Bachelor Duke

by Mary Nichols

  Delaying going downstairs until the last possible moment, she sat at her dressing table and surveyed herself in the mirror. Her smoky blue-green gown was trimmed with white flowers from which floated long satin ribbons. The small puffed sleeves were tied with ribbon bows. Her mother’s pearls finished the ensemble. She could not fault it for simple elegance, but she wished she did not look so pale, with dark rings under her eyes, which all Rose’s ministrations with a powder puff could not disguise. And her eyes, she realised, were dull, as if she was short on sleep, which she supposed was not far from the truth.

  She attempted to smile at her reflection, but decided it looked false. Would he notice? she wondered, thinking of the Duke. Everything she thought, said and did had him at the core of it and she did not seem able to stop herself. He was autocratic, frequently uncivil, and a rake into the bargain, she told herself over and over again, but it did no good because even thinking of him made her limbs ache with longing. And she had seen his gentler side, knew him to be generous and compassionate and it was that side of him she loved. But it was a hopeless love, she knew that, she was not duchess material; she was too unconventional, too independent, too outspoken, and he certainly had never treated her as anything but an inconvenience, which he must endure as head of the family. Except when he had kissed her. It was that which had caused her the sleepless nights.

  Hearing the sound of voices in the entrance hall, she sighed, slipped her feet into her shoes and stood up. Time to go. She took a deep breath, left her room and descended the stairs, keeping her back straight and her head up. The Duke and Harriet stood in the vestibule, ready to go. Before he had even said a word to her, she felt herself go on the defensive; he must have realised it, for he bowed briefly and conducted them out to the waiting carriage without speaking.

  It was not incivility that kept him silent, but the overwhelming knowledge that she was the most beautiful, the most desirable and the most exasperating creature he had ever encountered. He could neither treat her with cousinly affection, ruling her for her own good, nor kiss her as if she were one of his light o’ loves, and yet he had tried both. He had kissed her to prove that he could and it was the most foolish thing he had ever done. Looking at her coming down the stairs towards him, he had seen a lovely woman, a proud woman, her head held high as if he were beneath her contempt. He smiled grimly as he helped her into the carriage. He had used his position to humiliate her and she was right to put her nose in the air and ignore him.

  The Myers’s residence was crowded, the noise of laughter and music overwhelming as Sophie stood beside Harriet and the Duke, waiting to be greeted by Lord and Lady Myers. She was not unaware of the sighs of admiration they were attracting; Harriet in a deep rose-pink-and-white striped gown, the Duke in a black evening tail suit, with a pure white waistcoat and cravat. On anyone else it would have looked severe, but on his superb figure it made him stand out from the over-dressed dandies who gaped at him. Sophie permitted herself a little smile, guessing that half the young men would be in black and white the next time she encountered them at an evening function.

  ‘The Duke of Belfont, Lady Harley and Miss Langford,’ the footman announced as they reached the door to be greeted by their host and hostess. The men bowed and the ladies curtsied.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Lady Myers said, preening. ‘We are honoured that you have been able to leave your duties with his Highness to attend our little gathering. And, Sophie, how becoming you look.’ She stood back to survey her friend. ‘But looking a little downpin, I declare. Perhaps the rush and tear of society life is a little too much for you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she responded. ‘Lady Harley takes good care of me.’

  ‘Good. Now, I think you know most of the young people, do you not?’

  Sophie looked about her; there was the usual crowd she met at almost every function, including Peter Poundell and Theodore Buskin, both flamboyantly dressed, and Ariadne and Dorothy, who looked more pasty faced every time Sophie saw her. The poor girl was being hauled about by her parents from one function to another in the hope she would take, when Sophie was sure she would rather stay at home curled up with a good book. Ariadne, still simpering, still hopeful, was demure and unremarkable in white muslin.

