Page 68 of When She Was a Governess
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Grimshaw.” Sophia seized on the suggestion gratefully. “Please, follow me.”
She led them across the entrance hall to the drawing room, acutely aware of Constance’s assessing gaze taking in every detail—the paintings on the walls, the arrangement of the furniture, the quality of the carpets.
Once inside the drawing room, Constance swept to the best chair near the fire and settled without waiting to be invited. “Tea will be fine, as long as Mrs. Mills has learned how to make a proper biscuit. The last time I was here, I nearly broke a tooth.” She removed her bonnet, revealing her elegant coiffure. “We’re not leaving until we understand exactly what prompted this hasty marriage.” Her mouth twitched into a half-smile but her eyes remained cold. “I do hope you’ll forgive a mother’s curiosity. But when one’s son marries mere days after becoming engaged to a woman so far beneath his station—well. Questions naturally arise.”
“I am a duke’s daughter.” Sophia would not let her undermine her confidence. “The Duke of Ashford was my father.”
“Such a sad set of affairs. Your father. Falsely accused, or so they say now. Who knows what the truth really is.” Constance settled onto a chair without being invited.
Sophia and Lord Montrose took seats across from the horrible woman.
“My father was innocent and wrongly accused. It was proven without a doubt that Richard Wentworth killed his wife and framed my father. Our family’s titles and wealth have been restored, as I am sure you already know.”
“How fortunate for you,” Constance said. “One must be curious about the timing, of course.”
Of course? Sophia clenched and unclenched her hands.
Lord Montrose cleared his throat. “Where is Amelia? We should like to see our granddaughter.”
“She’s napping,” Sophia said. “But I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you when she wakes.”
“Our granddaughter, growing up without her real mother,” Constance said. “Again, how clever you are to convince Henry to marry you. And you present as such a meek little thing.”
“I love Amelia,” Sophia said, her voice hard now. “I’ve cared for her since she was an infant. Although ill-advised, given what I thought would happen, I have loved her like my own.”
“Of course.” Constance sat in her chair like a queen on a throne, studying Sophia with the cold calculation of a predator who’d found its prey. “I’m sure you’re very devoted. To the child. To my son. To this house and everything that comes with it.” She leaned back in her chair, seeming perfectly at ease despite the tension crackling in the air. “I suppose I will have to grow accustomed to the governess as my daughter-in-law. We’re family now.”
The way she said it made Sophia’s blood run cold. She forced herself to smile and ring for Grimshaw. “Of course. I’ll have Mrs.Bromley prepare the blue suite for you. It has a lovely view of the gardens.”
As she waited for the housekeeper to arrive, Sophia kept her hands clasped tightly. If she could just hold on to her emotions until Henry came home. Later, in his arms, she could collapse but now she must act strong.
Henry had warned her. He’d told her exactly what his mother was capable of. Sophia realized she hadn’t truly understood. Not until now. Not until she’d looked into Constance Montrose’s eyes and seen the cruelty there.
And she had come to wreak havoc on their happy home. The question was—what was Sophia to do about it?
Chapter Fifteen
The drainage meetinghad run even longer than Henry expected. By the time he left the village assembly room, dusk was falling and rain was coming down in earnest. He urged his horse faster, eager to be home. To see Sophia. To kiss her and hold her and perhaps steal her away to their chambers before dinner.
God, when had he become such a besotted fool? Three days married and he could barely stand to be away from her for a full day.
As Montrose Manor came into view through the gray drizzle, Henry felt his spirits lift. Home. His home. Their home. With his wife waiting inside, probably in the drawing room with her correspondence, or perhaps upstairs with Amelia.
He handed his horse to a groom and strode toward the front entrance, already loosening his cravat. He was damp and cold and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and—
Grimshaw opened the door before Henry could reach for the handle. The butler’s face was carefully neutral, but there was something in his eyes. A warning.
“My lord. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Grimshaw. Is Lady Montrose in the drawing room?”
“She is, my lord. But I must inform you—” He paused, and Henry felt dread settle in his stomach. “Your parents have arrived. They came this afternoon, unannounced.”
His last meal threatened to come back up. “My parents.” Henry’s voice came out flat. “Here.”
“Yes, my lord. They’re currently in the blue suite. We are preparing the blue rooms for them.”
“How long have they been here?” Henry’s hands clenched into fists. “How long has my wife been dealing with them alone?”
