A Duke in Need of a Wife

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A Duke in Need of a Wife Page 20

by Annie Burrows


  ‘Why don’t you simply tell them,’ said Sofia, full of evangelical zeal for her new outlook on life, ‘the truth?’

  ‘The truth?’ Lady Margaret looked at her as though she’d said something obscene. ‘You are a fine one to talk about telling the truth, when you kept the truth of your birth from us all, even when we all treated you as if you were just some country miss.’

  Well, that was because there were other circumstances in her background which she had no wish to reveal.

  ‘Nevertheless, it might help you if you simply told anyone who may question you that you stopped by my room to see how I fared.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I could do that,’ Lady Margaret said grudgingly. She began to make for the door. ‘And tonight, you will act as though you bear me no animosity?’

  ‘I will. Because I don’t. Truly,’ she added when Lady Margaret looked as though it was hard to believe. ‘Feelings were running high, yesterday. You all want to become the Duchess so much that you get things a bit out of perspective, occasionally, I think.’

  Lady Margaret frowned. ‘But don’t you want to become a duchess, too?’

  ‘I...’ She blinked. ‘Well, yes, I believe I do, although I didn’t at first.’ If only he loved her, even just a little bit, she could very easily agree to marry him. He was such a fine man. And he kissed like a...like a...well, since no other man had ever kissed her she had nothing with which to compare it. She only knew that his kiss had been much, much more than the touch of lips. It had set fire to every part of her person and made her yearn for more.

  Lady Margaret, she noted, was scowling at her.

  ‘But, I rather think I may have lost any chance I might have had with him,’ Sofia continued miserably. ‘He was very, very angry with me yesterday. Did you not see how he scolded me, before bringing me back to shore?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, brightening up. As though Sofia’s obvious misery over the incident was doing more for Lady Margaret than anything Sofia had said or done so far. ‘We all did.’ She cocked her head and looked at her assessingly. ‘Very well, I shall see you at dinner where we will present an amicable front to the world. In fact,’ she added graciously, ‘if I should be fortunate enough to win the Duke’s hand, you shall always be able to consider me your friend.’ So saying, she lifted her chin,and swept out of the room.

  Sofia was left open-mouthed. There was a girl who knew what she wanted and believed, what was more, she was entitled to go out and get it.

  All of a sudden, Sofia felt an overwhelming need to get washed and dressed, because talking to people you hardly knew, when wearing only your nightgown, left you feeling very, very vulnerable.

  And who could tell who might decide to drop by her room next?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It turned out to be the doctor.

  ‘Well, well, up and dressed today, are we?’ He took hold of her wrist as he pulled out his pocket watch. ‘Hmm, yes, good, clearly over the shock of the accidental immersion,’ he declared, dropping her wrist and tucking his watch away.

  ‘But she still looks flushed, Dr Cochrane,’ said Aunt Agnes. ‘And she feels hot to the touch.’

  Doctor Cochrane placed his hand briefly against Sofia’s forehead. ‘We all feel warm today,’ he said, pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his own forehead. ‘But perhaps it would be wise for your niece to continue to rest today, just to be on the safe side.’

  Aunt Agnes beamed at him.

  ‘May I go down to dinner tonight?’ Sofia asked, mindful of her promise to Lady Margaret.

  ‘I see no reason why not, provided you do not feel unwell at any time before that. And I shall be on hand, of course, to make sure she does not overtire herself,’ he said to Aunt Agnes.

  ‘While you are here, might I enquire,’ she said, darting a wary glance at Aunt Agnes, ‘about Mrs Pagett?’

  ‘Ah, yes, you are the young lady who rushed to her side and so very misguidedly threw your cloak over her, weren’t you?’

  ‘M-misguidedly?’

  ‘Goose fat is what should have been applied first. So the cloth would not stick.’

  He looked so stern that Sofia wanted to apologise for not having had the foresight to have been carrying a jar of it in her reticule that evening.

  ‘But you weren’t to know, of course,’ he conceded graciously. ‘And she is recovering nicely, so no real harm done.’

  Having totally demoralised her, he bade her aunt a cheery good day.

