Bachelor Duke

by Mary Nichols

  ‘A little stiffness, Sophie, nothing more, thank you.’

  ‘I am not surprised, after that Herculean effort you made,’ Harriet said, handing him a cup of tea. ‘This will revive you. Or would you rather have something stronger?’

  ‘No, this is just what I need.’

  Silently they sipped their tea.

  ‘Was Hotspur hurt?’ Sophie asked, to break the silence, which she found oppressive.

  ‘No, but he was certainly distressed.’

  ‘As we all were.’

  The allusion was not lost on him; he knew what she meant. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘It is fortunate you arrived when you did,’ Harriet put in quickly, worried what Sophie might say next. ‘Your courage will not be forgotten.’

  ‘I would that it could be, along with what happened afterwards.’

  ‘I am sure you do,’ Sophie said, unable to keep quiet; it was a serious flaw in her character her mother had warned her about many times. ‘But perhaps, now the boot is on the other foot, you may realise how I feel, being so misunderstood.’

  He turned to smile at her, the rueful smile of a scolded man wanting to make amends. ‘Touché, my dear. I stand rebuked.’

  She discovered, to her consternation, that her heart was softening. How could she be so weak as to surrender at the first glimmer of a smile?

  ‘There!’ Harriet said, going to the table to replace her cup. ‘I knew you could not remain at odds with each other for long.’

  Sophie smiled; she was too fond of Harriet to contest that statement, but she did not think anything had really changed. That he had not planned or wished for the encounter with Lady Colway she conceded, but that did not alter the essential facts: Lady Colway was his mistress, and he disapproved of ladies writing books. The book was more important than ever now. She excused herself and went up to her room to work on it until it was time to change for supper.

  ‘I hoped you intend to stay at home tonight,’ Harriet said, after Sophie had gone. ‘I think a little show of domesticity is in order…’

  ‘To placate Sophie?’ Why did he feel his ire bubbling up again? He was the Duke of Belfont, a man of great wealth, a modicum of talent, a man admired by princes, beloved of the ladies, a man who did his duty, however irksome; he did not need to justify himself to anyone, least of all a chit of a girl. He could come and go as he pleased. ‘She is hardly a model of maidenly reticence herself.’

  ‘Her mistakes are made from ignorance, yours from pride.’

  ‘You would defend her.’

  ‘That is exactly what she said to me about you. I see the good in both of you, while I deplore the not-so-good.’

  ‘You are an angel and I wish others would follow your example.’

  ‘Offer for her, James. You know that is what you long to do.’

  ‘And risk being given the right about? And what about that Italian fellow?’

  ‘He is not to be considered any more than Ellen Colway is.’

  ‘You make it all sound so simple.’

  ‘I am sure you are clever enough to make her see the advantages. Besides, it will silence your critics and put an end to Lady Colway’s tricks.’

  He laughed suddenly. ‘Oh, is that all! And when am I to do this?’

  ‘At our ball. It will be an ideal opportunity.’

  ‘You mean to go ahead with it, then?’

  ‘Yes, more than ever. We must show the world that the Dersinghams cannot be put down by a vindictive woman.’

  It was unfortunate that Sophie had come downstairs again to fetch her reticule, which she had abandoned on a table and only remembered when she reached her room. She was standing outside the drawing-room door, her hand on the knob to go in, when she heard the last part of the conversation. She forgot what she had come down for and fled back upstairs. She did not hear James add, ‘Do you think she will have me?’, or Harriet’s answer, ‘Yes, she loves you. And you love her, don’t you?’

  ‘To distraction.’

  ‘Then tell her so.’

  Sophie did not appear for supper that night.

  Sophie only went down next morning when she was sure the Duke had left the house. Even so, she had to face Harriet. She found it hard to believe that Harriet, who had welcomed her as a cousin, bought her clothes, taken her out and about, introduced her to her friends and defended her, could be so devious. Sophie was so badly hurt she wanted to scream out, yell abuse, call Harriet names and wondered at her own restraint. Pride, that’s what it was. To say anything meant admitting she listened at doors. Keeping quiet meant pretending nothing had changed between them. Could she do it?

