“Well. Good. I’m glad you’re getting on all right.” He rubbed his palms on his knees. “I’ve got no experience at this, but if you’ll welcome me, I thought I’d call on you now and then. Make certain you still don’t need anything.” He shrugged. “Tell stories on Tom, if you want to hear them. He was a dozen years older, but I remember him well. I was twelve when he met your mother and left.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I would like that very much, my lord.”
“Uncle Henry, if you wish,” he said, almost shyly.
She beamed. “I do.”
It looked like her uncle blushed. He told her where she could find him in London, then got up and bowed in farewell and put on his hat. He let himself out and went down the step to where a handsome roan stood waiting. Sophie followed, still dazed by the visit. He was gathering the reins when something struck her. “Uncle Henry,” she called.
He looked up, waiting.
“Are there attics at Makepeace Manor?” she asked. “Crammed with old furniture and perhaps some of Papa’s things from when he was a boy?”
“There are attics,” he said in surprise, “although I’ve no idea if there’s anything of your father’s up there. You . . . you are welcome to visit and see, if you like.”
She thought of that rainy afternoon with Jack, up under the eaves of Alwyn House. Perhaps he would come with her to rummage in her own family’s history. “Thank you. I think I might.”
Uncle Henry grinned, touched the brim of his hat, and rode off.
She closed the door and leaned against it. She had family. Just an uncle, but one who seemed kind, who didn’t disdain her or her parents. Who asked to call on her and tacitly offered his support.
Her breath caught. She had family. Connections. With her four thousand pounds and a viscount for an uncle, she was no longer nobody; she was almost . . . eligible.
Jack might say he didn’t care, but other people would. London society would look down their aristocratic noses at the just-barely-respectable woman who’d snared the Duke of Ware. She dreaded being snubbed and suspected of tricking Jack into wedding her. It was very easy to say one didn’t care what other people thought or said, but to spend the next several decades of her life atoning for doing what she had to do to survive . . .
But now she didn’t need to. As niece to Lord Makepeace, and with her modest fortune, she had claim to being one of the ton. Good enough to be a duchess. Her heart lifted at the thought of telling Jack tonight.
Her joy lasted all of two hours and twenty minutes. She finished her letters to Eliza and Georgiana, greatly expanded to include the news of her uncle’s visit, and sent Colleen off to post them. Georgiana’s letter she enclosed with Eliza’s, since Lady Sidlow was intercepting Georgiana’s messages and would confiscate anything from unapproved persons—namely Sophie. She felt an extra burst of vindication that soon Lady Sidlow’s objections would melt like ice in the summer sun. Not merely the niece of a viscount, but a future duchess, as well. She couldn’t wait to see Georgiana again.
So it was a great surprise to hear a rapid knocking on the door, and open it to see Georgiana herself, flushed and flustered. “What—?” she began, astonished.
“Sophie, listen to me,” said her friend in a great rush. “I’m not supposed to be here—I promised Nadine all my pin money for the next month not to tell Lady Sidlow we came here instead of going to the lending library. Eliza wrote to me about you and the duke. Are you still in love with him?”
She blinked at the intensity of the question. “Yes, but Georgiana—”
The other girl closed her eyes. “That scoundrel. You must refuse to see him again, Sophie, for your own sake. Trust me in this!”
“Why?” Sophie reached for her hand. “I was just writing to you—about him. Georgiana, he asked me to marry him. Can you believe it?”
Georgiana’s eyes flashed. “No,” she said grimly. “I cannot. Oh, if only Lady Sidlow hadn’t refused to let me come to tea! I could have saved you—”
“What?” Sophie asked when she compressed her lips into a fierce scowl. “Saved me from what?”
“From falling for him.” The plain-faced maid loitering several steps away coughed, and Georgiana flapped one hand at her in irritation. “Another minute, Nadine!” She turned back to Sophie. “I’ve been hearing little bits of rumor about Ware,” she said, low and fast. “Gossip that he would marry Lady Lucinda Afton, whose mother is such bosom friends with the duchess—everyone knows both mothers are in favor of the match. But he rarely goes to balls, and no one had ever seen him dance with her, let alone show any other sign of interest, so I dismissed it. But we were at Gunter’s today, enjoying ices in the shade, and there he was!”
