“We’re not having a wedding, Adelia, but a small ceremony. And God knows my reputation is always in shambles. No one will blame you.”
The woman took a deep breath. “Very well, Alexander. As you wish. I presume you are traveling to London to obtain a special license, before this . . . fiancée of yours begins to breed. When do you leave?”
Sophie said nothing, watching all this with interest. Her father had once passed on a saying—the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Adelia Griffiths seemed dead set against the marriage, though Sophie had no idea why. It didn’t matter—Adelia might be called upon for help if Sophie needed to make her escape.
Alexander was eyeing his stepmother with seeming indolence, leaning back in his chair. “Tomorrow, in fact. Just a quick trip to secure the license, and then I’ll return.”
The stony gaze in the woman’s eyes was pure hatred, so deep that Sophie felt slightly ill at the rancorous emotion in the room. Alexander looked as if he didn’t give a damn, as usual, but she could feel his malice as well.
“As you wish,” Mrs. Griffiths said, smoothing her skirts with an unconscious gesture. “Of course I will bow to your wishes, and if you don’t wish to listen to my words of caution . . .”
“I don’t.”
Mrs. Griffiths didn’t let the mask slip from her countenance again. “Then you must allow me to arrange for the ceremony. Even though it will be small, there will still need to be some kind of organization. A wedding breakfast, for instance. If only Rufus were still with us . . .” She let the words trail off with a sigh. “But that wasn’t to be. Not to worry, Alexander. Your fiancée and I will plan a lovely little ceremony while you’re gone . . .”
“I’m afraid she’s coming with me.”
Sophie jerked her head up at those words. “I am?”
Adelia screeched, “She is?” at the same moment.
He gave Sophie his doting smile, the one that made her hands curl into fists beneath the table. “I couldn’t bear to leave you even for one night, my precious.”
“But you weren’t—” Sophie began.
“I wasn’t going to tell you about the trip—I thought it would be a lovely surprise for you. We can get you properly outfitted.”
She already was properly outfitted, if she wasn’t in mourning. Granted, her lost wardrobe was six months out of date, but some of those dresses hadn’t even been worn before the disaster, and fortunately the fashions hadn’t changed that much this season. Sophie had managed to find a copy of the latest fashion magazine to ascertain what was de rigueur while she was living with Nanny, even though she’d known that part of her life was gone.
“I’m in mourning,” she said again in a low voice meant only as a reminder to Alexander.
It caught Mrs. Griffiths’s attention anyway. “In mourning?” she echoed. “And yet you’ve been lifting your skirts—”
“Adelia.” Alexander didn’t raise his voice, but the chill in his words stopped the old woman mid-spate. She tried to plaster a pleasant expression on her face.
“Ah, poor lamb,” she said, and no one missed the effort the words cost her, the faint tinge of sarcasm.
The woman was a menace, Sophie thought, and the very notion of staying alone with her in this big old place made her uneasy. Besides, getting to London had always been the problem—escaping there would certainly be much easier than getting anywhere from the middle of the countryside.
“When can we expect the two of you back?” Mrs. Griffiths said, sounding positively jovial, making Sophie even more uneasy.
“When you see us. I’ve explained this to you before, Adelia. I need to look into Rufus’s death. It’s possible a mistake was made.”
“I assumed you were lying to me to simply twist the knife in my heart over my lost boy,” Adelia declaimed. “If there was truly any hope you would have left for London immediately. You may not value your stepmother, but you’ve always had a soft spot for your brother.”
“Half brother,” he corrected, which struck Sophie, a fascinated witness, as odd. If he loved his brother, why did he choose words to distance him?
“Your half brother,” Adelia said acidly.
“I only received word recently and I’ve been busy.”
“Busy forn—” Adelia wisely stopped speaking. “I trust you will send word the moment you hear anything?”
“I will.”
“And I presume you won’t allow me to accompany you? You need a chaperone. Shouldn’t your soiled dove have at least the pretense of virtue?”
Alexander shuddered dramatically. “I would rather eat poison, Stepmama.”