His footman appeared with her evening cape. Daniel took it and dismissed him. He placed the cape around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. “I’d begun to think that we too, were friends.”
“But of course, I trust we shall always remain so.”
Why what was this? Her words sounded absurdly formal, and lacked the warmth he’d grown used to—seemed to need like his life’s blood.
The urge to fight for her and make her his, caused his pulse to pound in his throat. His gaze settled on her lips with a powerful urge to kiss her, and put paid to the ridiculous assumption that all he wanted from her was friendship. He was foolish in the extreme to want so much more, for her to look at him with desire in her eyes. To be the light of his life, like a sunrise after a dark night. “Then perhaps you might tell me why it seems no longer so.”
“Will you leave Sophie here alone when you return to France?” she asked coolly.
“I have no intention of deserting Sophie,” he said, his voice a low rasp. That she would think him capable of the same cruelty as his father felt like a shaft of ice in his heart. “I first intend to see her settled and happy.”
Her brow creased with worry. “Sophie may have a different notion of what that is.”
“I suspect you know, however. Will you tell me what it is?”
“I cannot, I’m sorry,” she said in a choked voice.
Their conversation ended abruptly when Lord and Lady Baxendale came through the door. Moments later, they were gone.
Daniel cursed under his breath. As soon as the last guest left, he went to find Sophie. He knocked on her bedroom door. “Come to the library for a moment, will you?”
“What is it, Daniel?” she asked when they entered the book-filled room.
He waved her to a leather chair. “I want you to tell me what it is you want, Sophie.”
“I’m not a fading violet,” Sophie said with a faint smile. “I believe I’ve told you on several occasions.”
“Not really.” He sank onto a chair. “Not what you want of me.”
Sophie brown eyes softened. “My dearest Daniel. What more could I want from you? You’ve done so much for me.” A tiny frown creased her brow. “Better perhaps to consider what it is you want for yourself.”
He raked his hands through his hair. “If you refer to Hope, I thought we’d settled this. She is to marry Winslow. It’s in her best interests to do so.”
“Then I am disappointed. And sorry for Hope.”
He smiled. “You might be biased.”
“But I’m not. I think I know the man you are, better than most people. But you do not present your best side to the world always, Daniel.”
He sighed and looked at her. “How very lucky I am to have a sister.”
Her eyes filled with warmth. “And I a brother.” She rose from the chair with a yawn. “And now I must get some sleep. I’m still not used to city hours.” She turned to him in the corridor. “There is one thing you can do for me.”
“You have only to name it.”
“Please send Mrs. Crisp away.”
He laughed. “I shall see that she finds another position as soon as I find a replacement.”
“I am twenty-six years old. I have no need of a chaperone.”
Daniel gave an impatient shrug as she slipped into her bedroom and closed the door. Finding a suitable husband had proved more difficult than he’d expected. He’d assumed men searching the marriage mart for a wife, those who were worthy of Sophie at least, would show more interest, but they’d revealed a preference for carefully brought up younger women. There were many suitors circling who were unsuitable, however, and the sooner he settled her, the better.
Daniel returned to the library and sat in his favorite chair with a snifter of Cognac. He stared sightlessly into the small fire smoldering in the grate. Hope! Her slim shoulders had tensed under his hands. If only they could have spoken more, cleared the air. He couldn’t believe that she would judge him by his father’s actions. He was surprised at how much her good opinion of him mattered, when he hadn’t cared about anything much for over two years.
Chapter Eleven
Hope was to be introduced to the king. She’d never been to Carlton House, but she’d heard King George entertained lavishly. Her gown had been fashioned especially for the occasion. She was grateful that the presentation had changed since her mother had been a terrified young lady presented to the queen at Court, dressed in an abominable creation. Hope felt confident she looked her best in white satin embroidered around the hem and sleeves, with pearls threaded through her hair.
