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The Bride In Blue
Miranda Lee
Wedlocked! Brotherly love… ?It was Sophia's wedding day, but she wasn't a happy and radiant bride. How could she feel anything but blue when she wasn't marrying Godfrey, the man she'd loved and the father of the baby she was expecting? Instead she was to wed Godfrey's younger brother.Jonathon Parnell was coldly handsome, and ruthless about carrying out the deathbed promise he'd made to Godfrey: to marry Sophia and give their baby legitimacy and financial security. Jonathon had assured Sophia that this would be a marriage in name only, but now she was beginning to realize that he expected her to act the role of his wife - in every sense… ."Another display of superb storytelling." - Romantic Times



Table of Contents
Cover (#u3ff969ee-44c3-527d-8a92-7261c1c2e249)
Excerpt (#u7cf746bf-ef60-5d24-b83f-98798035cac8)
About the Author (#u345ea54e-f3ea-5a41-888c-694bc2acc587)
Title Page (#u2c180c79-eb6f-56a6-ab10-3e99881bf3e2)
Chapter One (#u4625bfb2-4756-5cb0-8015-7be22f6357bc)
Chapter Two (#u6410ccd4-206b-5c6f-8bdd-e3b446f4b409)
Chapter Three (#ue1348abb-8893-58f2-828d-f91687dab4b6)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“I’m a fool, a silly little fool!”
His face softened at her distress. “No, not a silly fool. A sweet, trusting soul who needs a crash course in life if she’s to survive in this world. You lived a fantasy life with Godfrey, Sophia. It wasn’t real. My brother always ran away from life and, for a while, so did you. Maybe it’s time you joined the real world…saw what real men are like!”
“What…what do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean.”
MIRANDA LEE is Australian, living near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school educated and briefly pursued a classical music career before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three grown-up daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include reading meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.
Miranda Lee is the author of Hearts of Fire.

The Bride In Blue
Miranda Lee


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5d917695-9413-5095-a3a7-987cc18fe978)
‘IT’S time, Sophia.’
A shudder rippled down Sophia’s spine at the sound of the quietly spoken words. Taking a deep steadying breath, she turned from where she’d been standing at the bedroom window, staring blindly out at the lengthening shadows.
She tried not to look as wretched as she felt. After all, a bride was supposed to be happy on her wedding-day. But it was impossible to smile, or feel anything other than depressed.
The man who was about to become her husband filled the open doorway, looking impressive in a beautifully tailored grey three-piece suit. Sophia had always thought him a strikingly handsome man, with his strongly sculptured face, jet-black hair and compelling blue eyes. But it was a cold, forbidding kind of beauty, and she had never warmed to it. She shivered when his dark brows drew together, narrowed eyes sweeping over her.
‘You’re not wearing white,’ he said brusquely.
Gulping, she glanced down at the pale blue suit she herself had chosen, mostly because the softly pleated skirt and thigh-length jacket disguised her rapidly changing figure. It had a matching hat—a small soft thing with a blue flower on one side and a wispy veil that came down over her forehead.
When Wilma had tried to steer her towards something white, she’d been firm in her refusal. White would have been hypocritical. Not because she thought herself impure, but because her wedding was not a romantic wedding. It was simply the fulfilling of a deathbed promise.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’
Her succinct answer was not inspired by defiance but by fear. Jonathon Parnell frightened the life out of her.
Sophia had never met a man as intimidating as Godfrey’s younger brother. Not even Joe, her bullying stepfather, had produced the sorts of reactions in her this man could produce. She fairly quailed in Jonathon’s presence, becoming tongue-tied or simply stupid. Sometimes she even stammered, which was why she tried to answer him in monosyllables.
‘You were entitled to wear white,’ he growled. ‘Any wrongdoing lay entirely with my brother.’
Her dark brown eyes flung wide at this unjust misreading of what Godfrey had supposedly done. Perhaps he should have told her he was married, but there had been no heartless seduction, no taking advantage of her tender age, or forcing her against her will. She’d gone to his bed willingly and would have done it more than that one time, if she’d had the chance.
But of course, she hadn’t had the chance. Godfrey had collapsed the following day and within a few short weeks, he was gone. She would never see him again. He would never see his baby…
Tears filled her eyes.
‘Come now, don’t cry,’ Jonathon ordered curtly, drawing a snow-white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket as he strode across the room. ‘What’s done is done. Don’t go messing up those lovely eyes of yours.’
