Bachelor Duke

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Oh, I am sure it will. Now, please allow me to pass.’ She pulled herself out of the woman’s grasp, almost ran back to the carriage and scrambled up beside Harriet. Thankfully Mrs Jefferson had left her and was talking to her husband, who had ridden up and dismounted nearby.

  ‘Sophie, whatever is the matter?’ Harriet asked. ‘You look positively distraught. And where is Ariadne?’

  ‘She is talking to Dorothy and some others we met. They were making wagers and I do not approve of gambling.’

  ‘That I can understand, but surely you do not need to be so agitated about it.’

  ‘Oh, I am not agitated about that. I was accosted by Lady Colway, who informed me she is to be the Duchess of Belfont. It seems she and the Duke have an understanding.’

  Harriet laughed. ‘She is romanticising. My brother would never marry her, even if she were not ineligible on account of having a live husband.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? I know they are still lovers and she told me Lord Colway is mortally sick.’

  ‘He has been mortally sick for years. What else did she say?’

  ‘That I would be taken to law if I mentioned her or the Duke in my book.’

  ‘I did not realise you meant to do that.’

  ‘I do not. The book is about my travels in Europe, places and people I saw, nothing scandalous at all.’

  ‘Did you tell her that?’

  ‘No, I did not. Why should I justify myself to her?’

  Harriet looked as if she were about to say more, but Mrs Jefferson came back to join them with the news that the carriages, racing neck and neck, had been seen on the road a couple of miles to the north. All conversation ceased as people craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the combatants, hoping their own favourite would be the first in view.

  ‘It’s Buskin!’ someone shouted as the noise of galloping hooves heralded the arrival of the leading coach.

  Along the road came The Winged Chariot, its tired horses being goaded into further effort by the whip Theodore cracked over their heads. The watchers cheered and then went wild with excitement as The Yellow Peril hove into view and appeared to be overhauling its rival. Sophie gave thanks that both drivers, horses and carriages had survived in one piece.

  But her thanks were uttered too soon. Peter was gaining inexorably and, five hundred yards from the finishing line, had brought his equipage level with Theodore’s. They were wheel to wheel on the narrow road, when a mailcoach, innocently going about its business in the opposite direction, appeared over the brow of the hill and came upon the crowds, some of whom were in the road and had to jump out of its way. It would have ploughed into the oncoming vehicles if someone, with great presence of mind, had not ridden up beside the coach and yelled at the driver to pull up, at the same time grabbing the reins of the leading horse and jumping at full gallop from his own mount to the back of the leading horse. It was an act of courage and strength that had the crowd gasping.

  It was then, as she watched in horror, Sophie recognised the gallant horseman as the Duke of Belfont. It took superhuman strength to haul the horses to a stop, but, between the Duke and the coach driver, they managed it before the oncoming coaches, with their drivers desperately trying to pull up, were on to them. Sophie was down from her seat almost before the mail’s wheels had stopped turning, determined to make sure the Duke had not been hurt. She was just in time to see him slide from the back of the horse and Lady Colway throw herself into his arms, a very public demonstration of their relationship. Sophie stopped and stared as his arms went round his lover. She could not look. Turning her back on them, she faced chaos as people ran hither and thither, trying avoid the oncoming coaches.

  Theodore, slightly in the lead, had seen the road ahead of him blocked by the mail and the people surrounding it, and swerved off the road in one direction, scattering the stalls, while Peter had taken the other, rattling over the rough heath, bouncing up and down until the ancient carriage could take no more and the axle broke, sending one wheel hurtling away down the hill on its own, missing several bystanders by a hair’s breadth. The coach came to rest on its side, its remaining wheel still spinning.

  The whole episode had taken only seconds, but the confusion among the onlookers, as they ran hither and thither, lasted much longer. Sophie, who was standing quite still, staring at it all, wishing the earth would open and swallow her, so that she would never again have to witness the man she loved cradling another woman in his arms, found herself taken by the arm and propelled back to the Jeffersons’ coach by Harriet.

