by Claudia Dain
“Then you shall learn why I can hardly scare up any wager at all anymore. I nearly always win, and I’m quite ruthless about getting paid.”
“Nearly always?”
Sophia shrugged. “I was being polite. I do always win. I can’t seem to help it, not that I’d want to. I’ll expect you tomorrow, then? Around six?”
“As long as I’m not to be interviewed, then I shall be there.”
“Oh, that’s long over. Who else would possibly want a duke for a husband?”
Edenham laughed, as did Sophia, as it was a very ridiculous comment to make. At least Penelope Prestwick thought so.
“BLAST, I’ve just lost thirty pounds to Sophia Dalby,” Lord Iveston said quietly.
“You didn’t think they’d marry or that he’d ruin her or that he’d ruin her in a stable?” Lord Ruan asked.
They were both standing staring down at the mews with most of the guests at Aldreth House. It was a complete crush, actually, which was hardly surprising.
“Oh,” Iveston said, ducking his head down and shaking it slightly, “only that I didn’t think Cranleigh would make his move today. He’s been …” Iveston let his voice trail off, clearly feeling he was about to betray a confidence.
“Interested?” Ruan supplied diplomatically.
Iveston didn’t so much as nod, but his agreement with the word was implied.
“I thought it would take a bit more prompting, that’s all. I can’t think how it happened so quickly, after such a prolonged period of interest.”
Well, that was diplomatic. Ruan couldn’t confess that he’d been aware of any special interest between Lady Amelia and Lord Cranleigh until the business in the conservatory, but once aware of that, it was more than obvious that something had been going on between the two of them for some time. Things just did not progress that quickly from a dead start. Especially with a virgin. Why, just look at how slowly he was making his way with Sophia, and she was anything but a virgin. He did think he should have got farther along at this point, but she was playing it very coy, a response he couldn’t fathom. He was not completely unattractive. He was experienced. He was young enough to do her some good service.
She was toying with him and he couldn’t think why.
Most peculiar.
He had thought to taunt her with some other woman at his side, but upon further study, he was more than convinced that such a ploy would merely amuse her. Something else must be done. The more she resisted, the more intrigued and determined he became.
Yes, he was very well aware that that was nearly certainly the very reason for her coyness, but he was still intrigued, even against his better judgement, of which he had little at the moment.
Sophia was driving him mad.
He found he didn’t care. He was having too much fun being driven round the bend.
Remarkable woman. He simply had to have her. And he would. He was a patient, thorough man. And even more to the point, he was experienced at more than seduction, which he knew would tantalize her. In fact, he did think in his more cheerful moments that she was nearly tantalized already.
Ruan smiled and kept his gaze out the window and down to the mews. But he was thinking of Sophia, not innocent Amelia, though by that scream she wasn’t innocent anymore.
“THERE goes her innocence,” Mary, Lady Jordan, said on a sigh. “And not to a duke, either. I can’t think how she wandered so far from the path she had determined for herself.”
“Can’t you?” John Grey asked.
They were standing nowhere near the drawing room windows, but at the single library window that overlooked the mews. They were nearly alone in the room. Eleanor was sitting on one of the sofas in the room, talking to John’s sons, or rather trying to get them to talk to her. The Duke and Duchess of Hyde were engaged in a seemingly pleasant conversation with the Duke of Aldreth, all clearly delighted to have their houses joined in marriage. Lord Dalby stood listening politely, his attention drifting.
Mary looked up at John. He still looked so much like the man she had met at Spa more than fifteen years ago. He’d been looking for Sophia. They’d lost each other somehow as children; Mary never had got the details. She’d been too busy trying to seduce him. And she’d succeeded, too. Her marriage had been … unpleasant. Her husband nearly dead, hence the trip to Spa, an effort to restore his health that hadn’t worked and that had depleted all their resources.
It had ended in death and debt, but there had been John.
She had used him miserably, and he had forgiven her for it. She sometimes nearly hated him for that. Nearly.
