The next morning Nicholas called Henri,
“Henri, drive to Cambridge to this address and see that Sophia gets this letter. No reply is necessary.”
“Yes, my Lord,” and off he went. After an elapse of several days with no reply in sight, Nicholas, driven to distraction, realized the only recourse was to pay Sophia a visit. He dressed in his best while Henri prepared the carriage. When everything was ready, the two lifelong friends mounted the carriage for a drive through some of the most pastoral countryside of England. They entered the Bartholomew rambling estate and parked their carriage.
“Make yourself useful for a while.”
He walked with apprehension towards the mansion, not knowing what to expect. He knocked to be confronted with a servant, “I’m Duke Nicholas Montaque may I speak with Lady Sophia?”
The servant led Nicholas into the parlour lounge. “Please wait here,” he said and disappeared.
After what seemed an eternity to Nicholas, she returned.
“Her Ladyship will see you now.”
She ledd Nicholas to Sophia’s private study, knocked and entered, “Duke Nicholas my Lady.”
She sat on a lounge settee like some angelic apparition. “Come and sit down Nicholas.”
Nicholas the usual flamboyant master of the universe, was suddenly the beggar in the gilded cage. He raced over, threw himself at her knees. “Did you get my letter?”
“Yes, of course I got your letter.”
“So why didn’t you reply?”
“I’m married, what can I do?”
“Do you still love me?”
“Of course I do, but you’re too late. What do you want to do, start a scandal.”
At this pronouncement, Nicholas buried his face in her lap and bawled his eyes out.
“You’re too late, Nicholas, too late.”
With this, she clasped her hands around his head and joined in the chorus of crying.
“You’re too late, too late, too late.”
With that Nicholas rose to his feet, turned, and ran for the door. No one has seen or heard of him since. So ends my story of love rebuked and paradise lost.
