Read Online Midnight Pleasures by Eloisa James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eloisa James
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Charlotte insisted. “Why, I distinctly remember you telling me that Braddon had more mistresses depending on him than a lawyer has cases!”
A flash of amusement lighted Sophie’s eyes. “The point is not that Braddon is or isn’t a rake, it’s that I like Braddon. He’s trustworthy. He doesn’t have deep emotions, and he will be very discreet with his mistresses. He assured me of it himself.”
“You mean you have discussed his mistresses?” Charlotte was horrified and fascinated, both at once.
“He brought it up. I have to admit, I was a little surprised myself.” Sophie tried hard to keep any doubt out of her voice. “That’s the kind of marriage we’re going to have, Charlotte: a calm, reasoned, and friendly alliance. I want a placid marriage. You did not want that particular kind of relationship, and so you and Alex are happy together. But I want the kind of marriage where neither person is blinded by passion. Remember how Alex behaved toward you?” Sophie hesitated and then plunged on. “When you had to travel to Scotland?”
“You don’t have to be so delicate,” Charlotte said wryly. “Alex behaved like a royal devil, that’s true. But we worked it out, and now—” She looked at herself in the mirror. Half of her hair still spilled over her ears and the other half garlanded her head. Marie’s hands were busy plaiting a crimson ribbon into her hair, preparing to tuck the braid in among the rest. Even the thought of her husband stained her cheeks a faint echo of the ribbon.
“I know what you mean.” Sophie’s voice was somewhere between dispassion and despair. “But the grand amour is not going to work for me, Charlotte. I know that you wish for me to find the same happiness that you have. But we all find happiness in different ways. For me, the anxiety of marrying a man whom I loved so passionately, the way you care for Alex, could never be worth it. Your parents are happy; mine are not.”
Ignoring Charlotte’s open mouth, she rushed on: “I certainly don’t mean to pry into the circumstances of your parents’ marriage. My point was only that the circumstances of my parents’ marriage are known far and wide. It’s a rare month when my father doesn’t surface in The Morning Post under some pseudonym or other. My mother won’t hire a Frenchwoman under the age of seventy; it means we’ve likely pensioned off more servants than your mother has hired in her entire married life!”
Charlotte sighed. Sophie’s logic was impeccable. It was just that she was talking nonsense.
“I don’t see what your parents have to do with whether you marry Braddon or Patrick.”
“I like Braddon,” Sophie insisted. “I will never fall passionately in love with him, and therefore I won’t become bitter, as my mother has, if Braddon takes more notice of his mistresses than of me. With Patrick … it’s different.”
“You know that Patrick is coming tonight?”
Sophie’s head swung up. She had been restlessly watching her pale gold slipper swing back and forth, hitting the tasseled edge of Charlotte’s counterpane.
“Yes.”
In the secret depths of Sophie’s eyes Charlotte saw an aching confusion, a languorous question that made an answering smile curl the corners of her mouth. Perhaps all Sophie’s rhetoric wouldn’t matter—much. Perhaps, if she found some way to throw Sophie and Patrick together tonight …
There was a brisk knock at the door and a maid half ran into the room, carrying Sophie’s gold dress draped across her outstretched arms as if it were an altar cloth being offered to a pagan deity.
“My lady,” she stammered, curtsying while holding her arms stiffly outstretched.
“My goodness, Bess,” Marie said, scolding her with the freedom of a valued member of the household—more than a valued member, one who ranked only just below the earl’s own manservant, and he only just below the butler. “You will have to learn to be more graceful if you ever want to
A flash of amusement lighted Sophie’s eyes. “The point is not that Braddon is or isn’t a rake, it’s that I like Braddon. He’s trustworthy. He doesn’t have deep emotions, and he will be very discreet with his mistresses. He assured me of it himself.”
“You mean you have discussed his mistresses?” Charlotte was horrified and fascinated, both at once.
“He brought it up. I have to admit, I was a little surprised myself.” Sophie tried hard to keep any doubt out of her voice. “That’s the kind of marriage we’re going to have, Charlotte: a calm, reasoned, and friendly alliance. I want a placid marriage. You did not want that particular kind of relationship, and so you and Alex are happy together. But I want the kind of marriage where neither person is blinded by passion. Remember how Alex behaved toward you?” Sophie hesitated and then plunged on. “When you had to travel to Scotland?”
“You don’t have to be so delicate,” Charlotte said wryly. “Alex behaved like a royal devil, that’s true. But we worked it out, and now—” She looked at herself in the mirror. Half of her hair still spilled over her ears and the other half garlanded her head. Marie’s hands were busy plaiting a crimson ribbon into her hair, preparing to tuck the braid in among the rest. Even the thought of her husband stained her cheeks a faint echo of the ribbon.
“I know what you mean.” Sophie’s voice was somewhere between dispassion and despair. “But the grand amour is not going to work for me, Charlotte. I know that you wish for me to find the same happiness that you have. But we all find happiness in different ways. For me, the anxiety of marrying a man whom I loved so passionately, the way you care for Alex, could never be worth it. Your parents are happy; mine are not.”
Ignoring Charlotte’s open mouth, she rushed on: “I certainly don’t mean to pry into the circumstances of your parents’ marriage. My point was only that the circumstances of my parents’ marriage are known far and wide. It’s a rare month when my father doesn’t surface in The Morning Post under some pseudonym or other. My mother won’t hire a Frenchwoman under the age of seventy; it means we’ve likely pensioned off more servants than your mother has hired in her entire married life!”
Charlotte sighed. Sophie’s logic was impeccable. It was just that she was talking nonsense.
“I don’t see what your parents have to do with whether you marry Braddon or Patrick.”
“I like Braddon,” Sophie insisted. “I will never fall passionately in love with him, and therefore I won’t become bitter, as my mother has, if Braddon takes more notice of his mistresses than of me. With Patrick … it’s different.”
“You know that Patrick is coming tonight?”
Sophie’s head swung up. She had been restlessly watching her pale gold slipper swing back and forth, hitting the tasseled edge of Charlotte’s counterpane.
“Yes.”
In the secret depths of Sophie’s eyes Charlotte saw an aching confusion, a languorous question that made an answering smile curl the corners of her mouth. Perhaps all Sophie’s rhetoric wouldn’t matter—much. Perhaps, if she found some way to throw Sophie and Patrick together tonight …
There was a brisk knock at the door and a maid half ran into the room, carrying Sophie’s gold dress draped across her outstretched arms as if it were an altar cloth being offered to a pagan deity.
“My lady,” she stammered, curtsying while holding her arms stiffly outstretched.
“My goodness, Bess,” Marie said, scolding her with the freedom of a valued member of the household—more than a valued member, one who ranked only just below the earl’s own manservant, and he only just below the butler. “You will have to learn to be more graceful if you ever want to
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