LITMIR.BIZ

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the true reason for the haste.

      ‘Meet your new daughter, Father,’ Richard said, putting his hand about Sophie’s waist as his gaze warred with his father’s. Lord Hallington was the first to look away, defeated.

      ‘You have married the chit!’ he growled. ‘Do you know what your aunt wrote about her and her family? Parthenope did not mince her words. Do you know how her father made his money? How he got his start?’

      ‘Hardly a chit, Father, Sophie is my bride. Be civil,’ Richard said, giving his father a hard look. He could happily murder his aunt. ‘I have no idea what sort of report my aunt wrote, but I assure you that Sophie is my choice. I am the one who married her. My aunt had nothing to do with it. The sort of woman she approves of leaves me cold. As Sophie’s father died years ago and I never met him, I can offer no opinion on his manners, but I’ve been increasingly impressed with Sophie’s gentility and civility. Her stepmother is one of the kindest souls I have ever met.’

      His father’s frown increased. ‘You would say that!’

      ‘Sophie is now Lady Bingfield and my wife. She shares my status. I married her because I wanted to. I was determined to have her.’

      ‘Just as you were determined to have that other chit, the one who died, the one who had you sent down from Oxford. Marry in haste, repent at leisure as my dear mother used to say.’

      Sophie went cold. She’d known Richard had been sent down from Oxford, but he’d never said about wanting to marry anyone. How many other things had Richard kept from her? How well did she really know her husband?

      ‘I see little point in bringing up ancient history, Father, and as I only received your letter after I made the appointment with the Bishop, your assumption is incorrect.’

      His father spluttered something incoherent.

      ‘If you wish to cause mischief, you may leave,’ Richard continued. ‘Now, you may begin again and give my bride proper congratulations or you turn around and go. I do not care which.’

      He waited, barely clinging on to his temper. His father should know better. The last thing he wanted was to have a fight with his father on his wedding day, but he would protect Sophie.

      His father’s shoulders sagged and he appeared to age, but his face remained an unnaturally red colour. Richard braced himself for the next onslaught. Silently he thanked his guardian angel that his mother and sister were not here. When his father was in these moods, there was no reasoning with him. It was only after the colour receded that some semblance of normality returned. His father always regretted his actions, but that was not the point.

      ‘Welcome to the family, Sophie,’ his father said, holding out his hand. ‘You must forgive my rough speaking. Lately I have been spending much of my time in the company of pig keepers.’

      ‘My father’s passion is pig-breeding,’ Richard explained between gritted teeth. His father’s bad grace was clearly evident with the way his mouth curled. He had to hope that neither Sophie nor her stepmother had noticed the rudeness. ‘It is why he rarely travels far from Hallington. It rules him.’

      ‘That is not true, Richard,’ his father protested. ‘I went to the Great Exhibition last year in London. I wanted to see the improvements in pig farming that the Americans had. Excellent farmers, those Americans. They truly know their pigs.’

      ‘Did you see anything else?’ Richard enquired. ‘Be honest, Father.’

      His father puffed up his chest. ‘There wasn’t time. I had to get back to my pigs. Your aunts wanted me to attend some ball. I hate balls.’

      ‘I am not personally acquainted with any pigs,’ Sophie said slowly. ‘Therefore, I have much to learn. Hopefully we can have a good conversation about pigs later. I am sure they are very fascinating creatures. And sometimes I am sure they are better and more honest company than some in society.’

      The red receded from his father’s face and Richard knew Sophie had said precisely the right thing. His father always calmed down when he spoke of his pigs. To him, the pigs were the most important thing in the world.

      ‘My dear, they are completely fascinating. Far more intelligent than most people.’

      ‘You must come to the wedding breakfast, Lord Hallington,’ Sophie said with a very pretty curtsy. Richard silently blessed her for being understanding. He was hard pressed to think of anyone else who could handle the situation so well.

      His father raised an imperious eyebrow and looked at Richard with a disdainful expression. ‘Am I invited to my only son’s wedding breakfast?’

      Richard’s fist balled and he fought against the urge to deny the request and tell him to leave immediately. It would only end badly with both of them shouting. He refused to air his dirty linen in public. It was the last way he wanted Sophie to remember the moments after their wedding.

      He struggled to find the right words which would tell his father that he was unwelcome if he persisted in this behaviour, but held the thinnest veneer of politeness. His only hope now was that Sophie remained unaware of how incredibly rude his father was being.

      ‘Of course you are invited,’ Sophie said with a perplexed frown. ‘You are Richard’s father and his nearest relation. Now you are mine. Had we known that you were expected today, we would have waited the ceremony for you.’

      Unexpected tears came into his father’s eyes. ‘Truly? You would have waited for me?’

      ‘You failed to give a time or date of your arrival, Father. You have no one to blame but yourself,’ Richard said, silently blessing the fact that Sophie had not known about his father’s intended arrival. He could not have taken another night without her in his arms. ‘You must become more modern and consult a train timetable before you write your letters.’

      His father gave an incommunicative grunt.

      Richard barely restrained himself from shaking him.

      ‘Lord Hallington, I’m Dorothy Ravel, Sophie’s stepmother.’ Mrs Ravel bustled up and did an extravagant curtsy. Her many ribbons and flounces quivered.

      His father looked taken back at the vision of ribbons, flounces and violent clashing colours which was Mrs Ravel.

      Richard wanted to shake him for not seeing the good heart which beat underneath. He was going to react like his aunt and mother—condemning the Ravels for having too fine of a manner for their station before actually knowing them.

      Mrs Ravel’s voice might not be cut-glass, but she was Sophie’s stepmother and now his mother-in-law. She deserved more respect than a curled lip. Surely his father had to see that there was no point in making matters worse and saying the words out loud where other people could hear?

      ‘You must come back for the wedding breakfast,’ Mrs Ravel said from where she remained in the curtsy. ‘I’m sure dear Bingfield had no idea of your arrival. You must be famished. I have made my famous seed cake. I found it wonderful for restoring the late Mr Ravel after travelling.’

      His father’s eyes gleamed for an instant before his mouth turned down. ‘Seed cake? I am partial to seed cake, if it is properly made. You can’t get the sort I had as a child these days. More is the pity.’

      There was a defiant tilt to Sophie’s head and her eyes flashed dangerously. ‘My stepmother’s seed cake is famous throughout Northumberland. She has won a number of competitions with it, including the blue riband at Stagshaw Fair last year. You should try it before you dismiss it out of hand, Lord Hallington.’

      Richard glowed with pride. His father had not succeeded in cowing Sophie, despite his fearsome rage. His father’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound emerged.

      ‘I find any sort of shock is better dealt with a drop of Marsala and piece of seed cake,’ Mrs Ravel said in a soothing voice. ‘It is what my late husband, Sophie’s father, used to swear by.’

      ‘With

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