She just had to tell Rhoda about the kiss.
“But not so delicious as Captain Brookes, would you not agree?” Rhoda flashed a grin as she dabbed the napkin at her lips. And then she sighed deeply. “I thought I would just die when he smiled at me. Those striking black eyes, and he is so very tall… and manly…” Blushing, she dropped her gaze to her lap. “How foolish of me! The man has turned me into a simpering ninny.”
Oh, dear.
Rhoda liked Captain Brookes.
“If this is anything like the emotions Lord Harold has inspired in you, I now fully understand why you were so giddy when he asked for your hand.”
Oh, dear!
“Er, yes, I suppose, but Rhoda, you don’t even know Captain Brookes.” She felt the need to interject a dose of reality into this most unreal situation.
“I know, Soph. But, oh, my, when he jumped onto the building and over the lion’s cage — my heart be still! He is most powerfully built indeed.”
And charming, Sophia thought with a grimace, and polite, and kind… and a magnificent kisser!
Perhaps he had this effect on all women. He’d most definitely won Rhoda over easily enough.
As Captain Brookes escorted them the short distance to Sophia’s parents’ townhouse, he’d politely inquired after Rhoda’s hat, and then he’d teased her flirtatiously again about her long, tongue twisting name.
Rhoda had taken one of his arms while he’d carried Peaches in his other.
The entire way home.
Sophia chastised herself. She was an engaged woman for heaven’s sake! She had no business whatsoever feeling any sort of… possessiveness over Captain Brookes.
Despite the fact that he’d nearly had his way with her.
Guilt washed over Sophia as she studied her dear friend.
Tall and willowy with dark chestnut hair, Rhoda was nearly completely opposite in appearance to Sophia. Her eyes were brown and serious, surrounded by the longest lashes Sophia had ever seen. And Rhoda was normally pale, but in that moment, two spots of color stood out on her cheeks.
The two girls had become friends when they’d found themselves relegated to the wallflower seating at the balls they’d attended. It was where they’d met Emily and Cecily as well. Emily, Rhoda, and Sophia were all from families with good connections but lacked respectable dowries. Cecily had had an enormous dowry, but hailed from the lower classes.
Married a mere six weeks ago, Cecily’d been told, by the Earl of Kensington, no less, that he’d done so for the sole purpose of winning her father’s money. He’d gotten his due, in the end, but that had done naught to change Cecily’s unfortunate circumstances.
And now Sophia was the second of them to become engaged — quite happily so! She loved Lord Harold! He was gentle and sweet-natured. He seemed to listen to her. Not many men who’d been in her life had ever taken the time to hear what she had to say.
Not many women, either, for that matter.
Except for Rhoda and Emily and Cecily.
Yes, Lord Harold possessed many attractive characteristics.
And, marrying Lord Harold ensured that she would be removed from her stepbrother’s proximity.
She could leave her stepfather’s home.
Oh, yes, she was quite happy to be engaged.
Rhoda was fidgeting, peeling some flakes away from her pastry in an un-Rhoda like manner. “I did, er, mention to him that we would be walking by the serpentine tomorrow afternoon.” At these words, she glanced up with a wicked smile on her face. “He responded as though he might see us there.”
Sophia frowned. So, Brookes would simply move along to the next London miss then. “Hmph…” she said. And then realizing her friend might become suspicious as to… well, that she herself was… But she was not! “Is this an assignation?”
Rhoda fluttered her eyelashes and looked at her lap again. “I would not call it that. But, I will admit to you that I am hopeful. I—”
“Hello? Girls? You’re taking tea upstairs then?” Sophia’s mother peeked through the door, her silver blond curls softly framing her face. Sophia imagined, and hoped, that she would have similar looks as her mother when she herself aged. Her mother was of Sophia’s same height and coloring, and today she wore a periwinkle-colored day dress.
Sophia’d not seen it before.
Finances had been tight for them until recently. The thought struck her that her stepfather must have done well with some investment or another.
