Instead, he was quite surprised when the gentleman greeted him with a smile and a handshake.
“Thank you for the lovely party, Your Grace,” Montrose said cheerfully “Have you met Lady Alicia Keaton?”
Wesley smiled at her. “Why, no, I have not had the pleasure. How do you do, My Lady?”
“Quite well, Your Grace, thank you.”
Lady Alicia, while pretty with sparkling brown eyes and plump cheeks, did not attract him at all. Even if he had not already fallen in love with Sophia, she still would never have interested him.
He saw nothing of Sophia’s high intelligence in her at all. Wesley suspected she and Montrose would make a very happy couple together, as they seemed to have the same temperaments and likes.
“I hope you are both enjoying the ball,” Wesley said, smiling at them.
The two shared a long look, grinning at one another like fools.
“Yes, we are, Your Grace,” Montrose replied, still gazing at Lady Alicia with calf love. “Thank you.”
“Forgive me, I must see to my other guests,” Wesley told them, and wandered off.
Across the room, Sophia paid her respects to his mother, the Dowager Duchess, and by her warm expression, she, too, had enjoyed the ball and offered her thanks as well as her good nights. Without making it obvious, Wesley watched her curtsey, then amble gracefully from the ballroom.
His mother’s eyes also followed Sophia’s progress to the doors, opened by a pair of bowing footmen, but they were neither warm nor kind. Rather, they held a hard edge and her expression was tight, her lips thinned as though what she saw disgusted her.
Wesley liked that not at all.
Sophia was nothing but polite and proper as a young lady should be when addressing one of superior rank. Why does Mother dislike her so?
Tempted to march over and ask her, Wesley decided that perhaps this was not the best time to demand answers. Other guests also offered him their thanks and respects, as well as the Dowager Duchess’s, and trickled toward the set of wide doors.
Feeling that he could escape the ball without being rude or garnering sharp comments, Wesley headed for another side door that led into a hallway where he could reach the library on the second floor of the big house.
Phillip found him, and bounded after him, his jaws wide with canine happiness, his tail high and wagging furiously. Wesley, grinning, reached down to scratch behind the hound’s ears. “You are a clever chap, are you not?’
Phillip agreed with a sharp bark, then galloped ahead of him up the stairs.
Anticipating his needs, a liveried footman opened the library door for them both, and then poured good Scotch into a glass as he sat before the roaring fire with a gust of relief. “Thank you,” he told the footman, who backed away to stand out of his master’s sight, yet stood ready to serve again.
Delving deep into the book in his hand as well as the whiskey, Wesley read the pages, yet his mind wandered to Sophia and his mother’s clear animosity, while Phillip stretched out on the hearth with a huge yawn.
How can she not like a proper lady like Sophia? It’s not like I’m bringing home a disease-riddled whore and declared her my fiancée.
Still troubled, the Scotch soothed Wesley and enabled him to relax enough to finally get some real reading in. He would ask his mother about the matter tomorrow. Watching Phillip sleep as only a canine could, soothed some of Wesley’s nerves.
Caroline nudged her friend Heather, and discreetly jerked her chin toward the vanishing Lady Sophia Appleton.
“A bluestocking.” Caroline sniffed. “My son plans to marry her.”
“No.” Heather stared from Lady Sophia’s back vanishing through the doors and to Caroline again. “Has His Grace lost his wits?”
“It would seem so. I could never approve, of course, but he is young and headstrong. He will not listen to me as his father once did, God rest my dear husband’s soul.”
“Marrying a bluestocking will cause a scandal,” Heather commented as the doors closed behind the infamous Lady Sophia. “Her reputation is spotless otherwise.”
“Only her status as the Duke of Wellingson’s daughter has kept her honor from being stained by her relentless pursuit of book learning,” Caroline continued. “Why, I heard just the other day she offered an opinion on a matter under consideration in Parliament. I tell you, my cheeks flamed at the very idea.”
“That is simply horrible,” Heather remarked, her eyes and mouth wide in shock. “What is in that child’s head?”
“Ideas, that’s what. All those romances and histories she reads. I assure you, my dear Heather, my son will not marry that opinionated chit. I will convince him he must marry your daughter instead.”
“I do hope so, Caroline,” Heather responded. “I do believe my daughter will make a most excellent Duchess of Bersard.”
“I believe that as well. Which is why I firmly disapprove of her spending the entire evening with that odious Lord Montrose.”
“Yes, indeed.”
Caroline observed her friend watching Lady Alicia still engrossed in conversation with Lord Montrose. While there was nothing in their very public talk that would cause a scandal, by the looks of them, the two were very much attracted to one another.
“Perhaps I should speak to the Duke and Duchess of Wellingson,” Caroline continued, also watching the pair laugh and talk with excitement. “They should be encouraged to match their wayward daughter to someone other than my son.”
