The Wedding Duel

by Katy Madison

  "Well, I daresay it is quite flattering to you. I do not suppose it would do the same for me."

  Sophie studied the young woman's dark hair and long-lashed sable eyes. "I should imagine you need a richer color, a burgundy perhaps."

  The other girl smiled and removed one hand from her muff and extended it. "I'm Mary Frances Chandler."

  "Sophie Far—Davies."

  Mary walked around her, looking at Sophie's gown. "It does flatter you, and the color complements your complexion."

  "Thank you."

  "Well, Madame is the best dressmaker in London. I should know, I've tried them all."

  Sophie didn't doubt her new acquaintance's claim. Her pelisse was caped and frogged like a fashion plate Sophie had studied in the latest issue of La Belle Assemblee just this morning.

  "One must employ great tactics to distract the gentlemen from the study of their fobs and seals, mustn't one?"

  "Is that what distracts them?"

  Mary shrugged and watched intently as she replied, "Their pretty pieces, whatever their shape."

  Sophie wasn't quite sure what her companion meant. In fact, she had a sickening feeling that the comment was the sort that would prompt Victor to tug her away and say she must pretend to have not heard. She didn't answer.

  The dressmaker and the seamstress returned carrying a gown. "Miss Chandler, if you would step into the changing room. We'll have you done in a trice."

  The seamstress knelt and resumed her pinning of Sophie's hem, but when Mary emerged from the dressing booth, both the dressmaker and the seamstress moved toward her. Obviously they considered her a more important client than Sophie.

  "Is that gentleman waiting outside with you?" asked Mary as she pivoted for the women pinning her hem.

  "Yes."

  Mary gave her a speculative look out of the corner of her eye. "I recognize him. Lord Wedmont, isn't it?"

  "Yes. He is a good friend of my husband's."

  "Who is your husband?"

  Sophie was aware of the glances exchanged between the dressmaker and the seamstress. "Keene Whitmore Davies."

  "Lord Whitly's son?"

  "Yes."

  The dressmaker moved over to finish pinning Sophie's gown.

  A slight frown moved across Mary's face. "You are newly married, then."

  "Three weeks ago." Sophie wondered if she was being indiscreet in giving her husband's name, but it was too late now. Victor would have an apoplexy and insist if she was to announce to the world she was about town, then she might as well leave the hotel and go to Keene's house.

  Mary leaned her head sideways and narrowed her eyes. "We ought to stroll together in the park. We should supply each other with an excellent foil, don't you think?"

  Sophie smiled back. "I should like that."

  "Perhaps your husband and Lord Wedmont would like to join us."

  "I don't know." Sophie wondered how she could dodge the obvious problem of inviting her husband to do anything when he didn't even know she was in town—let alone whether he would want to do anything with her, anyway.

  Besides, Victor was none too eager to escort her anywhere beyond the bank, the dressmaker, and the sundry other shops she needed to visit to furnish her wardrobe. He'd firmly dug in his heels when she suggested a simple walk to burn off energy. Instead, she dragged Letty around each morning as she explored the city at what apparently was too unfashionably early an hour for the ton to be about.

  "Ah, I see you do not wish to share," said Mary with a tinkle of a laugh.

  "No, it is not that. I thought we should enjoy ourselves better with just our maids."

  "Of course we would, but you must understand I have a goal. You have already landed a husband, and I must, of course, concentrate my lures. But then, perhaps you could see your way to giving me pointers for convincing a fish once landed to let me go my own way."

  "I should do better at teaching you how to take a fence."

  "Could you, for I am a terrible horsewoman."

  "Perhaps I should not, for I took an awful fall from Grace not so very long ago."

  Mary laughed out loud and then covered her mouth with her hand. Sophie wasn't quite sure what was so funny about admitting a fall from a horse.

  "She was not well trained, and I was prepared for her to rear when she bucked instead."

  "Oh, Mrs. Davies, you do amuse me. Are you to tell me Grace is a horse?"

  The dressmaker finished pinning the hem and invited Sophie to return to the dressing room to remove the gown so it could be completed and delivered.

