The Bride In Blue

The room, which was very large and luxuriously furnished, seemed to have shrunk, Jonathon looming large over her. His face was only inches from hers, so close now that she could no longer see the blue of his eyes. They were deep dark pools into which she seemed to be drowning…drowning…

In desperation she sucked in a breath of air, but this only seemed to remind her of the way her heart was suddenly hammering in her chest. The large hand cuffing her wrist tightened, and for a brief mad moment she thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead, she found her hand being ground further down into the mattress as Jonathon pushed himself to his feet.

‘Don’t let your tender heart lead you into any more trouble, Sophia,’ he grated out, his face as harsh and humourless as ever as he glared down at her from his considerable height. ‘I deserved hitting downstairs, and I almost deserved hitting again just now. When you touch a man like that in future,’ he warned darkly, ‘make sure you’re not on a bed with him. Not all males are as saintlike as Godfrey.’

Sophia’s eyes widened, colour coming to her cheeks. So he had been tempted to kiss her.

But surely he did not think she had been deliberately provocative, or that even subconsciously she might have been inviting him to…to…

Her cheeks burnt even more fiercely at such a mortifying thought.

Jonathon spun away from the bed with a scoffing sound. ‘I was right the first time,’ he growled as he stalked across the deep gold carpet. ‘Godfrey should have been hung, drawn and quartered for taking you under his roof the way he did. I refuse to forgive his appalling lack of judgement. If he couldn’t foresee the consequences of such an action, then the man was more of a naïve, idealistic, airy-fairy fool than I always thought him to be!’

Grabbing the knob of the bedroom door, Jonathon whirled to face her one last time. ‘Hate me all you like for saying as much, Sophia, but that’s the way I see it. I loved my brother, believe it or not, but he was a dreamer who left a trail of destruction behind him. He’s left you literally holding the baby, and me in a situation no man would relish.’

Sophia scrambled off the bed, straightening her clothes and pushing back her hair with agitated hands. ‘You didn’t have to marry me!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t expect you to, but you insisted!’

‘More fool me,’ he snarled. ‘But I’m not so blind that I can’t see my own mistakes. You will have your wish, Sophia. A divorce as soon as the baby is born. I also think a house of your own is called for. Somewhere nearby, of course, where Mother can easily visit you and the child.’

But not you, she thought agitatedly. I don’t want you visiting me, you hateful man!

‘Now I suggest you go wash your face and fix your hair,’ the hateful man ordered. ‘It’s rather a mess. I will expect you to make an appearance downstairs shortly.’

‘But I don’t want——’

‘We all have to do things we don’t want to do occasionally,’ he cut in sharply. ‘If you don’t come down, everyone will look at me with accusing eyes, and I will be forced to return to bring you down myself. If you can’t do this for me, then do it for Godfrey. I’m sure he would have expected the mother of his child to conduct herself with ladylike decorum in his home, which means keeping childish tantrums to a minimum.’

With that, Jonathon politely but firmly shut the door, leaving Sophia to stare after him.

Childish tantrums?

Childish tantrums!

She would show him childish tantrums.

Her eyes darted savagely around the room, looking for something she could throw. Anything!

Her hat was the only item within arm’s reach. She scooped it up from where it lay on the pillow and launched it in the direction of the door like a frisbee. But, being a rather light hat, it fell a good deal short of its target with a highly unsatisfying plop. Marching over to where it had landed, Sophia glared momentarily down at the pathetic little wisp of nothing before she gave into another irrational burst of temper and began stomping it to death.

After a few feverish seconds, she stopped, eyes rounding with horror as she bent to pick up the poor mangled thing, the veil now ripped, the flower totally destroyed. Sophia blinked her shock as she stared at what was left of the once pretty blue hat, a sob catching in her throat.

I’ve gone mad, she thought. Quite mad.

No, you haven’t, the voice of brutal honesty inserted. You’re simply behaving very badly. Jonathon was right. Godfrey would not be proud of you today. Not at all.

Tears threatened as her thoughts filled with Godfrey…her kind, gentle, warm, wonderful Godfrey. Oh, God, how she missed him!

But not in bed, as others in this house might imagine, she thought bitterly. In hindsight, her one intimate experience with Godfrey had been an utter failure in the physical sense. How could it have been otherwise, with her a virgin and Godfrey upset and unwell?

What she missed was Godfrey’s companionship. Their long talks into the night. Their listening to music together. His just being there, his calm and collected presence always having a soothing influence on her occasional burst of restlessness.

Their relationship had been a meeting of souls long before it had finally become a meeting of bodies. Sophia had no doubt that in other circumstances the physical side would have eventually become just as satisfying. She had not allowed herself to be too disappointed at the time, brushing aside any dismay over the brief and rather painful experience actual intercourse had turned out to be. She’d told herself there would be other nights. Next time, it would not hurt so much. Next time, things would be different.

But there had been no other nights, no next time…

When Sophia snapped back to the present, she was startled to find that she was standing there in the middle of the room, twisting the already mangled hat round and round in her hands. It took considerable effort for her to stop. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never felt quite like this before, so uptight and angry and knotted inside, as though she was a volcano waiting to erupt.