“Jack?” said Sophie in confusion, as Georgiana paused to draw breath.
“Ware!” Georgiana gave her a deeply disapproving look. “Don’t think of him as Jack. He was in Berkeley Square just today with Lucinda Afton on his arm.”
She shook her head even as a shiver of dread crept up her spine. “It doesn’t mean he’s going to marry her.”
“I didn’t see him go down on one knee and propose,” retorted Georgiana, “but they were arm in arm. They sat on a bench in the square not far from Lady Sidlow’s carriage and talked for some time, quite cordially and intimately. He ordered an ice for her from Gunter’s. Lady Capet, one of Lady Sidlow’s gossipy friends who was with us, couldn’t stop remarking on it. She said Ware is very somber and proper, but there he was smiling and laughing with Lady Lucinda. Lady Sidlow said an engagement announcement was surely imminent, and I was so outraged I asked why she thought so.”
Sophie said nothing. The shiver had turned into a sharp chill. She folded her arms around herself and listened even as protests screamed through her mind. She knew Jack. He would never do something so heartless and cruel as ask her to marry him when he meant to marry someone else . . . a proper young lady of his own class . . . of whom society and his family would happily approve . . .
“Lady Sidlow said it was because his father caused Lady Lucinda’s father’s death,” Georgiana went on, “and that the Afton ladies have been under the duke’s protection ever since. She said there is a longstanding agreement that Ware would marry Lucinda. She’d heard it from Lady Stowe herself, who has pointedly discouraged other suitors for her daughter. Lucinda is quite an heiress and rather lovely, and normally she would have a number of gentlemen vying for her attention.”
“Then why hasn’t he already married her?” Sophie argued. “There’s nothing stopping him, if he wants her.”
Georgiana gave her a look of pity. “Lucinda’s much younger than he is. She’s only eighteen. I daresay he wanted to wait until she was grown and had her presentation at Court.”
Nadine the maid coughed again, with more vigor this time. Georgiana flung out her arm angrily. “One minute!” She turned back to Sophie. “I cannot stay—we shall have to run as it is, to make it back to the lending library before Lady Sidlow’s carriage returns for us. Will you listen to what I said? Sophie, I can’t bear to see you humiliated and brokenhearted.”
“I always listen to your advice,” she said softly. “Thank you, Georgiana.”
Her friend gave her a hasty hug. “Goodbye. I hate to be the one to tell you, but I couldn’t wait. I’ll write more when I know more, and have Eliza send it. Goodbye!” She hitched her shawl back up her shoulder and hurried off with the impatient maid.
Sophie watched them go in silence. Georgiana was a reliable witness, and she wouldn’t have dared risk Lady Sidlow’s anger for anything less than a dire emergency. The trouble was, Sophie couldn’t believe it. It was impossible. Jack wouldn’t have lied to her that way. She would have to hear him admit it before she believed that he’d betrayed her that badly.
No. She gave herself a sharp shake. It was ridiculous. Georgiana must be mistaken. Jack had proposed and then made love to her all night long until she fell asleep in his arms. He stayed until morning, when anyone could have seen him leaving her
house. He wouldn’t have done that if he intended to throw her over for another woman, if—she staggered as something even more horrible struck her—he had been engaged to Lady Lucinda all this time.
Breathing hard, she steadied herself against the door. She trusted him. She was mad to let rumor and a chance sighting at Gunter’s obliterate everything she believed about him.
Still . . . Sophie had met many liars in her life. Some she’d seen through at once, and some had got the better of her, but she learned something from every encounter. When someone was caught in a big enough lie, he usually lied again to hide it. If Jack had led her on, saying he wanted to marry her when in reality he planned to marry another woman, there was no reason to think he’d be honest with her now. Georgiana said Lady Sidlow believed it to be a very longstanding betrothal, which meant she ought to be able to find independent confirmation . . .
