“Come in, Bersard,” her father told him with a smile. “Care for a brandy? Or do you prefer port?”
“Brandy, thank you.”
Sophia watched, hardly daring to breathe as Wesley sat in a chair near her father, drinking in the sight of him, his handsome face and lithe body.
Even being wet like that does not detract one whit from his stunning good looks.
Wesley gave her a quick smile before turning his attention to her father. “My sincerest apologies,” he said, digging in his pocket. “I fear I must divulge some terrible behavior on the part of my mother. I hardly am able to believe it myself had I not seen her drop this.”
He handed the paper over to Sophia. Confused, she looked at it, saw her own seal, her own handwriting and the words she had written just that afternoon.
“It is the letter I wrote you,” she exclaimed, “inviting you to dinner. What does this mean?”
“It means I was not at home to receive your missive,” Wesley replied, anger tinging his voice. “My mother opened it, read it, and tore it up. She did not inform me of it.”
Gasps of shock at such blatant rudeness and impropriety emerged from her parents’ mouths, and Sophia failed to halt her own.
“I watched her drop that half from her skirts,” Wesley continued. “When I realized what it was, I had to come here, to explain in person what had happened. I could not go through the night with you thinking I had ignored you.”
He gazed sorrowfully at Sophia. “I am so sorry, my beloved Sophia. You must have thought ill of me when I did not reply, or arrive for dinner. As you see, I came straight from my own table to here in order to make full amends.”
“I did feel hurt, Wesley,” Sophia admitted. “I did not understand. Now I do. None of this was your fault.”
“I also must tell you, Bersard,” her father said, his tone firm, “I take exception to the Dowager Duchess presuming to tell me to my face that my daughter is unfit to marry you.”
“Is that what she told you?” Wesley rose with his brandy snifter in his hand to pace. “Wellingson, I am so sorry. I must apologize that she put you through such. Of course Sophia is fit to marry me. There is no one better suited or whom I’d rather have at my side forever than your daughter.”
Sophia thought her happiness could never grow any more until he spoke those words. “Oh, Wesley,” she murmured, tears of joy burning her eyes.
“Thus, though I feel I no longer deserve her after how badly my mother has treated you,” Wesley went on, “I do indeed, Wellingson, do ask you for Sophia’s hand in marriage.”
Sophia’s gaze fled from Wesley to her father. He did not bother to play them along to dampen their spirits only to raise them again. Her father smiled broadly, and stood up, his hand extended to Wesley.
“There is no one whom I would rather have marry my daughter than you.”
Now the happy tears did flow freely, and even her mother dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Wesley grinned, and shook the older Duke’s hand.
“I am so overjoyed,” Wesley told him, then shot a warm look to Sophia. “You will not regret this, Wellingson. I will love your daughter until my last breath.”
The Duke of Wellingson returned to his chair. “I do believe that. And while I never imagined my daughter’s choice of a husband could ever outmatch mine, I am very glad it did. I did like Montrose as a candidate, but once Sophia explained everything to me, and I saw the sincere love between you, well, I am glad she changed my mind.”
“I am glad as well.”
Wesley sat down again, and took a drink of his brandy. “I do not condone my mother’s actions. And I have informed her of dire consequences should she interfere with my relationships or choices ever again.”
“From the perspective of a wife and a mother,” Lea said quietly into the silence, “the Dowager Duchess has not just committed a terrible breach of social etiquette, but she has overstepped her bounds.”
“I quite agree, Duchess,” Wesley replied gravely. “That is why it must not happen again. While I would hate very much to follow through with my threat, I will if she forces me.”
“Wesley,” Sophia said urgently. “She is your mother.”
“Yes, she is.” Wesley bowed his head. “However, she taught me to keep my emotions from my decision-making. I will decide her fate, if I am forced to, with the detachment of a magistrate.”
“I am certain the Dowager Duchess will no longer seek to interfere with your plans to marry Sophia. I would ask that you return here, Bersard, within the next few days so we might work out the necessary details. Then, of course, we will have the banns read in public so there is no question of anything untoward.”
“I will be happy to,” Wesley murmured with a smile.
“How delightful,” Lea exclaimed. “My only child, my daughter, is now engaged to be married. We have a wedding to plan, Sophia. Is that not exciting?”
“It is very exciting, Mama,” Sophia answered, gazing at Wesley. She knew her heart shone in her eyes for not just Wesley to see, but for her parents as well. “At the next ball, I can dance openly with him, and boast that I caught the most eligible bachelor in the realm.”
“I think I caught the best debutante,” Wesley said with a chuckle.
“Now that business is done with, Bersard,” said James. “We have other matters to discuss, as long as you are here.”
As Sophia listened to her father and her future husband discuss politics and committees and matters of interest to the kingdom, she sipped her wine. Her happiness could not quite push out the disquiet she felt.
Wesley’s threat may not intimidate the Dowager Duchess at all. What is her game and why is she playing it?
