His brows drew down. ‘I am never going to allow any woman to reduce me to the state where I lose the ability to behave rationally, no.’
‘And I am not going to settle for a man who only wants me to be a mother to his child and an asset to his political ambitions.’
‘Settle? A girl does not settle for a duke.’ He looked so affronted that Sofia saw red.
‘No, she schemes and plots and pushes other girls out of the way for the honour of receiving your title, doesn’t she? At least, that is the behaviour you seem to think is your due.’
‘I think no such thing,’ he said, his nostrils flaring in distaste. ‘Such behaviour revolts me. Which is why, over the last couple of days, I came to see that you would make me a better wife than any of the titled ladies I had been considering before. That opinion only strengthened when I saw you defending Livvy and was confirmed when you addressed me as Oliver, and let me kiss you.’
Sofia’s head was swimming. ‘I never thought...’ She had used his given name, hadn’t she? In the dark intimacy of the summer house, she’d forgotten every single etiquette lesson Aunt Agnes had ever given and crossed one of those invisible lines that shored up English society. She guessed this had, in turn, made him think he could do the same.
‘That is... I suppose it is a great honour, you choosing me to be your wife, but...’
He closed the distance between them, took her by the elbow and led her to a chair. ‘Sit down, Miss Underwood. Let me pour you a drink.’
Not only did he pour her a glass of water, but once she had it in her hand he went and flung open the windows—not that it made any improvement. The air outside was even hotter than that in his study.
He looked so stern, so disapproving. Her face flared even hotter. Could he now be thinking she’d behaved as badly as Lady Elizabeth?
‘I don’t make a habit of kissing men,’ she said, returning to the point he’d made earlier. ‘In fact, nobody has ever kissed me before, so I did not know how to...that is, what I was supposed to do.’ She stared into her glass, miserably realising that what she should have done was slap his face.
Only, she’d been enjoying it too much.
‘You did not appear to dislike it,’ he pointed out ruthlessly.
‘No, well, I didn’t. Dislike it, I mean.’ She hadn’t thought it possible to blush any harder, but the moment the admission spilled from her mouth that was exactly what she did. To the very tips of her toes.
‘That,’ said the Duke, ‘is a good start.’
‘Is it?’ She gazed up at him and caught, briefly, an extremely predatory look in his eyes before he banked it down.
‘It means that you will not find my attentions, as a husband, repellent.’
‘No. What?’ He still wanted to marry her? Even after all she’d just said? ‘But you can’t possibly want to marry me. I’ve just told you, I’m not fit for the role of Duchess. You want someone who can be a political asset to you...’
‘Being a duchess is not as important to me as what you can do for Livvy.’
‘But I can’t launch her into society. I have no idea how to go on myself.’
‘I will introduce you into society and you will soon learn how to go on. And in the meantime, I know I can trust you never to hurt her.’
‘No, I couldn’t, but... I will fail you in other ways. My mother was Portuguese. And a Catholic. People will say...’
‘That you are an exotic beauty, if they don’t wish to offend me.’
She gaped at him. A beauty? Exotic? ‘But... I...’ She was running out of objections. And it was hard to think of anything other than the look in his eyes when he’d said she was a beauty. ‘I have no idea how to run a place this size...’
‘I have an excellent housekeeper and well-trained staff.’
She cringed, remembering the way that woman, and various others of his retinue, had looked down their noses at her.
‘You would be able to rely on them to keep on running things smoothly.’
Oh, yes. They’d be only too happy to keep her firmly in her place.
‘You have not,’ he said, ‘mentioned the match I believe your uncle wished you to make. To the man you told me only wanted you for your fortune. I am surely better for you than him?’
She grimaced. ‘That is not saying very much. I idolised him for years, thinking he liked me. And then I overheard him one day, mocking me. Overheard his plans for how he would treat me once we were married...’ She couldn’t help shuddering in revulsion at the memory of how cold and shocked she’d felt, huddled under that jetty, listening to Jack ripping her whole future to shreds.
‘I, at least, have no designs on your money. You may spend it as you wish.’
‘Thank you,’ she said listlessly. For it wasn’t really about money, anyway.
‘You could do a great deal of good with it,’ he persisted, as though holding out a shiny toy to a recalcitrant toddler. ‘Remember Mrs Pagett?’
‘The...the burnt woman, from the fireworks display?’
‘Yes. I know you wanted to do something for her and fretted because you were not permitted even to visit her. She is not going to be able to find work easily, not now that her face is so scarred. Even were I to set her up in some trade, she would find it hard to find customers. But if you, as my Duchess, were to patronise her—dress shop, or hat shop, or whatever she has the skill to work at—her future would be assured.’
‘Yes...’ She turned the glass around in her fingers. ‘I can see that I could do a lot of good, if I were to marry you. Only...’ She looked up at him. Really looked at him. He seemed decent. He cared about poor Mrs Pagett and his little girl, certainly. And he could kiss so amazingly well that her toes were curling in her slippers just from looking at his mouth.
She lowered her gaze and wondered if she really could entrust her whole future to a man she’d known a matter of weeks.