  Harriet was in the little sitting room on the ground floor, which she favoured because it had long windows that looked out onto the garden. She was not looking at the garden when Sophie entered, but going through a large pile of correspondence. ‘What did I tell you?’ she exclaimed when Sophie entered the room. ‘These are all acceptances. Everyone is coming to our ball.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sophie sat down opposite her and picked up one of the cards. ‘Lord and Lady Mountjoy are delighted to accept,’ she read, wondering who Lord and Lady Mountjoy might be. And there was another, Mr and Mrs Jefferson and Miss Jefferson were also delighted to accept. So were Sir Henry and Lady Buskin and Mr Theodore Buskin. And it went without saying that Mrs Jessop and Alfred would be there.

  ‘Are you sure they are not all coming to crow?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not. And even if they are, it does not matter. We are stronger than they are. Together we will face them down and, who knows, we might have some good news to impart.’

  ‘You mean you hope someone will offer for me, in spite of my reputation as a purveyor of illiterate rubbish for ignorant readers.’

  ‘Whatever made you say that?’ Harriet asked, genuinely shocked. ‘Is that how you see yourself?’

  ‘It is how the world sees me, according to Lady Colway.’

  ‘Oh, give her no mind. I heard she has gone back to her husband. Now, come and sit beside me and tick the names off on my list. Then I must make sure everything is in hand for the supper and that the flowers will be delivered on time. I am really looking forward to this ball. We haven’t had one at Belfont House since my own come-out and that was ages ago.’

  Sophie wondered how Harriet could be so cheerful. But then she could afford to be; she imagined she had arranged things very neatly. But she was in for a shock because Sophie Langford was not going to succumb like some vapid schoolgirl, Sophie Langford had more guts than that; Sophie Langford was going to stick to her guns and remain single.

  Chapter Eight

  James was entertaining a handful of close associates in a private room at White’s. They were supposed to be playing cards; indeed, the table around which they sat had cards laid out and there was a pile of coins and a glass at everyone’s elbow, but gaming was not the purpose of the meeting. He had called them together to discuss the return of the Duke of Wellington the following week. They were all serving officers or men like James who had served with distinction and were now trusted with undercover work. They had successfully protected the royal visitors and ensured their visit to London was without incident and, though the Regent had not specifically asked them to do the same for the Duke, they felt duty-bound to watch out for him. Not only had some of them served under him, but they knew that if anything happened to him the consequence could be dire.

  Without mentioning Lord Myers, James told them he had heard of a possible attempt on the Duke’s life. ‘The intelligence comes from an impeccable source,’ he said. ‘And, though no names have been mentioned, one springs to mind.’

  ‘Cariotti,’ Richard said. ‘Though there is no proof, none at all.’

  ‘Do you mean that macaroni who is dancing in the shadow of the Austrian delegation?’ Major Bowers asked. ‘He is a fop.’

  ‘But a dangerous one,’ Richard said. ‘I have come across him before, when we were working behind the lines, and, since he has been in Londo
n, I have been making enquiries. His mother was English and he started out by spying for the British government, but when it looked as though Napoleon might be victorious, he changed sides and became a double agent. He was well trusted by Bonaparte.’

  ‘But so many changed their allegiance in defeat and no one thinks the worse of them for it,’ Lord Carstairs, husband of Harriet’s good friend, put in. ‘Why do you think he is implicated in a plot to kill the Duke?’

  ‘I have no evidence except that my source mentioned a foreigner here with the distinguished guests of the Regent,’ James said.

  ‘There are many of them.’

  ‘True, but Cariotti has something to hide. And I am sure he thinks Miss Langford knows his secret and is going to reveal it in her book. He is doing his best to stop her.’

  ‘Miss Langford?’ Bowers queried. ‘But what can she know?’

  ‘I have yet to find out. Perhaps nothing. But her father might well have done. Perhaps the man thinks Lord Langford passed on information to his daughter.’

