Bachelor Duke

by Mary Nichols

  Rose gaped at her in perplexity. ‘Miss Langford, please do not cry,’ she pleaded. ‘You will ruin your complexion.’

  And that made her laugh so hysterically between her sobs that Rose became alarmed and rushed off to find Lady Harley.

  Harriet had been in the middle of dressing and arrived in a hastily donned dressing gown. ‘Sophie, whatever is the matter?’

  Sophie had stopped her wild sobbing and was standing by the window, looking out over the garden where workmen and servants hurried to and fro between the house and the marquee. She stood very still, her hands holding the fan, as if afraid to move in case it started her off again.

  ‘Sophie.’ Harriet hurried to put an arm about her shoulder. ‘What is it? What has happened?’

  ‘This.’ She raised the fan but did not look at her friend. ‘The Duke sent me this.’

  ‘Has he? Oh, how thoughtful of him. But surely that is not making you sad?’

  ‘Oh, can’t you see? It is just one more thing to add to all the others…’

  ‘I don’t understand. Do you not like it?’

  ‘It’s lovely.’ A huge sigh of a sob escaped her. ‘But I already owe him so much and there is no way I can repay him, except—’ She stopped suddenly.

  ‘Except what, dear girl?’

  ‘Do whatever is asked of me. Marry whomever you choose for me. Give up my book. Give up being me.’

  ‘Nonsense, no one has asked you to give up being yourself. I cannot think what has got into you, Sophie. I would never have taken you for a watering pot and all over nothing at all. Now, dry your eyes and let us have no more tears. Our guests will be arriving soon and you must be there to greet them. Rose will bathe your face and help you dress. I will come for you when it is time to go downstairs.’ She bent and kissed Sophie’s cheek. ‘Be happy, my dear, that is all I wish for you.’ And then she was gone.

  In a daze Sophie submitted to Rose’s ministrations, had her eyes bathed in witch hazel, put on her petticoat and white silk stockings, had her dark hair intricately arranged in coils and ringlets interwoven with strings of tiny pearls, slipped on her ivory satin slippers and was finally helped into her dress.

  ‘There, miss, you will undoubtedly be the belle of the ball,’ Rose said. ‘Though that is only as it should be, considering it is being given in your honour. You must consider yourself very fortunate to have the Duke and her ladyship to sponsor you.’

  ‘I do, Rose, I do.’

  ‘Then could you not smile a little more?’

  Sophie looked in the mirror and saw an elegant young lady, fashionably dressed, not bad looking; in fact, quite handsome, but pale. Too pale. She pinched her cheeks viciously and ventured a wobbly smile at her reflection.

  ‘That’s better!’ Rose said, evidently relieved, then, as a knock came at the door, added, ‘Here is Lady Harley.’

  Sophie turned as Harriet, dressed in a gown of pink-and-white striped silk and a matching turban, came into the room. Sophie curtsied. ‘I am ready.’

  ‘Oh, you look lovely. You will be a great hit, I know it. Now, let us go and join James.’

  It was time. She picked up her reticule and the fan, took a deep breath and followed Harriet out on to the landing and down the stairs.

  He was waiting at the foot of the stairs, talking to Captain Summers who had arrived early. Alerted by Richard, James turned and looked up as they descended slowly, step by step.

  ‘By God, James,’ Richard murmured. ‘I would never recognise her as the same chit we met at Dover. She takes one’s breath away.’

  James smiled wryly. Sophie certainly robbed him of breath and, for a moment, of speech. He simply stared. It was not only her beauty, though that was striking—it was her poise, her maturity, and those huge wondrous eyes that seemed to him a little sad. But her step was firm and she was smiling.

  She reached the bottom step. He bowed. ‘Magnificent,’ he said, which was inadequate to express what he was feeling, but with Richard beside him, grinning from ear to ear, and footmen standing about listening, it was all he would allow himself. Later, perhaps…

  She curtsied, stiff with the effort to keep herself under control. But magnificent described him as well. He had chosen a deep midnight blue for his short-waisted tailcoat and a lighter blue silk for his breeches. Beautifully tailored, they showed off a physique that was honed to perfection. His waistcoat of white grosgrain, starched muslin neckcloth, white stockings and black shoes were worn with an air of casual elegance that belied the hard work of Talbot, his valet. ‘Your Grace.’