  ‘Well, that is good news,’ said Aunt Agnes, the moment he’d gone. ‘You have your embroidery by you? Oh, and some books, I see. Well,’ she went on swiftly, before Sofia had a chance to reply. ‘I’m sure you will be able to keep yourself amused until I come back.’

  ‘Come back?’

  ‘Oh, I won’t be far away,’ she said, startling Sofia by patting her on the cheek. ‘His Grace has arranged a tour of his succession houses this afternoon. I am most anxious to discover how he manages to grow pineapples.’

  Pineapples? Really? But from the look on her aunt’s face as she left, she considered it a high treat.

  Once she was alone, Sofia dragged a chaise longue to the window, which she opened, even though the air outside was too heavy to heave itself in over the windowsill. She then armed herself with a fan and one of the novels Aunt Agnes had noticed. For she would much rather lose herself in the improbable adventures of a romantic heroine than do a single stitch of embroidery, even though her aunt was always insisting it was a much worthier pursuit.

  She was soon so deeply engrossed in the tale that she had no idea how long she’d been sitting there before she became aware of a strange scuffling noise. She looked up. It seemed to be coming from behind an alcove that contained a set of shelves so shallow they would scarcely hold an egg cup. She gave a shudder of revulsion at the thought of rats coming out to play whenever the house was quiet.

  But then she heard another noise. A persistent scratching that sounded just like a dog’s claws when it was trying to open a door. And then the unmistakable whine of a dog.

  She sat up straight, the book falling from her lap as the entire wall of the alcove swung open, as though it was a door, and a white blur shot out and came streaking towards her.

  ‘Snowball,’ she cried in delighted surprise as her dog jumped on to her lap, knocking her fan from her hand and frantically licking her face. ‘How on earth did you get here? I know you are a clever girl, but breaking out of your kennels and making your way along secret passages is more than I suspected even you could do.’

  She looked across to what she could now see was the entrance to one of the discreetly disguised servants’ corridors Livvy had told her about. And saw Livvy herself, standing there looking defiant and rather grubby.

  ‘Livvy, sweetheart, please come in,’ said Sofia. As if to add her voice to the invitation, Snowball jumped off her lap and ran to Livvy. Then ran back to Sofia. Then ran back to Livvy again, skidding across the rugs and rucking them up in the process.

  ‘Thank you so much for bringing Snowball to visit me.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for you,’ said Livvy mutinously. ‘I did it for her. She wouldn’t eat anything yesterday. She hated being locked up in the kennels, all on her own. I thought she’d like to come to the woods with me. That was why I let her out. But she made for the house instead,’ said the little girl, looking askance at the dog.

  ‘I see. She was lonely, most of all. She missed me. I’m so sorry, Snowball,’ she said, ruffling the dog’s ears, ‘that I had to leave you in that nasty kennel. It was the rules, you know.’

  ‘There’s too many rules in this house, if you ask me,’ said Livvy, sounding far more grown up than her height suggested.

  ‘Are there?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a scowl, though she inched a bit closer. ‘But the most important one is to stay out of sight,’ she sai
d defiantly, taking another step nearer to where Sofia and Snowball were sitting.

  ‘Well, you can stay out of sight here, if you like. It is what I’m doing, after all.’

  ‘You are? Why?’

  ‘I’m in disgrace.’ She pulled the corners of her mouth down. ‘I fell in the lake yesterday, during what was supposed to have been a very respectable picnic.’

  Livvy’s mouth fell open. ‘Did you drown?’

  Ignoring the obvious answer, that of course she hadn’t drowned or she wouldn’t be here, Sofia said, ‘Oh, no. Because I can swim like a fish.’

  ‘You can? I wish I could.’

  ‘Perhaps...’ She’d been about to say that perhaps she could teach Livvy to swim in the lake. But she could only do that if she stayed, which would mean marrying the girl’s father, and she wasn’t sure his proposal still stood, after the way he’d spoken to her yesterday. And even then...

  She wrenched her unruly thoughts away from Oliver to concentrate instead upon his daughter.

