Sophia's Gamble Read online

  SOPHIA’S GAMBLE

  Ladies of Scandal Book One

  Hilly Mason

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 Hilly Mason

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Melody Simmons.

  Visit the author’s website at www.hillymason.com.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  London, April 1815

  At last, Sophia Gibbs was a free woman.

  The early spring gloom of London’s damp streets seemed as warm as the summers in India compared with the dank jail cell she had occupied for the past four months. As Sophia stepped down from the coach, she breathed in deeply, promising herself never to take her liberty for granted ever again.

  “Lady Gibbs!”

  Sophia cringed at the name. She had been a widow for naught but four months, but already her husband was becoming a distant memory, a dream that had long since faded into an afterthought. Even as she stood on trial for his death, when his name passed between the lips of those who accused her, it seemed as though they spoke of Lord Gibbs as a character in a play or a novel—someone who had existed only in her imagination.

  She assumed her lack of love for the man to be a major part in her contempt toward hearing her married name. During her trial, her lawyer went so far as to tell her to put on an air of melancholy in front of the jurors, to help make her case more believable.

  She would have to remarry to claim a new name, but really, she just wanted to reclaim her birth name, and to start her life over once again. Four years of a loveless, childless marriage was torture enough for any woman, but when that woman was Sophia Gibbs, one of the most well-known ladies of Mayfair, it was both depressing and embarrassing to be her age without a husband and a child.

  And now, after the terrible scandal involving her husband’s untimely death, her reputation was also ruined.

  Sophia sighed morosely, but once she turned to see her maid’s smiling face, the discomfort of her marriage title and the worries about the future wilted away. Tears welled in her eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. It was such a relief to see a friendly face once again after being treated as less than human at Newgate Prison.

  “Joyce, it is so lovely to see you!” Sophia cried as the other woman skipped over to greet her. Joyce embraced her employer as she would a sister. Her maid was a few years younger than her, and had been her constant companion ever since Sophia had moved into Comerford House on Audley Street after marrying Lord Gibbs. They were close enough that Joyce called Sophia by her first name, albeit only in private. In truth, Joyce was her only companion, a realization Sophia had made when nobody in her social circle rose up to defend her upon her conviction of murder. The mere fact that they would actually believe she would do such a terrible thing still hurt. She had just been a hair’s breadth away from death by hanging. Would they all come and watch her had that happened?

  The coach’s driver, a man of middle years who worked for Newgate Prison, took her luggage out of the carriage and dropped it by her feet.

  “Anything else, Lady Gibbs?” he asked her, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he avoided her gaze. It seemed plain as rain that he wanted to leave immediately.

  The poor man. Sophia didn’t blame him. She was a ruined woman, and if she was in any one else’s shoes she would steer far way from such a disgrace to society.

  “That will be all, thank you,” Sophia told him curtly, wanting to be done with him as much as he did with her.

  Despite her being found innocent, Sophia thought most people still believed her guilty of killing Lord Gibbs. If they chose not to believe such a story, what then would they find to talk about at parties and other gatherings? Sophia was sure she had been their constant source of entertainment since the moment that the constable put her in fetters in front of practically everyone in and around Mayfair.

  It did happen, after all, during a party at Carlton House she attended the day after Lord Gibbs’ death. Of course she wasn’t aggrieved over the death of a man that was practically a stranger to her. Why should his death ruin her fun? Perhaps it was suspicious that she didn’t mention it to anyone at the ball, but that’s hardly appropriate talk in front of party guests.

  She did feel every pair of eyes in the ballroom staring at her as the constable led her away. Sophia had been befuddled with the wine she’d impetuously consumed and had thought the man wanted to dance with her. She sobered quickly when he whispered in her ear that he was there to arrest her at take her straight to Newgate.

  It was difficult to avoid the looks of pity, horror, and revulsion as she was led out of Carlton House. Sophia decided to get one last glimpse of the beautiful building, for she believed it to be the last time she would ever step foot in the Regent’s residence.

  She had assumed correctly.

  “Welcome home!” Joyce said happily, snapping Sophia away from her memory.

  “Oh, let us be honest with each other, Joyce,” Sophia said, sniffling her tears away. “Comerford is no longer my home.”

  Joyce’s face fell as she pulled away. A frown tugged at her lips as she bent over to take Sophia’s luggage. She had had to bribe her jailer to let her bring in some of her belongings into her cell, although both of her two extra dresses were in dire need of a wash.

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” Joyce said, in almost a whisper. “We have but a few days left before we have to leave, correct?”

