with both of them shouting. He refused to air his dirty linen in public. It was the last way he wanted Sophie to remember the moments after their wedding.
He struggled to find the right words which would tell his father that he was unwelcome if he persisted in this behaviour, but held the thinnest veneer of politeness. His only hope now was that Sophie remained unaware of how incredibly rude his father was being.
‘Of course you are invited,’ Sophie said with a perplexed frown. ‘You are Richard’s father and his nearest relation. Now you are mine. Had we known that you were expected today, we would have waited the ceremony for you.’
Unexpected tears came into his father’s eyes. ‘Truly? You would have waited for me?’
‘You failed to give a time or date of your arrival, Father. You have no one to blame but yourself,’ Richard said, silently blessing the fact that Sophie had not known about his father’s intended arrival. He could not have taken another night without her in his arms. ‘You must become more modern and consult a train timetable before you write your letters.’
His father gave an incommunicative grunt.
Richard barely restrained himself from shaking him.
‘Lord Hallington, I’m Dorothy Ravel, Sophie’s stepmother.’ Mrs Ravel bustled up and did an extravagant curtsy. Her many ribbons and flounces quivered.
His father looked taken back at the vision of ribbons, flounces and violent clashing colours which was Mrs Ravel.
Richard wanted to shake him for not seeing the good heart which beat underneath. He was going to react like his aunt and mother—condemning the Ravels for having too fine of a manner for their station before actually knowing them.
Mrs Ravel’s voice might not be cut-glass, but she was Sophie’s stepmother and now his mother-in-law. She deserved more respect than a curled lip. Surely his father had to see that there was no point in making matters worse and saying the words out loud where other people could hear?
‘You must come back for the wedding breakfast,’ Mrs Ravel said from where she remained in the curtsy. ‘I’m sure dear Bingfield had no idea of your arrival. You must be famished. I have made my famous seed cake. I found it wonderful for restoring the late Mr Ravel after travelling.’
His father’s eyes gleamed for an instant before his mouth turned down. ‘Seed cake? I am partial to seed cake, if it is properly made. You can’t get the sort I had as a child these days. More is the pity.’
There was a defiant tilt to Sophie’s head and her eyes flashed dangerously. ‘My stepmother’s seed cake is famous throughout Northumberland. She has won a number of competitions with it, including the blue riband at Stagshaw Fair last year. You should try it before you dismiss it out of hand, Lord Hallington.’
Richard glowed with pride. His father had not succeeded in cowing Sophie, despite his fearsome rage. His father’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound emerged.
‘I find any sort of shock is better dealt with a drop of Marsala and piece of seed cake,’ Mrs Ravel said in a soothing voice. ‘It is what my late husband, Sophie’s father, used to swear by.’
‘With an invitation like that, how can I refuse?’ His father inclined his head and his eyes began to twinkle. ‘Particularly when it is given by two such charming ladies.’
Richard’s neck muscles relaxed. Crisis averted. He silently bid farewell to his plan of taking Sophie away to the Alps for their wedding trip straight away. A few days’ delay while his father remained in Newcastle. He could not risk having his parents meet and not being there to deal with the fallout. His father was unpredictable at the best of times, and his mother might give way to hysterics. It would be wrong to expect Hannah to cope on her own.
He kicked himself for having given the promise to his mother to delay telling Sophie the full truth. But a promise was a promise, even if it was an unwise one. He could not break it without informing his mother first.
‘You must ride back in my carriage, Lord Hallington. The newlyweds need a bit of privacy. Now, you will advise me … What sort of clothes will dear Sophie need in her new position? I have not had time to sort out the trousseau. And a future marchioness needs to be a leader in fashion, rather than a follower. I am sure you understand, Lord Hallington, the necessity.’
Mrs Ravel hustled his astonished father away, leaving him alone with a white-faced Sophie. Her hand clutched her nosegay as if she were drowning and it was the only thing which could save her. His father had badly shaken her. He struggled to control his anger at his father and recapture that feeling of pride and anticipation he had had when they finished their vows.
‘Shall we go to this wedding breakfast?’
Sophie bit back her questions about Richard’s past until they were in Richard’s carriage. Safely out of earshot of anyone else. The last thing she wanted was the humiliation of having to ask for explanations for things her new husband should have told her about before they married. She had her pride.
When they had come out of the church, a light rain had started to fall, but a small crowd had gathered, waiting for them. She thought she’d seen Hannah Grayson hurrying away with a heavily veiled woman and somehow it made things worse.
Yesterday, Miss Grayson had been so happy about her upcoming wedding and all the plans. It was sure to be a big society affair with lots of friends and relations, much as Robert and Henri’s had been.
There could not be a greater contrast with her hurried hole-in-the-corner affair with barely anyone attending. She had never considered her wedding would be like this, particularly not with her bridegroom’s father demanding an explanation as to why Richard had married so quickly.
There could be only one conclusion. Lord Hallington had intended to stop this marriage, just as he had stopped another marriage. If he had arrived sooner, would Richard have even married her? Would she even have been in that carriage with him?
A small knot of misery formed in the pit of her stomach. Moments before she’d been so happy and excited to be married to Richard. Now she realised that she knew very little about him. She knew small things like how passionate he was about cricket and what a brilliant dancer he was, that he took his tea black, but she didn’t know any of the truly big things, particularly how he’d conducted his previous relationships. She’d waited and waited for him to talk about the scandals in his past, or indeed anything significant about his childhood, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t even given her a subtle opportunity. And now they were married. Rather than marrying a friend, she’d married a stranger.
‘When were you going to tell me about your father’s imminent arrival in Newcastle? Before or after the wedding trip?’ she asked in a deadly calm voice, the sort she only used when she was very upset. The taste of unshed tears slid down the back of her throat. She looked up at the roof and blinked rapidly. She absolutely refused to cry on her wedding day. Her wedding day! She was supposed to be happy, not feel as though she had been kicked in the stomach by a horse.
‘My father sent a note saying he intended to travel to Newcastle. He failed to give a date or time, merely that I should expect him.’ He put an arm about her shoulders, but she shrugged it off. ‘I am a grown man. I refuse to wait attendance on him.’