Her heart sank as the answer came to her. Philip. She would have to ask Philip, tonight at Vega’s.
Chapter 26
She climbed the club steps earlier than usual that evening. Jack usually arrived later, as Philip kept his word and stayed away from her. Sophie had been grateful for that at first, but tonight she walked through the entire club looking for him.
When she finally spotted him, lounging in an armchair with a glass in his hand, she walked right up to him. “Good evening, Lord Philip.” She dropped a curtsy.
He sat up straighter, then leaped to his feet and bowed. “Mrs. Campbell. What an absolute pleasure.” One of his mates nearby snickered, and Philip made a rude gesture at him. “Let us talk somewhere else.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Since I presume you’ve not come to invite me to play hazard again.”
“Never hazard again,” she said lightly as she took his offered arm. “I only wanted a private word, if I may.”
“Always,” he said. They walked through the still-quiet club until they came to an unoccupied sofa. Sophie seated herself, and Philip sat an arm’s distance away. “What troubles you?”
“I would like there to be peace between us,” she said.
His brows descended. “Have we been at war?”
“I don’t think so,” she said honestly, “although things became a bit tense.”
He heaved a sigh and stared across the room. “Was I really that obnoxious to you?”
“Well . . . yes.” She gave a little nod as he glanced at her in astonishment. “You followed me about like an angry thundercloud, scowling and muttering. It would strain anyone’s nerves.”
“I am sorry for it.” He dropped his head and ground his palm against his forehead. “I was so worried when my brother swept you away—the thing is, I know him, and you don’t. You said I made a spectacle of you, when he was the one who carted you away like a prize of battle.”
This was what she wanted to discuss, but her mouth still went dry. She wet her lips. “What do you mean, you know him and I do not?”
He gave a sharp huff of bitter laughter. “I know him! Have my whole life. He used to be a capital fellow, open to adventure and daring. Sometimes I think that fellow must be deep inside him still, but he never shows it.”
She thought of the pencil drawing at Alwyn House, of a young Philip laughing in the tree. It was difficult to fight back the urge to defend Jack, to say that he still had that adventurous, caring side, and that he would prefer to be close to his brother rather than constantly at odds. “Why not, do you think?”
“Because he’s the bloody duke, obviously.” Philip’s eyes flashed. “Too important to come out to the theatre or a boxing match. Too noble to play cards or do anything sporting. He’s become a raging bore—well, until that night, clearly, when he seemed pleased enough to toss aside all his vaunted dignity and decorum.”
“Not all of us are carefree, with an income and the freedom to do as we please.” Philip shot her a sharp look. Sophie smiled artlessly. “I mean you’re very fortunate you haven’t the responsibility for a dukedom. It must be . . . demanding. I only know about running my small household. There must be so much more to an estate.”
“There is.” Philip gave a gusty sigh and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I know there is. And you’re right, I am fortunate not to be the duke, for I’m no good at being responsible.” A devilish smile played at his mouth. “I’m terribly good at being adventurous, though.”
She laughed. “Well do I know it! Although I suggest you try being less daring at the tables.”
“You too?” He eased a bit closer on the sofa, stretching out his legs. “Someone told me the other day I ought to improve my play at cards. Have you any advice? You seem to do quite well.”
“Hmm.” She tilted her head as if in thought. “I suggest you avoid hazard. It’s the devil’s game.” He laughed. “The rest is practice. Study the rules, learn the odds of each play, and keep your mind on the cards or the dice—not on flirting with your opponent,” she finished with a speaking look.
He laughed again. “Well, it didn’t help me.” He shot her a sideways look. “It never would have, would it?”
She hesitated. He didn’t mean at hazard. “No. Not with me.”
“Did that happen before or after my brother swept you away?” He asked it simply, directly, without suspicion.
“Before,” she said lightly. “Long before. You’re far too adventurous and daring for me, you know. I fear I’m really a dreadful bore at heart, as well.”
Philip looked at her. Suddenly she realized he knew, somehow, about her and Jack. “You’re nothing like him, Sophie.”
Her face burned. “Like who?” she tried to ask innocently, but Philip’s expression had changed. He leaned back on the sofa and gave her a weary look.
