regarded his mother over the rim. She was determined to be of an open mind, but he suspected she would ultimately defend him. This time her protection was unwelcome for he knew he was in the wrong of it.

  "Mrs. Sawyer asked me about the sort of woman I would someday marry," he said. "You see, Mother, it is not a subject that is outside my thoughts."

  "Nor hers, unless I miss my guess," Franny interrupted in wry tones. "Pray, go on."

  "I had been introduced to Lady Sophia some hours earlier—a musicale at Lady Stafford's—and her name came to my mind when Mrs. Sawyer posed her question. You might well believe that this was because she made a favorable impression on me, and I suppose it is true in some regard, yet it is passing strange that I recalled my introduction to her at all. The encounter was so brief and with so little to recommend it as to be eminently forgettable. It was badly done of me, but I offered up Lady Sophia as the opposite of all I should wish in a marriage partner."

  "I see. It was badly done of you."

  Eastlyn nodded. "Lady Sophia did not deserve my ridicule."

  "True, but what Mrs. Sawyer has done with your thoughtless remarks is beyond the pale. Your mistress was angling for a proposal, Gabriel. That did not escape your notice, did it?"

  "No. I knew what she was about. I saw the trap and thought I had neatly avoided it."

  "What? By describing to her the sort of woman you would not marry? You cannot be serious. It merely made her more confident of her appeal. She would see herself as having nothing in common with someone like Lady Sophia."

  "She doesn't."

  "That is my point. The comparison gave her hope, Gabriel."

  "It was not my intent."

  "As if that matters. You are well rid of her."

  Eastlyn was compelled to point out, "I did not put an end to the arrangement, Mother. She refused my protection."

  "That is because she thought it would prompt your proposal. Thank God it did not. I should despair of your good judgment had she been able to bring the thing about. What will you say to her now? She is a woman scorned, you know. It is exactly as I said. It occurs to me that if mothers were more prepared to discuss situations of this nature with their sons, the sons might not make such a muddle of them. The Mrs. Sawyers of the world have a leg up on the rest of us because there is nothing they hold as sacred."

  Eastlyn actually slid lower in his corner of the settee and put one hand to his head. Squinting slightly, he regarded his mother with the eye that did not have the ache behind it. "Never say you mean to share that view with your friends. You will ruin me, Mother. Every time a man is forced to listen to his mother's opinion of his mistress, my name will be invoked in the blackest way possible. I will probably be called out so often that I shall have to hire someone to manage the dawn appointments." It would be worse, he thought, than his first days at Hambrick Hall when he was regularly thrashing one or another of his classmates because of the steady arrival of all those cakes. "I cannot depend on Southerton or North to act as my seconds, for I suspect they will be at the forefront of those challenging me, and West will not want to choose sides."

  Franny's mouth flattened, but it was only in aid of checking her laughter. She was not proof against his arguments when he used absurdity to make his point. "Oh, very well," she said. "I would not want to stand accused of challenging the tenets of the ton. You may depend on me to keep my opinions to myself, at least on the matter of what can be properly discussed with one's offspring."

  East pushed himself out of his corner and gave his mother's hand an affectionate squeeze. "You are very good to me," he said, meaning it. "You will tell Father all, won't you? I really cannot remain longer."

  Franny nodded. "And I shall write your sister directly. Cara did not think the rumor could possibly be true. She was certain you would have told us if you had made Lady Sophia an offer of marriage."

  Before his mother spied something in his features that would give the truth away, East bounded to his feet. Cara was only marginally less his champion than his mother. If they learned he had proposed to Lady Sophia, neither of them would comprehend that he had also been refused. That information would not likely endear them to Sophie, and she was no more deserving of their misplaced censure than she was of Mrs. Sawyer's. "The colonel sends his best to you and Father," he said by way of taking his leave.

  Lady Winslow did not miss a beat. "Ah, so you did pay him a visit before coming here. I cannot like being third on your list of duty calls behind Lady Sophia and Blackwood, but I suppose it is something to be ahead of Mrs. Sawyer."

  Eastlyn's lips twitched. "You will never change, Mother, and I count that as a good thing indeed. Were you to pass on an opportunity to scold, I should probably expire from the shock of it." He kissed her cheek while she was still mustering a reply. "Do not trouble yourself to get up. I will see myself out."

  Watching him go, Franny absently picked up her embroidery hoop and drew out the needle. Stitchery presented her with no distraction to her thoughts. She was perfectly able to consider what course she might take to make Lady Sophia's acquaintance without tangling a single thread.

  * * *

  "Your refusal is not to be countenanced." Tremont's complexion was florid, and one had to look no farther than Lady Sophia to find the cause of this condition. The earl's journey from Tremont Park to No. 14 Bowden Street had been remarkably without incident, and the heat of the late afternoon sun did not influence his coloring. The windows in the drawing room at the rear of the house were opened to the garden, and a pleasant enough breeze ruffled the curtains and occasionally the chitterlings on his shirtfront. No, it was Lady Sophia who had become the bane of his existence, a position heretofore held by his late cousin, her father.

