At five minutes to two, Sophia took her jitters into the drawing room where she found both her parents seated by a roaring fire. If they were at all nervous about the upcoming meeting, neither of them showed it. Her mother drank tea while her father had a snifter of brandy on the table beside him.
“Thank you for being punctual, Sophia,” her father told her with a small smile. “Sit here between us, please.”
She obeyed, and when a footman offered her tea, Sophia accepted, and then poured too much milk and not enough sugar in it. The concoction did not taste very good, but she was too nervous to ask for a fresh cup in order to start over.
The drawing rooms doors opened and Williams strode in. “His Lordship, the Earl of Montrose, Your Grace.”
“Send him in please.”
Williams bowed low, then opened the door wide to admit Lord Montrose.
His handsome face smiled as he entered, his waistcoat a terrible shade of burgundy while his coat and trousers were of a paler version of the same color. Carrying his walking stick in his hand, he approached the correct distance across the room before stopping to bow.
“Your Graces,” he intoned, his mouth still smiling and Sophia felt a fraction less nervous. “My Lady.”
Sophia rose to curtsey. “Welcome, My Lord.”
“Come in, Montrose,” the Duke said, also standing to greet his guest and shake his hand. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat. Brandy?”
“That would be lovely on this cold, wet afternoon,” he replied. “April is such a dreary month, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, indeed,” the Duke answered. “My wife has difficulty with her joints in this weather.”
“Your Grace.” Montrose inclined his head graciously toward the Duchess. “I am so sorry to hear of you ailing.”
“It is nothing, Lord Montrose,” her mother replied, smiling.
Sophia met Lord Montrose’s eyes and attempted a tentative smile, which, to her great relief, he returned.
No hatred or contempt, thank you, Lord.
“You are looking as lovely as ever, My Lady,” he said warmly.
Sophia felt her face heat under his compliment, and wondered how she could ever have disliked him so.
“You may already understand why I wished to speak with you, Montrose,” the Duke said, his brandy in his hand.
“I believe I do, Your Grace,” Lord Montrose replied, his eyes on Sophia. “I do believe you wish for a cessation of my courtship of Lady Sophia, which I will most happily grant.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Sophia burst out, her powerful relief swamping her previous jitters.
“When I understood the depth of your feelings for the Duke of Bersard, I was of course, disappointed. However, I have since met another fine heiress, whom I wish to court, and thus marry in due course.”
“Lady Alicia,” Sophia said with a wide smile.
“You were observing us at the Bersard ball.” Lord Montrose chuckled. “I fear we were not discreet in our attraction for one another. I do so hope we caused no scandal.”
“No, not at all,” Sophia told him happily. “It was clear you were enamored of one another, yet neither of you behaved in any way that was not proper.”
“Good. Lady Alicia and I complement each other, just as I believe you and His Grace do. Thus, I will harbor no hard feelings toward you or your soon to be betrothed.”
“You are most kind and generous, Montrose,” the Duke told him, smiling. “I will add my thanks to my daughter’s. Though I had looked forward to you as a son-in-law, I would very much appreciate calling you my friend.”
“Your Grace is also most kind,” Lord Montrose replied. “And I am happy to accept your friendship.”
“Luncheon will be served soon, My Lord,” the Duchess said. “Will you not join us?”
“Why, thank you, Your Grace, I would love to join you.”
Over luncheon, where Sophia ate little as she had breakfast only a few hours before, Lord Montrose regaled the Wellingsons of his infatuation and attraction for Lady Alicia, and for once since she had met him, Sophia noticed he did not talk about himself or his tailors.
“I have not had the honor of meeting Lady Alicia,” the Duke told him. “I have, however, met her father. A very intelligent and respectable gentleman. Sensible in his business and in Parliament.”
“I have not yet had my opportunity to meet Lord Swinton,” Lord Montrose said with a warm smile. “Though I hope to tomorrow evening. I have been invited to dinner.”
“Splendid, splendid.” The Duke nodded in contentment. “I am quite certain you will make as favorable impression on him as you did me.”
“Thank you for your compliment, Your Grace.”
Lord Montrose turned to Sophia. “I also wish to thank you, My Lady, for releasing me from my obligation to you without causing a fuss. I am sincerely grateful for that. Had you not fallen in love with the Duke of Bersard, I might not have met Lady Alicia.”
“I am also grateful for your discretion, My Lord,” Sophia replied with a smile. “I do hope we can all become friends.”
“I would like that very much. Now if you will please excuse me, Your Graces, I must depart your lovely home.”
“Of course, my dear Montrose. Please consider yourself welcome at any time.”
Lord Montrose stood up from the table, and made his bows before departing the Wellingson dining room. Her heart rejoicing in happiness and satisfaction, Sophia knew now she could freely accept Wesley’s proposal of marriage, as there were now no previous suitors or scandal attached to their relationship.
