Page 47 of Love Unraveled
The door clicked behind the man, and Sophia walked around the room. The house was a rental and did not reflect Catherine at all. It was masculine, dark and austere, whereas Catherine was no such thing. Even during the darkest of days, Catherine had held on to love and hope. Sophia admired her friend’s indomitable spirit.
“Sophia.” Stratton’s deep baritone boomed from the doorway, and Sophia smiled as she turned around. The sight of his cheerful face always lifted her spirits. She adored the father as much as she adored his daughter.
“Stratton.” Sophia walked to him and presented her cheeks. “I had forgotten you were still in town.”
“More like in the nursery,” he said, grinning. “Catherine and Nic are much more comfortable going out if I am around.” He leaned in close. “Between you and me, I am determined Daniel’s first word will be ‘grandpapa,’” he whispered conspiratorially.
Sophia laughed. “Il mio amico, even I know that is some time away.”
“You can’t start too soon. Sit. Catherine will be down shortly. In the meantime, share a drink with me.”
Lord Stratton poured them each a cognac and sat beside her on the settee. “You are the only woman I know who has as fine a taste in cognac as I. Have a sip. Nic’s partner, Randall, brought a case of it.”
Sophia swirled the golden amber in the glass and passed it under her nose. “Oranges? Do I smell oranges?”
“You do indeed. Sip.”
The cognac was smooth, and the hint of orange continued to tickle her nose. “I’m not sure I am tasting oranges or if my nose is trying to trick me?”
Stratton laughed. “Me either. But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”
“Sì, it isdelizioso.”
“Have you heard from my lake houseguest?” she asked, debating talking with Stratton about what weighed so heavily on her mind. He would be discreet, if for no other reason than as a thank-you for keeping his son’s secrets.
“Nothing,” he said, shifting so he could see her more easily. “But I did not expect to.” He tilted his head, looking her in the eyes. “You are not yourself.”
“Non. Oui. Sì,” she said, correcting herself, then sighing heavily. “See, I am not myself, for I do not know who myself is anymore.”
Stratton took a sip, his brow furrowing in concern. He said nothing, but his eyes were warm, his stance was relaxed, and he exuded patience. He was no predator waiting to pounce, only a good friend inviting her confidence.
Once Sophia began, she could not stop. She told him almost everything. How her parents had run away together, how much they’d loved each other, how Gaston had become a part of their happy little family. She shared with him the taking of her mother, the frightening trek across France, her father leaving her inVeneziawith an aunt who detested her. About her mother’s death, her father’s exile, Gaston’s disappearance. She explained why she’d married the count despite loving another. Sophia stopped shy of telling him of her worries about Gaston’s current activities. She would address that with Gaston and be done with it. She also did not speak of how she’d come to be in England, as that part had long been shared truthfully. She sat back and blew out a long breath.
“Sophia, I have always known there was more to your story than you’d shared with us. What I don’t fully understand is why you have not been candid? Although, I suspect, maybe I do?”
“Sì, your suspicions are correct. I am not, as you are, simply a liaison for the Home Office. I work for the war effort. I do not know what is right for my country anymore, but I know it is not a self-appointed man.” Her father had supported some of the ideas of the revolutionists, but he’d remained a loyalist. After what had happened to her mother, Sophie despised the revolutionists and could not support their cause or, later, the little emperor bent on destruction.
“No one would begrudge you such thoughts,” Stratton said, touching her hand.
“But if it were known I was French, it would not be so easy to gather information. No one would speak openly in the drawing rooms of London to a Frenchwoman. I am more obscure in my politics as I am. And less threatening.”
“I see. It makes a certain kind of sense. But no one in this house would question your loyalty.”
“I know it now, but I have lied to them for years.” Guilt churned uncomfortably in her stomach. “Friendships are destroyed by less things than fraud.”
“I think you are not giving them enough credit,” Stratton said.
“But I cannot tell them of my work for the Home Office. Not yet. Probably not until the war is over.”
“It is my opinion they would support you, regardless of what you do.” Stratton squeezed her hand. “But you are right, I suppose. The spying is rather awkward.”
“Don’t you two look cozy. Sharing deep, dark secrets, are you?”
Sophia and Stratton turned simultaneously.
“What? You two look positively guilty,” Catherine said, sailing into the room.
Sophia got to her feet and kissed Catherine’s cheeks. “Only your father is guilty,” she said. “He is trying to get the baby to call his name out first,” she said in a pseudowhisper.
