Wesley nodded. “Very well. I will do as you say.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. As in hunting, it is best to not let your quarry know you are there until you are ready to spring your trap.”
“Yes, quite,” Wesley agreed, standing. “Keep me apprised, will you?”
Berkeley’s nervous tic returned in full force as Wesley whistled for Phillip. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Chapter 24
Sophia stared at the formal invitation in her hand, open-mouthed.
To Lady Sophia Appleton, salutations.
I politely and respectfully request your presence at tea tomorrow afternoon. As you are my future daughter-in-law, I do wish to acquaint myself with you, and you with me.
I look forward to receiving your reply.
From Caroline, The Dowager Duchess of Bersard
After reading the missive three times, and discovering the wording had not changed, Sophia decided she needed a second opinion to make certain this was indeed what she thought it was—a sincere invitation from Wesley’s mother to get to know her over tea.
She found her Mother in her rooms beside a roaring fire, a shawl wrapped around her narrow shoulders, and surmised her mother’s joints were troubling her again. But her mother beckoned Sophia to a nearby chair where immediately she felt uncomfortably warm.
“How are you, Mama?” Sophia asked, wishing she could remove some of her clothing in order to cease perspiring.
“I have my usual complaints.” Her Grace smiled while clutching the shawl closer. “However, I will not air them and bore you.”
“Perhaps a physician should see to you.” Sophia hated seeing her mother in pain.
“There is nothing a physician can do,” Her Grace replied. “I can take tiny amounts of laudanum when my joints ache too fiercely, and I have my teas, which help. Soon this cold dampness will give way to warmer sun, and I will be all right until autumn.”
“I received this, Mama,” Sophia informed her, and handed her the invitation. “I wish your opinion of it.”
Her Mother opened it and read it, her brows rising. “I should think Her Grace has decided at last that you are a suitable candidate for the Duke.”
“So you believe this is sincere?”
“We must take it as such, Sophia,” Her Grace answered, returning the paper to her. She smiled. “I know you will make a favorable impression upon the Dowager Duchess, Sophia, and soon she will come to adore you as her own daughter.”
Despite her mother’s confidence, Sophia continued to feel nervous, her misgivings over sitting down for tea with the Dowager Duchess made her stomach feel ill. Nonetheless, she returned to her chambers to write her acceptance of the invitation.
Lady Sophia Appleton thanks the Dowager Duchess of Bersard for the kind invitation to tea tomorrow, which she has much pleasure in accepting.
With a hand that shook slightly, Sophia gave it to Erin, who would then take it to Williams. Williams in his turn, would instruct a footman to deliver to it the Bersard townhouse. Staring out a window at the cold rain lashing the glass, Sophia wished fervently Wesley was there to advise her as to his mother’s intentions.
However, she knew Wesley was with her father, meeting with other committee members at White’s, the exclusive gentlemen’s club. They would be discussing an issue that would soon be under consideration in Parliament.
After pondering the idea to write to him, and ask him to be present at tea the following day, Sophia decided she could not trust the Dowager Duchess to not rip that letter up as she did Sophia’s invitation to Wesley for dinner.
Perhaps I could have the missive delivered to him at White’s.
With a sigh, Sophia rejected that idea, as well. “I must learn to stand on my own feet,” she decided. “I cannot have Wesley constantly holding my hand while dealing with his mother, as much as I relish the notion of him holding my hand. She will be my mother-in-law for some time to come, and I must become used to this, and handle her on my own.”
Her small lecture to herself cheered her up, and Sophia went to her wardrobe to decide ahead of time what to wear to tea the following day. In needing to give the Dowager Duchess the right impression, Sophia wanted to make certain the gown she chose would not be the wrong one.
Frowning, musing, selecting and rejecting one gown after the other, she finally decided on a light blue gown with a cream bodice, small ruffles at the neck, and full, belled sleeves. Nodding in satisfaction, she murmured, “This would be tasteful, and entirely appropriate for tea. Formal, yet not too formal.”
The next afternoon, thus garbed, a warm cloak covering her to shield her from the cold and rain, she stepped out of the carriage at the appointed time at the Bersard residence. She had added a matching hat bedecked with blue flowers. The hat and her hair were protected from the weather by the umbrella the footman held over her as she hurried up the steps. Erin, unfortunately, rushing behind her was drenched.
Presenting her calling card to the butler, she said, “Lady Sophia Appleton here at the invitation of Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess.”
The butler bowed her in, and through the house to the drawing room. Sophia calmed her trepidation with an indrawn breath, and walked confidently across the thick rugs to curtsey with proper respect to her hostess. Still damp, Erin retreated to a corner where Sophia hoped she would not be noticed.