  Sophia sighed, staring up at the beautiful building that had been her home for over four long years. Made of stone and painted ivory white, with green trimmings around the windows, Comerford was the most beautiful town house on Audley Street (and to Sophia, in all of Mayfair). The house was just across the street from Grosvenor Square where she used to enjoy a stroll after dinner and admire the neighborhood ladies wearing their latest fashion. She had the habit of asking a lady where she had bought her coat, or her reticule, and would make an order the following day for her own identical garment. Lord Gibbs gave her money freely, and she never questioned where it came from, or whether it was wise to give his money away like it had all just fallen from the sky.

  While Sophia was imprisoned, she had spoken to her lawyer about where she stood financially after Lord Gibbs died. Her lawyer looked visibly uncomfortable as he told her that her late husband spent most of his money at the gaming clubs and the bordellos (the last revelation had her lawyer running for smelling salts). Unbeknown to Sophia, Lord Gibbs had associated with some very questionable people throughout their marriage, and had left his wife with barely enough money to pay for the lawyer to tell her that Lord Gibbs was wiped out as clean as a whistle, leaving nothing to her name.

  “The only thing left for you to do is to sell your town home and its furnishings to rid yourself of your husband’s outstanding debts. Othe
rwise, these people are going to come after you,” her lawyer said once Sophia had recovered from her initial shock.

  Sophia had stared at him, her blue eyes wide.

  “What people?”

  “The gambling lords.”

  “They wouldn’t come after a woman... Would they?”

  “If they want their money enough, they would. And with the amount of debt Lord Gibbs was in, I can hardly blame them for wanting what is theirs.”

  Sophia leaned back in her chair, defeated. Her house was the one thing in her life that made her happy. Her husband had let her decorate it the way she wanted, and she had brought most of her parents’ belongings with her from India. Thus, the walls had been decorated with Indian artwork; swords encrusted with jewels, and tapestries of every color imaginable intricately woven into beautiful floral designs graced her halls. Sophia had lived to entertain, and even hosted a dear friend to Princess Charlotte, twice. The woman had commented how superb Comerford was, and how it rivaled even the finest palaces of the royal family with the unusual decor and the Anglo-Indian cuisine. Sophia was beaming for days after.

  All of that now, gone.

  Sophia set her mouth in a firm line.

  “That is not acceptable,” she told the man.

  “Lady Gibbs, forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but are you aware of how dangerous these men are? They would not hesitate to defile your honor the moment they find you alone. They will know you have the money in real estate and they would go through great lengths to get what they feel they are owed. This is more for your safety than anything else.”

  That had sobered Sophia enough for her to finally nod her head in acquiescence.

  “Do you believe these to be the same people who had murdered my husband?” she asked him quietly. He shook his head.

  “I do not know the answer to that. However, I do know that men have died from debts much less than those of your late husband’s.”

  Sophia swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. Was her pride worth more than her life? She was loath to believe that she was of similar disposition as that of her husband.

  “All right, then,” she said to him. “If it must be done, then so be it. Where shall I go then? I will be obviously without a home once the place is sold off.”

  “Will your uncle take you in?”

  Sophia laughed bitterly.

  “My uncle and aunt have had nothing to do with me since I married Lord Gibbs. And now with this whole scandal...” She shook her head. “Old Bailey may find me innocent, but to the rest of society I am no better than the dirt on the bottom of their boots.”

  It was her only option, though, so she made the effort to try to reach out to her estranged family. After she had spoken to her lawyer and was escorted back to her confinements, she wrote her aunt and uncle a letter stating her unfortunate circumstances (as though they hadn’t known already; the story was in newspapers all around England). She pleaded with them without sounding too desperate to have them take her into their care while she took time to figure out what to do with her life as a widow. Sophia was quickly given a reply from her aunt stating that they no longer wanted her to taint their family name. Her youngest cousin Mary was close to starting her season and if Sophia was around, it would make her cousin’s prospects bleak, according to them.

  Their words were like a cold slap to her face. After she read the letter she let the paper fall from her fingertips, where it floated down to the ground like a feather. She stared at it numbly for a minute or two before using her fingertips to rub her throbbing temples. Her aunt and uncle never forgave her for taking her cousin’s beau away from her. Lord Gibbs was supposed to be Abby’s husband, but Sophia snatched him up before the other woman could. They also blamed her for Abigail’s death, even though Sophia hadn’t said a word to her cousin since her wedding.

  But it was her fault, wasn’t it? She took Lord Gibbs for her own as petty revenge for Abby kissing Sophia’s sweetheart. Oh, how cruel and naive of a girl she had been to do such a thing to her cousin. She struggled to push away the flood of grief that filled her body whenever she thought of Abby. Now because of her choices, Abby was dead, and Sophia was broke as a beggar, and forced to sell her home to rid herself of her husband’s debts.

  A husband she never loved...

  It was more than I deserve, she thought. Sophia looked up again at her precious house, knowing that her time here was very limited.

  “No, Joyce, the house was sold to a man who runs a gambling hell. Unfortunately, we need to vacate the premises today. I think it best—”

  Joyce’s eyes widened.

