Bachelor Duke

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Why, to beget an heir.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  Sophie could see the conversation was becoming decidedly tricky and her shaking was becoming more obvious. She had to put an end to it somehow. ‘Of course. What other reason would there be, unless it be to acquire a hostess acceptable to the ton? You could hardly install your mistress at Dersingham Park. Of course, now that she is a widow, you could marry her, but I have heard she is barren.’

  ‘I would rather marry you.’ He quelled his annoyance with an effort and spoke quietly, pulling her hands apart as he did so and taking them in his own. ‘It is what I had in mind the night I kissed you and when we were out in the garden. If it had not been for the storm…’ He paused. ‘Did you guess? Was that why you said “No” so vehemently?’

  ‘I did not need to guess. I overheard Harriet advising you to marry me to put an end to the gossip about you and Lady Colway.’

  He tried to remember exactly what had been said, but it eluded him. His sister knew how much Sophie meant to him and he could not imagine she would say anything so cold-blooded. ‘Oh, Sophie, you must have misheard. How could you believe I would use you in that fashion?’

  ‘Easily when everyone is saying the same thing. I heard the tabbies making wagers on whether you would marry your mistress now she is free or take me for a wife because I am young and healthy and would probably breed well.’

  ‘Good Lord! No wonder you are angry. But, gossip apart, would you mind very much? Marrying me, I mean.’

  She did not know how to answer that. If only he had denied the gossips, told her he loved her, then she might have been able to reciprocate and tell him that she loved him and wanted more than anything in the world to be his wife. But he had not. ‘Yes, I would, under those terms,’ she told him. ‘It is too humiliating to be borne. Now, if you will excuse me, I will bid you goodnight.’ She rose to leave him, but he still had her hand in his and pulled her down again.

  ‘I have not finished and I insist you hear me out. Gossip can be cruel, but I thought you had more sense than to let it influence you.’ He paused and started again. ‘There is no one I can ask for permission to offer for you, unless it be your uncle Langford and I cannot think he would object, so I come direct to you. Sophie—Miss Langford—will you do me the honour of consenting to marry me?’

  Her heart cried out, ‘Yes, yes’, even while her tongue was forming the words to reject him. ‘My lord, I do not think we should suit.’

  ‘Why not?’ Had he expected her to fall on his neck with gratitude, as others might have done? Had he expected her to ask for time to think about it, simply for form’s sake? Or had he known all along she would turn him down and he had humiliated himself by asking?

  ‘I do not conform to society’s idea of a compliant wife; as I do not intend to change simply to satisfy the proprieties, we would do better to remain cousins and friends, guardian and ward, anything but husband and wife. I must love the man I marry and I would have him love me. There would be no room for mistresses…’

  He laughed suddenly, more at his own foolishness than at her. ‘That is a high ideal and most men of my acquaintance would say it was impossible…’

  ‘Then I shall remain single, as I said all along I would,’ she put in before he could elaborate. ‘I am sensible of the honour you do me, my lord, but it is not enough.’

  ‘By God, what do you want? I am wealthy beyond avarice. I have a title and estates, the envy of almost every man in England, all of which I would share with you. And you say it is not enough!’

  She stood up, realising that nothing more could be said, nothing except a declaration of love he was not prepared to give, and there was no point in prolonging the interview. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

  She left the room at a sedate walk, but, once in the corridor, dashed up the stairs and locked herself in her room before flinging herself on the bed and succumbing to great waves of despairing grief. He had proposed, but he had not said he loved her, had given her no assurance that he would not continue to see Lady Colway—just the opposite, in fact. Impossible, he had said. In that case, marriage to him was also impossible. Why, oh, why did she have to fall in love with him? He was heartless. She sobbed until she had no tears left.