This most uncharacteristic compliment flustered Sophia, as did the feel of Jonathon’s large hands pressing the handkerchief into her tremulous fingers.
That was another of the things about him that she found intimidating. His size. He was a very big man. Not only tall, but powerfully built with broad shoulders, a massive chest and long muscular legs.
Godfrey had been much shorter and of a slight build, with elegant, almost feminine hands. He hadn’t towered over Sophia’s five-foot-two frame as his brother did; hadn’t made her feel like a child by comparison. Jonathon could pick her up and snap her in two, if he wanted to.
‘Th-thanks,’ she said, her voice and hands both shaking as she dabbed at her eyes.
‘Why do you always act as though you’re scared to death of me?’ Jonathon growled.
There was something other than exasperation in his voice that made her glance up at him through her soggy lashes. But the hard blue eyes that looked back at her were as remote and unreadable as ever.
‘I…I d-don’t mean to,’ she whispered, but her husky stammering belied her words.
A guilty remorse curled her stomach. The man deserved better than her irrational and no doubt irritating nervousness whenever he came within three feet of her. His treatment of her since Godfrey’s death had been impeccable. He’d brought her to live in his own home, provided her with every material thing she could possibly want, even had his own secretary befriend her so that she wouldn’t be lonely for female companionship.
And now…now he was about to give her what no other person could. The name of Parnell for her baby. Her beloved Godfrey’s name.
The least she could do was show gratitude, not fear. After all, he wasn’t expecting anything from her in return. The marriage would be in name only, to be quietly terminated at some future date.
‘Smile, then,’ he commanded.
The smile she dragged up proved acting was not her forte. When Jonathon sighed, Sophia’s smile faded, her wretchedness returning. Only by a supreme effort of will did she keep the tears at bay.
His hand on her arm was as firm as his voice. ‘Come along. People are waiting.’
Instant alarm had her resisting his pull. ‘People? But I thought…I mean…’
Jonathon’s face carried frustration. ‘For pity’s sake, don’t get me wrong. People does not mean a crowd. There’s only Mother, Harvey, Wilma, Maud and the celebrant. OK?’ he asked with exaggerated patience.
Her eyes told him that things were far from OK, but she nodded her compliance.
‘Shall we go, then?’
‘I suppose so,’ she replied resignedly, the first smoothly delivered answer she had ever given him. Odd that it seemed to irk him as much as her usual gibberish.
Sophia realised at that moment that Godfrey’s brother found everything about her a trial of the first order, not just her lack of confidence and sophistication. He’d done his best to hide his frustration with her and the unenviable position his vow to his brother had put him in, but she could see now that the coolly aloof manner he adopted with her hid a very real annoyance.
The thought upset her, so much so that as Jonathon was leading her down the wide sweeping staircase, she felt impelled to say something.
‘Jonathon,’ she began, doing her very best not to stammer or bumble her way over his name.
Unfortunately, he stopped walking and looked over at her, the last thing she wanted. That cold blue gaze was as unnerving as the rest of him. ‘What?’
Sophia licked dry lips before launching forth. ‘I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you’re doing today. I…I also wanted to reassure you that I’ll set you free of me as soon as possible.’
There! She’d managed to say it all with only the one little slip-up. She even managed a small smile.
Not, however, with any good effect. That wintry gaze grew frostier, if anything.
Dismay washed through her as her earlier conclusion about Jonathon’s feelings was confirmed. Nothing she could say or do would ever really please him. As soon as possible was not soon enough.
‘I think, Sophia,’ he returned coolly, ‘that Godfrey had a more permanent arrangement in mind when he made me promise to marry you. He wanted his child not only to carry the name of Parnell, but to be brought up a Parnell with all the advantages that would give him or her. Of course, I appreciate that you might wish to be free to find another man like Godfrey to share your life with, which is why I originally suggested a divorce after your baby is born. But please do not feel any pressure to set me free of this marriage.’
‘But I can’t stay married to you,’ she protested. ‘Not…not forever!’
His shoulders lifted and fell in a nonchalant shrug. ‘I am not suggesting you do. I am, however, telling you that there’s no hurry on my part to get another divorce. You’ve lived here for several weeks without disturbing my equilibrium. In fact, you seem to have fitted into the household exceptionally well. Both Mother and Maud have grown quite fond of you. Since I have no intention of ever marrying again, feel free to embrace the sanctuary of being married to me for as long as you like.’
His mouth pulled back into a sardonic smile. ‘If you are concerned for my sex life, then don’t give it a second thought. I have never had any trouble finding women to keep me well satisfied in that regard and see no reason why I shall in future. Naturally, I will be discreet. And I expect you to be the same,’ he finished on a sharper note.