He’d been roaming the continent, searching for Sophia. He’d asked her, and she’d lied. She knew Sophia, and hated her. Hated her for being beautiful and scandalous and successful. A common courtesan, she’d snared not only the Earl of Dalby for herself, but the Duke of Aldreth for her friend Zoe Auvray. As Aldreth was married to Mary’s sister, that was quite unforgiveable, wasn’t it? She’d been justified in claiming no knowledge of Sophia Grey. She’d been justified in using John for her own pleasure, sensual, forbidden pleasure, because wasn’t she entitled to that? Sophia had everything, without justification, without reason or honor or family connection. Certainly, certainly she was allowed to use Sophia’s brother to satisfy her own ends?
Her own ends. What had those been? She couldn’t think what. And so one bottle became two, became three, and life grew more bitter and cold with each passing year.
John, not finding Sophia, and finding her not enough, had kept on searching, leaving Spa and disappearing from Mary’s life. What she could not hold, Sophia could not lose.
“I meant to ask you, John, but you’d left for Marshfield Park,” she said. “Do you know who is Eleanor’s true father?”
“Melverley is her father,” John said, turning back to the window, crossing his arms over his chest.
“But, do you think he can be? Truly?”
“Truly? I don’t know what that means, Mary. Melverley is father to Eleanor. There can be no one else.”
He was lying. She knew it. But as she had lied to him, she had no weapon now to force him to anything.
She turned to the window again and stared out of it, seeing nothing but the past.
Epilogue
AS everyone knew perfectly well who had been responsible for the Earl of Cranleigh finally marrying Lady Amelia Caversham, Lady Dalby was very nearly the guest of honor at their marriage the day following what was quickly being rumored as the most appallingly organized At Home of this Season or any other.
The Duke of Aldreth didn’t seem to mind the scandal, however, as his daughter was now firmly connected to the Duke of Hyde, and everyone knew that Hyde was not only excessively rich from his own connections but from having married a very wealthy woman in the person of Molly Hyde. As Amelia had been out for two full years, some unkind remarks had been whispered about her finding herself on the shelf. Amelia, now the Countess of Cranleigh, was having the last laugh, which was the very best sort of laugh to have.
Sophia sat in the white salon of Dalby House, quite despairing of ever getting it redone. She simply couldn’t seem to find the time, what with one woman and another seeking her help in acquiring a man. When had it ever been so much bother to acquire a man? They were everywhere. One simply couldn’t avoid them, even if one wanted to, which she certainly did not.
Lord Ruan was most definitely making a delicious nuisance of himself, which was perfectly adorable of him. He simply turned up everywhere. What was she to do with him?
She was quite certain she would think of something.
Freddy came in, looking a bit harried, which was quite unlike him.
“Mr. Gillray is here, and Markham is wandering through the house looking like a bat in a graveyard,” Freddy said.
“That sounds unpleasant,” Sophia said, rising to her feet. “Mr. Gillray is in the yellow salon? I’ll be in directly. And if Markham wanders this way, ask him to wait for me in here, will you? �
��
Freddy nodded and left the white salon, Sophia ran a hand over her hair, and then walked into the yellow salon to greet a very anxious-looking Mr. Gillray.
“Countess Dalby,” he said, bowing.
“Mr. Gillray, how good to see you. As ever, your work is not only timely, but lovingly executed. I simply could not have asked for more. You received payment from the man I sent round? There’s no problem, I hope.”
“No, not at all. I only wanted to make certain that you were satisfied. I do feel a certain confusion as to your purpose, Lady Dalby, but that is not a new experience for me.”
“Mr. Gillray, you are hardly alone in that, but as long as my money does not confuse you, we may continue to work well together. I may well require the position of muse to the great artist again. You will be available?”
“Certainly, Lady Dalby, and thank you. I’m glad you found the print acceptable.”
“Mr. Gillray, please don’t be so modest. Your prints are not merely acceptable, they are beautifully useful. Until next time, then.”