  ‘Get in,’ she said. ‘And sit still. I am going to see what I can do to help.’

  ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘No, it is not fitting. I forbid it.’ She nodded towards Ariadne, whose father was helping her back to the carriage in a swooning state. ‘Stay and talk to Ariadne.’

  The two girls were left sitting side by side in the coach, both benumbed by what had happened. Ariadne had seen Peter thrown from his carriage and several people hurt in the crush as they tried to avoid the coach; Sophie had seen the man she loved, the man who had undoubtedly saved many lives by his courage, fall into the arms of his mistress. It should have been her arms! It was to her he should have turned… Tears pricked at her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Sophie, it was awful,’ Ariadne wept. ‘Poor Peter. If he should die…’

  ‘Is he like to?’

  ‘I don’t know. I cannot bear it.’

  Sophie was distracted from her own misery long enough to look hard at the girl beside her. ‘Ariadne, have you developed a tendre for Mr Poundell?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But Papa does not approve. Peter does not have a title, you see. He had hopes the Duke of Belfont would offer for me.’

  ‘And you did not?’

  ‘No, he is far too grand for me. I should be for ever doing the wrong thing or being silly. I collect he does not like silliness.’

  In spite of herself, Sophie managed to smile. How true that was and how silly she had been. The Duke of Belfont was looking to someone more mature, more able to please him, than an awkward second cousin who had turned up out of the blue and thrown herself on his mercy. ‘Then we must pray all is well and your papa relents.’

  It was some time before order was restored and the onlookers, who had come out to have a little fun, turned slowly for home, some of them bearing scratches and bruises caused more by the panic than the accident. Ariadne was allowed to see Peter, who had sustained a bump on the head and a badly bruised shoulder and was laid out on the seat of Theodore’s coach, which had managed to come to a stop without damage. Theodore himself was unhurt, but he had learned a sharp lesson and was very subdued.

  ‘Sir Henry is going to drive them both back to town himself,’ Ariadne told Sophie when she returned to the carriage. ‘And all bets are off.’

  ‘I should think so too. So, your money was refunded?’

  ‘No, the rogue cut and ran in the confusion, taking everyone’s money with him.’

  Sophie wanted to say, ‘It serves you right’, but decided that would be unkind. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘I do not care about the money as long as Peter is not badly hurt. And you are right, I think Papa will relent. At any rate, I think he has given up on the Duke after today’s disgraceful exhibition. Everyone is talking of it.’

  ‘He was extraordinarily courageous,’ Sophie said, feeling she ought to defend him, even though she knew what Ariadne meant and was still smarting herself. The whole day had taken on the aspect of a nightmare, a quality of unreality, as if she might wake soon and discover it had all taken place in her imagination.

  ‘Oh, no doubt of it, and the men are all clapping him on the back and calling him one hell of a brave fellow, but that doesn’t mean they approve of the way Lady Colway flung herself at him. Having a mistress is all very well, but she ought to be kept discreetly out of sight.’

  Ariadne’s choice of words surprised Sophie, but she supposed she was only repeating what the gentlemen h
ad said. If her mother had been present and not discussing the matter with other ladies, standing in a huddle waiting to be carried away in their respective carriages, she would undoubtedly have reprimanded her. ‘It wasn’t the Duke’s fault.’

  ‘It does not matter whose fault it was, it was as good as a public announcement. It will take a very brave or a very blind woman to marry him now.’ She sighed. ‘Of course, the fact that he is a Duke might have some bearing on the matter.’

  Sophie did not want to talk about the Duke—she especially did not want to talk about whom he might marry—and looked away, wondering where Harriet was. She had not returned since she had gone off to help the injured, bidding her stay in the coach.

