Sofia almost gasped, for the little face that was glaring down at her had the same ferocious brows, the same beak of a nose and the same snapping dark eyes as the Duke. She could not be anything but his daughter. But he wasn’t married, which meant...
Her stomach lurched. How cruel of someone to tell such a little girl that she was the Duke’s Disgrace! If there was any disgrace, it was in making a child feel guilty of the sins her parents had committed. As she knew only too well. For hadn’t she hidden out in the woods whenever she’d needed to escape? So that she could weep where there was nobody to see? And this child had been weeping. There were clean tracks down each grubby cheek to prove it.
Oh, but she would love to give the Duke a piece of her mind. How could he make his own child feel she had to climb up a tree to avoid being seen by his ‘fine’ guests? And that had to have been what he’d done, for just as she heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats the little girl gave a scared little sob, reared back and tucked up her feet so that she was completely hidden from the ground.
Her actions made Sofia so angry that when she whirled round to face the party of riders approaching along the bridle path, she actually clenched her fists.
Chapter Fifteen
Just as Oliver had suspected, the moment Lady Beatrice set foot in his stables, her eyes lit up and all her awkwardness melted away.
‘Splendid set-up,’ she’d said to him approvingly. ‘Not a better one in the country, I’d warrant.’ And then she’d eyed him speculatively for a moment or two, before mounting up. As though, for the first time, she was seriously considering him as a husband.
He’d suspected for some time that it was her mother who had designs on his title, rather than her, but now he’d finally managed to prise her away from the woman, it had become crystal clear.
He didn’t think she’d decline his proposal, should he make one. Not now she’d seen his stables. But he suspected that if he did marry her, she’d spend the majority of her time out here, rather than indoors where he truly needed a woman.
That suspicion solidified not long after their party set out. Captain Beamish, who was only supposed to be there to lend propriety to the outing, remarked she had a splendid seat. She returned the compliment. And then they fell into a conversation about various mounts they’d owned, or borrowed, which led on to an exchange of horse-related anecdotes. Presently, they began enjoying each other’s company so much that neither of them noticed when he drew ahead, to give them the liberty to ride side by side.
He was just reflecting that he’d have more appeal for Lady Beatrice if he only had another set of legs, a mane and a tail, when he spotted Miss Underwood, standing beneath a tree. And apparently holding an earnest conversation with it.
After advancing a little closer, a smile playing about his lips, he noted a pair of little legs dangling from one of the lower branches which Miss Underwood had been looking up at. Legs which whisked out of view at the same time as Miss Underwood whirled round, stepped forward and clenched her fists.
His nascent smile withered and died.
‘Good morning, Miss Underwood,’ he said, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on her face, so as not to betray the fact that he’d seen Livvy as well, for she obviously did not want to be seen. At least she was well concealed before Lady Beatrice, and Captain Beamish drew up alongside.
‘Good morning, Miss Underwood,’ said Lady Beatrice, while Captain Beamish touched his crop to his hat in salute. ‘You are up early.’
‘Yes. I wanted to exercise my dog before...before the day’s activities crowded in.’
‘And are you,’ Oliver asked her politely, ‘enjoying exploring my grounds?’
She clenched and unclenched her fists, glancing at Captain Beamish, and Lady Beatrice. She turned back to him with a frustrated expression on her face, as though there was something she wished to say to him in private.
Well, if she’d discovered the existence of his daughter, he wasn’t surprised.
She was the first of his potential brides to see Livvy. And now that she had, he’d be very interested to see what she made of her. Very interested indeed.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said with a rather strained smile.
‘Then this afternoon...oh...’ he turned, as though casually, to his companions ‘...please, do not let me keep you. I just have a couple of things I need to arrange with Miss Underwood.’
Captain Beamish grinned at him conspiratorially. ‘Of course, Duke. Come on, Lady B. Race you up to the monument.’
‘Monument? What monument?’
‘You’ll see it, through my dust,’ he said, clapping his heels to his chestnut’s flank.
With a whinny of laughter, Lady Beatrice set off in hot pursuit with her groom following behind.
‘And now, Miss Underwood,’ he said, turning to Sofia, ‘you may tell me what you are doing, standing here under this tree.’
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘There is no law against standing still for a few moments, admiring the...the vista,’ she said, waving her arms in the direction of a thick tangle of hawthorns, ‘is there?’
She had not, as he’d half-expected, been waiting until there was nobody to hear before giving him her opinion of his morals.
She was, instead, shielding his daughter from exposure.
Even from him.
His heart leapt.
He’d known from the first moment he clapped eyes on her that Sofia might be just what Livvy needed. He’d selected the other candidates because he’d believed that each of them was capable of defending his daughter from the world’s censure, in one way or another. But Sofia was the only one who might genuinely understand her, given what she’d been through in her own childhood. Who might come to truly care for her. Perhaps even love her.
He glanced up at the tree, noting the way some of the leaves were shaking, even though there was no breeze to stir them. His daughter didn’t want him to know she was there. And Sofia was standing buff.