She still couldn’t get over hitting Jonathon as she had downstairs. And now she had obliterated a perfectly innocent hat. Yet still it wasn’t enough. The urge to scream out loud echoed in her head and she bit down hard on her bottom lip.

Tasting her own blood brought her up with a jolt.

Shock was swiftly followed by shame. What would Godfrey think of her, carrying on like this? It had to stop. Right now. This very second. She was a married woman, a mother-to-be, a grown-up, not a wild, uncontrollable child.

Jonathon’s parting words about her putting on a childish tantrum popped back into her mind, infuriating her with its potential accuracy. She would show him, she vowed fiercely. From this moment on she would be the epitome of female composure and maturity. There would be no more losses of temper, no more juvenile blushings. And no more silly stammering!

It was a subdued but steely Sophia who walked down the stairs a few minutes later, her face freshly madeup, her thick dark waves held back behind her ears with some combs. With each step she focused her mind on staying cool, calm and collected, but, from the moment her foot moved on to the Persian rug at the base of the stairs and she was faced with actually presenting herself at the drawing-room door, her composure began to crumble.

What would everyone be thinking about the dreadful exhibition she had made of herself earlier? No doubt they were wondering what Godfrey ever saw in such a hysterical ninny. They were also probably feeling very sorry for Jonathon, having been lumbered with a wife he didn’t want and a child that wasn’t his.

Sophia groaned her inner distress. Oh, why couldn’t Jonathon have just let her stay upstairs? He could have said she had a headache. Maud could have brought her a tray. God, if only she were more like Wilma. Wilma could handle any situation. She didn’t care what others thought, especially her boss.

Sophia had to literally force her legs to carry her across the foyer towards the drawing-room. When she moved gingerly into the thankfully open doorway, no one noticed her at first. Wilma was seated on the silk brocade couch, sipping sherry and chatting to a wanlooking Ivy. Jonathon was standing with Harvey next to the fireplace, both of them with large scotches in their hands. Maud was fiddling with the food on the sideboard.

When Sophia gave a nervous clearance of her throat, everyone stopped doing what they were doing to turn and look at her. She froze under their curious gazes, unable to take another step into the room. An awkward silence fell and she was contemplating bolting back upstairs when Jonathon extracted himself from Harvey’s side and strode forward, his blue eyes locking with hers and forcing her to remain exactly where she was.

‘Feeling better now?’ he enquired in his usual cool manner. The mark on his cheek had faded, she was glad to see.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ came her somewhat stiff reply, but without a stammer in sight, thank God. A sigh of relief puffed from her lungs. Maybe she would survive the next few minutes after all.

‘Good. Come and I’ll get you a drink, then,’ he said, and taking her hand in his, began to draw her across the room.

His grip was oddly gentle, such a contrast from the last time he’d held her hand upstairs, a few minutes ago. But it had no less of an effect on her, bringing a disturbing rise in her pulse-rate which she determinedly put down to nerves. Sophia refused to admit it could still be fear. Why should she fear Jonathon? The idea was ridiculous. Fear should be reserved for one’s enemies, and Jonathon was not her enemy. Nor did she really hate him. That had been the silly child within her thinking that a while ago.

She didn’t want anyone else thinking she hated him, either. Sophia came to a sudden decision, grinding to a halt and extracting her hand from Jonathon’s as she turned to face everyone else in the room.

‘I…I have something to say,’ she began, clasping her hands nervously together in front of her. ‘I…I’m very sorry for causing a scene earlier. And I’m very, very sorry for having hit Jonathon. No, please, Jonathon,’ she insisted when he went to interrupt, a grimace on his face. ‘I have to say this.’

She scooped in another steadying breath before continuing in a reasonably composed fashion. ‘It was very wrong of me to do what I did when you’ve been so kind. I can see the way Godfrey acted might have looked a little irresponsible to your eyes and I can understand why you feel angry with him. I can’t think of many brothers who would do what you have done here today.’ Tears pricked at her eyes but she held them back. ‘I’m sure Godfrey would have wanted me to co-operate with you, not…not make your life difficult. I…I feel as if I’ve let him down somehow.’

By this time, she was also finding it extremely hard not to cry. Wilma, probably seeing her distress, leapt to her feet.

‘What rubbish! You have done Godfrey proud today,’ she insisted firmly, coming forward to take both Sophia’s hands in hers. ‘Hasn’t she, everyone?’

There were murmurs of assent all round. But not, Sophia realised unhappily, from Jonathon. He stood beside her in stoical silence.

‘And I’m sure Jonathon holds no grudge against you for giving him a little slap,’ Wilma raved on. ‘I would imagine it’s not the first time a lady has given his cheek the taste of her hand,’ she added mockingly.

‘I can think of one woman who might benefit from the back of some man’s hand,’ he muttered under his breath so only Sophia and Wilma could hear.