The trouble was, she’d been let down too many times already by men she’d trusted. First her father, by dying, and then his family, who’d taken her in, but then done their utmost to change her into somebody she could never be. And then Jack, who’d led her on, only to destroy her hope, bruise her heart and make her feel like such a fool.
‘This would be the rest of my life,’ she said.
‘And mine.’
‘But we hardly know each other.’
‘I know you have a compassionate heart and that you are too well bred to fling yourself at me the way so many women have done. And that if you were to marry me, I would not feel as if I were shackling myself to a grasping, deceitful harpy, which has been my fear for some time.’
‘I... I need time to think about this. I never dreamed...’
‘That is another thing I like about you. You have no vanity.’ He took the now-empty glass from her hand and set it on his desk. When he turned back to her, his face was a haughty mask.
‘I will give you the time to think my proposal over, then. The house party does not come to an end for another three days. You will inform me of your decision before then.’
Three days? How on earth was she to make a decision that would affect her whole future in three days? What could possibly help her make up her mind? In three days? Why, she’d known Jack for twice that number of years. And been totally wrong about him. If she hadn’t overheard him joking with his friend, she would still have no idea how he really saw her.
Oliver sounded sincere. When he looked at her, she could believe he meant every word he said.
But then, she’d believed in Jack, too.
Chapter Twenty
‘You did what?’ Aunt Agnes eyed Sofia with incredulity. ‘But you would have been a duchess,’ she cried in bewilderment, waving Marguerite out of the room.
Sofia braced herself.
‘I suppose...’ Aunt Agnes paused, appearing to struggle with herse
lf. ‘That is, I can see that your attachment to Jack is even stronger than I suspected. Well,’ she said, crestfallen, ‘at least your Uncle Ned can boast that you didn’t have your head turned by the prospect of a coronet.’
What? No! Jack had nothing to do with her turning down Oliver’s proposal. Or not directly. But that was what her whole family was going to think if she didn’t speak up. But while she was still plucking up the courage to confess what she’d heard Jack saying about her, Aunt Agnes spoke again.
‘I suppose it hardly matters what you wear for the picnic now,’ she said gloomily, casting the froth of muslin she’d been holding over the back of a chair. ‘As long as it is clean,’ she finished saying, casting a withering glance over the outfit Sofia had worn both to walk Snowball through the woods and to turn down Oliver’s proposal. She then strode from the room with her back ramrod straight, as though determined not to show how disappointed she was that all her dreams of a glittering future as aunt to the Duchess of Theakstone had just come crashing down.
Sofia stared at the door for a good few minutes after Aunt Agnes had shut it behind her. She would give almost anything not to disappoint her aunt. But what was worse was that anyone might think she was so infatuated with Jack she’d even throw over a duke. That possibility was so appalling she had half a mind to go straight back down to his study and tell him she’d thought it over and decided to marry him after all, just to prove it wasn’t true.
Only, that really wasn’t a good enough reason for marrying anyone. Especially a man who deserved so much more. If she did decide to marry him, she wasn’t going to do it just to thumb her nose at anyone. No matter how tempting it was.
She eyed with misgivings the flimsy muslin gown that Marguerite had produced from somewhere. It was the most impractical thing to wear to a picnic. She always came back from picnics covered in grass stains. Nevertheless, Aunt Agnes had intended her to wear it. And so, Sofia decided, to make it up to her for her disappointment at not presiding over a match with a duke, she would put it on. It had the advantage of being more likely to keep her cool than anything else she had in her wardrobe.
* * *
And, she discovered later, when she reached the rear of the house where all the ladies were gathering to wait for the carriages which would take them the short distance to the lake, at least she fit right in. On the surface, that was, since everyone else was wearing white—insubstantial creations that looked too delicate to wear in a drawing room, never mind a field.
But none of them greeted her. Or even appeared to notice she and her aunt had arrived. She lifted her chin. They all knew her family had arrived in a hired post-chaise. They all knew she had no means of getting down to the lake, but none of them looked the least bit inclined to offer them a lift.
Sofia and Aunt Agnes hung back when the carriages came into view, the men of the party riding beside them on horseback. But the footman standing up behind the first carriage to arrive, an open carriage with a ducal crest on the door, was Peter. And he was grinning at her as he jumped down, opened the door, let down the steps and then beckoned them to get in.
‘This,’ said Aunt Agnes from the side of her mouth as she stalked regally to the carriage, ‘has made my day. Do you see the look on Lady Sale’s face?’ She opened her parasol with a flourish as soon as she’d taken her seat. ‘That dreadful woman thinks she ought to go first, because she is the highest-ranking lady. But her carriage is now second to ours.’
Oh, good grief. What did it matter whose carriage went first? Was that all these people cared about? Position? And rank and wealth?’
‘Sofia, put up your parasol,’ said her aunt the moment they drew out of the porch. ‘You are squinting in the sun. And your complexion is bad enough as it is, what with you romping about all over the place with that ridiculous little dog of yours whenever you think I’m not watching you.’
But there was hardly any sting in her voice and Sofia discovered why as she was obediently raising her own parasol.
‘His Grace clearly has not given up all hope if he has set you above all the other ladies, like this,’ said Aunt Agnes with a smile.
