The Devil's Inheritance Ch. 05

Sophia remained stock-still, "All this I know. What are you getting at?"

"The townsfolk don't scoff you for no good reason, Sophia. They do it because they are jealous of you; because you can conceivably control the source of all their income. They shun you to try and keep you where they want you. Powerless. But you need to believe in yourself, and they and their opinions of you can go hang."

"Well that's a lovely sentiment, but I'm just a bast—"

"Only because you think it. Charge your buyers five shillings more apiece, purchase more cows, and you can take control of a piece of Ashford. The sooner you realize this, the better your negotiations with them will be, and the richer you will be," he leaned in and kissed her, careful not to disturb the berries.

She paused for a moment after his lips came away then nodded, a smile curling one side of her mouth. She'd never thought of it in this way, "What else?"

"Then..." James leaned over and licked the cream off her puckered nipple.

She sucked air in, "And what is that supposed to be in this commercial scheme?"

"Oh, that's nothing; I just like the taste of your nipple."

She burst out laughing, upsetting the berries.

"Now see what you've gone and done? An earthquake just destroyed all of Ashford," James said smiling, picking up the fallen berries, as Sophia laughed even harder. He caught her mouth in his and captured her lips, exploring her with his tongue. He drew her back down to the bed; kissing her with each sentence, "Wear the dress. Come to town with me. The villagers be damned..."

Sophia kissed him back, giving in, knowing that he would just torture a 'yes' out of her anyway. He wrapped his arms about her and moved over top of her, pinning her under the heat of his body. She relished his attention to her and unfurled once again in pleasure with him. It wasn't the villagers who would be damned...

After they finally rose and got dressed, Katje and Aletta were already gone to town to deliver the milk. Sophia went downstairs to find her shoes and her best Sunday cap as James readied the carriage to take them into town.

Sophia hadn't ridden in a proper carriage since she was a child. She leaned back onto to James's shoulder as he drove the horse onward toward the town square before jumping out and helping Sophia down. He put three gold guineas in her hand, "Buy yourself anything you like."

Sophia stared down in shock, "James, I can't possibly—"

"Just say yes. Let the world be your oyster today, my little pearl," he said smiling down at her.

"I thought pearls are made by being an irritation."

"Then go irritate those petty townsfolk and buy yourself something nice."

She smiled and shook her head at him, wondering what in this town could possibly cost three whole guineas, "When will you be finished?"

He handed two pence to the groom's apprentice as he took the carriage around to the livery stable, "It shouldn't take me more than an hour to finish. Now go enjoy yourself, Miss Latwicke."

James watched her walk across the street, disappearing into the marketplace, before turning around and making his way to Whitcomb, Morehouse, & Sedgeley, the barrister's office.

He opened the door and a young clerk nodded at him before returning to work, dipping his quill in the ink pot beside his desk once more as James made his way to the first door marked George Whitcomb, Esq. He knocked.

"Enter," said a voice on the other side.

James opened the door and tipped his hat before removing it, "Mr. Whitcomb. A pleasure to see you again."

An elderly man in a long gray wig rose out of his seat, nodding at James, "And it is good to see you as well, Mr. Gardiner. Again, I am very sorry for your loss. Your uncle, Mr. Farthing, was a good friend of mine for many years."

James thought back to his last fight with Uncle David before leaving. The old man had been making plans for him to marry some wealthy farmer's daughter and caught James in the barn screwing one of Uncle David's maids. The had argued, David nearly knocking him to the floor after James made a crack about how David was jealous; James's dalliances were seen as commonplace, a young man sewing his wild oats, but David's tastes would have seen him hanged at Tyburn. James had vowed never to tie himself to just one woman, and never return. He looked at the old barrister across from him and wondered if there was more than the friendship with his uncle than he was letting on.

"Thank you. I miss him greatly," these thoughts and memories flashed through his mind, unseen on his face as James sat down across from the barrister, going straight to business, "Are the papers drawn up for his estate?"

"All fifteen hundred pounds a year in tenant rent throughout Ashford, plus the landownership of the farm. This inheritance makes you quite a wealthy gentleman, Mr. Gardiner."