  Sophie sat perched on the edge of a damask-covered chair. She wished she had chosen something other than the apple green calico to wear this afternoon; something in ecru would have been a better choice, for it would have blended splendidly with the chair. She was not nearly as prepossessed as Tremont and Harold believed her to be. The earl had always cut an imposing figure, and it was difficult not to shrink from it. While Harold was trim and athletic, taking pleasure in gentlemanly pursuits like boxing and racing, his father looked as if he worked on the docks all day, hefting crates without benefit of nets or pulleys. Tremont had a robust voice and broad mannerisms. He often emphasized his speech with abrupt gestures, from time to time even shaking his mallet-sized fists.

  It was an effective performance from the pulpit. Sophie remembered visiting the church where Tremont had his living when he was still the vicar at Nashwicke. She could not have been more than seven when her father had first taken her to hear his cousin preach. She sat in the very first pew and actually felt the bench tremble beneath her. Her father did not stop her from crawling onto his lap, and that was where she remained until the Reverend Richard Colley gave the benediction. She was no longer afraid of the fire and brimstone sermons that he was wont to deliver, even without benefit of a pulpit, but that experience was not easily forgotten. It would have been sufficient reason to be uncomfortable in his presence, but it was no part of the reason she despised him.

  She waited him out and was rewarded for her patience when he focused his sharp attention on his son.

&nbs
p; "I thought you said she could be brought around, Harold. Is that not what we discussed?" The earl's eyes did not absorb heat the way his complexion did. The look he had for his son was glacier blue. "This is not at all what I expected from you."

  The tips of Viscount Dunsmore's ears turned red, but he held his ground. To give up even a fraction of the space he held would be interpreted as acknowledging his failure. "We knew at the outset that it was unlikely that Eastlyn would make a proposal, Father. It really was not incumbent upon him to do so."

  "Then you promised that Sophie could be made to agree because you believed she would never have the opportunity to do so? Is that what you are telling me now? You were merely being patronizing?" As so often was the way with Tremont, the questions were strictly rhetorical. He had often challenged his congregation in a similar manner and would have been heartily surprised if anyone had considered speaking out. Questions of this nature were meant to stir self-reflection, and he saw that this was certainly the case with his son. "Well, he did propose," Tremont said, slapping the flat of his hand on the mantelpiece for emphasis. A pewter candlestick jumped in place, and the candle it supported was set askew. "And she has most churlishly refused."

  "I was not churlish," Sophie said. The words were not meant to be spoken aloud, but when the attention of both men turned to her as one, she knew what she had done. Steadying herself for a reply that was neither tremulous nor impudent, Sophie added, "The marquess was acting contrary to his own judgment. He did not want to marry me, and I would have been most unkind to have preyed upon his honor."

  "His honor?" Tremont said, his voice rising a notch. "Have you so much fine feeling, then, for his honor and none at all for your family's? Eastlyn is as rich as Croesus."

  "Richer."

  Tremont was so struck by Sophie's cheek that he actually gaped.

  Sophie decided she might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. "The marquess said it himself when I remarked similarly on his fortune. I said he was rich as Croesus, and he said he was richer."

  A muscle jumped in the earl's square jaw. He looked from Sophie to his son. "Do you permit her to say whatever comes to her mind? I am thinking now that she should have remained at Tremont Park with me and not had such free rein under your roof."

  Again Harold demonstrated his good sense by not responding. Silence was all that was required to shift his father's attention back to Sophie.

  "Have you considered that I could turn you out, Sophia?" Tremont asked. "You would not be the first young woman, nor daughter of a peer, to be sent from home for such willful disobedience. Where would you go? Must I point out that you have no one save us to support you?"

  Sophie drew a shallow breath and said carefully, "I thought the idea of shackling myself to his lordship was in aid of supporting you."

  Tremont's hand came up again, this time stiff-fingered with his thumb at attention. He sliced the air with it, causing a disturbance that raffled the curling tendrils of hair at Sophie's forehead. It was not his intention to strike her, but to make her think he meant to. What he considered noteworthy was that she had not flinched. "You would do well to modulate that defiance," he told her. "It is not an attractive quality."

  Sophie had not remained still because she was unafraid of being struck, but rather because she was unafraid of being struck in the face. She was of no use to the family if she was damaged goods, and her appearance was determined by Tremont and Harold to be her only asset. "I believe, my lord, that there are other means besides marriage for me to contribute to Tremont Park. I know something about the management of the estate and making the farms productive again. I have studied the latest techniques for improving the land, and I believe with only two good harvests we can realize an increase in the rents. If we were to practice even a measure of frugality or make a pledge to live within our means, there would be funds to pay the creditors and no new debts to dodge."