A liveried footman escorted Hope and her parents through a reception hall of marble columns to an anteroom, where they were announced. They entered the Crimson Drawing Room. No one could deny Carlton House dazzled the eye, and this chamber was no exception with its crimson silk walls and couches in the same rich color, magnificent chandeliers, and valuable art. Guests crammed the reception rooms, sipping champagne, as the music from an orchestra swelled to an almost deafening crescendo. Her father led her to where the king sat surrounded by particular friends and cronies. Hope tried to hide her disappointment. He was their sovereign and, according to Mama, so handsome and gallant as a youth. Now, huge and sickly, he seemed to eye the beautiful young women around him in a less than attractive way.
The Duke of Winslow, standing amidst a circle of guests, drew her parents into the conversation. Hope joined Amy Tyndale on a crimson velvet seat as Amy offered her opinion of the lady’s gowns. “Lady Heffer’s purple silk is quite hideous,” Amy said. “I hate purple.”
“I daresay we shall find it useful in our dotage,” Hope said, distracted.
She took another peek at Winslow who smiled and nodded at her father. Prickles of unease danced at her nape. Was this a sign that the duke had decided to marry her? By the look on her mother’s face, it seemed likely. Hope smoothed her gloves, unnerved at the prospect of becoming his duchess.
It was Daniel’s fault for making her doubt that Winslow was the right man for her. She’d been so focused on marrying him that she hadn’t questioned whether he was right for her or not. She drew in a breath at the sudden, fearful clarity. She’d been unable to find much to admire about Winslow, and nothing stirred even the faintest feelings of affection for him.
Even at this precise moment, Daniel nudged Winslow from her mind. She couldn’t ignore the sexual attractiveness she found in his every movement. Daniel, putting on her cape in his reception hall, his breath on her hair, and his expression, a mixture of hurt and something rather stirring and filled with promise. It was not what he’d said but rather what he hadn’t, and what he had failed to do. When his gaze settled on her mouth, she’d known he wanted to kiss her. She’d warmed from head to toe with expectation and had to fight the urge to coil her arms around his neck and draw his head down to hers. As if her kiss could make him sure of the future, when, of course, it couldn’t. She’d left his house with her parents, her plans and dreams in disarray!
“Are you all right, Hope?” Amy asked, as if suddenly discovering Hope wasn’t paying attention.
“Oh. Yes. Absolutely. I am all admiration for Countess Putney’s diamonds, as well.”
Hope had barely slept a wink after Daniel’s party. The misery of leaving him with the belief that she disapproved of him. And she worried about this man Mr. Braithwaite, whom Sophie seemed taken with. He would be most unsuitable. She prayed their relationship would come to naught, for she had little option but to keep Sophie’s confidence. She disliked keeping it from Daniel, however, who surely should be told. She sighed and searched for him, but he wasn’t here tonight.
As Amy continued her review of the current fashions, Winslow’s gaze rested on Hope. She lowered her lashes, while panic tightened her chest. Why was she thinking of Daniel now? Her parents would be dreadfully disappointed if Winslow should ask for her hand and she refused him. They would likely disown her. Her father could make good his threat to send a d
isobedient daughter to live with his sister in Northumberland. Honor had said it was deadly dull there.
She searched the crowd again. Perhaps if she found Daniel angry at her criticism and glowering at her, she could dismiss him from her mind. But the only person who scowled at her was Lady Pamela. Hope smiled sweetly back at her.
Amy’s voice drifted back into Hope’s consciousness. “And I managed to discover more about the Duc du Ténèbres.”
Hope spun around. “What?”
“My sister, Stephanie, knows everything about everyone.”
“I know the duke is a widower. Might his wife have died in childbirth?”
Amy shook her head. She described the shipwreck that had taken Daniel’s wife and baby son from him, her voice imbued with drama. “Stephanie said the duke almost drowned too.”
The horror of it left Hope reeling. “How simply dreadful. Oh, the poor, poor man.”
“Yes. But it’s years ago, and Stephanie expects he’ll remarry. She says it’s the best way to recover from such a tragedy.”