  "Of course, Grace is a horse," answered Sophie. "Although her real name is Salamanca, but I prefer to call her Grace. I mean, to name a mare after a battle seemed rather silly to me. Although given her penchant for tossing riders, perhaps she is a battle horse. Please, I would like it if you called me Sophie."

  "By all means, you must call me Mary Frances. I hope we meet again."

  Sophie was disappointed the walk in the park wouldn't materialize. "I do hope so, too."

  But when her dresses were delivered she would have no need to remain in London. The thought was sobering. Yet, how was she to know if her new appearance would have any effect on Keene if he never saw the changes she had made?

  * * *

  Keene leaned against a chair and watched the animated discussion taking place around him. For once he was not inclined to participate in the exchange. When he had received this invitation to one of Lady Burress's salons, he had thought he couldn't afford to miss the engagement. Normally the highly charged political exchange invigorated him, but tonight he found himself distracted.

  A couple of young men passed by him. "Have you seen Wedmont's latest?" one asked the other. "Pretty little blonde."

  "I hear he's been outfitting her in the best."

  "I've never seen her before. Do you know who she is?"

  "I heard—"

  Keene swiveled to listen.

  The young man speaking caught his interest and blanched. He tugged on the other man's arm and backed away.

  Keene had tried to run Victor down a few times since that day he found his friend concealing his new paramour in his bedroom, but Victor's valet would turn him away with a stony, "He's not at home, sir."

  Who the hell was this mysterious woman of Victor's? How could he possibly afford to clothe his high-flyer in fine feathers? And if she was married as Victor stated, why were other people privy to her identity? If he didn't know better, he would suspect Victor was trying to keep her identity secret from him.

  Lady Burress stopped in front of Keene. "Are you enjoying yourself, sir?"

  "Of course I am."

  "I hoped you might bring your wife." Lady Burress studied him with the quiet curiosity he had learned to expect.

  "She isn't on the town yet."

  Keene expected to run through the usual platitudes and false statements. Yes, he was hiding her away in the country to keep her to himself. She was engaged in remodeling his home. No, it wasn't sudden, they had known each other all their lives.

  Instead, Lady Burress took a slight step back. "Oh! I thought I heard she was in town."

  Keene pushed away from the chair and stood straight. "Where did you hear that?"

  "I was talking to a young lady—what was her name?—oh, that heiress, Miss Chandler. The girl has a sharp tongue."

  Keene shifted, impatient with her chatter. "I don't know Miss Chandler."

  "Anyway, she said she met your wife in a dressmaker's shop."

  Keene shook his head. Some niggling feeling kept him from saying it was impossible.

  "Said she was in the company of your friend." Lady Burress snapped her fingers as if the name eluded her.

  Keene didn't believe it for a minute. He waited until she supplied the name, even though alarm bells rang in his head.

  "Lord Wedmont."

  Keene managed to take a slow drink from his glass and offered a negligent shrug. All the while a murderous rage poured like m
elted lead through his veins. This time he was really going to kill him.

  ELEVEN

  "Sophie, you cannot."

  "Why not? If you won't escort me, I'll take Letty with me."

  "It just isn't done."

  "One little trip to Covent Garden. It can't be so very terrible." She stopped at the side of the street, glancing across the busy thoroughfare at a violet seller. The pretty girl wore a raggedy gown with a rip across her shoulder, and her too-short frayed skirts exposed her bare legs to the cold and damp London weather.

  "I have all these beautiful new gowns, and I want the chance to wear one for an evening." She wished she could give the little violet seller one of them. The girl probably needed it worse and would at least be seen wearing it. "I promise I won't get into any mischief. It is a perfectly respectable place."

  Victor caught her arm as she started to cross the street. "Not for a woman alone, it isn't. I won't escort you."

  "Fine."

  Victor let go of her arm.

