A knock sounded at his door just then, and Sophia entered. “May I have a word with you, James?”
“Of course.” He set the letter aside and gestured for her to sit down. “The guests are settling in?”
“Yes, but I wanted to tell you about the cook. Mrs. Mulley slipped on a cabbage leaf and bumped her head. I’ve sent for the doctor, but Mrs. Mulley said that with all the work to do before this evening, your mother would not approve, but I assured her that you would agree with me about her receiving medical attention. I just want to make sure that you support my decision.”
James laced his fingers together. “Naturally, I agree, and I will always support your decisions regarding the household, Sophia. You are the duchess, not Mother.”
Her shoulders rose and fell as if she were relieved. “Thank you.” She stood up to leave but hesitated. “Is there something wrong, James? You look troubled.”
James gazed up at his wife, wondering what he’d said or done to give himself away. Rising from his chair, he handed her the letter about Martin. She read it quickly, then gave it back to him. “What will you do?”
“I’m not sure. I’m at a loss, I’m afraid.”
They both sat down again. “Is this the first time anything like this has happened?” she asked.
“I wish it were. Martin was suspended from Eton twice, and both times, I’ve sent him to his aunt’s, hoping she would have a positive influence on him. Obviously, I was too hopeful.”
“I see.”
James stood and paced the room. “I cannot ask myself what my father would have done, for my father’s methods will not do, but nothing I have tried so far has made any difference.”
“What have you tried?”
“I’ve sent him to people and places I felt would help him mature.”
“Have you considered keeping him here for a while?”
James stopped pacing. “I don’t suppose I’ll have much choice. I’m running out of options.”
“This might be the best place for him, with a family who loves him.”
There was that word again.
“If he is unhappy,” Sophia continued, “we can find out why, or perhaps we’ll discover that he is simply at that age.”
“Boys will be boys, you believe?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. But if it’s something more, having him close to us will help us get to the bottom of it.”
Sophia rose from her chair and James was amazed to feel a welcome release of tension. She moved toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “I will see you in the drawing room before dinner.”
She walked out and left him alone to reflect upon how surprisingly easy it was to share things with his wife, and how much he could rely upon her.
“Remember,” Lily said to Sophia when the dressing bell rang, “that when everyone lines up to go into the dining room, you must take your place near the front. Mother will go with James in front of you.”
“I thought I outranked your mother.”
“You do, but James is the highest-ranking man, and he is required to be matched with the highest-ranking woman who is not his wife, and that would be Mother.”
“There’s so much to remember,” Sophia said.
“You’ll do fine. You will walk with the Marquess of Weldon, and behind you will walk Lady Weldon with the Earl of Manderlin, then I will follow with Lord Whitby. I once had a crush on him, you know.”
Sophia stopped midstride between the bed and her desk. “Really? Lord Whitby?”
“Yes,” Lily replied with a grin, blushing slightly. “He and James have been friends for years. I first saw him in London when I was very young, and I thought he was the most dashing young man I had ever met. He and James were always off somewhere, causing trouble.”
“Trouble?” Sophia asked, thinking of Martin’s recent behavior.
“They spent a lot of time in the clubs, gambling, and Mother was always furious with them. They’ve matured, though,” she said with a smile, “as I have. But oh, there was a time I did fancy myself very much in love with Lord Whitby. Perhaps it was the rebel in him—and the fact that Mother didn’t like him.”
Sophia watched her sister-in-law rearrange some tiny cat statues on the mantel and wondered how Lily was such a romantic when her brother and mother were so much the opposite.
Sophia returned to the subject of the formal dinner. “I hope I don’t do anything wrong tonight. Thank you for helping me with the seating arrangements.”
“You’re very welcome. Now I must go and dress. I will see you in the drawing room.”
Sophia summoned Ainsley, her new maid, but before Ainsley arrived, another coach pulled up in front of the house. Sophia went to the window. Two gentlemen stepped out, so she hurried to greet them, for she recognized the older man as Lord Manderlin.
She was descending the stairs just as they entered the front hall. “Good evening, Lord Manderlin, and welcome.”
“Duchess, it is a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed, and it was as if his awkward proposal had never occurred. Manderlin turned to introduce the gentleman behind him. “May I present to you, Pierre Billaud.”
Monsieur Billaud moved forward, and Sophia stared unblinking at his handsome face. His eyes were dark, his hair and mustache even darker and he had the look of a flirt.
He bowed his head and spoke with a thick French accent. “I am honored, Your Grace.”
She held out her hand and he kissed it. “Merci, Monsieur Billaud. J’espere que votre voyage au Chateau de Wentworth sera très agrèable.”
“Why, your French is excellent,” he replied. “I am certain I will enjoy my stay here very much, merci. I hope I will not intrude upon your.... How do you say it...? Hospitality?”
“Don’t be silly. The more, the merrier.”