"Wealthier, Mr. Whitcomb. Although it is fine to now possess lands in Kent, my primary holdings are in trade between London and Amsterdam."

He nodded, "All the same. Before I hand these to you for your signature, will there be anything else?"

James sat there, pursing his lips before digging into his pocket and pulling out the wrinkled letter, "I have one last question for you. Who is Sophia Latwicke de Grey?"

George Whitcomb slowly looked up, the color draining from his face, "What name did you say?"

James stared straight ahead, "You heard what I said."

George nodded, stood up and walked behind James to the office door, opening it slightly, "Master Morehouse, go run up to the market and buy you some dinner. Take from the petty cash."

James watched George wait at the door as the clerk opened the drawer and fished out a few pence before locking the front door behind him, the small bell the only sound in the building. The old man then walked behind his desk and looked outside before shutting the open window and latching it closed, "The boy is my partner's son, a gifted clerk who will make a fine barrister some day, but a witless wonder when it comes to petty gossip."

"Why the secrecy, Mr. Whitcomb?"

"Because that name is never to be used. Ever. Where did you hear it?"

"I read it," he said, handing the letter to George, "In a letter, addressed to you from my uncle, that was obviously never delivered."

George adjusted his spectacles and read the handwriting, clearing his throat and looking back up at James, blanching once more, "Th...this letter is neither witnessed nor sealed—"

"It is in his hand, correct?"

"Yes. It is. Still, why do you bring it to me?"

James looked away, out the panes of the window, "Because by that letter, the farm rightfully belongs to her."

"You... you don't have to worry about this; it's not witnessed. This letter would never be admissible in any court of law. The farm would be hers only by your doing at this point, to be perfectly honest. Were she to even find it, and since she's merely a servant girl—"

"It doesn't matter. I love her," James said, looking back from the window to stare the barrister in the eye. The words were out. He felt a weight lift from inside his chest that had been forming since he first returned to Ashford yesterday.

George took off his glasses by the bridge of the nose, "I see."

"She won't say a word to me about her childhood."

"Good. Then she's been well taught."

"What? Whatever do you mean?" James said, his brow creasing in anger. What had they done to her?

"Does the name 'de Grey' have any meaning to you?"

"Somewhat. But it can't possibly be that de Grey."

"It is, one and the same. Sophia is the natural daughter of Lord Henry de Grey, Duke of Kent, member of the Privy Counsel to His Royal Highness King George, and the Lord Chamberlain of our recently departed Queen. Her mother was a chambermaid in his household, but much beloved by him, if all accounts are to be believed. She died of the puerperal fever, not a day after giving birth to Sophia."

"I see," James said, his mouth drying.

"You understand then the need for secrecy?"

"No, I don't. Sir, I am from London and I can be the first to tell you there are hundreds of natural offspring of the court made gentry, running around as Miss this or Master that, or the precious 'niece' ward of Lord so-and-so..."

"But not the children of enemies of the Jacobites, and the Duke is one of those enemies. A bastard daughter by a commoner would undo his career, so when she was young and as the Tories rose into power Lord de Grey, who was Marquess at the time, disavowed her and brought little Sophie to the church orphanage at Ashford."

"...I first came to the Ashford church when I was nine..." Her words from this morning echoed in his mind. If this world were fair, then Sophia de Grey would have easily outranked James, and he would be lucky if she had even given him a word. The moment he took her flew into his mind and he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, as though a needle was piercing him through the center. He imagined her as her life was supposed to be, surrounded by governesses and maids, clothed in jewels and being married off to a lower noble instead of running a farm wearing rags, propping up his kind drunkard uncle and being raped by a nouveau riche rake who called himself a gentleman, "So her own father pushed her into poverty and obscurity in the name of... politics?"

"Aye. And threatened the deacon of the church and the head of the orphanage to keep silent and to make sure she followed suit. When David, your uncle, took her out of the orphanage to work for him five years past, he came to my offices to draw up the Parish Apprentice Terms of Indenture that I handed to you a fortnight ago. That same day, a man from court and two regimentals showed up at my office, paid both of us one hundred pounds a piece, and told us that if we revealed anything about Sophia to anyone our lives and lands would be forfeit."