  Sophie darted across the street, weaving between a dray wagon and a hansom cab. She heard his call behind her. She knew she could do little to alleviate the wretched condition of some Londoners, but she could buy a posy and help the violet seller in her day-to-day toils. Not that Sophie found London as squalid and poor as her mother had portrayed it. Just an occasional situation tugged at her heartstrings.

  For the most part, the city was so full of life. London abounded with noises, the hawkers and peddlers shouting their wares, the continual clip-clop and rolling rumble of traffic, the greetings of friends, the play of children, the odd cockney turns of phrase that drifted to her. She only had to take in the sounds to feel invigorated. It was all so wonderful, and she would have to leave soon.

  Victor reappeared at her side. "For heaven's sake, Sophie, have a care of yourself. You could get run over, darting between traffic like that."

  "Oh, pish."

  He grabbed her arm, leaned close and muttered under his breath, "Have a care of your condition. Or if you cannot think of yourself and yours, think of how bad it should go for me trying to explain what happened to Keene. What if you fainted and fell beneath a dray horse? He should run me through."

  Hardly. "I assure you, my health is fine. You are just being a wet hen today."

  Victor gave her a sidelong glance. "You're not going to the theater, right?"

  "I can't very well go without an escort, can I?" Sophie pursed her mouth, hoping he might change his mind. She wanted to do one thing exciting before taking herself and her new clothes back to obscurity in the country. She swallowed down her disappointment that Keene had not found her. She had hoped that he might have seen her on the street, been swept away by her new, improved appearance, sworn everlasting devotion, and offered eternal pledges to think of only her happiness. Not that the dream was anything more than a silly young girl dream.

  That he hadn't seen her wasn't surprising. Victor behaved as a vigilant watchdog, steering her away from people who might recognize him, and avoiding fashionable places during fashionable hours. Sophie had dutifully followed his strictures to dine in her hotel room and remain unseen each evening.

  "What would be so wrong? I'll be leaving in the next day or two."

  Sophie approached the violet seller. She reached into her reticule for a coin. Victor glanced at the girl and blanched. He tugged Sophie's arm.

  "I'm just going to buy a posy."

  "No!" Victor backed up, leading Sophie away. "No, her flowers are all wilted."

  The violet seller looked up at Victor. Her torn dress slipped down in front, and she slowly righted it.

  "I don't care about the violets. She looks like she could use the money," whispered Sophie. "Look at her dress."

  "A posy, sir?" The girl sauntered toward them, her gaze focused on Victor. "For your lady friend?" Her voice took on a low purr. "You could use it later this ev'ning, gov."

  "No." Victor turned away.

  Sophie pulled back, her fingers in her reticule. "I'll buy a bouquet."

  Her pretty face crinkled in a puzzled frown, the violet seller at last turned to look at Sophie. As she took the sprig of wilted violets, Sophie realized the girl didn't have a basket of additional flowers. Sophie had bought the last of her wares. The violet seller cast one last inquiring gaze at Victor, which he steadfastly ignored, before she backed away.

  "It was her last one." Sophie put the flowers to her nose and several small purple petals fluttered to the ground.

  "It was her only one. Good Lord, Sophie, don't you realize she was not selling flowers?"

  "She wasn't?"

  "For heaven's sake, you are married. You do understand what she was hawking." Victor's ears grew red.

  Sophie looked at the retreating girl and her scanty clothes. "What was she selling?"

  "That is why you have no business at the theater alone. There are far too many of her kind there and men who lie in wait for them."

  She was a prostitute? Was that what Victor meant? Why would she demand payment for something that promised to be so pleasing? But she should know, would know, if her marriage had followed a normal path. "Well, you could escort me."

  "I will not." Victor drew up stiff.

  Sophie looked for signs of weakening. She suspected that Victor was fond of her in spite of himself. After all, she had not imposed on him to continue to escort her around town once she had her bearings and her account in the bank, but he had shown up regularly as if she was a duty he must discharge.

  "You're not going, are you?"

  "I can't very well go alone, now can I?" She walked toward Victor's carriage. She couldn't go alone, and she couldn't keep hiding from her husband.