“A new dress, Mama?” Sophia inquired in a cheerful tone. It was nice to see her mother looking fresh and fashionable, wearing something that put a cheerful gleam back in her eyes.
Her mother stepped in and twirled around twice. It was obviously a new dress, then, and she was evidently quite pleased with it.
“By Madame Chantal,” she said. “Delivered just this morning.”
Sophia and Rhoda simultaneously rose to examine the stitching and crocheted border. Another interest the four wallflowers had discovered they shared was a mutual appreciation for fashion. “Oh, this is lovely Mrs. Scofield,” Rhoda sounded impressed, as she ran her fingers over the silk thread.
“I love it, Mama!” Sophia echoed, smoothing the material of the skirt.
“Did you make any purchases this morning, Sophia dear? Something pretty to wear to the theatre tomorrow night for Lord Harold?”
The girls shared a knowing glance, and then Rhoda answered. “It took longer than I’d anticipated to retrieve my bonnet. At first, the shop assistant could not locate it and then when she pulled it out, we realized one of the ribbons was loose. We waited for her to repair it, and when she was done, we were both famished!”
Sophia’s mama accepted the explanation without question. “Nonetheless, Sophia dear, you should order a few new gowns next time you see Madame. As for tomorrow, we can add some lace or tulle to your rose frock. Men don’t usually notice such matters, and surely we can make it look as though it is brand new.”
Her stepfather must have improved their finances indeed! She would not discuss the matter with her mama in front of company. For now, she would simply be happy enough to see her mother looking so happy.
But she did wonder. Their improved status paralleled most coincidentally with her engagement.
Surely no relation existed between the two! For her marriage would mean that her dowry, small though it was, be demanded.
“I must say,” Rhoda said as she watched Mrs. Scofield repair her coiffure in Sophia’s vanity looking glass, “Sophia takes her looks from you, ma’am. Was your first husband fair-haired as well?”
Sophia’s mother blinked and then turned away from the glass. “I don’t speak of my first husband, dear. It would be unkind, unappreciative to do so, after all Mr. Scofield has done for us.”
Although Sophia’s mother and Mr. Scofield had been married many years now, Sophia had never seen a great deal of affection between them. They were kind to one another, however, and Mr. Scofield always treated her mother in a respectful manner.
Sophia had vague recollections of her father, her real father, holding her mother, joking and laughing. In the few memories she had of him, he was smiling. Her mother had laughed in those days as well, but Sophia also remembered finding her mother in tears more than once.
“I recall a little, Mama,” Sophia said softly. “Remember I told you I thought he’d been a dream.”
Her mother fussed at Sophia’s hair but didn’t answer.
“I remember when he brought home the kitten.”
Finally, her mama’s face softened, and she seemed to relent. “Foolish man!” She blinked quickly. “Barely had enough to pay the bills, and he brings home another mouth to feed.”
“But you loved him, you told me.”
At times, something would strike her mother’s memory, and she’d tell a particular story to Sophia. Sophia was the only person in the world with whom she’d ever share them, most likely. It was a world where only the two of them had seemed to exist.<
br />
“Love doesn’t put a roof over one’s head.” Practicality won out with her mother. It always did.
Rhoda rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Was it a love match, Mrs. Scofield, between you and Mr. Scofield?”
Again, it did not seem as though her mother would respond. Sophia knew that it wasn’t, of course, but she was curious to hear her mother’s answer. “Dudley, as you know, is not my son by birth. He was all of nine years old, and Sophia barely five. Mr. Scofield needed a mother for his son, and Sophia and I were nearly destitute.”
Sophia remembered when her father had become ill. He’d died just after her fourth birthday.
“Ah… a marriage of convenience.” Rhoda nodded sagely. “It must have been daunting, taking on another woman’s child. Was Dudley troublesome for you?”
Sophia’s mother shrugged. “I suppose…” She was distracted once again by her new dress. “…but a woman does what she must. And aren’t we glad of it, Sophia?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to leave as quickly as she’d come. “I merely wanted to look in on you both before I left for my visits. You are certain you don’t wish to join me today?”