James was taken aback, "I... I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say at all, Mr. Gardiner. Never mention the name 'de Grey' to anyone, even in passing. The only reason I suspect your uncle would dare to write it was because he was either being sympathetically defiant or was just simply drunk."

James was sick. Sophia, his Sophia, had had everything taken from her piece by piece for the ambitions of great men, the same great men that shunned James in London because of his lowly parentage. And he was just the latest person to take from her. She had been abandoned by her father, locked away in an orphanage miles from her home. And as a reward for looking after his uncle for five years, James himself had marched into her home and enslaved Sophia to his body and will. He felt himself growing nauseous thinking of what he had done to her. He sat up once more in his chair, "Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing in particular. But, now that I think of it, it is fortuitous that we had this conversation, since your uncle penned another letter, this one addressed to you, which he forbade me open and instructed me to give to you only once your accounts were settled. It was my favor to him as a friend. At least you know a bit more about this situation in case she comes to mention therein."

James accepted the letter and examined his handwritten name on the front, thinking about the terrible things his uncle would have to say for him if he knew anything about how James had behaved toward Sophia. There was only one way to even begin to right his wrongs, "I suppose then that concludes business between us. However, given the information you have shared with me, Mr. Whitcomb, there is still one piece remaining to be settled. It regards the farm..."

George sank back in his chair and donned his glasses once more, "Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"

"With all my heart."

James left Whitcomb, Morehouse, & Sedgeley fifteen minutes later than he had promised her, the clerk closing the door after him. He looked around the street for Sophia and saw her sitting on a bench next to the park, her head dropped and her eyes downcast. He jogged across the street to be at her side, sitting next to her, "What is the matter?"

Tears rolled down her cheeks, "It's nothing. Here are your guineas back."

"No keep them," he said, folding her hand back around the coins, moving closer to her.

"As payment for being your whore?" she sniffled.

His voice grew more serious, "Sophia, what happened?"

She looked up at him, her lip trembling, "I went to buy some shoes. I saw these pretty white ones in the window to match the dress you gave me. The shop mistress told me 'servants enter in the back'. I told her I was here to buy and she repeated it saying 'servants in the back, I don't care how you're dressed or who you sleep with' and then I— What are you doing?"

James had grabbed her wrist, his face red in anger, "Come with me."

"James, please don't do this—"

"Sophia, I'll hear none of it!" he marched to the marketplace with her in tow, heads turning to watch them, "Which one was it? Was it this place?"

Sophia saw the white shoes in the window and nodded quietly.

James turned to a small boy watching them and held up a silver coin, "Boy, go run to the livery and tell them to fetch my carriage and you can have this shilling when you get back."

The boy took off running without a word back down the street toward the stables.

James turned to Sophia, "Wait here. Don't move an inch."

She watched silently as James marched into the shop and slammed the door behind him. The shop mistress smiled, greeting him as a customer before her face fell and turned white in horror. Sophia watched the scene unfold in silence behind the glass as James yelled at her, pointing outside and leaning menacingly on the counter. Sophia watched as the woman began to sob and shake her head, throwing up her hands in defense. Sophia's fear turned slowly to pride. He was defending her honor. She thought that strange somehow, considering that he had stripped her of it to begin with. James stormed away from the counter as the shop mistress clasped her hands together, pleading with him, then he came back to dress her down once more. James stalked away from the counter and the now hysterical woman and threw open the door behind him, pointing his finger at her.

"And if you ever, EVER speak to her that way again, I will close down your pitiful shop and see you starve or be hanged!" he slammed the door shut and threw his gaze to the rest of the gathered crowd, ready for his next target. Those watching cast their eyes to the ground and either nodded to him or simply turned around and went about their business. The carriage drove up with the livery's coachmen and the little boy riding on the step before jumping down in front of James. Sophia watched his countenance change immediately as he leaned down with a smile and handed the boy the shilling, "There you are, young master, as promised."