It was as Mr. Gillray was leaving that Markham happened to nearly stumble upon him. Most unfortunate, but then sons did so often get under foot. A condition of too much energy and too little occupation. Markham was going to benefit greatly from his trip to America with John and the boys.
“Mother, that was Gillray, wasn’t it?” Markham said, following her into the white salon.
“Yes, darling, certainly. I’ve known him for years. Such a talented man.”
Sophia sat on one of the white sofas and leaned back. This was not going to be pleasant so she should at least be comfortable.
“He did the satire of Lady Amelia, didn’t he?”
“You know perfectly well he did, Markham.”
“You commissioned it, didn’t you?”
“I most certainly did, which speaks so well of the man’s talent as he got it out so quickly. I paid extra for that speed, but it was worth it, don’t you agree?”
Poor Markham. He looked quite appalled. He truly did need to get out of London and away from Society so that he could learn something useful, such as how to manage people and events to suit his needs.
“What of Lady Amelia?”
“What of her? Do you think she was ill served by that satire? When she has the man she wanted mere hours after the publication of the print? I’m quite certain she’s delighted. I would be.”
“Not everyone is you, Mother.”
“How very true,” she said, leaning back against the cushions and stretching her legs out in front of her.
Freddy came in then with a tray of tea and biscuits, which was most welcome. Freddy stayed, which was not at all unusual. Freddy was not entirely typical as butlers went, the result being that he was invaluable.
“About that other print,” Markham said, looking completely miserable, poor darling, “the old one, the one Lady Eleanor described.”
“Darling,” she said, before he forced himself to say more. She reached out and took his hand in hers. “That was long ago, long before you, long before Dalby. Best just to forget it, as I have.”
“Did Father know?” he asked softly, his dark brown eyes staring at their entwined hands.
“Of course he knew,” she said, squeezing his hand. “He knew everything. Do you think I would have married him otherwise? Darling, some may think me devious, but no one can claim I am deceitful. No one.”
He sighed and took a deep breath, raising his gaze to look her full in the face. He had such a beautiful face, this son of hers. He looked quite like Dalby, and quite like her, too. The best of them both, she liked to think.
“There’s much I don’t understand, isn’t there?” he asked.
“Who told you that?”
“John.”
“Yes, well, no one is required to understand everything, so you are quite in the clear, darling. Now, when do you leave for New York? Have John and the boys not had their fill of England yet? ”
“Not quite yet. I believe they want to stay for a bit more of the Season.”
“Not hunting at Marshfield Park? I’m astounded.”
Markham grinned, his normally cheerful aspect returning, “I believe it was George who said that there was more exciting hunting in Town.”
“My, my, George may well turn into a Town buck. Whatever will John do if that happens?”
“Shoot him?”
“And he’d deserve it, too,” Sophia said.
Freddy eased out of the room and came back in directly. “Miss Penelope Prestwick to see you, Lady Dalby.”
“Now why would Miss Prestwick be calling upon you, Mother?”
“Darling,” she said, rising to her feet and checking the condition of her dress, “how am I to know that? She is calling upon me. Am I to refuse her? Do you have some objection, some secret knowledge of Miss Prestwick of which I am unaware?”
“No, no,” he said, holding up his beautiful hands in surrender. “Just, please, no more scandals. My reputation, I fear, is suffering a mortal blow.”
“Darling, you are so young. Reputations cannot suffer mortal blows, they can only die of neglect.”
Markham smiled, shook his head at her, the way boys will do with their mothers, which was so very amusing to their mothers, and left the white salon by the doorway to the dining room.
Before Freddy admitted Miss Prestwick, he said, “He doesn’t know about that first satire? The one with Melverley and Westlin and all the rest?”
Sophia shook her head. “He’s had one revelation and I fear more of a like nature would crush him. That he knows of the satire is quite enough for him. If he knew that I’d commissioned it …” Sophia shrugged and smiled. “Please show Miss Prestwick in, will you, Freddy? I am aquiver with curiosity. This is a busy Season, isn’t it? I do enjoy a busy Season.”