The Dowager Duchess observed her with a stern formality and a chilly demeanor, yet she gave Sophia the semblance of a welcoming smile. “I appreciate your punctuality, Lady Sophia. Please, have a seat. The tea and scones will arrive in a moment.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Sophia, feeling slightly better due to her reception, smoothed her skirts under her to sit in an armchair. She recognized that everything about her, from her mode of dress to the way she sat to how she buttered her scone and drank her tea would be carefully scrutinized.
While she had been trained from infancy to the proper decorum of high society, Sophia had a flash of insight that said nothing she did or said or how she behaved would ever be good enough in the Dowager Duchess’s shrewd eyes.
Rather than wilt under those hazel eyes, similar to Wesley’s but not nearly as beautiful, Sophia met them with a calm detachment. As though she gazed back at a person of equal rank and social status whom she had just met.
“I am also very pleased you chose to accept my invitation,” the Duchess continued as a servant brought tea, scones, butter and biscuits on a silver tray. Steam puffed from the tea pot’s snout as he poured tea into cups, then handed a cup on a saucer to his mistress first, then to Sophia.
Choosing not to be judged on her tastes or how she buttered her scone, Sophia poured only a few drops of milk into her tea, and selected a biscuit rather than a scone.
I am certain she will be judging that as well.
After the footman stepped away, far enough to give them the illusion of privacy, yet close enough to attend upon them at a moment’s notice, Her Grace took a sip of her tea, her cold eyes watching Sophia over its rim. “I am told you are in love with my son.”
“Indeed, I am, Your Grace,” Sophia responded with a polite social smile.
Deciding to not offer more information than required, Sophia nibbled on her biscuit, sipped her tea, and waited.
The Dowager Duchess smiled. “Then I hope you are a strong lady, Lady Sophia,” she said, her tone warmer than it had been. “It will take a strong individual to tame Wesley and his aberrant nature.”
Caught by surprise, her teacup halfway to her lip, Sophia paused, then completed her sip. “May I ask what you mean by that?”
Her Grace gazed at Sophia in shocked surprise. “You do not know? Of course you do not. How could an innocent young lady such as yourself know about my son?” She tittered, and smoothly took a small bite from her beautifully buttered scone.
“I know Wesley to be a kind man and a perfect gentleman,” Sophia replied.
“Kind, yes,” Her Grace replied. �
�A gentleman? Well, that is where my son parts ways with your assessment, my dear.”
Get to the point. Cease the hinting, will you?
Naturally, Sophia could never say such a rude thing. Nor would she rise to the older lady’s bait by asking question after question until she finally learned what Her Grace wanted her to know. Thus, she merely lifted her brows in expectation, and asked nothing.
The Dowager Duchess nodded as though Sophia did indeed ask what she meant by Wesley not being the gentleman Sophia thought him to be. “Lady Sophia, before you marry my son, and I certainly expect you will, you must understand that Wesley is a bit, shall we say wild, when it comes to the fairer gender.”
“Oh?” Sophia replied politely, keeping her shock and alarm well hidden behind a façade of mild curiosity.
“Yes, my dear, I know this will come as a terrible strain to you to realize that my Wesley, soon to be your husband, tends to visit the harlots more than most honorable gentlemen.”
That cannot possibly be true!
“Indeed, Lady Sophia,” Her Grace continued, a note of sorrow in her voice. “He dangles mistresses by the score. Oh, my, at least he has not brought them under my roof.” She laughed at the utter lunacy of such an absurd notion. “He does, however, tend to remain out all night, visiting his lady friends.”
Icy cold from the roots of her hair to her toes, Sophia fought to keep her dismay, her fears, and the shock of what she had just heard from showing on her face. When her fingers trembled, and the cup rattling on its saucer would reveal her agitation, she carefully set it on the table beside her.
“Is that so?” she replied, forcing her voice to remain level, as though the Dowager Duchess had merely informed her that it was raining outside. “Perhaps I should inquire of His Grace if he plans to continue his infatuations after our marriage.”
“I fear that will never do, my dear,” the Duchess answered with yet another, to Sophia’s ears, horrid titter. “I am quite certain he will never be faithful to you. Let us just hope he does not bring home one of those—” she lowered her voice conspiratorially “—diseases.”
Shock and horror threatened to shatter Sophia’s façade. Forced to drop her eyes and swallow hard in order to maintain her expression of mild interest, she finally said, “Thank you for informing me of His Grace’s—hobbies, Your Grace.”
“You are quite welcome, Lady Sophia. I merely wished you to know, so that you are not shocked by his behavior after your wedding day.”
“You are most gracious.”
“Now do not be overly disturbed by this, Lady Sophia,” the Dowager Duchess said brightly. “I am certain he will calm his wild ways once you are married, and keep only one or two mistresses.”
Feeling that he had helped accomplish something good in his meeting with the others of the parliamentary committee, Wesley whistled under his breath as he walked from White’s. This was the second day of the meeting, and the Duke of Wellingson had complimented him in front of the others on his ideas.
