The Bride In Blue Page 3

  But she'd been wrong, realising within days of her arrival in the cosmopolitan city of Sydney and the elegant grandeur of Parnell Hall that she was still a country bumpkin, with few real social graces and no style at all. Wilma had done her best in the dress de­partment—she'd certainly been given enough money to squander—but a presentable face and good figure could not disguise Sophia's innate lack of sophisti­cation. Her recognition of her failings had obliterated her self-confidence, everything only made worse by her unfortunate reaction to Jonathon's bossy, almost bullying nature.

  Perhaps if he'd been a bit more like Godfrey…

  She sighed again, thinking to herself that she'd never known two brothers less alike.

  All the formalities over, Jonathon saw the hearty Mr Weston to the door while the rest of them re­turned to the sitting-room where Maud was still laying out the buffet supper she'd been preparing all afternoon. Ivy was standing around, looking lost. Wilma immediately pressed a sherry into her hands, Sophia declining. Harvey moved off to pour himself a drink from the selection of crystal decanters lined up next to the food.

  'I wanted to tell you how beautiful you look today, my dear,' Ivy complimented Sophia.

  'Blue's not her colour, though,' Wilma joined in tactlessly before Sophia could say a word. 'She'd have looked much better in cream with her dark colouring, but Sophia thought it too close to white.'

  'I can understand her not wanting to wear white,' Ivy murmured. 'If only poor Godfrey could have been here…'

  The words hung in the air, the group falling silent as the wretched reality of the occasion sank in.

  'Then there wouldn't have been a wedding at all, Mother dear,' Jonathon inserted drily into the emotion-charged atmosphere.

  All heads turned to stare at him, Wilma recovering first.

  'Hardly a fair thing to say,' was her tart comment, 'especially when Godfrey isn't here to defend himself.'

  'Oh I have no doubt that Godfrey meant to marry Sophia,' Jonathon elaborated, that sardonic edge still in his voice, 'but he was, at the time of his death, still married to Alicia. It takes twelve months after the initial application to gain a no-fault divorce in this country and Godfrey had instigated nothing in the three years he'd been away.'

  'Do we have to talk about that today, Jonathon?' Ivy looked quite distressed and Sophia's heart went out to her. 'We all know Godfrey meant to divorce that woman.'

  Jonathon, however, was not about to be swayed.

  'He didn't divorce her, though, did he?' he drawled. 'But that was just like Godfrey, wasn't it? Always meaning to do something but never getting round to it.'

  'Jonathon, don't,' his mother cried brokenly, a hand coming up to flutter at her throat.

  'I'm sorry, Mother, but I'm the one who's always had to pick up the pieces whenever Godfrey decided to run away from real life and embrace one of his fancies.'

  Sophia sucked in a sharp breath, but Jonathon swept on, seemingly intent on assassinating his brother's character.

  'The man never grew up, never developed a sense of responsibility. I'm prepared to forget his business fiascos, but when it comes to his personal life I find it hard to be as tolerant. Alicia might be a spoiled, mercenary bitch, but she didn't deserve being walked out on without a word. She's been in limbo for three years, for God's sake. The least Godfrey could have done was give her a divorce. Then what does he do? He takes up with a girl almost young enough to be his daughter and makes her pregnant when he knew, he knew dammit, that he was dying. What kind of selfish stupidity was that, I ask you?'

  A hushed silence descended on the room once Jonathon ran out of steam, and it was while the air vibrated with everyone's tension that Sophia stepped forward and slapped him hard around the face. The sound of her hand cracking across his cheek echoed with the gasps of shock her action produced. But she heard nothing, saw nothing except a haze of red-hot fury before her eyes.

  'Don't you ever,' she launched forth, her voice and body shaking with emotion, 'call my Godfrey selfish or stupid again, do you hear me? He might not have been perfect. He probably made mistakes. But Godfrey would never deliberately hurt another human being. He did whatever he did because he had to! As for his callously making me pregnant, nothing could be further than the truth! During the time I knew Godfrey, not once did he make improper advances to me, even after he took me in when I had nowhere else to go.

  'If you must blame someone for my pregnancy, then blame me. I went to my Godfrey's bed when he was obviously distraught and I comforted him the only way I could think of. Neither of us thought of the child we might have as a consequence, but do you know what? I'm proud I'm having Godfrey's baby. Extremely proud. He was a fine man and would have made a fine father. But I am not proud of being your wife, Jonathon Parnell. The day cannot come quickly enough that I have done with you!'