The question was, did she know that Livvy was his daughter and not just some random child who was playing where she ought not to be? Would her stance alter, once he told her the truth? People, particularly well-bred ladies, could be very unforgiving towards those who were born on the wrong side of the blanket. It was why he’d selected each of his bridal candidates with such care. Each one of them either patronised charities that cared for children, or took an interest in the underprivileged in some other way.
The sooner he made his confession, the better. Only, not here, not now, not when Livvy’s little ears would hear every word and might get hurt by them.
‘As I was saying earlier, I should like to spend some time with you this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I shall send someone to fetch you at two o’clock. Be ready,’ he said, and by glancing up just once more at the quivering branch, then giving Sofia a direct look, informing her that he knew exactly who was up that tree, he set off at a steady canter.
* * *
‘I think it’s safe for you to come down now,’ said Sofia, once the sound of hoofbeats had faded into the distance.
The little girl’s face appeared among the leaves. ‘Are you going to make me go back?’
‘Well, you...’ She pulled herself up short. She’d been about to say she couldn’t very well stay out all day, but then remembered she’d done exactly that herself on many occasions. ‘Don’t you want your breakfast?’ she asked, instead. ‘I know that I am hungry.’
The girl pushed her tumbling black curls behind her ears. ‘I am hungry, yes. But...’ Her face fell.
‘Are you in trouble of some kind? Are you afraid you will be punished for coming out here on your own?’
The girl nodded. ‘And for letting you see me. Out of sight and out of mind, I’m supposed to be.’
‘Even from your... I mean, the Duke?’
She nodded vigorousl
y. ‘If he knew I’d been out here, when I’m supposed to stay up in the schoolroom when respectable folk come here, Mrs Starchypants would give me what for.’
‘That’s dreadful!’ What kind of man had his own child...?
But then she reflected how much stricter children were treated in English society than she’d been used to with her own father. Though he’d never so much as raised his voice to her, she could see that his gentle, caring form of parenting hadn’t really prepared her for life in England. Also, some of the ‘respectable’ folk here this week were, to be truthful, not the kind of people to whom she would want a vulnerable child exposed.
Besides, he hadn’t hauled his daughter down from the tree and threatened her with all sorts of dire retribution, even though he’d clearly known she was up there.
So perhaps he was being protective, rather than as harsh as this little girl believed. Although...
At that point, Snowball’s patience must have run out, because she jumped up and barked.
‘I do think you might come down now,’ said Sofia. It would be safer if she was there to oversee the descent for the tree was big and the girl small. ‘Snowball wants to play with you,’ she added. ‘See?’ As if to back her up, Snowball began bouncing up and down, letting out a series of plaintive barks.
‘Can she do any tricks?’ the child asked wistfully. ‘Mama did a play once where there was a dog who did all sorts of tricks.’
‘Well, she can walk on her hind legs and lie down and stay silent,’ said Sofia. And promptly gave a demonstration of all that Snowball could do.
The little girl’s face brightened. And then, allaying all Sofia’s concerns about the danger of falling from the tree, she scrambled down with the agility of a little monkey.
Snowball was in heaven. And, from the looks of her, so was the little girl. Sofia watched as the pair romped round each other in an impromptu game of chase to which only they knew the rules. However, she did manage to subtly shepherd the game steadily in the direction of the house. When they finally reached the edge of the woods and the child noticed where they were, she looked up at Sofia with a frown.
‘Are you going to snitch?’
‘No,’ said Sofia, remembering the word from the time in her childhood when she’d been allowed to play with an entire regiment’s brood of disreputable offspring. And then, when the suspicion did not clear from the child’s face, she added, ‘How can I, when I don’t even know your name?’
The girl considered that point. ‘I told you, I’m the Duke’s Disgrace. Everyone would know who you meant, if you said that.’
‘Well, I refuse to call you any such thing,’ she said with irritation. ‘Fancy blaming a child for something that wasn’t her fault!’
‘You don’t think I’m a disgrace, then?’
‘Absolutely not. The very idea!’
‘I been naughty, though, running off when Mrs Starchypants weren’t looking.’
‘Well, I can’t blame you for wishing to come and play outside on such a lovely morning. And, besides, Snowball likes you. And she, you know, is a very good judge of character.’
The girl dropped down on to her knees and gave Snowball a hug. ‘I like Snowball, too. Can I play with her again?’ She turned a hopeful look up.
‘I only wish you could. But Snowball is not allowed in the house. I have to return her to the kennels.’
The little girl’s face closed up in resignation, as though she was familiar with disappointment.
Sofia’s heart went out to her. ‘I know I am not as much fun as Snowball, but perhaps I could come up to your nursery some time and play with you instead?’ It would certainly beat spending time with the candidates for the Duke’s hand in marriage.
But the little girl’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘You mustn’t! You mustn’t come up to the nursery, or they’ll know for sure I spoke to you.’
Good lord, but what kind of household treated a child with such severity? Aunt Agnes might have been strict, but Sofia had never once felt afraid of her, not in this way. She had been afraid of disappointing her, but that was another matter.
