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