Sophia felt a little shiver run through her and the smile stiffened on her lips. Opposite her, the man sitting at his ease in the wing chair lowered his lids over the clear hazel eyes and she realised she could not read his thoughts in the slightest. Then he looked up again, directly at her, and she saw the heat and the desire in his look and knew she could interpret one thought at least: he was thinking about yesterday afternoon. Was desire to be the only heat in this cool marriage? She shivered.
The falling notes of the hymn died away. The choir, who a moment ago had looked like a flock of cherubs, their innocent, well-scrubbed faces turned up towards the stained glass window of the east end of the church, became once more a group of freckled village boys, nudging each other as they sat down in the ancient oak stalls.
No doubt they had mice in their pockets and catapults hidden under their cassocks, Cal thought, amused by the normality of their barely disciplined naughtiness. Beside him Will cleared his throat and on his right hand Sophia closed her hymn book.
In a moment they would leave the high box pew and walk down the aisle to shake hands with the vicar who would be marrying them in three days’ time.
And Will and I can both get dead drunk tonight, Cal hoped. He was tired. Beyond tired, he thought, contemplating restless nights, hectic days and miles of travel.
Now all he wanted was sleep and to get this wedding over with. He had done everything that was needful, he thought. At the East India Company offices he had consolidated his position in a post that brought status, a doubling of what his salary had been in India and the opportunity for endless profitable investment in return for his total commitment to the Company’s interests.
He had reorganised his house in fashionable Mayfair to receive its new mistress. The rent was high—twice what he would have paid in the City—but they were going to move in the best society, not mingle with the cits. He had given his most superior butler carte blanche to appoint a fashionable lady’s maid and to make all ready for his return and he had come back here and endured Mrs Langley’s endless list-making and insistence on discussing every aspect of the wedding in wearisome detail.
Then there was a rustle of silk beside him as he walked up the path between the leaning gravestones and he looked down at Sophia, silent in lavender at his side. He held the lych gate for her and then offered his arm as they waited for the carriage to draw up. It was necessary to stand there and shake hands with some of the congregation who had gathered round, to agree that after such a terrible accident, such a tragedy, that it was a blessing that he was comforted by the support of Miss Langley, who had so bravely put aside her own grief to marry him.
No one appeared to think it strange that she should marry the wrong brother. It was the most logical solution, several people opined and, they added, when they thought they were out of earshot, very gallant of him to step in and prevent Miss Langley being left a spinster.
Cal was quite certain she had heard those whispers. Sophia’s chin was up, there was colour in her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling with what he strongly suspected was anger, not chagrin.
‘Don’t take any notice of them,’ he said when they were at last free to walk across to the carriage.
‘I do not like to be pitied,’ Sophia said.
‘Nonsense, they are jealous,’ Cal retorted. ‘At least, the ladies are. They all wish they could marry me.’
‘Why, of all the conceited men!’ She cut him a sideways glance. ‘You are jesting? Aren’t you?’
‘Certainly not. You have only to eavesdrop a little. I’m a son of the Hall—and Will has not yet produced an heir; I must be as rich as Golden Ball if I am in the East India Company and, according to Mrs Whitely, I have powerful thighs. Now what do you think she means by that?’
‘That your breeches are too tight,’ Sophia flashed back. ‘Mrs Whitely is a very foolish woman.’
‘She is certainly an outrageous flirt.’ The Whitelys had been amongst Will’s dinner guests last night and Cal had enjoyed an interesting passage with her in the conservatory. The lady certainly exhibited both experience and a willingness to demonstrate it, but even with the lingering frustration of controlling himself with Sophia, he had felt disinclined to oblige her amongst his brother’s potted palms.
While he was recalling Amanda Whitely’s charms Sophia had fallen silent. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’ she asked him after a moment. ‘Would Daniel really have wanted this?’
Cal did not pretend to misunderstand her. ‘You marrying me? Yes.’ It occurred to him as he said it that it was hardly tactful to be so certain. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Dan had fallen out of his attack of calf-love. But his brother had proposed, been accepted. There had been no way back from that, not without dishonour. And he had inherited that obligation. ‘He would have thought it for the best,’ he added. ‘I had promised him I would look after you. And I will.’
Despite his tiredness and his impatience with the whole palaver he found himself increasingly reconciled to this marriage, although he could not put a finger on quite why. Perhaps he was simply weary of being a bachelor. The prospect of a well-run home and not simply a house to lodge in was appealing.
Sophia slid her hand further into the crook of his arm. ‘Sometimes it seems disloyal and then I look at you and think that twins are not the same as ordinary brothers and perhaps it is all right. For him, I mean.’
‘Are we so alike to you, then?’ Cal asked as he handed her into the carriage. Physically they had been, he knew that. There had been times when he had caught sight of himself in a mirror and had spoken, thinking it was Dan who stood there. But once people were with them for any length of time they never seemed to have any problem telling them apart.
‘I have no idea,’ Sophia said as she sat down, smoothing her sombre skirts into order. ‘All I have are nine-year-old memories and drawings that are just as old. You will both have changed as you became men.’
‘So what are those memories?’ What had he got to live up to specifically? He had never been in love, only suffered the pains of adolescent calf-love years ago, so he had no idea what she was feeling still for his brother. But at least he could discover something about how she remembered him. He found he was eager to hear her speak of Daniel. Will had stopped halfway down the path to speak to a group of farmers; they would have their privacy for a few minutes more.
‘You mean, not the ones of our childhood, but of his courtship? He was fun to be with, very relaxed. He never took anything seriously—except how we felt, of course. He was kind.’ Her voice faltered and then gathered strength. ‘He was very … romantic. And gentle. We used to creep away and sit in the summerhouse for hours, but he never tried to … to take advantage of the situation. And I always felt he was with me when we were together, not off thinking about anything else. Except you, of course. He was always with you in his head.’
‘You noticed?’ It had never occurred to him that anyone else would realise how it was with twins.
‘Of course I noticed. I knew about it when we were children, but I realised more when I was in love with him,’ Sophia said with a simplicity that jolted him. ‘He would frown sometimes and say What’s the matter with Cal, I wonder? Or his mood would change suddenly, in a way that was nothing to do with what we were doing or saying and I guessed that was you in his head. Was it the same for you—that constant awareness of your twin?’ Callum nodded. ‘Oh, I am so sorry. To have lost that intimate contact with another mind must be very painful. And lonely.’
‘You understand that?’ He swallowed, hard, fearing for a moment that the blurring of his vision was tears. No one, not even Will, had realised just how alone he had felt, how emotionally empt
y he still was. How cut off. It was gradually getting better, he was healing and he was not allowing himself to brood, but it would catch him unawares sometimes, like the stab of a knife. And the dreams … ‘Yes, it was—is—lonely.’
She became a trifle pink and turned away from him to look out of the window, but he felt a touch on his fingers and glanced down. Sophia had taken his right hand in her left. ‘I wish I knew how to help.’ She gave a little squeeze and released him.