It explained so much. “He will know when the time is right.” Might it be now? asked the foolish little voice in her head.
“The Duke of Winslow is coming this way,” Amy said, in a thrilled whisper.
Hope dredged up a smile of welcome from somewhere near her slippers. Winslow bowed before her. “May I escort you into supper, Lady Hope?”
“I should be delighted, Your Grace.” She rose and placed her fingers on his arm.
A splendid banquet awaited them in the circular dining room, white tablecloths spread with enormous platters of seafood, exotic dishes, and mouthwatering confectionary. Liveried footmen moved through the guests with trays of French champagne in crystal flutes.
As she and the duke filled their plates, Pamela, holding a glass of orgeat, came to stand beside Hope. When Pamela reached across the table to add a crab cake to her plate, her arm knocked Hope’s, and the glass emptied down Hope’s front.
Hope gasped, as an almost full glass of orange liquid splashed over her gown.
“Oh. I am sorry, but you did push me.” Pamela leaned down as if to dab at the stain with her napkin.
Hope stepped away from her useless dabbing. “You’ve ruined my dress.” She swallowed tears as she examined the wide splash of orange down her satin skirts. She’d never owned such a beautiful evening gown, and it was ruined.
A footman called a maid to assist Hope.
The maid began to advise her on how to treat it, which involved first removing the dress. Hope was too distressed to listen to the rest. “I will have to return home. Please excuse me, Your Grace.”
“I shall recompense you for the gown, of course,” Pamela said with a glance of appeal at the duke.
The duke glared at Pamela and pointedly turned his back on her. “Allow me to take you to your mother, Lady Hope.”
On the way home in the carriage, her mother merely clucked sympathetically. “It isn’t the end of the world. Much of this beautiful satin can be used for a wedding gown.”
The harder Hope tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted. She did not want to marry Winslow. “What did the duke say to you, Father?”
“He complimented me on my daughter’s impeccable manners.”
“It’s a fait accompli,” her mother said in a breathy tone. “The duke will ask for your hand. Oh, my dear! I do hope you realize what a wonderful opportunity is about to be presented to you.”
“I knew you would eclipse your sisters, Hope,” her father said. “You have a good head on your shoulders.”
Hope’s chest tightened. Charity’s words came back to her. You might find yourself tied for life to a man you have no regard for, even if he’s a duke.
As the carriage deposited them in the street, Charity flung the front door open and rushed down the steps.
“Child, what’s the matter?” her mother cried.
“It’s Mercy.” Charity waved a letter. “Aunt Amelia has sent a note.”
Father grabbed the letter from her. He drew the paper into the circle of light from a gas lamp. “It appears that Mercy has suffered some injury.”
Mama shrieked. “What kind of injury!”
“Calm yourself, my dear. It appears one of her experiments has caused some sort of eruption, which has burned her.”
“Is it her face?” Her mother sagged at the knees. Her father rushed to catch her around the waist and steady her.
Hope stared at Charity, who stood mute. A stab of guilt made her breathing hurt. This is my fault. She’d dismissed Mercy’s request for dangerous chemicals as unimportant. She should have warned her father. She’d been so caught up with her own affairs she’d become horribly selfish.
“We’ll return to Tunbridge Wells in the morning.” Her father led their weeping mother into the house.
Hope hurried after him. “Can’t we leave now?”
“No sense in risking traveling at night. Aunt Amelia says Mercy is resting comfortably. The doctor has been called. We’ll leave at first light.”
****
Sophie placed a hand on Daniel’s arm as their vehicle drew up at Carlton House. “Was that Hope leaving in the Baxendales’ carriage with her parents?”
“I believe it was.” He tamped down an annoying twinge of disappointment as he escorted her into Carlton House. Sophie was to be introduced to the king tonight, and that must take precedence.