“The more the merrier,” Pierre repeated. “That must be an American expression. It is charming. You are charming, Your Grace.”
Sophia noticed Lord Manderlin stiffen at Pierre’s candid flattery, but it hardly fazed her. She grew up in Wisconsin where the local blacksmith flirted good-naturedly with elderly women more than he paid attention to his own wife.
She instructed the footman to show the gentlemen to their rooms, then went quickly to her own room to dress for dinner.
Wearing a dark crimson gown and matching rubies, Sophia entered the gilded drawing room. All the guests were assembled and conversing with one another. James was at the far end of the room, her mother-in-law stood by the marble fireplace talking to Lord Manderlin.
Sophia moved into the room and greeted Lord Whitby.
“Duchess, you look ravishing this evening.” He reached for her gloved hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.
“You are too kind, Lord Whitby. I hope you have settled in comfortably.”
“I have indeed. And yourself?”
“Me?” she replied with a laugh. “You forget that I live here.”
“But that is a recent event. No disappointments, I hope. No bouts of homesickness?”
“Of course not,” she answered smoothly. “I’m very happy.”
He regarded her intently. “Yes, I am sure that you are. No doubt James has done everything in his power to make it so.”
A footman with a tray of champagne passed by, and Sophia reached for a glass. They moved on to safer topics about the weather and the dinner menu.
A few minutes later, Pierre Billaud strolled in and stood in the doorway, assessing the crowd. Realizing he would be acquainted with no one, and happy to have a reason to excuse herself from Lord Whitby, Sophia went to lead Monsieur Billaud in and begin the introductions.
They made their way around the room. When they reached Marion, she raised her spectacles to garner a better look at the handsome young Frenchman. With one glare at Sophia, she revealed her shock and disapproval that
someone new had been invited without her knowledge.
“Marion, may I present to you one of our guests, Pierre Billaud. He is visiting us from Paris.”
Marion accidentally dropped her spectacles. Then she grew pale and collapsed in a heap of skirts and petticoats at Sophia’s feet.
Chapter 21
James tried to bring his mother around by fanning her with a dinner menu, but it was the smelling salts that did it. Three vials appeared instantly under her nose from three nearby ladies.
Sophia knelt on the other side of James’s mother, and their guests stood over them with concerned expressions, whispering to each other.
“It’s the heat,” Marion explained as she started awake, her cheeks flushing with mortification. “Tell the footman to put out the fire!”
James raised a finger at a footman. The next instant, the coals were hissing with smoke and steam.
“Are you all right, Mother?” James asked.
She touched her cheek with a trembling hand. “Take me to my room.”
James helped her to her feet, and they moved slowly toward the door, his mother leaning heavily upon him. As they turned toward the stairs, James glanced back into the drawing room and noticed Sophia speaking with a stranger.
“Who is that man?” he asked. “The one with the dark hair and mustache?”
“I’ve no idea,” the dowager replied breathlessly. “Someone your wife invited. He’s French, James.”
James glanced back at them again.
His mother continued. “You of all people should know how she freely introduces herself, and now she’s invited a foreigner into our house. It is time you prevailed upon her that she must let go of her American ways. She is a duchess now, yet she still goes around doing as she pleases, causing all sorts of problems you could not even imagine. She does not understand the significance of her rank or the importance of our traditions. You need to take a firmer hand with her.”
“Mother—”
They began to climb the stairs. “Consider what your father would have done. He would never have permitted the situation to get so out of hand. I cannot even imagine what might have occurred if I had been so bold as to take the liberties Sophia has taken.”
James helped her up the rest of the stairs. “Mother, stop. May I remind you that I am not my father, nor do I ever wish to be. And you are no longer mistress of this house. Sophia is mistress now. She is my duchess, and I will be the one to decide what courses to take with her.”
The dowager hobbled weakly down the first corridor. “You have not changed, James. You still do everything in your power to hurt me.”
“Mother,” he said, drawing to a halt. “Sophia has secured our future, and I am not only referring to her father’s generous marriage settlement. She has joined our family with a desire to do the very best she can, and I will not permit you to belittle her or accuse her of treachery. Do you understand me?”
His mother glared at him with incredulity, then gathered her skirts in her fists and stormed off down the hall, miraculously recovered.
James stood in silence, feeling curiously connected to Sophia in that moment, as if by stating it aloud, they were a new contingent in this dark, cursed house. He backed up a few steps, then started toward the stairs. As he descended, he found himself looking through the open doors of the drawing room, searching for Sophia.
He spotted her. Smiling brightly, she was conversing with Whitby. Then she turned to speak to the Frenchman. She was glowing with cheerfulness and vitality as she always did when she spoke to people—just as she had glowed for him when they first danced in a London ballroom. It was that very charm that had turned his head and drawn him in.