  When Harriet found him, James had taken off his jacket and was helping bind up a nasty cut sustained by a young lad who had tried to flee Theodore’s out-of-control coach and horses and fallen in a prickly bush. He was thankful that no one had been badly injured, though it had been a very near thing. The mail had been stopped in time and, once the frightened horses had been calmed, had gone on its way. The grateful thanks of its occupants had done little to make him feel better about what had happened. If he had not decided on a sudden whim to join his sister and Sophie and enjoy a few hours free of his duties, he would not have been riding up the hill at almost the same time as the mail and would not have been there to avert a dreadful accident. His arms had almost been pulled from their sockets when he jumped from his own mount to the other horse and they had been hurting like hell and almost numb when he finally brought the whole equipage to a shuddering stop. He had not, at first, seen Ellen running towards him and had been almost bowled over by her, then had had to lift his aching arms to stop her flinging them both to the ground. He had thrust her away, but not before he had seen Sophie running towards him and then stop suddenly, her lovely eyes betraying her shock. Then she had turned and walked away from him.

  Everyone had been staring. Half the ton had witnessed him with his arms about his one-time mistress and the other half would soon hear of it. He would be damned and what he had forecast would come about. Lord Colway would learn of it and be forced to see what he had conveniently refused to see before, that his wife was cuckolding him. James wondered vaguely what the fellow would do, but his real concern was for Sophie and Harriet; gossip tainted everyone it touched.

  His sister had always been steadfast and loyal, even when their father had railed at him for not marrying and providing the next heir. The nagging had gone on so long he had joined the army to escape it and made matters worse. Eldest sons, particularly only sons, did not go off to war and risk leaving a huge estate with no head. He had survived a wound and returned home to take up his filial duties and those the Regent imposed on him just before his father died. It was at court he had met Ellen. He had had no compunction about making her his mistress simply because he was not the first lover she had taken; she already had a certain reputation. It was his misfortune that she fancied herself a duchess and would not let go, even when he had caught her in bed with Alfred.

  Alfred, of all people! He assumed she was hedging her bets, knowing Alfred was his heir. He had been surprised that he had not felt hurt, so much as anger. And then Sophie, his beloved Sophie, had exploded into his life and changed everything: the way he looked at life; his thoughts on marriage, which he had previously equated with being shackled; what constituted pleasure, what pain; his duty. And now that had all been scattered to the wind because Ellen Colway had publicly proclaimed their relationship. She could not have known the opportunity would come her way, but when it had, she had seized it with alacrity. The acrimonious row they had had afterwards had made him feel slightly better, but only slightly. The damage had been done.

  ‘Well?’ Harriet demanded as he finished what he was doing and reached for his coat. It was not at all like his sister to be angry, but she was angry now.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘How are you going to get out of this coil? What are you going to do about that demi-rep?’

  ‘Nothing. It will blow over.’ They walked slowly back towards the carriage as they talked.

  ‘Only if you keep away from her and then it might take a very long time.’

  ‘Sis, I did not know she would be here. I was coming to join you.’

  ‘That may be, but why did you let it happen? Everyone saw you put your arms round her.’

  ‘She flung herself at me, nearly knocked me off my feet. I had to grab hold of her. If I had stepped aside, she would have fallen to the ground. Surely you understood that?’

  ‘If I did, it isn’t the interpretation other people are putting on it.’ She paused. ‘Is she still your mistress?’

  ‘No, she is not, has not been for some time.’

  ‘Then you must say so publicly and hope you will be believed.’

  ‘Harriet, that would be ungallant.’

  ‘Then, for heaven’s sake, offer for someone else and be done with it.’

  ‘She will not have me and I cannot blame her.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know who.’

  ‘Sophie.’

  ‘Yes. Sophie. To her I am a tyrant and a rake.’

  ‘That’s because you behave like one. Can you not show her your gentler side? I know you to be loving and tender-hearted, concerned for all your people, even those who do not deserve it. Why make an exception of Sophie?’

