Free The Stolen Bride by Jo Beverley

paper and read it. “‘Be brave, Sophie, and shed no tears. Your marriage will never come to pass.’ Where the devil did this come from?” He looked again at the sheet but there was no indication.
    “What does it mean?” Sophie asked, pale faced. She turned to Jane. “It reminds me of that nasty note you got from Crossley Carruthers, but this is worse.”
    The earl put the letter in his pocket. “It’s just as meaningless,” he said firmly. “Some malicious prankster. But from now on, Sophie, I will open your correspondence. There’s no need for you to be bothered by stuff like this.”
    Sophie told herself it was true, that the letter was a very unpleasant joke, but she couldn’t quite put it out of her mind. What did it mean, “Your marriage will never come to pass”? Did someone suspect her doubts and fears? She was extremely glad to soon be setting off to the Towers and Randal, where the unpleasantness of that letter would be washed away.
    As they settled in the open landaulet, parasols tilted against the warm sun, Beth said, “You must not allow that silly note to distress you, Lady Sophie.” She wanted to wipe the shadow from Lady Sophie’s lovely blue eyes.
    “But what if it means something?” Sophie asked.
    “What could it possibly mean?” Beth went on quickly to ask, “Is Lord Randal expecting you today?”
    It worked. Thought of Randal wiped away other matters. “He’ll expect me to come,” Sophie said with a secret smile. “Tomorrow there’s a picnic planned near the old abbey. On Thursday a visit to the fair at Wem.” She looked at Beth with humor, but it had a bitter edge.
    “He is perhaps trying to make these last days pass, Lady Sophie,” said Beth gently. “Anyone can wait two weeks for anything.”
    She saw a flicker of exasperation pass over the girl’s lovely face and revised her opinions. At Carne Abbey, Jane’s old home, Beth had realized Lady Sophie was not the silly ingénue she occasionally appeared. She was, in fact, deceptively deep and it would be as well to remember it.
    Beth looked down and traced the design on her lustring gown as she said, “We are not well acquainted, my lady, but sometimes a stranger is a better listener than family. If you have concerns I would be honored to try and help you.”
    She looked up and Sophie’s eyes met hers directly and honestly. “Thank you. I may ... But you must stop ‘my ladying’ me, then, you know. I refuse to discuss my love life otherwise.”
    “Well then, Sophie,” said Beth quietly, so as not to be overheard by the coachman, “what has you so out of tune? I could not help but see that you were out of sorts before that letter.”
    “Megrims, follies,” mused the younger woman. “Everyone could be right and it is just the waiting....”
    Beth decided she would have to probe. “Is it perhaps that you find you do not love Lord Randal as much as you thought?”
    Sophie smiled. “Good heavens, no. How could anyone not love him?”
    The blindness of love, thought Beth. No one would deny Lord Randal’s spectacular beauty, but many had managed to resist infatuation.
    Sophie spoke again, “But do you think he truly loves me?”
    Was this the problem? wondered Beth. “I really don’t know, Sophie, but there is every indication that he adores you. Why would you doubt it?”
    “I think it’s so unfair,” said Sophie sharply, “that a gentleman cannot withdraw from an engagement to marry. What choice has he? How am I to know?”
    Beth felt greatly relieved. This was a silly megrim and very similar to one Jane had suffered from. “He is old enough to know his mind,” she said firmly. “If he asked for your hand, you may be sure he wanted it.”
    It hadn’t quite worked with Jane either, Beth remembered now. Sophie’s smile was only courteous as she said, “Of course you are quite correct.” For the rest of the journey she kept up relentlessly superficial social chat and Beth knew she had failed badly. It