  Harold crossed his arms in front of him and regarded his father with his head cocked slightly to one side. His entire posture communicated that Sophie's little speech was something he had heard before. "This is the refrain she has been singing since her arrival in town. As a governess for the children she has been unexceptional, and my wife finds her fit enough as a companion, but this... this insistence that we should manage the household with no regard to our social responsibilities, well, frankly it is wearing on all of our nerves. She would have Lady Dunsmore burn the same tallow candles the servants use and make do with fewer servants altogether. She thinks there is no necessity in replenishing our wardrobes when the fashion is not significantly changed from last Season."

  "It is only that—" Sophie fell silent, cut off by Tremont's quelling look. She kept her feet flat on the floor to restrain the tremor in her legs.

  "Mayhap you do not understand our position," the earl told her. He made an attempt to temper his voice. Tremont was incapable of cajolery, but he could be less severe when it served his purpose. "The current state of our finances has very little to do with tallow tapers or a bolt of Belgian lace. We are come to this point—and you will forgive me for speaking plainly—because of drinking, whoring, and gambling. You will recognize these vices, mayhap, as your father's raison d'etre. My cousin had no regard for the responsibilities of his station, and he was in every way subservient to his baser instincts. After your mother died there was no limiting his licentious behavior. No matter what you think you know to the contrary, your father's weak character certainly influenced the untimely end of his own pitiable existence. With the possible exception of your care, Frederick did little that was not motivated by his own pleasure-seeking."

  Tremont was perfectly aware that the color had drained from Sophia's face. He imagined that if he grazed her with his fingertips, he would find the touch of her to be quite cold, perhaps capable of burning him with its iciness. It did not stop him from continuing. There were things that must be said, and he was a firm believer in being cruel to be kind. "The reason any funds remain in the family coffers, Sophia, owes much to the fact that Providence finally cornered your father. I have no quarrel with the God who struck Frederick down and made him bedfast. No less compelling a tragedy could have kept him from squandering what was left of his fortune."

  Sophia felt the numbness around her heart spread to other internal organs. She no longer noticed the queer little tightness in her stomach or the constriction in her lungs. The coursing of her blood carried the effects quickly so that in moments it was no easy thing to feel the tips of her fingers or toes. When a dark veil fluttered at the periphery of her vision, Sophie thought she might faint. It was contemplating the very ignominy of that event that made her struggle to draw air.

  Tremont was still not finished. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked slightly forward on the balls of his feet. "You are to be commended for nursing your father in the final years of his life. No one can fault you for the care and devotion you gave him; yet it is also true that the estate fell further into disrepair during that time, the rents decreased, and there was even less income than before. I have seen the accounts, Sophia. If you had so many fine schemes for the management of the land and the farmers and the crops, the time to put them into practice would have been then, don't you think? That you upbraid us now for looking for another solution seems rather ill considered. We had no part in creating this opportunity with the marquess, but it would be foolish in the extreme if we were not to seize it. You would do well to reflect upon your refusal, m'dear, and think how such a marriage might benefit you."

  Harold sensed that Sophia was of no mind to defend herself now. That she was an easy mark did not bother him in the least. "What can be your objection to the fine things that Eastlyn can bring to your life? You can be certain he will be generous. You will never be able to spend the allowance he will give you. You will be chatelaine of his great country homes at Braeden and Easter Hill, and there is his town house here as well. You will be in demand as a guest at every affair of importance, and
there will be carriages and fine clothes and a box at the theatre."

  There will also be his mistress, Sophie thought, and this time she had the good sense not to say so aloud. What she said was, "I should like to go to my room, if you please."

  Over her head Harold and his father exchanged glances. It was Tremont who answered. "Of course. And you will think on what was said here, won't you, dear?"

  Sophie nodded, doubting that she could think of anything else.

  "Very good," the earl said, satisfied. "Someone will inquire from time to time as to the direction of your thinking."

  That was when Sophie understood that she would not be leaving her bedchamber anytime soon.

  * * *

  The widow Sawyer was apprised of Eastlyn's presence in her home as she was making preparations to leave for a ride in the park. It was rather late in the afternoon for such an outing, but she had it on good authority that the Viscount Dunsmore often made his way along the shaded paths at this hour, and Mrs. Sawyer was of a desire to make his acquaintance. Eastlyn, however, could not be gotten rid of if he was not prepared to go, and he had already been informed that she was at home. To punish him for the effrontery of calling upon her without notice of his intention, Mrs. Sawyer decided he should cool his heels in her drawing room while she exchanged her riding habit for more suitable attire.

  The ruby silk was chosen specifically because she knew he admired her in jewel-toned colors that offset her ebony hair and white skin. Her maid carefully redressed her hair with ivory combs so that the loose strands around her face softened her features with their casual disarray. She wore silk stockings, red leather slippers, and no jewelry except for tiny pearl studs in her ears. She pronounced herself ready to see him after dabbing her throat and the pulse points of her wrists with rose water.

  Eastlyn stood upon her entry to the drawing room. He noticed that she paused on the threshold long enough to be attractively framed in the doorway. He had always been diverted by these entrances of hers, though kind enough not to say so. She would not have found his amusement in any way complimentary of her efforts. He waited patiently for her to disengage herself from the affected pose and appreciated the view as she intended he should.