“Please, Papa,” Sophia asked, trying to not appear to eager, “may I invite Wesley here to meet with you now?”
The Duke rubbed his chin, watching her with a thoughtful countenance, and Sophia noticed her mother eyeing her father as well, waiting for his response. “Give me a few days, Sophia,” he finally replied. “I believe Lord Montrose is sincere in his affections for Lady Alicia. However, I still fear repercussions from society when it becomes known you wished to not be courted by him.”
“I think you worry overmuch, James,” her mother commented. “Lord Montrose openly sought out Lady Alicia at the Bersard ball in front of the ton. There is no scandal there, thus there would be none if it were announced soon that our daughter is engaged to marry the Duke.”
Her father nodded. “Perhaps. But—”
He got no further, as Williams entered with a letter on a silver tray. “Your Grace, this came for you just now by a footman.”
The Duke accepted it. “Thank you, Williams.”
He slowly opened the missive and read its contents. “It is from the Dowager Duchess of Bersard,” he mused. “It is an invitation to luncheon tomorrow.”
“Perhaps she wishes to meet you,” Sophia said eagerly. “It’s known to her that Wesley loves me and wants to marry me.”
“If that is the case, my dear,” her father replied slowly, frowning, “then why did she leave you out of the invitation?”
Dread coiled up in Sophia’s stomach. “I am not invited?”
“Let me see that.”
The Duke handed the invitation to Sophia’s mother, who examined it closely. Then she gazed at Sophia. “It is true. The Dowager Duchess has asked us, your father and I, but it does not include you. I wonder why.”
“I told you I felt her looking at me with hate,” Sophia replied, her anger rising. “I did nothing to deserve it, and now I am excluded from luncheon while my parents are invited.”
“There may be another explanation, Sophia,” her father said calmly. “We will accept her request, and politely inquire why you were not also asked.”
Inwardly seething, Sophia quieted her rage long enough to breathe in deeply, and force levelness into her voice. “May I invite Wesley to dinner this evening?”
“I wish to wait until after our visit with the Dowager Duchess,” the Duke answered. “I have a feeling this is not an ordinary luncheon.”
Chapter 2
0
Not caring a whit about the cold April drizzle that forced his hair to stick to his head and neck, Wesley alighted from his coach in front of the bookstore that had now become his favorite as this was the place where he well and truly fell in love with Sophia.
Entering the store and its welcoming warmth, he knew he was early for his assignation with Sophia by about ten minutes. The place was scented of books and ink, with a trace of wood smoke from the stove busily belching out heat. A few other patrons browsed the shelves, and a stout lady held a small dog on a leash as she inspected the titles.
Shaking the rain from his coat, Wesley decided to spend a few moments in the history section before meeting Sofia, and headed straight there. He hoped to find a book regarding Asia and the far East that could educate him on the customs of the lands of that region.
Losing himself in the titles, examining one book after another, he almost forgot the primary reason he came until he heard a female clearing her throat behind him.
Spinning around, a book in his hand, Wesley found a grinning Sophia, her maid, Erin, behind her as her chaperone. “Sophia,” he exclaimed, and without thinking of the consequences, bent and quickly kissed her on the mouth.
Only upon observing her mischievous smile did he realize what he had done. He had kissed a lady in public.
Oh, the scandal that would cause.
A rapid glance around showed him none had seen it, and by her maid’s expression of approval, she would not reveal to anyone that it had ever happened.
“I am very happy to see you, Wesley,” Sophia said. “I have the most excellent news.”
Wesley forgot the book in his hand. “Your father has agreed to see me?”
“Yes, but there’s something else first.”
“What? You are going to surely slay me by keeping me in suspense.”
“Lord Montrose formally renounced his desire to court me, and acknowledged that he plans to court, and ultimately marry, Lady Alicia Keaton.”
Wesley wanted to whoop in triumph, but instead, he carefully looked around for witnesses, then planted another swift kiss to Sophia’s lips again. “I am courting disaster by kissing you,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I cannot seem to help it.”
Sophia’s smile slowly faded. “There’s something else, Wesley. Something not so wonderful.”
He, too, let his happy smile vanish. “What is wrong, my love?”
“Your mother, the Dowager Duchess, invited my parents to luncheon today, but I was not asked to come.”
Wesley blinked. “Why would she not invite you? Moreover, she did not inform me at all that she had invited your parents.”
Sophia nibbled her lower lip, which Wesley longed to kiss again, but did not dare. “At the ball,” she said slowly. “As I was paying my respects, I got the pronounced feeling that your mother hated me.”
“How can she not adore you as I do?” Wesley asked, confused. “You are the epitome of proper behavior.”