  She took her place between the Duke and Harriet as the sound of a coach drawing up outside reached their ears. The first encounter had been successfully negotiated and nothing untoward had happened, nothing but a quick glance, no doubt to assure himself that she would not disgrace him and that his gift was safely suspended from her wrist. It had been formal, almost impersonal, which was all to the good, she told herself as she prepared to greet their guests.

  The first arrivals were Alfred and his mother. Mrs Jessop looked her up and down and gave a snort of reluctant approval before passing on. Alfred, in the black and white adopted by James at Lady Myers’s ball, stopped in front of her. ‘Miss Langford, you look majestic. What a pity the Count could not be here. But never mind, I will do my poor best as a substitute. May I?’ He lifted her dance card and wrote his name against two dances, one of which was a waltz.

  ‘No, I am afraid that dance is mine,’ James said, taking the pencil attached to the card, striking out Alfred’s name and substituting his own against the waltz and also adding it to the opening dance. ‘Choose another one.’

  Sophie, standing beside him, smiled her fixed smile and said nothing as Alfred obeyed.

  Alfred and Mrs Jessop were quickly followed by more guests, arriving in twos and threes, some in larger groups, some singly, until the ballroom and reception rooms on the ground floor of Belfont House, substantial as it was, was a heaving mass of humanity, all talking at once.

  ‘Good God, Harriet,’ James exclaimed. ‘Have you invited the whole of London?’

  ‘Not quite,’ she said blithely. ‘But I did not want to find that, after all our efforts, guests were thin on the ground.’

  ‘Then I am thankful for that great tent, or we would have been hard put to squeeze them all in. How many more, do you think?’

  It was a question echoed by Sophie. The ball was going to be a great crush and how they were to find room for dancing, she did not know. And it was all being done for her sake. Or was it? Was it not to prove that the Duke of Belfont could do as he pleased? He could flaunt his mistress and take whom he liked as a wife and when he issued an invitation, he expected people to turn up.

  ‘I think they are all here now,’ Harriet told him. ‘We can safely leave our post and join our guests.’

  James took Sophie’s hand and tucked it beneath his arm, but even that small touch sent her senses reeling. She took a deep breath and bade herself keep a cool head.

  ‘Sophie, you look charming,’ he whispered as they strolled after their guests to the garden where the orchestra was tuning its instruments on a dais at one end of the marquee. ‘I am proud of you.’

  ‘Thank you, your Grace. Thank you also for your gift.’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘It is very fine. I collect the picture is of Dersingham Park.’

  ‘Yes, my father had it made for my mother to celebrate the first anniversary of their wedding. He gave her something on every anniversary.’

  ‘Then I am surprised you could bear to part with it.’

  ‘I wanted to give you something special and it seemed appropriate.’

  ‘Appropriate?’ She felt her frayed nerves getting the better of her and furiously brought herself under control.

  ‘Yes, I wanted to mark your coming out with something out of the ordinary. I know it is usual to give jewellery, but I did not think it would serve. I came late to my guardianship of you and the circumstances were
unusual; it seemed more fitting to give you something else, something that might have more significance than jewels.’

  His words, carefully chosen, were almost her undoing. They showed him to be tender, considerate, thoughtful, all things she had known and acknowledged before that foolish race between Theodore and Peter. Had he changed so much? ‘Then I shall treasure it, my lord.’ She meant it too; the fan would always remind her of him, of the man, not the Duke, of his kindness and generosity. When she was busy scratching out a living with her pen, she would have it beside her.

