A Match Made In Duty

by Platt, Meara

  In truth, although his tone was gentle, there was an undercurrent of steely resolve and anger that she dared not stir up any more than she already had. “Very well, my lord.”

  “Good.” He rose and left the table, leaving her to finish her breakfast alone. His limp appeared pronounced this morning and she didn’t know if his leg was exceptionally sore or if he was simply doing it for effect.

  She lingered over her coffee and ignored the rest of her breakfast, for she’d lost her appetite. Uncertain where James had disappeared to, and unwilling to disturb him, she rang for the Exmoor housekeeper to give her a tour of the house since James had neglected to do so. “Thank you, Mrs. Summerville,” she said to the prim, older woman who moved about the house with the efficiency of a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter. The tour had taken a little over an hour and was quite helpful. “I can see the house is kept in excellent order.”

  Mrs. Summerville beamed, obviously quite proud of her work and pleased that Sophie appreciated it. “Shall I report to you each morning after your breakfast, m’lady?”

  Sophie nodded. “That would be lovely.”

  After dismissing the older woman, she retired to the library and found a book to read for the remaining hours until midday. As it turned out, Madame de Bressard was available and agreed to an appointment for one o’clock that afternoon. Sophie suspected that James had outright bribed the sought after modiste, for Society’s elite were lined up for her services and few were fortunate enough to see her on less than two weeks’ notice.

  Since James had his own prior engagement and could not stay with her, she invited Lydia Allworthy and Sophie Farthingale to meet her at the shop at the appointed hour. She and James rode there in his stylish carriage, but James said little and appeared distracted. She blamed herself for pressing him too hard on the matter of their marriage.

  In truth, she was horrified by her brazenness. Married only one day and already making demands on a husband she hardly knew. But in her own defense, she felt as though their hearts had known each other for eternity. “You never mentioned where you were going,” she said, hoping to engage him in conversation.

  He had been gazing out the window, obviously lost in thought, but turned to her with a casual arch of his eyebrow. “It isn’t important. Just a longstanding engagement. Stop asking me about it, Sophie. It isn’t any of your business.”

  Why wouldn’t he speak of it? Suddenly, she was struck with the reason. Of course! Oh, she’d been so stupid. He was going off to see another woman. Did he have a mistress? It would explain why he was being so mysterious about his so-called longstanding engagement. Her heart tightened, for she’d never considered that he already had a woman in his life.

  Yet, he didn’t seem the sort to maintain a liaison with… oh, dear. What if he did? What if this was the woman he loved? Sophie tamped down the urge to cry, for James was obviously irritated with her, and her turning into a watering pot would only make matters worse. How ridiculous she must have sounded to him, practically begging him to join her in her bed when he already had someone of his own choosing to fill that need.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself, but how could she pretend it didn’t hurt? “Shall I wait at the shop for you or return to Lydia’s?” Could he hear the ache in her voice? Yet, she had no right to feel anything, for he’d been clear that their marriage was to be a business arrangement.

  How long did he wish to remain in this other woman’s company? An hour? Two? The entire day?

  “I’ll pick you up at the shop. As I mentioned earlier, this engagement won’t take long.” James descended the carriage with her and entered Madame de Bressard’s shop to have a word with the modiste. “I want the best for my wife,” he said, tossing Sophie a smile that had been missing from his features since their morning breakfast. “Lady Exmoor needs gowns for all occasions.”

  Sophie blushed, not only because of his outrageous generosity, but he’d called her his wife. She was, but it had sounded so natural and loving on his lips. Was she wrong about the reason for his pressing engagement? If it wasn’t another woman, then why the secrecy?

  He leaned close and kissed her cheek. “Have fun, Sophie. I’ll have none of your Yorkshire frugality.”

  Despite her concerns, she laughed. “I’ll do my best to spend you into the poorhouse.”

