Page 72 of Love Abandoned

Chapter Thirty-Six

He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel

In worlds whose course is equable and pure;

No fears to beat away—no strife to heal—

The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

—Wordsworth, “Laodamia”

Richard buried himselfin building arguments for his treatise and daily attended speeches on the war effort, constantly analyzing them to see if any of the information Patricia had provided had truly helped at all. Each evening, he went to White’s, waiting for word from Miller. The man said he’d be in contact when he knew more, but Richard had not heard a word.

A week of worrying and fretting, compounded with the aching absence of Elizabeth and the boys, had brought on the worst of headaches. Clarkson had brought him a tonic, but it had not lessened his throbbing pulse. He looked at the pile of paperwork awaiting his attention. He shoved it to the side, put his elbows on the table, and rubbed his temples. There’d been a time Elizabeth would do that for him, and it had always worked. But his fingers held no soothing magic. God, he missed her.

He should never have allowed her to stay with him in London. He’d grown accustomed to their distance, not happy about it but used to it. Having her and the boys here had changed everything. Not to mention making love once again. He groaned into his hands. Now the town house was a mausoleum for those memories.

A rap at the door drew his attention. “Enter,” he said, sitting upright.

“My lord, Lady Tessaro—”

“Is here to see you,” Sophia said, pushing past Clarkson, whose eyes grew wide. “I’ll have some tea,” she tossed over her shoulder before dropping elegantly into the chair across from him.

Richard nodded to Clarkson, who bowed slightly and left the room. Sophia set her reticule on the table and took a seat, brushing at her dress, shifting on the chair so that the folds fell perfectly. Her melodramatic beauty deserving of the talented stroke of Jean-Baptiste Greuze, she sat as though posing for such a painting, her face expectant.

“I thought you were in the country,” Richard said.

“I was, but I am now not,” she said but did not elaborate.

He sighed heavily, resisting the urge to return to massaging his temples again. He had no patience for games today. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Sophia casually glanced around the room, her gaze landing on his stack of paperwork before she looked back at him. “How have you been?” she asked, avoiding his question.

“How do you think I’ve been?” he snapped, instantly regretting it. She didn’t deserve his anger. “My apologies. I find myself much ill-mannered these days.”

She tilted her head and looked at him. “You are unhappy, no?”

He didn’t answer. He had no doubt she knew the whole sordid situation with Elizabeth. What was there to say?

“Elizabeth is miserable too,” she said quietly. “Only you can fix what is broken.”

He’d thought so too. Thought they could live together in loving companionship. He’d underestimated the strength of his desire. And his fear. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me, Richard. What happened to separate two people who have muchamorefor one another?” She threw her hand up as he began to deny it. “Don’t tell me it’s not true. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

Richard hesitated. It was a bloody awkward subject. He’d not talked about it with anyone. Not Bentley. Not Walford. Definitely not Elizabeth. She would dismiss it. He debated the wisdom of telling Sophia. She had been there through those awful days and nights, when Elizabeth lay cold as marble, her lifeblood staining the sheets until he wondered if she had any left.

“I will not risk losing her,” he said, choking on the words. “I will not put her life in jeopardy ever again.”

Sophia’s eyes darkened with sympathy. He saw the moment they lit up, comprehending what he was trying to say. She reached across the table and covered his hand with her gloved one. “You did not put her life in danger,mio amico. Those decisions are in hands bigger than yours.”

She squeezed his hand and sat back, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Perhaps the decision to let her live was,” he said, “but it is I who put her in that cursed state in the first place.”

“I believe Elizabeth would not describe it so. More a blessed state. Would you regret your boys?”

“Of course not. But I know better now. And have vowed to do better.”

She nodded in understanding, but he wasn’t sure she truly grasped it. Nonetheless, it felt damn good to tell someone. To share the anxiety that infiltrated his every moment with Elizabeth.

“I know your loyalty lies with Elizabeth, but I’d have this conversation stay between us. It would be of no benefit for Elizabeth to know,” he said. Clarkson interrupted with tea service before Sophia could answer, and they both remained quiet while he served. When he’d left the room, Sophia watched Richard over the rim of her cup, as though weighing his measure.

“I have the answer I needed,” she said, setting her cup on his desk. “La femmina, the woman you were found with, she is notun affare di cuore…an affair of the heart.”

“Dear God, no,” Richard said, running a hand through his hair and letting it drop clumsily back to the table. “She is not an affair at all. She is—” He cut himself off. He couldn’t believe he’d almost told Sophia.

“She is…?” she prompted, one eyebrow raised.

“She is nobody,” he said, his bloody head pounding harder than before. He should not have shared his fears with Sophia. She would not keep it to herself. She would also continue to probe about Patricia, and he could give no satisfactory answer.

Sophia slowly put her cup on the table and sighed heavily. “You can say it to me.” Her eyes narrowed, sympathy and consideration now absent from her face. “She is a prostitute, Richard, and a spy, no?”

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