  “You cannot be serious?” she interrupted.

  “I am quite serious,” she replied tersely. “I must ask the servants to leave, unless the new owner wants to keep them.”

  “Oh, no. The servants are not going to be pleased to hear about this,” Joyce uttered under her breath as they both walked toward the door to Comerford House.

  “Well, there’s little I can do about it,” Sophia told her. She reached for the doorknob. “They can thank their dear master Gibbs for not having the wherewithal to set up severance terms for them.”

  She stepped into the entrance hall, where her butler, obviously surprised to see her, gave her a quick bow. “Milady,” he said. “It is good to have you back at Comerford.”

  “Thank you, James,” Sophia said, looking around at the furnishing and decorations. Again a lump formed in her throat and dashed the tears away quickly. “James, please send word to all of the servants to meet here in the entrance hall immediately. I must speak to them all at once.”

  “Yes, milady.” He turned to go, and then stopped to turn around. “Is it true, then?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He nodded, his jaw clenched as though staving off some choice words inappropriate for a lady. He turned back around and walked steadily out of the hall.

  Sophia sat down on the chaise, bunching the skirts of her lavender mourning dress in her hands as she fidgeted, waiting for the parade of angry servants to arrive and meet their fate.

  They milled in slowly as though lining up to be executed. Having the tiny window to her cell right across from the executioner’s stage, Sophia was unfortunately knowledgeable with how that all played out. The servants glowered at her with angry eyes.

  “Oh, look who it is,” one of the scullery maids said. She spat at Sophia feet, causing Sophia to fall of the chaise as she recoiled.

  “Jillian!” Joyce exclaimed, her face contorted with horror. “That is your mistress you’re speaking to!”

  “She ain’t my mistress anymore,” Jillian said, glaring at Sophia. “She’s a nobody, is what she is.”

  “A murderer,” another maid said. Sophia couldn’t for the life of her remember what this girl’s name was. “We won’t be able to find work because of you. You’ve tainted us forever with your selfishness.”

  Sophia knew she shouldn’t expect fanfare from her servants, but she was still appalled by their behavior.

  “That is simply not true,” Sophia insisted. “My lawyer has spoken to the buyer of Comerford and he said that there is a chance that the new owners will want you to stay.”

  Jillian snorted. “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she said. “This place is haunted anyway.”

  “If I could change the way this happened, I would.”

  “Since when did Lady Gibbs care for anyone but herself?” There were tears in Jillian’s eyes as she said this. The other maid wrapped an arm around her and held her close.

  Sophia opened her mouth to reply, but she could find no words to say.

  “What else do you want from us?” her butler, James, said quietly.

  “The new owner will be here at five o’clock, but be ready to move out in case they do not wish for your services.”

  She couldn’t stand the look they were giving her. She turned her head away, uncomfortable, and rose to gaze out of the window. The servants filed away without being dismisse
d.

  “What do they mean by that?” she asked Joyce softly once they were alone again. “That I only care about myself?”

  Joyce looked uncomfortable as she reached up to pull at a strand of her red hair. Finally she replied. “That maid was... She was beaten by Lord Gibbs, and I think he did more than that on a few occasions.”

  Sophia’s stomach twisted in a knot and a wave of nausea washed through her. She leaned her shoulder against the wall and rested the back of hand against her forehead.

  “I hadn’t the slightest notion that those kinds of things were happening within my own house.”

  “I think, Sophia, if I can be so bold... I think that’s what they meant when they said that you only cared about yourself. Many a time I would try to bring it up to you, but you would never take the time to listen.”

  Oh God, was that it? Was I too busy fussing with my hair and clothing for the latest party to pay attention to the horrible things happening within my own walls? First Abby, and now the servants. I was a walking plague, destroying lives wherever I went.

  “I... I didn’t know, Joyce.”

  Joyce walked over and held her hand.

  “Well, let us pack up what we can, shall we? We must be out of here by five o’clock.”

  “That only gives us two hours!”

  They made their way upstairs to Sophia’s dressing room. Everything was just as she had left it four months ago, and she suspected that Joyce had come in here more than a few occasions to keep the room dusted and tidy. She ran her fingers across the gowns hanging in the wardrobe. Blues, white, mint greens... she was so tired of wearing black, gray, and muted purple of her mourning attire, and she longed to dress herself in something more cheerful.

  But what did it matter now? Her days of parties and hosting company were over.

  A wave of panic seized her, as it always did when she remembered she had nowhere to go. A few coins jingled softly in her dress pocket as she moved about, reminding her that she only had a minimal amount—enough to stay a week at an inn, at the most.

  She could sell the dresses and jewels if she had to, but for now, she would pack as many belongings as she could into one bag that she could carry with her. The gowns were wrinkled and the jewels thrown in haphazardly, but she could sort it all later when she found a place to rest.