She stared at him, her eyes rounding. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Did he honestly think that at four months pregnant she would go looking for…for…?
A fierce blush invaded her cheeks. ‘I don’t think you’ll have to worry about me on that score,’ she flung at him, outrage making her words flow. ‘I loved Godfrey, and I will love him to my dying day. There will be no other man for me. Not ever!’
The corner of his mouth lifted in a cynical fashion. ‘A nobly romantic sentiment, I’m sure, but not a very realistic one. You’re only nineteen, Sophia. A young woman not yet in her sexual prime. Some day, there’ll be another man for you.’
‘Maybe so,’ she said heatedly, ‘but certainly not in the next five months. I don’t know how you could suggest such a disgusting thing. I’m carrying Godfrey’s child!’
Their eyes clashed and for a split-second Sophia could have sworn she glimpsed something dark and dangerous swirl within those icy blue depths.
‘Is there anything wrong, Jonathon?’ came a shaky query from below.
Both of their heads snapped around and down.
Ivy Parnell stood at the bottom of the staircase, a frail, white-haired figure dressed in a grey chiffon dress that had a draining effect on her equally grey face. She was looking up at them with a worried expression in her faded blue eyes.
‘Not at all, Mother,’ Jonathon returned smoothly. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’
‘You sounded as if you were arguing,’ came her plaintive remark when they joined her on the Persian rug that covered the black and white tiled foyer.
‘Sophia was under the misconception that I might want a divorce as soon as her baby is born,’ Jonathon explained. ‘I was reassuring her that wasn’t the case.’
Ivy turned alarmed eyes towards Sophia. ‘Dear child, you shouldn’t be worrying about such things at this moment. Why, even when you and Jonathon do eventually get divorced, you’re going to stay here with us and we’re going to look after you and your baby just as poor Godfrey wanted. We all love you already, don’t we, Jonathon? You’re the daughter I never had, the sister Jonathon never had. Tell her she must stay.’
Though touched by Ivy’s warmth and kindness, Sophia only needed a quick glance Jonathon’s way to see he didn’t concur with his mother’s sentiments. There was no affection for her in his staunchly held face, not even a brotherly one. She was a burden he had to endure, a cross he had to bear. All she could hope was that time would soften his hard heart towards her. Maybe when his niece or nephew was born, his attitude might change. Babies had a way of winding themselves around even the hardest of hearts.
And she did want Jonathon to warm to her. He was the brother of the man she’d loved so very deeply. She wanted her baby’s uncle to like her at least. It hurt her that he didn’t seem to, especially when she didn’t know why exactly.
To be honest, she didn’t like him much either. He made her so uncomfortable. Maybe she made him just as uncomfortable. One didn’t always need a reason to dislike someone. It could be an instinctive reaction.
Come to think of it, Jonathon had been cold to her from the very first moment they’d met, in Godfrey’s hospital room. At the time she’d thought he was embarrassed, because he’d walked in on them embracing, but, looking back, she believed there had been an instant antagonism on his part.
‘I’ve already told Sophia she was welcome to stay,’ Jonathon informed his mother somewhat impatiently. ‘And that there’s no hurry for a divorce. What there is some hurry for, however, is the marriage itself. The celebrant told me he has another appointment at six, so let’s go in.’
The celebrant looked relieved as the three of them entered the formal sitting-room where the ceremony was to take place. So did the others.
Wilma shot Jonathon a reproachful glare, which brought a tiny smile to Sophia’s lips. Wilma did not fit the stereotyped image of a tycoon’s private secretary. She wasn’t at all beautiful or glamorous or gushingly attentive of her boss. She was pushing forty—skinny, plain, opinionated and downright prickly.
She had been Mr Parnell Senior’s secretary before he died, Jonathon inheriting her, along with the family business. In Wilma’s words, their relationship had been rocky for a while, but in the end, she and Jonathon had forged an understanding.
Sophia was astounded at the way Wilma spoke to her boss at times, but there again, Jonathon gave as good as he got. Worse, most of the time. Sophia suspected that if she’d been his secretary she’d have quit within a week. In a weird way she gained a degree of secret satisfaction at Wilma’s liberated stance.
Wilma’s scowl vanished when she shifted her regard to Sophia. Now she smiled, mouthing, ‘You look beautiful.’ Sophia smiled back, feeling a warm gratitude swell her heart. Wilma had become a good friend over the past few weeks. If it hadn’t been for her sound common sense and pragmatic advice, Sophia suspected she might have cracked up entirely.