Chapter 23
“It is of the utmost importance that your son marry my daughter,” said Lady Swinton while buttering her scone.
Caroline had invited her friend to the townhouse for tea the day after Wesley had issued his horrible threat. She still stung from that. Her own son, her own son, delivering a promise that if she did not cease in her plots, he would send her to Yorkshire.
She shuddered delicately. The property, not far from the abominable Scottish border, could hardly be called an estate. It had only a few acres where sheep grazed on the moors, and a small house. Why, it did not even boast a servants’ quarters. She had been there once and vowed never to go there again.
Surely Wesley must be mad to have even contemplated such a thought.
“Yes, Heather,” she replied before taking a sip from her cup. “But Wesley is proving to not just be stubborn, but resistant to my advice that will put him on the correct and proper road. Why, he was so angry yesterday eve that he dared threaten to put me aside.”
Heather sighed. “And that boor I call a husband agreed to marry Alicia to that awful Lord Montrose. He refused to even listen to me. I cannot imagine my poor daughter married to that fool.”
“But this travesty must be stopped,” Caroline bemoaned, slathering butter on her scone in such a terrible fit of anger that she could hardly eat it after that. “But how? Wesley announced to me this morning that the silly Duke of Wellingson agreed to his suit.”
“I do not yet know, Caroline,” Heather answered. “I just know deep in my heart that if these terrible weddings were to happen, the repercussions will be unimaginable.”
“I do agree,” Caroline murmured, disliking this turn of events. “If my dear departed husband had lived a while longer, none of this would have happened.”
“We must not bemoan the past,” Heather advised. “We must look to the future.”
“Of course,” Caroline murmured, staring at the mess that once had been a pleasant scone.
“Did not His Grace place in his will a clause that states Wesley must marry within a year, or lose half his properties to a distant cousin?”
“Yes, of course that is true,” Caroline conceded.
“Then he has accomplished what the will decreed. He has found his wife, and he will be
married within the aforementioned year.”
Caroline raised her face from her mangled scone to stare at her friend. “Yes, but he must also parade his potential wife before the solicitor. She must pass his inspection as to her reputation, and that chit Lady Sophia will not pass. She has a stained reputation as a bluestocking who has voiced her opinions on government matters.”
Heather smiled gently. “Perhaps it is time to remind your son of that.”
Later that day, Caroline found Wesley engrossed in yet another of his books in the library, to her utter disgust.
How could I have given birth to a lazy, utterly useless offspring?
Yet, she put on a mild smile and warm expression for him as she entered, and garnered his attention immediately.
That infernal mutt that perpetually followed Wesley from place to place lifted its muzzle from its paws, and eyed her menacingly from its spot in front of the fire. When it growled at her, she almost kicked it.
“The Duke of Wellingson accepted your proposition to marry his daughter,” Caroline stated, perching herself on the edge of a sofa. “Congratulations are in order then.”
Wesley carefully marked his page, then straightened, his oddly shaded hazel eyes fixed on hers. “Is that sincere congratulations, Mother? Or are you insinuating something more?”
“How bold you are to speak to me thus,” Caroline complained, her tone both astounded and bitter. “Your father would have a thing or two to say about it, you can be sure.”
“Why are you here, Mother?” he asked, his voice weary. “I will brook no abuse from you regarding my betrothal, or hear your slander against Sophia.”
Keeping her outrage firmly in check, Caroline glowered at her son. “It is for your sake, and that of your precious Lady Sophia, that I am here at all.”
“And? If you wish to say something, you must cease your hinting and tell me.”
“Have you forgotten your father’s will?” Caroline asked, a note of triumph in her voice. “Your dear little bluestocking must pass Mr. Tennant’s appraisal before you marry her. If she does not, you will lose half your estates to your useless cousin. Who, I am sure, will use the wealth from those estates and rents to drink himself into a stupor.”
From the shock on Wesley’s expression and his suddenly pale flesh, Caroline easily presumed he had indeed forgotten that clause in the old Duke’s will. Wesley turned his firm glance to her, his shock subsiding and his anger showing clear on his face.
“Sophia comes from the best bloodlines in the kingdom, and her reputation is unsoiled.”
“Save that little bit about being a learned bluestocking,” Caroline told him with a note of triumph she could not hide. “The exact aspects of your bride-to-be that attracted her to you will cause you to lose half the income of your father’s properties. Wealth from the estates in Durham, Cornwall, Essex, and Exeter will no longer be yours, Wesley.”
Caroline rose from her perched position. “How your love for your lady will cost you in the end, my son. It will give you something to lose much sleep over, will it not?”
Wesley bit his lip and clenched his fists after his mother left, her last jeer ringing in his ears.
Sophia will not cost me anything. That terrible Tennant cannot possible deny me my rights simply because my beloved once aired an opinion where ears had heard.