  Dry-eyed at last, she lay and stared at the canopy of the bed above her head. The last time she had wept like that was when her mother died and she had realised she was alone and her father was no help to her. All she had to rely on was her own courage and determination. It was the same now. She sat up, left the bed and undressed, then crept beneath the covers to lie for hours, thinking, planning, summoning all her courage for what she had to do, before finally falling asleep.

  The following morning, she packed a small valise with the clothes and small items she had brought with her from Italy, including what was left of her money, and left the house before anyone was about.

  ‘James, whatever did you say to Sophie last night?’ Harriet asked, rushing downstairs in her dressing gown to confront her brother, who was morosely munching his way through a piece of dry toast. ‘I expected to come down this morning to find you both all smiles; instead, I discover the silly girl has gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ He knew he had bungled his proposal, but then he had never proposed before and Sophie was so prickly and so ready to believe the worst. Instead of whispering sweet words of love to each other, they had become embroiled in an argument about propriety and mistresses and why she would not marry him. It had resulted in a sleepless night of self-castigation and a determination to make her see and understand the truth. He loved her, he loved her to distraction, and no amount of wilfulness on her part could alter that. He should have told her so last night. ‘Gone where?’

  ‘I do not know. You had better read this.’ She handed him a sheet of paper on which he recognised Sophie’s handwriting. ‘Rose found it when she went to wake her.’

  ‘Dear Harriet,’ he read. ‘I have decided to bring forward my plans to find somewhere else to live where I may be independent and eccentric and, if I choose, to flout the conventions, a fault his Grace finds so irksome in me. I am truly grateful for all you have done for me and am sorry that I cannot be the young lady you would like me to be. Please convey my gratitude to the Duke…’

  She did not wait for him to finish reading before she interrupted. ‘Really, James, whatever did you say to her?’

  ‘Nothing to make her do this, I swear it.’

  ‘I thought you were going to propose to her.’

  ‘I did. She said we would not suit.’

  ‘That’s nonsense, you are made for each other. Or you would be if you could subdue the stiff-necked pride you both seem to be encumbered with. Tell me exactly what was said.’

  So he did, only to be given a roasting the like of which he had not had since he was a boy and had angered his father with some prank or other. ‘You are a ninny,’ his sister said. ‘For someone who has the reputation of being a ladies’ man, who knows exactly the right word and tone to use to have them eating out of your hands, you have made a real mull of it. You love her and she loves you…’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘It is written in her face, the way her eyes follow you about, the sound of her voice when she speaks of you.’

  ‘I never knew…’

  ‘They say love is blind—in your case, they are right. You kissed her, did you not?’

  ‘She told you that?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘She did. Did her response not tell you anything?’

  ‘I thought it did.’

  ‘Then what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Find her, of course. Bring her back.’

  ‘Have you any idea where to look?’

  ‘I’ll find her if I have to scour all London.’

  ‘And while you are doing that, think about what you will say to her when you do find her. Try to refrain from ringing a peal over her and attempt a little humility. She is vulnerable, James; she has
had a strange upbringing and is afraid to trust anyone. She needs reassurance, not a roasting.’

  Before he could answer, the door opened to admit Collins. ‘Your Grace, Lord Carstairs is here and requests a few words with you. He says it is urgent. I have taken the liberty of showing him into the book room.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He strode past the footman and entered the library to find his friend pacing up and down. ‘Carstairs, what brings you here at this ungodly hour? Have you news of our conspirators?’

  ‘Yes and no. I am afraid it concerns your ward…’

  ‘Sophie,’ he breathed. ‘Do you know where she is?’

  Carstairs looked startled. ‘No, I assumed she was here. Do you mean she is not?’

  ‘No, she has gone out.’ He paused, unwilling to tell the man the truth. ‘Let us start again. Why have you come? To do with Sophie, you say?’

  ‘Miss Langford, yes. James, you must do something about that chit. She is getting into very deep water and could well ruin everything.’

