Page 81 of When She Was a Governess
“Nothing sounds worse.”
“I know, but we must do it. My brother risked his life to restore our family name. I will not let her ruin me with lies.Not after the way my brothers and I suffered.” She stood and crossed to him, taking his hands. “My love, we must put aside our natural tendencies to stay away from society and do what must be done.”
“She’s very good at this kind of warfare.”
“Perhaps. But we have allies. Your cousin Charlotte. My brothers and their wives. They will help.”
Henry pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. “You are right. Of course you are. But I wish we could simply be left alone.”
“As do I.” She pulled back to look at him. “We will go to London and take care of what we need to and then we will come home and be happy. Perhaps we will have more children. A gaggle of them.”
“A house full of laughter and love, making memories, growing old together?”
“I believe that is a good plan,” Sophia said, grinning.
Through the window, he could see the grounds of Montrose Manor stretching toward the sea. His mother had loved this place once, had been torn from it against her will. And now she was punishing him for being a man. For being the heir to the home she’d loved.
“I wonder if she knows why she does what she does?” Henry asked. “What her justification is for all the destruction she wreaks.”
“It is likely she has convinced herself that she is in the right. She is the wronged party.”
He held her close for a moment, gathering strength from her strength. “Whatever she does, we will have each other. No one can take that from us.”
“Do not forget that in the days to come, my love,” Sophia said. “No one can pull us apart as long as we remember who we are and what we’re fighting for.”
“Our family.”
“That is correct.” She rose on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. “Let us prepare ourselves for battle.”
Chapter Eighteen
The letters beganarriving the next day, as they prepared for their trip to London. Sophia had just met with Mrs. Shaw about what dresses to pack when Grimshaw brought in the post on a silver salver.
She recognized several of the letters—responses to invitations she’d received just days ago. The cream-colored card stock, the elegant handwriting. She opened the first with her letter opener, scanning the contents. Then read it again more slowly, certain she must have misunderstood.
Dear Lady Montrose,
I regret to inform you that due to unforeseen circumstances, we must withdraw our invitation to dinner next month. I hope you understand that this decision was not made lightly…
It was from the Duchess of Marlborough. Sophia set it aside with trembling hands and opened the next.
The Countess of Beaumont’s at-home had been “postponed indefinitely.”
Lady Pembridge’s musical evening was suddenly “unable to accommodate additional guests after all.”
Even the local invitations—Mrs. Ellis’s card party, the Harrisons’ dinner—all withdrawn with polite, apologetic language that did nothing to soften the blow.
Her hands shook as she opened the last letter. This one was different—from Lady Thornton, the local baronet’s wife who’d been so warm in her original invitation.
My dear Lady Montrose,
I feel I must write to explain my withdrawal of our tea invitation, as I fear you may not understand the circumstances. There are rumors circulating—dreadful, malicious things that I do not credit for a moment, but which have reached even our quiet corner of Kent. My husband insists we cannot receive you until the matter is settled, though I argued vehemently against his position.
Please know that I do not believe such gossip. Some of us still value true character over society’s whispers.
With sincere regards,
Lady Thornton