  They were approaching the carriage where Sophie sat beside Ariadne, waiting for Harriet and Mrs Jefferson to return, but he did not think she had seen them coming. She was staring into the middle distance as if what she saw there was infinitely preferable to what she could see close at hand. Her face was still, but he had never seen her look so sad. Did that mean she cared? But it was too late, wasn’t it? He had damned himself for ever in her eyes. ‘She has made an exception of herself.’

  ‘You mean because she does not conform? I think, in the present situation, that might be a good thing. The usual débutantes will not do. I collect Mr Jefferson saying that Ariadne had had a lucky escape.’

  He laughed.

  Sophie heard his laughter and turned to face them. How could he laugh when he had behaved so abominably? Did he not care that he had compromised his sister and she would not be received in anyone’s drawing room after this? Did he not care that he had broken her heart? She glared at him, hating him.

  He recoiled from the venom in her eyes, but it happened only inside him; outwardly he was his usual confident self. He stopped beside the carriage and bowed. ‘Miss Langford, Miss Jefferson.’

  Ariadne giggled and turned her face away; Sophie had more courage, she put on a sugar-sweet smile. ‘My lord, we are indeed honoured that you have torn yourself away from more amusing company to see us safely on our way.’

  He refused to rise to the bait. ‘It is my pleasure, Miss Langford.’ He assisted Harriet into the carriage, while Mr Jefferson helped his wife in the other side, then he bowed again and went off in search of his horse.

  The journey back was as uncomfortable as it could be. No one spoke. Sophie was not sure whether Mrs Jefferson was deliberately cutting them or whether she genuinely could not think of anything to say. Ariadne looked as if she were daydreaming, no doubt about Peter Poundell, and speech would only spoil it. Sophie looked at Harriet, sitting opposite her, and Harriet looked back and smiled reassuringly. Her composure was admirable and steadied Sophie.

  She found herself wanting to defend the Duke and that did not accord with her fury at the way he had behaved. She was not furious on her own behalf, she told herself, but for Harriet, who did not deserve to be ostracised by society. She could not understand him. He had risked his life to save others, had been hailed a hero and then spoiled it all by embracing his mistress in public. Why had he come when he had been so against the idea of the race in the first place? Because he knew Lady Colway would be present and he could not resist the lady’s allure, she answered herself.

  The journey came to an end at las
t and Harriet and Sophie were set down outside Belfont House. They thanked Mrs Jefferson and turned away, glad to be home.

  ‘What a day!’ Harriet said, as they handed their hats and parasols to the maids, ordered the footman to bring tea and went into the drawing room, where Harriet flung herself on a sofa, kicked off her shoes and put her feet up.

  ‘It will have repercussions, I think,’ Sophie said, sitting opposite her.

  ‘No doubt of it.’

  ‘Shall you mind? Being cut by your friends, I mean.’

  ‘My real friends will not cut me.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Do not look so woebegone, Sophie, we are not about to lose our position in society. It is one of the advantages of being a duke, you can get away with things lesser mortals would be condemned for and he will soon be forgiven. Whatever the ladies might privately think, they will follow their husbands and, while the men might say he was a little unwise, they will not condemn him. In their eyes he is a fine man who saved the lives of a great many people, among whom were their wives and perhaps their children. Besides, none of it was James’s fault. That foolish woman threw herself at him and, short of allowing her to fall to the ground, he had to steady her.’

  ‘You always defend him.’

  ‘I would not if he were in the wrong. Can you not forgive him?’

  ‘What has it to do with me? It is not my forgiveness he needs.’

  ‘Oh, but it is, my dear, yours most of all.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘I think you do.’

  Before Sophie could ask her to explain, the footman arrived with the tea tray and the conversation ceased while he set it down on the table and arranged the china cups on their saucers. Sophie noted there were three of each. ‘I’ll see to it, Collins,’ Harriet said.

  He bowed and withdrew, standing aside at the door to admit James. ‘You are just in time for some tea,’ Harriet said cheerfully.

  He lowered himself into a chair rather gingerly. ‘My lord, are you hurt?’ Sophie asked, though she had vowed never to speak to him again.