  But there were also strangers there, many of the men in foreign uniforms, covered with decorations, and the ladies in huge skirts and even taller wigs, courtiers of a previous age, still trying to pretend they mattered. And among them, taller than most, she spied Count Cariotti, dressed in peach satin and a great deal of lace. She turned away quickly, hoping he had not seen her, and followed the Duke and Harriet into the room.

  The young people greeted her enthusiastically as she was drawn into their circle, leaving the Duke and Harriet to find their own friends. In no time at all, her dance card was filling up and the Duke had not asked to write his name on it. Disappointment battled with pride. She could, of course, save him a dance, but that would make her look foolish if he never asked to stand up with her, and so she allowed her card to fill, glad that the Count seemed to have disappeared. Alfred was one of the first to claim a country dance.

  ‘You look very fine tonight, Miss Langford,’ he said, as he took her hand to lead her into the set. He was in pale blue and yellow, his dark hair smoothed back and tied with a black ribbon.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I heard Lady Myers say you look tired. I must say, I agree with her.’

  ‘It is hardly civil of you to find fault with a lady’s appearance,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘My dear, I was not finding fault. I am simply concerned for your welfare. After all, you can hardly be used to the fast pace of society life in London and it is unfair of his Grace to expect you to—’

  ‘The Duke has nothing to do with it,’ she said, annoyed by his familiar way of addressing her. ‘I hardly see him. He stays at Carlton House a great deal of the time.’

  ‘Is that where he is? Now, I had thought he had found a more comfortable bed with a certain lady…’

  ‘Mr Jessop, if you insist on talking about the Duke, whose affairs do not interest me in the least, then I shall feel obliged to leave you to find another partner. And be assured that I am no stranger to society. I used to go out and about with Papa in Italy where the pace is every bit as fast.’ This was not exactly true because her father spent most of his time with his gambling friends and she had been left to her own devices. It was Lady Myers who made sure she went out sometimes.

  He gave her an oily smile. ‘Enough said, eh?’

  The dance took them away from each other for the next movement and she was glad of the time to try to regain her composure. Enough had certainly been said to convince her Alfred meant mischief, but Harriet had warned her of his motives, so she should not have been surprised, although she did wonder if Harriet had been right in saying the Duke had finished with Lady Colway.

  Her partner came towards her and bowed as they linked hands to step down between the lines of other dancers in the set. ‘If it is not society, then it must be working on your book that has caused your fatigue,’ he said. ‘How is it coming along?’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘And have you decided who will grace its pages?’

  ‘Do you mean will I include you?’ she queried. ‘Have you done something of great moment that must be left to posterity?’

  ‘No, I did not mean me. I am too ordinary.’

  She laughed aloud. ‘Very few people are ordinary, Mr Jessop. We all have a tale to tell.’

  ‘And will it be set entirely in Italy?’

  She did not particularly want to talk about the book, but it was better than talking about the Duke. ‘No, I shall write of other places we visited—life in France after the Terror, and Austria under Napoleon, for instance.’

  ‘And will it be published in England or will it be too hot for English publishers to handle?’

  She laughed. ‘I have yet to find a publisher.’

  The dance ended and he
offered his arm to escort her back to Harriet, who was sitting beside Lady Myers. James stood behind them, surveying proceedings in what appeared a detached manner, but she was not deceived; he was watchful. She was almost relieved to be claimed by her next partner. Determined to prove she was not tired, she threw herself into every dance, laughed and prattled as if she did not have a care in the world and could stay up until dawn and still be ready for more. Every now and again she caught a glimpse of the Count and made every effort to keep out of his way, which, added to everything else, was a terrible strain, and by the time the supper dance was announced she was almost dead on her feet.

  ‘Come, Sophie, this one is mine,’ James said, stepping forward and holding out his hand.

  ‘But Mr Buskin has signed my card.’

  ‘Mr Buskin will not mind.’ He frowned meaningfully at the young man who was making his way towards them. ‘I cannot allow you to dance a waltz with anyone else.’