James could not deny his discomfort at seeing her offer her most dazzling smile to two men—one who had sent her two dozen roses a few short months ago while openly pursuing her for marriage, and another who was a mysterious stranger in their home. A Frenchman who had caused his mother to lose consciousness and collapse.
He reached the bottom step and walked toward the gathering. The image of his wife with the stranger—from France, of all places—brought a frown to James’s face, for he did not enjoy being shut out or kept uninformed about things that pertained to his household or his wife.
More than that, he did not enjoy the hot sting of jealousy that stabbed him in the gut like a saber.
Marion passed through her bedchamber door and slammed it shut behind her. “Taylor, a pot of tea. Go and see to it,” she said to her maid.
The woman hurried from the room.
Marion moved quickly to a chair, her hands still trembling from shock. Genevieve had sent Pierre here! How could she have done such a horrible, horrible thing after she had received what she’d requested, and Marion had assured her that there would be more payments. Had Genevieve decided that money would not satisfy her need for vengeance? Would she attempt to destroy the dukedom as well?
Marion covered her face with her hands and tried to think of what to do. Should she tell James?
No, she couldn’t possibly. If he knew, he would be furious with her for keeping the truth from him all his life. He might even allow the secret to get out, for he had never been one to care about scandals or what others thought of him.
Knowing how he felt about his ancestors, Marion couldn’t even be certain that he would defend his peerage. He might simply say good-bye to it and sail off into the sunset with his new American upstart wife.
And leave me to cope with the aftermath.
That night, after all the guests had retired to their rooms, James picked up a candelabra and ventured into the hall. He was on his way to his wife’s bedchamber this evening, not to produce an heir, not even to satisfy his own lustful hunger for her, but to reassure himself that she belonged to him and no other.
He knocked on her door and entered. Sophia was already in bed with the lamps out, and his appearance must have startled her. She sat up and hugged the covers to her chest. “James, what are you doing here?”
“Can a husband not visit his wife…for the mere pleasure of her company?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Of course. Please come in. I-I didn’t expect to see you.”
She didn’t expect it because this was the first time since their honeymoon that he had come to her two nights in a row, and for the “pleasure of her company” no less, when they had both accepted that their lovemaking was about duty and duty alone. Still, here he was.
God help him. Somewhere between saying “I do” and watching Sophia talk to Whitby and that Frenchman tonight, his passions had gained a foothold.
He moved fully into the room and set down the candles. “May I join you?”
She seemed almost confused by his question as she turned the covers back for him. James removed his robe and slipped between the cool sheets beside her. “You were stunning this evening,” he said. “A perfect hostess.”
“Thanks to Lily,” Sophia modestly replied. “She’s been wonderful, James, helping me with the rules of precedence and so much more.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“Did you know,” Sophia said, “that Lily once fancied Lord Whitby?”
James felt his brow furrow. “Whitby? Certainly not. She was just a child when she first met him.”
“She told me it was a girlhood crush,” Sophia continued, “and that when the two of you were at school together, she thought his rebellious ways were exciting.”
“Now that does not surprise me,” James said. “Lily is a romantic, but she has a wild side, inherited from our father no doubt.”
Sophia’s eyebrows lifted. “How so?”
A month ago, James would have avoided answering such a question. He would never have brought up the subject of his father in the first place, but Sophia already knew a part of what she had married into, and she had not, thank God, fled
back to America. “My father married late, well into his thirties, so he had a number of years to adopt a rather scandalous manner of existence.”
Curiosity gleamed in Sophia’s eyes, so James continued. “He gambled and drank and frequented the worst establishments imaginable, and when my grandfather could no longer bear to watch him behave in such ways, he sent him abroad to France to live with an old friend from the war, a military man who was equally as strict. My father, disciplined at last, later returned to England and married my mother, and at least for a short while, kept up appearances.”
“Lily told me he had a mistress.”
“Many, no doubt, but the one he kept the longest was from Paris—a woman he met there.” The candles flickered in the night, and James studied his wife’s expression, very carefully. “Speaking of Paris,” he continued, “Mother was clearly distressed by our guest, Pierre Billaud. Who is he?”
Sophia answered straightforwardly. “He is an acquaintance of Lord Manderlin’s. The earl wrote to me a week ago to ask if he could bring a guest. Apparently, Monsieur Billaud is visiting England and has hired a cottage from him.”
“So, you’ve only just met him?” James asked.
“Yes, today for the first time. Why? Did you think he was a friend of mine?”
James realized at that uncomfortable moment how irrational he had been, jumping to conclusions, influenced by his mother’s histrionics and giving in to a ridiculous jealousy which had no foundation in reality. “I didn’t know one way or the other.”
Sophia reached up to stroke his cheek. “Well, now you do, so you can forget about it and think of something else. Something more immediate, like making love to your devoted wife.”
The silky tone of her voice took him back to their honeymoon, when he had permitted himself simply to adore her, and she had reveled in that adoration.
To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1) Page 19