  It was only slightly cooler in the garden, where the heat of the day lingered into the twilight. She still had her hand on his sleeve and he had put his other hand over it, as if to keep her at his side. The master of ceremonies announced the opening dance as they arrived and James led Sophie on to the floor to start the proceedings. She was aware of the comments of the people standing on the sidelines and heard one matron say, ‘They make a handsome couple, I’ll wager he won’t remain a bachelor much longer.’ He must have heard it, too, but he gave no indication of it as they wove their way in and out of the others in the set. They executed the steps, smiled at each other and at their guests as they faced them in the figures, apparently at ease, but both could feel the tension between them, communicating itself through the air they breathed and the touch of their fingers. Sophie found herself almost holding her breath, waiting for him to say something, wondering how she could find her voice to reply, but the dance ended without a word being spoken.

  He took her back to where Harriet sat with Lady Carstairs, bowed to Sophie and stationed himself behind his sister’s chair to watch the proceedings.

  Sophie’s next partner was Theodore Buskin, bouncing around like a puppy, and then Peter Poundell, recovered from his injury, though he admitted to being a little stiff. She stood up with Captain Summers, elegant in his regimentals, and then Alfred came to claim her for his country dance.

  ‘You are definitely in looks tonight,’ he said, as they executed the opening steps. ‘But a little wooden, I think.’

  ‘Wooden, Mr Jessop?’

  ‘Yes, but you may relax now. The Duke has gone and you are no longer being observed.’

  So, he had left the floor. She allowed herself a fleeting moment of disappointment and then rallied. ‘If the Duke was watching us, then it was only to make sure I am enjoying myself. I am, after all, his ward.’

  He laughed. ‘Is that what he calls you?’

  ‘What else should I be?’

  ‘That is for you to decide, my dear. But collect I did warn you not to allow yourself to be drawn into his spider’s web of deception. If he were not a duke, he would long ago have been ordered from court and not only because of his outrageous behaviour with another man’s wife. There are other mysteries…’

  ‘Mr Jessop, I beg you to desist. I do not want to listen to gossip.’

  ‘Oh, it is not gossip. It is fact. He spent years abroad, years in which no one knows what he was up to. Oh, they believed he was fighting for his country, but believe me, he was not with Wellington. He disappeared in the middle of a battle and only reappeared when his father was dying.’

  ‘How disappointed you must have been,’ she scoffed. ‘No doubt you were hoping he was dead.’

  ‘My time will come, never fear.’

  ‘Oh, do not doubt it.’ She did not allow him time to decide what she meant, but turned and left him standing in the middle of the floor, excusing herself to the other dancers, ‘Forgive me, I am a little too hot and feel faint.’

  She made her way out of the awning, where it had indeed been uncomfortably hot, and made her way down the garden. It was dark now. Moon and stars were hidden by clouds and the only light came from the lanterns strung between the trees and they swung eerily in the slight breeze which had arisen in the last few minutes. The heat was still oppressive and she wondered if there might be a storm. It would cause consternation if there were.

  She found a bench in an arbour and sat down to fan herself, wondering why Mr Jessop had taken the trouble to make those accusations against the Duke. He had as good as called him a traitor. Where had he obtained his so-called facts? Not for a minute did she believe them to be true, though they could be very damaging if that dreadful man repeated them to others, far more damaging than gossip about his Grace and Lady Colway. What could she do? What did Alfred Jessop expect her to do? Tell his Grace? What would he say? Would he be angry, hurt even, that she appeared to give the tale enough credence to repeat it?

  She ought to go back to the ball, which was, after all, being given in her honour. She could hear the music and chatter, an occasional laugh, and dimly through the shrubbery, she could see the lights under the awning. She could also hear the wind in the tree tops and, in the distance, some way off still, a faint rumble of thunder. But the weather was the least of her concerns as she tried to calm herself and make the effort to go back and pretend to be enjoying herself.

  James, who had gone to claim her for the waltz which was next, had just been in time to see her leave the floor and disappear down the garden path. Where was she going? And why? Surely she would not be so indiscreet as to arrange an assignation? Who with? And if she had gone to be alone, why? He followed, treading carefully, keeping in the shadows.