  In a dream she took his hand and allowed herself to be led on to the floor. The music was a background to a dream, like the one she had had before, when someone she liked to pretend had been the Duke, had been gentle and kind and protective. He held her firmly, but not too tightly, as he led her expertly in the steps. At first she was vaguely aware that they were being watched, but as the music took over she forgot there was anyone else in the room. There was simply two people in perfect harmony.

  He held her the requisite twelve inches from him and looked down at her. She did look wan and he supposed he was the cause of that, but even so she was achingly beautiful and he wanted to crush her to him, to kiss her as he had done once before and to tell her she was brave and resourceful and he loved her. He could not do so in a crowded ballroom, but he would as soon as they could be alone. Quarrelling with her was hell, but making up would be heaven. But he must not rush her, must not frighten her, must give her no opportunity to doubt his sincerity. For the moment, it was enough that she seemed to have forgiven him. He did not speak and neither did she.

  He smiled a little wryly; perhaps she was obeying him and keeping her mouth shut. He hadn’t meant she should not talk to him. He wanted to hear her voice, to gauge how she was feeling, what she was thinking. ‘Are you enjoying the ball, Sophie?’ he asked as the music drew to a close.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She dropped a deep curtsy as the dance ended.

  So formal and so little. Perhaps he had not been forgiven after all. He bowed and offered his arm. ‘Shall we go in to supper?’

  The ballroom came into focus again; the colourful gowns and evening suits, the glittering jewels and bright faces, the sparkling chandeliers helping to make the room overwarm, all brought her back to the present, to the realisation that she had abandoned poor Theodore to dance with the Duke and they had managed it without speaking until the very end. He had not found fault, had not commented on her looks, had not roasted her; on the other hand, he had not said anything complimentary either. Did that mean dancing with her had been a duty, not a pleasure? She put her fingers on his sleeve and together they followed the general exodus to the dining room.

  Supper was eaten at small tables placed about the room and he led her to one occupied by Harriet. They had no sooner seated themselves than Alfred arrived with his mother and took their places at the same table. Waiters brought them food and wine, but Sophie could not eat. She was sitting between two men who disturbed her for very different reasons and they drove all wish for food out of her head. The Duke seemed in a jovial mood as he joked with his sister and aunt, but Alfred was glowering and she could guess the reason; he did not like the Duke paying attention to her and she had better find a way of disabusing him of the idea that the Duke would ever offer for her or that she would accept.

  ‘Miss Langford tells me her book is so scandalous she might have to have it published abroad,’ Alfred said, apparently to no one in particular, but Sophie, who had gasped with astonishment as his statement, knew it was directed at the Duke.

  ‘Mr Jessop, I said no such thing,’ she retorted. ‘It was you who suggested that.’

  ‘You did not deny it.’

  ‘It was too fanciful to need denying. I beg you, speak of it no more.’

  ‘And I am not begging,’ James said sharply. ‘I am insisting. The book is not to be mentioned again. It is only being done for Miss Langford’s amusement and not intended for publication.’

  Sophie, taken aback, turned to look at him, but he refused to meet her gaze. Oh, he knew what he was doing; he was publicly belittling her. ‘My lord,’ she said, in a voice that froze his blood, ‘do you suppose because I am young, and a female into the bargain, I am incapable of writing a publishable book and you seek to save me the embarrassment of rejection? You are wide of the mark if you do, because I have received an education second to none for that purpose. In truth, I am more fitted to be an author than I am to be a wife.’

  ‘A blue stocking,’ Mrs Jessop chuckled. ‘James, I hope you will take careful note of that. No one likes an educated woman who answers back, certainly no man of any standing would marry one. Learning in a lady goes against all sensibility and politeness.’

  Alfred laughed aloud, having achieved his aim of sowing dissent, but Sophie had managed to make her point that she was not looking to trap the Duke into marriage. But her evening was ruined. She pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said, and walked majestically from the room. At least that was how she hoped it appeared from her back, glad that they could not see her face. The ballroom was on the first floor and she debated whether to go up to the room set aside for the ladies’ toilette or go down and out through the conservatory to the garden. The ladies’ room might very well be populated by young ladies chattering away like a flock of magpies. She decided on the garden.