"Thank you, sir!" the boy said, running down the street toward his home.

James helped her into the carriage and waited for her to move to the side and smooth down her dress. He leapt in next to her and shook the reins, the horse carrying them through town.

"You didn't have to do that," she said after a moment.

"Yes, I absolutely did. These people will respect you or suffer my wrath. And you should demand no less. Don't ever let yourself be treated that way."

"Why did you bother to defend me in the first place?"

"Because I—" he stopped himself and sighed, "So why did you decide on shoes?"

"For dancing. If you would be willing to play the violin again for me..."

"Fiddle," he said, smiling at her, "And nothing would make me happier. But you dance so well in bare feet, I think that we should forget the shoes, for now."

She gave him a weary smile as they drove on and leaned into him. After the horse had cleared the crossroads and their chaise turned toward the farm, James felt her shuddering and sniffling and looked down to see tears rolling across her face.

He tried to hold her closer, tucked under his arm, holding the reigns in front of them, "They won't bother you again; I promise. Please Sophia, I hate to see you cry."

"It's not about them, James," she said, straightening up and wiping her eyes dry, "Well, it's mostly not about them. You don't realize what you have done, have you?"

"No..." James said, cocking up an eyebrow.

"They will only fear me now. And not even fear me, but fear you. They will whisper about me just the same."

"All right, I made a bit of a scene. But I did it to make sure they won't bother you again. You say they won't and they'd whisper about you anyway, so what is the difference?"

"The difference," she sighed, the plain evidence weighing heavily against her words, "Is that you can't just force people to your will."

He looked down at her, his mind warring between guilt and arousal at the memory of their first meeting. Her eyes were cast down, her mind on that same moment. James pulled back on the reigns and stopped the horse in the road. He turned to the side and tilted her trembling chin up until her tear-stained green eyes met his, "Sophia, there isn't anything I can do or say to make up for what I did."

"James you don't—"

"Yes, I do. I deeply regret it. I don't deserve your forgiveness for how I treated you, and I only hope that I can prove myself to you," he cupped her face in his hand and kissed away a tear clinging to her cheek.

She turned to him as he drew back from her cheek and tilted her face toward him. He was drawn to her irresistibly and kissed her gently on the lips, feeling her deepen it as he brought his other hand up to cup her face. He drew away, looking at her flushed cheeks, her eyes filled with emotion.

He stroked his hand down her cheek, "There is much I need to tell you; but not until we are safely at home. The evening is no time for us to be out on the road."

The late summer sun was setting earlier and the chaise rolled up to the house just as it started to touch the horizon. Candlelight already flickered in the upstairs windows and the smell of seared lamb wafted out the door. Sophia smiled; glad to be back at the farmhouse and even happier that she wasn't coming home to dark windows and a lifeless kitchen. She couldn't even remember when the house had looked so alive to her. James jumped out of the carriage and offered his hand to Sophia. Leaning on him for balance, she picked up the hem of her skirt and stepped out of the carriage.

Katje came roaring out of the front door toward them, "Eet! Eet! Ik zal het paard behandelen."

Sophia startled back before James answered her in Dutch, "Dank u Katje."

"What was that about?" Sophia said quietly to James.

"Katje is not a house servant by nature; she's a farmer, and a bit of a mother hen. You'll have to excuse her sometimes. She was ordering us to go in and eat; that she would tend the horse."

Sophia giggled and waited for James to hold open the door to her home before making her way inside. The kitchen was aglow with candlelight. They sat down to plates already made up with racks of succulent lamb, sage and wild corn from the colonies, "I can't remember the last time I had lamb. Actually, I can't remember the last time I ate anything at all but my pitiful version of curds and whey or the cabbage soup I've been eating for years."

"Good," James said between bites, "You know I adore your body, but you could use a little fattening up, honestly. I don't how you maintain such beautiful curves in the first place with how little you claim to eat. It must be the cream you get from this farm."

"You won't catch me drinking it," Sophia said, "I'm certainly not going to skim off the top of what little I've been able to get out of the cows this year."