Sophie charmed the king and even made him laugh. No doubt, King George had heard the rumors, and it was possible he’d heard the full story before Daniel himself did. The king eyed Sophie speculatively, but perhaps due to his approval of Daniel’s association with Canning, he made no mention of her surprise arrival on the London scene. The king’s tacit approval went a long way to ensure Sophie’s future, and Daniel came away pleased. It was as much as he could hope for. Some members of the ton would never take Sophie to their hearts, but there were those who didn’t like him either. The long war against Napoleon, and the poverty and the heartbreak it had brought, left many hating the French. There was nothing he could do about that. He renewed his commitment to have Sophie married to a man of wealth and standing who would protect her from cruel jibes.
“I see Amy Tyndale. She may know why Hope has gone home,” Sophie said.
Daniel followed her through the crowd.
At Sophie’s question, Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Lady Pamela Dalton spilt her drink down Hope’s dress.”
“Oh, poor Hope!” Sophie said.
“The Duke of Winslow had escorted Hope into supper and witnessed it. The duke is so decisive,” she said admiringly. “He went straight to the Marquess of Dalton and complained.” Amy gave a small satisfied smile. “The marquess looked furious and took Pamela away. She was most distressed.”
Daniel excused himself and went in search of masculine company.
Canning was suddenly at his elbow. “I’m glad you’ve come tonight. I must speak with you.” He drew Daniel into the empty library and closed the door.
“Are you free to return to France?” Canning asked as they sat.
“As soon as you wish.” Daniel sat back and waited for more information. He was almost glad to quit London for a while.
“I would like you to take a message to your friend, the French Prime Minister, Jean-Baptiste de Villèle. He needs to understand the current situation with Spain and its former colonies in the Americas.”
“Then I’ll make arrangements to leave immediately.”
Canning nodded. “We should be indeed grateful. I’ll explain it to you in more detail,” he said sitting back.
The next morning, Sophie knocked on Daniel’s study door. “A note was just delivered from Hope.”
Daniel pushed away from his desk. “Oh?”
“Her family were about to depart for their country estate, Highland Manor. Lady Mercy has suffered an accident.”
“I’m very sorry to hear it. Does Hope say more?”
“No, only to apologize
for not riding with me on Wednesday.”
“That’s unfortunate. I wanted you to spend time with her in my absence. Promise me you’ll live quietly while I’m away. Please take no risks.”
She tilted her head. “I managed quite well on my own before I met you.”
“You were not gadding about London dressed like a duke’s daughter,” he said wryly. He couldn’t explain to her that she may be in danger because of him. It was impossible to keep such things secret. There were spies everywhere. Such a mission on which he was about to embark could stir up hatred toward him and his family. And Sophie was his family now. Her safety mattered to him.
“Oh, Daniel, how you fuss.” She kissed his cheek and left him without making any such promise.
She was incorrigible. He didn’t wish to be constantly wondering what she was up to. He’d employ a Runner to follow her about. Keep her safe. Daniel picked up his pen. He dipped it in the inkwell but paused to consider Hope’s letter. He’d liked the sound of spirited young Mercy who seemed to have an inquiring mind. As Hope did herself. He could only trust all would be well. Hope would be distressed, he imagined, and he wished he could be there to offer her some measure of comfort. In his absence, Winslow could act. The duke would be the one to comfort Hope at this distressing time. With the image of her resting her lovely head against Winslow’s chest, Daniel gritted his teeth.
Chapter Twelve
When the carriage arrived at Highland Manor, Hope and Charity hopped out as soon as the groom put down the step. Aunt Amelia waited at the door and held off their frantic questions with a calm kiss on both their cheeks.
“Where’s Mercy?” Hope gasped. “Is she in bed?”
“Certainly not. She is not ill.” Their aunt gestured to the parlor and left them to greet their parents.
A woebegone figure nestled in a corner of the sofa. Wolf stretched out at her feet with a mewling kitten climbing over his back, while Sable watched her offspring with a sharp eye. Mercy held out her arms and hiccoughed. Her cheek was painted with some sort of thick cream, through which her red and blistered skin could be seen.
Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 Page 9