The lady standing next to Wilma had been similarly supportive. Maud had been the housekeeper in the Parnell household since the year dot. No one knew how old she was, but sixty-five would not have been far astray, though she was very sprightly for her age. And a hard worker.
She’d been cool to Sophia at first, till Sophia had made it clear that she had no intention of lounging around Parnell Hall like some parasite. From day one, she’d insisted on doing her own room and en-suite, as well as helping in any way she could.
Sophia had had plenty of practice with housework during her growing-up years and saw no reason to sit around like a useless lump, simply because she was pregnant. Maud had become her champion in this regard a week or two after her arrival when Jonathon expressed the opinion—quite dogmatically—that she shouldn’t be doing the cleaning in her ‘condition’.
‘The girl’s pregnant, not sick!’ Maud had argued with a forthrightness reminiscent of Wilma. ‘When I had my Jerry, I worked right up till they carted me off to the hospital. Provided the girl is healthy, then no harm can come to her. What do you expect her to do, sit around painting her nails all day?’
Sophia had been astounded when this last remark seemed to strike Jonathon dumb, though his eyes spoke volumes. He’d given Maud a savage look and marched off, clearly furious. Maud’s grin of secret triumph had sparked a curiosity within Sophia that she hadn’t as yet satisfied. Though she did suspect that the lady who had filled in her time painting her nails must have been Jonathon’s ex-wife. Who else could have inspired such a reaction?
Sophia found herself thinking of Jonathon’s ex-wife again as they stood, side by side, in front of the marriage celebrant. All she knew about Jonathon’s first marriage was that the divorce had become final only recently. Had his wife been beautiful? Had he loved her as much as she had loved Godfrey? If so, who had divorced whom, and why?
Wilma had implied once or twice that Jonathon had been deeply hurt by his divorce, suggesting that his wife had been at fault. Maybe she’d had an affair…
Sophia found it hard to imagine any woman being unfaithful to Jonathon. Who would dare?
She slid a surreptitious glance over at him, standing ramrod-straight, his shoulders as squared as his chiselled jaw-line. There wasn’t a weak line in either his face or his body. Sophia realised some women might be attracted to Jonathon’s strong silent type, but she knew she could only ever be drawn to a man who showed a degree of sensitivity and compassion.
Godfrey had been all sensitivity and compassion.
Sophia could still remember the day they’d first met, when she’d stumbled, weeping, into the old orchard behind the deserted farmhouse next door. She’d thrown herself down into the cool sweet grass under the spreading branches of an ancient apple tree and cried and cried till there were no tears left.
It was then that Godfrey’s gentle voice reached her ears.
‘What has happened, lass, to upset you this much? Sit up and tell your Uncle Godfrey all about it.’
Frightened at first, she had shot to her feet, about to run, but the sight of Godfrey sitting at his easel, looking so unlike an accoster of young ladies, eased her fears. His eyes were a gentle grey, his soft brown hair already receding, and he had a way of looking at one that warmed and gladdened the soul.
Jonathon accused his older brother of being a dreamer and a fool, but to her he’d been a saint and a saviour. She hadn’t fallen in love that first day when she’d poured out her heart to him. But by the time he’d given her sanctuary two years later he’d meant the world to her.
Her whole chest contracted, her eyes shutting momentarily as she struggled to gather herself. She shouldn’t have started thinking about Godfrey. Biting her bottom lip till the pain propelled her out of her reverie, Sophia still found that her fingers had begun twisting feverishly together.
Jonathon clamped both of his large hands over hers, holding them in a rock-like grip as the celebrant started speaking.
‘We’ve come together on this lovely September afternoon to celebrate the marriage of Jonathon and Sophia…’
He droned on, Sophia hating the sentimental words, hating the way Jonathon was holding her still, hating Jonathon. It should have been Godfrey standing beside her, not this cold, heartless individual. Godfrey, with his love of everything fine and gentle and romantic. He’d taught her so much, about music and poetry and literature and art, shown her a world she hadn’t known existed, a world he’d always loved but had been denied him most of his life.
Not that Sophia had known about Godfrey’s background prior to his falling ill. She hadn’t gleaned much about his past life even then, from either Godfrey or Jonathon or Mrs Parnell, who was so upset by her son’s advanced cancer that she was incoherent most of the time.