  ‘That is, at home... I mean, where I come from, where I live with my uncle and aunt, I used to say I was taking Snowball for a walk so that I could go for a secret swim. I had a favourite pond. Nowhere near as big and fine as the lake here. And Snowball would sit on the bank guarding me. If anyone was coming, she would bark a warning, and I could hide under the jetty until they’d gone.’

  Which was how she’d known Jack was approaching.

  ‘That sounds like fun.’

  ‘It was. But it was not fun yesterday. I lost my bonnet in the water and your father jumped in with all his clothes on because he thought I needed rescuing. He was very cross with me.’

  ‘He’s very cross with me, too,’ said Livvy mournfully.

  ‘Why? What have you done?’

  She shrugged and started straightening out the rug which Snowball had rucked up. ‘He’s always been cross with me. The very first time he saw me, I thought he was going to...’ Not only her mouth, but her whole face closed up.

  Since Oliver had told her a little about the way he’d felt upon discovering he had a daughter, Sofia knew that if he had been cross, it hadn’t been with Livvy. And she also knew how easy it was for a child to misinterpret the look on an adult’s face, particularly after that child had been betrayed by an adult she trusted.

  ‘I don’t think he was cross with you,’ she said.

  ‘That’s all you know. He was cross then and he’s still cross now. He must be, else why would he have handed me over to Mrs Starchypants?’

  ‘Well, perhaps he simply doesn’t know how to be a father.’ It was what he’d told her. ‘Perhaps...’

  ‘That’s all well and good...’ Livvy sniffed, a suspicious sheen brightening her eyes ‘...but he keeps on scowling at me whenever he sees me. Which ain’t often. And Mrs Starchypants says she’s only surprised he has me in his house at all, rather than sending me back to the kind of people I belong with.’

  It sounded to Sofia as though Mrs Starchypants had a lot to answer for. If she had any say in the matter, she’d send the horrid woman packing.

  Before she could think twice, she’d leaned down and scooped Livvy up on to her lap, which wasn’t easy considering Snowball already occupied most of it. But Snowball wriggled to make room and licked Livvy’s face in welcome. Livvy put her arms round the dog and buried her little face in her soft fur.

  Sofia was still racking her brains for something to say to ease the troubled little girl’s mind when there came a brisk knock at her door, the knock which she recognised as belonging to Aunt Agnes.

  ‘Quick,’ said Sofia, pushing Livvy off her lap. ‘Hide. You, too, Snowball. And mind, be silent.’ She tapped the dog on the nose before shoving both her, and the little girl, under the low chaise.

  Aunt Agnes, who rarely waited for Sofia to say she could enter, came bustling in just as Sofia was arranging her shawl across her legs so that it draped down to the floor, concealing the miscreants under the chaise.

  ‘I just came to see how you are doing,’ said Aunt Agnes. ‘And to tell you that the trip round the succession houses was rather a disappointment.’ She flopped down on to a chair by the other open window and flapped her hand before her face. ‘His Grace was not there. Instead, it was his head gardener who gave us the tour. I was rather disappointed at first, but at least I got some satisfaction from seeing Lady Sale and that dreadful daughter of hers being thwarted in their ambition to get His Grace alone.’

  Ah. So he’d organised the tour of the pinery the same way he’d organised the stroll through his portrait gallery—as an excuse to spend time with one of his bridal candidates.

  Which meant that he was still considering the other girls.

  Which meant that he’d changed his mind about wanting to marry her.

  Except that he hadn’t actually gone on the tour.

  Oh, lord. As usual, when wondering about Oliver’s motives, she found her guesses had veered wildly from one extreme to the other.

  ‘Did anyone say why he handed Lady Sarah and her mother over to the care of his gardener?’

  ‘Only that some urgent business had cropped up which he had to attend to personally. You wouldn’t expect him to explain his movements to anyone, would you?’

  ‘No,’ Sofia replied with resignation.

  ‘Well, I’m glad to see you looking so very much better this afternoon. I will go and have a rest before dinner. Lord, but it is hot,’ she sighed, getting to her feet. ‘And even hotter in that pinery. Lady Sale’s face was like a beetroot by the time we came out,’ she tittered. ‘Oh!’ She peered out of the window. ‘It is raining.’