“Mother, they are your friends.” Sophia wrinkled her nose, in no way willing to spend time in the company of a bunch of inquisitive matrons. “I will see you later this evening.” She’d had this discussion with her mother before.
Her mother stole one more look in the mirror, nodded approvingly, and then took her leave.
Sophia frowned.
Rhoda was the only one of her friends who knew about Dudley, and she’d sworn to never tell a soul. “Please, Rhoda! You promised! I don’t want Mama suspicious. She’d only worry. Please, please, be careful what you say to her.”
“I know.” Rhoda was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry.” They’d been over this before.
Sophia straightaway felt horrible. Rhoda hadn’t said anything, really. “No, I’m the one who is sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Perhaps it’s just the events of today, what with the carriage and the lion and… such.”
“Could it be something else?” Rhoda could be annoyingly astute at times. “Has something happened between you and Lord Harold? You seem a little… twitchy this afternoon.”
“Nerves? I suppose the magnitude of what I’ve committed to is beginning to dawn upon me. Goodness’ sake, I hardly know Lord Harold, really! And now I’m about to pledge myself to him forever! Look what happened to Cecily!”
Rhoda placed one arm around her shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. “Lord Harold is nothing like Lord Kensington. Up until recently, you have been singing his praises! Remember? He is kind, gentle, humble. Nothing at all like the earl! I think you are quite safe accepting him as a husband. He’s not the sort of man who would ever cheat or hurt you. I’m certain of it. In fact, I believe he might actually deserve your love.”
Rhoda’s tone was soothing but her words not quite so. She herself had cheated this afternoon, and she’d enjoyed every second of it! How could she do something like that to Lord Harold if she loved him? Did she love him? And even if she didn’t, did it even matter at this point?
Chapter Three
Dev chuckled to himself as he turned to walk toward his uncle’s home. Of course, the first debutante he felt a stirring of interest for in years would be betrothed! More than a stirring of interest, a small voice nudged him, if he were to be honest with himself. No, he’d been entranced, captivated, even, for those few minutes he’d spent alone with her behind the lion’s wagon.
The incident had set him back over an hour. Although her father’s home was indeed, in Mayfair, it was on the outskirts, some distance from the larger, more elaborately built mansions that surrounded his uncle’s home, Prescott House.
Situated in the heart of the exclusive neighborhood, the Prescott ducal townhome was set back from the street and somewhat hidden by centuries-old trees lining the walk. In addition, a wrought iron fence stood guard, providing nearly as much privacy as one would find in any country estate.
If only so much privacy could be had within, as well.
Dev’s father, the duke’s younger and only brother, was most likely in residence, as would be distant cousins, aunts, uncles, and other various types of relations, mostly hailing from the duchess’ side of the family.
Not that they had need to do so, but with so many otherwise unused chambers, it made little sense to take lodgings elsewhere. Prescott House was something of a palace, rather than a mere mansion, large enough for any or all of them to reside inside for days without seeing one another.
That being said, whenever he was in town, since reaching his majority, Dev rented private bachelor’s quarters.
He preferred a modicum of independence to the constant interference of meddling relatives. Although he had no quarrels with his aunt or uncle, he preferred, on principal, that he not be under the duke’s thumb any more so than necessary. He’d seen the effects it could have upon a man. His own father, although a man of independent means, seemed to defer to the duke’s wishes more often than not. Whether this was due to outright agreement or a sense of indebtedness, Dev was not certain. He preferred not discover such a propensity firsthand.
“Captain Brookes.” The longstanding butler, Mr. Evans, damned near stood at attention when he opened the door to admit him. Evans, Dev had learned, had once been a military man and would forever maintain his respect for the dignity of the vocation. “Out of uniform, today, Captain?” he inquired pleasantly, but in surprise.
Dev owed no explanation to servants but nodded and winked at the man. “A disguise, Evans. Ladies are mad for the uniform, you know.” And then, wanting to complete his task as quickly as possible, he said, “Is my father with his grace?”