  It was cooler out of doors; the lights from the terrace vied with a pale moon to light her way towards a small arbour, which she remembered from the time she had been staying with Lady Myers. Behind her she could hear the musicians beginning again after the interval, but she had lost interest in dancing. Her life stretched before her, lonely and desolate. She could see herself living alone in some dismal apartment, growing old with only her writing and perhaps a cat for company, the love of her life married to someone else.

  ‘Sophie, please return to the house.’ The voice, easily recognised, was polite but far from pleading. He expected to be obeyed.

  ‘I prefer the night air,’ she said, controlling the urge to turn and face him, to look into his eyes, to let him see the misery in her own. ‘And my own company.’

  ‘Oh, very well, sulk if you must, but you are making yourself look very foolish.’

  ‘I am not sulking!’ She swung round, stung by his words. ‘Foolish, is it, to want to make myself independent and rid you of the burden of having to support me?’

  ‘Did I say it was a burden?’ He was standing before her outlined by the terrace lights behind him, his face in shadow. His expression was inscrutable, but she could see his eyes, searching her face, demanding an answer.

  ‘Not in words, my lord, but I know.’

  ‘How do you know? Can you read my mind?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He threw back his head and laughed ‘Then tell me what I am thinking now?’

  ‘You are wishing you had never set eyes on me, that I have been trouble ever since I arrived and, if it were not for your sense of family pride, you would wash your hands of me. Well, I shall save you the inconvenience and take myself off.’

  ‘You are wrong,’ he said softly.

  ‘That is no more than I would expect you to say. You would never admit that anyone else could be right.’

  ‘I had not realised your opinion of me was so low.’ It was a statement, not a question, and she did not trouble to deny it.

  ‘Can you blame me? First you kiss me as if I were some lightskirt whose reputation is already lost, and then you humiliate me by pretending my book is so worthless no one would ever publish it
. I wonder at you making such a fuss about it, if that is what you think. While it lies in my desk drawer it can do you no harm.’

  ‘No, so long as that is where it remains.’ He paused. ‘Sophie, it is not your competence I question, rather the opposite. I am concerned that you may inadvertently have hit upon something of interest to the state…’

  ‘War secrets, you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Fustian! Who would be interested in anything I have to say? I am a foolish girl with delusions of fame and fortune, is that not so? And the war is over.’

  ‘For the moment,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Oh.’ She paused, thinking of Napoleon’s threat to return. ‘But it is only a travel book, all about the architecture, the countryside and the customs of the people.’

  ‘Then why did you allow people to think there were scandalous secrets in it?’

  She grinned. ‘To make them buy it, of course.’

  ‘Oh, Sophie.’ He reached out and lifted a curl from her cheek and wound it about his finger. She stood frozen, wondering what was coming next. If he kissed her again… Oh, that he would! No, no, she could not bear it because she would give herself away. ‘I wish—’ He stopped. He wished they had met in less turbulent times, before she left England with her no-good father. Perhaps she might have been saved the life she had led and been brought up more conventionally. But then Sophie would not be the Sophie he loved. He stopped, smiling at his own foolishness; she had been only ten years old when she left England and he had been a young man of three and twenty, sowing his wild oats, already a soldier. Would he have deigned to notice a gawky little second cousin? She was not gawky now, she was eminently desirable and he desired her. The back of his finger caressed her cheek. She shivered suddenly and visibly.

  ‘You are cold. Come back indoors. We will dance together again just to show we are the best of friends still.’

  ‘And save face,’ she said flatly. ‘Yours and mine.’

  ‘If you like.’ He took her elbow and guided her back to the house, knowing that once again he had made a mull of everything. It was a state of affairs to which he was unaccustomed; until now he had always been in command, of his life, his loves, his own emotions, and he did not like this feeling of inadequacy.