‘Very well. I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.’
The girl chewed on her lower lip. ‘I could come to your room, though, when nobody else is there. If...if you wouldn’t mind...’
‘Of course I wouldn’t mind. But do you know how to find my room? I’m afraid I can’t exactly tell you where it is, except that it’s on the third floor.’
‘Oh, I know where it is. I know where all the ladies have been put, and their mothers and fathers. And their servants. I know all the rooms in Theakstone Court and all the back stairs, and all the secret passages.’
‘There are secret passages? How thrilling.’
‘Well, not ’zactly secret. Coz the servants use them. But the guests don’t know.’
Ah. She meant the service corridors that staff used to move about the place, so that noble guests like Lady Sarah and her parents never had to encounter a maid carting a slop pail down to the midden.
‘You may come to my room whenever you wish,’ said Sofia. ‘As long as it won’t get you into trouble.’
‘Oh, I’m always in trouble, whether I try to be good or not. So,’ she said lifting her chin, ‘mostly I don’t bother trying to be good any more. What’s the point?’
Sofia eyed her with respect. Instead of tying herself in knots to try to win approval from the people who’d given her a home, she was being magnificently defiant.
‘I wish I had been as brave as you, when I was your age.’ She wished she was as brave right now. Why on earth didn’t she just tell her aunt and uncle she had no intention of marrying Jack? And that, though she had no fixed plans for her future, they most certainly did not feature handing over her money to someone who was going to treat her like a...a...well, with absolutely no respect. Or kindness.
But the little girl was not looking brave and determined any longer. She’d caught sight of something beyond Sofia. When Sofia turned to see what it might be, she saw a brace of footmen carrying all sorts of equipment, trailing behind Lady Elizabeth, who was carrying a bow.
‘They’re all out of bed,’ wailed the little girl. ‘There’ll be no dodging them now.’
‘Is there no other way back into the house? Other than going across that lawn?’
The little girl frowned. ‘A couple of ways. But I’m just as likely to get caught on any of them now. I didn’t notice it was getting so late.’ She looked over her shoulder at the relative safety offered by the woods. But if she went back there, she’d miss not only breakfast, but possibly lunch, as well. And though Sofia had done much the same at Nettleton Manor, she’d been at least twice this child’s age. And she’d known how to forage.
‘If I create a diversion, do you think you could sneak past them?’
‘What’s a diversion?’
‘It’s something that will make everyone look one way, so they won’t notice one small child somewhere else.’
‘Oh.’
‘Snowball and I will make everyone look at us. She can steal Lady Elizabeth’s arrows, or knock the target over, or jump up at one of the footmen. And while they are all running around trying to make her behave, you can get back indoors safely.’
‘Oh.’ The little girl looked at her for a moment and then smiled. ‘I like you,’ she said. ‘You’re almost as nice as an actress. Even if you are a lady.’
Which was, Sofia gathered, the highest praise the child could bestow.
Chapter Sixteen
Smedley-Fotherington and Lady Margaret were already in the long gallery when Oliver got there. And what with her tremulous airs and his foppish manner of tossing his curls from his forehead every two minutes, it felt like an eternity before Miss Underwood finally arrived.
‘Here you are at last,’ he said, striding to greet her and only jus
t barely managing to stop himself holding out his hands and seizing both of hers.
‘Am I late? I thought we were all meeting at two o’clock.’ Her anxious gaze darted past him to where the other two were standing beneath the portrait of his great-great-grandfather, mounted on the horse he’d ridden at the Battle of Naseby.
‘You are punctual,’ said Oliver. And then, leaning in, murmured, ‘The others arrived early. Presumably to impress me with their love of art.’
‘Or something.’
He could not tell what she might mean by that cryptic remark, so he ignored it. He pulled the map he’d drawn her earlier from his sleeve and pressed it into her hand.
‘Don’t read this until the tour is over,’ he warned her. ‘And don’t let anyone see it.’
She blinked just once before sliding the folded note up her own sleeve. For a moment he wasn’t sure whether to admire the quick way she’d caught on to the need for discretion, or to worry that she was so adept at entering into conspiracies. He put both reactions from his mind firmly and, without making any comment, took her arm and drew her into the gallery.
‘These,’ he said in a normal tone of voice, waving his free arm at the pictures hanging the entire length of the gallery, ‘are my forebears. For the most part.’
‘Yes, we have already noted the portrait of King Charles,’ simpered Lady Margaret. ‘Godfrey Kneller, is it not?’
‘After Godfrey Kneller,’ he corrected her smoothly, while Sofia looked bewildered. She clearly had no idea who Godfrey Kneller was. And why should she?
‘A copy,’ he explained, ‘commissioned to show enthusiasm for the restoration of the monarchy and to demonstrate support for the restored monarch.’
‘His Grace’s family,’ Lady Margaret said to Sofia, in a rather patronising voice, ‘rose to pre-eminence during that time. Most of the house dates from that period.’
‘The present house,’ he corrected her. ‘There have been Norringtons living in these parts since the time of the Conquest.’
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