‘Set me above them? What do you mean?’
‘He’s put you at the head of the procession, you goose. What do you think it means?’
It meant he wasn’t the kind of man who gave up at the first hurdle. Or sulked when it looked as if he wasn’t going to get his own way.
The carriage went over a bump and it occurred to Sofia that it could just as easily mean that he hadn’t been anywhere near as hurt as he’d looked, that his feelings were not engaged in the slightest.
She twirled her parasol thoughtfully. Hadn’t he made it crystal clear that his motives for asking her to marry him were of a practical nature? He wanted someone to replace Livvy’s mother.
And though he’d only mentioned it obliquely, somebody to provide him with a legitimate heir, too.
Her stomach flipped as she relived that kiss and the moments behind the sofa when he’d held her so closely—which were the sorts of activities they’d do more of, in order to get that heir. Though hopefully not behind a sofa.
She looked at the scenery through which they were driving with new eyes. Theakstone Court would certainly be a lovely place to live. Snowball loved the beech plantation already and, if only she could have the charge of Livvy, she could make it a wonderful playground for the little girl. To start with, she’d build her a tree house...
But to do any of that, first she’d have to marry Oliver.
And would that be such a hardship? She didn’t actively dislike him. On the contrary...
She thought of all the times she’d compared some aspect of his behaviour with that of Jack, or Uncle Ned; the times he’d come to her defence when someone had been trying to undermine her.
And the way he’d made her feel when he’d kissed her. If that was anything to go by, she’d certainly enjoy the physical side of the union.
Come to that, he couldn’t have kissed her like that if he didn’t find her attractive, could he?
If only he wasn’t so determined not to love her. If only he would ride beside her carriage and act like a proper suitor, instead of staying right at the back of the cavalcade with Captain Beamish and...oh... Uncle Ned. Was that significant?
She forced her gaze away from the Duke, even though he did look particularly splendid on horseback, and gazed in the direction of the lake. She couldn’t help smiling. There were so many chairs and tables set out under pavilions along the shoreline that it looked more like a town fair than a picnic. Or perhaps an army bivouac, with the picket line for the horses strung out under the shade of some elms. Although, an army bivouac wouldn’t have an area to park all the carriages as well—or not carriages like these. Nor would there be liveried grooms helping the ladies from their carriages and pouring out glasses of iced punch. Nor would the army make use of any of the frivolous little boats drawn up on the shore, just as the Duke had promised, should anyone wish to go out on the water.
Uncle Ned made straight for the nearest refreshment tent the moment he dismounted from the fine grey he’d obviously selected from the Duke’s stables. The Duke followed close behind. As soon as the ladies descended from their carriages, they started drifting in the same direction.
Lady Sarah, being in the second carriage to arrive and being more ambitious than the others, reached Oliver first.
‘How delightful all this looks, Your Grace,’ she cooed. ‘I cannot wait to take a turn in one of those charming little boats,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.
‘Of course,’ he said, beckoning the nearest footman. ‘Take Lady Sarah out on to the lake, would you, Simmons?’
As the footman dipped his head in acknowledgement, Sofia caught a momentary look of acute annoyance on Lady Sarah’s face. She stifled it swiftly, however, and by the time Oliver was looking down at her a
gain she’d summoned up a syrupy smile.
‘Of course you may not abandon your other guests so soon after arriving,’ she said, as though sympathising with the onerous nature of his duties.
Sofia spun away before anyone could catch her laughing...though not so quickly that she didn’t see Lady Elizabeth stepping into the vacant slot beside him.
Oh, dear. It was going to be like that, was it? Well, she had no wish to stand there watching the other girls all making fools of themselves as they fought to win his approval, without knowing he’d already proposed to her. She’d walk away from the city of tents and go down to the water’s edge. Maybe there would be a breeze down there.
For the first time since meeting her rivals, Sofia felt a pang of sympathy for them. But it had passed before she’d reached the lake because at least they all knew what they wanted out of life. They wanted to be duchesses, have lots of money and the right to go first. None of which mattered to Sofia in the least.
She strolled along the sandy shoreline in the direction of a jetty which projected several feet into the water. As their shrill voices faded, and the soothing sounds of lapping waves took their place, she asked herself what she did want, if she didn’t want rank or money or the right to go first?
Well, to be honest, she did want money. Her own money, that was. Which Oliver said he would give her.
She stepped up on to the first plank of the jetty and couldn’t help thinking of the day she’d hidden beneath a very similar structure and overheard Jack’s plans for her future. At least Oliver respected her. He must do, to say he could entrust his own daughter to her, mustn’t he?
And he was genuinely attracted to her, or he couldn’t have kissed her the way he had. Or spoken of it the way he had. Nor had she imagined the heat smouldering in his eyes when he’d mentioned getting an heir. He wouldn’t simply be doing his duty, the way Jack had been bracing himself to do.
Golly, but it was hot today. She strolled along to the end of the jetty and gazed out over the water, her lips firming in annoyance as she thought of all those women Jack had planned to take to his bed, women he would enjoy being with, once he’d got her safely with child.
A Duke in Need of a Wife Page 17