  ‘I am not sure I know what you mean.’ He was defensive. ‘I know you have my interests at heart, but Miss Langford’s conduct is surely my affair…’

  ‘Hold on, old friend. It is not as simple as that. She was seen coming out of Count Cariotti’s lodgings on Piccadilly.’

  ‘When?’ he asked sharply, unable to suppress his anxiety. Surely, surely she had not gone to the Count? Had she not said he was worse than her father? But if she thought he was the only one who would help her…

  ‘Yesterday afternoon. If she is mixed up with the Italian, it can have dire consequences for you and for her. He is our man, I am sure of it.’

  His heart sank. Sophie must have met Cariotti on the way back from the publisher, if she had ever been to the publisher in the first place. And she had denied it. Why? Why lie? If he had her in front of him now, he would shake her until her teeth rattled and make her tell him the truth. Cariotti was dangerous. But that happened yesterday, before his bungled proposal. What of today? Where was she now? ‘Who told you this. Who saw her?’

  ‘My wife and Mrs Jessop. They had been on a shopping expedition to Bond Street and were in a carriage passing along Piccadilly when they saw Miss Langford emerge from one of the houses, looking, in their words, “dishevelled and furtive”. Later they met Mr Jessop and spoke of it to him. He told them he had met Miss Langford earlier in the day walking alone and done his best to persuade her to allow him to escort her home, but she would have none of it and was determined to visit the Count.’

  His first reaction was to accuse Alfred of lying. Sophie would never do anything so foolish, but past experience told him she might very well do so, if it suited her purpose. But what purpose? Surely she was not involved in espionage? And if it was not anything subversive, then it must be an affair of the heart. She had denied it, but hadn’t Alfred told him earlier that the pair were in love? He did not know what to believe.

  ‘I tell you this so you may be prepared,’ Carstairs went on.

  ‘For the gossip.’

  ‘My wife will say nothing of it. She is very fond of your sister and would do nothing to harm her, but the street was busy, so others might have seen and recognised the young lady. But, as you say, that is your affair, but national security is not, or not only yours. Did you get a look at that book?’

  ‘Yes. It is all very innocuous, no mention of Jack Costerman, so we were worrying for nothing.’

  ‘And Cariotti?’

  ‘He is mentioned as a friend of her father with whom he played cards. She was often required to act the hostess at these sessions and expounds some of his political views garnered in conversation, which he would not like published, but nothing we could use…’

  ‘Perhaps she knows more than she has written.’

  ‘I do not think so. But I cannot do anything about it until I find her.’

  ‘You mean she is missing?’

  ‘From the house, yes, but I have no doubt that is only a temporary situation. You may leave Miss Langford to me.’

  ‘Very well, but if you take my advice you will send her somewhere out of harm’s way and take charge of that book.’

  James made no comment to that, being more concerned with ushering the man from the house without being rude, so that he could go after Sophie before Cariotti embroiled her in his nefarious activities and her reputation was irretrievably lost. He loved her, believed it was her innocence that led her into these scrapes but the woman he made his duchess must be above reproach. Had he been mistaken in her? His pride, his concern for the family name, did battle with the urge to find Sophie, enfold her in his arms, kiss the breath out of her and tell her she was safe, would always be safe with him. But that must all be put on one side until he found her and brought her back.

  He had hardly turned from the door and instructed the footman to go to the mews and order his curricle brought to the door than the sound of knocker reverberated through the hall and Collins, on his way to obey, opened it to admit Mrs Jessop.

  ‘James, I am glad I find you at home. There is something very particular I must discuss with you…’

  ‘Not now, Aunt, I am in haste to go out.’

  ‘It has come to something when you deny your aunt a few minutes of your time,’ she said, sailing into the withdrawing room, the black plumes in her hat fluttering as she moved.

  Harriet, who had been sitting staring unseeingly into a cup of cold coffee, rose to greet her and, because her cousin’s disappearance was the only thing on her mind at the moment, failed to greet her properly. ‘You have news?’ she asked.

  ‘Good morning, Harriet.’