His anger burning, Wesley set his book aside, and paced the library, his head down, thinking. Phillip, roused from his nap, his ears flattening, rolled half over on his side, his paw lifted in a silent entreaty to have his stomach scratched. Absently, his thoughts spinning in his head, Wesley bent and complied.
Obviously, his father had not trusted him to make a proper decision regarding his future or his marriage.
Why? I had been a dutiful son, learned the family business, learned my obligations to the crown. Why did you do this, Father?
Thinking he must pay a call on the solicitor, Mr. Tennant, Wesley decided he needed to see his steward, Patrick Berkeley, first. Berkeley was his father’s steward before he became his own, and he knew his father’s mind better than anyone.
Abandoning the library, Wesley took the stairs down two at a time, slipped on the polished floor of the foyer before regaining his balance. Phillip leaped down the stairs at his side, and also skidded on the slick tiles. Rushing down the hallway to Berkeley’s office, Wesley flung open the door.
He startled the already nervous man, who gave a yip in surprise and dropped his ledger. Hastily, Berkeley rose to bow, the small tic in his left cheek working fast, and Wesley half wondered if that indicated his heartbeat.
“I am sorry, Berkeley,” he said, closing the door behind him, almost striking Phillip’s tail. “I did not mean to startle you, but I must speak with you urgently.”
“I am at Your Grace’s disposal.”
As he could not pace in his master’s presence as he was wont to do, Berkeley’s nervous tic increased and his shoe tapped the floor in a rapid tattoo. Phillip, being Phillip, flopped on the hearth and immediately went to sleep, Berkeley’s nervousness notwithstanding.
“You realize that my father left a stipulation in his will,” Wesley said, trying to not let the steward’s nervousness get on his nerves. “That I must marry within the year, and that my intended bride must pass the solicitor’s inspection.”
Suddenly, Berkeley’s eyes behind his spectacles sharpened on Wesley, and both the tic and the foot ceased their motions. “What is this?” he asked, his tone harsh.
“Surely you knew,” Wesley said slowly, surprised at his reaction. “Obviously, my father, in his grand perception of me, deemed me unfit to marry in my own time. He stated in his will that I must marry within one year of the will’s reading, and that whoever I planned to take as my wife and future Duchess, must be of such an impeccable reputation that she must pass Mr. Tennant’s, the solicitor’s inspection of her breeding and honor.”
“And if this does not come to pass, Your Grace?” Berkeley asked, his eyes still sharp on Wesley.
“The Durham, Cornwall, Essex, and Exeter estates shall be bequeathed to my laggard cousin,” Wesley replied gloomily. “Lady Sophia, the daughter of the Duke of Wellingson is whom I have chosen to marry.”
“And thus, since I am sure you will marry within the year, will satisfy the will,” Berkeley said, now staring at the ledger on his desk.
“With the exception that my love, whom I will live with in poverty if I must, has a minor discrepancy against her.”
Berkeley glanced up. “What is that, Your Grace?”
“Lady Sophia has much book learning, and, on occasion, airs an opinion. Thus, she is considered a bluestocking by some, and an embarrassment to one who plans to marry her.”
“That is hardly a stain on one’s reputation,” Berkeley muttered. “In these days, there are far more grievous sins. What do you plan to do, Your Grace?”
“First, I came to you, in the hopes you had some knowledge of my father’s intent behind all this,” Wesley told him. “Did he not trust me to be a good Duke?”
For the first time in all the years he’d known the man, Berkeley smiled. Wesley thought he would fall off his chair in shock.
“Your father was incredibly proud of you, Your Grace,” Berkeley said softly, no tic or patter of his shoe on the floor in sight or hearing. “He trusted you absolutely, and once told me he could not have produced a finer heir to his legacy.”
Wesley gaped. “Then why this terrible clause?”
“Leave that to me, Your Grace,” Berkeley stated firmly. “I will do my best to find out. Your father and I discussed the creation of his will, and he never mentioned such.”
Wesley felt his jaw slacken. “He never told you he planned to add that? Perhaps he did as a last resort to make me grow up, so to speak.”
Berkeley shook his head. “Your father never considered you to be immature, Your Grace. That is not an ordinary clause to add to a will, and I will make inquiries. I will also obtain the will in question
.”
“Uh,” Wesley said, hesitant, eyeing Berkeley sidelong. “Just how do you mean to do that? I am not so certain Mr. Tennant will simply let you have it.”
Berkeley grinned, his eyes suddenly feral. “I have my ways of persuasion, Your Grace. Leave this matter in my capable hands, and I will discover why your father wrote such in his will.”
“I was planning to address the matter with Mr. Tennant,” Wesley answered, slightly confused, “and broach the matter of my intended marriage.”
“Please do not do so at this time, Your Grace,” Berkeley instructed him politely but firmly. “Give me time to ferret out what might be there to find, but do not let this solicitor realize what I am doing. He must remain unaware until I wish him to know what it is I require of him.”
Addicted to a Rascal Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 20