“I know there’s something between you and Ware. He gave himself away the other night, when I told him he ought to leave you be.”
Sophie said nothing. She couldn’t speak.
“I understand why you want it kept quiet,” Philip went on. “And I don’t begrudge you taking up with him, by the by. You’re certainly not the first to spot a chance and try for it. But you’ve got a kind heart and a sensible head, and . . . well, I care about you, even if you won’t flirt with me and win my money anymore. Trying to capture Ware’s heart is a fool’s game.”
She wanted to slap his face for saying such things about Jack. But what do you know? she reminded herself. This was why she’d sought him out. “Good heavens, Philip, you make me sound like a hunter and your brother my prey.”
He snorted. “More than one woman has felt that way about him! He’s so damned aloof, and women find that infuriatingly appealing . . . but Ware hasn’t got a heart anymore. He fell in love years ago—wildly, exuberantly, you’d never know it was the same man—and the girl jilted him. She ran off with a war hero or some such fellow, and he never got over it.”
Years ago, she wanted to repeat. If Jack still nursed a broken heart, he never showed her any sign of it. “Surely a duke must marry, to have an heir.” She shouldn’t have started this conversation. Philip was in a mood to talk, but he wasn’t helping her, and was only making things worse. Jack had never mentioned another love.
“Oh, he’ll marry,” replied Philip with a snort. “But for duty, not for frivolous reasons.”
Frivolous reasons like love. Her hands shook until she squeezed them together in her lap. “I heard a rumor,” she said, her voice as careless as possible. “About him and Lady Lucinda Afton. That they’ve been engaged for some time.” The words were like ashes in her mouth, but she had to know . . .
Philip glanced at her, his eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “You heard that? Well, well. He promised our father on his deathbed that he would take care of her forever. As I said, duty. One feels a bit of sympathy for Lucinda, but she’ll make it her own, being a duchess. She’s a clever girl, and as a child she always knew her mind.”
And just like that, he robbed her of breath. Sophie swayed in her seat and had to clutch the cushion to keep her balanc
e. She raised her stricken gaze to Philip, who was watching her with all-too-knowing eyes. “Are you certain?”
“My mother says they’ll be wed by the end of this year,” he said. “Lucinda’s mother wanted her to have a Season first.”
She’s only eighteen, echoed Georgiana’s voice in her head. “Does he love her?” she asked, clutching at straws.
“Lucinda?” Philip looked surprised. “I doubt it. The men in my family—the heirs, anyway—make prudent marriages, Sophie. Always have, probably always will.” He gave her a sympathetic glance. “That never stopped any of them from having plenty of mistresses and lovers on the side, but when they marry, it’s for power and for money. I would have warned you earlier, if I’d been allowed to speak to you. I suppose I see now why he forbade me doing that.”
Her heart was pounding erratically, and her head felt light and dizzy. She might be ill. Jack had said as much to her—the Dukes of Ware don’t marry for love—but then he’d said she was everything he wanted in his wife. He’d asked her to marry him. Who was wrong? Georgiana, who had seen Jack laughing arm in arm with Lady Lucinda? Philip, who knew things about his brother and his family she couldn’t possibly know? Or Sophie, who had broken her own rules time after time—making love to Jack, carrying on with their affair after they returned to London, losing her heart to him, even falling for his shocking proposal of marriage?
“Thank you, Philip,” she said unsteadily. “It has been illuminating.”
“Sophie.” He caught her hand as she rose. “I know I behaved like a nodcock earlier—jealousy of Ware for having had you to himself, even if not by your choice.” He tried to smile but stopped as she stared at him, probably looking like wild-eyed Ophelia in her madness. “I apologize, and swear to you it won’t happen again. Can we be friends once more?”
She tugged free of his hold. “Perhaps.” No, she wanted to cry—not when his face would always remind her of Jack’s. “Pardon me—” She turned and hurried away, barely keeping her expression composed. She slipped into the first empty room she came to, closing the door behind her and sagging against it.
My Once and Future Duke Page 26