  She began to miss him even before the door closed behind him. Lydia Allworthy and Sophie Farthingale arrived soon afterward, and it was obvious they were well acquainted with Madame de Bressard, the pretty French woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She had a quiet elegance about her and Sophie hoped that she might one day be considered just as elegant.

  Inviting her two friends to help her select suitable gowns turned out to be an excellent idea. Sophie Farthingale had launched three daughters into Society and had excellent advice to give. Lydia was there mostly out of friendship and Sophie was warmed by her genuine affection. There was no stiffness or formality between them now that she was Countess Exmoor and she hoped there never would be.

  Madame de Bressard’s fashion sense was impeccable and Sophie left her shop feeling excited about her new wardrobe and eager for James to see her in these beautiful new gowns. The Exmoor carriage pulled up in front of the shop just as she finished the last of her fittings and was once more dressed. Her two friends kissed her goodbye and hurried off to do more shopping.

  Sophie had enjoyed their company. However, she was eager to climb into the carriage and be alone with James. “I had such fun,” she started to say, but to her surprise, the carriage was empty.

  She turned to the driver. “Mr. Larkin, where is his lordship?” Her heart sank at the thought of James spending the entire day with his mysterious engagement and forgetting all about his new wife.

  “I dropped ’im at ’ome first, m’lady.”

  She pursed her lips and frowned. “Thank you. Please take me home straight away.” She was relieved that he would be waiting for her there, but why hadn’t he simply stopped along the way to pick her up?

  Sophie asked for him the moment she stepped into the entry hall and handed her cloak and gloves to Damson, the Exmoor head butler.

  “He’s in his study, m’lady. He wishes not to be disturbed.”

  She ignored the remark and marched straight into the study, quietly shutting the door behind her so that the servants would not overhear. “I had a lovely time at the shop,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  James glanced up, but said nothing.

  She was shocked by the dark, haunted look in his eyes, and noted the full glass of scotch in his one hand and the half empty bottle in his other. “What happened? I thought you were to pick me up from Madame de Bressard’s shop.” It took little brilliance to realize he was angry, disappointed… heartbroken, really. He had the look of a man in a torrent of pain.

  She took the seat beside him and lifted the bottle out of his hand. “Please talk to me.”

  He frowned at her. “I asked not to be disturbed.” As though to make his point, he drank the last of his scotch, draining the glass to the last drop and then tossing it into the fireplace. The delicate crystal shattered against the sooty bricks and melted into the blazing fire.

  She’d already been assured he wasn’t the sort of man to use his fists against a woman, but she didn’t know him well enough to measure the extent of his control. He was in a terrible state, not just angry, but obviously frustrated and filled with despair. “James, you must tell me what is going on.”

  His eyes were a dark and angry emerald green, a dangerously turbulent green. “Must I? What right do you have to tell me what to do?”

  “None at all.” She stiffened her spine. “I’m only your wife. The woman with whom you exchanged vows a mere day ago.”

  “Right, and that does not give you the right to meddle in my life.” A growl sprang from low in his throat. “I’ll mourn my losses as I see fit, so get out and leave me alone.”

  “Your los
ses?” She shook her head in confusion. Had his mistress cast him out because he was now married? She knew little about the demi-monde, but this made no sense to her. Surely, the woman had to know he’d marry some day. “Are you in love with her?”

  He squinted his eyes as he scowled at her. “In love? With whom?”

  “The woman whose loss you seem to be mourning. I’m not sorry that your mistress broke it off with you, for I’m eager for our marriage to work out.”

  “You think this is about losing a bed partner?” He tossed back his head and roared with laughter. “I only wish it were so. No, Sophie. There’s no one else but you. Soon, I won’t have you either.”

  She gripped the edge of her seat. “What do you mean? James, I’m no wilting flower. Please, tell me what is going on.”

  “Very well, I shall.” But the tone of his voice warned she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “They want to amputate my leg. What do you say to that, Saint Sophie?”

  She gasped. “What? Who told you this? Is this certain?”