Miss Prestwick entered the white salon with all the determination of a general attacking a wildnerness fort. It was completely charming. She was dressed beautifully, her black hair and eyes set off to perfection by the whiteness of her muslin and the crimson red of her shawl. She wore no jewels at her ears or throat, but only a lovely golden bracelet of filigreed design.
She made quite a pretty curtsey and then they were seated and staring at each other with almost no subtlety at all. How remarkable.
“Lady Dalby, thank you for receiving me,” she said. She had a very lovely speaking voice, quite melodic. One could not but wonder if she could sing. Such an advantage, to have a talent of that sort.
“How lovely of you to call, Miss Prestwick. You are quite recovered from hosting your wonderful ball? Truly, it may be remembered as the event of the Season.”
“Yes, that would be lovely,” she said, clearly thinking of how to broach the reason for her visit.
It had not escaped Sophia’s notice that it was half five and Miss Prestwick was not unaware that the Duke of Edenham was due at six. If all went well, Miss Prestwick might still be at tea in the white salon when Edenham arrived.
Sophia had not yet decided if all would go well.
“And how are your marvelous roses doing?” Sophia asked.
“Not damaged in any way when poor Lady Amelia became entangled in them? Roses are fragile, are they not? Even with their thorns? Of course, the very reason roses have thorns is because they are so fragile, or so I have surmised. Would you agree? ”
“I would, Lady Dalby,” Miss Prestwick answered, licking her lower lip somewhat distractedly.
“Then your roses have quite recovered?” Sophia asked, nearly certain that Miss Prestwick didn’t know a thing about roses beyond the fact that they were flowers.
“They give every appearance of being so,” Miss Prestwick said, a bit tartly.
How delicious. A woman with a temper, and not terribly shy about showing it.
“How do you take your tea, Miss Prestwick?”
“Lady Dalby,” Miss Prestwick said, ignoring the offer of tea entirely. What a delightful, entertaining girl. “
I am quite aware, indeed, all of Society is quite aware, that you have a particular talent, one could even say, a passion for matchmaking. You have done so, quite obviously, with three women of gentle birth in the past month, one of them your own daughter.”
“But of course with my own daughter, Miss Prestwick, how else was she to marry without my guidance and permission?”
Miss Prestwick shook her head briefly, as if she had lost her train of thought and was regaining it.
“Clearly true, Lady Dalby, I was only recounting my observations. If I may continue?”
“Please do.”
“If one includes Mrs. Warren, which I feel I must as she is a close family friend, then the number jumps to four. Four women within a month. Four women who have made stellar, if not to say, unexpected matches with respectable and honorable men. Is that an accurate recounting of events, Lady Dalby?”
“I am completely charmed that you’ve taken such trouble, Miss Prestwick. I do think, however, that if your accounting is to be precise, the true number is four women in not quite three weeks. You seem to me to be a woman who values precision.”
“I do, Lady Dalby. I also value results, which I suspect you do as well.”
To which Sophia nodded, completely enchanted by this woman, and indeed, who wouldn’t be?
“Then, Lady Dalby, I have come to ask if you well help me as you’ve helped the others. Will you make it five, Lady Dalby? I should like a husband. I have only one requirement and, having met that, he can be whomever you think best. I am quite convinced that you know what you’re about. The women who have sought your aid seem to me to be entirely delighted by, if not the chain of events, by their conclusion. Will you help me, Lady Dalby?”
Was ever a more delightful woman created? She was a wonder. How on earth did her father manage her? Although it was perfectly plain that her father did not manage her in the least particular.
Sophia leaned forward and stared deeply into Miss Penelope Prestwick’s dark eyes. “And what is your one requirement, Miss Prestwick? I confess to being curious.”
Miss Prestwick also leaned forward and met Sophia’s gaze without hesitation. “I want a duke, Lady Dalby.”