Waiting on the sidewalk for his carriage, Wesley discovered that for once the weather had ceased raining, even if a cold, stiff wind still blew under lowering clouds. Other nobles from the meeting also emerged from the club, smiled, shook his hand. They also added their own compliments as they, too, waited for their drivers to roll to the curb and pick them up.
“Once again you have impressed me with your political acumen, Bersard,” said the Duke of Wellingson, who had arrived to stand beside him. “Your ideas will be pleasing to the Prince Regent.”
“I am, as always, happy to serve,” Wesley replied with a grin.
“I would like to extend an invitation to dine at my home,” Wellingson continued, after a glance up the street for his carriage. “Will tomorrow night suit?”
“Yes, of course. I have no prior engagements.”
“Splendid. I will inform my wife then.”
Wellingson ambled to his coach, and the attending footman opened the door for him. He waved to Wesley as he was driven away, and then Wesley’s own carriage arrived. As the team of four trotted away from White’s, he pondered his current state of good fortune. He had not been found wanting among his peers in the House of Lords, he was to marry the love of his life, and even his mother seemed to have tempered her hostility toward Sophia.
At dinner that evening, Caroline smiled jauntily, laughed often, and spoke kindly of Sophia. “Why, I had her to tea this afternoon, Wesley,” she said, cutting into her roast lamb and taking a delicate bite. “A very proper young lady.”
“You are in a fine fettle this evening,” Wesley observed. “Have you now accepted my coming marriage?”
“Indeed, yes. I do like her, perhaps more than I believed I would.”
“I am truly pleased, Mother. Perhaps we might enjoy hosting the entire Wellingson family at dinner later in the week.”
“That would be perfectly lovely, Wesley.”
“I will arrange it, then.”
His happiness and contentment grew as his Mother spoke of whom to invite to the wedding, writing the actual invitations, the menu, who should officiate. She then speculated whether or not the Prince Regent might actually attend.
Ladies love to plan weddings. I imagine the Duchess of Wellingson will also become deeply involved in the planning.
“Perhaps we should also organize a ball in your lady’s honor,” his mother mused over dessert.
“But it has been barely a week since the last ball,” Wesley protested, not truly wanting to put up with another one, even if he had little to do save attend, be gracious, and dance with his beloved Sophia.
“It does not have to be immediate, Wesley,” his Mother protested. “But there should indeed be a ball to honor your engagement. You must be seen as a couple in the eyes of polite society.”
Wesley wanted to groan, but kept the urge under tight control. He sighed instead. “As you wish, Mother.”
She frowned at his attitude. “I am certain your fiancée would enjoy a ball where she is the center of attention rather than a wallflower as she usually is.” Caroline sniffed.
“Her shyness at parties should not be held against her.”
“Perhaps not. But wallflowers seldom attract husbands, and Lady Sophia is fortunate to have caught your eye. I am certain no one else would deign to marry her, given her ‘shyness’ as well as her proclivity for books and reading.”
Wesley’s cheerful mood soured. “If you are quite finished maligning my fiancée and my beloved, I believe I shall retire for the evening. Good night.”
Phillip met him outside the dining room door as Wesley stepped out, his tail wagging furiously. Deciding that a short walk outside would help his dark mood despite the chilly weather, he sent for his coat and hat.
The brisk wind almost changed his mind, but seeing Phillip’s happiness to be out and walking the grounds of the townhouse again, Wesley decided it was truly not that cold. Besides, the chill cleared his head of his mother’s nearly constant machinations.
Does she want this wedding and marriage or is she against it? In truth, I have no idea, and I wish I could leave her strictly out of it.
Thinking of Sophia and his love for her made him smile. He had an appointment tomorrow with the Duke of Wellingson to discuss the terms of the dowry. They would also talk of Sophia’s inheritance, and the care and upkeep of the Duchess of Wellingson should the Duke pass before she did.
Wesley wandered amid the winter sleeping trees as Phillip gamboled ahead of him, vanishing into the shadows only to appear again, his nose to the ground. A summer wedding, he mused, perhaps in Dover, near the sea. Unless Sophia preferred to be married here in London, or perhaps on one of her father’s estates.
He grinned to himself when he pictured Sophia, naked, in their marriage bed.
I will wager she is as lusty for me as I am for her.
“London is nice enough in summer,” he said, his teeth chattering as he hunched his shoulders in his coat. “If summer does indee
d arrive, which I suspect will not happen until August, at least. Phillip, come. Let us return inside.”
The hound trotted gleefully ahead of him as Wesley turned back to the house, and entered through a side door near the kitchen. His mother, standing nearby as she gave instructions to the cook for the following day’s meals, frowned heavily as Phillip bounded in.
“I do so hope you will muzzle that creature before the Wellingson’s arrive,” she snapped, her eyes hard as they gazed at Phillip.
Unconcerned, Phillip sat on his haunches and scratched a persistent itch behind his neck.
Addicted to a Rascal Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 21