  ‘Not only about Cariotti,’ Richard murmured. ‘She might have learned something of our own operations.’

  ‘Is that of any consequence now?’ Carstairs asked. ‘The war is over.’

  ‘I am not convinced of it,’ James said. ‘Boney has threatened to come back. I would like to preserve my cover if I can.’

  ‘You are too involved in society to be rushing off to war again,’ one of the others said. ‘And the Regent values you too highly to let you go.’

  James smiled. If he was needed he would go, but if he did not it would not be because the Regent thought he should remain at home, but because a certain young lady had agreed to marry him. The prospect of sharing the rest of his life with her was one he contemplated with infinite pleasure. He loved her, her happiness was paramount, especially if it resulted in his own, but he had yet to convince her of it. She was stubborn and there was that foolish vow not to marry, which he would have to overcome. And that book.

  ‘You will have to get a sight of the book,’ the Major said, echoing his thoughts. ‘She is living in your house, under your protection. It should not be difficult for you to insist on examining it.’

  ‘And what reason should I give for wanting to do so?’

  ‘God, man! Do you need a reason?’

  ‘I think I do. It is common courtesy, after all.’

  ‘Then you had better think of one. You are supposed to have a winning way with the ladies, use it.’

  James bit back an angry retort, which would not have helped. Instead he changed the subject. ‘In the meantime, we must do what we can to protect Wellington. There will undoubtedly be great crowds to cheer his coming, ideal conditions for an assassin. He must be surrounded by our people every step of the way. Richard, can you organise your company to be at Dover to ride close to his coach, as we did when the French king arrived? I will arrange for local militia to meet him when he arrives in London and escort him to his home. If an attempt is made, we will be ready.’

  ‘If Cariotti is at the bottom of it, I doubt he will make the attempt himself,’ Richard said. ‘He will hire assassins, disillusioned soldiers have come home to nothing but penury.’

  ‘If apprehended, they will be offered an amnesty to name names.’ He paused. ‘Now, unless anyone has anything to add, I beg to be excused. I have a ball to attend.’

  The arrangements had all been made; a huge tent had been put up in the garden and a ballroom floor laid in it which had been polished until it was like a mirror. Shuttered lamps with coloured glass had been strung in the trees, ready to be lit at dusk; the food had been delivered and an army of servants employed to help the chef and the regular staff prepare and cook it. Extra footmen had been taken on and arrayed in the Belfont livery. Flowers were being arranged in huge vases all over the house and a large orchestra had arrived. Sophie could hear them rehearsing through the open window of her bedchamber.

  She was supposed to be resting before Rose came to help her into her ball gown, but, though she was lying on her bed, she was feeling far from restful. Not only was it uncomfortably hot, but her head was whirling. All this fuss, a fortune being spent, all so that the world might know that the Duke of Belfont repudiated his mistress and was taking as his bride his nobody of a second cousin. Gossip must be silenced at all costs; his Grace must be saved the embarrassment of being asked to leave court in the middle of the most important Season since his Highness had been made Regent. But why choose her, when there were others falling over themselves to be his duchess?

  Could that be because none of them would accept him, after what had happened? To be a duke and be rejected must be the ultimate humiliation. But Harriet had told her firmly that what had happened would make no difference; he could do almost anything, flaunt all the rules and still be called a jolly fine fellow and welcomed everywhere. He would be accepted simply because he was a duke. Which was right? And did it matter? She meant to refuse him. Not that she wanted to humiliate him; she could not do that after he had taken her in and spent so much on her, but she would have to find an opportunity to prevent him from asking. All her efforts to persuade Harriet to cancel the affair had failed.

  ‘I cannot,’ Harriet had told her. ‘It would not look well and would give rise to prodigious gossip, especially if we could give no good reason for cancellation. Conjecture would invent one, you may be sure.’ She had paused and looked closely at Sophie. ‘Why are you so against it? I thought you were looking forward to it.’