Heather glanced back at her. “Will that be possible? After all, His Grace is a Duke in his own right, and not subject to your authority.”
“I will invite the Wellingson’s to my townhouse,” Caroline decided firmly, “as a way of getting to know them. I will speak with their Graces privately. I am certain they will come to see my view.”
“Are you so sure, Caroline? I hear they dote on their daughter, their only child.”
Caroline frowned at Heather. “I can keep my son in line, Heather. He will soon learn to look to me in every aspect of running his dukedom as his father did, including his choice of brides. He will marry your daughter.”
Chapter 18
Bundled in her thick wool cloak, heavy scarves, and with fur-lined boots on her feet, Sophia sat in the coach with Erin, gazing out at the dark streets she passed through. The night was dank and chilly as only April in London could be, and Sophia couldn’t wait until she got home to a warm fire and a romance novel.
She had sensed the Dowager Duchess of Bersard’s animosity toward her when she paid her respects and thanked her for the party, and it filled her with confusion.
What did I do? I did nothing that was not proper or at all scandalous.
Wesley had not told her much about his parents other than his father, the old Duke, had recently died. And that was also fairly common knowledge as well. In her young eyes, Her Grace seemed distant and cold, not at all like her handsome, utterly fascinating and loving son.
Sophia smiled to herself as she remembered the kiss Wesley bestowed on her as they hid behind the statue.
Soon, my love, soon, my father will grant us his blessing.
“You love him, m’lady?” Erin asked, seated across from her in the swaying coach.
“His Grace?” Sophia asked with a smile. “You know I do.”
“He seems a kind gentleman.”
“Indeed, he is,” Sophia replied. “My perfect match in every way.”
“You are fortunate then. Perhaps one day you will permit me to marry a man I love.”
Sophia smiled. “Do you have such a man you love?”
Erin blushed, and stared at the floor of the coach. “Not yet, m’lady. I hope to one day.”
“Is not the handsome footman from Ireland interested in you? The one with the red hair and hazel eyes?”
Erin nodded. “We have been speaking, m’lady, but are not yet in love. I do like him. Very much.”
“If he feels the same way as you, then I certainly will encour
age that. I want you to be as happy as I.”
Erin glanced up at her with a shy smile. “You are very kind, m’lady.”
“I try to be.”
The warmth of the house after the icy, damp drive to her father’s townhouse filled Sophia with a pleasure that neared ecstasy when she walked inside, Erin behind her. Williams, the cantankerous butler, bowed as she shed her outer clothes and handed them to Erin to take upstairs to her chambers.
“Where are my parents, Williams?” she asked.
“They are in the drawing room, My Lady.”
“Thank you.”
Warming her cold hands by rubbing them together, Sophia passed bowing servants as they went about their late night work, making the drawing room her destination. Though she craved to seek out Homer’s Iliad instead, she knew she should pay her respects to her parents before doing so.
The fire on the hearth in the drawing room put out more heat than any other in the house, for which Sophia felt grateful. Still chilled from the coach ride from the Bersard’s vast house, she smiled as her parents glanced up from their conversation in big armchairs by the fire.
“Good evening, Sophia,” her father said, beckoning her. “How was the ball?”
Sophia dipped her knee in respect before approaching, then sat in the chair her father gestured her toward. “It was wonderful, Papa. Mama, you are looking well this evening.”
“The weather outside is so hard on my joints, dear,” her mother, Lea, the Duchess of Wellingson replied, tightening the shawl around her thin shoulders. “That is why I could not accompany you to the ball as your chaperone.”
“Of course, I understand, Mama,” Sophia answered, seeing the frailty in her mother that only the damp and dreary London spring could provide. “I saw the Duke of Bersard here. I am so in love with him.”
Her father frowned slightly. “I have not yet had a chance to speak privately with Lord Montrose,” he said heavily, “and explain the situation. I do hope you were discreet.”
“I only spoke with him for a few moments,” Sophia answered with a smile. “I was indeed discreet, Papa. Fear not.”
“Good, good.”
“I have some news that will make things much easier,” Sophia added. “Lord Montrose has already found a replacement for me.”
The Duke’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “Do not tell me you have been invading his privacy.”
Sophia laughed. “Of course not, Papa. Lord Montrose made it clear to everyone at the ball that he has formed a very strong attachment to Lady Alicia Keaton, the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Swinton. They neither spoke nor danced with anyone else from the moment they met.”
The Duke rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I know the Earl of Swinton. A good gentleman, very respectable. He would certainly approve of a match with Lord Montrose, should he broach the subject and ask for her hand. Both families are quite well bred, and wealthy. Hmm. Lady Alicia is one of three daughters, but her family’s connections mean a great deal.”
“Did you dance, Sophia?” her mother inquired.