Wilma had finally filled in the missing pieces for her: how Henry Parnell’s first-born son had not taken after his father at all, inheriting instead his mother’s softer nature, as well as her appreciation of culture and gentility. As an adolescent, Godfrey had yearned to become first a dancer, then a painter, only to have both his ambitions scorned as effeminate by his domineering father.
Godfrey, as the elder son, was supposed to follow in his father’s footsteps in the family property development business, but he’d hated the ruthless cut and thrust of the real estate world from the start. Not that he hadn’t tried to conform to his autocratic father’s wishes. He had, even to marrying the daughter of another wealthy property tycoon, though his failure to sire an heir had only added to his general sense of inadequacy.
When he’d deserted the family company and his unhappy marriage shortly after his father’s death of a heart attack, no one had been seriously surprised. Neither had anyone been surprised when Jonathon had slipped into his father’s shoes to make Parnell Property Developments more successful than ever. He was the spitting image of his father in looks, business acumen and ambition.
While the family business had benefited by Godfrey’s defection, his mother hadn’t. Ivy had become ill with worry over wondering where Godfrey was and what he was doing. His only communication had been a letter with a Sydney postmark which he’d sent shortly after he left, saying he was all right but that he had to live his own life and not to worry about him.
Jonathon had tried to trace his whereabouts but could never find him, not knowing that Godfrey had changed his surname to Jones and was living in a rundown farmhouse just outside the old mining town of Lithgow, over a hundred miles from Sydney.
Any happiness and relief Ivy had felt when Godfrey had finally contacted his family had been superseded by her devastation at his illness and subsequent death. Sophia took some comfort from the fact that in five months’ time she would be able to put Godfrey’s child in Ivy’s arms. Maybe then the woman would come really alive again.
An elbow jabbing into her ribs jolted Sophia back to reality.
‘Say “I will,”’ Jonathon hissed into her ear.
‘I…I w-will,’ Sophia stammered, to her mortification.
‘God,’ came the low mutter from beside her.
Jonathon bit out his ‘I will’ as if he were giving a guilty verdict for murder. When the celebrant pronounced them ‘as one’ in a flowery way, followed by a sickening smirk and a ‘you may kiss your bride’, Sophia darted Jonathon an anxious look.
She didn’t want him to kiss her but she couldn’t really see how they could avoid it. Everyone else knew their marriage was a sham, but the celebrant didn’t. Jonathon looked just as reluctant to oblige, but, seeing perhaps that he had no alternative, he took Sophia firmly by the shoulders, turned her his way and bent his head.
Sophia steeled herself for the cold imprint of his mouth on hers, so she was somewhat startled to find that the firm lips pressing down on hers were quite warm. Her eyelashes fluttered nervously, her mouth quivering tremulously beneath his. His mouth lifted, and for a second he stared down into her surprised face. Something glittered in that cold blue gaze.
Then he did something that really shocked her.
He kissed her again.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_14afaa2e-2478-5ca0-b6d8-6c704da1e044)
SOPHIA’S first response was a bitter resentment. Who did he think he was, forcing another kiss on her when he knew she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her at all?
But as those determined lips moved over hers a second time, Sophia’s resentment was shattered by an astonishing discovery. Jonathon’s mouth on hers was not an entirely unpleasant experience.
Of course, I’m not really enjoying it, she kept telling herself for several totally bewildering seconds.
When Jonathon made no move to end the kiss, the pressure of his mouth increasing, if anything, Sophia began to panic. What must the others be thinking? The grip on her shoulders increased as well, his fingers digging into her flesh. When Sophia felt his tongue demanding entry between her lips, she gasped and reefed her head backwards.
Her eyes, which had closed at some stage, flew open, flashing outrage. But Jonathon was already turning away to shake the celebrant’s hand.
‘I never tire of seeing couples genuinely in love,’ the man said, pumping Jonathon’s hand. ‘But if you don’t mind, Mr Parnell, could we sign the appropriate documents straight away? I really must dash.’
Jonathon turned back to Sophia then, his eyes and demeanour as unflappable as ever, while her face was burning up, her heart still beating madly in her chest. How dared he presume to kiss her like that?
Not that she didn’t know what lay behind it. Frustration. He was frustrated with the situation his deathbed promise to Godfrey had put him in. A kiss, Sophia imagined, could be an expression of anger as well as love—both emotions capable of evoking a fiery passion.
It just showed what kind of man Jonathon was. Nothing like Godfrey at all! Godfrey would never have kissed her out of anger or frustration. Why, Godfrey hadn’t even kissed her at all till that fateful night. Even then, she’d been the one to initiate the first kiss. Not that he hadn’t kissed her back quickly enough, cupping her cheeks and covering her face with beautiful, gentle kisses.