  ‘I told you, I do not like to be puffed up. I do not want to have the eligibles standing in line to offer simply because I am the ward of the Duke of Belfont and they might gain some advantage being married to me. I intend to remain single and will have none of them. It is not fair to them to encourage speculation.’

  She could not tell Harriet the true reason, that she knew the Duke intended to propose, not because he loved her, but to silence his critics and to take people’s minds off his affair with Lady Colway. Marrying Sophie might also serve to placate Lord Colway, who would undoubtedly have heard what had happened. However much she loved the Duke, however much she longed for her love to be returned, Sophie did not intend to be used in that fashion. A marriage made under those circumstances was bound to fail and they would both be made miserable. She was already more miserable than she had ever been in her life before and bearing it in silence was using up all her reserves of stoicism.

  ‘There will be more if we cancel at this late stage,’ Harriet had told her. ‘And no one is going to put pressure on you to choose a husband. It would be the last thing I would do…’

  ‘Is it?’ she asked dully. ‘And the Duke?’

  ‘He will not either. The ball is to introduce you to society, to enable you to accept other invitations, to make new friends. And to tell the world you have our support whatever you choose to do.’

  ‘Even if I stay single and spend my life writing books?’

  ‘Even then.’ She had smiled reassuringly and reached across to pat Sophie’s hand. ‘But you will forgive us, dearest, if we hope for something more for you.’

  What else could she do but smile back and pretend all was well? But it left her with a serious dilemma. The ball was going ahead; more than half the ton had accepted invitations. There was even some talk of the Regent putting in a brief appearance if he was not too busy entertaining his illustrious guests. How could she make sure the Duke did not follow his sister’s advice and propose? Perhaps he would not.

  No, of course he would not, she told herself suddenly. Why would a wealthy duke, who, according to his sister, could do almost anything without anyone thinking anything of it, stoop so far as to marry a nobody with nothing to recommend her? She had been a nuisance to him ever since she arrived and though he might wish she would marry someone else, he would never marry her himself. She lay on her bed and laughed aloud; what a fool she had been to believe he would, never mind worry herself sick over it.

  Revitalised, she spr
ang up and went over to the cupboard in the corner of the room and fetched out the gown she was to wear. It had been made for her before the ill-fated trip to Finchley Common and at the time she had been pleased and excited at the prospect of wearing it, had even laughed when the Duke had asked what it was like, telling him it was a secret until he saw her on the night.

  The overdress, open from the high waist, was in a shimmering pale blue spider gauze that revealed the underskirt of ivory satin, which was heavily embroidered with gold thread and seed pearls down the length of the front and around the hem. The sleeves were of the same spider gauze, very full and caught just above the elbow with ribbons and from there floated freely. The boat-shaped neckline was severely plain, but she had a shawl of the spider gauze to drape over her shoulders. It was by far the most expensive gown she had ever had and she was unlikely to wear it again; it did not accord with the life she had mapped out for herself. She would persuade Harriet to send it back to the shop, along with other extravagances, because, after this night, she must put self-indulgence from her and concentrate on making a living.

  She was holding it up against herself, stroking her hand down the soft fabric, daydreaming a little, when Rose came to help her with her toilette. She carried a small narrow box in her hand.

  ‘Miss Langford, I am come to help you dress and to give you this.’ She held out the box, whose lid was painted with tiny mauve pansies. ‘His Grace stopped me on my way up and instructed me to make sure you had it.’

  Sophie’s hand shook as she opened the box; it was strange that even talking about the Duke, or touching something he had touched, set her quivering with nerves. Inside, nestling in tissue, was a fan. The handle was made of carved ivory with a silken cord to hang it from her wrist. Opening it revealed an embroidered picture of a country house set in parkland. Though she had not been there since she was a little girl, she knew it was Dersingham Park. She stood and looked at it, lost in wonder at the workmanship. There was a folded piece of paper in the lid. She opened it and read James’s simple message. ‘This was my mother’s. I would be honoured if you would accept it with my affectionate best wishes for a successful come-out. Belfont.’ It was all too much for her and she burst into tears.