“Only once. With Lord Acton. The rest of the time I simply stood at the walls and talked with others.”
“You cannot create any scandals by doing that, I expect,” the Duke said with a sharp nod.
“Papa!” Sophia stared at him, astounded, shocked and hurt to her very core. “How can you think that of me?”
The Duke put his hands up, palms out. “I apologize, my dear, for I spoke in haste. I merely meant that with this debacle involving Lord Montrose and your desire to marry Bersard, it is good to not attract attention to yourself.”
Mollified, Sophia nodded, and sank back into her chair. “I kept that in mind, and did nothing that would create either scandal or rumors.”
“I should think Lord Montrose would be the one who created scandal, James, dear,” her mother stated firmly. “He came with the intent to court our daughter, and now dallies with Lady Alicia. Sophia’s name is clean. Society will blame him for the courtship coming to an end.”
The Duke nodded again, gazing into the dancing flames. “While that gladdens me that our daughter’s name has not been spattered by this, I do wish His Grace and Sophia had fallen in love a few weeks earlier, and thus we would have avoided all this melodrama.”
Sophia laughed. “I am so sorry the timing of our relationship is so hard, Papa. But we love each other, and there is no one I would rather marry.”
“The Duke is a fine match, James,” Lea added. “I, for one, given his name and his politics as well as his business acumen you tell me about, would rather see our daughter marry him as opposed to that fop, Montrose. My dear, he has such terrible taste in his clothing.”
“I believe I noticed that,” Sophia confided with a grin.
“Yes, yes, we all can agree Lord Montrose has little business sense outside his favorite tailor,” the Duke admonished them. “However, I am determined to keep our family name out of his affairs. And his scandals. Now, Sophia, you are certain he is quite enthralled by Lady Alicia?”
“Very much so, Papa,” Sophia replied quickly. “They could not take their eyes off one another. The ball might not have existed and they would never have noticed.”
“Then that may very well be our heaven-sent rescue,” the Duke replied with a smile. “While not actively blaming him for, er, dumping you, I can reasonably expect, with Montrose’s new interest in mind, to permit Bersard to ask for your hand in marriage sooner than we had agreed upon.”
Joy and happiness flooded Sophia, and she forced herself to not throw her arms around her father. “Really, Papa? May I invite Wesley, er, His Grace, to meet with you soon?”
“Give the situation a few more days to settle,” her father replied with a tiny smile. “I wish to test the air around Montrose and his new lady friend first. Make certain no dirt might be flung to stick to our family name. If all is well, then I will move up my meeting with him by perhaps a week.”
Thank you, Lord, thank you!
“I told Wesley, er, His Grace, that I would write to him,” Sophia told her father, unable to contain her happiness. “You have no objection to our corresponding?”
“None,” the Duke replied. “Private, no imminent threat of scandal by communicating in such a fashion. My dear Sophia, you certainly have increased my respect for you with your consciousness and ability to navigate these treacherous societal waters.”
“I am your daughter after all, Papa,” Sophia replied with a warm smile. “I learned from you.”
The Duke chuckled. “Perhaps you did, at that.”
Recalling the Dowager Duchess’ clear hatred of her, Sophia’s warmth and humor faded. “I fear there is another issue at hand, Papa, Mama.”
“What would that be?” her father asked.
“As I paid my respects to our hostess, Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess,” Sophia replied slowly, nibbling her lower lip, “I fear I sensed that she hated me.”
Sophia observed her parents glance at one another, clearly as confused as she was.
“Why ever could she dislike you, dear?” Lea asked. “You were proper with your curtsey, your speech, were you not?”
“Yes, Mama,” Sophia answered, nervous as she recalled the sensation of the Dowager Duchess’s eyes on her back. “She said nothing improper, nor did I, but it was merely a powerful feeling when I walked away that she wanted me dead.”
Her father sighed heavily. “While I wish I could discount it as youthful over-imagination, I cannot. The instincts we have are there for a reason, and that is what keeps us alive in dangerous situations.”
“So you believe me?” Sophia asked, astounded.
The Duke held up a cautionary hand. “I believe you felt something untoward. Perhaps it came from Her Grace’s weariness from the night, or perhaps you felt someone else watching you.”
“No, Papa. Her Grace looked at me with fierce eyes, and then I felt them as I walked away. I did not imagine it, Papa.”
“There is
nothing to be done about it now, my dear,” her father said on a sigh. “Try not to let it trouble you.”
“I will not,” Sophia answered, still nibbling her lower lip. “I just wanted you to know is all.”
“Again, Her Grace may have been overwrought by the events of putting on the ball, and simply picked you out among all the young people who attended to be the focus of her momentary bad temper.”
Sophia, inwardly disagreeing, nodded. “Perhaps that was all it was.”
Lea stood up. “I am weary, James. Would you be so good as to escort me to my chambers?”
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