  * * *

  Keene mounted the steps to his town home. He had looked high and low for Victor, searching clubs and inns. He'd even burst past Victor's valet and combed his rented rooms.

  He'd decided to let Victor live long enough to tell him where Sophie was. Then, he would strangle him. Shooting was too good for him. The more Keene thought about it, the more he was convinced Victor was hiding Sophie in his room that day. Why else would Victor have been so nervous? If he had been concealing Amelia, he would have been more likely to face Keene with bravado and a disgusting disregard of the possible damage.

  As he stepped through the front door, his butler announced, "You have a visitor, sir. I have put him in the library. He insisted he would wait for your return."

  The last thing Keene wanted to deal with was one of his regular cronies. He moved toward the library with the thought of getting rid of his unexpected guest as soon as possible.

  His butler moved to announce him. Keene waved him off.

  "Very good, sir." Blythe bowed and moved off.

  Keene opened the library door. "You!"

  Victor swung around from where he was perusing the titles of books on the shelf.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Keene demanded.

  Victor backed into the bookcase and then looked startled when he had no further retreating space. "I could ask the same of you. I have been waiting hours."

  "What have you done with my wife?"

  Victor looked far too relieved. "Well, that is what I have come to discuss."

  Keene wondered if he should summon Blythe to alert the cook to set a pot of oil over the fire; strangling was too good for Victor. "Tell me, now. Then I shall kill you."

  "Yes, quite. Should I summon a second?"

  "I won't wait that long."

  "Yes, that would be the way of it." Victor moved to a chair with maddening deliberation. "But then you might need me to find her."

  Keene's heart pounded in his chest. Until this very minute he hadn't quite accepted that Sophie could be in town, could be running around with his sometimes friend, and that he had absolutely no control over his wayward wife.

  He crossed the room, leaned over Victor's chair, placing both hands on the armrests and demanded, "Where is she?"

  "Well, I am not
sure. She is not in her hotel room even though I told her to stay there."

  Keene's anger leaked out of him. "Hotel room? What is she doing with a hotel room?" What was she doing in London?

  "Obviously she doesn't listen to me any better than she did you. Sit down, man, you look done in."

  Keene had always known that Sophie went her own way, regardless of the strictures placed on her. He backed away and found a chair.

  "She wanted me to escort her to the theater at Covent Gardens. I refused. In spite of what you must think, I have tried to look after her. She wouldn't come to you, no matter how hard I urged her."

  Keene felt the blood drain from his face. "You would have done better to dissuade her."

  "Egad, I bet you are right."

  Keene had a sickening suspicion. "Did she say she wouldn't go to the theater?"

  Victor's eyes widened. "No. She said she couldn't very well go without an escort. I assumed—Oh, Lord."

  "How much trouble would she have had finding someone to offer to escort her?"

  "None. Bloody hell. Your wife is rather fetching." Victor leaned forward in his chair and looked nearly as distressed as Keene felt. "Would she?"

  "Yes, she damn well would."

  * * *

  Sophie had the feeling she had erred in accepting the invitation to attend the theater. When she'd seen Sir Gresham in the lobby of the hotel she couldn't do anything but greet him. To pretend to not know him when he and his three children had spent a fortnight in her father's home just prior to Keene's arrival might be especially hurtful to a man whose proposal she'd recently spurned. She had no special animosity toward Sir Gresham. She just hadn't wanted to be his wife.

  He'd introduced her to his companion, a Lord Algany, and one thing had led to another. The next thing she knew she had accepted Lord Algany's invitation to the theater and dinner afterward and did some fast maneuvering to be sure that Sir Gresham would be included in the party.

  Now the play was in intermission and Sir Gresham and the woman he'd brought with him had left the box to fetch refreshments. There was a juggler on the stage, but no one was paying him much mind, and Sophie's rapt attention on the three circling balls wasn't justified by the mediocre skills exhibited.

  Lord Algany had moved his chair so close that she could hear him breathe. His gloved hand brushed a strand of hair from her neck. "You have such lovely golden curls, puts me in mind of sunshine."