Her eyes misted with the memory of the sweet pleasure they had evoked, of how they had fulfilled all those wonderfully romantic dreams she’d been harbouring about Godfrey for such a long time.
‘Sophia.’
The impatient calling of her name snapped her out of her daydreaming, as did those harsh blue eyes glowering at her blurred vision.
‘W-what?’
‘Good God,’ Jonathon muttered darkly.
‘You have to sign the marriage certificate, Mrs Parnell,’ said a gentler male voice beside her. ‘It’s all set up in Jonathon’s study.’
She glanced over her shoulder up at Harvey Taylor’s smoothly urbane face. In his mid-thirties, Harvey was as fair as Jonathon was dark. Apparently, he had inherited control of Taylor and Sons—Solicitors, around the same time Jonathon took charge of Parnell Properties. He and Jonathon had gone to school together, both of them excelling in their studies. But he possessed none of Jonathon’s hard-edged strength, either in his face or his nature. He was a charming man, but a little weak, Sophia suspected.
Still, it was good to feel a kind hand on her arm for a change, and she liked the way he was looking at her. With admiration and respect. Not like her pretend husband. His eyes carried nothing but an illconcealed exasperation.
‘Best you bring her along, Harvey,’ Jonathon said with a sardonic twist to his mouth. ‘You seem to have the right touch. Mother, you can help Maud with the refreshments while we get the paperwork out of the way. Wilma! You have to come with us, being one of the witnesses. This way, Mr Weston. The study is just across the hall…’ And he was striding away from them without a backwards glance.
‘Yes, commandant,’ Wilma saluted to Jonathon’s rapidly disappearing back, and marched off after him.
Sophia couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping her lips.
‘You should take a leaf out of Wilma’s book,’ Harvey whispered as he ushered Sophia in the secretary’s wake. ‘Jonathon can’t hurt you if you don’t let him, Sophia.’
She lifted startled eyes. ‘Why should you think he can hurt me at all? You better than anyone know this isn’t a real marriage. Jonathon and I will be divorced as soon as the baby is born.’
‘That is your intention now, I’m sure, but Jonathon is a very attractive man. What if you fall in love with him? What if he decides having a wife who looks like you is just what the doctor ordered?’
She ground to a halt in the doorway of the study and stared at Harvey, his last remark not even registering after his first ridiculous suggestion. ‘I will never fall in love with Jonathon. Never!’
When Harvey suddenly frowned, his eyes darting to a spot behind her left shoulder, she spun round to find a stony-faced Jonathon standing there. ‘Do you think we might get on with signing these papers?’ he rapped out.
‘Sure thing,’ Harvey agreed smoothly, and waved Sophia into the room.
She hesitated, her emotions seesawing between embarrassment and guilt. Yet why should she feel guilty at Jonathon’s overhearing her assertion? He already knew her feelings about falling in love again, and while she could concede she might love another man at some point in the far distant future, that man would never be someone like him. She could only love a man who made her feel good about herself, who made her feel special, not gauche and stupid.
‘Sophia,’ Harvey murmured, and urged her into the room.
But as she made her way across the polished parquet flooring on to the richly patterned rug that lay in front of the huge oak desk, flashes of the first time she’d stood in front of this desk jumped into her mind.
It had been the day after Godfrey’s funeral, a cold, wet, windy August morning on which she hadn’t been able to drag herself out of bed. She’d been lying there, watching the rain slap against the window, when Maud had come in with the message that Jonathon wanted to see her in his study when she finally did get up.
A guilty embarrassment had propelled her out of bed immediately, hating for Godfrey’s brother to think she was going to be a lazy house guest. Showering hurriedly, she’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a pale peach sweater, put a few vigorous brushstrokes through her long dark hair, subdued its thick waves into a single plait then practically run downstairs, only ten minutes having passed since Maud had come into her room.
Her knock on Jonathon’s study door had been timid. Not so the barked, ‘Come,’ from within. Taking several hopefully steadying breaths, she’d gone inside, shutting the door carefully behind her. Her sidewards glances had been nervous, however, as she’d hesitantly approached the desk, the room being as intimidating as its owner. Wood-panelled walls, masses of bookshelves filled with heavy-looking tomes, dark curtains at the windows blocking most of the natural light from entering. Not a welcoming room at all.
‘You…you wanted to see me?’ she asked, feeling like a recalcitrant student who’d been hauled in front of the headmaster for misconduct.