“I do not know. Now I have been spurned from a luncheon my parents were invited to, when we believed the request from her was to get to know them, and possibly me, since you and I are to be married.”
“This is so very odd.”
Wesley stared at the shelves, his mind racing. “Why did she not tell me? I feel almost as though I was not intended to be there, either. For, of course, had I known, I would be in attendance.”
“You say she accepted our commitment to one another?”
“Hmm. I informed her,” Wesley admitted. “I cannot say, in truth, she accepted it. She wished for me to marry Lady Alicia Keaton.”
“But now Lady Alicia will soon be engaged to Lord Montrose,” Sophia added. “Nor will he accept anything less than a betrothal from her father.”
“Just as I will accept nothing less than the same from yours.” Wesley grinned at her. “So when might I arrive and speak to the Duke?”
“He wishes to see what the Dowager Duchess has to say first, unfortunately. Luncheon at your house is going on right now, even as we speak.”
“It would be terribly rude to go there and confront them all,” Wesley mused. “Though I would like to do exactly that.”
“Perhaps we should wait,” Sophia advised. “My father is close to asking you to come. Let us proceed in a proper fashion, thus none can say we did not follow the rules.”
Loving Sophia more than ever, adoring her intelligence and sweet nature, Wesley bowed to her. “My lady thus commands me. We will stand before your father at the proper time where I will formally ask for your hand in wedded bliss. Then I will propose to you, my precious, beautiful Sophia.”
By her luminous face, her wide happy smile, Wesley knew he had said exactly the right things, and suspected she was close to throwing her arms around him. While he wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him, he knew that should they be seen, they would be banned from high society, and shunned by the ton.
“I will marry you, Sophia,” he said softly. “If you will have me as your adoring husband.”
Sophia’s eyes glowed. “I will love you until the end of days, my loving and handsome Wesley. I will marry you before God.”
Before he lost himself and seized her in a long and kissing embrace, Wesley contented himself with showing her the book he found. “Sophia, here is a tome on ancient Asia.”
For the next hour they roamed the shelves, discussing the merits of this book or that, whether or not to buy this one or that one. Near tears, Sophia almost cried, “I am out of my monthly allotment for books.”
Wesley laughed. “How quickly you forget, my love. I am a wealthy Duke. I will purchase them for you.”
She brightened instantly. “But how will I explain them to my father? I did not inform my parents I was meeting you here.”
Wesley thought quickly. “I will purchase them, and bring them to you upon my visit to your father. I will say they are a gift to you. For in truth, they are indeed my gift to my future bride.”
“You would do that for me?” Sophia’s heart gleamed from her honey-colored eyes.
“That and more, my love.”
For the next hour, they browsed the bookstore, and Wesley purchased ten new books for Sophia and five for himself. He knew she felt embarrassed by what he had done, for she blushed bright pink and almost could not meet his eyes. He summoned his footman from his coach, and ordered him to put the books inside where they would not be affected by the rain.
Gazing down at her, Wesley knew that their time together was over for the time being. He must return to his townhouse and make inquiries of his mother. Sophia must return home, and be there by the time the Duke and Duchess returned from luncheon with his mother.
“My heart will ache until the moment we meet again, my beloved Sophia,” he said at the door, his voice soft.
“As will mine, my Wesley,” she replied, a smile curving those lips he longed to kiss yet again. “I will plead for my father to send you a request to visit with him.”
“I love you.”
Rather than answer, Sophia pursed her lips, her golden eyes warm and loving. Her maid opened the umbrella and held it over her mistress’s head, and then both dashed out into the dreary drizzle to the Wellingson carriage.
He watched the footmen assist her inside. The door closed. The coachman cracked the whip over the horses, and the team of four took his love from his view.
With a sigh, Wesley slogged through the muck and wet to his own coach, the bedraggled footman holding the door open for him. Climbing inside, cold, damp and wondering how he would broach the subject of her neglect of Sophia to his mother, he stared out at the passing traffic as the coachman drove him to his London townhouse.
Caroline, the Dowager Duchess of Bersard, gazed at her guests with a vague sense of superiority. Though by a small technicality, the Duke and Duchess of Wellingson were her superiors in rank, they were guests in her home, and thereby her equals.
His Grace stared back at her, confused by what she had j
ust requested of him. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said, hesitant. “You want me to do what exactly?”
Luncheon had gone according to plan with Caroline saving her firm requirements for last. They had dined on succulent river trout, turtle eggs, an excellent fish soup, roast venison from her own estates in York, and hot rye bread, while making light, easy conversation about society and the latest gossip.
She had entertained them as a proper hostess should, then as they began their dessert, Caroline broached the subject she so wished to discuss. In fact, it was the entire reason she invited them here.
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