  “Stop asking questions. Just get out.” He turned to reach for the bottle she’d taken out of his hands a few moments ago, but she set it farther away so that it was out of his reach.

  “Stop drowning your sorrows long enough to talk to me.” The sharpness of her voice brought him up short. He stopped reaching for the bottle and cast her a look of disgruntled surprise, one that revealed how eager he was to banish her from his sight forever. If he thought that a mere scowl would dissuade her, he was sadly mistaken. “Sophie Farthingale’s brother-in-law is a brilliant doctor. The best in all of England, she claims. Lydia Allworthy agrees. So let’s ask for his opinion. Perhaps there’s something he can do to–”

  “Stop, Sophie!” He ran a hand raggedly through his hair. “I don’t need another doctor to tell me the obvious. The skin on my leg is dying. It’s beginning to turn black. Do you understand what that means?”

  She shuddered. “Oh, James! Yes, I understand what it means. All the more reason to see George Farthingale as soon as possible. I’ll send a note to the Farthingale residence at once and insist that he come by today.” She tried to remain strong for him, but even she was shivering and in despair over the news. “And if your leg can’t be saved, then we’ll still want the best doctor available to do whatever must be done.”

  “We? What a quaint notion? But this concerns me. What must be done is that my leg will be hacked off.”

  She nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Stop it, Sophie. Your sunshine and roses attitude is grating on my nerves.”

  “Your wallowing in pity is grating on mine,” she shot back.

  His eyes rounded in surprise, and Sophie wasn’t certain whether he would now strike her or laugh out loud. She wasn’t going to wait to find out, so she pressed on. “I know it will be painful for you and I wish with all my heart that I could absorb some of that pain. Truly, James. I would do so without hesitation.” Her lips quivered as she spoke and she feared that she’d soon burst into tears. “I promise you, I’ll help in any way I can.”

  His expression softened. “What help can you be?”

  “If this dreadful thing happens, your bandages will need changing. You’ll be confined to your bed for a while, I suppose. You might need help with your bathing, feeding, someone to remain beside you should you become feverish.”

  “I have servants for that. Do you think I’d require my countess to perform these menial chores?”

  Her fingers were still gripping the edge of her chair so tightly, her knuckles were turning white. “They aren’t menial. They’re important and if you think I’d allow anyone to take over those responsibilities, you’re sadly mistaken. I will be by your side for as long as you need me… for as long as you want me.”

  He grunted softly, but his expression hardened once more. “Let me be clear about this. I don’t want you.”

  She nodded. “You’ve made it quite clear. But why don’t you want me? Because you don’t want me to see you in a bad way? Because you don’t want me to be overset by the messy operation or the fact that you’ll now be missing a leg?” She took a deep breath and continued. “Because if you’re thinking to protect me, I won’t go along with it. But if you don’t want me near you because you don’t like me, then that’s another matter altogether.”

  A tear dropped onto her cheek. Oh, dear. She was going to cry, after all. “Just tell me who you’d rather have by your side and I’ll fetch that person. If you’re to face this ordeal, then you ought to have those you love most beside you. That’s most important.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then groaned and reached out to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks. His touch was surprisingly gentle. “Sophie, your noble sacrifice is unnecessary.”

  “It isn’t noble. Nor is it a sacrifice. Life comes with burdens, so why can’t we face them together? Even if we’re to have only a business arrangement, then think of us as partners. Don’t partners need to help each other out if they’re to run a successful enterprise?” She sniffled. “As I said, if there’s someone you prefer by your side, then tell me and I’ll fetch her for–”

  “Her? There’s no one I’d rather have beside me than you. But that is neither here nor there. I don’t want you beside me either. I don’t want you to see me after the operation. I couldn’t bear to see the revulsion on your face.”

  She wanted to grab him by his elegant lapels and shake him soundly. What did she have to do to prove that she ought to be by his side? “You never will. I promise you.”