  He found her alone, sitting on the bench, almost in the dark. The light from the nearest lantern, swinging backwards and forwards in the shadow of some branches, made her dress shimmer like moving water, but she sat very still, her closed fan in her hand. He could not see her face properly, but her eyes were huge and bright. What was she thinking about? A past love? The Count Cariotti, perhaps? How he hated that man! He moved forward silently.

  ‘Sophie.’ He spoke quietly, but his voice startled her so that she jumped to her feet with a cry of alarm. ‘Don’t be afraid. It is only I.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was glad of the seat behind her knees and thankfully sank back onto it. ‘You startled me.’

  He sat beside her, so close one knee was touching her skirt and his breath was warm on her cheek. ‘I am sorry, it was not my intention. What are you doing out here alone?’

  ‘I came out to think.’ His nearness was making thinking impossible. Her traitorous body was betraying her and she leaned towards him. Before she knew what was happening, he had taken hold of her chin and was tipping it upwards so that she was looking up into his face. She could not see his expression, but his eyes were scanning her face, looking from her eyes to her mouth and back to her eyes. Those few seconds of intense scrutiny seemed to go on for ever. And then he kissed her.

  It was a lingering gentle kiss, meant to soothe, not to startle, and though her brain, the part of it still able to think coherently, registered how skilled he was, it was totally eclipsed by the singing joy in her heart. She loved him and whatever he did, whatever he had done in the past, could not erase that. She turned in his arms and put her own about his neck, utterly lost to propriety.

  It was some time before he could bring himself to break off the pleasure. ‘Sophie, you witch, you have made me forget myself. I have done this in quite the wrong order. Talk first, kisses later.’

  She moved a little away from him to regain her composure, knowing she had made a complete cake of herself. ‘Talk, my lord?’

  ‘Yes. You said you came out here to think and that must mean you have a problem. May I know what it is?’

  ‘What to do for the best.’

  ‘And what conclusion have you reached?’

  ‘I haven’t reached one.’

  ‘Are you concerned for your future?’

  ‘A little, perhaps.’ She was fiddling with the fan, opening it a little way and shutting it again.

  ‘Do not be. I want to take care of it, to take care of you.’

  So he intended to go through with it, after all. She rallied. ‘If I am a good girl and do as I am told.’

  ‘Oh, Sophie, why do you say that? You make me sound like a tyrant.’

  ‘No, my
lord, but I think you like to be in control of those around you.’

  ‘If I do, I have singularly failed with you, my darling. You go your own sweet way.’

  She noted the endearment, but would not let herself be influenced by it, for that was no doubt what he intended. ‘But you would have me marry, when I am resolved to remain single.’

  ‘Why, Sophie? Why so adamant? Are you afraid?’

  She managed a weak smile. ‘Of you, my lord?’

  ‘Good God, there is no need to fear me. I meant of marriage. Or others. The Count Cariotti, for instance. I collect he fancies himself betrothed to you.’

  ‘That is all it is: fancy. I have never given him any reason to think I would marry him, quite the contrary.’

  ‘Why does he think otherwise?’

  ‘I do not know. I wish I did.’ In the background, growing nearer, the thunder rumbled, though neither paid it any attention.

  ‘Can it have anything to do with the book you are writing?’ He was careful not to sound as if her answer were important. He had to know if she had heard of Jack Costerman and if she had mentioned the name in her book, if only in passing. That was all it would take for Cariotti to put two and two together and report to his masters, which meant Jack Costerman, alias James Dersingham, would be of no further use to his country.

  ‘No. Why should it?’ She countered sharply. That book was still the centre of discord, a great wall that came between them, a barrier to their understanding of each other. But she could not demolish it. Without it, she had no protection.

  ‘You have perhaps written about him, slighted him perhaps, put him with people he would rather not be associated with.’ He dare not put the name of Jack Costerman into her head.

  ‘I do not think so. He was a friend of my father, one with whom he used to play cards. I am not sure, but I believe Papa owed him money and died before he could repay it…’