When Jonathon looked up from his paperwork, he leant back in his chair, removing himself from the circle of light from his desk lamp. His face fell into shadow, making him appear more menacing than usual.
‘Pull up a chair, Sophia,’ he ordered. ‘We have things to discuss.’
‘D-d-discuss?’
He sighed. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you just sat down and listened.’
Sophia agreed wholeheartedly, despising herself for stammering all the time. She couldn’t understand why he had such an effect on her. She’d never stammered before in her life. There again, she’d never had anything to do with anyone quite like Jonathon Parnell before.
She settled into a large brown leather chair, happy to fall silent.
‘I’m sorry to intrude on your grief,’ he started, without much apology in his brusque voice. He wasn’t even looking at her, some papers on his desk holding his attention. ‘But there are legal matters I must make you aware of. Godfrey’s will—made a few years back unfortunately—leaves everything to his wife. The one who didn’t even bother to come to his funeral yesterday,’ he muttered before glancing up and giving Sophia a long, hard look. ‘Though perhaps it was as well she chose not to show up…’
He sighed a weary sounding sigh. ‘Whatever, Godfrey left her his entire estate, which includes the home at Roseville he once lived in with Alicia, and which she has been occupying since he disappeared, plus its contents, as well as a third share in Parnell Properties, all up valued at approximately fifteen million dollars.’
Sophia simply gaped. Godfrey had been a millionaire? And yet he’d lived so poorly during the years she’d known him, never buying any new clothes, growing his own vegetables, cutting firewood from dead trees. It had been a hand-to-mouth existence, his only extravagance being his art supplies. She’d often teased him about what he could do with the money when he became a famous painter. Now she understood why he’d brushed aside her fantasies, telling her instead that money didn’t bring happiness and never to believe it could.
‘My solicitor informs me, Sophia,’ Jonathon went on, ‘that you could contest the will on the grounds that you lived with Godfrey as his common-law wife for at least six months preceding his death, and are expecting his child.’
Sophia opened her mouth to protest that first assumption, then closed it again. She had lived with Godfrey, she supposed. What difference did it make that they hadn’t consummated their relationship till that last night? Still…contesting Godfrey’s will didn’t feel right. He’d had enough time and opportunity to change his will, if that was what he’d wanted to do.
Godfrey’s words came back to her about money not bringing happiness and she knew then that she didn’t want any of the money he’d left behind, the money that had obviously made him miserable. But before she could open her mouth again, Jonathon preempted her.
‘Knowing you,’ he drawled, ‘I’m sure you don’t want to do that any more than I want you to. Besides, Alicia is not the sort of woman to go quietly in matters of money. Any contesting of Godfrey’s will could get very nasty and very expensive. There’s no guarantee of your winning, either. So I would not advise that course of action. Godfrey entrusted you to me, knowing I would never see you destitute, so I have set up a trust fund for yourself and the child, in exchange for which you will sign a legal waiving of your rights to Godfrey’s estate and any more Parnell money. How does that sound to you?’
She hesitated. How could she refuse financial security for her child and herself? That would be crazy. And it wasn’t the same as fighting for that obscene amount of money. Jonathon obviously wasn’t talking about millions, just enough for her to live on.
The only problem was that it was Jonathon’s money. Sophia hated feeling obliged to him for more than he’d already given her. Dear heavens, he’d spent a fortune on her already, having Wilma select her a new wardrobe and a host of other things. Still, she supposed he must be very rich too and wouldn’t really miss it, so she swallowed and nodded her assent.
‘Good,’ he muttered. ‘For a second there, I thought you were going to be stubborn and foolish. Again.’
Sophia blushed, knowing he was referring to her distress over the price-tags on some of the clothes Wilma insisted she buy. Sophia had telephoned Jonathon at his office in a panic, only to have her protest swept aside with total exasperation. Instead of his admiring her for not wanting to spend his money, he’d seemed angry at her worrying.
She’d since learnt not to complain when he ordered her to buy something he thought she needed. Her dressing-table was covered in jars of cosmetics and bottles of perfume she’d never opened, her drawers full of expensive and very delicate lingerie she felt it a sin to wear on an everyday basis. As if she’d been interested in material things, anyway, when her Godfrey was dying.
Jonathon came forward on his chair and cleared his throat. ‘Now along to the matter of our getting married…’
Sophia sat up straight. She’d been wondering when he’d get round to that. Of course, he wouldn’t want to go through with it. No one could condemn him for that. People said anything to make a person’s last days happy.