  So saying, she burst into tears and ran from the room, dashing up the stairs and along the hall into her bedroom where she threw herself on to the bed, weeping copiously into the green silk quilt.

  Downstairs, Jonathon was still staring after her, his face ashen, except for the bright red mark on his cheek.

  'Well, Jonathon?' Wilma mocked. 'I see the much vaunted Parnell charm is still intact.'

  'Go after her, man,' Harvey advised. 'Apologise profusely. Beg her forgiveness.'

  'Please, Jonathon,' Ivy pleaded. 'She's going to have Godfrey's child…'

  His eyes turned slowly towards his mother, then-expression haunted. 'Must I spend the rest of my life paying for the dubious privilege of being born in the image of my father?' he muttered.

  When no one commented further after this cryptic statement, he whirled and strode from the room, mounting the stairs two at a time till he disappeared from the others' view. Maud returned from the kitchen at that precise moment to find three silent, drooping faces.

  'What is it?' she demanded to know. 'What's happened?'

  'Jonathon said something that upset Sophia,' Wilma volunteered.

  'Oh, no, not again! What's wrong with that man? Can't he see what a prize that girl is? Why, if he had any brains he'd snap her up for himself good and proper.'

  'Life isn't that neat, Maud,' was Harvey's wry remark.

  'I don't see why not,' the old lady muttered crossly. 'She's a beautiful girl. He's a handsome man. They're married now. Why can't nature take its natural course?'

  'She's having his brother's baby, for pity's sake,' Wilma argued. 'Give the man a break. This hasn't been easy for Jonathon. Besides, Sophia is still very much in love with Godfrey.'

  'You're right,' Maud sighed. 'I'm just a silly old fool, thinking things can be all tied up with pink bows. So what are we going to do?'

  'I know what I'm going to do,' Harvey said, lifting his whisky and draining every drop. 'I'm going to have another drink.'

  'Good idea,' Wilma agreed. 'I'll join you.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  The first awareness Sophia had that someone had followed her came when the bed dipped low on one side, but she never dreamt it was Jonathon sitting there. She presumed it was Wilma, or maybe Maud. Not Ivy. Godfrey's mother was not one to confront or even actively comfort. She was a gentle, but very passive creature.

  So it wasn't till Jonathon actually spoke that she realised who it was in the room with her.

  'I'm sorry, Sophia,' he began with a ragged sigh. 'I have no excuse for my appallingly thoughtless be­haviour other than I've been finding it difficult to deal with certain aspects of Godfrey's life prior to his illness. I'm glad you've cleared up my misconception that he had somehow taken advantage of your youth and innocence. Please also believe me when I say I make no judgement of your actions, either with Godfrey or with me downstairs. I have nothing but admiration for the way you defended my brother just now. A man would kill to have a woman love him as you obviously loved Godfrey.'

  Sophia lay there for a moment, unsure if his seem­ingly heartfelt words had soothed, or flustered her further. She did not associate Jonathon with
apologies.

  Rolling slowly over, she encountered a face so bleak her heart filled with instant remorse. She couldn't see into his eyes for he was looking down at the floor, but the uncharacteristic droop of his head and shoulders pulled at her heartstrings.

  'I…I'm sorry too,' she whispered. 'I shouldn't have hit you.'

  When his head lifted and he twisted round to face her, Sophia gasped at the still stark imprint of her hand on his cheek. She had no idea she'd hit him that hard. Appalled, she reached up blindly with shocked fingers, a guilty groan escaping her lips as her shaking hand made contact with the red mark.

  'Don't!' he snapped, iron fingers enclosing her wrist and ramming her hand down on to the quilt, the action jerking her up into a semi-sitting position.

  With the abrupt movement, her hat, which had been partially dislodged when she'd first flung herself on the bed, fell off, the large comb holding her hair up also coming adrift, sending her dark glossy waves tumbling down around her face and shoulders.

  'Oh!' she cried.

  When she tried to disengage her hand from his to push back her hair, his grip remained fast, his eyes boring into hers with such intensity that she was com­pletely bamboozled by the whole situation. Did he think she'd been going to hit him again? Sophia couldn't see why he should. She'd already said she was sorry for that.

  So why didn't he say something? Why did he just sit there, staring at her like that? And why, oh, why couldn't she seem to find her own voice?

  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 childi
sh 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 made-up, 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 wan-looking 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.