The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

Had Sophie but had more than the hundred pounds Ryder had given her, she would have turned on her heel and left immediately. She would have walked to Fowey. She would have carried Jeremy to Fowey when he got tired of walking. But again she had no choice. She stood there for another minute, feeling more alone than she ever had before in her life, just staring up at the three-story mansion with ivy rich and green up the west side of it until Jeremy tugged on her sleeve.

"Sophie, I'm wetter than a wharf rat. Let's go in."

She shivered, picked up both their valises, and began climbing the deeply grooved marble steps. "That sounds like a verbal gift from Clancey. Con­trive to forget it, Jeremy."

"Do you think they'll let us stay?" Jeremy whis­pered, his eyes large now with fright as they neared the incredibly huge double doors. There were large brass lion heads for doorknobs. The lions' mouths even had brass teeth. The doors looked more solid than a live oak tree.

"Of course," she said, and began another series of devout prayers.

There was an overhang just in front of the massive doors and Sophie pulled Jeremy out of the cold driz­zle. She looked at the bellpull. There was no hope for it. The poor relations had arrived.

She pulled the bellcord with all her might. She jumped at the full-bodied ringing that seemed to reverberate throughout the mansion. They hadn't long to wait.

The door opened without a creak or a groan. A footman in dark blue and green livery stood before them. He was small and slender and he didn't say anything, just stared at them and blinked.

He was an older man, as bald as Captain Mallory and Mr. Mattison had been. He opened his mouth then and said, "Would you care to go to the servants' entrance?"

"No," Sophie said, and forced a smile. She could well imagine how the two of them looked.

"I saw you arrive, both of you sitting on top of the coach. Perhaps you're looking for employment? Then you must speak to Mrs. Peacham. As for the boy, I don't—"

"We are here to see the Earl of Northcliffe. You will show us to him immediately, if you please."

Her speech was upper class, no doubt about that, but there was a faint lilt to it, a sort of strange drawl that Jamieson couldn't identify. So she wanted the earl, did she? She and the boy looked like beggars. Wet beggars. He could tell the girl's gown was too short. Doubtless they wanted charity. The gall of these two. He drew himself up, ready to tell the minx what she could do with her demands when there came another man's voice. "What have we here, Jamieson?"

"Ah, Mr. Hollis, sir. These two just climbed off a carriage box. This one here's demanding to see the earl. I was just endeavoring to—"

Mr. Hollis looked at Sophie. She looked back at him. He smiled and stepped aside, ushering them in.

"Do come in, ma'am, and the lad too. Ah, the weather isn't what one would wish, is it? You are both wet and cold. Come with me. Jamieson, take the bags, please, and place them at the foot of the stairs."

"Who is he?" Jeremy asked behind his hand. "Is he the earl?"

"I don't know."

"This is all very strange, Sophie."

Their footsteps resounded in the immense entry hall. A huge chandelier hung overhead, its crystals glittering in the dim afternoon light. Italian black and white marble squares stretched in all direc­tions. There were paintings on every wall, and even several suits of armor set on either side of a huge fireplace. Sophie remembered their snug Georgian house in Fowey. They'd had a chandelier there as well, only it wasn't as large as a room. When Ryder had spoken of his home, she'd never imagined any­thing like this. There were maids and more footmen, all looking at them, and, Sophie knew, whispering about them behind their hands.

She wanted to be sick. Her chin went up.

Mr. Hollis led them down a vast corridor into a small room that, luckily, had a blazing fire burning in the grate.

"I will inform the earl of your arrival. Now, may I give him your name, ma'am?"

"Yes," Sophie said. Suddenly, she grinned, for it really was too much. "Please tell the earl that his sister-in-law and brother-in-law have arrived from Jamaica."

The man's dark eyes never registered anything but calm acceptance. If she wasn't mistaken, there was even a sudden gleaming in his eyes. "I see. Do remove your cloaks and dry yourselves. I am quite certain the earl will wish to see you immediately."

They were left alone in the small room. The drap­eries were drawn against the chill afternoon. It looked to be a lady's salon, with its feminine desk and pale green and yellow furnishings. There was a pile of books on the floor beside a comfortable wingchair. It was a lovely room and so unlike any room in Jamaica.

It was so bloody cold. She'd forgotten how very different England was from Jamaica. She helped Jeremy off with his cloak, then removed her own. They stood in front of the fireplace, hands extended to the flames.

"You did that well, Sophie. I was so scared I couldn't think of a word to say."

"They can't shoot us, at least I don't think they can. But what they will do—" She shrugged, saying no more. Her tongue felt as if it had a cramp in it.