‘If you’ll just sign where indicated,’ he said, picking up a sheet of paper, turning it round and facing it towards her, ‘we should be able to get married next month.’
‘You mean you…you still want to m-marry me?’
His coming forward in the chair to pass over the document had brought him into full light, so that she saw the hard glitter in his blue eyes. ‘The word “want” does not come into it, Sophia. I have no other option. I could not live with myself if I did not fulfil my promise to my brother, for it was the first and only thing he has ever asked me to do for him. I realise I am not the sort of man you would choose for a husband, but we only have to go through the motions. It will not be a real marriage. Later on, we can secure a discreet divorce.’
Sophia gulped when he directed a pen her way.
Her hand had trembled as she took it, her signature wobbly. Now, five weeks later, she was signing her marriage certificate on the same desk, and her hand was shaking just as much.
When she’d signed for the last wobbly time, Sophia heaved a sigh of relief and gave the pen to Wilma who stepped forward with her usual brisk confidence. Dressed in a severely tailored brown woollen suit with black patent accessories, her straight brown hair cropped mannishly short, she still exuded a strength of personality that was oddly attractive. In seconds, she’d whisked her distinctive signature in the allotted spaces, followed by an equally dashing Harvey.
Sophia watched them both with a degree of envy. One day, she would be like that, she vowed. Undaunted by any situation, and totally in command of herself.
Her sigh carried a certain amount of disappointment in herself that all Godfrey had achieved with her had turned out to be an illusion. She’d mistakenly believed he’d turned her from a shy, ignorant girl into a culturally informed young woman who would not have been at a loss in any company.
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, their 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 (#ulink_c08a2f52-302e-5bdf-9873-a77262707293)
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 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 you. But if it doesn’t and you ever need a shoulder to cry on, give me a call.’
Sophia was touched by the offer and turned a grateful smile his way. ‘That’s very kind of you, Harvey. I’ll remember that. Thank you.’
Harvey patted her wrist and stood up, almost brushing shoulders with Jonathon as he did so.
‘Leaving, are you, Harvey?’ Jonathon said in clipped tones.
Harvey seemed taken aback for a second before glancing at his watch. ‘Not yet,’ he returned. ‘I was just going to get myself another glass of wine.’
‘No more for Sophia,’ Jonathon ordered brusquely, glaring down at her near empty glass.
‘That’s up to her, isn’t it?’
Sophia was thinking the very same thing.
‘Jonathon,’ his mother interrupted, materialising by his side and thereby saving the awkward moment. ‘Why don’t you put some music on? Something nice and relaxing. Mozart, I think. You like Mozart, don’t you Sophia? You were playing him the other day.’
‘I adore Mozart,’ she agreed. ‘He was Godfrey’s favourite composer.’
Ivy’s sigh was wistful. ‘Of course…You know, I played him Mozart from the day he was born. It always put him to sleep.’
‘Mozart would put anyone to sleep,’ Jonathon muttered, his irritation obvious as he stalked over to the stereo and started flipping through the CDs.
‘Don’t take any notice of Jonathon,’ Ivy whispered as she sat down next to Sophia. ‘For some reason he’s always been a little jealous of Godfrey. Lord knows why. Poor Godfrey wasn’t born with any of his brother’s natural advantages. He was a sickly child, whereas Jonathon never even got colds. I couldn’t count the number of nights I had to spend sitting up with Godfrey, especially when he had asthma.’
Sophia began thinking that maybe Jonathon was jealous, not of Godfrey himself, but all the love and attention his mother obviously lavished on her older son. She’d never had any brothers and sisters herself, but she could well imagine it must be very hard growing up knowing a brother or sister was favoured over you. Still, it seemed Godfrey’s father had favoured his second son so maybe the love and attention bit was balanced out in the end.
Mozart’s Flute and Harp Concerto in C major brought a brief end to any conversation as its pristine notes cut through the drawing-room. Jonathon’s choice sent Sophia’s heart squeezing tight, plus a host of vivid memories to the forefront of her mind. She almost expected to look over at the empty armchair opposite and see Godfrey materialise, his head tipping back and his eyes closing as they did whenever he listened to this particular piece.
‘Aah,’ Ivy sighed next to her. ‘What magic…what bliss…’
Sophia gritted her teeth against the unexpected pain the music was evoking, knowing she could hardly ask for it to be turned off. But she couldn’t help grimacing a little as she glanced over towards the stereo. Jonathon turned around at that moment and their eyes met, Sophia shivering at the austere hardness in his face as he walked back towards her.

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