  Sofia followed the direction of her aunt’s gaze and saw a few splashes of water strike the windowsill. In the far distance, a bank of almost bluish-black clouds hung low over the trees.

  ‘It looks as though we will have a storm before the day is out,’ said Aunt Agnes. ‘Good thing, too. It will be much cooler after and we will all feel the benefit.’ After a short discussion about what Sofia ought to wear to dinner, she bustled out of the room.

  The moment the door shut behind her, Sofia twitched her shawl up off the floor. ‘It’s safe to come out now. Good girl,’ she said, when Snowball snuffled into her lap for a petting. ‘Just a moment, Livvy, I must just give her a treat for staying silent and not giving you away.’ She got up and went to the dressing table in her bedroom where she kept a bag of the hard biscuits the cook at Nettleton Manor made especially for Snowball, while Livvy, too, crawled out from her hiding place.

  ‘Sit,’ Sofia commanded Snowball, who’d come running after her on hearing the word treat. Snowball sat and took her treat most politely.

  Livvy ventured as far as the bedroom door to watch.

  ‘You know,’ said Sofia, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said about your father being cross. Please, won’t you come and sit at my dressing table?’

  As Sofia pointed in that direction, Snowball trotted over and looked at her expectantly.

  ‘Oh,’ said Livvy. ‘She thinks you meant her.’

  ‘She wants another treat,’ said Sofia drily. ‘Would you like to give it to her?’

  Livvy needed no second asking. She was over at the dressing table in a flash, giving Snowball all the commands she’d heard Sofia use and giving the dog a treat every time she performed.

  They were both delighted with the game and it had the benefit of getting the girl exactly where Sofia wanted her.

  ‘Here,’ said Sofia, who’d gone to fetch paper and pencil while the others were amusing each other. ‘Sit at the stool, won’t you, for a minute. I’d like you to do some sums.’

  ‘Sums?’ Livvy looked at her aghast.

  ‘Oh, very well, not sums then. How about some writing? I’d just like to see what a clever girl you are. I’m sure you can write beautifully, can you not? And then, when you’ve finis
hed, you can play with Snowball again.’

  Livvy looked mutinous, but she took the pencil and wriggled round on the stool so that she was facing the mirror.

  ‘What shall I write?’

  ‘How about a poem?’ Sofia suggested. ‘About Snowball.’ She wanted Livvy to have to think hard about what she was writing. And, just as she’d hoped, not long after she’d picked up the pencil, Livvy’s brows drew down in concentration. Swiftly, Sofia tilted the girl’s head up so that she was looking at her own reflection. ‘How cross you look.’

  ‘No, I’m not cross, I’m just thinking hard. I want to write a really good poem for Snowball.’

  ‘Yes, you want to do your best. And that, I fancy, is what your papa was doing, whenever you thought he was angry with you. Wondering how to do his best for you.’

  Livvy studied her reflection for a moment or two. Her frown faded. ‘Do you really think so?’ she asked, wistfully.

  ‘Yes, I do. You are so very like him to look at. And sometimes your expression is very fierce, when I’m sure you are just thinking hard.’

  Livvy nodded. ‘Then, you think he might not be cross with me?’

  ‘I’m sure he isn’t...’

  But then, someone else knocked on the door before she could get any further. And Livvy, with a squeak of fright, dived under Sofia’s bed. Snowball, who looked as though she was starting to regard diving under various items of furniture as part of her daily routine, was only a split second behind her.

  And just as well, because the person knocking did not wait for a response but came crashing into her rooms like a clap of thunder.

  Sofia gasped. It was Oliver, breaking all the rules of etiquette by coming into her room. Doing what no host—or gentleman—should ever do.

  And he looked furious.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Oliver had not given a thought to how Sofia might react before coming here. But had he done so, he might have known she would be shocked.

  Not afraid, though? Surely she must know he would never harm her?

  But if she did, what had put that look of trepidation on her face?

 

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