The interchange quite startled Sophia out of her threatening misery. Her eyes darted to Wilma, who seemed delighted to have evoked such a reaction in her boss. When a drily amused smile pulled at Jonathon’s mouth, Sophia’s confusion was complete. Truly, she did not understand their relationship at all. Were they friend or foe?

‘Let’s sample some of this mouthwatering food Maud’s been bringing in,’ Wilma continued. ‘I’m starving.’

The evening went reasonably well for a while after that. Maud had prepared mainly finger-food which was easy to eat either standing up or by sitting with a small plate in one’s lap. Conversation revolved mostly around Maud’s delicious food and the recent spate of rainy weather, which were both very safe topics.

Not that Sophia was really enjoying herself. The strain of the day was taking its toll, the beginnings of a tension headache pressing in over her eyes. When Harvey poured her a glass of red wine she took it readily, settling down on the couch Ivy and Wilma had recently vacated. A small smile came to her lips as she sipped the drink and recalled the many evenings she had sat with Godfrey either before the fire or out on the back porch, drinking cheap claret and discussing the latest book she was reading.

She was completely off in another world, not noticing when Harvey sat down beside her, so that when he said, ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ she jumped in surprise. But her reply consisted of nothing but a sad little smile, knowing that a man like Harvey would never understand what she and Godfrey had shared; what she had felt for him. In his eyes—as in Jonathon’s—Godfrey had been a loser, a plain, balding thirty-seven-year-old loser who had no right to the love of a pretty young girl.

She’d seen everyone’s shocked looks when she’d been brought here to Parnell Hall and introduced as Godfrey’s de facto wife. Even his own mother had been surprised, despite Godfrey’s having been her favourite son. The news that Sophia was expecting his baby had initially been met with a stunned silence. Sophia was hurt for Godfrey, once she realised they hadn’t even believed he was man enough to father a child.

Well, they were wrong, weren’t they? she thought defiantly as she sat there, her fingers linking over her gently swelling stomach. He had fathered a baby, and next week, after she’d had her ultrasound, she would know if it was a boy or a girl. She hoped it was a boy. And she hoped he was just like Godfrey!

‘I can see you’re not in the mood for chit-chat,’ Harvey said quietly from her side. ‘I just wanted to say I think you’re great and I hope everything turns out well for you. But if it doesn’t and you ever need a shoulder to cry on, give me a call.’

Sophia was touched by the offer and turned a grateful smile his way. ‘That’s very kind of you, Harvey. I’ll remember that. Thank you.’

Harvey patted her wrist and stood up, almost brushing shoulders with Jonathon as he did so.

‘Leaving, are you, Harvey?’ Jonathon said in clipped tones.

Harvey seemed taken aback for a second before glancing at his watch. ‘Not yet,’ he returned. ‘I was just going to get myself another glass of wine.’

‘No more for Sophia,’ Jonathon ordered brusquely, glaring down at her near empty glass.

‘That’s up to her, isn’t it?’

Sophia was thinking the very same thing.

‘Jonathon,’ his mother interrupted, materialising by his side and thereby saving the awkward moment. ‘Why don’t you put some music on? Something nice and relaxing. Mozart, I think. You like Mozart, don’t you Sophia? You were playing him the other day.’

‘I adore Mozart,’ she agreed. ‘He was Godfrey’s favourite composer.’

Ivy’s sigh was wistful. ‘Of course…You know, I played him Mozart from the day he was born. It always put him to sleep.’

‘Mozart would put anyone to sleep,’ Jonathon muttered, his irritation obvious as he stalked over to the stereo and started flipping through the CDs.

‘Don’t take any notice of Jonathon,’ Ivy whispered as she sat down next to Sophia. ‘For some reason he’s always been a little jealous of Godfrey. Lord knows why. Poor Godfrey wasn’t born with any of his brother’s natural advantages. He was a sickly child, whereas Jonathon never even got colds. I couldn’t count the number of nights I had to spend sitting up with Godfrey, especially when he had asthma.’

Sophia began thinking that maybe Jonathon was jealous, not of Godfrey himself, but all the love and attention his mother obviously lavished on her older son. She’d never had any brothers and sisters herself, but she could well imagine it must be very hard growing up knowing a brother or sister was favoured over you. Still, it seemed Godfrey’s father had favoured his second son so maybe the love and attention bit was balanced out in the end.

Mozart’s Flute and Harp Concerto in C major brought a brief end to any conversation as its pristine notes cut through the drawing-room. Jonathon’s choice sent Sophia’s heart squeezing tight, plus a host of vivid memories to the forefront of her mind. She almost expected to look over at the empty armchair opposite and see Godfrey materialise, his head tipping back and his eyes closing as they did whenever he listened to this particular piece.

‘Aah,’ Ivy sighed next to her. ‘What magic…what bliss…’

Sophia gritted her teeth against the unexpected pain the music was evoking, knowing she could hardly ask for it to be turned off. But she couldn’t help grimacing a little as she glanced over towards the stereo. Jonathon turned around at that moment and their eyes met, Sophia shivering at the austere hardness in his face as he walked back towards her.

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