  ‘Oh, good morning, Aunt. Please be seated. I will ring for more coffee.’

  ‘I do not need refreshment; if you were not family, nothing on earth would persuade me to set foot over the threshold, but it is my duty to enlighten you…’

  ‘What about?’ Harriet sank back into her seat.

  ‘That nobody you have taken into your home. James, you must do something about her. She has already ruined her own reputation and, if you are not careful, she will ruin yours.’

  ‘That, surely, is my affair.’ James had followed her into the room, knowing what was coming and determined to silence her if he could. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I am in haste to be about my business.’

  ‘Goodness knows what her foolish mother taught her about how to go on. Nothing good, it seems,’ she went on as if he had not spoken. ‘But what can you expect when she defied everyone to marry that mountebank.’

  ‘Aunt, please come to the point.’

  ‘The chit was seen coming out of Count Cariotti’s lodgings…’

  ‘No,’ Harriet said. ‘I will not believe that of her.’

  ‘I saw her with my own eyes. And Alfred had seen her earlier and tried to persuade her not to go, but she would not listen to him. James, you must pack her off, back to where she came from, before she does untold damage to the Dersingham name.’

  ‘We cannot send her away,’ Harriet said. ‘She is kin and she needs us…’

  ‘Oh, she needs you, there is no doubt. She is a penniless fortune hunter. Why, you have no proof that she is who she says she is. I can understand you being taken in, Harriet, having lived a sheltered life with your mama and papa and then being protected by your husband, but I am shocked that you should be so gullible, James.’

  He did not want to hear it, not any of it. Hearing Collins return from his errand, he excused himself and left his aunt to elaborate on Sophie’s faults and Harriet to defend her, while he hurried upstairs to change into outdoor clothes. Then he dashed from the house to where Tom stood beside the curricle. The next moment, he had jumped into it and urged the horse forward, leaving the young groom looking after him, scratching his head.

  His first call was to Cariotti’s lodgings, where he thundered on the door. As soon as the door was opened, he pushed past the startled housekeeper. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘If you mean Count Cariotti, I
shall enquire if he is at home,’ she said coldly. ‘That is, if you give me your name and state your business.’

  He turned towards her, intending to give her the benefit of his fury, but suddenly realised bluster would achieve nothing. And letting Cariotti know that he was in a blue funk over Sophie’s disappearance would give the man a great deal of satisfaction and probably alert him to his danger. Carstairs would certainly not thank him for that. It was why he had called on him that morning, to warn him to watch his step.

  He turned to the woman, once again his usual urbane, charming self. ‘I beg pardon, ma’am. I spoke too sharply. Would you please ask the Count if he can spare a few minutes of his time. My name is Belfont. The Duke of Belfont.’ This was accompanied by a pleasant smile and a doffing of his hat.

  Her manner changed completely as she took his hat and laid it carefully on a side table before asking him to be seated while she discovered if the Count was at home. Then she climbed the stairs sedately. James watched her go, fuming with impatience. Instead of sitting, he paced the small hall. The minutes ticked by, long enough for the Count to hide any incriminating evidence, long enough to hide Sophie if she were there. He was tempted not to wait, but dash upstairs in the woman’s wake and find out for himself what was going on. He had made his sixth turn of the room when she returned.

  ‘The Count will see you, your Grace. His room is on the first floor, the second on your left. I will leave you to see yourself up. I will bring some refreshment.’

  ‘That will not be necessary, ma’am. I do not intend to stay long.’ He turned from her and forced himself to ascend the stairs in a slow and dignified manner.

  Cariotti was standing by the window, looking out on to the street when James entered, but turned to smile at his visitor. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, your Grace. Please be seated. Mrs Davies will bring some refreshment.’

  ‘I have already declined that,’ he said, sitting down, though he longed to put his hands about the other man’s neck and squeeze until he begged for mercy. ‘Count, I believe my ward visited you yesterday.’