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