  Although she still wished to shake sense into him, she reached out to place her hand upon his cheek. He caught her by the wrist. “I won’t hold you to that promise. This isn’t a simple matter of popping a boil.”

  “Really?” She arched her eyebrow. “I thought it was exactly the same thing.”

  He sighed. “I had no idea my wife was bossy and sarcastic.”

  “And willful. Stubborn. Unrelentingly determined. I’m sending for Dr. Farthingale. If he says it must come off, then we’ll deal with the next step together.” She rose to fetch a quill pen, ink, and writing paper. “No use protesting. I’m sending this note to him.”

  He emitted another soft growl, but she saw that his anger was fading. He wasn’t pleased with her meddling, but appeared resigned to it now. “Just my luck, you were a Roman general in another life.”

  “One who must have loved you,” she muttered.

  He sat up in his chair and turned to face her. “What?”

  Her heart shot into her throat. “Nothing.”

  “Did you just say that you loved me?” She saw a mix of amusement, horrified disbelief, and confusion in his gaze.

  Too bad his ears weren’t as mangled as his leg.

  She grabbed the hastily written note and dashed out of the study with it.

  CHAPTER 5

  JAMES HELD HIS breath as George Farthingale examined the dark splotches on his leg. He tried not to wince each time the doctor probed along the bruised bones, but each touch caused a jolt of pain to shoot through his body, and the ordeal left him shaken and perspiring. This unwanted invasion was taking place in the privacy of his bedchamber, but the familiar surroundings gave him little comfort. “Well, Dr. Farthingale? What are your thoughts?”

  George appeared to be in his late thirties and there was no mistaking the intelligence in his piercing blue eyes that obviously missed little. “Your leg is badly infected, but I think I can save it.”

  “Thank goodness,” Sophie cried out softly. She had barged in as the examination was about to begin and insisted on remaining by his side even as he’d dropped his trousers, settled in one of the cushioned chairs beside the window, and suffered through the poking and prodding that the good doctor found necessary in order to determine the strength of his leg. “How can you save it?”

  She continued to stare at his exposed leg.

  If the sight of his infected, dying flesh didn’t scare the little nuisance away,
then James supposed nothing ever would.

  “I have some powders that are quite effective, Lady Exmoor. They worked well on the men injured in the field of battle. But there are no guarantees. If my treatment works, then Lord Exmoor’s leg might be healed. However, I can make no promises. The human body is a complex system. What succeeds with one person may have no effect whatsoever on another.”

  “You’re military?” James asked, although he should not have been surprised. Dr. Farthingale was in fit condition and carried himself like a man who’d undergone the discipline unique to army training.

  Dr. Farthingale nodded. “And had to amputate far too often for my liking. So let’s do our best to save that leg of yours. I’ll return tomorrow morning with those powders. Lady Exmoor, you’ll see that he takes the doses I prescribe strictly according to my instructions, won’t you?”

  James laughed. “My wife may look soft and beautiful, but she has an iron will. Rest assured, she’ll kick my arse if I dare protest.”

  Sophie’s eyes rounded in dismay. “I’d do no such thing. I am not an ogre.”

  Dr. Farthingale smiled at her. “It’s obvious, m’lady. I think your husband was only teasing you.” He snapped his medical bag shut and bid farewell to both of them. “I’ll see my own way out. I think the two of you must have much to discuss.”

  As the door closed behind them, James wondered what Sophie would do next. She’d put on a brave front for the doctor. Would she keep up the pretense now that they were alone? He watched her, saying nothing. After all, what could he say? He didn’t want her help, but neither could he coldly dismiss her… not while he sat with his trousers down about his ankles and looking like a pathetic, sweaty mess.

  Sophie sighed. It was a soft, breathy sigh that somehow touch his heart. It was the perfect mix of caring and strength. “James,” she said, her voice achingly tender and at the same time, resolute, “shall I help you put on your pants?”