Mr. Evans nodded affirmatively. “They are not alone, Captain. The duchess, Lord St. John, and Lord Harold joined them not thirty minutes ago.”
Dev pinched his lips together. “A family meeting, eh?”
“I would not know, Captain,” Evans answered predictably.
Dev grimaced and took his time as he sauntered up the stairs and down the familiar corridor.
The door was partially ajar, so he entered unannounced.
“—not necessary to hasten a wedding date.” His cousin Harold’s serious and somber voice carried across the large chamber. Harry spoke as though it were to be a funeral. Surely Harold wasn’t referring to his own wedding?
“Who’s to be wed?” he asked, not bothering to be welcomed into the conversation.
His father and their graces turned satisfied faces toward him as he strolled into the room. His father eyed him warily, noticing immediately, Dev was sure, the absence of his uniform.
“Devlin, my boy.” Prescott glanced up from the papers he’d been perusing. “Harold is betrothed. You’d know this already if you’d bothered stopping by when your regiment returned.”
Good Lord! Harold betrothed?
“This is true, Harry?” Devlin propped himself upon the arm of one of the long leather couches arranged precisely along the lines of an ancient heirloom rug. “Anyone I know?”
“Not unless you’ve been frequenting Almack’s,” St. John interjected, sounding as dry and as bored as usual. Lucas Brookes, the Marques St. John, was Harold’s older brother and Prescott’s heir. He’d been standing in the shadows, preparing to take some snuff.
Almack’s. That was one venue Dev would avoid at all costs.
An image of a petite blonde with porcelain skin intruded into his thoughts. “Not yet, cousin.” She’d probably landed her fiancé there.
“Dev, so wonderful of you to visit. Where have you been hiding?” Floating over in a cloud of perfume, his aunt placed one hand upon his arm and offered her cheek. “You’ve been in London over a fortnight, yet you’ve only just now come to reassure your family of your safe return. Naughty boy.”
“My apologies, Aunt. I’ve been finalizing my latest assignment… and other things…” he trailed off
. This was only one of the reasons he chose not to reside at Prescott House.
His father raised a brow. “Colonel Harris’ duel being one of them?” Of course. The duel.
Duels were no longer legal. But when one’s colonel requested a man to act as second for him…
“And other matters.”
“I’d have seconded Harris if he’d asked me. Well done of you, Dev.” St. John spoke up from the shadows again. “Kensington’s actions were appalling. I understand Harris has been forced to send Alice away. She’s utterly ruined.”
Dev would not expand on that. He’d since learned that Alice, the Colonel’s wronged daughter, had not led the chaste life her father had believed. Perhaps it was best for her to be away from London. Get into less trouble that way.
Dev, though, was curious about his younger cousin’s earlier words. “Harold? A bridegroom? I am all astonishment.”
But Harold did not meet his eyes and laugh as Dev expected. “We haven’t set a date.” From Harold’s tone of voice, his younger cousin was none-too-anxious for the happy event. “I’d prefer a small ceremony at Eden’s Court, after the Season’s end, but their graces wish to hold the nuptials here in London.”
“Your fiancée has no opinion on this?” Most women, to his knowledge, were much involved in these sorts of details. And likely the chit would want all pomp and circumstance possible. She was marrying into a duke’s family, after all. What debutante would not wish to share the spectacle of her good fortune with all of London?
“Her family will be amenable to our wishes.” It was his uncle who answered.
Her family?
Poor chit. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she knew exactly what she was getting herself into.
Again, Dev conjured up the lovely Miss Babineaux. She embodied all that was feminine. Her groom, no doubt, eagerly looked forward to their wedding night. He would be wise to provide her with the moon and the stars.
If he didn’t, he’d be a fool.
“The lady best not take issue…” His uncle spoke in a stern voice. “…for all the blunt we’ve put up to secure this charade.” Delightful. Such pleasantness that could only be Prescott. And a charade it was to be? The puzzle pieces logically fell into place now.
Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues Page 45
